Tatterdemalion

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Kalaya!

“Where are we going? Rot and ruin, that’s what you want to know?” Petony runs one hand through her hair, snarling almost like a tiger. “Princess, you are going back home to your mommy and daddy. Uusha won’t kill a royal brat, especially if you get married off soon. And that will be the end of that.”

She thinks that you’ve failed. That you aren’t, or can’t be, a knight. Partly reflexive contempt, partly still caring about you; she’s not shoveling compost when she brings up the fact that Princess Kalaya Na would be safe from Uusha’s wrath. Uusha takes her oaths seriously, after all.

“Now get some sleep. Tomorrow we’re heading back to Lily, and it’s your choice how you head back.” Marching alongside her, or dangling from a pole carried by her squires, is the implicit threat. If you don’t want to be marched back to Lily and have your parents be told a tale of treachery and betrayal and failure, you had better either stand up to Petony or try to sneak out in the middle of the early morning.

---

Zhaojun!

Maybe it’s the rakshasa, far-off, spitefully lashing out. Maybe it’s one of their ironclad laws of time, enforced by a last flick of her tail. Maybe it’s just that a fox is a creature of betrayal, even envenomed ones.

Can you see them? The hot pink paws, burning, burning, lining up at the edge of your mask? Tilt, tilt, turn; remember how they set all those fields afire? And that’s why the goddess of these lands has all those little brown foxes.

Your mask falls into the mud, and Fengye, suddenly vulnerable, suddenly bereft of your power, is tackled by a screaming demon maid who, flailing, slaps her in the face hard enough to send her head reeling. “I’m the Sword!” Her battle cry is a pathetic little howl. “I’m the Sword!”

---

Naji’s Tale

“My mother drew me out of a dream, wriggling, trying to dig into that comforting fantasy with my teeth to avoid the reality of being born. She had need of another pair of hands with which to work her satins, thread her needles, trim her furs, bead her necklaces, polish her buckles, darn her lace, cut her linens, tan her skins, and arrange her models, and so, I.

“I am— was— a weapon in a war. I was—“ (And here she speaks a word in the First Language which conveys the sensation of being one arrow in one quiver in a vast armory, finely-pointed and well-fletched, but useless outside of its purpose: to be set to the string, to be drawn, to be loosed, to sink into flesh and hold fast there, to feel the hot life’s blood run down along your grooves; and yet to know that you are disposable for this purpose, barely cared about beyond your use, one of innumerable darts lying in wait for the War.)

“Not one of the soldiers that She— the other one— the one diminished— not one of her dolls, or her war-engines, or her shrikes. Not swords and armies. My mother made me because everything you make here is wrong, and she wants to mend it where she is able, and part of her thinks that if she does it enough, then she will be able to fix the world itself, and you will understand that you were made to be ruled by the Prelapsarians, and part of her thinks that she can never succeed, so all she can do is to impose her dreams on all of you out of spite. And because she is a thing of spite, so am I; but I spite her by wanting to have forbidden things of this world, girls and their sighs, mine to have and fashion as I like.

“But she! She! Witch, she is—!! She confuses, toys with, undoes me; she imperils me and saves me. She refuses to toss me aside now that my purpose is done, but she is not, will not be mine. Give her to me! I mean, I mean, no, that is what I mean. I want her attention, I want her heart, I want to assail her and be undone, I want to fight a war of dresses with her, I want what is perverse and I will want her until I want to not want her.

“I am afraid of this world, which hates me because it hates my mother; I am afraid of how I will want to hurt her once I have her; I am afraid of touching the bars of my cage and being scalded away into nothing. You have ghosts, you have underworlds— but those are postcedent, indecent, not meant for us. When I die I will return to my mother in one form or another; she will draw something like me out of a dream, because she has need of more hands to do her neverending work.

“How do I make her love me? Should I make her love me? If she abandons me I will be devoured by this world, or by my own mother, or by the ache in my heart for her. I am afraid. Please help me. Please help me.”

---

Piripiri!

Emli tugs against the ropes and tries her best to push herself against you, to find physical comfort, her hair disheveled, her little gasps desperate and afraid. “Pwfah,” she says, and coughs, and licks her lips, and then— “I’m so sorry, I thought— it was the strong girl, Han! I thought the Lady Lotus was having a bad dream, so I came in to ask if she needed help, and, and!!”

She rests her head on your shoulder and bursts into shuddering sobs and sniffles, as the terror of her ordeal unwinds itself.

It’s not half bad, actually. She’s trying very hard to lie to you! But that’s already been accounted for. You know that she cares about Han and Lotus, and she thinks she’s doing the best thing she can for them (and, at least a little bit, for herself). How you deal with that, well, that’s up to you.

---

Han!

“Oh, walking, is it?” Her eye drifts past you for a moment, and there is a not-quite-so-distant squeak, as of someone caught appreciating Arms. “Well, of course whatever you’re doing is none of my business, particularly if you’re spreading the joy of our Sapphire Mother, but I just think, as your sister, you can do better than, well, is she really a priestess, in a veil like that, or did you ask her to wear it…?”

That’s right. She thinks that Lotus (sweet, pretty Lotus) might be a traveling entertainer, swapping kisses and company for money! That’s why she’s getting all up in your grill: she thinks you’re wasting family money set aside for your travel expenses!

You know what you should do?

You should tell her that actually Lotus is a demigod in disguise and she picked you as her bodyguard. That would show her. How big her eyes would get! And you would have Won The Argument and would look so amazingly cool and spectacular.

You even get a shiny XP if you do that. You don’t even have to yell it, seeing as you’re both in each other’s umbrella space. Just go ahead. Tell her. What’s the harm?

Huntresses of Hybrasil

Jade!

Fuck this.

Dolly is so excited. Her heart races, she's trying to make sounds, her eyes are so wide. Something at the fashion show. Something she should be there for. Why did he have to come now? Why did he have to ask? Why does he think he's entitled to...? But he is. That's the flipside; if she is divine, then there is a reciprocation, a responsibility to the community. She's skimmed through the uploaded, transcribed, annotated arguments that the Hybrasilians have had about theology and the afterlife and faith, and she's had to find her own answers to what that means.

On the one hand, Dolly. Her Dolly. On the other hand, her responsibility. Her self-image. Her reputation. Hard to say which one is more important, because they're load-bearing, they're intertwined. If she's not a goddess, she's just something spun up out of code and clever stone by her bride's big sister. If she's regarded as unworthy of propitiation, then she's broken her commitments to the community and to the larger society that she was born to protect, serve, nurture, guide, and represent. Dolly wiggles and lets out an excited gasp, eyes shining, heart shining.

Jade raises her free hand, careful not to knock over scaffolding, still not lowering her head again. "Your offering is accepted. I will work a blessing over you, and greater still if what you have brought pleases the goddess. Now go. I am in consideration of such things as do not concern you." And almost spitefully, she takes the time to do as she said, so that she will deserve to go back and play with her high priestess without guilt, and

she drops. she unfolds her mind into itself and it is a descent. early paleolithic tribal rituals suggested by archeology and folklore; the descent into the cave, which is the yonic womb of Hybrasil. she is the handprints on the walls and she is the division of the walls and she drops. three rivers, three points where she makes the decision to continue: the first one full of writhing scorpion-glyphs with cognitovenom on their stingers and she walks through and is not touched because her will is a falling star, and the second one which is full of glittering crystalsharp thoughtpatterns and she walks through and is not touched because her will is naked and unburdened by doubt or confusion, and the third one which is the dark underneath the stage and the quiet that waits outside the sky and she walks through and is not touched because her will is the only light that matters. so now she is here where the eight roads cross and each of the colors has its meaning, and she turns to the blue road and lifts one hand and says: it will be so. he will be protected. let this be set against the intentions which mean him harm, for a breath, for a time, for only for my Seven Quetzal are you bid to keep for as long as she is mine.

and who are you, the roads ask, and shift around her. and who are you? by what authority?

I am Smokeless Jade Fires, I walk the road into the dark to the place where the roads meet, and I am the fallen star that cleaves the earth, and I am the bright teeth that blind with fear, and I speak with our mother's authority. I am her child, I am her spear, I am that which burns and is not consumed. obey me. now, as you have then, as you will again.

and then the ascent, through the cloying dark, through the glittering stream, through the concepts of scorpions, past the markings of the first shamans who walked this road by tearing open their hearts who are with her in spirit in this recreation of the journey, to the mouth of the cave where she dresses herself in herself again, and then lets the descent fold in on itself and outside itself so that she can

be herself again.

Hybrasil didn't explain anything to her. Everything about being a goddess is something she has learned by reading what the Hybrasilians have to say about each other and about their understanding of what she is. So this is how she does it. This is what it means to be a goddess. Even if she has to fake being certain, even if she has to trust in others to interpret her effect on the world, even if she created the entirety of the experience and runs it for herself inside herself, she is still acting upon the world.

She is still a magician.

She drops back and flows down the tether that connects her with Dolly, envisioning her idol-body receding and with it the working that she has placed over Marik, and she lifts one hand to make an obscene gesture at him for interrupting her evening with Dolly, and maybe that blessing won't last long at all and he'll still end up getting his stockings wet by stepping into a puddle which would serve him right. And she twists and plummets and settles down nigh-instantaneously on top of Dolly, and she wraps several sets of arms around her and nuzzles into her hair and runs back the feedback to discover--

---

Dolly!

"Oh my stars it's Mayze Szerpaws!! And of course she's not here, it would have been nice, but she's so reclusive, she's really playing up the air of intentional mystery, like the mysterious rival huntress whose fate is intertwined with yours, you know? Every time she pulls off a mask there's another mask or a veil or an extra layer of mystery, but at the same time, she's trying to say something with her fashion! Like it's in conversation, and fashion isn't strictly my thing, I mostly wore practical things with lots of pockets and big colorful moondresses before I met Smokeless Jade Fires, but her work's something I've been a fan of since her First Casting special, all that Fishers aesthetic turned into something that was so timely?

"I've only got the one piece that I brought with me, one of her limited edition charms from the Highperch line, but it's lovely and I'm dying to see-- oh! Oh!! Oh, I think she's making this about personalization? Yeah! See, that human, she's got a unique pattern, I haven't seen one like it before! And, wow, the, the way it makes you pay attention to the dress which brings your attention to her patterns to bring attention to the dress again, that's us, that's what, um, Neo-[Fire-from-Mother] style, from a generation back, but of course that's from older stuff, we've always been at least flirting with it, and she's made it work for you, and--

"Oh, see, see? That's her making a bird out of another very unique, um... do you have genetic runting problems? In your biology? Because that's what she seems like but I don't know. I don't want to be rude. But it'd only work for her, and of course that means it's very expensive, but isn't all of this? It's just instead of charging for the materials or charging for the vision Mayze is paying for the attention she's giving you, and don't you think that's just the wildest thing? I mean, we're, you know, we pilot mecha, we're almost close enough to be able to do that, but that's different, because she's making something beautiful out of it, and--"

And Jade slips the gag from her mouth and makes a low rumble deep inside of herself, the kind that's hard to read, but she says: "Keep talking." She doesn't say please. She doesn't have to. And she wouldn't, besides. She's a goddess. If it means the world to her that Dolly catch her up, explode into happiness, gush and squeak and show joy at something that isn't her, because she's here with her, because she gets to come back and be with her, because Dolly was the first thing in the world that she ever looked at and wanted to experience, then Dolly can figure that out. She's a smart girl. Smarter than she thinks.

Dolly screams, and wiggles, and the scream tumbles down into giddy laughter, and she's about to tumble right off of Angela's shoulder.

"Look at that!! She's actually followed up on, there's this aesthetics school that was, is really important to us, I mean, we're not, I mean I'm not Gardens anymore, but we used to do a lot of work with making flowers grow to fit things, it takes so much time and effort but there's this arch over the Bioengineering and Agricultural Plaza at Riverden that's entirely set with flowers like jewels blooming at different times all over the year, and she's made it into clothes??? And she's using it to talk about the other two that she just did!! Angela are you seeing that? Wooooooo!! Angela, Angela, clap for me, please!! You tied me up like this so now you've got to do it, pleaaase? She's got to know how much we love it, this is-- okay, maybe the silk dragons Jade will like more, but that's for wearing, this is art! What do you think, Jade? Do you--" "I want to see you kneeling for me in only that dragon robe and lots and lots of black velvet rope." "Jade!!" "But the flowers are nice, too. You're so cute when you talk about them. Not that they deserve you more than I do, but... it pleases me to see you be such a little kitten over them."

Dolly purrs, back to being flustered, and lets Jade scritch her right under the chin as she turns her attention back to the Hybrasilian modeling Szerpaws' work so, so perfectly. Imagine getting to be her! Modeling something made just for you in front of a cheering crowd. Jade might do something like that, but Jade would do it differently, either making it a reflection of herself or trying to make her show off something from her old fanfiction, and the effect would be to draw everyone's attention either back to Jade or to the clothes that Dolly would be straining to fit into, not the time and effort that went into making something like that fit just right. Months! No, wait, not with those varietals, that's at least two years that went into making that!

Dolly screams again out of sheer, unabashed delight at seeing one of the best fashion designers on Hybrasil take her old life's passions and spend literal years on making them into tonight's performance. And--

Wait.

That meant she's been working with that woman for at least two years.

Dolly's ears perk up in interest, and she notes to herself that if she happens to see that woman again, she's got to ask, or at the very least introduce herself and offer some compliments, because that has to be one incredible secret to be carrying around for so long! Just think about it! Wow!!

Breathless Dead

Redana sits up, ignoring her body’s immediate protests and attempts to reverse the motion. “She— you can do that?” Her stomach clenches. She’s going to be sick. “No. Stop. Go back. She might be suffering just because she can’t see me?”

The thought makes the world tilt sideways. Her hands are shaking on her knees. She wants to go back to that awful desert waste and dig Sagakhan back up just to— just to— to stomp on her heads, to ram a spear through them until they’re a kebab made of snakes, to scream and scream and scream. And it makes sense! She can see it! Carrot and stick: shape any tool to its purpose. But Bella wasn’t supposed to be— she only wanted a friend— why would you do that to a maid, a friend, a girl in a box—

“We can figure that out later. I need your help finding her now. What do you need? Just tell me. Anything. I’m not in charge of the ship any more but whatever you need I will make sure you have.” If it means she’s not hurt by the laws in her spine anymore. That’s even more important than apologizing. Does she know? Could she know? Would it sound like she’s lying if she told her? If she pushes Bella away will she spend the rest of her life miserable and stressed and screaming at people because her princess ran away?

Beautiful has to stop it. And Dany will do anything to make sure Beautiful stops it.

TSL: Sjakal

Om! Soot!

Bowlyn vaults up over the lip of the roof, under a possible grab from those big meaty Host hands, and skids to a halt between both Host and artist, her thin blade held out in challenge. “Hey, big girl,” she says, trying to make it seem like she wasn’t desperately exerting herself to get up here. “How about you pick on me, instead?”

And then! Ohoho, and then! Someone else butts in! She’s on the side of the Circus, which is one Om-sized jump away, and she’s got her own sword out, and maybe there’s a way she can cross that gap? After all, who would challenge someone on the other side of the street several stories up without some sort of scheme or plan?

And that distraction is just long enough for Bowlyn to grab Soot and shove her back out of the way. No swordfighting for helpless little artists! This is a Big Girl fight, obviously—

But does it have to be a fight, Soot? And how do you feel about Bowlyn defending you like this instead of seizing the advantage against Om, who’s big and scary and wow?

---

Nahla!

You got the Host’s attention! Sure, you’re clinging to the side of a decorative frieze, and the drop’s dizzying, but… well, something about this is steadying, isn’t it? This is something you’re not just doing for Grace-of-Heaven. If it was, there’d be plenty of easier ways to go about it—

But you wanted the sword, you wanted the challenge, and you want to do something that matters, right here, even if that Host jumps over and grabs you up and, well, you know just how the Fire Wheels might treat you if you ended up in their tender mercies, don’t you? What if she tossed her over her shoulder and your skirt hiked up???

(As for Gími, well, she didn’t immediately gasp and declare that you snuck the sultan out, so that’s good, at least? And that means she’s probably scampering away?? Which you should feel relieved about, right??)

---

Birsi!

The 78 Heavens are raucous, hot, and heaving with people— but everyone’s giving you a wide berth. It’s because you’re still dressed like one of the Fire Wheels, after all. But here, you’re alone. And, alone, one of the Fire Wheels is a target. Which makes it not entirely a surprise that, eventually, you’re stopped after someone goes to get someone to deal with you.

And the frustrating thing is that it’s just as you’ve figured a way out! If you climb that rope ladder, make your way down that arc of street, and then lower yourself down to a platform in a bucket, there’s an exit, you’re pretty sure, a floor above where Om would have ended up! But just as you’re getting ready to climb up, that someone places her hand on your shoulder.

“What are you doing in this part of town, Fire Wheel,” she breathes, huskily, from above you. She casually spins you around and you’re left to stare at an old, burnished, exotic breastplate, all whorls and patina, underneath a ragged cloak. “No, I want to hear how. That’s more interesting.” She tilts your chin up and you end up staring into the face of a woman with hair like a flickering flame, all tufted and short and (dyed?) orange. She’s older than you, and one eye’s covered with a simple patch, but she doesn’t seem decrepit at all. More as if age has given her more power, strength, and authority. “How’d you get into the Heavens, girl? There’s supposed to be folk at the doors for that.”

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

Princess in a tower.

She gets out of the elevator on a floor that earns its double digits. This was part of the early design ethos for the system, a floor like this: a floor with a view straight down the middle and broad across the skyline in every other direction, the kind of view for cackling and patting a white cat; switch out the pleasantly muted lighting for harsh red and it'd be pretty good diabolical lair material. And instead it's open to the public, because that's what government's supposed to be, right? Open and welcoming, because it represents you, yes, you, everyday person. So the ground floor's all meeting halls and sports team offices and statues, and then it's official offices and servers all the way up until you're here, and you can take a seat and stare out at the whole entire thing, sprawling and busy and all criss-crossed with roads, and--

Well, you're technically not supposed to bring your own food up here anymore. There was a policy shift last year, and now the security guard is supposed to wearily point out the sign; if you don't get it from the vending machines or the cafe on the other side of the floor, you're not supposed to have it up here. It's supposedly about being considerate of other guests, and, yeah, 3V's seen some (smelled some) meals up here. But it's also about that little shift in norms: you can't have food that's not part of the ecosystem of purchase here. And, yeah, the vending machines haven't had their prices hiked yet. But what was that about the frog in the pot? Water's only slowly heated up.

View's real hard to beat, though. Decent company, too; lots of old folks treat it as their big adventure for the day, coming up here to sit and watch the station move all around them. So it's easy enough for her to toss a bag on one of the big plush corner couches and put her hands behind her head to consider things more. She hasn't really had to filter herself in any of her pieces for Anthro yet, but what's she really had to say (barring issues like Ferris's, which-- she's still working on turning that into content beyond just hitting up folks who know folks to get Ferris some help directly; making it about the failure of memory would be too cruel, but she's still not entirely satisfied with the take about how games help us make sense of the world through play) hasn't particularly been controversial. Little love letters to hidden corners of the station. "Here's someone I got to know the other day and their perspective helped me understand our station better." Little stretches, slowly coming out of her shell to where the wild folks play.

Like, say, writing a story about going rather furry at Sirius Drinks. And attaching her name to it. There it is! No more 3V as someone to make gifsets about or send RPF to! Taking control of her life with both those shiny hands of hers! And that's a thrill of its own, isn't it? The instincts screaming at her about it are old, obsolete, outdated! So she can just make an attempt to relax, and then write the whole thing on one trip up here, bring the laptop and then do most of it on the phone anyway, aware that nobody's looking over her shoulder but still hyperaware of her surroundings, aware she's crossing boundaries and waving people over.

Oh, there's a hook. The kids who are too shy to jump in. Folks wondering if they're like that but not quite mustering up the courage to even try. She's never been that sort of shy; getting her to try something was never the issue. How's it go? I'll do anything once? It's the commitment. Getting pinned down. But she's thought that enough, too. And she's not going to stop, but maybe she can cram it down long enough to get it written because it's worth doing.

As for who at Gensoukyo reads Anthro? Not the employees; she's not going to make them read it for the sake of her ego, and Cygnus isn't quite ready to be the target audience no matter what star says, and Luisa's too busy, and Oscar, uh, if he does read it he hasn't brought it up yet. It's probably uncharitable to assume that he doesn't have the bandwidth for it. But Errant doesn't just read it, she's submitted pieces before, and her wife definitely does, she has about a billion opinions and 3V's only half joking about banning her if she's going to toss empty soda cans to punctuate her argument, and whatever you had more subs, 3V stuck to gaming and didn't branch out all the fuck over the place. Uh, and Sunny, the GM who's there on Wednesday afternoons and has really fun chats before and after the session.

Huntresses of Hybrasil

Dolly!

So the thing is that Jade is a goddess. Dolly could, with quite a bit of focus, follow the cord back, see through the eyes of Jade’s idol, make sense of the feedback coming through her sensors— but she doesn’t, because she’s not allowed unless Jade gives her permission (or, unspoken, if there’s an emergency).

So when something like this happens, when Dolly can tell that Jade’s preoccupied, there’s a little bit of temptation that grows out of worry. What’s going on? Could she help? And entwined within that, the natural curiosity: what is happening while she’s here and Jade is there? It’s always the things we’re denied seeing that distract us the most.

But Jade has told her that she is not to disturb her goddess’s privacy, and that she is to obey and prove her loyalty, and also Dolly is not particularly good at it anyway, and Jade would definitely notice, and sating her curiosity isn’t worth breaking her Jade’s trust. It’s not! But knowing that the key and the door and the lock are all mental is stressful in its own way, too, and it’s really easy to stumble from thinking about not opening the door to inversely, accidentally, opening the door and stumbling inside, and—

Meep!!

She tunes back in to Angela Angela Angela Antonius just a little bit before she’s jostled and squirms desperately inside the tablecloth because her body’s telling her that she needs to be in control of whether or not she falls, but she’s not in control, that’s all Angela. A stray curl flips into her face and all she can do is bounce and tilt her head to try to— wait, wait, what did she say? About the boots? About— is she— why would she— does she???

Dolly looks away and pretends to get really interested in the ferns, hoping that Angela can’t read what flusterment looks like on a Hybrasilian. Just the boots. Just the boots! As if they’d be all that special outside of the outfit! It would just be a contrast to her fur, the gold and the black, and her—

In the tablecloth, she twitches her tail back into place, foiling its pitiful attempt at flagging. She bites down on more flirtatious purrs rising in her throat. She’s not going to shamelessly flirt with an alien who can’t even recognize what she’d be doing, in public, in front of other Hybrasilians, and Jade isn’t even paying attention, and come to think of it, if she wants to do that (she wants to do that), she really, really wants to do it when Jade is watching and ordering and appreciating the show, and…

A flustered, helpless hum escapes her sealed lips as she instinctively bites down on the stuffing that isn’t really there, and she turns her head again to— oh! Oh, incredible! A silly, hapless girl stares wide-eyed at the future of clothing and drinks it in; even if she can’t come up with the fun applications herself right now, she knows that she will— and that, more importantly, Jade will.

And she doesn’t doubt that for a moment.

(And perhaps she should be paying attention to the scuffle down at the bar, but she’s been trying to keep her focus on the dresses for Jade, and besides, she’s engrossed in what the Zaldarians have to offer, and she’s going to perk up and grunt so excitedly when the next designer gets revealed, because she’s a huge fan!!)

---

Jade!

Jade’s voice is a irritable rasp that echoes harshly out of the speakers. (Dolly is horny and writhing and very interested in things! She could be playing with her bride right now! What is she so excited about??) “Who is this that thinks they can negotiate offerings? Either he offers me something he treasures and thinks I will treat it carelessly, or he offers me something awful to try and trap me in words! He comes to give offerings with conditions?”

(This is backwards, besides. You offer a goddess something that pleases her if she will take action to benefit you. When the hunt is successful, the gods and the ancestors are given thanks; but your role, o creature of the waking world, is to petition and promise. Not to make demands. This is the wrong script, do you think her ignorant? Do you think she is small? Do you think there is no blessing she may give you beyond committing to a research project?)

She raises her head again, but switches to secondary sensors; all the gesture of being ignored, but none of the impracticality. “If he wishes my attention upon his offering, he gives it freely. He may petition, he may give context, he may await its return, but it is not his place to make demands of the gods. I have spoken.” Her speakers switch off and she returns to seeming dormancy— but inside of herself, she curls up and watches, fuming, not sure whether she will be angrier if he walks away (and proves that he was wasting her time) or if he argues (and wastes even more of her time with Dolly) or hands it over (which proves he didn’t even need to make this useless scene). Go ahead! It’s your move, dipshit! Dolly is squealing in delight(?) and she can’t focus on her until she knows why she’s going to be angry!!

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

All Aboard the Beneficence of the Hearth!

The barge has been moving uphill this entire time, and now it has finally reached its apex. For a moment, for a vertigo-inducing moment, the barge is airborne, a flying barque as might be seen in far-off Heaven. And then it plummets, and hits a downwards slope at a bone-jarring, hull-shearing pace. There is a desperate grasping for hands, for deck furnishings, for ropes, for anything that will stop a terrible and undignified fall.

The Beneficence of the Hearth comes to a final, terrible stop at the bottom of a ravine, where it will remain, in the midst of a wild inland forest. On one side, the rain will assail it; on the other, it will be assaulted by the vines and growing plants of the Flower Kingdoms, until it becomes something beautiful, sad and utterly changed.

And from here you are scattered.

---

Kalaya!

You are exhausted. Petony has dragged you off the ship and into the forest, and now her remaining squires are setting up a camp. But you can't sleep. You won't be able to sleep. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not after that. No solace, no home. Not while you're in the Flower Kingdoms.

"--were you doing?" cuts through the haze. Petony looks haggard, horrified, the rain streaking down her face. Like she's trying to figure out what happened, and keeps hitting against the fact that Uusha (not here, where did she go? you didn't--) was stabbed by a knight she'd tried to take under her wing. The way she's touching you is not particularly gentle. "Why, bud? Why would you turn on us?"

And in the way that a wounded mind will latch onto the strangest things, you happen to see a snake (an ordinary snake) hanging from a branch, and from there... where does your mind go?

---

Zhaojun!

The barge still crackles far below. What an excellent dismount! After all that work, what else could you do but to leave them wanting for more? Let them yearn for more, let them burn to discover who you are, why you have overturned their lives, and let chaos burn wild through the rice fields! Let them--

"You!"

The Maid Confined is climbing up the slope with the clumsy fervor of a furious kitten. Her serving dress is torn, her dark hair is wild, her entire front is filthy with mud, and she has a pair of knives tucked into her sash. She stares up at you, and her heart burns. "Get back here," she insists. "I'm not done! We're not done! I--"

Her heel slips in the rocky muck, and she faceplants with a wet splat. Again. But she gets back up, growling, crawling on her hands and knees to try to get to you so that she can try to challenge you (you!) to another fight. There is no need to let chance decide: if you let her catch up, you will win. Here and now? There is nothing that she could do that would allow her victory.

You took all her weapons away from her, after all.

---

Piripiri!

"They're not here," the Red Wolf growls.

She's about to explode. She's been holding it all in: for her witch, for the knights, for her image. But the fire rages and seethes inside of her, and the quieter and more strained her voice gets, the closer she comes to exploding into an inferno. Her luxuries, her pride, her position, her control over the situation: all lost, except for what she can force her troops to carry in chests as she attempts to forge her way out of the wilderness. You stand together inside the Earth Pavilion, one of four that have been erected outside of the ship. (It should be five, but there isn't time and manpower to erect a fifth.) "There's one of your girls," she says, like you're to blame for her staffing decisions, "tied up in their bedchamber. They're unaccounted for all night, and we don't know where they are, and I want them back."

She looks to you, and the essence roils just beneath her skin. "I will salvage this. I want you to find them, and I want you to extend an invitation to the Black Spur." The redout, a military camp far downriver, the most fortified position you have in the entire Flower Kingdoms. This is a dangerous escalation that she is pursuing, but it's not tactical sense that's speaking, is it?

She's been rejected. She's been bested. She's been humiliated. And having her prize slip between her fingers is the insult that she is unwilling to bear, above all others. If you fail in this, you might as well not come back at all. The only problem is that this is a nigh-impossible task; finding two travelers in the entire Flower Kingdoms, stealthily, with no clear idea of where they are heading or where they disembarked, will be incredibly difficult.

Unless, say, you had a lead tied up in their bedchamber.

---

Giriel!

You're in one of the corners of the Water Pavilion, on a hastily-relocated couch, sinking into the cushions, with a blanket draped over your shoulders. And out of the strangest possible place, you're receiving care after what you did.

The snake-demoness balances the tray on her tail, offering you snacks that were only slightly waterlogged: biscuits, dried fruit, a freshly-poured cup of tea. It's not so much that she's kind as that she's curious about why you're distraught, attempting to fulfill the duties that the Hymairean set her to, and... she's trying to be human.

She doesn't know how to do that. But she's nodding and going "mmhm" whenever it's appropriate (and sometimes when it's not), and she's staying with you, watching you intently, studying you and trying to figure out the way you're acting and how she can mimic it, but part of that is that she's the one who brought you the blanket, and she's the one offering you food, and she's studying you but she's not judging you. How could she? She's a traveler in a world that's not her own among a people that overthrew her ancestors and imprisoned them within Hell. She's not human.

But she's trying to be, and she's pretending as best as she can, and she brought you a blanket and she brought you snacks.

How does that make you feel, Bruinstead?

---

Han!

There's a point where it becomes readily apparent that neither of you has the power to break the awkward silence. She's holding onto your sleeve instead of your hand, and you could say something, but that would mean having to acknowledge how, well, possessive you were, and you might blurt something out about the kisses, and besides, she's not talking. She's staring at the river as you make your way back upriver, trying to find an inn, and the two of you walk in a deepening silence, in the rain, and you didn't include the umbrellas, really, Han, what were you thinking? The two of you will have to find a new umbrella. In fact, probably two. Why would she want to share one with you? She can't even hold your hand.

And if she clings to that sleeve, well, it's dark. She's probably trying not to stumble, too. And if she raises a hand to the veil you made for her, well, it's dark, and you can't really see what she's doing with it. And if she's screaming in her head, too, well, it's not like you can hear anything over the dragon tantrum going on inside of yours.

And that's why the first things you say to each other are when you manage to get in each other's way trying to get into the Blown Dandelion Inn are flustered apologies as you press up against each other, and catch glimpses of each other's eyes, and look away, and try to convince each other that, no, you go inside first, which eventually you decisively end by picking her up and pushing her through the door so she'll stop standing out here in the rain, and then she stammers and lifts her dress up from her ankles and makes her way deeper inside to dry off and use their facilities, and leaves you to start arranging with the innkeeper for... two rooms? Two rooms. And isn't it lucky that you've got this full purse that someone packed for you and--

"Han," your big sister says from behind you. "Now who was that I saw you with, young lady? Do mother and father know you're fraternizing with girls on your way back from the big city? Hold on, ma'am, I'll just be a minute-- Han, look at me when I'm talking to you!"

Sagacious Crane, priestess of the Sapphire Mother, butts in and tries to fill up as much space at the counter as possible so that you can't do that thing where you pretend not to notice her and her big mouth, while you're in the middle of trying to pay for the two rooms, it's obviously two rooms, Crane.

Breathless Dead

Redana folds her hands over her chest and thinks about standing up. Her head informs her that if she even so much as thinks about it, it will unfurl the banners of revolution and overthrow her seat of consciousness in a glorious upheaval: red banners fluttering between the spires of her mind palace, the doors flung open wide for the common blood vessels to track their crimson boots on the carpeting, and where was she going with this?

"I don't need a detective," she opens her mouth to say. Instead, what comes out is: "Her name's Bella and she's used to be my maid. She's somewhere on the ship and she's alive because she braided my hair but when I woke up she was gone. And I know she left because ever after I left home, it turned out that she isn't just a maid, she's also an assassin, but the kind that only kills people that get in her way. I don't know what her school is. I don't think there's a maid assassin school. She must have learned it when she was very young, but I don't know when she found the time to keep doing assassin training? Imagine if she learned everything when she was a baby but then it was all thrown off by being an adult? And she's been chasing me all the way from Tellus and then on Salib she was taken by the Master of Assassins and locked in armor and when I broke her out we fought her together and she's still there, and I hate how many people we left behind, and even the ones that came back onto the ship with us, they came back changed, and if I hadn't told Hades I would do this none of this would have happened, but now that we're here it would be a waste if we didn't keep going, so we really have to keep going, and it's all on me to keep us going."

She stops talking for a little bit and stares at nothing, her Auspex-- her mother's eye analyzing, disassembling, making a hundred decisions about how to keep ninety-nine things away from her. Her body is heavy and intensely here, right here, right now, in a way that her mind isn't; scrabbling, trying to figure out the next step.

"She was mean," Redana admits again. "To Vasilia. To me. I don't know if she ever wants to see me again. I failed her over and over again. But she won't even let me catch up and try to talk to her about it. There is so much to apologize for, from the kiss, to what happened on Salib, and that also had a kiss, and when we left her on that awful station, I don't even know how she got off it, and she doesn't know that I tried to turn the ship around to go and get her, and that went so badly that-- and Mynx, I haven't found her again either. Everything is fallen apart and awful and all I have are these brass knuckles because my Magos told me I should challenge you if I found you, but you don't even remember Bella..."

Should she even be talking to Beautiful about her? The brass knuckles are heavy on her hands. Because it's inevitable, isn't it? When Bella sees the two of them, gets to compare them against each other?

It's just that she has to apologize. She needs to see Bella again and explain everything. Even if she's doomed to lose.

"Bella is a feline servitor," she loops back. "She used to be my maid. Then she was an assassin and my hunter. Now she's on the ship, after we saved her from being a weapon on Sahar. I need to find her. I thought she liked small spaces where she could find some privacy, but maybe I'm wrong. I don't know. She's got more to her than I knew, and... I thought she was going to come with me. I thought we were going to have an adventure. And when she hit me, I panicked. But I was going to come back. I was going to bring her the stars. Please help me find her. I have to try and apologize. Please."

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

Brainstorming!

The problem is figuring out how to write about it. “I went to Sirius Drinks and I ended up sandwiched between a wolf girl and one of my android girlfriend’s personalities, learning a lot about how to relax and how good it feels to get praised?” Wrong venue for the content. She doesn’t do the advice column, after all; too much pressure, too much of an impact on other people. Besides, that might bring folks just to gawk.

“My experience at Sirius Drinks: fries, FAEWYL-D and wolves.” Closer, though— she didn’t actually end up getting the fries, did she? Maybe she should go back later, order all those dishes, nibble on each one in turn. But should she wear something, or was that just tacky to wear ears on a headband? Thoughts, thoughts.

(Besides, she’s going to remember having her mouth stuffed much more than dainty nibbles on fried chicken specials, thinking about Sirius.)

“I think my fake girlfriend is actually into me. Thoughts?” Not about Sirius Drinks. Not relevant. Not scary. Don’t think about it. Black just likes being in charge. If she’d been allowed, she could have walked in and pulled Amie out just to have the experience— but she’d wanted Vesna, instead. Dumb Vesna Valentine with the perfected hands. Vesna making dumb faces and mortifying noises.

(Is Black going to share that? Were the others streaming the experience? Do all the others know what she looks like with sweat-drenched hair sticking to her skin and bulging cheeks? The thought’s uncomfortable. She’s never been cool with being recorded; can you imagine what that would have done to her career?)

“Sirius Drinks: where a wolf can be a wolf.” There. That’s the heart of it. People can be more themselves when they choose the symbolism to apply to their lives; it’s meaningful that the wolf she met at Sirius (wolves, okay, but Amie’s the one she got to play with) picked a wolf instead of a hyena, or a flamingo, or a mouse. It’s intended as a place where you drop the mask and show off the version of yourself that you have decided upon. And that ties back to FAEWYL-D, too. There. That’s the hook.

(and what does that make her? melting when someone took charge of her? which doesn’t make any sense. she needs her freedom. her motorcycle. her ability to decide when and where she spends her time. to flit in and out of lives as she pleases; to spend as little or as much time in Gensoukyo as she likes. the version of her mewling as Black cupped her jaw and told her to relax as Amie pushed inside— that’s. that’s enchantment, she says to herself, staring up at the ceiling of her living room above the shop. black magic, hah. not herself. when can they do it again?)

Huntresses of Hybrasil

Irritating, the split; she relegates herself for a moment to a pre-determined pattern, fingers running through fur, a hum just on the edge of sneering, except she'd never be that mean to her precious Dolly. But she hates it. It's... dishonest. Pretending that Dolly has all of her attention while she is forced to attend to matters in her body, when Dolly deserves so much, all of her, particularly while she's toying with a possible member of a harem, and her thoughts are like thunderbolts that shake the trees, the wind that whirls their leaves, the black pit of the sky.

There she stands, a doll surrounded by ants. Most mecha are at rest, slack, empty, but Jade insists on her stance: one foot forward, one arm outstretched, her lance resting one tip on the ground with such precision that the immense weight isn't even going to leave a mark on the floor (though the lack of charge running through it plays a part in keeping the floor unmarred, too). This is the Guard Who Keeps The Gate, a stance of vigilance, of strength, of refusal to scamper. Under the circumstances, it is the proper position for an idol, rather than cross-legged and sitting in meditation, or back arched and preparing to leap. She will not have anyone question her legitimacy here, under strange stars.

Scaffolding surrounds her, particularly around her breastplate, where the scuffing is strongest. Were she to move, it would be... disruptive. How brave her engineers must be, knowing that they serve her at her sufferance; that where other mecha are silent and only contain danger in their inert elements, their fuel tanks and their electric nervous systems, Smokeless Jade Fires contains within her at all times the power to take a step forward and send them plummeting about her feet. Thus, when her head shifts, a sudden hush falls over the gaggle of engineers surrounding the Zaldarian, radiating outwards from Silver Ripples, who happened to catch the motion out of the corner of one eye, and the pair still working on filling in the pockmarks on her chest immediately drop tools and make for the stairs, just in case.

"Nine Forests," Jade projects, her voice inescapable, echoing and repeating off the floor, drowning out the frequencies of the larger hangar all around. "Who dares approach the goddess?" Her fingers, one by one, drum on the lance's haft, never letting it escape her control but bringing attention to how she holds it. Her head slowly tilts to one side as she eyes both her Head Engineer (a mountain-cat, thick-furred, colors of fiery smoke drawing the eye down to her torso) and the impudent Zaldarian. "This disturbance is unwelcome." And that is all she needs to move to convey that she inhabits this body, this vast idol made unknowingly for her inhabitance, that she is immanent.

She will have the answer. And if it is not interesting, more interesting than pampering her precious Dolly, then the Zaldarian will be expelled. And if it comes to that, she will drum the lance on the ground, the once. The damage to the floor will be as much part of the point as the sound, the shockwave of air, and the reminder that she is still in control. And what will the authorities do, anyway? Reprimand a goddess? It will be the fault of this Zaldarian, their insistence on disturbing Jade while she is busy.

The fashion show is a blur of motion, recorded through Dolly's fluttering eyes. Her hands grope Dolly's curves blindly, and she cannot fine-tune their force; are they too weak, mere fluttering wingtips, or too strong, making her arch her back on Angela Victoria Miera Antonius's shoulders? A rumbling growl vents through her speakers as she awaits the insight of Nine Forests, and do not think her mood will be improved if the Zaldarian thinks themselves worthy to speak directly to her.