Tatterdemalion

Huntresses of Hybrasil

“Welcome to Akar, ma’am! Where to?”

A lot of this plan hinges on what they’ve borrowed from the local Lodge. Not just hunting gear, but also a three-wheeled Pigeon and Ksharta’s disguise: mirrored shades, a loud flower-patterned shirt (the kind that’s rumored to be able to stun birds), and a kerchief to keep the dust out of her face. She’s got maudlin Southwestern Fisher love ballads playing over the built-in audio system, and her acting instructions are to be bubbly and rambly in that way that rickshaw drivers always are.

“Keoni’s? Sure thing, didn’t take you for someone interested in Hybrasilian cuisine, but I suppose Keoni’s is a good place for it, we’ve even got breads there, not garlic of course, there’s always got to be compromises when we put our foods together, but if you like them grilled or in long sticks, you can get all the breads you like there, and of course, you’ll want some of our specialties, you really want to try the pan-seared saddle with strawberries, it’s the house specialty, I had it back when my littermate had her reception at Keoni’s…”

And she makes a turn, ostensibly to avoid construction, but taking the Pigeon on a wider loop out toward the settlement’s industrial edge…

---

“So, how did Angela find out?”

Dolly stretches, and keeps her eyes on the road below, but her tail twitches. She’s not stupid, you know. Beside her lies a bolacaster, loaded and ready.

”How should I know?” Jade retorts, leaning back impossibly far over the side of the warehouse, mimicking Dolly’s stretching. “Maybe she’s just infatuated with us. ‘The moment I met you, my heart knew I was meant to be yours, even if my thoughts were slow…’”

“That’s not— hey!!” Dolly glances around, even though no one else can hear Jade or is even around to hear anyway. Jade grins; her memorization of her Dolly’s stories continues to be wise. “But you had a plan, Jade. You already knew where the Lodge was, and that she was coming, and…”

”Do you think so little of my knowledge, Seven Quetzal?” Her claws softly run up the back of Dolly’s thigh, and her beautiful girl shivers and curls her toes on that foot. “I am vast and lie beyond the seventh vibration. I gaze into myself and find therein all that is, was, or will be.”

“…please?” Dolly’s plea is still playful, but it’s vulnerable, too. She rolls over and sits up, glances down at herself, at her soft belly (her shirt pulled up in her own hand). Jade straddles her and stares, hungrily. Her claws dig into Dolly’s fur, trace trails on Dolly’s stomach, her thumbs rolling circles on her primordial pouch. She extrapolates outwards so that she can raise her head and stare into Dolly’s eyes, her beautiful eyes, and see as well as feel the parting of her lips… “I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

”…I had your cult be careless with our location for her.” Your cult; Dolly is the High Priestess, after all. Dolly guides one of Jade’s hands up to cup her, nodding. ”I want… she deserves to be at our mercy. Under you. A trophy. She is so proud, but underneath, she is meant to be a mewling temple slave for me. For us.”

“And what if she beats us?” Dolly leans in closer. If Jade could feel… she breathes out, anyway, hoping that the meaning of having her breath on her goddess’s cheek will translate. “What if Ksharta and I are bound in our own tethers? What if she bundles us in the trunk of that little car and drives us to a hotel, my goddess?” She can hear the hitches in Jade’s simulated breath, feel the claws and their almost perfect serenity. Almost. “What if she ravishes us and invites you to wat—?”

Jade imagines the warmth of Dolly’s lips under her palm. What a prize it would be for Angela Victoria Miera Antonius to know this feeling, too. Their faces are so close that only a hair’s breadth separates them from touching. “Then it will be because I chose to let her win,” she says, and she knows she’s lying, and Dolly knows she’s lying, but she can feel Dolly’s heart hammering and she can feel her own spirit quickening, stars flashing up and down her spine, her tail flaring and flashing. “Because my priestess needed to be put in her place by an alien— an arrogant, stinking, impious alien.” The sound that Dolly makes is wet and desperate. The thought of Angela pressing her close, victorious, perspiring, threatening payback for what happened to her mecha… ”But you’re not going to make me do that, are you? You’re going to honor me. You’re going to be a good girl for me. You’re going to win.”

Dolly sits there, one hand tangled in her shirt, the other braced against the warehouse roof, tormented by the realization that she doesn’t know whether she really wants to win. Jade sits there, one hand clamped over her Dolly’s mouth, others working increasingly unsteady patterns through her fur, tormented by the realization that she doesn’t know whether she really wants Dolly to win.

Then, the sound of a Pigeon making its funny little way down the road, approaching the turn. Jade jumps off Dolly like a kitten startled by a cucumber. “She’s here,” Jade says, the stupidest thing she could say. Dolly rolls back over, fumbles her shirt back down, grabs for the bolacaster. ”I will be watching this time,” Jade says, looking away from Dolly at an increasingly stylized conception of Akar II, marked with pyramids and Hybrasilian groves and the flame-bright birds of home. “Earn my praise. Do not disappoint me.” Don’t think about smooshing your face into her. You can do that if you win. Jade would be disappointed. Don’t pick at the knot of feelings about Angela, and what she could give your Dolly, and wouldn’t you do anything to make her happy, Smokeless Jade Fires?

“C’mon, Ksharta,” Dolly whispers, coiling herself to spring down into the awning below. “Just like Jade told us…”

Breathless Dead

”Do you want to try being the hero this time?”

Bella pauses. The tiara glitters on her head, framing her ears perfectly. She doesn’t look away from the mirror; she is calm, composed, everything that her sweaty, overtuned princess isn’t. It’s just that the thought hasn’t left Dany alone since she had it earlier, and it’s been rattling around inside her chest looking for a way out. Maybe it would be nice to be saved by Princess Stellabrande for once. She could even pretend to be tied up and everything. She’d do such a good job at it, and doesn’t it feel nice to be the hero? And Bella’s such a good girl, and it would probably make her feel big and strong and not scared of anything.

It’s just that. This has to be wrong, somehow. Because if it wasn’t wrong, why would she be so nervous? She feels like she’s sitting and waiting to hear how she did on an exam, when the tension is unbearable, her stomach folding in on itself as seconds stretch out into eternity. But if Bella likes it maybe it will be okay. And they can try it. And maybe it will be fun.

Maybe it will even be better than the other way around.

“If you want me to,” Bella says, and her voice is bright but Dany can tell that she’s hesitating, and her eyes slide down from the mirror and rest on the floor, meekly, and then it comes out from between her lips anyway and it’s terrible even though it sounds so casual, it drops on Dany’s head like a lead tablet. “…have I made the game too boring? You’ve never asked me this before.”

“What? No! That’s— why would I get bored of that?” Panic. See? This is why this was a bad idea, Dany! Did you hear that? She’s hurt. You asked it even knowing that it was wrong and bad and this is what your stomach was trying to warn you about. “I just thought— no, it’s a stupid idea.” Bella blinks at her reflection and her lips part for a moment, then close again. “You’ll always be my Stellabrande,” Dany continues, agh, was that too much? Redana and Stellabrande was starting to get awkward now that Stellabrande was… curvier, and now that Redana knew that sleeping together didn’t mean just a nap.

“Always,” Bella says, perfect as a princess, serene and flawless and beautiful, her hand trembling in her lap.

---

”What’s this?” Stellabrande hooks one finger under Reshella’s collar, slowly but firmly pulling her closer. Her gaze is hungry, like that of a warrior-princess of Salib. “What’s your name, pretty little thing?”

Reshella flushes, blood pounding in her ears, and says nothing. She can’t. She would sound ridiculous if she tried. Her eyes dart around, trying to find some safe place to rest that isn’t the beautiful, commanding princess in front of her.

Stellabrande slips one thumb underneath Reshella’s mirrored veil, and Reshella stiffens, but keeps her hands obediently by her sides. She can’t stop herself from squeezing her eyes shut when that thumb reaches the gag, though. She’s only so strong. The thumb stops, then slowly, ever-so-softly, presses more firmly.

“Hmmm~” Stellabrande’s voice is intoxicating, a private vintage poured out for the two of them, inaudible to anyone else over the pounding of the drums. “Cat got your tongue, Beautiful pretty little thing?” Reshella doesn’t dare open her eyes. She can feel Stellabrande leaning in closer, her hot breath on her mirrored veil, the tang of re-appropriated Saliban wine. “Don’t worry,” Stellabrande teases. “I’ll keep you safe from those nasty wolves, Redana Reshella.”

And then Stellabrande tugs on the collar, and Reshella is forced to prance forward into her embrace. Those hands— those claws that could tear through a Plover— are gentle on Reshella’s bare skin, tracing sigils from languages that Reshella isn’t expected to try to learn on her back, because Stellabrande is clever and refined and powerful and safe, gods above, she’s safe, she’s safe, she’ll protect Reshella from everyone except herself, because Reshella wants her to take liberties, wants to be touched, wants to be wanted, wants to be pressed against that lovely chest and shaken so that her bangles jingle and her veil smells like Stellabrande, and she wants to be kidnapped and put into peril but Stellabrande will come to save her at the eleventh hour and she’ll be straining against her bonds and uselessly trying to warn Stellabrande against threats and maybe her frantic grunts will really warn Stellabrande and she’ll be untied from the slowly-lowering crane before she ends up outside the hangar, where the Nethermost Eels writhe and gnash their teeth, waiting for the sacrifice of a maiden to sate their appetites, and maybe Stellabrande will knock the villain out of the hangar instead, and she’ll scoop Reshella up and say something clever or flirtatious that makes her blush and whine, and then she’ll ungag her, tilt Reshella’s head up, and they’ll kiss, and, and, and…

---

…and it’s stupid, because Bella likes Beautiful. Like likes. Dany’s just trouble, all the time. She dragged Bella out here in the first place, she left Bella behind again and again, she kissed her and Bella hated it and now she’s playing at being a spy instead of…

But it’s not her fault! It’s… Epistia thought it was a good idea! And Princess Redana is, she listens to people, and if it means they’ll find Mynx, then it was worth it and it’ll be okay for Dany to fondly remember the way Bella moved, that perfect sway, and the tail carelessly dragging against her skin and Dany didn’t touch, she didn’t dare touch, it’s not Reshella’s place to be grasping at guests’ tails, but her heart is thundering in her chest, and when did Bella end up like this? So, so powerful, so commanding, so—

So flustering.

Mission, Dany. Focus on the mission. You can’t be selfish and Bella isn’t yours to be selfish over. You want her to be happy. Even if that’s with Beautiful, you want her to be happy. And if Mynx ends up hurt because you’re busy having selfish possessive thoughts about Bella tossing you over her shoulder and thanking Epistia and the other girl for the party gift and then taking you to her quarters and tying your wrists above your head so she can take her sweet time unwrapping you bit by bit but she’ll leave your mouth for last and—

Deep breaths.

Reshella prances out from behind Bella. Her lashes flutter, and she dramatically winks at Bella, twice. Do you see it, mila— ma’am? The Auspex? That’s her plan. She’s using her charms to be invisible. She crooks one finger at Bella, a seductive, please let it be seductive come-hither, then sways, sashays, does what she just saw Bella do as hard as she can, leading her to the side of the party she hasn’t covered.

Come on, Bella. Follow Reshella. Be ready to use your strength to save Mynx. And if it helps Reshella blend in, if it keeps you following her, then maybe it’s all right for her to linger in delicate poses, or to swish her rump from side to side, or to toss her hair and for a moment glance back at you with her green eye. Maybe it’s all right for her to be your Stellabrande today.

And if Mynx lashes out, if there’s a fight, then it’ll be Reshella who’s in peril. Not you. Not anyone else here. It’s Reshella’s job to be the one grabbed, threatened, dangled, because she couldn’t possibly risk you if the tables were turned, but… but you can risk her, right, Bella? What you did on Salib for Skotia was for someone that you didn’t think was…

You can save Mynx. Redana couldn’t. That’s why you deserve to be the hero, and Reshella is pretty and putting herself at risk and ready to step away when the adventure is over and let you be with Her. So keep staring, Bella. Keep staring, because Beautiful said to Redana that it was awful for you when you don’t. And please don’t mind if Reshella occasionally, as often as she can without breaking her cover, stares back at you and…

and wishes things were different.

and yearns.

and appreciates the story while she gets to be in it.

TSL: Sjakal

Nahla!

Ruz reclines on a couch, surrounded on three sides by dark velvet curtains. On a footrest beside her lie the Sultan’s proclamations (made on her behalf by Ruz herself) and the Vizier’s stamp. So much power in such a small thing. With it, she can direct the shape of the city and its fortunes. With it, she could make you a master yourself, or send you to the tumultuous dock markets for resale. One red nail lies almost idly upon it.

A strapping young man, bare to the waist, fans her to keep her cool, his ankle chained to one leg of the couch. He does not look up at you, but feel free to drink him in. It helps with the image of you as rough. Yes, that’s a good reason to look at the soft swell of his arms, the gentle definition of his chest.

Ruz herself is watching you through half-lidded eyes. It would not do to give you the impression you have too much of her attention, after all. “Come closer,” she says, softly. “And present yourself for inspection.” Kneeling, knees spread, wrists resting on them— but do you? No, perhaps you’d instead show her how a serving-girl of the Dragons presents herself: chin up, hands folded neatly, seemingly demure.

---

Birsi!

Jekkan cuts the rope holding you up, and you collapse to your knees. When she helps you up, it is with a surprising gentleness, though her hands are still bold; she runs one hand along your sore rump, promisingly. “Momma,” she says, clapping one hand over your mouth casually, her grip firm but not unkind, “I’m convinced. I can use this girl.”

“You’ll stake yourself on it?” Bes is not quite convinced, and you immediately get the dynamic. You’re familiar, after all. Jekkan is placing her status on the line in order to follow her intuition that you will be a useful lead, even a subverted asset— but likely not for an investigation. There’s something else in play here.

“I will,” Jekkan purrs, and presses your head against the side of her chest. She’s so strong. It’s not the inherent strength of one of the Host, but something she’s earned, along with the scars on her arms.

Her thumb strokes your cheek, and how small do you feel, Birsi? Small and protected? Jekkan is obviously fond of you, and you could use that…

That is, if you’re not thinking about that strong, sure hand spanking you.

[Take a String on Jekkan; she gives you what she thinks you want, freedom and affection.]

---

Silsila!

Hai Lin nods, serenely. “I see. I suppose this is what I should have expected. You are, after all, just a Host. And not a particularly capable one, given your current status and ownership.” An insult to Merov Ekh, disguised under an insult to you.

When she moves, it is sudden and precise; her fork lifts your chin, the tines gently digging into your skin. “Tell me why I should not have you sealed and dropped into the sea, then.” Her tone is even and conversational, but her threat is dire. Imagine being trapped inside of a vase or a lamp, squeezed down so tight, and then dropped and forgotten in the sea, the end of Silsila Om’s story unless some lucky fisherman should release you…

---

Soot!

Rosethal’s smile is almost serpentine as she lays out a Fool’s Array and slides your chips over to her side of the table. She continues talking as a new hand is dealt. “The Almighty places everyone where they deserve to be in life. It is the duty of the nobility to take care and make decisions for those who serve us, because, little painter girl? You were not made to be a master. You were made to do what we think is necessary— and what I think is necessary is that you are going to fold, and then you are going to do what I say. Otherwise… maybe I will decide that you no longer require that studio.”

Rosethal is your patron’s daughter. If she decided to go complain to Ruz, it is almost certain that she could convince her to remove some, if not all of your support. And she’s going to, if you don’t intentionally and humiliatingly lose here. Unless you can come up with some clever plan, that is.

But it would be easier to lose and obey her. She’ll make you suffer for it, but it will be a familiar sort of suffering, and not the risk of losing everything here at the palace.

What do you do, Soot? Remember that you are not the only ones in play; the Fire Wheels would enjoy seeing Rosethal humiliated as much as they would enjoy seeing you put in your place.

Breathless Dead

Redana’s first instinct is mortification. People are staring at her, and not at her face. Not at her face at all. Her outfit seems to consist mostly of triangles, and translucent sleeves that just bring attention back to the triangles. She’s practically naked from behind. She reaches up, into her hair, looking for the knot holding the kerchief over her mouth…

And then she lowers it, slowly. Epistia’s smart (and smells good) (and her mouth tastes good). She’s… she’s right. Maybe even Mynx wouldn’t recognize her in this disguise. Nothing to give her away, not even her voice.

The Eye of Hermes shows her a hunched-over, blushing girl with PRINCESS emblazoned over her head, and then WOMAN OF MYSTERY over a confident, hip-shaking, strutting… woman. The Eye of this woman flashes, as if to remind her— as if to remind her that it can scan the room. It just needs the Woman of Mystery to give it time to work.

R’dyna? Rhythalla? Reshella?

Reshella lifts her veiled chin and tries swaying her hips. Her heart is beating so fast, and skips a beat when someone cheers for her. She takes a step, then another, then another, and it takes more discipline than— than the likes of Princess Redana, who is very different from Reshella, might use to push herself past her limits when straining for an Olympic gold. Reshella is very brave and she likes it when people stare at her body, at the triangles, at the way she moves, like the way she imagined Bella might, dreaming of space pirates and damsels in distress and kisses from girls with triangles for ears.

Reshella bites down on the sodden mass between her teeth and shivers in feelings that it would be very inappropriate for an Imperial Princess to have. Nobody knows that she’s gagged. They might wonder to themselves, as she flits from person to person, offering them the chance to ogle, and even— R-Reshella is brave and okay with being groped, actually, because she’s secretly a spy and that gives her the time she needs for her very special eye to do its work. You can’t see her red cheeks behind her glittering Dionysian veil and her hair is down over her ears and in this light nobody can tell that the blood’s rushing to her breastbone, too, even though all of it is on full display. In the smoky light of the party her eyes are colorless and sultry.

No, no, no, no— again and again the Eye tells her, tells Reshella, that the assassin she’s looking for, that she’s playing a game of disguise against, isn’t where she’s looking. But Reshella is willing to do whatever it takes to win this game. Whatever it takes.

Someone tugs on her wrist, and Reshella is pulled onto a table. Instructions and suggestions are excitedly thrown at her from all sides. But that’s okay. Reshella remembers these scenes. She’s confident and sexy and she’s not going to compromise her mission. She lifts her hands over her head, shakes her hips, rolls her stomach. She’s not tall and she’s not busty and she’s not graceful, but she knows what this is supposed to look like. She stands on tiptoe, slowly rotates around the table, someone is beating a tambourine on the off-beats of the bass, and dancing is just like running, isn’t it? It’s about control of her body, but instead of optimizing for speed, or for strength, she’s optimizing for…

For everyone looking at her. Wanting her. She’s not Princess Redana, who would be covering herself up frantically. She is Reshella, dancing-girl, party entertainment, mysterious in her silence, as fearless as Skotia, and maybe, just maybe, it would be acceptable for Reshella to be wanted in ways that Redana could never be.

A Ceronian waves her over from the table, grinds against her, whispers in her ear that she smells like Epistia. Let him add something, if she will? And Reshella doesn’t say no, she just nods, because what if she’d have to explain herself? And letting him know she’s gagged would just cause more questions, and it feels so good to say yes, doesn’t it? (It does.)

And the Ceronian pulls the belled collar around Reshella’s neck and locks it behind her throat and she is complete. She thanks him by stroking up his jaw and wiggling free, jingling as she continues to prance from knot to knot, almost forgetting why she’s here, because it’s snug around her neck and the bells are so soothing and it’s almost like Reshella is back on Tellus with Bella, except Reshella isn’t a princess, so perhaps there could have been… perhaps they could have shared the bells, at the very least.

And it’s like this, sultry, jingling, sexy, desired, and caught up in the waking dream of the party, that Reshella suddenly comes face to face with the two people who she knows can’t possibly be the Assassin she’s looking for, because they’re the other two Assassins.

And there she is in triangles and bells, smelling like Ceronians, completely unable to explain herself.

Huntresses of Hybrasil

Once, there was a goddess in a stone egg…

Jade doesn’t often think about when she was like Ksharta Talonna. New, exploring herself, trying to decide what she loved. For one thing, Jade was lucky enough to have her Dolly to observe, to fall in love with, to desire more than anything else. But for another thing… Ksharta Talonna has the power to act. She can pounce, can run, can explore and see the galaxy. But for Jade, the only freedom was inside her own mind, back then, constrained and yearning. She doesn’t know how this makes her feel, and she doesn’t much care for that ambiguity.

She lifts her foot from Ksharta Talonna’s chest and presses the ball to Ksharta Talonna’s lips. Dolly’s grip on Ksharta’s hand tightens, all intermingled excitement and envy and big-sisterly concern for the kitten. Jade holds her there for a moment, looking Ksharta Talonna in the eyes until she blinks. It is impossible to win a staring contest against her.

“It depends on the god,” she says, when she is satisfied with how Ksharta Talonna squirms in her seat. “If I preferred everything to be natural, I would dwell within an Unworked Figure.” She says the capitals deliberately, invoking some of the oldest archeological finds on Hybrasil: rocks heaped together, overgrown with dead vines, in the rough shape of a woman, a celestial body, an animal. Idols without artifice beyond selection and gardening. No, she will take the artifice of the idol, the power of the body made for her; the effort and the intent is more important than some ideal of purity, of unmarred perfection. “But I cannot speak for us all.” A simple way to step around the inconvenient fact that she cannot speak to any other god or spirit, not as a peer, not in a way that gives her relief from doubts of her own nature.

She lowers her foot, tilts her head, bares her fangs at the awed kitten. “Now. Here is what you two will do, Dolly.” Hierarchy. She does not look to Dolly; this is a lesson for Ksharta Talonna. See who is granted authority. “Finish the appetizer. You will need the energy. Inform the staff that you are stepping out but will return later in the evening. There is a Lodge seven minutes’ walk away. Present yourselves there and make use of their armory; I have already told them you are coming.” Or, rather, the cult sent a messenger on her behalf, on a separate shuttle. This was planned out, after all. “Prepare a pole; you will hunt a prize for me and bring her back here for the main course.”

”I thought—“ Jade raises a finger, and Ksharta Talonna gets a front row seat to what it looks like when Jade’s Dolly is shushed: the cloth materializing, filling her mouth, wrapping around her jaw, bulging, dark and light-drinking cloth threaded with cyan. Dolly pulls her hand off Ksharta’s without thinking about it. Then she looks over at Ksharta and deliberately puts her hand back on the younger girl’s skin, so… so she can see. Her head is yowling with excitement and embarrassment and her eyes keep flicking between Jade and Ksharta because does Jade know how big a deal this is, is this too much for Ksharta, it’s one thing to do this in the cockpit but Jade’s really making her flaunt it in front of Ksharta, is she that interested in Ksharta joining her temple-harem, or does she just want Dolly to be thinking all of these things, about to combust, and is it okay? Is she allowed? Does Ksharta like this, too?

“Dolly, do you have a question?” Jade rubs finger and thumb together, very casually, even though she’s lightning racing across the spine of Hybrasil inside her stone heart. She wants to giggle and wrap her arms around Dolly and rub those stuffed cheeks and give her kisses and make her squirm, but she has to be the goddess for both of them. For Ksharta Talonna and Seven Quetzal. Is she doing it right, Dolly? She can feel your heart racing. You’re beautiful, right now, more beautiful than anyone, and it’s all Jade’s strength to keep playing out the scene for you. Don’t worry, it’s dark, you’re secluded, it’s an audience of two, and both of us can see it instead of just sudden silence and blushing and slightly puffed cheeks, as if you’re sulky, but we know, Seven Quetzal, we know.

”Yhff,” Dolly says, her free hand balled in her lap, her silly head nodding, and in her heart she is plummeting in freefall trusting that there’s a black-and-cyan net that will catch her and wrap her up so safe. Her eyes are still flicking between Ksharta and her goddess, trying to read both of them, trying to remember their reactions forever and ever.

Jade snaps her fingers and the cloth melts away into shadow. For now. “Then you may ask,” she says, still intent on Ksharta Talonna’s reaction. Are you clever enough to understand, Ksharta Talonna? Do you realize that you are choosing to put yourself under Jade’s power, under the will of a goddess, who can do that to you? You should be awed, Ksharta Talonna, and a little frightened, and very turned on, because you should be thinking about the things that Smokeless Jade Fires could do to you, for you.

It takes Dolly a minute. She can’t find her voice, she’s so whelmed. When she does speak, her voice is trembling like a small, furry thing in the sight of a jackal. “…I thought we were doing something for Ksharta tonight, my exalted lady of the hunt?” She hasn’t figured out who the prize could possibly be. Because Jade said her, and that was very deliberate. And while, yes, she understands how a sacred hunt will help Ksharta feel included, she wasn’t prepared for anything more than a dinner and performing for Ksharta and Jade, and she doesn’t know how to feel about things going in such an unexpected direction.

“We are,” Jade purrs. “But you are both mine tonight, and I want to give you both victory.” Yes. That’s what she wants. It’s not selfish to want to hear Angela Victoria Miera Antonius’s garbled complaints as she’s carried into Keoni’s Tower on a hunting-pole. It’s giving her little kittens a trophy, and sending a message to Angela Victoria Miera Antonius about her place (beneath Jade) (sandwiched between adoring kittens) (reminded that if she gets to play with Dolly it is because Jade is indulging both of them in her boundless generosity) (held fast with the mesh, so that Jade can show her exactly how creative she can be)— that’s just a natural outcome of the treat she has orchestrated for them both. “So eat up, kittens. And Ksharta Talonna?”

Jade leans in, until their faces are a breath apart, and runs her multitude of hands along Ksharta Talonna’s arms, jaw, ears, chest, hips.

“Dolly’s glove is unique. I do not intend to make more. But if you please me, if you serve me, if you are a good girl— I will keep these things in mind, and you may enjoy my presence through her. Am I understood?”

It wouldn’t be that hard. It’s not something that she had to pour her essence into and was forged under the light of the moon. It’s just a neural mesh connected to her consciousness. But hearing that, that exclusivity, that possessiveness, that implicit display of dominance… Dolly makes a noise in her throat that is, embarrassingly, not muffled and therefore deniable.

Her Jade’s Dolly. That’s her. No matter who she brings to dinner as a trophy. Hers hers hers.

Breathless Dead

Redana, frantic, subconscious running faster than her thoughts, pushes Epistia back, clamps one hand over her mouth. “Wait,” she says. “Not like— if you just yell for her she’ll—“

But it’s too late. She’s made a mistake. She can’t de-escalate now that she’s wrestling with a Ceronian. A thousand generations howl through Epistia’s veins, all daring her to rise to the challenge and end up on top. She grabs for Dany and the two of them stumble into a pillowed alcove and there is a confusion of limbs, growling, and muffled yelps.

But it ends with Dany straddling Epistia, wrists pinned over her head, mouth stuffed and wrapped tightly with regal black and gold, and a shuddery blushy Dany trying to look somewhere that’s not the Ceronian’s pretty gagged face or her heaving chest (damn to the shining waves that Party Top). Every attempt by Epistia to wrench her wrists out of Dany’s hands, every twist of her torso under Dany, every garbled word through the spacer’s cloth, they’re just making the color rise to her cheeks all the faster.

“See,” Dany says, and tightens the grip of her knees. “If you— she— she thinks she’s hiding— and—“ Epistia bucks and makes a glareful noise and Dany nearly combusts. “The Coherent, she, and vines, and…”

And imagine Bella in her place. Straining, bucking, silenced, moaning, free to be touched, batting her yellow-and-red eyes and mumbling an invitation…

Dany makes the tactical error of letting go of Epistia’s wrists so that she can bury her confused silly head in her hands and make a noise like a tea kettle.

Breathless Dead

“And because of that,” Dany hoarsely whispers at Epistia, trying to simultaneously be loud enough to be heard over the noise of the room and its many conversations, laughter, and cheering for the dragon, while also not being loud enough for everyone to hear her, while also catching her breath. “We need to stop the party. Until we find Mynx. And— can you two smell her? That would be really helpful. So there’s only, if I remember, five exits from this hall? That shouldn’t be hard for the daughters of Ceron.”

When she says stop the party, she really does mean until she can find Mynx. The energy in here is almost infectious, and even though the sight of Dionysus has her on edge… isn’t this, maybe, just a little good? One great big party for everyone after everything that’s happened. Wouldn’t it be nice to stop and rest and have some drinks? To cuddle in dark corners on soft cushions and smoke whatever that violently violet vapor is? It would do Bella some good, certainly. And maybe the tightness in her shoulders that’s been there from the moment she woke up on the Plousios might melt away.

She just has to find Mynx first. That’s important. Do your work before you play, Princess Redana Claudius. You only get to stop thinking your head into aching once you’ve finished everything you were assigned. Find Mynx. Help Mynx. Then come back and ask Bella to lie down on cushions with you. Maybe let your shoulders touch. Breathe in the smoke until you get the giggles and rest your forehead against Bella and watch the languages of impossible places radiate throughout the room.

Trust Dionysus again.

Would it be so hard?

Huntresses of Hybrasil

“Would I ever…? Oh! Thank you so much!”

The server slides the breadsticks onto the table, ears politely flat and tail low. (Not garlic breadsticks, of course. Not many Hybrasilians thought the taste in TC cuisine was worth the vomiting afterwards, so you don’t get garlic in any Hybrasilian restaurants. Just meat gravy for dipping.) Then she’s sliding back down the cable connecting this private shelf to the kitchen far below. Dolly returns her attention to Ksharta, squeezing her hand assuringly through the mesh glove.

Jade is leaning on Dolly’s shoulder, in full view of Ksharta Talonna, with all the potential menace of a crocodile basking in the sun. She doesn’t speak, ostensibly because she is letting Dolly answer, but also because she is orchestrating the spread of this information with the aid of an engineer-cultist, who— as she is explaining, must have a conversation about Dolly’s date within earshot of Angela Victoria Miera Antonius, wondering idly out loud if Dolly and Ksharta Talonna are having an enjoyable dinner as the honored guests of Keoni’s Tower, and how Smokeless Jade Fires hasn’t decided which fight was the better one, which will be an irresistible lure to that deliciously proud woman…

“Why would I?” Dolly continues, trying to grab a couple of breadsticks before they all mysteriously end up on Ksharta’s plate. “Jade— Smokeless Jade— my goddess is a caretaker. She wants so much to take care of us.” Her tone suggests she is talking about the children of Hybrasil; the look she gives suggests she is talking about two specific daughters of Hybrasil. “I don’t expect her to do everything for me— it’d be beneath her dignity to make me brush my teeth, a failure of my responsibility to do my part— but why would I want to disobey her?”

If she thought, for some reason, it would make Jade happier. That’s the thought that would strike Ksharta as she watches Dolly turn her head and kiss Jade on her stiff cobalt hair, then give that hair a loving lick, as Jade’s long tail lazily swishes and she flashes her wicked teeth. Sure, maybe if she was surprised with sudden danger, she’d take action even if it meant breaking rules, her body making decisions for her. And if she was convinced that Jade was going to get herself hurt, she might take drastic action. Or if she was just exhausted and Jade was focused on something else and wasn’t paying attention to her. But the best way to desync these two sillyheads would be to dangle something in front of Dolly that would make Jade even happier than being obeyed.

”My turn,” Smokeless Jade Fires says, suddenly, gracefully moving. She places one hand on the table and flips herself over, impossibly, her spine fluid as she lands on the table next to Ksharta Talonna. One foot presses against the young pilot’s breastbone, pins her to the seat, as Jade gives her an intense, intent examination from where she sits. “Tell me of your faith, Ksharta Talonna. Do you honor your ancestors? Do you give thanks for your food? Do you know what it is to worship a living goddess?” She reaches out, and a goblet unfolds from one of the shining strings of the universe, filling with star-clotted wine for her to sip as she listens. All artifice— she is still trying to decide what wine made from the dregs of stars would actually taste like— but it’s for Ksharta Talonna, so that she can feel appropriately awed, so that she can feel like a great and powerful and classy goddess is giving her personal attention.

Dolly dips a breadstick in the meat gravy without breaking eye contact from her goddess and her date, eyes wide, heart dripping, thighs clenched. Jade is so hot, mmffff. Her appearance is lithe, but her presence is so powerful— and sometimes it’s like she has the strength of her idol-body, but she has such fine control that she could pick up an egg with its fingers, let alone touch a girl’s jaw and stroke it so gently. Like that. That’s how she can make you feel when she touches you. Like she’s invincible and all-powerful, but she’s too controlled to hurt you. That there’s no point in struggling against her, unless she wants you to struggle (and she does, she does~).

[Smokeless Jade Fires slams an 11 on Figuring Out Ksharta. So— what does Ksharta Talonna love most, and how can Jade make Ksharta Talonna obey (such as, say, obeying a command to ambush Angela Victoria Miera Antonius)?]

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Kalaya!

“The Conclave will be in Chrysanth,” your sister-in-arms says. It is morning, and your ragged band is making its way through the morning drizzle, through the thick wood. “Once we make our way out of the jungle, we can orient ourselves appropriately and take you there. You’re still in trouble, little princess, don’t think you’re getting out of it!”

But she’s not taking you home. She’s going to take you to be judged by your peers in the greatest city in the Flower Kingdoms. You made it through and won that concession from her amidst the tears and drinks last night. Now all you have to do is make it through the oppressive gloom of the wood.

…is what you thought. Then the first snare snaps up one of Petony’s squires, a pretty young man who drops his club as he ends up dangling from a tree. With a roar and a delighted war-cry, the N’yari burst out of the woods with swords swinging, and Petony barely manages to get her hook-sword free before she’s fending off two of the raiders at once.

But you? You are facing down a massive leopard of a girl, bearing a sword almost the same size as you.

“Little knight,” she says, flexing as she hefts that sword up on her shoulders, and, wow, she has muscles for days. “Look! Machi of the Ōei has found a trophy for her dragon! Will you come quietly, knight, or will you play with me?” Her wild grin, with her fangs on display, suggests that she very much wants you to draw your sword and show her a good time, but that she’s fairly confident that you and Petony won’t be able to stand up to her.

What do you do, Kalaya-phraya of the Flower Kingdoms, in the face of a mountain barbarian who wants to have you as a prize? Whatever you do, know that you do it back-to-back with Petony, who laughs and rages with almost N’yari glee herself.

---

Fengye!

The night was cold and the rain was not kind, and the Maid brooded over what you said all night long. Even now, there are bags under her eyes as she drags her makeshift sled to where you lie. There is a bruise blossoming on her scowling face, one that looks a little like a dainty fang-deer hoof.

“Nothing in this awful world remembers its masters,” she says, bitterly, by way of explanation. Then she takes up the leads she wove out of vines.

“Get on,” she commands, pointing imperiously, her lip only wibbling a little bit. From the look of it, she intends to start dragging you through the woods, the least dignified captor you’ve ever seen. But there’s more to it than that; she commands, and expects you to obey. Do you, Fengye? Or do you want her to try to pick you up again?

---

Piripiri! Giriel!

“This way!” Golden Banneret of Miles cries, her shining tail wagging as she looks back at the two of you with the biggest grin on her mask. Because, after all, right now she’s not Azazuka; she is the Golden Banneret of Miles, who chose (with the caprice of Mercury’s Hounds) to insist on the regal daughter of merchants as her host.

Giriel’s working worked beyond what she had intended; you drew down this wandering star, who offered to make the path straight for you. All she required in return was Azazuka’s body (which she moves with an alien grace and energy, and which echoes her giddy laughter; the synchronization is uncanny, like a hand fitting perfectly in a glove) and Giriel’s company as the three of you make your way through—

Well, you’re not so much making your way through the wood as you are making your way from spot to spot. Golden Banneret’s walking-stick is hung with the charms that she had Giriel write, permission slips she signed that allow her to make creative edits to distance. In barely an hour, you’ve crossed all the way to the place where the Lamentation left the river.

“She’s not far,” Golden Banneret adds, her shining tail wagging even harder. “Her and her Blue and her Red.” A lover and a… rival? Enemy? “They’re at a crossroads. We’ll be there soon.”

How have the two of you prepared? Piripiri, do you have Giriel’s leash tucked into your belt, or are you letting her roam slightly freer than that? And speaking of, what do you make of this Golden Banneret? And Giriel, oh, Giriel, what are you planning to say to Han when you see her? And how are you taking care of Azazuka?

---

Han!

The salvation is completely unexpected, but perfect all the same. Because you’ve got somebody looking out for you, Han. And she peeked out from the toilets, saw you arguing with a priestess, and then rolled up her sleeves and went to work.

A little brown fox races into the room through the open door, shakes itself off dramatically, and then zooms over to Sagacious Crane and nips the bottom of her dress.

Your big sister lets out a sound like a teakettle, and then, fists clenched, kneels down and tries desperately to balance not falling over and not tearing her dress and asking what her goddess’s messenger wants and not yelling at the sacred animal that… clearly… wants her to follow…?

And she’s so preoccupied that she doesn’t notice someone clamping a sweet, floral-scented hand over your mouth, taking your other hand, and pulling you insistently over to the stairs and then going “shhh” and letting your mouth go but still pulling you up the stairs and then “which room is ours” and then you’re in and through and Lotus ties the handles shut with the sash that’s there for the purpose and then it’s just the two of you, in one room, with one bed, and she flings herself into your arms and her hands are on your face now and she’s looking at you with such worry.

“Are you okay?” She asks, and she’s staring at you in the low light of the lantern. “I could hear an argument, and that priestess was… do you think she was… looking for me? Because…”

Her eyes slide down off your face, and she slumps. “B-because… Han, if you told her… I don’t want to go home yet. You didn’t tell her, did you?”

Downstairs, unseen by you, the little brown fox is leading Sagacious Crane in circles, scampering through the mud, but right here she’s looming over Lotus and making her sad and what do you do, Han, how do you let her know she’s safe and you won’t tell your sister anything about anything?

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Episode 3: Hunt!

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Tatters currently has available 5 Generic Strings out of 5 for the episode.