Tatterdemalion

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

White!

"Well, you're coming at it at a disadvantage," 3V says, staring at the places where those black shorts pull taut. Mostly because, you know, it's a signifier. She stares because that's what you're supposed to do at a girlfriend. To a girlfriend? And that's part of the social bond of girlfriends. "Our central nervous systems are evolved to Make Monkey Go. All of that unconscious processing power. We spend years learning how to master it, and even then, we have to do things like sportsball games to master it. Which is to say you're doing really good compared to babies."

And then she giggles because that's the vibe, isn't it? World's Smartest Baby. The intense look of concentration before suddenly bursting into motion and then freezing up again.

And then she stops because that feels like an asshole move to laugh, and that clams her up. "You've got this," she says, as penance, because so much of social interaction is about penance, when you get down to it, all about penance or performance. "It took me ages to learn the hotkeys by heart, after all. And once you get down here, we've got stretches."

She waits until November glances back to do big stretch. Will that cost you a moment of processing power, dearest fake girlfriend? Or will Blue just spontaneously lock up somewhere?

---

Blue!

"Oh, ah, jeez," 3V says, running calculations in her head so fast that they start ramming into each other and creating a cognitive conceptual bottleneck and how cool is this? How okay is this? This is her house. Her workplace house. There are customers. But this is a bit. And you have got to commit to the bit.

She closes her eyes, and when she opens them again, her smile is the sweet poison of the scorpion sitting on top of the frog. "You played well," she says, and tugs the leash juuuust so. She stands, places one foot on her chair. "But you were doomed from the start, you adorable little android. It is not enough to know the game, but you must..."

She places one hand on the back of Blue's head, the free hand, the hand that's not wrapping her glow-throbbing fingers around that leash. "Feel the game in your heart. You must surrender reason to the passion of the dice. You must be vulnerable to their whims, and present yourself before the unfolding narrative with no shroud to hide behind."

She kisses the air in front of Blue's lips like a striking cobra, waggles her eyebrows as that grin sharpens, and then lets the leash fall slack with a flourish of those same fingers. "Can you put the miniatures up, dear? I've got to check something behind the counter." And there's nothing behind the counter to check, but it's... another move, call it. Seeing if the maid bit lands. A chance for Blue to contextualize losing, too.

Breathless Dead

“I thought you liked them,” Redana accuses, but what little fire is in the accusation comes solely from what it means. What they mean. What this means.

The rumble of the Engine is soothing. She knows it now, knows that tremor in her bones, is familiar with the power of the trapped star. She’s carried scythes that sing with a fraction of its power; she’s sung work-songs with its contribution being the deepest bass. It’s more real to her than the role it is playing. Like seeing an actor first as the actor, the way she used to back home. Which brings her back around to this. Her head rests on Bella’s lap, and she has quite the view looking up.

Looking up. Did she never notice? Maybe because Bella was always trying to make herself smaller back home, to fit inside of the shape that a Servitor should. But she’s so big, here. Like a titan standing vigil. And that’s, in its own way, a relief. Pick her up again, Bella. Hold her tight like you did on Salib.

“How am I supposed to know anything about you if you didn’t even tell me you didn’t like Batrachomyomachia?” Above Bella, branches shift; light dapples; the trees bend over the two of them. Dany’s fingers stroke down scales, warm and almost purring beneath her fingertips.

“I thought I trusted a maid who appreciated those small, brave hearts. Who understood that it was about the mettle, not the size. Who sacrificed themselves for each other.” Ignore the fact that the sacrifices never stuck, not even the ones that involved explosives. It was the willingness, over and over, to declare the lives of your brothers and sisters in arms dearer than your own.

“…and if you didn’t like them, we always could have watched something else,” she adds, and means it. Her legs are asleep beneath Beljani, who has found her spot and will not move from it, who breathes sweet contented summer out that licks their chins.

Here, briefly, is paradise. Here, briefly, is truth. Here, the windows clatter, but faintly, never startling. Here the world is broken into light and shadow and both are kind. Here there is a vast and terrible power capable of destroying it all in an instant, but it will not, it will not. Here there is peace beneath Olympus.

The princess demands it, after all. So let it be.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Fengye!

“I cannot believe you have put me up to this,” the Maid hisses. “I should just…”

She makes an attempt at making an expressive gesture with the oversized N’yari sword and squeals as it slips right out of her hands and yields to the demand of earth that all things descend. When she prances backwards in the confines of the tent, her leash bobs up and down like a wave, and she hisses.

(The rain beats down on the tent’s sides. It’s becoming an even more pleasant noise. Like a drum you can almost forget is beating.)

The poor thing had to hop to the camp after being spanked, after all. Her legs are still wobbly, like that of a silly little sheep. You, on the other hand, were carried here by Jazumi as a way of showing off her catgirl muscles. Do they call it the Princess Carry where you’re from, dear?

“…well? Do you mean to give me back my power?” She thinks she’s being subtle about it, and that the air of composure isn’t slipshod and ready to slide off her face at the slightest provocation. “Or was this just buying yourself time before you end up groveling for them, you idiot woman?”

---

Kalaya!

“That doesn’t exactly sound like a bad idea,” Petony says, and you get the feeling she’s not talking about the summoning. If she’d been trapped on that barge, she probably would have been even worse than Han. And wouldn’t that have been something to see?

“Then it’s settled,” Dima says, clapping her hands together. “Come morning, we head for Holly!” Which is to say, she intends to march you right back to the highlands, to go find Peregrine and, by extension, Uusha.

Machi makes an amused mmph and gives you a Look, as if to say: oh, you’re getting yourself into trouble, little lowlander, and only I will be able to save you in the end.

---

Giriel!

“Oh, the daughter of Hymair is where she is required to be,” the Banneret says. Her voice is high, enthusiastic, slightly breathless. “But my job’s not done.”

And she takes you by the wrist. Rather forcefully.

“Come along~! We have to go find my dear, darling Zhaojun!”

Can you even believe it? She wants you to abandon Han to the mercies of Piripiri so that you can play some small part in Heaven’s inscrutable politics, so that you can go and confront that spirit again all collared and unprepared! But what other choice do you have? The Banneret is likely to take Azazuka’s body off into only Mercury knows where, and this might be your only chance to go and stop that spirit!

What are your priorities in this moment, Giriel? To Agata, to Han, to Azazuka, or against Zhaojun?

---

Lotus!

You glance behind you. No, this isn’t a distraction so that someone else could flank you. That’s what you’d do if you were ambushing someone, so maybe… “Han,” you say, and your voice trembles like a reed in the wind, and wouldn’t you know it, the wind is kicking up, the rain rolling down and spattering on the umbrella you’re still trying to hold over Han, “maybe she really does want to talk?” Maybe she’s just here to scold you. Or to confirm that you’re safe and to let you know that Agata’s extending an invitation somewhere. Or maybe it’s one of Mom’s servants in disguise!

You peer over Han’s shoulder, trying to see through the rain whether this really is a human person or something that’s good at pretending.

Breathless Dead

Bella didn’t break.

Redana’s head rests on Bella’s shoulder. It’s not lolling. Her hair’s a mess and her face is streaked with blood and she feels, rising out of the numbness like a monster rising out of deep waters, the pervasive exhaustion and soreness of putting her body through its paces.

She threw everything she had at Bella, and she didn’t break. All of her power, all of her poise, all of her determination, and the girl she’d tried to protect back on Tellus (so long, so far ago) took it all. And the relief is immense. That Bella is strong enough. That she can take anything that Dany could throw at her except being thrown away.

“I don’t know what happened,” the princess admits. “Any of it. Am I dead? Again? Is this just what happens after…?” After Mynx killed us all. But she lets the thought fade into empty air, because it’s a silly thought. Look, turn it around: it’s empty, too. Nothing there at all.

She should lift her head. She doesn’t. She can be selfish, right now. Bella isn’t shoving her away. And she did such a good job. Didn’t break, either. Was Bella scared about that, too? Probably. But it doesn’t feel real. Not the way the fear of shattering Bella did.

“I’m so glad I didn’t kill you,” she says, finally, pathetically. “That would have been… I couldn’t have. You know. Lived with it.” Her tongue probes the space of a hollow in her jaw, the dull ache where the bone will sprout again. Dolce, will you make her soup? “I missed this. I missed you. I. I’m glad. The three of us. And Beljani. Four of us. Does Beautiful count, too?“ Maybe. For now. Until she explodes again.

“Maybe that’s why.” The thought circles back, grasps itself by the tail. “Because I couldn’t. And someone just… did something, this time. Just for us. And maybe we didn’t deserve it more than all those worlds along the Spear, but… isn’t this worth, that? Isn’t that?”

“…I want to be wine,” she concludes, and closes her eyes. The thought makes sense in her head, because Bella is the cup: her shoulder, where it meets her neck, so big, so solid, so alive. So alive. So alive that it makes Winedana alive, too.

Huntresses of Hybrasil

“Let them approach.”

The rumble of Smokeless Jade Fires’ voice pours out of the speakers all around her idol’s berth. It is as if these motley, opportunistic pirates are surrounded by her presence on all sides (which, in a metaphysical way, they already are). They are not surrounded by simply an engineering-cult (who are, in their own way, armed with the tools needed to maintain the intricate circuitry of her idol-body, to pry open the cobalt stone of her breastplate, to weld rents in its figure shut), but by Smokeless Jade Fires herself. She watches them approach from a dozen lidless eyes.

From up in the scaffolding, Dolly pokes her head out, not quite sure what’s happening. Jade is preoccupied, thrumming through the mecha’s systems, and the engineers are gathering down there, led by Nine Forests. One of the newcomers looks up at her and meets her eyes coolly. Belatedly, she wonders if she’s presentable like this, her curls peering out from underneath a work kerchief, her face framed by feather earrings, her regalia-inspired jumpsuit hugging her curves. (The arrows are red and yellow, crossing over her in bold splashes, contrasting the simple blue-and-black base, with white for the accents, the five dominant colors appropriately mixed for the high priestess.) She scampers over to the stairs, one hand grounded on Jade’s idol body. It’s comfortingly cool under her fingers.

“Hunters.” Jade almost keeps it from being a sneer. “For all else you are, you are hunters, are you not? Do not think to hide from me, students of Jacinta Niares.” Dolly stops halfway down the stairs and presses her back against Jade’s idol body, eyes flicking left and right. Jacinta Niares? Here?? “Present yourselves to my servants. To approach a living goddess, you must meet their approval.”

A gamble on a coin spinning in the air. If they are here to gather information, then there will be an exchange of it, in close quarters; they will see more, but Nine Forests will see more of them in turn, and Jade will be able to scan their appearances. If they are here for intimidation, the engineers will show them exactly how difficult that will be. And if they are here for some ill-conceived smash and grab, then it will be in closer quarters and with engineers concentrated around them. And if they truly do mean to provide an offering and receive her blessing… well, washing themselves before offering their gifts is only proper. Maybe that’s their game. Well, she’ll give it. Her nature is that which rewards the hunt and the seizing of that which is desired. And if pirates value that, well, she is a goddess. She is the one who declares law.

“Dolly!” She shunts herself to a more limited view for a moment, stepping out in front of her being silly on the stairs. “What are you doing?”

”I’m— nothing! What are— I mean—“ Dolly rubs her cheeks, glancing down guiltily at the floor. Why would she even try to lie to Jade, just because she’s embarrassed to be hiding like a kitten? “I just. Is Niares really here?”

“Not likely. But her hounds are here as supplicants. Come back up and enter me, and I’ll keep you entertained until—“ She leans in, presses up against Dolly, feels a wicked thought uncurl through her being. “Until I feel like letting you go. I won’t need your pretty face for this one.” When Dolly tries to speak, she covers her bride’s mouth and clucks her tongue, shaking Dolly’s head. “Mm-mmm~ Get up there. That’s an order.”

Ridiculously, Dolly is suddenly tempted to argue. The thought of Niares(‘s pirates) is frightening, but she’s supposed to be Jade’s high priestess. That’s why Jade upended her whole life, after all. For a moment, hand over her mouth, staring down into Jade’s unearthly eyes and impish smile, she feels more like a toy. The moment it looks like there’s trouble, suddenly Jade’s ushering her off to enjoy squirming in her cockpit to be private entertainment for the goddess’s eyes alone, when Dolly could be representing her goddess in front of even the most perilous of petitioners. (Heh. Perilous petitioners. Probably pretty, uh, pusillanimous, possibly. Or pugnacious?)

But Dolly’s not Angela. And Niares really is scary. And more than scary; her thoughts about being shanghaied by the Red Band Pirates are the kind a good collared bride definitely shouldn’t have anymore, especially one spoiled with everything Jade can imagine. She nods, slumping a little in submission, and lets Jade turn her around and give her an encouraging swat on the rump to hurry back up the stairs.

(Maybe if she requested multiple pairs of hands, and a rough simulation, maybe having her jumpsuit torn open, while thinking of how Angela— how some Terenian might smell, might taste…)

With a sigh of relief, Smokeless Jade Fires disperses herself again. Dolly is taken care of. If there is any threat, it will not fall on her head. Maybe, if this is just what it seems, maybe on a later visit she can parade Dolly out in front of the pirates, make them envious, make Dolly’s heart race as she’s eyed by hunters while marked by the biggest, baddest hunter of them all. But not yet. Not until she’s sure it’s safe. Not after what happened on Akar.

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

Gym Euna!

November, meet a potential rival.

Like, not particularly potential, when you really crunch it out. 3V has a lot of baggage that she’s slowly relaxing about, and the “fake relationship” is the necessary paper for anything more than a real relationship. Plus, y’know, you’ll eventually figure out that she’s taken. Having the nerds kiss would be the kind of messy drama that would topple dynasties. But 3V definitely likes Euna in a way she’s not comfortable admitting behind multiple layers of obfuscation, and Euna would have to be blind not to think 3V is fine. But try not to worry about it. It’s one of those things where they’ll build a friendship on top of a bridge of “the timing was never right, but in another world,” y’know?

“That’s a new record,” 3V says, sotto voce, pretending to lean into White’s confidence. (And is this a way of defanging the scariest of her fake girlfriend’s faces?) “Usually she doesn’t clear five feet when she’s embarrassed~”

Then, with an overdramatic flourish and a click of her wrists: “M’lady Euna Kim, may I present to you my girlfriend, November?” She did consider making a joke about it being 11 point 11 percent repeating of her girlfriend, but she’s going to make any snoops work to figure out exactly what her situation is. And, yes, she’s hamming up the girlfriend part, ostentatious and showy and perfectly optimized for disseminating the info about relationship status. No more awkward propositions at the gym! And no more crass threesome jokes from Sara. (Who is she kidding? They will now be swinger jokes.)

“She didn’t believe that an android could have a real workout, so I brought her to the person who knows steel and circuits and how to make them burn like nobody else.” She maneuvers White ably into place, much smugger than Black had been. “And I have got to see you put her through her paces. Even if that means I have to get a workout, too~”

She’ll wait to ask about the ownership at a more convenient time. After she’s made White play along for a while.

---

Gensoukyo!

”You’re extremely hot.”

It takes 3V a moment to recover from that dagger slipped under her guard. She hasn’t had to brace herself like that for a while. That’s part and parcel of being a streamer, you know? Particularly a girl streamer. You’re part of the content, and you’re simultaneously approachable and desirable. You get used to hearing both starstruck compliments and seeing very crass comments before they can be moderated, and flinching a little bit every time you open a DM, and the only people who could understand that you’re not asking for it just because you make sure you look nice before you stream are, well, competition, even (in their own way) the off-the-wall guys who just want you to play Mario Party Ultimate But You Lose By Winning Stars and just want you in the video because it’s Content, Baby to get a pro gamer complaining about the random minigames and getting to make jokes about how you have robot hands and you still can’t bake a digital cake perfectly?

(Like, don’t get her wrong, genuinely pleasant memories of getting ribbed by Polarisdam. The guy weathers everything in his personal life by coming up with even more elaborate challenges and shenanigans. It’s just that every collab is a gamble that more of their audience will like your work, and less of yours will decide that they like their work better. A dumb worry, but there even so.)

And there it is. Something she’s proud of, her skill at games, and it gets her a compliment from her sort-of-girlfriend. Right at the central pillar of her professional identity, where it intersects with her being a huge nerd.

“I’d better not take you to any tournaments,” she jokes, deflecting, not meeting Blue’s intense stare, because if she does, she’ll want to melt into it in ways that her brain tells her would be inappropriate, indulgent, self-centered. “I just got you, I wouldn’t want to lose you to Adrian. From what I hear, Adrian’s the best player on the station.” She doesn’t awkwardly explain that Adrian doesn’t use any pronouns and requests the use of Adrian’s name instead. She privately thinks it’s a little odd, but she’s not rude enough not to use Adrian’s preferred (lack of) pronouns. Names are important. Gender is important. Being who you want to be is important. And Adrian really wants to be Adrian rather than being just a guy or a gal.

“You’re good too. By the way. Was this really your first time?” She waggles her eyebrows, a half-hearted, suggestive rejoinder easily blown out of the water.

Huntresses of Hybrasil

The saddest mew! The saddest mew!

This, then, is your dilemma, Angela! Mark it well! Your tormenter, the goddess, acts upon you through the personage of Seven Quetzal, but to have your feisty revenge, you must attack poor little Dolly who, yes, has been a willing participant, who has been turning you into a damsel in distress, who has been what one might call an accomplice—

But she still has an uncomprehending look of betrayal on her face for a moment, and Jade’s laughter dies on her virtual lips as she realizes, a millisecond too late, that Dolly’s actually upset.

”She really has a fire, doesn’t she?” Jade pulls Dolly’s head close, rests a thumb against her lip, does not show panic, does not show panic. She’s in control. “She’s a fighter! And that’s fun, isn’t it? It is fun. It IS fun.” If she says it enough it will be true. “She’s… inviting us to keep fighting for her.”

Dolly sniffles, once.

”You have done such a good job, Dolly,” Jade says, faster. “I’m very proud of you. This whole time! And— do you need a break?”

A tiny nod as the soup slides in front of her. She picks up the spoon without looking at Angela. She’d forgotten. She’d honestly forgotten. She was just having so much fun, and assumed Angela would like it like she did. She scoops warming, toe-curling soup into her mouth as Jade implodes in on herself.

”After this, tell Angela Victoria Miera Antonius— tell her she’s been a good sport,” Jade manages to say without flinging herself into the underworld. “That you’re going to let her go so that she can be fun quarry to catch again. Give her a little spank. And then you can go back to the hostel. Do you think you can do that?”

A nod, a tiny sigh. It is taking all of her self-control not to ask Angela what she did wrong. Jade needs for her to be strong. Besides, they’re in public, and Angela doesn’t like her that much yet, to deal with Dolly draping herself on top of those muscles and begging for validation. Shouldn’t Jade’s word be enough? Why does she want Angela to rub her jaw and assure her that it wasn’t because she’s angry?

”Good girl. You’re doing great. Do you like the soup?”

“The soup is strong, but not biting,” she says out loud, for both Ksharta and Jade (and she glances over at Angela with bigger, wetter eyes than she means to, and hates herself for it). “I can taste… thyme? Underneath the rosemary. Thyme is almost sweet, balanced well, underneath the strong, assertive? Assertive rosemary.”

She doesn’t make any connections between what she said and herself. She’s just trying. She just wants Jade to understand, and she doesn’t really know how well Jade can translate the input from her tastebuds. So she’s trying. And it’s something to think about that’s not burying her face in Angela’s neck and begging for forgiveness, for doing this wrong, for making her want to headbutt her.

Jade doesn’t guide her hands as she lets the ropes fall slack. Jade doesn’t touch her as she pronounces to Angela that now she has been baptized by Talonna’s soup (her own words). Jade is numinous, behind her head, present but silent now. So big. Her girlfriend— her wife— her goddess— her goddess is judging her use, seeing what she can do on her own.

The thumb she runs along Angela’s lip to wipe up the spittle is all hers, too.

Dolly is so big. She’s gentle with the Terenian, but firm enough not to ruin the game, despite the throbbing in her jaw. Despite the pain caused by her following Jade’s orders. Despite the shock of being actually hurt, and Jade didn’t protect her. Jade twists and unravels and becomes abyssal behind Dolly, her Dolly, the Dolly she wants to make smile. Dolly who is the best person that she knows.

How dare you, Angela Victoria Miera Antonius? Don’t you understand how perfect Dolly is? How gentle she is, how beautiful she is, how, how delicious she is? And you dare to be rough with her in a way that she does not crave? Oh! Oh! When next you meet, Angela Victoria Miera Antonius, you will receive punishment! The only reason that you don’t, right now, that you are not brought to heel, is because of how much Dolly’s been doing today, for you, you ungrateful— you bitch!

You untamed beast, you Dolly-flustering minx, you inviting challenge, you, you—!!

Dolly makes to spank Angela, to send her off, and Jade suddenly grabs at her. Because she wasn’t going to do it right. The smack has as much violence to it as Angela’s headbutt, and it makes her palm sting. Her mouth locks up. Angela’s saying something, and all she can do is lift her chin and try to be good for Jade.

worse you made it worse what is wrong with you what is WRONG with you are you willing to break your first and favorite and best girl to bring an alien to heel? are you, Smokeless Jade Fires?

“Good. You did good. Ksharta Talonna can handle this.” Dolly nods, numbly. ”Do you want—“ She can’t even offer it. She can’t trust herself right now. What if she’s the problem? What if she somehow makes Dolly cry in her ropes? She’d cast herself into a star. She’d deserve it. Jade lets it dangle, and Dolly doesn’t know what it would have been. She can’t think. Her hand throbs. Angela’s never going to want to talk to her again.

Dolly goes to her room to sleep, leaving Ksharta to cleaning and… chef times? There’s a connection there, one of congratulations and criticisms over soup. Jade goes to the void and flings herself into it, howling, gnashing every one of her jaws, trying to find the parts of her that are imperfect as she lashes coil after coil around herself in the plummeting dark. Dolly waits for Jade to tuck her in.

She doesn’t notice when she eventually falls asleep. Her last thought is the smell of Angela.

It would be unbecoming of a goddess to show weakness. So, eventually, self-scourged, Smokeless Jade Fires conceptualizes herself as strong, capable, controlled. Not hiding underneath Dolly’s bed. She doesn’t need to apologize, or grovel. Dolly would lose faith if she apologized, or groveled. Instead, she will turn to matters of her idol-body. She will not be small or weak. She doesn’t need to be small or weak. She doesn’t need to bury her face in Dolly and be Dolly-sized. Let her be big. Let her be strong. Let her be the goddess she needs to be.

She pours herself into the idol to feel its power, its strength, its systems. She flexes them, runs currents through them, and without moving knows herself to be invincible. She is invincible. Dolly can trust her. She just needs time to sleep. Everything will be fine as long as she’s strong enough. Dolly won’t abandon a glorious goddess the way she would—

She’d never even abandon a weak, pathetic pattern trapped inside a shell. The very thought is unbecoming of her bride. She is compassion, and gentle strength, and grace, and beauty, and Smokeless Jade Fires chose her for all these reasons. And once she’s rested, Smokeless Jade Fires will show her bride her power and generosity, and any confusion will be forgotten. Let Angela Victoria Miera Antonius scurry. She is nothing before the might of a goddess.

[Jade and Dolly stagger, and mark both Angry and Insecure. Additionally, because Dolly feels neglected by Jade in the moment, their Harmony drops to +1.]

Breathless Dead

The Thunderbolt’s echo roars. Redana stumbles as she lands, spilling Beljani onto the ground, as if she were the one shot. She tries to stop herself from sprawling, but her body is slow, weak, rebuilding a ribcage. Her body is a roaring furnace burning everything it can in order to survive. The hunger in her is a flame that chars her bones; the hole in her heart is ringed in her father’s lightning.

The name she screams is the same one that has been on her lips, again and again, ever since they met. Ever since the bell. Ever since the friend she had longed for. It comes out of her throat like shards of glass. If she was strong enough, she would race at Mynx, avenge her Bella, face death slotted neatly into a barrel. But she’s not. She can barely stand.

And so when Bella stands in turn, it is the miracle that allows her to slump against Beljani, panting, crying, trying to draw strength from her, resisting the temptation to sink her jaws into the good good girl. When they all survive, she is going to find Dolce. She is going to eat until she passes out at the table. Let her eat. Let her eat. Let her eat.

“Your sister,” she says, instead, helping Beljani to her feet despite wanting to crumple to her knees, despite the impulse to shove grass into her mouth until her body stops screaming. “Your sisters. How close do you need to be?”

Without the answer, she’s already moving. Ready to wrestle. Ready to hold the shapechanger no matter what forms she takes. That is the province of a hero, after all. To get Beljani in through the smoke. To give Bella a reprieve. To dedicate her body as an offering to the gods, the finest thing she has left. Her stomach is a yawning pit. Her nerves are closing off to spare her the feeling of running on broken legs. Her vision is a dark tunnel with Mynx and Bella, her childhood friends, killing each other on the other end.

When she wraps her arms around Mynx, it is a hug long overdue, as much as it is a refusal to let go. Long enough for Bella. Long enough for Beljani. Long enough to save her. Long enough to make up for not being there. Long enough to die standing, if she has to.

Breathless Dead

PRINCESS REDANA CLAUDIUS: is accepting injuries faster than her body can repair them. The fighting styles she was trained for emphasize avoiding repeated structural damage to her skeleton, let alone her vital organs. She is a miracle, the child of two gods, her genes woven together on a loom to create a paragon of humanity, that dead race that strode across the stars with a Thunderbolt in one hand and a Sequence in the other. She had Paragon nanite pills; the Servitor got rid of them. Analyze separate methods of providing immediate medical attention.

Datta.

FUTURESELF SHEPHERDESS: is not present, or will not have been present. This is, on the whole, an encouraging thing; it suggests that this can be survived. However, she is a source of healing and succor that is stubbornly refusing to be conjured, and cannot currently be coerced into arrival. A dead end of analysis. Turn OUR face away.

Damyata.

CAPTAIN DOLCE: is not present. Caloric intake required to jumpstart cell production at necessary scale excessive. Recommended his presence prior to beginning of duel; was abjured. As always. Forgotten, ignored, deliberate at the subconscious level. Trauma not approached appropriately. Complicating factors in terms of revelation of true nature, connection to MYSELF. Continue consideration of how to overcome at later date.

Dayadhvam.

SERVITOR-ASSASSIN BELLA: uncontrollable. Unsuitable. Inexorable. Aphrodite’s knife. Narrative overwhelming, building to climax. Cf. the composition laws of good opera. Likelihood of causing fatal injuries to PRINCESS REDANA CLAUDIUS reaching certainty. Immediate disengagement recommended.

Dayadhvam.

DILEMMA: Aphrodite keeps her here. Her heart keeps her here. WE have no power here except in the in-between nature. The gyre tightens, the spiral collapsing. Her nature is her true vulnerability.

Datta.

SERVITOR-ASSASSIN BELJANI: is flooding the bounded situational field with pheromones which will allow her to bring an end to the situation. Her puissance is insufficient. Full saturation will not be reached before she is found, condemned, inverted. She will not be able to save them. She will be killed by her sister-in-arms. She will fail to save PRINCESS REDANA CLAUDIUS.

Dayadhvam.

SYNTHESIS: Mynx backhands Bella and races up the spear, uses the body of the Princess as a springboard, tears open the ceiling with her talons. Beljani, screaming, tumbles out, clawing at the air; she hits the ground disassembled, nothing but heavy meat, and Mynx lands as soft as the petals of a flower in and amongst her. Redana’s organs are already in cascading shutdown as she hangs limp on Bella’s spear.

Datta.

PREDICTION: use of intercortex symbol spike likely to further degrade working relationship with PRINCESS REDANA CLAUDIUS. Use of intercortex symbol spike only rapidly closing window for her survival. WE cannot stand by and allow her to die. WE define ourselves by this choice, over and over again. WE wait until WE are here and only by OUR action can WE decide, even though WE have been cheering for you the whole time, hoping that this time it will be different. One way or another. But it always comes back to the same scenario. It always comes back to this. HUMANITY always comes back to this.

Damyata.

CONCLUSION: WE rigged the dice. Are you surprised, uncle?

Damyata.

CONCLUSION: I love you, Dany. Always and forever. And I know you can do this.

Damyata.

---

The Auspex, the Eye of Hermes, flashes sapphire, highlighting: Beljani huddled in the vents, the mag-harness activation built into her belt, Mynx as she works her way upwards with Bella’s claws tearing long gouges in her flank. It shows Dany wings unfolding; it shows Dany the remains of haruspicy; it shows Dany Beljani shaking her hand.

And Redana, Redana who’s a little bit more sensible than anyone takes her for, Redana who is having trouble breathing right now and whose fingers are going numb—

She lets her sword fall from her hand and takes the spear-shaft in both. Even half-broken as she is, the spear whines underneath her hands. She pushes— up— lifts her body upside-down— and flings herself backwards, rising, Mynx coiling underneath her, leaping, a rising dragon, hands outstretched, jaws gaping—

And then she is not rising but falling, falling faster, reorienting herself as she plummets towards the ceiling. Above her, below her, Mynx forms wings mid-fall, but Bella has her by the heel, Bella is there to show her what happens to a little bird caught by a cat, the deep rib-rattling war cry coming out of her mouth as they tumble together into the hungry grass.

And Dany, light-headed, pale-cheeked, bones-baring, one foot on the shore of the Styx, her blue eye blazing, bangs on the duct hard enough to dent it.

“Beljani! She knows! She—“

She turns her head, spits blood and another tooth[1], which tumble up towards the floor above.

---

[1]: she’ll have new ones— well, usually by tomorrow, but her body’s going to have more pressing priorities. She’ll be eating soft for the next few days.

Huntresses of Hybrasil

Do you not understand? Even now, do you not understand? Jade’s idol is a distant concern in a moment like this. Here and now, she is capable of imbuing herself in the moment, drinking it all in through Dolly’s perceptions. What she sees, how she hears, what she feels. Because it is all translated through Dolly’s experience via the memory circuit sleeve, she doesn’t have to worry about having to translate the raw data from Dolly’s eyes into something comprehensible. Her bride’s brain does that all on her own.

Dolly’s a little nervous. She feels somewhat out of place; the nervous energy she’s keeping tamped down is translated through the sleeve, too. She’s inserted herself into a situation decisively, but now all she has to do is to stay out of Ksharta Talonna’s way while she works. She can’t grab a data pad and check the local news networks casually, or even strike up a casual conversation with the chefs; she can’t recede back into the background and curl up in a blanket with a hot beverage by her side.

“Take a seat, Dolly,” Jade instructs. Dolly looks around, then approaches one of the nearest two-person table-and-chair sets, close to the kitchen and easily removable for events in the hall. “You don’t have to drag it over,” she adds, as Dolly picks it up. “Go ahead and sit down… and then help Angela Victoria Miera Antonius to her knees.”

Running her fingers through Angela Victoria Miera Antonius’s hair is a power play in more than one way. It shows casual familiarity, and more than that, it’s treating Angela Victoria Miera Antonius like a kitten, just like Ksharta Talonna. But it’s also making Dolly happy, even as Angela Victoria Miera Antonius flushes. Her fingers linger as she traces the curls, round and round. Her heartrate increases, and a purr threatens to rumble out of her throat.

“Even her.” Jade sits on the table, feet in Dolly’s lap, kneading slowly. “I give you even her. Don’t you like my present, my bride?”

”I do,” Dolly says out loud, and drags her nails lightly up the back of Angela’s head, sending a shiver down the giantess’s spine.

“She’s all yours,” Jade says, with feigned casualness. “Because you’ve been a very good girl, Dolly.” She cups Dolly’s jaw, rubs her thumb along that soft, beautiful face. Full. Rounded. Like the moon. Rich, lush, feminine— hers. Her Dolly.

Flawless.

“…you could pull her top open and no one here could stop you,” she adds, and feels the blood rushing to Dolly’s cheek, and imagines the warmth under her hand. “Because you represent me. What if I wanted her shown off, hmm?”

She won’t. But she wants Dolly to imagine it. The shared embarrassment, the rush of power, the noises that Angela would make.

“What if I want you shown off?”

Angela makes a muffled whine as Dolly’s fingers tug her head back, expose her collared neck, as Dolly looks away and tries to hide half her face behind her hand. “You wouldn’t,” she hisses. “Not… here!”

“Only because the thought only mildly entertains me,” Jade says, tail swishing in delight at seeing her Dolly like this. “That is all. If that were to change… if I were to order you to expose my slaves’ boundless beauty… would you~?”

Dolly’s nod into her own hand is tiny. Blood thumps through her ears. Angela’s head is resting against her thigh, tugged in close— when did she…? Every breath, she’s hyperaware of her own top, of her own shape, and of Jade’s fingers and palm against her jaw. Her goddess’s faint smirk is inscrutable.

“But what I want instead from you, my flower, my delight…” Jade rests her thumb on Dolly’s lower lip and exerts phantom pressure, and Dolly opens her mouth helplessly. “Is to give Angela Victoria Miera Antonius kisses. On her head. In front of everyone. Because she’s being such a good girl. Just like you. Just like my Dolly. Be sure to squish her cheeks, remind her how full they are~”

And Dolly doesn’t even think of saying no.