Tatterdemalion

Breathless Dead

"ShhhshshSHHH!"

Mosaic fixed her with a flat stare. The kind that made Ember feel small and silly and flustered. "Are you that ashamed of me?" The question was almost certainly a bit of barbed wit, but Ember wasn't about to let that pass, just in case. Just in case. Mosaic deserved nothing less.

"No," Ember whispered, Sincerity misting her breath, the bright orange-yellow of flowers on the mountainside, the sky at dawn as the sun broke free from the sea. "I don't want you to get in trouble for being found, like this, with a Ceronian. You might be arrested, or ostracized, or trapped underneath a very large rock!" In her mind's eye, she pictures Mosaic with her head and shoulders sticking out from underneath a mountain, chin cupped in her palm, glowering at the world for witnessing the shame of her being trapped by something too heavy for her to lift. She'd scare the sun down earlier and earlier every day, until dusk stopped existing. And then everyone would say: Ember, it is your fault that Mosaic has scared the sun into jumping down out of the sky every day. You should have known better than to seduce her and then let her get caught. You are a bad girl and you are on laundry duty for the rest of your life.

Mosaic stared at her very, very hard. Her lips twitched. That's a smile, right? She's trying not to smile? It's easier with her packmates, who broadcast what they're feeling, what they want her to feel. Mosaic just smells like Home. Like safety, and exertion, and the oil she uses for her hair. On first sight, Ember had lusted after Mosaic; on first sniff, she'd fallen in love.

Then Mosaic rolled over on top of her, pinning her down like the mountain, the muchness of her flesh sending Ember's heart racing like an athlete down some sort of prized contest's track. In the back of her head, she could hear Taurus scolding her, telling her that what she's feeling is what she needs to ignite in the hearts of her targets. The perfect operative uses desire as a leash and a garrotte, depending on what is needed to complete their mission. Between their legs, Ember's tail thwapped helplessly against Mosaic's voluptuous thighs, and underneath her, Ember held her breath, staring adoringly into the gold and the ruby of her mistress's eyes.

"I guess we'd better be quiet, then," Mosaic said, and clamped her palm over Ember's mouth. "There. Now you can't 'get me in trouble.' Is that what you wanted, Emb...?" A narrowing of the eyes, and then the curl of a lip back from a fang, one that knew Ember's neck and breasts well. "Oh. I see. No wonder you're always letting yourself get punished by that pack of strays. Well, I won't be shown up by them." Challenge glinted in Mosaic's eyes, and Ember realized that she was sweating out Lust again, hot-pink tongue-drool spread-lips Lust, growing damper with every half-hearted squirm and muffled meep beneath her lover.

This place would be obvious to any passing packmate for days.

---

"So, like, did the Earthshaker point anything out to you specifically~?"

A good girl shakes her head. A good girl flicks an ear. A good girl does not struggle more.

"Of course not, what am I sayyyying. He shows up in person for, like, the death of planets. You ever seen him, Emby?"

A good girl... isn't sure. A good girl doesn't remember, so a good girl shakes her head.

"Thought not. Wouldn't that just be wild, though, packie? Seeing Poseidon show up and knowing, ooooh, shit, we're sooooooo fucked. Well, maybe not us. Everybody else, though. Maybe us. If we were slipping. Probably not. We're his wavecaps. His silly rabbits."

You've always got to have a spotter for breath-holding exercises. Goldie volunteered. So she's lounging on top of Ember, wearing a strategically torn looted top over her wetsuit, presumably all Joy as usual. It hangs around her like a cloud, like the dye in her hair, like the oil on her cheeks, like the smile on her lips, like the servitors tripping over themselves to get her attention. Both of them are hiding out in the mayor's offices, away from most prying eyes, where Goldie can take a break from being adored and Ember can be face-down, hogtied, and buried in Gemini's craftsmanship without making anyone wonder if the wolves are turning on each other.

If she takes a breath, she'll regret it. Chastisement, blossoming hot and red and intense in her nostrils, and Disappointment hanging low and heavy underneath. In a real fight, Ember, this breath might be the one that makes you start drowning. Goldie will keep track for you and change out your gag every few hours; let's see how well you can do for the clan, little wolf. And a knowing smile, a caress of her cheek, a reminder of the incredible high of being loved by the pack.

And yet, unbidden creeps in the thought of Mosaic opening the door, tossing Goldie out the window with one hand (not that Goldie deserves it, she's one of Ember's pack favorites, but Mosaic absolutely would), asking Ember what she'd gotten herself in to this time, tossing her over one shoulder, maybe spanking her a little, and carrying her off as a trophy, daring anyone in the pack to fight over her. For her. Unable to so much as squeak, feeling Mosaic's hand on her side, paraded out in front of the village as Mosaic carried her off as a prize, telling Gemini to her face that she'd trained Ember too well in seduction and sensuality...

"You're doing real well, Embs," Goldie continues. "Too well. How about a little challenge?" Her claws whisper up and down Ember's sides, the soles of her feet, right behind her ears, as Ember strains every muscle in her body and grinds her forehead into the floor, holding her breath like a true warrior, seconds stretching out into infinity waiting for the playful gold-dyed Ceronian to end the semi-random spike in difficulty, each and every one of her strained whimpers swallowed up into the thickness of Gemini's cloth, almost as beloved as Mosaic's palm.

MASKS - Ghost Gate City

How Do You Do, Fellow Teens?

• Vermillion Princess - dork, colleague, bearer of the Armillary Sash
• Bai Xiuying - transbian grad student, bass player for BABALON

Old Enough To Know Better

• Director Li - runs the HOUND Rapid Response Team, thinks guns keep people safe
• Stone Monkey - wants to run the city's jianghu so that he can do whatever he wants
• Tiger King - wants to run the city's jianghu so he can profit off crime
• Doctor Huan - desperately trying to explain to the funding committee that she didn't cause the ghost crisis
• ArAN - Tumblr illustrator who hit the big leagues, nearly didn't make this list but is barely old enough to be an Adult(tm)
• Joshua Chan - runs on coffee, runs Terochimomo Net Cafe

Respect Your Elders

• Empress - bearer of the Mandate of Heaven, Hero of the Republic
• Kirin - sorceress supreme, diviner of possible futures
• Lady Foxfire - lost a tail in her last fight with Empress, vanished into one of her many secret identities
• Jade Mayor - on his eighth consecutive term in office

Mysteries

• Xingtian - apparently the power source they needed for their armor was ghosts
• Thunderbird - apparently the power source they needed for their winged jetsuit and lightning cannon was ghosts
• Helldiver - apparently the power source they needed for their dimensional-hole-tearing gauntlets was ghosts

MASKS - Ghost Gate City

The promise of Sky Gate City is the promise of the nation: that no one goes hungry, that no one goes without treatment, that no one lacks the opportunity to make something of themselves. The Big Peach is the shining jewel of the Republic, built to exacting geomantic design in order to promote good fortune and prosperity for all.

But the promise is for sufficiency, not the fulfillment of dreams, and there’s no magic spell that can cure human nature.

In Welcome to the Big Peach, you read about Hsien Lang as she uncovered the mystery of her origins as the tail of Lady Foxfire, lost in her last battle with Empress and Kirin; you fell in love with Rain Lanahe, the grad student pursuing the mysteries of magic and science; and you marveled at the heroics of the Vermillion Princess, mystically empowered by the Armillary Sash.

You were shocked by the death of the Grandmaster of the Flower Mountain Triad at the hands of a mysterious assassin, which sent the city’s jianghu into uproar. You were on the edge of your seat when Rain got herself sucked into the underworld during the Night of Eight Million Ghosts. You winced as the Jade Mayor announced that the chaos in the streets could only be met by a special task force, given Empress’s heroic effort holding the Doors of Yama shut. And you had to wonder:

Is HorizonCon really going to be canceled just because of a few mad scientists and an outbreak of ghosts?

Find out in Ghost Gate City…

Breathless Dead

Of course the rest are for fun. Gemini is all about fun.

She's the Fun Mom of the pack, where Taurus is more serious. (Ignore that Taurus is about the same age as Ember; age isn't important to the Silver Divers, just experience and competence. The only requirement for being leader of the pack is proving, over and over again, that you are the leader of the pack.) When there's plunder to be won, Gemini is there. She's the one who receives the loot and the one who parcels it back out, stopping arguments over ownership before they can even begin. When there's a party to be had, Gemini is the one at the middle of it, playing scent like a harp, supremely indulgent but never losing control of her self. Taurus wins arguments by wrestling her opponents into submission, but Gemini wins arguments by making them never happen in the first place, or redirecting their energy when they happen.

Both of them are happy here. That's part of why they offered pack membership to Ember; they took pity on her and wanted to let her share in their joy.

Even so, approaching Gemini while she's working/playing is difficult. The crystal-clear images in Ember's head keep her from veering off to play, despite the squirming clerks all around, tied to chairs dragged out from their archival office, drowning in Indulgence and Defeat and Invitation, with scritchies and ear-rubs and kisses from passing Ceronians, and with the conductor in the middle of the sharing circle, sunglasses perched on her forehead, dressed in a loose gown with flowing sleeves, a vision worthy of an Azura master-painter as she runs a bolt through her hands, soaking it with artisanal scents, impossible to look away from as she stoops and pulls it snugly over just the right clerk's face, her sleeves whispering against their bound arms as she knots it snugly into place...

But Ember is a good girl. She stands to attention and radiates Urgency. Two of the clerks start struggling harder, ears twitching, trying to look anywhere that isn't a wolfgirl, only able to slowly rotate in the spinning chairs, but that's enough to get Gemini's attention. The sunglasses come down with a huff, and if she wasn't here on serious business, Ember would be tucking her tail between her legs and trying to make herself smaller, apologizing for interrupting Gemini's art.

"Share your report."

"I was on a training exercise," Ember dutifully recounts, hands behind her back, legs apart, chin up. Respectful stance, as befits the pack omega. "I still remember the exercise data and can recount it if you want. However, while returning to base, I encountered something new and noteworthy on two separate occasions." Gemini nods. There is no fear in Ember, only the relief of being able to share her sense experience. "First, while diving off the coast to avoid patrolling Corvii, I saw a dragon in the sky above, fifty meters above the water. It was five meters long, nose to tail. It was translucent, but filled with colors and light; I don't know if it can hide the colors to make itself more difficult to spot. The impression was crystal, not glass. From its mouth it projected a grid of light on the seabed, and this grid highlighted three-dimensional objects, including myself. After I was scanned by the grid, it focused the grid into a laser which it used to alert the Corvii patrols. Notably, it didn't attempt to use the laser to disable me, and it didn't chase after me. It's possible that it represents new discoveries in silicate-based biomancy, but I believe it's a relic of the gods, possibly Apollonian in nature."

Gemini nods. Not the nod of a new discovery for her, but of something she isn't surprised was new to Ember. Bashfulness coats Ember's inner arms. She's still the sapling, still the cub. But she hasn't done anything wrong; she's done exactly what is expected of her as a member of the Silver Divers by reporting this.

So she continues.

"I was pulled deeper out to sea by an unnatural current that I believe was a sign from the Horsefather. After swimming for approximately thirty minutes, approaching the limits of my ability to sustain my breath, I discovered what I was being shown: a structure of cyclopean size and make on the seabed. I can't estimate its length or height, but it was like a mountain range on the bottom of the sea. The water around it was polluted, and my instincts told me that it was leakage from the structure. In delirium, I approached the structure despite the toxicity of the water around it and had a vision which was difficult to interpret. It involved stars, and a star beneath the water, and crew instead of attendants. My original guess was that it was a temple built by humanity and drowned, intentionally or otherwise, by some change in the planet's climate, given its impossible scale. However, after having the vision, I think it's some form of starfaring craft, one which would require the entire clan to function at its barest minimum. I estimate that, drained and made functional, it could carry multiple Ceronian warhosts, or an entire planetary population. As I left, in need of air and disturbed by the nature of the vision, the Warsphere in orbit approached the site. I don't know whether they were previously aware of the site. It is possible that they have been charged with keeping us unaware of the site and now will need to escalate in an attempt to drive us away, but I think it's more likely that they were also unaware of the site and that they will move immediately to secure it. However, we have the edge in war in our patron's domain. We can take it and secure it, perhaps even repair it if my instincts about its purpose are correct."

Ember licks her lips.

"Do you still want the information from my training exercise, Gemini?"

Probably not. This is more serious than one of her training games. But she can't assume. It's possible Gemini will want her to recite the information just to prove that she is capable of holding it all in her head. She stands in submissive attention, waiting for her Alpha to require more of her or to dismiss her. She is Not looking at the clerks. It would be really fun to be told she can do whatever she wants now. There's one with a mop of curly hair and a lap that's begging for her to sit down in as she practices her own tactical pheromone usage with scarf and kiss and the remnants of his stuffy buttoned shirt. But she can't yet. She hasn't finished her duty until Gemini tells her she can stand down.

Ember is, after all, a very good girl. The one who takes this seriously, because she's the bottom of the pack. The one who takes this seriously, because the god of the Silver Divers has given them a sign. The one who takes this seriously, because she's so hungry for praise. And the one who takes this seriously, because Gemini might toss her right back to Plundering Fang, who might pull out another chair and make her an honorary clerk for the day. The Silver Divers may be egalitarian, but Ember's still earning her place among them, and being the bottom of the pack makes for a very respectful and dutiful young huntress. And, besides, nobody mouths off to Gemini. She'll just smile and then arrange your imminent downfall, possibly by having Taurus get you when you least expect it.

Huntresses of Hybrasil

Two Empresses move forward, but not as fast as one Terenian. There's fire on her wrists and a goddess riding her, plain to see, a warrior chosen for a battle. Promises on the table from both empresses, and so much glory for you to win, Angela Victoria Miera Antonius, if you listen. Take it all and you can be the rival that Dolly truly deserves, the beautiful Terenian who--

No, that's not right, Dolly realizes, and offers a silent prayer to her goddess. She's part of this, too, and Angela doesn't want rivalry for its own sake. Take it all and you won't be anyone's joke, Angela. Can you tell her that, Jade? I have never thought of her as a joke, but she's been hurt by people's refusal to take her seriously before. And-- goddess-- my goddess-- yes, she'll be a good kitten, hands behind your waist, won't let go--

Take it all, Angela Victoria Miera Antonius, and...

"I saw this," Jade whispers in her Terenian's ear as she comes in hard, jabs at the Zaldarian's guard, takes early ground. Around them, a convergence; behind her, two empresses close in, unwilling to see their promises granted to this warrior. "Your potential. Your fury. Your warrior-heart. That is why I marked you as mine, Angela Victoria Miera Antonius. I could think of no greater conquest save my first, my greatest, my beloved."

Dolly melts into the rub of her cheek and looks up with devastatingly soft eyes at her pirate captor, another hand of her goddess, and like this, it's easy to see why the goddess fell in love with her from afar. She leans into the gag, mewls like a girl who gets to have her fantasies come true every day, and when Jade guides her face into Valynia Bander's chest, she breathes in like she's on the beach trying to drink in the sea air, fingers curling against the pirate's back.

"Tell her your plans. Threaten her with your worst," Smokeless Jade Fires whispers in the pirate's ear. "She's a naughty little thing who wants to be the damsel in distress. Distress her. I'll take my time to save her tonight." Unspoken: but I will save her. I am in control of the scene. I am giving her to you because I love her and you are making her so, so happy for me.

Her fingers trace Valynia's neck, measuring for a collar.

Joy is clear on Angela Victoria Miera Antonius's face as she becomes, for a moment, the center of the room, armed with an ambassador's stave wrenched out of his hands, using it like a Hybrasilian spear, carving space for herself out of the fray. The goddess gives to those she loves, and in this moment, it's impossible for her not to see Angela Victoria Miera Antonius as Dolly sees her: the physicality, the demand for attention, the sweat on her bare arms, the bounce of her dark hair, the broad white teeth bared in a victory-grin.

The thought of Angela barging into the room, flush with victory, and revealing that she was in league with the Red Band the entire time makes Dolly's knees buckle and makes her bury her face in Valynia. And now, little huntress, I will have my revenge for what happened on Akar II, and then, and then-- but then after she's pawed at and groped and treated like a pirate's prize, at a party of all things, unable to cry out for help from oblivious partygoers, oh, then, Valynia double-crosses Angela, and she's got access to the outfits from Akar II, and she leaves them on the bed together for Jade, and, mmmfff, Angela in that pink-red gauze, tied so tightly together that Dolly can't lift her face from those generous alien breasts...

Angela's breathing heavier, and she's flushed for reasons that don't have to do with the battle. She's getting some images, some echoes, and Jade might be encouraging her by giving her glimpses of Dolly pressed up against her, batting those eyes, making her adoring little noises. But that's just part of the expanded senses Jade is offering. Words are becoming less useful, not when the emotions and the images are so much more immediate and easier for the goddess to spread out among those she's connected to. This is hard for her too, you know. But fighting and fucking start with the same letter, don't they?

No one can touch Angela Victoria Miera Antonius, not while she is dancing with a goddess on her back. Her prize awaits her in a side chamber, to be rescued or betrayed, but it is one of several prizes that can be won. All she has to do is fend off two Zaldarian empresses and somehow defeat this Zaldarian knight who gets fiercer the harder she's pressed, a battle-lust that is a mirror of Angela Victoria Miera Antonius's own, but guarded, not able to burst forth the way the laughter spills from Angela Victoria Miera Antonius's lips.

Dolly sways her hips, invitingly, but also to let Angela know that war is a dance. And she spares a moment to say another prayer for Ksharta Talonna, who is just as good a girl, and who would most definitely save Dolly and Angela before the station exploded. The station is allowed to explode because of Red Band explosives, it's her fantasy and she doesn't have to worry about logistics. But Jade shouldn't do that. Can you hear her, Jade? Some fantasies can remain fantasies, Ksharta can just say that the station's about to explode as she parades two lovely slave-girls back towards the idol, Jade, and also maybe tonight isn't the right night to do actual exhibitionism, and, mmmph, yes, knee there, nip there, tug her head back by the hahahahaiiiiir...

[An Entice has occurred, and it is a 9. It is Dolly attempting to entice Valynia, but it is also Jade enticing Angela with Dolly, and it is also Angela enticing Solarel through glorious combat. <3]

Breathless Dead

A dark shape cuts through the water with the ease of a shark. Out of the many dangers of the deep, she knows that she is one of them; that she is a part of the host of the outside. And so as a shark, sharp-toothed and sleek, dangerous but not vicious, Ember passes by crabs and jellyfish with equal ease. The residual intensity of the Adaption Instinct edges everything in crisp colors, but by the time that she beholds the ruin, it had almost passed. Almost.

It roars up her spine again, eyes wide, aware that what she is seeing is, no, has the capability of being a threat. It is without life, without animation, but it is intrinsically dangerous. Like a sword, lying unsheathed on a table. Even broken on the seafloor, this cyclopean ruin (for it was they, the one-eyed, who made the weapons of the gods) is a possible threat to the Silver Divers, and it is...

It is not her responsibility to investigate yet. And yet, she hovers in the water, slowly treads, looks down at the achingly familiar mystery. It is her duty to bring news of the dragon and its light-scanner to her packmates. It is, technically, still her duty to fulfill her training exercise. Going on an exploration of whatever lies inside that husk, bleeding death into the water, a slow accumulation of toxins that have her shivering just from the trace elements working their way into her nose from this far away, is not her duty. If she dies, breathless and trapped, or poisoned by the deathwound of this titan, then her information about the dragon's tactical capabilities may come too late. It is not her duty.

And yet, she struggles. She can see a gash torn in its flank, the deathblow of a comet. She yearns to swim inside, to walk down its halls, to see the drowned fountains, the miles of corridors cable-wreathed, the old chambers, the starheart, the starheart, the starheart, bound in adamant and raging, even buried beneath the weight of Poseidon, its veins seeping into the water, its claws abandoned in the corridors, its crew all shelled and pincered now, missing the captain, missing the temple, missing the stowaways, missing the statue, missing the princess, missing--

Her hand touches its flank and she starts. The water around her is clouded, stagnant, clinging to her fur. She kicks off, nostrils sealed, limbs pumping, and spends far too long getting to where the water is clear, and her heart is racing, and the tightness in her chest tells her that it is time for her to return to the surface. But she knows.

The way, that is. If she can lead from the beach, the dragon has given her the gift of knowing exactly, exactly how to reach the fallen titan. She can come back with packmates, with wetsuits, with rebreather muzzles, with her Alphas, who will know what to do with this impossible primordial corpse, how to pick its bones, how to learn its secrets, how to call for a reclaimer fleet; with pumps, this could even be their new fortress until it is lifted back into the stars.

It belongs among the stars.

Is she light-headed because the sun is drawing close, or because the thought has lodged inside of her brain like a knife in flesh?

It belongs hanging, impossible, beautiful, among the stars, and she belongs on it.

She loves it like she loves her pack. She knows its secrets, its turns, its furious planet-devouring heart.

And she has never seen it before in her life.

Ember breaks the surface of the waves with a gasp that is a scream, and she reaches up, tries to keep going, lifts her hand up towards the sky and the stars, and then she bobs beneath the water again, and the shock of it makes her sputter, shake her head, unseal her nostrils. She is already trying to sweat out toxins. She needs to get to her pack, to be hosed down, to deliver her message, and then--

And then they will invade the sea.

Huntresses of Hybrasil

The timing's uncanny; the live musical performance has changed from the moving Hybrasilian ballad Among the Reeds, Unseen to a modernized performance of the traditional Terenian folk song Rotten Red Fruit, with a pre-programmed light show casting shadows of old gods and demons on the walls. Jade lets them through. (It's not that she's micromanaging the entire electronics system here, it's more that she's added herself to the great big complex system, another layer of projection and audio, Ksharta thinks.) The whine of the guitar, the thump-thump-thump of the drum (like all their hearts), the lyrics of defiance in the face of the two-faced coin of oppression and desire, they're all for this, all for now, for

Angela, whirling, catching the Empress of Zaldar behind her ankle and swinging her down into a dip, so she can whirl her back up and send her spinning into her rival, so she can spread her arms and laugh, so she can have the Empress shoved back into her, the impact sending shivering sparks across her front, the impact enough to rock her back on her heels, but those nails are digging into her shoulders as she's clutched possessively

Dolly, pulled into a red-lamped room, pinned against the wall, as Valynia thumbs the faint shape on her shoulder where her fur hasn't fully grown back in yet, the same shape Dolly insisted on only having partially filled in, the same shape Dolly's found herself occasionally touching, and the way Valynia rubs up against her and smiles sends shivering sparks across her front, and she takes a deep breath

Jade, many-eyed, but the security cameras weren't cleared for this performance, and the shadows shivering across the walls remind her too much of the underworld, and Dolly's delight is the same as Angela's delight and they're both things that she can't give, not really, the impact and the softness, the violence and the scent, but she does her best, doesn't she, and her jealousy claws and bites against the growing realization that she can feel it, too, she can smell it, too, she can feel fierce and small at the same time, if she closes her eyes she can feel the blood pumping hard under Angela's skin and she can smell Valynia Bander's intoxicating perfume

Ksharta hiding behind the buffet table, tail curling and twitching, aware that literally everyone else in this harem/polycule/channel/situation is horny as fuck right now

Angela, one wrist twisted behind her back as she's sandwiched between two possessive dragon girls, using her other hand to tilt up an imperial jaw, teeth bared in a grin, feeling the excited shiver as she pushes herself back against the other, dimly aware that she's the axis on which an entire species' intrigue turns tonight, wishing that there was something similar for the kittens, imagine if there were two goddesses fighting over her

Dolly, feeling Valynia's fangs on her neck, tugging, tongue dragging on her fur, mewling into her, but with enough devotion to her goddess to try and give as good as she's getting, cupping Valynia's toned butt and lifting it into a biscuit, wishing that the wall behind her was Jade feeling her up, and it would be bad if she was kidnapped from the party, wouldn't it, it would be a security disaster, so there's reasons to hope that doesn't happen, beyond the tangled-up feelings of what that would do to Jade

Jade, running into someone, no, through someone, passing through them like a ghost, wishing she was able to tear herself apart and be everywhere at once, glorying in Angela's physicality the way that Dolly does, helping Valynia turn her priestess into a shivering mess, running a reassuring hand through the fur on the back of Ksharta's head, and

"You know we can feel it, too," Ksharta whispers.

The desire is a loop, the want that is tying the four of them together, one hand clutched together, the other reaching out. There's more bleed the more it gets; palms over mouths, hands on wrists, eyes drinking it in, and the yawning need to meet those desires, to be a good girl, to make them sing like Whispered Promise can.

Jade stops. She doesn't know what room she's in. The song is reaching a crescendo. Black and white war on the shining walls, each one containing the next figure. She crosses her legs and folds her hands in her lap, seated on the air, and she opens up her heart, unfolding like the flower, and in that moment of vulnerability her harem can feel her helplessness on the strings of Whispered Promise, her need to keep Dolly safe, her hunger to be good for them and to deserve them.

And her hands are on Angela's wrists, guiding, squeezing, a halo of jade fire around her head, an encouragement to give as good as she can get, to make her goddess proud, to teach them not to underestimate Angela Victoria Miera Antonius, to show the goddess what this kind of fight is like and how to glory in having a body, how to enjoy the throb of pain, and she'll guide you to the victory you want

And her hands are under Dolly's corset, under Valynia's dress, digging in, working in circles, the hot breath on Valynia's neck, and if you want her you must have me too, the sting of the brand on Dolly's shoulder replaying on Valynia's skin, and hands between them offering materials with which to shut her up, this is how we play, Valynia Bander, with magic and trust and the glory of a goddess, and what you do to her you share with the harem

And her hands are running slow trails through Ksharta's fur, relaxing, comforting, reassuring, you are part of us but you are not required to lose yourself in the decadence, my heart is a stone temple and there is unquenchable fire there which gives off no smoke but there is also water, cool on the tongue, soothing, and in this space it is your choice to walk into the fire, and you are my good girl, Ksharta Talonna, I am proud of you, your cooking and your hunting, and your courage to wear me tonight, now tap my hand if you need more attention because Dolly you are a bad, bad girl, seduce her MORE, use your BODY, show her why I CHOSE YOU, I LOVE YOU--

And guests gawk at the figure of the goddess, eyes closed, handless arms unfolding behind her like the petals of the flower, the water of the Fishers dripping from her mask, an art installation, another performance, they say that she's actually the mecha that Seven Quetzal pilots, you weren't here when she pulled herself free from it, she's actually a hologram and a Hybrasilian psyop because of the Empresses being here tonight, you can pass right through her, what in the world is she doing?

Smokeless Jade Fires doesn't care. She can't. Her world is three women, and what she can be for them. That is enough.

Breathless Dead

She's not afraid.

The first time this happened, there was an attempt to be afraid; she didn't know what was going on, why she was hyperfixating on the grin on Plundering Fang's face, the tilt of the sky as she turned on her axis, the tautness of her muscles as her heels left the ground, the wetness of her own half-open mouth, the nails digging into her side. But it was submerged beneath the genetic need to understand, to remember, to be able to explain how she was defeated. Part of training is learning how to survive during the Adaption Instinct, and that's why the recruit is barraged with new experiences during their training-- and that's why a Ceronian never forgets the experiences of being trained and initiated into the pack. All of those memories are more vivid in her head than the faint mist of whatever happened before she joined the Silver Divers.

So she swims. She knows well enough how to avoid the sludgewater, and, it's the oddest thing, but the current's working against them. As she swims out and down, all those toxic clouds are swept back up towards the beach, and the current's with her, pulling her downwards like a riptide as the clouds fade away like dying jellyfish, spat back up out of the mouth of the water. The water pulls, but it's comforting, it holds her tight as if to say that she is safe here.

So she follows. Out she sweeps, kicking her legs together like a mermaid, past the reef, downwards to where the light begins to falter and her instincts tell her that she should be relying on scent. She doesn't need to breathe, not yet. Above, the dragon still follows after her, but she is moving fast, and the current is unpredictable, and it pulls her deep; she has a decent chance of losing it on her way to...

Wherever she is going. She's headed perpendicular to the route she should be headed, out towards the current Silver Divers camp (for the daughters of Ceron move their location regularly to baffle their foes). But the sea is insistent, and little Ember trusts it. It is like being rushed along by many faint hands, urging her forward, inviting her down deepwards, and if she closes her eyes, she can see the faint throb of a riot of colors, a memory so old that it comes without names or a sense of self, just joy and speed and discovery. So she swims. So she lets the hunt fall behind her. So she braves the unknown again.

[15 on Overcoming the peril of the sludgewater.]

Huntresses of Hybrasil

The lights are snuffed out with the clicking of a jaw.

Zaldarians are faint outlines in the dark, light highlighting the edges of scales, the faintest touch of luminosity. That means the eye is drawn to them, at first, before Jade breathes, and it is the wet breath of a predator in the dark. (Hearts beating in time. Ksharta Talonna's irises widening as she tries to drink in the light. A hand on the back of Dolly's neck.)

Smokeless Jade Fires opens her eyes in the middle of her presence, looking down at the petulant royals who threaten her priestesses. She does not stop opening them. Like the Terenian peacock, they flare out behind her, like wings, like her tail stretching off into infinity, and then she opens, for a moment, several of her mouths, her fangs limned like Zaldarian scales.

Then she flicks the lights back on, trains the spotlights on the usurper and the usurped and her, standing between them, seemingly small. "This is not how we behave," she says, and for a moment she lets a third eye blink, flesh like oil. A calculated reminder of what she is. "Is it?" She drags her gaze up the legs of the usurped, lifts a lip lasciviously, then turns her attention to the illuminated chest of the usurper. "Not in here. Behave. If you want to fight, there is an entire arena designed for it, entire bodies made for it, drones so everyone can watch, all within casual flight distance. And if you want to fuck, there are discreet rooms for that. So go ahead and pick one, and keep your claws in at a party."

Then she strides forward, curls a finger. The yank surprises Angela Victoria Miera Antonius by surprise, and she staggers forward. She straightens up quickly, certainly, but the gesture is unmistakable. "Of course I find you in the middle of trouble," the goddess says, sweetly, pityingly. "What do you have to say for yourself~?"

"Are you going to scold me, little god, or are you going to stop those pirates from walking off with your pilot?"

The absolute, inhuman stillness is its own tell.

"We're not pirates," Valynia adds, over her shoulder, as she ushers Dolly into the ballroom next door. "Pirates don't get invites to big parties! We're just a group of enthusiastic pilots~!"

"You're going to get it," Jade whispers, just loudly enough for the empresses to hear. The sound systems here are only so good, after all.

"If you want a rematch, there's an arena designed for it, I hear," she retorts. "Any time you want, little goddess. Now keep your claws in and go save your blushing bride all weak at the knees. I'm not afraid of a couple of royals having a spat." And I'm not afraid of you, either, she thinks, almost loudly enough to hear. She scoops up a wine glass and stares down Dolly's girlfriend, waiting for either a temper tantrum or a huff.

Jade works her jaw, huffs, and then says: "Behave." And she turns and flickers and is out of the room.

Angela Victoria Miera Antonius takes a long sip from her wine glass and smiles the smile of someone tied into Dolly's fluster and Ksharta's awe, aimed towards her of all people. "Good luck, goddess," she murmurs, and then turns to the Empress of the Zaldarians. "Now, where were we?"

Breathless Dead

It would be nice to dive, to hit the water with her hands to cut it open, to be propelled down into the depths. But she's on the beach. All she can do is walk, slowly, confidently, into the water. Running attracts their attention. Walking, even walking in an unexpected direction, is easy enough for the eye to miss as she sinks into the waves, and then she starts to swim. The Silver Divers specialize in swimming, after all. The water deadens scent, but her eyes kick in to compensate. She holds her breath and feels the pressure slowly fill her body as she hugs the sand, her fur sleek as an otterskin, immersed in the sea. Once she gets out from the beach, once she gets to the drop, she'll take one more breath, face sticking out of the water briefly, and then she'll be able to drop.

The coral's beautiful, once you hit the drop. The sun slants through the water, illuminating the Divers' Garden. This is where she plays-- not here, exactly, not this precise spot, but all along the coast. This is another training ground, another place where she can race her packmates, another battleground full of advantages. Here is where she has learned to knife-fight in a place without air; here is where she has learned how to free herself from weights. Here is where she has learned how long she can hold her breath; here is where she has learned how to share her breath with a packmate who is floundering.

It didn't take her long at all to learn how to think in three dimensions. She earned praises for that, and envious glares, and extra chores maintaining the underwater defenses. It just came so naturally. She doesn't have a mobility pack here, but if she did, she'd be jetting along, eyes squinting as the water rushes past her face, making automatic adjustments at a level underneath thought. She might be the little Ember of the pack, but the sea can't quench her fire. It loves her too much.