Tatterdemalion

Breathless Dead

It is ridiculous to try to defend a demigoddess. She is invincible, unstoppable, a roll of thunder that makes armies bow like grass before her. The weapon that could stop her cannot be found on this planet, and it is only her heart that stops her from ruling Bitemark as a god-queen, crowned in gold and draped in silver. She could do battle against an Azura and win, and there is no hope for the Silver Divers to wrestle her down and use her heart as her weakness, not now.

But Ember is still there, her scimitar flickering, dancing through her stances. There will be no attempt to grab Mosaic from behind, to pull a bag over her head, to jam a spearhaft against her throat. There will be no envelopment, no sneak attack, no cunning ploy so beloved of the Wolves of Ceron. Not tonight. She hums the hymn of Mosaic and lets it reverberate in her bones: chan! chan! chan-barra-chan-barra-chan!

Her mind is serene, her nose full of Mosaic, her swordplay is done with the same breathless air of certainty and gap-finding that marks a true swordmaster, and she restrains it to simply defend the undefendable, to be there beside the raging daughter of Heaven, to always and forever be a step and a grasp away from her hand.

This is not treason, her spine shivers. This is submission to a higher power. What else is the ultimate end of knighthood? Power for its own sake is nothing if love cannot take the hilt, if honor and submission do not recognize their intended aim. And after the battle--

After the battle she will surrender, too. If all the Silver Divers fall into the hands of Mosaic tonight, then it will be all.

No hesitation. No flinching. Nothing but the sword-dance, the haze of her lover's scent, and victory over her clan-mates as she betrays them in the honor of the highest name. chan! chan! chan-barra-chan-barra-chan!

MASKS - Ghost Gate City

Foxpearl!

“That is exactly what your mother would say!” Joshua says as he dives out of the room after the lion-puppy, which is the worst possible timing, because you can’t exactly have a convincing argument with someone out in the cafe from back here, and because, woof, that’s a hell of a thing to say, right?

“Y’llrr nhhhth,” the Princess says, looking incredibly awkward, but in a different way than she was just a minute ago. Like she’s feeling awkward on your behalf, which is the least that anybody should be feeling about you. “Uhh’ nnnhh y’hhrrr jjhhffft rryh’ngh tuh hllllfffh.” Is that said with an implicit <3? Maybe. Or maybe you’re reading into the inherent (captive) nobility of the city’s superhero’s sidekick.

Which one of those is more important, Foxpearl? An Adult telling you that you’re like your mother (who definitely goes more in for vice, whenever she’s unmasked— though she might say that to have her way, the virtuous must be restrained, admittedly), or your teammate and bastion of respectability telling you (probably) that you’re just trying to help as she dangles from the ceiling?

---

Shifu!

“shifU NO—“

He says, but you are joyous and free and unleashed in the pursuit of fox virtue. Running rings around people is, like, your specialty.

Izi is in the middle of exploding some sort of imaginary demon lord using the power of lots of math, numbers in bright colors popping up on her screen, and mumbling into her microphone with the sort of intensity and speed that suggest she might have the secret superpower of No Breath which would allow her to never need to breathe as long as she keeps speaking but only wise hermit masters know that so maybe she’s secretly a wise hermit master? That sort of thing happens all the time in Heaven.

Wise hermit masters are definitely into dying the ends of their pigtails purple and going for a “casual goth” vibe, complete with not-so-casual buckled knee-high boots with secret height mysteries built into the bottoms. All the time. Where you don’t see them, because they’re in disguise, probably.

---

Rain!

“Nah,” Bai says, with an expressive shrug. “Doc’s locked herself in the office. Tonight’s not… look, I’m glad you happened to be here. We should get her breakfast tomorrow. Bring it in. Make sure she’s slept. None of this is her fault, but creeps like Li? They don’t give a shit about that. Finding somebody to blame’s easier. He’ll probably blame that hot vigilante, too.”

Is she? She’s capable of keeping a very straight face. It’s one of her many ordinary superpowers. She bites into her sandwich like it wasn’t, but that would just be on purpose if it was. So maybe she’s guessing? Maybe it’s a flirt? Maybe it’s not but she’d be into you anyway? Maybe if you blurt something out she’ll march right up to Huan’s office and rat you out?

(Outside, the lights of the police aerial are garish, violent red and blue as it begins to make its way across the city, between the many towers you call home.)

Breathless Dead

"Oh no," Ember says, astonished. "They... Plundering Fang, are you seeing this?" Her jaw is loose in astonishment as she watches a phalanx march up towards Beri. She reaches down, absently squishes her tormentor's cheeks, lifts her sullenly embarrassed chin with the wicked innocence of a knight (and ignore the way her tail is wagging). "Oh, if only! If only someone could tell our pack that they have packed themselves into the worst possible formation for taking this town! It can't possibly be Taurus who gave this order, can it? Sagetip, maybe? Taurus has to be trying to flank us, or getting dressed for her challenge against Mosaic, and-- darling, can I warn them? Can I at least give them a fighting--"

"No."

"Well, I can't watch. You can't watch, can you, Plunder~? No, you would definitely try to warn them, wouldn't you? And we can't have that~" Nobly, the traitor of the Silver Divers puts herself to work to distract her own instincts to warn the pack by putting as much loving care into packing her teacher's cheeks full as-- oh, it couldn't possibly have been just the morning before! And the morning before that! And-- why, yes, I think she can fit a little more, can't she? And, here, I think you won't mind breathing in some Defeat, you've been giving off so much of it that it's like you're begging for it~

Then, with nervous energy being channeled into beaming smiles, an inability to hold still, and a furiously wagging tail, the pack bitch of the Silver Divers goes down the line, making sure to demonstrate to her teachers just how much she's learned about securing prisoners, keeping them well-silenced and distracted with pheromones, and how to fluster them with a well-timed "good girl" and a pat on the head.

Really, they should have seen this coming. Any storyteller could have predicted this, and it's their own fault for being defeated by the demigoddess clearly mounted on the wall in the first act!

Huntresses of Hybrasil

fire her mind is a ragged firecloak expanding outside Akar outside the universe filling it with stars fire rippling up and down the chains linking her to her jackals fire flashing inside her eyes without smoke as she roars and flexes her fingers against the wrists of her only anchor without claws without claws digging into her skin like they're tumbling into bed together and

step two step jump jink spin on heel skirt flare out chain bouncing against her chest facing down a field of impossible fireflies and she flexes her fingers against the wrists of her only anchor as she dances through the danger with divine grace wrist down chains pulling taut as microadjustments cause the hissing shots fireflies to pass a hair's breath past her veil and there's two more of her making different-but-the-same approaches one bending her back another crouching low as she presses her palm against the wet earth and

constellations scorch their way through the dark and comets shriek out of their places lashing fire across her heartvoid but the three paths were already decoupled and three different arcs is just a new thing to keep in mind her head is burning and her laughter is cracking open the spaces between stars but she's not going to break or flinch or accept defeat on any vector because

leap and now she has wings shining burning with smokeless jade feathers spread out on either side of her as she races the attempt to track her and the farthermost her is staying low on the ground but the one in the center is swimming through the air dead on as she soars on her goddess's wings and lets out a muffled shriek of delight her skirts fanning out her grip still tight on her wife's wrists because

the furnace is not ready but they couldn't let her get up into the sky and the path to victory is one written now by the darts of Mu Ysha who takes and takes and never gives back and that is the difference between us because she will spill out everything on her Dolly's head for choosing her for dreaming of being beautiful for wanting to be paraded before aliens and spacers alike for being obedient for being hers for choosing her for choosing her and so

three of her strike at once and one snaps at Jacinta's feet and one plunges straight for Jacinta's heart even as the shots shred the coherence of her limbs but it's Dolly who's trailing the mesh from one wrist and pulls it tight over the cockpit rocks the pirate back on her heels blinds and silences her long enough for Jade's nails to score a flourish just over her heart and kick her in the small of the back rock her forward onto her knees on the wet earth

and the jackals are snapping from both sides but with the mesh tied over the sensors suite in the cockpit she won't be able to tell what's just a bite of light arms and what's a slash to her fuel lines and weapons systems and in her ears she'll hear the ragged laughter of a banked fire tongue lolling and teeth sharp enough for a kiss as she is undressed for the final blow

and it's her actually who dares to sneak in a playful smack and a hip-check as she slides armor off Jacinta's shoulder and it's her who dares to plant a "kiss" on the mark on Jacinta's chest and she can feel the goddess's ardor flare and they're both into this moment of exultation after doing the impossible and it's all on camera so what do you think of THAT Valynia?

[10 on Defying Disaster with Grace.]

---

The Barn Owl should be silent when it rises into the air. But the science just isn't there yet.

It's the natural play, isn't it? To take to the skies when backed into a corner. To regroup. Which means that Smith will be focusing on closing off avenues for her to escape to. As if hiding somewhere else on the battlefield would be doing anything that's not just wasting time.

The Barn Owl swoops down upon the Unseen Goose like an owl with its wings outspread, opening fire to cut off Smith's own avenues to escape, and pivots in midair for the kick. This is the way that Dolly and Jade would do it, isn't it? They thrive when getting in close to... well, usually to seduce their opponents, using Dolly's body language and Jade's smug taunts to wear down the opponent's will to fight.

Well, there's more than one way to wear down a will to fight, and sometimes that involves using mecha as extensions of bodies. The Barn Owl goes for the headlock.

"Then you can shut up and lose gracefully, maybe? You will be fine no matter how you do, you've already shown everyone what you can do! This is my last chance to make the galaxy see us!" Us? Or her? "I'll lose to a goddess, I'll lose to a Zaldarian next-in-line-for-a-coup, but not a pirate!" Arm bar. Shots go off into a tree, splitting it into splinters. "And your plucky-go-lucky pirate crew will still follow you if you lose here, yes?"

Breathless Dead

Ember does not howl. But she does glow.

A wolf is meant to howl at the moon, is she not? But she is not lunar, not tonight. Fire courses through her nerves, and it sets fire to her thoughts, and all that is left inside of her head is the crackling warmth of that flame, and the secret of the heart of that flame is-- well. Best not to talk about him around Mosaic. It makes her irrationally twitchy to hear that god's name.

Where Mosaic exults in her power, shows off to the Silver Divers, their loyally treacherous pack bitch is not showing off at all. Not a bit. Her focale smells of her lover's skin and crushed flowers, and her sword is a flickering firefly thing. She was paying attention, every time; see how dutifully she learned your lessons, o her tutors?

Plundering Fang leads the ambush from all sides, tossing gas bombs at her feet, coming in low and close for the legs, and she gets the flat smashed in her face for the trouble and her right ear nicked as Ember redirects her energy onto the cobblestones, her vēlum spilling loose onto the street. There's no mocking, just the hum of thought without thought, the sacred syllable of the sun hiding beneath her tongue, the clash of her scimitar against forked knives, the grace of a dancer flowing through a pack, her focale always out of reach, her knight's vēlum fluttering underneath calm sunblinded eyes.

Goldie tosses a shell-weighted net; Ember, dreamily, reverses her grip on her sword and catches the net's outer edge in her free hand. How her belt flares out as she spins on one foot! And then, ah, she neatly returns the net and knocks down three of her packmates, mmmmmmmmmm humming as she fights just like her moon hunts, until Plundering Fang lunges for her again, and she steps back into the embrace, rolls her most beloved teacher over her shoulder, lays her flat out on the street, and steps on her neck.

Only then, finally, she speaks.

"Mosaic, darling, this is Plundering Fang~"

And the ears of the victorious demigodess twitch, and she draws her lips back in a terrifying gorgon-smile, and she says: "Ah. There you are."

Huntresses of Hybrasil

Ten thousand arrows tipped with fire hiss through the air, suspended in the goddess's awareness, each one threatening to overwhelm her armor, to crack her open and leave her captive heart vulnerable. Another impossible challenge offered by Mu Ysha, a test of her divinity. How dare you claim this position, how dare you claim your place, being so new, so selfish, so suspect? How dare you claim this temple bride is the equal of our champions, Smokeless Jade Fires? How dare you challenge us for our prizes?

Dolly's hands curl in time with hers. Every sensation flowing through her nerves is shared with the goddess. There is determination to mirror hers, a heart beating fast and furious and yearning, yearning, the need that the goddess had cultivated and sharpened to a point. The fire that she had stoked.

The trap is inside out. All she needs to do is prove it.

Together, they fall to their knees. Together, they let fire flow through their arm, straight from Jade's roaring heart. And at the shortest range possible, they hit their target dead on.

The lake explodes as Jade vents power straight through her limb thrusters, raw concussive force that makes her glad she can barely clench her jaw. She feels the jackals peel off, like weights dropping from her torso, and as soon as Jade tugs at her leash she's already up. This plan depended on misdirection and cunning, on being able to fake their way in beneath that guard to deliver a kiss (one with a generator that is still respooling, Jade's ragged breath loud in her ears).

Whether or not Jacinta steps back from the white-frothed half-a-lake about to wash over her, she's about to be facing down three Jades at once, all three doing their best to keep Jacinta guessing which one's real and which one's the projection. The original plan was to close in as fast as possible, but now? Now it's time to improvise.

At least they already have a reputation for being incredibly fluid and hard to hit. Jade's stretched herself across three instances, so it's up to Dolly to do exactly what she says, just as obedient and responsive as Jade's jackals, long enough. They just need long enough. Jade's almost roaring now, and the generator drawing off their star heart feels like it's her heart.

[Dolly and Jade roll with Harmony to Defy Disaster and manage a 14.]

---

Ai!

That two-timing goddess just had to get her taunting in, didn't she? Offering Smith her "personal favor" for the fight, her blessing as a goddess, and even making a show of putting a bet against her? She might as well be like Dolly with that smug goddess pulling her on strings, and it's as transparent as glass that Jade thinks she's really encouraging her!

And the worst part is that it's working. There's even more fire in Angela's gut as she deploys, the burning urge to be able to walk up to Dolly after the match and rub it in Jade's face that she won, so there, what are you thinking of that, and how do you mean to make even and make up for this insult, little Dolly? How much is her ransom, hey?

"Come on," she jabs over the comms, and if there's an echo of how she challenged Solarel, well, maybe it'll be different this time with no trick. She's only fighting this battle today-- no more, no less. "Bring it on, Unseen Goose! Or did that goddess tame you?"

Breathless Dead

Ember rolls over. She sits up. Good girl! She’s hovering over Mosaic like an excitable cloud veiling the face of the moon, her earlier indignation forgotten. Her tail smacks excitedly against the swell of Mosaic’s thighs, her mismatched eyes wide and eager and intense.

”I found a ship,” she reveals.

“I was being chased, so I dived, and down there there was this ship which was so big that I thought it was an old human temple, but then I recognized it, or it reached inside my head and told me what it was, and we can’t do it alone but with you and Beri and us working together we could get it back out of the sea and rekindle the engine and we can go up there! Together! All of us! We’ll even move Dolce’s from Beri and recreate it inside, the whole thing, and we’ll have to pack plenty of crabs for him, but we’ll get him new ingredients from worlds we haven’t even dreamed of, and we’ll go and never stop going, and—“

She pauses here for excited, sloppy, enthusiastic kisses, right up until she comes up for air and gets one of Mosaic’s perfect fingers on her lips. In response, she makes an adorably quizzical noise.

“And the pack knows about this?”

“Mmmhm!”

She wilts, slightly, under Mosaic’s flat stare. But who could stay irritated with the eager knight? Especially one who’s given you a ticket out of Bitemark. A ruined ticket at the bottom of the ocean, true, and one which will need a lot of work to refurbish, but a ticket nonetheless.

“Well,” Mosaic breathes, and pulls her knight close for reward headpats. “Maybe they’ll start smelling better after I dunk them all in the sea. Thank you, Ember.” The shiver that runs through Ember is only matched by her breathless, giddy giggling.

MASKS - Ghost Gate City

Foxpearl!

Oh, Shifu. She definitely needs an explanation of why it is vital to preserve the Princess’s virtue, and why she needs to be kept safe from the temptation of cooperating with cops. Fortunately, you have a lecture prepared (probably) and visual aids! (And Shifu’s the one person greener to this stuff than you are, you might admit, if you were not already perfect.)

Though Shifu does have a point. You might need to move her into a closet. Or under a bed. Or in a box of some sort as you prepare an even more secret secret hideout.

---

Shifu!

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to be smart. Now, smart people do two things: they learn and they come up with ideas. So all you need to do is absorb everything Foxpearl explains to you (which is very smart) and then hit her with the biggest, best idea you’ve got. Chase that thought exactly where it ends up, and then commit as hard as you can!

---

Rain!

It’s raining.

Foxpearl’s run off with the Princess. (This is probably fine.) Shifu probably left with her. And that leaves you. Enjoying the rain, hopefully, as it patters against the windows down the corridor. The twang of a stringed instrument being played in a classic style comes over the speakers of the banh mi place, one of the few places in this commercial zone still open at this hour.

But there aren’t many barriers in SGC. Of course stores close down for the night, but the commercial zones of the towers are still open for late night wanderers who might stumble across a late night shop (like said banh mi place), and so it just so happens that you’re not the first person in line here tonight.

“Oh, hey, Rain!” Bai Xiuying gives you a friendly wave, her round face breaking into a warm smile as she sees you. Doesn’t look like she’s out walking the city post-gig; she’d have her bass over her shoulder in that case. Still has the pin-festooned jacket, though.

Normally, she’d be clearing her head after a hard day of helping out Dr. Huan, same as you. But the lab’s a Scene of Civic Interest right now and Huan’s neck-deep in committee meetings that she’s doing her best to shield you from. Good for vigilantism. Bad for feeling normal.

But you’re the normal one. That’s why you’re here in a dark commercial zone and why the two magical beings have run off with the superhero’s protege.

(Off in the distance, the heavy-duty police patrol craft prepares to fly Xingtian across the city to the HOUND Detainment Center. Its red and blue lights are still visible from here.)

MASKS - Ghost Gate City

Foxpearl! Shifu!

“I’m not mad,” Joshua Chan lies. “I’m just disappointed.”

Outside, green-grey rain begins to lash at the panes. Below, evacuation barges mingle with early morning shipping. In here, the burnt water smell of coffee begins to fill the apartment attached to the cafe.

“As far as hiding places go, this is… not a very good one.” He eyes the blushing Vermillion Princess, dangling from one of the ceiling plant hangers, over the frames of his glasses. “Somebody’s going to put two and two together and make Shifu out of it pretty soon.”

But, like, where else could you go? ArAN’s place? She’d lecture Foxpearl for leaving kidnapped heroines on the furniture. Wherever Rain lives? She vanished away at the end of that fight.

“Also, Izi‘s still leading her raid,” Joshua points out. The sound of her hammering the keyboard with enthusiasm floats through the door. “She definitely saw you, she’s just too busy to pay attention to the news yet. This isn’t just going to be a circulation on the Granny Network letting tower security know they need to have a talk with you three. That dipshit Li’s going to be on the news talking about how Foxfire’s clearly made a miniature version of herself and— Hsien. What. Are you doing.”

---

Rain!

Down in the dark. Not a lot of well-to-do people come all the way down here, you know? The closest most respectable people come is checking some shop in the basement levels of the towers. But elemental earth is a vital part of the city.

Somewhere up above, an idiot cop vents one of Xingtian’s power generators, and the ghosts drain down the tower, down to the earth, down into the dark. They flow around you in the dark, whispering, and if you listened carefully you might be able to make something out—

—be sure to tell that daughter of mine
—was the finale any good
—my cat’s ghost is going to fret if I’m out too long
—I just want to go back to sleep
—I was dreaming
—I’m still hungry
—tell Yama there was a mistake
—wasn’t the fire exciting

—all mumbled, sleepwalking. The restless dead. There’s a reason that all those exorcist horror movies are about “laying the dead to rest.” They’re all wispy, fragmented, and one whisper might start a fragment and another might finish it.

The tragedy of this crisis isn’t that the living might be harmed by ghosts. Spooked, maybe. Chilled, yeah. Hurt by someone who’s using all that phantasmal magical power as a power generator? That’s becoming a big risk.

But the tragedy of this crisis is that the dead are awake without the proper rituals, and that they can’t go back to sleep.

Could you sleep down here, if you had to, once the adrenaline drains? Could you sleep while listening to the half-aware whispers of the dead? Or would that have an odd effect?

Breathless Dead

Please, white moon.

You can hide them for a while, can't you?

Just them. Just the two of them. The pack can wait to try to pull her back, to smother her in praise, to train her to be a sixth of the presence that Mosaic is. The town can wait to call upon Mosaic to solve its problems with her incredible feats of strength and charm and huntressesness.

Don't let anyone else see them and the way they wrestle breathless and glowing among the flowers, how Ember squirms so that she can prove Mosaic's power, how those incredible shoulders are a canopy over the little wolf. Don't let anyone else hear the eager panting, the way that Mosaic wrings her name out of Ember's lips, the hitches of breath and the way her voice is dragged up into taut need. Don't let anyone else feel the sleek, glowing skin; don't let anyone smell the Adoration and the Lust and the Submission dusting the petals of the flowers.

You can do that for them, can't you, lovely white moon?

For Mosaic and the hunts she carries out in your name, at least. And for the little kisses Ember lifts to you when she sees you rising while she roams the hunting-grounds of Beri. And for the way that Ember wraps her firm runner's legs around Mosaic. How can you look at that and not wish to protect it, eight-faced moon?

Your work will be cut out for you. Mosaic's name carries embarrassingly, adoringly far. Now that her pack knows beyond any doubt, how can she not be eager beneath her love? How can she not cling, and melt, and reflect Mosaic's desire back to her? This, too, is alchemy, and alchemy has always been touched by moonlight.

So hear her ragged prayer, white moon. And if not for her sake, for the sake of the hero of Beri, whose mystique must be preserved.