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Guardian Angel HarukiEclair!
You know, in retrospect the Paladin is going to be very embarrassed that this is what starts the fight. She only half-hears your very good challenge, because she’s already throwing herself into the footwork, the pivot away from the projectile (the broom, let us underline, as her brain will only afterwards), the draw from the center of her chest.
The heartblade starts as shimmering motes of light streaming from her; her breastplate has a stylized Stone over her chest, from which the light issues forth. (A typical aesthetic flourish.) Her weapon is pale and cloudy green as it forms, even as she reaches out for its lengthening (and lengthening) form. The initial draw is a vital part of sword training, even with how it’s drawn to your hand; it won’t finish solidifying until you have it. Inexperienced duelists can be disarmed before they’re even armed. But she’s not inexperienced. Her hands go right where they need to be, her palms wrapping around the thick shaft, and the heartblade finishes materializing: a Kel glaive, the thick head single-edged. The counterbalance at the end is the silver moon, full and heavy.
The sweeping arc rising from below is heavy, intended to smash through a block; rather than striking at a limb, looking to limit mobility or capability, it is meant to be a shock to the system. If it won’t drop someone strong-willed immediately, it will at least stun them long enough for her to take the momentum and follow through with a blow from the counterweight or a spinning chop from above. It’s a fighting style that emphasizes devastating shock, meant to leave the opponent unable to stand, let alone continue a fight.
But you have light-treated armor. Arrogant or foolish of her, then— or she simply assumes the physical shock of the blow, even if it fails to penetrate, will stagger you long enough for her to make a more decisive strike, or that the light worked into your armor will dissipate under multiple blows. You can, at risk, accept the blow to buy yourself advantage; the orthodox play is to simply not be hit.
Strike for the head to break her thoughts; strike for the heart to break her will and blade. (But her heart, too, is behind her breastplate— and fending off blows to the head is a fundamental of fencing. Only a novice would leave her head open.) Strike to the limbs to numb them; strike at the flesh to make her reel with the shock. And to make an opening— distraction.
To duel with heartblades is a noble art; to duel with heartblades is a cruel art.
Yuki!
"I promise.”
Sulochana has a broad couch up front, on a raised platform, here at the event plaza; multiple important people do. People behind can see just fine as long as she doesn’t stand up and as long as you lie down next to her, propping your head up with one arm. Nothing to do but hang out in the pleasantly cooling dusk and—
“May the light of the goddess show you the right way and may you find what hides from you!”
Sulochana sits up, grinning, as Juniper steps into view. She’s wearing an awesome fur-lined version of her usual Civil casual wear, but with an exposed tummy and… a collar with a red string looped a lot of times around the circle at the front? But she looks happy. Amazingly happy. Her autumn-red tail is swishing wildly as she waves for you to get up and give her a hug. She’s gotten bigger since you left, or maybe that’s just the bulk of her jacket.
“Can’t stay too long— I’ll be blocking the view— but an invitation for both of you: the Baygum has agreed that I can invite some friends to dinner. We’re all taking over the Golden Grill after all this.” She gestures over to the southern side of the plaza, where a bunch of mean-looking people in furs are lounging on, around, and in front of couches: the Khatun’s pack that she’s been talking about so much.
Speaking of which, Baygum: it’s a Khaganate title, like Khatun. It’s (if you remember Juniper’s infodumps correctly) someone who’s authorized to call and lead hunts independently of the Khatun herself. It also sounds like that means her self-imposed administrative mission to the Khaganate has been really successful, as if her cheerful updates about sleeping on furs, sleeping with huntresses, and developing a new casual style for the Civil nun on the hunt weren’t hints enough. The Baygum, though. That sounds familiar. A patron? A girlfriend?
“We’re actually—“
“Don’t tell anyone I told you,” Juniper barrels on, past Sulochana’s attempt to point out that you have plans for the Ox’s Eye afterwards. “It’s just— she wants me to bring some of my bestest friends to a pack feast. Do you have any idea? And that Maid-Knight bound us together, too, just today— please, be sure to come, it’s going to be great!”
And then she licks you. On the cheek, affectionately, like a puppy. This is not a thing you’ve seen people in Thellamie do before. You’d definitely remember.
“I am crushing it today! Tonight! Golden Grill!”
You’ve got just about enough time to ask her one thing, or explain one thing, before she has to bound back (again, like a well-trained puppy).
Keli!
That sneeze! It’s sharp, and cute, and adorable, and the way his pretty little face scrunchies up, and all of it, the whole of it—
You cannot hold it back. The laughter bursts out of you— that laughter which is a little manic, a little piercing, a little like your beautiful and skilled mother’s own— nothing polite or cute, just the real deal of delighted, surprised joy, until it feels like your ribs are aching, even as a Nagi bigwig pulls you up by your scruff.
Oh, by Inara, where did this ridiculous little creature get dropped from?!
You’ll have to figure a way out of this eventually. But you always do. Hell, this isn’t even the first time your laugh has gotten you caught! But that’s a long story, and you probably don’t want anyone here to know that one yet. Maybe when you get your own proper post, sweetie. <3
Hazel!
“There’s really no need to struggle,” Purnima says, honey-sweet. “Wouldn’t it be so much more pleasant to just sink into my coils?” Her eyes are warm embers, the toasty warmth of sinking into blankets wrapped all around you on a cold evening. “Relax. Let go. You’re safe from any peril here with me.” She cups your chin, caresses your cheek, draws you into the depths of her gaze—
You manage to wrench away with all of your strength. Her coils tighten around you, forcing the air from your lungs in a little gasp. Purnima folds her arms, her expression of placid, trustworthy calm suddenly turned stormy (and absolutely definitely not embarrassed, goodness no). The room swims around you as those coils treat you like a squeaky stress toy.
“You could just leave him down here?” The guard with the ends of Keli and Seli’s leashes in his hand shrugs. “I could lock him in one of the back rooms. Easy.” He gestures deeper into the… house? It has the feel of one of those businesses that operates out of a house; there’s what looks like a couch-elevator on rails in one corner of the atrium. The windows are high and letting in the last of the day’s light. Memories are starting to swim back: that sneeze making Keli burst out into peals of laughter, getting you both caught; Purnima seizing both of you before you could properly draw your weapons, and Seli making a bold rescue attempt; being tossed over a guard’s shoulder, Keli and Seli being marched here behind you, and then Purnima staring into your face, and, okay, yes, that does bring you back to the present.
“What? And give the Arju the chance to have their spies locate him, steal him? I am not letting him out of my sight.” She turns her attention back to you, glowering… and then her smile turns smug. “Actually, yes, that’s an excellent idea. I won’t let you out of my sight at all. Jomes—“
(“Gemes, ma’am,” Gemes says with the exhausted air of someone who knows he isn’t being listened to at all.)
“—bring me a sash and veil from those shameless little hussies.”
You twist around in time to see the bushy tails of the twins, to hear their absolutely outraged grunts, and to watch them twist around in the chains Purnima had them locked in down here. (Who has a hook on the wall just for dangling chains from??) But on tiptoes, it’s hard for them to get leverage to avoid Gemes removing Seli’s sea-green sash and veil.
Underneath, Seli’s face is blushing furiously, which just brings out the freckles generously scattered over her cheeks even more. Her lips are forced apart by a scale-patterned cloth, the edges of which are already beginning to grow moist. (And, hmm, try not to stare at those full brown lips, okay, Hazel, sweetie?) She tosses her head and looks away with her nose in the air, face pointed away from you, even as Keli starts a garbled rant at Gemes, rattling her handcuffs and hitting a soprano note of outrage.
You turn back to Purnima just in time for her to push a square of soft, slightly warm cloth into your mouth, large enough that she needs to work it into your cheeks with her fingers. “Thank you, Jomes,” she says, taking the proffered sash and pulling it snugly over your lips and cloth-packed cheeks, leaning in close to knot it firmly behind your head, her smug grin as sharp as a knife. Then she takes the veil and drapes it over your nose, over the cloth, and lingers in securing it. The clasp can’t be that hard, can it?
It smells of Seli’s perfume. It drapes over your face, impossible to ignore. It’s not thick, and it’s not like it’s pulled taut over your face, but it’s just there, settling, concealing, being technically clothing that technically belongs to a girl you’ve been technically hanging out with.
“There we are, you naughty little thing. You might have an iron will, as expected from Yuki Edogawa’s husband, but now you’ll be mine in plain sight, my pretty little escort for the evening~”
She scoots over to the couch. (Moving around with someone in their coils is hard for Nagi; it’s like having your hands full, but for your legs.) She drapes herself down, showing a decent amount of core strength as she lifts her lower body up onto the couch— with you still coiled in it— and brings you close enough to play with your antler as Gemes starts working the winch.
“You’re my ticket to victory,” she says, rubbing her thumb aaaaaall along that antler. Both Keli and Seli are making angry noises below, as if telling her to come back. (The noises are also huffy and muffled in a way that you were not entirely prepared for.) “Bereft of her vicious outlander assassin, Sulochana will be wide open for my counterstrike.”
The ceiling folds back as the couch rises onto an open-air veranda overlooking a packed plaza. It’s noisy down there, and any noises you’re able to make will be lost, and anyone glancing up here is just going to see a rich Nagi enjoying public affection with a boytoy. A boytoy whose ear she’s now idly rubbing.
“Shhhh,” she says, unnecessarily, also unnecessarily sensually. “I think it’s starting.”
Tsane!
Crown of Light Ceremony. You’re digging up a reference, scanning over accounts, trying to find that one little detail that isn’t quite coming to mind. All of you sitting and lying all together on one couch (and around, and in one person’s case under). Trust the Nagi to make sure that everyone has to figure out how to use their weird couches on the fly.
The Crown, of course, is familiar. It’s the sort of thing that Heron says can only be made “with an experience tax,” which seems to mean that it takes a lot of time and magical cultivation to make, and Civelia’s going to be leaving herself open and weaker than she’s been in centuries just to hand it off to the new Queen.
Good thing Yana’s not looking for a rematch right now. She interrupted the original ceremony and kidnapped Civelia right after Hermeshind’s coronation, and all of Thellamie would be mortified and furious if she tried to do it again and, in the process, disrupted the important business of the newest Queen of Light.
The Crown itself is going to choose its new wearer. Queen Hermeshind was the first to be silhouetted by that radiant halo, but every time the crown passed on, it marked its next bearer without anyone being involved, right up until Vesper lost it in the process of losing herself. And it will do that after… there’s an extra step. Heron’s step. Then the Crown chooses the Queen and everything’s wonderful again.
The Lunarian has lowered into a squat at the foot of the couch, but their ears are still causing grumbling behind you all.
At the center of the plaza, Nagi singer Anat Amora-Ugari has finished her set and has taken a spot near the front to refresh herself. The dancers are already out in the ritual space, each one representing one of the noble stars, performing the Golden Road in accordance with the hypotrochoid mosaic prepared here years ago. Collected starlight seeps from the mosaic, all around— yes, here they come, Civelia in a high-necked gown and a headdress spreading in a halo behind her head, and Rurik carrying the crown in his hands.
The murmurs are spreading through the crowd, getting louder and louder, until Civelia raises her hand for silence. It’s showtime. Confident that your dad’s gonna do his best?
You know, in retrospect the Paladin is going to be very embarrassed that this is what starts the fight. She only half-hears your very good challenge, because she’s already throwing herself into the footwork, the pivot away from the projectile (the broom, let us underline, as her brain will only afterwards), the draw from the center of her chest.
The heartblade starts as shimmering motes of light streaming from her; her breastplate has a stylized Stone over her chest, from which the light issues forth. (A typical aesthetic flourish.) Her weapon is pale and cloudy green as it forms, even as she reaches out for its lengthening (and lengthening) form. The initial draw is a vital part of sword training, even with how it’s drawn to your hand; it won’t finish solidifying until you have it. Inexperienced duelists can be disarmed before they’re even armed. But she’s not inexperienced. Her hands go right where they need to be, her palms wrapping around the thick shaft, and the heartblade finishes materializing: a Kel glaive, the thick head single-edged. The counterbalance at the end is the silver moon, full and heavy.
The sweeping arc rising from below is heavy, intended to smash through a block; rather than striking at a limb, looking to limit mobility or capability, it is meant to be a shock to the system. If it won’t drop someone strong-willed immediately, it will at least stun them long enough for her to take the momentum and follow through with a blow from the counterweight or a spinning chop from above. It’s a fighting style that emphasizes devastating shock, meant to leave the opponent unable to stand, let alone continue a fight.
But you have light-treated armor. Arrogant or foolish of her, then— or she simply assumes the physical shock of the blow, even if it fails to penetrate, will stagger you long enough for her to make a more decisive strike, or that the light worked into your armor will dissipate under multiple blows. You can, at risk, accept the blow to buy yourself advantage; the orthodox play is to simply not be hit.
Strike for the head to break her thoughts; strike for the heart to break her will and blade. (But her heart, too, is behind her breastplate— and fending off blows to the head is a fundamental of fencing. Only a novice would leave her head open.) Strike to the limbs to numb them; strike at the flesh to make her reel with the shock. And to make an opening— distraction.
To duel with heartblades is a noble art; to duel with heartblades is a cruel art.
Yuki!
"I promise.”
Sulochana has a broad couch up front, on a raised platform, here at the event plaza; multiple important people do. People behind can see just fine as long as she doesn’t stand up and as long as you lie down next to her, propping your head up with one arm. Nothing to do but hang out in the pleasantly cooling dusk and—
“May the light of the goddess show you the right way and may you find what hides from you!”
Sulochana sits up, grinning, as Juniper steps into view. She’s wearing an awesome fur-lined version of her usual Civil casual wear, but with an exposed tummy and… a collar with a red string looped a lot of times around the circle at the front? But she looks happy. Amazingly happy. Her autumn-red tail is swishing wildly as she waves for you to get up and give her a hug. She’s gotten bigger since you left, or maybe that’s just the bulk of her jacket.
“Can’t stay too long— I’ll be blocking the view— but an invitation for both of you: the Baygum has agreed that I can invite some friends to dinner. We’re all taking over the Golden Grill after all this.” She gestures over to the southern side of the plaza, where a bunch of mean-looking people in furs are lounging on, around, and in front of couches: the Khatun’s pack that she’s been talking about so much.
Speaking of which, Baygum: it’s a Khaganate title, like Khatun. It’s (if you remember Juniper’s infodumps correctly) someone who’s authorized to call and lead hunts independently of the Khatun herself. It also sounds like that means her self-imposed administrative mission to the Khaganate has been really successful, as if her cheerful updates about sleeping on furs, sleeping with huntresses, and developing a new casual style for the Civil nun on the hunt weren’t hints enough. The Baygum, though. That sounds familiar. A patron? A girlfriend?
“We’re actually—“
“Don’t tell anyone I told you,” Juniper barrels on, past Sulochana’s attempt to point out that you have plans for the Ox’s Eye afterwards. “It’s just— she wants me to bring some of my bestest friends to a pack feast. Do you have any idea? And that Maid-Knight bound us together, too, just today— please, be sure to come, it’s going to be great!”
And then she licks you. On the cheek, affectionately, like a puppy. This is not a thing you’ve seen people in Thellamie do before. You’d definitely remember.
“I am crushing it today! Tonight! Golden Grill!”
You’ve got just about enough time to ask her one thing, or explain one thing, before she has to bound back (again, like a well-trained puppy).
Keli!
That sneeze! It’s sharp, and cute, and adorable, and the way his pretty little face scrunchies up, and all of it, the whole of it—
You cannot hold it back. The laughter bursts out of you— that laughter which is a little manic, a little piercing, a little like your beautiful and skilled mother’s own— nothing polite or cute, just the real deal of delighted, surprised joy, until it feels like your ribs are aching, even as a Nagi bigwig pulls you up by your scruff.
Oh, by Inara, where did this ridiculous little creature get dropped from?!
You’ll have to figure a way out of this eventually. But you always do. Hell, this isn’t even the first time your laugh has gotten you caught! But that’s a long story, and you probably don’t want anyone here to know that one yet. Maybe when you get your own proper post, sweetie. <3
Hazel!
“There’s really no need to struggle,” Purnima says, honey-sweet. “Wouldn’t it be so much more pleasant to just sink into my coils?” Her eyes are warm embers, the toasty warmth of sinking into blankets wrapped all around you on a cold evening. “Relax. Let go. You’re safe from any peril here with me.” She cups your chin, caresses your cheek, draws you into the depths of her gaze—
You manage to wrench away with all of your strength. Her coils tighten around you, forcing the air from your lungs in a little gasp. Purnima folds her arms, her expression of placid, trustworthy calm suddenly turned stormy (and absolutely definitely not embarrassed, goodness no). The room swims around you as those coils treat you like a squeaky stress toy.
“You could just leave him down here?” The guard with the ends of Keli and Seli’s leashes in his hand shrugs. “I could lock him in one of the back rooms. Easy.” He gestures deeper into the… house? It has the feel of one of those businesses that operates out of a house; there’s what looks like a couch-elevator on rails in one corner of the atrium. The windows are high and letting in the last of the day’s light. Memories are starting to swim back: that sneeze making Keli burst out into peals of laughter, getting you both caught; Purnima seizing both of you before you could properly draw your weapons, and Seli making a bold rescue attempt; being tossed over a guard’s shoulder, Keli and Seli being marched here behind you, and then Purnima staring into your face, and, okay, yes, that does bring you back to the present.
“What? And give the Arju the chance to have their spies locate him, steal him? I am not letting him out of my sight.” She turns her attention back to you, glowering… and then her smile turns smug. “Actually, yes, that’s an excellent idea. I won’t let you out of my sight at all. Jomes—“
(“Gemes, ma’am,” Gemes says with the exhausted air of someone who knows he isn’t being listened to at all.)
“—bring me a sash and veil from those shameless little hussies.”
You twist around in time to see the bushy tails of the twins, to hear their absolutely outraged grunts, and to watch them twist around in the chains Purnima had them locked in down here. (Who has a hook on the wall just for dangling chains from??) But on tiptoes, it’s hard for them to get leverage to avoid Gemes removing Seli’s sea-green sash and veil.
Underneath, Seli’s face is blushing furiously, which just brings out the freckles generously scattered over her cheeks even more. Her lips are forced apart by a scale-patterned cloth, the edges of which are already beginning to grow moist. (And, hmm, try not to stare at those full brown lips, okay, Hazel, sweetie?) She tosses her head and looks away with her nose in the air, face pointed away from you, even as Keli starts a garbled rant at Gemes, rattling her handcuffs and hitting a soprano note of outrage.
You turn back to Purnima just in time for her to push a square of soft, slightly warm cloth into your mouth, large enough that she needs to work it into your cheeks with her fingers. “Thank you, Jomes,” she says, taking the proffered sash and pulling it snugly over your lips and cloth-packed cheeks, leaning in close to knot it firmly behind your head, her smug grin as sharp as a knife. Then she takes the veil and drapes it over your nose, over the cloth, and lingers in securing it. The clasp can’t be that hard, can it?
It smells of Seli’s perfume. It drapes over your face, impossible to ignore. It’s not thick, and it’s not like it’s pulled taut over your face, but it’s just there, settling, concealing, being technically clothing that technically belongs to a girl you’ve been technically hanging out with.
“There we are, you naughty little thing. You might have an iron will, as expected from Yuki Edogawa’s husband, but now you’ll be mine in plain sight, my pretty little escort for the evening~”
She scoots over to the couch. (Moving around with someone in their coils is hard for Nagi; it’s like having your hands full, but for your legs.) She drapes herself down, showing a decent amount of core strength as she lifts her lower body up onto the couch— with you still coiled in it— and brings you close enough to play with your antler as Gemes starts working the winch.
“You’re my ticket to victory,” she says, rubbing her thumb aaaaaall along that antler. Both Keli and Seli are making angry noises below, as if telling her to come back. (The noises are also huffy and muffled in a way that you were not entirely prepared for.) “Bereft of her vicious outlander assassin, Sulochana will be wide open for my counterstrike.”
The ceiling folds back as the couch rises onto an open-air veranda overlooking a packed plaza. It’s noisy down there, and any noises you’re able to make will be lost, and anyone glancing up here is just going to see a rich Nagi enjoying public affection with a boytoy. A boytoy whose ear she’s now idly rubbing.
“Shhhh,” she says, unnecessarily, also unnecessarily sensually. “I think it’s starting.”
Tsane!
Crown of Light Ceremony. You’re digging up a reference, scanning over accounts, trying to find that one little detail that isn’t quite coming to mind. All of you sitting and lying all together on one couch (and around, and in one person’s case under). Trust the Nagi to make sure that everyone has to figure out how to use their weird couches on the fly.
The Crown, of course, is familiar. It’s the sort of thing that Heron says can only be made “with an experience tax,” which seems to mean that it takes a lot of time and magical cultivation to make, and Civelia’s going to be leaving herself open and weaker than she’s been in centuries just to hand it off to the new Queen.
Good thing Yana’s not looking for a rematch right now. She interrupted the original ceremony and kidnapped Civelia right after Hermeshind’s coronation, and all of Thellamie would be mortified and furious if she tried to do it again and, in the process, disrupted the important business of the newest Queen of Light.
The Crown itself is going to choose its new wearer. Queen Hermeshind was the first to be silhouetted by that radiant halo, but every time the crown passed on, it marked its next bearer without anyone being involved, right up until Vesper lost it in the process of losing herself. And it will do that after… there’s an extra step. Heron’s step. Then the Crown chooses the Queen and everything’s wonderful again.
The Lunarian has lowered into a squat at the foot of the couch, but their ears are still causing grumbling behind you all.
At the center of the plaza, Nagi singer Anat Amora-Ugari has finished her set and has taken a spot near the front to refresh herself. The dancers are already out in the ritual space, each one representing one of the noble stars, performing the Golden Road in accordance with the hypotrochoid mosaic prepared here years ago. Collected starlight seeps from the mosaic, all around— yes, here they come, Civelia in a high-necked gown and a headdress spreading in a halo behind her head, and Rurik carrying the crown in his hands.
The murmurs are spreading through the crowd, getting louder and louder, until Civelia raises her hand for silence. It’s showtime. Confident that your dad’s gonna do his best?