Tatterdemalion

Return to Thellamie

Yuki!

Thank you for handing Olesya that String; I'm sure it will come in handy sooner rather than later.

"The Khaganate's system is very different from slavery," Juniper says, because she's been set off. "It's an honor offered to those who could not evade the hunt but who have useful skills which are used to support the huntresses and it's an acknowledgement of how useful we are despite the fact that we couldn't overcome the hunt and thus our lives are forfeit ceremonially but have been taken up by the pack because it's not like they'd actually kill anyone and on top of that we have the option to request another hunt within a reasonable time frame and if we can use the skills we've picked up to evade being caught for a set period of time then we have earned freedom and a boon from our mistress with the caveat that if we do it before we've learned enough from them we'll receive a corrective punishment but really it's about knowing yourself and knowing what you've been able to learn in the process of serving which is in and of itself an important thing to be able to do and before you ask being invited to share body heat is an honor and--"

Olesya snaps her fingers and gives Juniper a Look, and wow, that's a Look. The eyeshadow, the lowered eyebrows, the stony and flat expression, the way her eyes aren't even open all the way but she's still Intense... be honest, you're in the splash zone at least a little bit, aren't you? Either way, Juniper blushes and stops talking, tail wagging uselessly. Olesya then spares a moment to give you the Look, like, you got her started, so behave.

(But it does sound like slavery with extra steps and a whole framework of "I caught you and could kill you," doesn't it? The underlying hunt ethos is so gauche and barbaric, and just between you and me, Olesya and Juniper here are actually doing it properly, the way those Serigalamu were a blink of a century or two ago, lovers chasing each other across the edge of the Outside with a net they'd woven together, "prey" offering exactly what they wanted to give once caught. But things have certainly changed out west, haven't they?)

"...we track naturally," Olesya says. "Even in unnatural places." And, come to think of it, this does feel a little unnatural, doesn't it? Not quite the same as the Outside, more like someone talented and clever is pulling the wool over the eyes of the world, saying: what if things were like this, instead? "...but you are not pack. Can you scent his trail?" And she casts a hand over my Labyrinth of empty houses and winding alleyways, still looking to you. A request, but also a challenge, and also a measuring. What can you do, Yuki Edogawa, Heroine of Crevas?

---

Sayanastia!

Oh, darling. That would be fun, wouldn't it? But Civelia makes half of a scoffing noise before belatedly remembering that it's beneath her station. Her purpose. Her role. Her coffin. She's not just a one-armed girl, you know; she's a goddess with as many memories as you, if not more, and she's a Beacon of Hope for the Struggling of the World and all that. She's already trapped in a crystal, and the crystal's called Society. (Deep.)

To challenge you directly, she'd have to know that Heron was out of the picture, and believe that there was a threat she couldn't wait out, and that it was your fault. Or you'd have to convince her to want something, with her maiden's heart, her young heart and not her old thoughts, and stand in her way. Or, like, I guess you could enact some sort of Wacky Scheme teaching her self-defense with Injimo, only you keep bullying her, and you get her to stand up to you, and in the moment when she starts to overpower you with her one arm you lean in and press your forehead against hers and steal what Heron never wanted--

"The Civils would do it," she says, looking away from Temptation, waving her hand. "Or Heron. Who--"

She turns to Rurik. Chooses her words carefully. "...may have been distracted from the importance of this ritual. Who has not gone to chase after the Fawn. Who, perhaps, may be entangled in side errands and tasks that seem dreadfully important in the face of a ritual I have been preparing for centuries?"

She smiles, sweetly, on reflexes almost as old as the world. She's struggling so very much to be angry with Heron, but this is beyond the pale for the Hero of Ages. Or would be, if she were here. Attending the festival. Not on the Moon.

---

Rurik!

Civelia cannot know that Heron is on the Moon and you cannot let her follow up on Sayanastia nearly blowing the whole operation just to needle her and you have to have a reason that you didn't leap into the fight with the maid and Civelia is looking at you and she's almost certainly going to have an Emergency Civil Conclave set up here by morning and you are on the spot, so good luck!

---

Aadya, the Rock upon a Mountain!

"I am Aadya, the Rock upon a Mountain," you say, somewhat tetchily. (I'd estimate roughly two-thirds of your thoughts right now are just a repeating mantra of REMATCH REMATCH REMATCH.) "And... wait, no, that..."

You stop to hold your chin in one mighty gauntleted fist for a moment. "...the Sister already knew your name. Vessenmer can't be a spoiler here, turning her against you, unless she were in some sort of ridiculous scheme with wide-ranging implications across the Church." (REMATCH REMATCH REMATCH) You don't have any reason to suspect Vessenmer, not above this snooty maid (REMATCH REMATCH REMATCH) or poor Tammithyn herself, who was a mess of tears when she came to you to beg for help, and this is frustrating and none of it really makes sense, does it?

Hold onto what you said. Either Eclair (REMATCH REMATCH REMATCH) is lying to you, or you got played by a Sister, or you got played by someone who made the Sister lie to you, and she was very convincing, and would someone being blackmailed really be that good at acting? Maybe. Dammit.

Maybe it's time to pull out the biggest gun you've got.

"You know," you say, with as much firm casualness as you can, "the Goddess herself is in the city tonight. And given the fact that this involves the Church and your mansion," and you see that she hears the lack of capital letter there, which is a petty victory but a victory nonetheless (REMATCH REMATCH REMATCH), "I can probably expedite this. Get her to cross-examine both of you. I'll have to pull her out of the celebrations, but she's the goddess herself, she'd definitely want to pass judgment. Now, if you're really innocent, you'd have no reason to deny that, would you?"

---

Eclair!

You hear, distantly, a noise that is familiar. A noise that cuts through distant tumult and the sound of this Paladin's blustering.

Someone, out in the streets, is grinding down a handrail.

---

Hazel!

Oh, come now. We don't do that here. All that sulking, when you should be properly awed and indignant and squeaking. You'll make me look bad, you know? And we can't be having that. I'll end the story right here if you think you can make me look bad in front of my lovely daughters.

"That may be so," I say, and my daughters glance aside with the casualness of a caught kit, which tells me that they don't know, and it's not like I can flip back and review the story thus far. Naturally. "But that is why we need to get you out of these clothes, ya?" There. Did we get a reaction with that one?

I clap my hands, as if calling for a servant, and my fires light the room: blue-white, the color of my light, dazzling and enchanting. Have a look, Hazel Valentine Fletcher: have a look at the clothes hanging from the racks. "Now, we don't have much time, so pick something out. Girls, you will be coming with me. We need the switch to last as long as it must." And not a minute longer- but that's a spoiler, isn't it?

Crevas is known for its colors, and that is what I offer you, Hazel. Soft silk and comfortable linen, all in your size, all in a dizzying array of colors, all lit by my radiance. Hoods and veils, vee-necks and loose trousers, and it's a coincidence that all of them have the subtle patterns denoting a servant of the Karn family. Not that you'll know that yet, so forget I even said it. Here, Hazel, something to hide those horns, something to blend in, and all you have to do is sacrifice your Yukisearth clothes. Don't you worry, there's a changing booth, and I'll keep the girls from peeking too much.

As you hesitate (we both know you do), I let a bit of reverb slip into the voice. It's such a delightful party trick. "As I said, we do not have much time. Unless you want to be on a leash by morning, be quick about it! Besides, Amali is waiting, ya?"

"Oh, she's here?" Good girl, Keli. That trill in your voice will let Hazel know your delight.
"You can't keep her waiting!" And there, Seli, with the swat to his rump, not giving him time to really think about this. Oh, you've been taught well.

Tell us what you pick out, darling, underneath my light. You'll love it. That's my promise.

Breathless Dead

It is one of the quintessentially romantic images, perfect for the damsel in distress, the lure of the Angelshark (which must, surely, even now be lured out of position).

It would be much more romantic if Ember were not hacking and coughing, red-eyed, sputtering, waving the unwanted cigarette in one hand which just makes the smoke spread. Ceronians don’t smoke. They’ll burn incense, they’ll spread perfume, they’ll control the scents precisely, but the stench of roses and nicotine that surrounds her is cloying, suffocating, overwhelming, not made for her.

What this practically means is that she doesn’t have a clever argument for why she’s using her love for Bella, her Mosaic, to save her from being saved by her ritual love, Liquid Bronze, which is really just mean of the god— how dare he put this princess in a position where she has to either renounce her ritual or deny her heart? That’s the sort of thing that gods are doing all of the time, but still!

Instead, she is just, well, rather canine. And part of that animal instinct is knowing how to wiggle out of someone’s arms. Not gracefully, not with any concern for where she will end up, but with the wriggling panic of an anxious dog in a suit worrying about things like wine sales: in such wise does the Princess Alpha free herself from the clutches of Love Himself, flopping in a heap on a neat and tidy bed in front of at least two sheeps.

She coughs again, twice, like she’s about to throw up or expel a hairball, and then brushes her hair out of her face, suit jacket hanging half-open to show her— well, let us be polite and say undergarments.

“…Dolce!” Her smile is like the sun on a day with a picnic basket and a pleasantly cool breeze, isn’t it, Dolce? “From Beri! Juno be praised! Have they been making you cook for them all this time?!”

(A sheep might here, perhaps, remember the Silver Divers, and perhaps even one of their scouts who would occasionally enjoy his cooking.)

[With an 8, Ember gets to Dolce quickly and without harm, but not quietly and without attention.]

Return to Thellamie

Eclair!

The Paladin stops, leans on her broom, stares at you. Her eyebrow twitches above those starglasses. “Look,” she growls. “You already beat me. You already convinced me to…”

She trails off. It’s doubly hard to gauge her expression behind those lenses of smoked glass. “Either you’re being honest, maid, or you’re trying to trip me up. Get me to reveal where she is. What kind of mission from those dragons has you shaking down a supplier of ecclesiastical… supplies? And, look, she didn’t just tell me that you’re her deranged stalker, she told Vessenmer, too, well before you even showed up, so why don’t you try coming up with some clever reason for that? Her name’s Eclair, and she’s relentless, and she’ll threaten people in my life if I don’t return her love—”

She cuts herself off a little too late; she didn’t mean to play her hand so baldly. The sound of your breathing, the two of you, is loud in the cavernous room.

“…and here you are saying that you just want to clean and have polite conversations with a woman who’s terrified of you. Okay. You beat me. I’ll clean. But someone is playing me here, and I think the maid who just kicked my ass is the more dangerous possible liar here, as opposed to a scrawny, anxious nun. So you want to meet her? Only in a place we pick, with Paladins guarding her— that’s the only way I’d even consider it.”

Your tablet pings.
>[.onarainyeve]
>How are you finding the City of Colors, Eclair? I imagine the colors sticking to you as you go.
>No. Sticking to me.
>Damp like Morning’s moss, beaded with dew like pearl-diamonds. Smearing scales.
>Is that how the Nagi learned how to change colors?
>I wonder how to get colors out of a skirt. You would hate imprecise color smearing. Get under your skin. Tik-a-tak. Out out out. Not right.
>Oh, you poor dear…

Evening is the bookwyrm of the three. She’s probably coiled in the library tapping at her special tablet, claws fading into being long enough to register each letter, steaming violet and indigo, rising from her scales. She’s also the mimic; her voice is a patchwork of imitations, stolen words and phrases slipping into her speech. It’s an honor to have her attention like that. But, also, she does have a tendency to have her dreaming thoughts go in… odd directions.

---

Sayanastia!

Civelia— polished, perfect Civelia, that statue pretending to be a woman, that girl discovering she was always a statue— stands and strides over to you, despite the looks she gets from the Paladins.

“If your wicked hand and will are the cause of this,” she says, hand on her hip, eyes dark and unlit, voice as sharp and brittle as glass, “I shall make you explode like we did at Yellow Run. Then I shall have you scooped up into a cube, then smelted, then used as the cornerstone of a new monastery. I’ll put a picture over you, the stone cube you, depicting you tripping down the stairs here during your challenge speech on the Ninth Return. No, I shall have a ‘manga’ made. And then it shall be given to congregations for free. And then I shall fill the monastery with mathematicians.”

She can’t actually do this, but the threat makes her feel better.

Both of you have reincarnated so many times that you’re getting familiar with the patterns, even when they don’t seem quite the same. And you both know that she was created to be Heron’s wife— and that she’s not good at it.

But the two of you still haven’t… you know. Something always comes up. You have… had… a tendency to have her in your clutches, build up the circumstances of her peril, and then chicken out of demanding her heart. Remember the one time that you stalled your own wedding for two hours until Heron showed up to save the bride?

Besides, you bit her arm off back at the dawn of time. That would probably put a dampener on any… you know. Weddings. Even if her duty to Heron wasn’t paramount, literally built into her heart. (You will, of course, have noted the comparisons to Kalentia by now.)

And yet, as she stares down at you, indignant and exhausted, you take a String on her anyway, as she gives into the desire to pay attention to you over the crisis, to needle you, to get needled back, to have your attention again. What will you label this String, o eater of soaps?

---

Yuki!

It’s no use. Every time you look at someplace, it seems distinctly more confusing. More complex. Almost as if, when you weren’t looking, someone was slotting in streets, smuggling in entire rooftops, and making a proper labyrinth for the hunt. (You’ve seen this film from your earth, yes? The one where nothing is what it seems and if you had just kept walking forwards, you would have gotten straight to the castle.)

“…tell me what the Fawn is like,” the Baygum commands, leading you uncertainly onto the next rooftop as her answer. No scenting magic (that she can break out on the spot, or has the resources for), just trying to get around and ahead of the hunt. Baying echoes from below, increasingly distant. “Will he be difficult to tame, Gonji? He will have my sluzhina as a tutor.”

“Me?” Juniper’s voice cracks a little, but not in a bad way. Like Olesya, she’s just accepted that the Khatun will catch him. “I… I wasn’t thinking about that. He’ll need a lot of training to really understand his place in the pack, Yuki! Cooking, cleaning, sewing, entertaining, behaving…”

Go ahead and share with the class, Yuki! And remember, this is for posterity, so be honest.

---

Hazel!

“Oh, huntresses~?”
“You’ll have to tell us all about it later, yah~”

You’re probably in a residential part of the city now— that is, the sort of part where the buildings aren’t tall to show off, but because it lets you pack more people inside. That’s as good a reason as any for the way the streets narrow, right? And the colors are even more gaudy, almost like a neon sign, hot on the eyes. You keep making turns, tighter and tighter, and the baying’s getting quieter behind the three of you, which means you might maybe have a chance to double back if they’d just stop and actually listen to you.

(And you probably don’t notice the patterns worked into the banners and the signs and the tiles. Why would you? You aren’t a starblooded ashiq of Aestival. So, too, you miss the look the two give each other, and the nod of agreement.)

Then— once again— you’re pulled to one side, suddenly, Keli and Seli’s hands firm on you, yanked off your feet and through a beaded curtain and down onto your knees on cool tiles. One hand covers your mouth, predictably, but the other covers your eyes, and together the two push you into a bow, straight from running, the air whistling through your nose. How cute you look like that, on all fours, trying to figure out what’s going on here.

“ara ara~”

The exhalation of smoke, issuing from between my teeth like a dragon.

“You may look, my darlings, and the Fawn too. I’m decent.”

And the hands are removed, and you may look up to see me, my electric blue robe already sliding off my shoulders, drawing the eye to the flat, toned chest fully on display. It might be somewhat more defined than yours, but you’ll have to forgive me for that; I haven’t had the chance to observe the particulars yet. I especially think I had a good eye for these glowing antlers, though they aren’t the only thing causing the shimmering halo of light on the walls behind me.

“What, do you not have mirrors on Yukisearth?” I say, in your adorable voice, gesturing with my dragon-headed pipe. “Next you’ll be telling me that you don’t have shell games, either.”

My dear daughters know better than to ask if I’ve been here the entire time, if I had a plan, to what degree I’m capitalizing on an opportunity here. As if I’d tell them straight! Or you either, for that matter.

I am here. That is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. And won’t we have such fun, darlings?

Breathless Dead

“See, it makes a lot of sense when you think about it,” Plundering Fang says, stretching in such a way that her arm rests against the wall just above the Pix’s head. “There’s a lot of you, right? Just scurrying around, looking for something to do together, and hey— wouldn’t you know it? Finishing the flood traps is something you can do together. Is actually improved by having a bunch of girls running around and coordinating by squeaking at each other. We’d be spread too thin and we don’t really do the, uh. The squeaking and squealing.”

The Pix spokesvixen stares up at Plundering Fang with a defiant pout that is only mildly ruined by the furious blush. Some ways down the hall, her soon to be former subordinates huddle, watching with all the courage of Pix who are not within arm’s length of a Ceronian.

“What we’re going to do, instead, is get ready to fight the Summerkind.” Even saying the word seems to make the hull groan. Soon this ship will be full of desperate battle. Pix and Ceronians will have to stand… well, not exactly side by side. Not if the Silver Divers have anything to do with it. “You know them? The bugs? They live, they die, they live again? You’ll want to leave that to the big girls, sweetcheeks.”

“Do you forget that we outnumber—”

Plundering Fang reaches out. Her fingers are gentle, the thumb indenting the cheek, the lift forcing the Pix to look Plundering Fang in the eye, rather than staring balefully at her chest. One of the Pix onlookers falls over.

“But we’re going to work together, right? Like Mosaic-Bella commanded. Unless you want her to come down here and be sardonic at you… what was your name?”

Plundering Fang lifts her hand just that little bit more. The Pix lifts onto her tiptoes, her tail a stiff counterbalance.

“Marbret,” she manages.

“Well, Margret. We wouldn’t want that, right? She’s very busy. And if she can keep our Alpha in line, heeled and leashed, what do you think she’ll do to a bunch of prissy little girls who think they’re too good to accept assignments, hmm? She’ll toss you right out there to be the monster’s appetizer. So. Margret. Are you going to be a good girl for Mosaic-Bella? Or am I going to take you to see her myself?”

Snickers ring out from behind red-haired hands as Margret’s head is shaken from side to side. Then Plundering Fang spins her around.

The sound of the smack is almost louder than the sound of Margret’s yelping indignation.

“Get going, vixen. And get that tight little ass of yours to work.”

Return to Thellamie

Sayanastia!

Welcome back! You just got punched in the soul. Metaphorically. The stars slowly wheeling overhead are mocking in their light, like someone else’s perfectly precise and unattainable brushstrokes.

Things are… relatively calm. There was a fight here between the Nagi and the survivalist pack of mostly Serigalamu, but it’s over: the pack’s howling off down-city, the Nagi are following them and trying to slow them down, and the regular people, the people who were just here to celebrate and enjoy themselves and see something once-in-a-lifetime… well, they’re now regathering in places that aren’t here, the epicenter of the whole mess.

(In places that aren’t this plaza, parents are yelling the names of their children who got lost in the crowd; people are being treated for bruises, concussions, overheating, overexcitement, and the lingering emotional effects of being grazed with heartshot and heartblades; cafes and shops are throwing open their doors, and glasses of tea and water are being handed out, and blankets are being thrown over shoulders, and lost children are sitting on chairs eating cookies. Say what you will about people, but they have a tendency to do unforgivably sentimental things like this when disasters happen.)

Here, Civelia has taken a seat pulled over by one of her paladins, hand resting under her chin, staring furiously at nothing in particular, with Rurik and Injimo over there, listening to those Paladins bicker over what to do, since the maid that attacked— pity you missed that— might have accomplices nearby, and Civelia’s tapped on magic, and there’s a vigorous and violent chase roaring down the streets between here and the city’s exit.

As far as disasters and calamities go, how is this one stacking up against the sorts of things you used to get up to?

---

Eclair!

The Paladin sweeps like she fights: aggressively, with, well, sweeping motions. Good for getting a mess to the point where real work can be done to make it presentable.

“If you aren’t in Crevas stalking Sister Tammithyn,” she asks, after a period of abashed and sullen silence, “why are you following her and trying to get information about her? Even going so far as to hunt down the shop where she’s been buying renovation supplies from. When I met her, she was a nervous wreck at the thought of you finding where she was staying. So why are you here asking questions about her, if you’re just an innocent maid like you say, Eclair Espoir?”

Even as she says this, she overextends, gets her broom behind a vat, leaves herself open. Open to explanations. Open to questions. And— that’s a good stretch, isn’t it? Worth admiring. Well-muscled arms. Sticks her foot out behind her just a little bit to counterbalance.

Anesh Vessenmer’s office slats have creaked, the once, and the sound of scribbling has ceased. You’re definitely being watched by the proprietor, even as you attend to the closing chores: sweeping, sorting, and oiling.

---

Yuki!

“Wait, you don’t?” Juniper sounds a little panicky. “What am I saying, of course you don’t! Suli would know but she’s back there and we can’t double back—“

“There,” Olesya says, nodding. Down there you catch a glimpse of golden antlers bobbing, and less down there the roiling melee of hunters and guards that’s bleeding both. If Hazel ran all the way down and back up, he’d probably lose all but the most dedicated and dangerous hunters— but that would be a mess. And, ah, the golden glow ducks around a corner and is gone.

The Khatun’s not at the head of the pack; she’s at the back, driving her hunters on. At the front are three Serigalamu who are moving together: the comparatively lanky one, the comparatively short one, and the comparatively blonde one. They’re, presumably, the huntresses that Hazel needs to worry the most about. Given that the three of you cumulatively know about as much of the city as the huntresses do, and you’re scrabbling on the roofs to avoid their fighting, you don’t have the best odds of getting to Hazel before they do.

You need some sort of plan, because Juniper’s plan is “whatever Olesya says,” and Olesya’s plan is… well, hard to tell. Want to gamble on it, or propose your own?

---

Hazel!

Two pairs of triangles perk up. The two exchange a Look.

“Oh. You know Yuki?”
“Maybe we should—“
“—yah, if he wants to leave—“
“—Garnet?”
“Yah.”

There is a crash at one end of the alley, behind you, and all three of you jump, and there are three high-pitched squeaks in unison. The rest of the Nagi guard who slammed his shoulder into the corner is still piling up behind him as he tries to change his direction of momentum. (There is quite a bit of tail, you see.)

“Golden Fawn! Make your way to the Viperiat at once!”

“You’ve really gone and made her mad, huh?”
“All the more reason to leave, yah?”

“No, don’t—!”

Seli takes your other hand and pulls you along, even as Keli blows the guard a kiss.

“You really got under her shed, yah?”
“Sounds like she’s got the whole city after you!”
“Trust us, the Garnet Shore is much calmer!”
“We’ll take you to the most exclusive spa~”

…they really don’t know what they’re getting into, do they? The glowing antlers, the frantically slithering guardsman, the running: they haven’t connected everything. They don’t have context. But would they act any differently if they did? Are…

Are you tricking them? On accident, but still with full moral culpability probably? You trickster.

No string for you, incidentally, but you do get something they think you want~!

Return to Thellamie

Eclair!

The Paladin does not go down gracefully. She fights. She bucks, she flails, she gnashes her teeth— but first she crumples to her knees, and then on all fours, panting, cheeks squished, poked and prodded and given scritchies. (Don’t worry about the seating. Her back is broad and strong.)

“…you promise?” The words are muffled, but insistent. “I… nngh.” She can’t lift you; every time she half-rises, you bring her back down with a devastatingly timed distraction. The little bell on the collar jingles jauntily. “…can’t… have to… promised I’d stop you… damn it…”

Her eyes flutter shut as you find just the right spot underneath her chin. Her gauntlet scrapes against the tile. Her heartglaive is useless under her hands, pinned down by your shared weight.

It’s fairly obvious, come to think of it. She’s a sledgehammer. The kind of girl who responds well to challenges, being given good instructions, having someone to compete with. The kind of weapon that someone might fire at you if your investigation caused them problems. Come up with a sordid story, convince her that you’re a cackling, scheming villainess, and then watch as she flings herself at you repeatedly. If you don’t convince her of your innocence, she would come after you again and again until ordered to call the pursuit off. Dogged, relentless, morally struggling with the fact that you’ve found The Scritchies Spot, and… well, as devoted to her tasks as you are to yours.

She would be an excellent cleaning partner and a reliable asset, if flipped. You just need to convince her that yielding, that not being an invincible wall of stone, is not Giving Into Wickedness.

Now would be a wonderful time to introduce yourself, incidentally. I’m quite sure this is where you do it.

---

Kalentia!

One of the Serigalamu bears down on you, intent on going right through you— and the running and slithering people behind you— to… well, there’s probably some handhold, some boxes to climb, some route that’s so important that shoving you to one side’s no trouble at all. And your feet feel rooted to the ground, and wouldn’t a barrier have helped here?

Except the Lunarian interposes herself at the last second. Unarmed, she gets her shoulder under the breastbone and flips the Serigalamu over, catching and twisting their arm along the way, disrupting the connection with their heartblade. The hunter hits the tiles hard, the air forced out of their lungs, and the Lunarian settles into the sort of stance that Injimo would recognize, ready to burst into action again.

“I am the advising of cessation of the unmaking of serenity,” the Lunarian says, a little raggedly. Yes, that’s it. Strain under the buzz of their voice. “You are the irrational unthinking, the disrupting of the serene.”

Then she looks back at you, her face hidden behind the smoky visor of her helmet. “You are the assisting of the disrupted. The path upwards is the protecting from disruption.”

Then she bounds (bounces?) into the fracas, and watch what she’s doing: trying to put herself, without a heartblade, between the people she’s waving over to you and the Khaganate pack. Taking blows which bounce off her armor, and doing her best to disarm and neutralize these rampaging huntresses.

---

Sulochana!

Chaos. Complete chaos. In your city! The screams of the crowd: these are your people!

All around you, loyal guards try to stem the tide of these flea-bitten venturers. Long, muscled tails smack scampering, leaping huntresses back; forked spears catch motley blades in their tines and skewer the least prepared of the lot. But the clever members of the pack know that they don’t need to get dragged into a fight.

“Don’t let them through! Crevas is on the side of the Golden Fawn—“

You barely swat aside a headshot. The Khatun, damn her eyes, snaps off another shot as she lopes towards you. Her mere presence seems to push her pack to redouble their efforts, and— you can’t look. If you take your eyes off the Khatun, you’re done for.

You have the reach advantage, and the advantage of knowing that you are defending that helpless boy (Hazel, like the Hazelnuts), who will doubtless be grateful and ready to be tamed when Yuki puts in a good word for you. Yuki! She must be ready to jump out any moment now and catch the Khatun from behind! The two of you, just like back when you were sneaking into Crevas from below. Where is…?

There. Dashing south-and-downwards, flanked by two huntresses. Your stomach drops; for all that she must have a good reason, you can’t help but feel… abandoned.

The Khatun is on you, and from her heart’s weapon— that recurved bow— she somehow pulls a broad-bladed, recurved knife, and you barely have the time to register that she’s suddenly got in under your guard before she’s sliding the heartblade into your stomach, twisting, dragging it upwards, and the hoarse scream that bursts out of you is barely recognizable as your own.

Abandoned. Betrayed. Alone.

Someone catches you as you stagger, and the Khatun has bounded past, not giving you so much as a second glance. The shock of that blow is still reverberating through you— you can hardly breathe through the tears.

This was supposed to be your night.

At least the sight of the Golden Fawn nobly descending is a comfort. Of course Yuki’s friend is noble and self-sacrificing, pretending to be clumsy and easily caught in order to draw away pursuit from festivalgoers. How noble…

---

Yuki!

“For the mounts?”
“No time.”
“So where?”
“Not up. Out.”

Olesya and Juniper let you go, but Juniper grabs your hand and interlaces her fingers with yours. The three of you start running, following the fleeing crowd, and… huh, Olesya doesn’t have her heartblade out. She’s moving quick, though, and it’s all you can do to keep up. She runs like she can somehow catch up with ten minutes ago and stop any of this from happening.

She slides to a halt by a low-hanging wall and drops to one knee. Juniper lets go of your hand and jumps, landing with her foot in Olesya’s hands, and— woof. That’s a very strong toss up, like a vertical caber toss. And Juniper tries to smooth down her skirt a little too late, giving you an eyeful. So stop looking up, look at Olesya! She’s going to do the same for you if you can get the momentum up.

And then, once you’re up there, that’s when the rooftop parkour will begin. There’s a lot of verticality to scrabbling over the tiles of Crevas’s rooftops, and plenty of daring jumps from one roof to another, all to try and cut Hazel off— but that depends on you trusting in Olesya first, and pulling her up after you with Juniper after.

(You definitely didn’t have the chance to do something like this last time— being up on top of the city instead of sneaking through secret passages and basements. It’s very “Assassin’s Creed,”isn’t it?)

Either way, mark a Need with Sulochana. That’s just the way these things snake out sometimes.

---

Injimo!

You’re fighting just like the Nagi are, you know. Not in technique, but in purpose. You don’t land a solid hit on this maid, and she can’t seem to land a solid hit on you, either. It’s all fluttery scratches, a fleeting rush from glancing blows with her fan— because she doesn’t want to drop you. She just wants to get past you, and you are impossible to ignore, not letting her slip past.

Finally, she has an opening: her fan’s edge kisses your chest, right at your breastbone. But the shock of her own heart striking yours is something you’re trained to push through. An iron heart is an impenetrable heart.

So she hops back, clicking her fan shut. Behind you, three Paladins are now covering for Civelia; you’re the head of the spear, and now the rest of the spear is in place. So she dips into a curtesy towards you all.

“Excellent, excellent! You are lucky to have such a lioness defending you, goddess! But you must be lucky every time, my dear, and I must merely be lucky the once~!”

She points at Civelia with the closed fan. “For I, Eclair Espoir, the Violet Flash, shall have my vengeance on you, yes~!”

One of the Paladins moves— fool. No sooner is he in his swing than Eclair Espoir is jumping, landing on his blade’s flat in her heels, and launching off, already swinging her skateboard off her back and smoothly under her feet.

Mark a Condition as even your iron heart feels the blow. Another pale scar to add to your collection.

---

Hazel!

You skid around yet another corner, heart pounding in your ears, the baying of the pack and the clash of heartweapons echoing in your wake, throat hoarse from the dry Crevas air and from yelling for people who decided to stay out for a quiet cup of tea or for board games in park squares that they should get inside, pronto!

Anyway, you skid inside the alleyway and then bounce.

“There you are!”
“There you are!”

The veil and sash are snatched away from you, even as Keli takes your hand to help you back up. (Her other hand is, ah, stabilizing herself.)

“We come up to save you and you’re diving off rooftops?”
“Managing to knock out that bossy snake, yah!”
“Without even a thought of coming back for us?”
“And since when do antlers glow in the dark?”

The hunt is getting very, very close, Seli is adjusting her veil with an air of aggrieved pride, and Keli is peering very closely at your antlers.

Do you feel like digging yourself deeper into debt, little fawn? Or do you want to dare doubling back on your own trail? Do you think they really don’t know what’s going on, or are they just trying to lull you into a false sense of security? And Keli definitely isn’t letting go of your wrist now.

And you do still have your purse…

Return to Thellamie

Eclair!

The Paladin is indeed quite flushed, and while she’s trying to keep glaring at you, her smile betrays her, as does the thump of her tail on the tiles of the street. She’s excited, in the way that the really competitive maids get when they lose, when they have the opportunity to “brat.”

“Except you’re not,” she says, propping herself up. A lock of hair has fallen into her face, and she ineffectually tries to blow it out. “You’re going to clean the place, sure, but then you’re going to use that to justify forcing the owner to give you more information on Sister Tammithyn Murr. And she asked me for help, because you aren’t going to stop unless someone stops you.”

She looks back up at the window. “You hear that, punk? The Miss Maid is the bad girl, actually.”

She stands, spins the glaive, moves back into a ready stance. “So. As I was saying: I’ll do this all night if I have to. I’m not in the habit of disappointing a habit, and I don’t back down in the face of bullying maid thugs.”

Her tail swishes over the tiles. She bares her teeth in what she likely thinks is defiance. She is so eager for another attempt to beat you, to prove that she even can, that it’s practically screaming out of her.

In fact, it’s vaguely familiar? Like you’ve met this Paladin somewhere before. But she’s definitely not in your notebook, so I’m just talking nonsense.

---

Yuki!

You’re in the middle of the joyful pack, and the reaction among a lot of them when you bound heedlessly is to tense up, reach out for a heartblade, and then relax. Could be because you’re, you know, Yuki Edogawa. Or it might be because this woman can definitely look after herself.

Juniper pops up like a jack-in-the-box. “I’m so sorry she doesn’t know what she’s doing Yuki what are you thinking you can’t just—“ This old woman holds up her hand and Juniper clamps her jaw shut, ears low and eyes wide.

“You are Edogawa,” the woman says. “Savior of Crevas.” She’s evaluating you the way that a teacher would, or some other adult who’s been put in charge of you. Or the way that someone playing chess might evaluate a queen who just launched herself to the other side of the board, into threat from multiple angles. (Also, you definitely saved all of Thellamie, but she’s emphasizing Crevas to underline your ties to the people here, and not in a good way.) “What this means is that your friend is not uncontested.”

There is fire in the way she says it— competitive fire, like when you’re talking to Aadya. She’s not going to let Sulochana take this crown without a serious fight.

But then she dismissively waves one hand and Juniper drags you to the side. “Yuki, the Baygum— Olesya— we didn’t expect—“

“You didn’t expect,” the presumptive Baygum says. Her voice is (forgive the pun) husky; she can’t be much older than you. “The Khatun did.” And what’s really interesting about that is that you, Yuki Edogawa, are in a unique position to recognize the “Mom signed me up for softball, ballet and drama club” voice.

Just then, there’s a wet slap that carries over the hubbub of the crowd. A large, greasy-looking bird has just landed on Civelia’s head.

---

Tsane!

In the beginning, the stars danced in the heavens. The world below was formless, empty; nothing moved over the face of the deeps, and the stars paid it no heed. There, light layered over light.

Nothing emerged from the world, and it had no shape or color, and the shape it did not have was a raven, and the color it did not have was white. It spread the wings it did not have and flew up into heaven.

There, it drowned in light, until its lack of white burned away and all that was left was black charcoal. There, it was frozen in place, until its lack of shape shattered and what was left tumbled out of heaven. And as it fell, light fell like rain from its feathers, and where the light fell, there things existed.

One among the stars turned his head and looked down at where the raven had fallen, and he saw existence struggling to continue. So he chose to fall using the path that the raven had left behind, descending among the first people to show them the shape of the world; and where he shone, there were rivers, and forests, and mountains, and he made firm the shapes of these things, so that they did not melt away, because the light stayed within them. “It is better to Be than to Be Not,” he said.

Then the darkness rose in answer, and where the light touched it, there was the shape of a dragon. “It is better to Be Not than to Be,” she declared, and made war then against the shapes of the world. Mountains she flattened, rivers she drank, forests she uprooted, and where she went, the shapes of things came undone, but still the light remained. This alone she could not undo.

And you know, because you have done your due research, that Sayanastia’s message at the beginning of the world is elsewhere remembered as "to exist is to suffer. To not exist must be not to suffer.” This is controversial even to record outside sources such as The Compromise of Heaven, which suggests that the First Fallen partially conceded Sayanastia’s point, and after she was defeated, ultimately spent all of his inner light working to reduce suffering in the world that he had shaped.

But this is going off topic.

RAVEN (Grandfather— Lightbringer— Binatured—): instigator of creation. Supposedly the only created being capable of vaulting the Sun and Moon to reach heaven. Thus considered sidereal herald, e.g., in bearing news of the crimes of the Fallen. (cf. “Burn the Messenger: Raven, Mediation, and the Dilemma of Verification.”) Reputedly, frequent visits to heaven maintain immortality, thus avoiding the Rebirth Wheel Nature of mythic figures such as the Hero of Ages, the Goddess of Civilization and the Dark Dragon.

---

Kalentia!

It’s a big, soggy bird that is glistening. Not just big in size; it looks fat, bloated, like a sponge used to soak up water. When Civelia extends her arm regally and it hops down, it leaves behind that glisten, that light.

Raw, pure(?) starlight. Wring this bird out and you could power all a city’s a magical needs for years. Decades, maybe.

“Split a crown, our Goddess has! How embarrassing! How embarrassing! Awk! Awk!” The voice issuing from that beak is unpleasantly wet, interspersed with noises like it’s trying to regurgitate a pellet.

The bird puffs itself up quite suddenly, fixing you (the crowd behind you? or just you?) with a beady eye. “Hear you now the word of the stars! The Crown of Light shall be bestowed on she who tames the Golden Fawn!”

---

Tsane!

GOLDEN FAWN: goblin. Tamed by the Hero of Ages as a gift for the Goddess of Civilization. Purportedly brought good fortune to owners. Common symbol of venturer guilds: prosperity won from the Outside. Also common romantic motif: used as comparison for beloved as treasured, prized, improving lover’s life.

---

Yuki!

“This is unfair!” Sulochana is uncoiling, rising to an impressive height, glowering at this very, very weird bird. The halo around her head (and the Baygum’s head, for that matter) has already faded away. “A contest of hunting and taming in the Outside? When I am competing against this…” She clamps down on an insult. “On this pack of venturers?”

Jeers and laughter arise from the pack all around you: challenges, invitations to show her how it’s done, invitations for her to come be tamed (that one particularly from the Nagi huntress).

The bird lets out another series of choking, hacking noises. Laughter, maybe?

“The Golden Fawn is here with you tonight, though you know him not! Awk! Awk!”

And the bird flaps its wings. Eventually, this allows for liftoff. It’s like a sight gag out of a Studio Ghibli movie: this soggy bird flapping as hard as it can, at high speed, to slowly gain elevation like a helicopter. At a certain point it seems to have gotten enough height, and it catches the wind on its wings, circling around the crowd three times, before diving down towards a viewing veranda on the edge of the plaza.

---

Hazel!

This? This is the nightmare scenario (and only the haze of your head is stopping you from combusting on the spot, probably). There is a bird. A big, wet, heavy bird. It is on your head. And everyone was watching the bird, which means that now everyone is staring up at you, and you can’t even explain that surely he must have made some sort of Bird Mistake (Birstake) because of the gag, and also because of how squished and helpless you are, you little boytoy, you.

“Behold! Your Golden Fawn, come round again! Claim him! Tame him! Prove that he is yours! These are the acts of the true queen! Awk, awk!”

The sensation of light trickling into your hair, down the back of your neck, is strange. It is cool, and invigorating, and tingly. But it’s nothing compared to the sensation of the light soaking into your antlers as the bird wraps its wings around them in a very unbirdlike manner, and they begin to shine.

Purnima grabs the railing, grinning. “You see that, Sulochana? I, Purnima Karn-Pana, have the Golden Fawn, and I shall be the Queen of Light! Despite all your schemes and treacheries, you’ve lost, you conniving bit—“

---

Yuki!

You wanted to know about the Khatun?

The Khatun is a huntress at heart.

You know, even before you look, that she’s got an arrow nocked. She’s drawn the recurved heartbow’s string back to her cheek already— sights for the Nagi holding Hazel— and looses.

“Fetch!”

The entire pack surges forward, drawing their heartweapons— save Juniper and the Baygum, who are on you, and it’s impossible to tell whether they’ve got their hands on you because they’re trying to save you from being trampled or because the pack needs a bargaining chip. Like, Juniper’s hugging you, but she’s also pinning your arms, and it’s hard to tell if that’s intentional or not!

---

Hazel!

The arrow goes right through Purnima’s head, splintering into shards of silver-black light on the other side.

Her eyes roll back, showing the whites, and with a groan she flops over the railing. Fortunately, there’s enough of her here on the couch that she’s in no danger of actually toppling over the railing, and all her muscles are going slack, meaning that you can wriggle out of her grasp! Yay! Also, oh no!

The bird hops onto her coils and gives you a little bird shrug, like, whatcha gonna do? Not its call. Will of the stars and all that.

In the plaza below, the snakegirl who was with Yuki (Sulochana, surely) is rallying city guardsmen around her, trying to physically block the venturer-pack from reaching you. But that’s not going to buy you a lot of time. They’re probably good at climbing.

(And there are a lot of people down there who really weren’t expecting to be in the middle of a fight between a bunch of wolfgirls and snakegirls today, so there’s screaming and panic and people are fleeing the plaza, and it feels, irrationally, like it’s your fault?)

---

Rurik!

Well, there’s what just happened. From the Raven’s beak to your lips.

And if all this wasn’t enough, a Paladin standing guard over the ceremonial ground collapses to the ground behind you.

A Maid-Knight steps over the fallen Paladin. She is wearing the traditional regalia of the Order of the Aurora, but also an Aestivali carnival mask: an exaggerated laughing face in black and white. She is also framed by a halo— but this one is just her carrot-orange curls forced into a ponytail.

She has in her hand a heartfan— an unusual close-range weapon. She mockingly curtseys, and then lunges for Civelia.

Breathless Dead

Once again, Ember floats in the beautiful, awe-inspiring void. In the face of Poseidon’s domain, to cling to the ego is to be destroyed.

Plundering Fang could not do this; she would be thrashing like a worm on a hook, trying to challenge Poseidon just to regain her control over herself and her world. Sagetip could not do this; she would be in her own head, unable to respond to the majesty of the void with the appropriate awe.

Not that Ember can completely escape her thoughts, and this is by design. Whenever she tries to move her limbs, the chain pulls taut, pulling her out of being lost in the majesty of the storm, just enough to keep her thoughts from floating away.

Now. As to the Angelshark. She cannot exactly speak to it— and, indeed, the regalia stops her from even trying. You cannot communicate with a beast so vast, so alien, using words. You cannot use scents, either— this silences her just as strictly as the wadded-up cloth on her tongue[1]. There is only—

dancing in a perilous garden, wearing triangles of silk, Mos— Bella’s eyes on her, drinking her in, hungry, and her mouth full of packscent, her mouth hidden, all this has happened before—

body language. And here, too, Ember is trained; she was once a scout, and a scout must know how her body speaks, must be ready to seduce their way into information or out of peril, must know what movements will give them away as a daughter of Ceron.

Even to an Angelshark, she knows how to lie.

Her panicked screams are more seen in how she struggles, how she closes her eyes, how she strains against the well-secured cloth, as if she could make herself heard across the vast gulf. She waggles her feet as if trying to paddle towards the approaching vessel, vainly, desperately. A toss of the head, a glance back over her shoulder, eyes wide. She needs a hero to come and save her from this monster—

And the name of this hero is Liquid Bronze. This is what she says with her tearful, pleading glances into the far distance; this is what the waggling of her shoulders says, as if thrashing from side to side would make the chains about her come undone[2].

Be jealous, beautiful shark. The princess is yours; yours to devour once her dashing hero has had his flagship torn open and exposed to the void. Although hopefully the Divers will have winched her back in by the time that one or the other has proven themselves victorious. Otherwise, she will be legitimately helpless in the face of being eaten alive, and not even by some sort of star-swimming serpent.

In silence, in strictly-enforced silence, her hair billowing in the solar winds, her face all but hidden underneath Plundering Fang’s gifts, her body on display like that of a swimmer, the Princess plays her part in the old story.

---

[1]: it remains suspicious that Plundering Fang was permitted to apply the regalia, and even provide some of it, but Sagetip insisted. Said it provided authenticity.
[2]: fortunately, even given her ritual toplessness[3], there’s no bounce to her thrashing. Yet another reason she is perfect for the role.
[3]: why, yes, Bella-Mosaic was invited to the ceremony to watch.

Return to Thellamie

Yuki!

Juniper does look appropriately chastened. “The Khatun wanted this to be a surprise to everyone,” she says, squirming a little in place, suddenly unable to meet your eyes, her brushy tail drooping. The "I wanted to tell you” is loud, but she can’t seem to say it. Whoever this Khatun is in person, however she leads her pack, it’s clear that Juniper had to choose, and she chose to lie to you instead of trusting you with the secret.

But being told that the Baygum is invited to come and get you perks her up. Her smile’s still bright and happy and so full of Juniperness. “Be careful what you wish for~! I’ll go and let her know~”

(Even the way she moves away is different now: moving almost without thinking around obstacles, flowing through gaps in the crowd, capable of freezing in place suddenly in order to suddenly burst into motion. She moves like someone who’s learning how to hunt.)

---

Hazel!

Oh, you lucky little thing! You know, she was just about to piece the purpose of the ceremony together. But if there’s one thing (among several) that will drag Purnima Karn-Pana away from trying to get her head around astrological symbolism, it’s a squirming, gag-talking pretty boy in her clutches. So she looks away just before the crown down there is unveiled. (Not in the same way you might be unveiled, mind you.)

“Yuki Edogawa is luckier than she deserves,” she says, rubbing firm and insistent and distinctly… not uncomfortable circles into that ear. “However did she manage to get such an excellent boytoy in her clutches? With those eyes— mm, you need to work on those lashes, you’d be delicious— and those adorable little noises.”

With her other hand, she takes your chin, tilts it upwards. Her eyes are pools of gold, flecked with— oh, if you stared dangerously deep again, you’d be able to name the color. Her thumb is on your covered lips now? For some reason?

“All the more reason to keep you as insurance. At least until we figure out some solution to the problem of that Arju and her outlander pet. In Crevas, we know how to appreciate beautiful little things~”

Her coils are squeezing and releasing in a way that suggests an unconscious muscle reaction, hemming you in on every side, and isn’t it too bad you haven’t worked up the courage to see a Nagi masseuse yet? Your muscles are relaxing, the endorphins are flowing, and all of her attention is on you, and her face—

Because you’re her prize. Her ticket to victory. The damsel in distress to be dangled in front of Yuki like you’re in that film about the hero with godlike strength. That’s why she’s looking at you like that. Almost certainly. Like she wants to both flaunt you to the crowd and lock you up safely where no one can touch you, though wouldn’t that be a shame, what with these coils pinning your limbs against you, and the very tip of her tail disappearing into your curls right at the back of your neck?

At least she’s almost certainly not going to kiss you. Taking liberties would be wrong. It’s just that Thellamie has different social boundaries than you’re familiar with, darling boytoy. (But what am I saying? You know this already. You hung on Yuki’s every word— words of a world where swordfights did not end in death, where clever foxgirls know how to tie firm knots, and where there were women with the bodies of snakes and eyes that shone. And you never told her how they made you feel.)

“For now, behave. But keep trying to talk, I… don’t mind~” The purr of those last two words rumbles through her coils in a way that is rather suggestive. Her nails are working their way along your scalp, and the spots where your new ears appeared are so sensitive in interesting ways, aren’t they?

Then the crowd goes wild, with cheers and then with howls, exploding. Purnima glances over at the ceremony, and you get to see the exact moment that she becomes literally incoherent with rage.

---

Rurik!

This is your element. Not making magical artifacts, mind you. (Not even Cair’s at this level. She’s more alchemy, right?) But the high ritual, the ceremonialism, the wide-eyed stare of Heron, the dancers whirling in spangled cloaks all about, the light leaking into the air, the magic thick enough to taste: this demands stoic, intense appreciation.

Civelia is singing: high, clear, pure notes. She is limned in silver. A ribbon hangs from her wrist, the end brushing against the earth. The lunar symbolism is obvious.

On Yukisworld, the sun and moon are always moving, racing across the sky. That must be so strange. Lift your eyes, and you can see the sun hanging in the sky, the sky livid as the sun’s light dims; the outer edges of it are already invisible. And in this moment, you are the sun, too, the light that the First Fallen gave to the world as a gift, and you can feel the sunlight course through you—

---

Tsane!

—and through you—

---

Cair!

—and through you—

---

Injimo!

—and through you—

---

Sayanastia!

—owshitfuck—

---

Kalentia!

—oh stars catch Yana she's keeling over—

---

Yuki!

The Crown of Light in Heron’s hands flashes the intense, livid colors of dusk, all pinks and purples, and it’s all but impossible to look away. (In the corner of your eye, you see someone— fainting? But this is an intense moment.)

Civelia looks wan but, for once, actually smiles! And behind you, Sulochana makes a noise of giddy joy. Glance up as she rises, her head haloed in that same light, the same pattern as the dancers followed slowly revolving behind her head. She’s beaming, radiantly joyful, all her hopes fulfilled. In this moment, she is nothing less than a queen.

(In the distance, faintly, there’s a noise like someone is trying to scream but is too angry to let out anything but a choked noise like a train whistle or a very large teakettle.)

Then off to your right, the huntresses explode into riotous howling. Sulochana glances over at them, a little patronizingly, as if to thank them but to request that they be a little more conscientious— and then blanches, eyes wide and uncomprehending.

Off to your right, Juniper’s face is bathed in pinks and purples as she stares, open-mouthed, at the imposing and totally goth huntress sitting next to her. The expression on her face is unreadable, her black-painted lips flat, as everyone around her howls victory, leaving just her and Juniper silent.

(No, there’s one more— the silver-haired old woman. She’s not howling, and she’s not smiling either; she’s just staring at Sulochana, and there’s something about that calculating look— as if she’s already estimating a shot from a heartbow— that should send a shiver down your spine.)

---

Keli!

…well, as far as magical alarms go, this is a new one.

You redouble your efforts to pick the lock to Seli’s cuffs behind your head while the walls of the room are dappled lurid, throbbing pink and purple. You can worry about the thing that popped up over your head (or Seli’s head?) later, because you’ve nearly got it and you have got to focus.

---

Rurik!

Civelia turns her head and stares at you, expression almost impassive, eyes absolutely furious. The unspoken "HERON.” is deafening.

Have you figured out what happened, you reliable and conscientious prism, you?

---

Eclair!

Credit where it’s due: the Paladin falls into a defensive stance, all of her attention intent on you, and hears you out. An ear flicks, but otherwise she is still while you berate her.

Then she chuckles and shakes her head. Which is, paradoxically, sometimes a sign that a fight is about to end and sometimes means that it’s about to redouble.

“You know, I didn’t take her seriously when she told me that you would say anything to throw me off. Well, two can play at that, little miss frills: if I’m a stain on the floor, you’re trash, and I’m here to take you out.” There is real heat in her voice. “You can drop the broom and the board and surrender, and we’ll have a talk with Civil leadership about what you’ve been doing, or I can beat you down until you don’t get back up, and then we go have that talk. By all means, pick the second: garbage like you deserves it.”

But she doesn’t charge at you like a berserker. Her grip tightens on the shaft; her breath is in short, eager bursts; but she does not charge. You are in control, for all that she is furiously posturing at you with such uncouth language.

Her eyes haven’t left you. She makes a small correction to her footwork: still in a defensive posture.

“Boooooo,” yells a child from a bedroom window nearby; while this part of the city is much quieter right now, given that most people are attending festivities elsewhere, some people are supposed to have early bedtimes. “Get her, Miss Maid!”

“Who asked you, anyway?” retorts your absolutely devastated opponent, lowering her guard to instead place a hand on her hip and glare at the little shock of hair still peeking up over the windowsill.

Return to Thellamie

Eclair!

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?