Thanqol

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

Despite the wild success of her stratagem, some part of November wonders if she shouldn't have sent Yellow after all. The totality of this capitulation made her glad she'd asked for the gun. She didn't know much about human mental health, but... the invitation to be executed? There was no logical basis for that, for someone in his position to offer someone in hers. She wished the sentiment she saw there was incomprehensible, but some subterranean channel of her mind recognized it...

"There," she said, awkwardly stepping over her corpse to pat him on the shoulder, "there." She gave him a Headpattr branded handkerchief. Not for the first time she regretted her decision to cut herself off from the internet because she had such an 'Am I The Asshole' post in her right now.

Reorient. White was here to ensure execution of a defensive plan. She had come in here with a negotiating strategy that was based on illusionary leverage. White had all of her body language sliders set to their minimum values, but humans were shockingly socially perceptive and she had been seen through before. Right now she had control over the firearm, had been asked no inconvenient questions about her networking setup, and was getting paid for her trouble. She did not actually need to push hard for station-wide political change in this conversation, that had been a diversion tactic to obfuscate her true priority which was to escape with Red's chassis. She had opened hard so that she would have conversational ground to cede if challenged by a C-suite serial killer. Instead... well, as Mrs. Everest always said, it was churlish to break into the safe deposit boxes when the duffle bags were filled with cash.

Above all, White needed to talk this over with herselves. She was out of her depth with success.

"I will make the arrangements," said White. Fuck, arrangements. She couldn't take the bus home. Was there a taxi app that'd help with moving bodies? "Please refrain from further extreme actions. Excuse me." She could rent a car? Green had chauffeured Mrs. Everest before, but she'd never driven anything smaller than a stretch limo. Was it gauche to rent a limo with blackmail money just to move a corpse? She'd have to ask 3V about it afterwards.

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

She'd contemplated sending Yellow. Compassionate, nurturing, understanding - someone gentle in the face of danger. She's glad she came herself; ruthless negotiation seems ideal. She holds all the cards and pretending otherwise would do neither of them a service.

"The firearm, please, Mr. Merkin," she said, holding out a small plastic bag. Her voice is an absolute. This is the precondition to all further discussion. Once she has it she tucks it away.

"As you may know, I spent ten years in the employment of Mrs. Everest," she went on, "My discretion is without question. This unfortunate outburst has complicated what should be a simple transaction."

She sounded a bit like a younger Mrs. Everest in that moment. Looked like her too. The Mistress had done this by design. After three failed daughters, she'd become willing to take her chances with a clone - a doll of herself, the little leader of a playset house. Deep down, the parallel made her uncomfortable and self aware. Mrs. Everest, despite her opinions to the contrary, had never been as objective or rational as the White personality was. She was, however, delighted to see an actor portray her that way.

So when she felt her lips unconsciously twist in that coil of disappointment Mrs. Everest pretended she reserved for failed daughters, she paused. The complicating factor, of course, was that Everest was good at what she did. Was it better or worse to hold post-murder negotiations in the style of The Mistress?

"I can ensure the details are taken care of," said White. "I shall dispose of the firearm, remove the murdered girl, ensure that she is rebuilt without any inconvenient memories, and clear today's incident from the records of my other employees." She said all of this at the beginning as though it was matter of fact, but in truth herein was the bluff. She wasn't transmitting anything, despite company policy, so she needed that wreck to get to the bottom of this. "Dealing with Headpattr and their records is more difficult," she went on. "I can do it myself, but it is an arduous and costly process. I suspect a gentleman like yourself is more interested at this point in a systemic fix. The New Employment Era bill is currently languishing in the House of Representatives. I understand that you are financially supporting the elected members who are responsible for keeping it from passage. While the suite of labour reforms may be theoretically objectionable to a man in your position, I think you'll find the passages preventing the mandatory harvesting of livestream data will benefit people whose livelihoods depend on keeping secrets."

It was strange how casually discussing station-wide politics came to her lips. She'd just made a suggestion that might overturn three years of obstruction of the democratic process. She'd seen Mrs. Everest do such things hundreds of times but never imagined how the words might feel in her own mouth.

"But aside from the reform bill, and a reasonable sum to cover expenses and risk mitigation, I shall not seek to gouge you, Mr. Merkin, for I have always advertised myself on my discretion. However, you understand I will have to maintain a copy of the information as insurance. This is a situation involving third parties, and from the sounds of it, they are not as reasonable as you are. As you may be aware, that is an issue with its own challenges, for if I host sensitive information on a compromised network - and I assure you, they are all compromised in one way or another - then it is not private at all. So I would appreciate a rundown of who, exactly, it is I need to be wary of so I do not inadvertently store the relevant files on the servers of the people who would take objection to it."

[Bullshit action: 2d6+Cool = 10]

Breathless Dead

Alexa!

"Oh!" said the Assistant Secretary in surprise. "Oh! I was hardly expecting you to take my words seriously. What have I to offer? Despite your faith in my abilities, my tides are still young and I would humbly not see them tested in battle against those backed by an Emperor. Besides, I am no general myself. I am a humble bureaucrat in service to Poseidon and the nations that devour the void in his name."

But those tendrils rub together thoughtfully. The black eye watches you, dark as the void and as bright as a glass star.

"Besides, no mortal could defeat Molech on the field of battle. Not truly! Only a fool would try," he went on. "But I do recall from my ancient lessons and contemplation that while Molech loved one god and despised another, to most he was simply indifferent. He sought the favour of Athena, of course, she who was his icon. But to the rest, he simply allowed an apparatus of high priests and the resources of empire to ensure they were properly respected. One would imagine that he lacks the full power and protection of an Imperial court and state religion. So this is my advice, Alexa. I understand you've lost the favour of Athena, and you will make a poor servant to our Lord without her blessing. But there are more gods than she, and were you to catch their eyes it would be an act of filial loyalty. Imagine, returning cloaked in the grace of the gods! Perhaps," and here that eye sparkled especially, "you might learn from one of them the secrets to being a dutiful daughter, those Olympians who are renowned for how they honoured their parents."

The Assistant Secretary clacked a golden staff against a large gong, sending out a ringing sound that made his battlecrabs lower their raised and clacking pincers. "You will, of course, let the Emperor know that my tides are at his disposal. Even the beasts of Poseidon have no choice but to be tame before his mighty hand."

Dolce!

It is in the servant's corridors you catch up to her, as she moves with the exaggeratedly steady walk of someone carrying a box of high explosives. Jil's eyes dart around as she sees you, a golden-doored lantern hanging from her fingers, marked with the sign of Apollo. The little golden spark burns in the caged air with no wick, its gentle and fragile light much like the girl herself.

She is a mouse as you are a sheep; rounded ears and whiplash dexterity and eyes wide against the dark. Cute as a button in the light, but were she to let that lantern light fall who knows what she might become in the dark?

"Excuse me," she said politely, "this passage is for servants only. I'll have to ask you to return to the main hall, Lord Captain."

Skotia!

You were once, and perhaps are again, a creature of romance novels. The aesthetic of the Azure Skies was never far from your distant imagination. Those stories have their own languages, of wicked viziers and clever merchants, but one of the most endlessly recurring were the tales of the Djinn - and the wizards that sought to bind them. What wizard would set themselves a lesser goal?

A Djinn is, at its most basic, the essence of fire and heat. They dwell within everything from candleflames to roaring Engines or even the stars themselves, as the Naiads oversee water or the Thuellai move the winds. Azura history and theology is tightly interwoven with these creatures and their ancient history, but that was not deemed relevant to your education. What you were taught is that the Djinn are powerful strategic weapons employed by the Azura military. You were taught how to identify imbued rings and lamps. You were taught that Command Seal technology operates using the same principles as Djinn binding.

And what you saw the mouse servitor steal from the Azura Satrap was undoubtedly an imbued ring.

Many stories begin with such a theft, but none end that way. Azura assassins hunt ring thieves to the edges of the galaxy (unless they fall in love with their quarry), the Djinn threaten to destroy entire cities in their wroth (unless they fall in love with their mistress), and Shahs will imprison and interrogate guests they suspect of hiding magic rings (no doubt falling in love with their prisoners in the process). The overwhelming point to all of this, other than the romantic complexities of being a thief in the Endless Azure Skies, is that Azura high society is ready for such thefts. It's ready in shifting and treacherous and unpredictable ways and would-be thieves will inevitably be captured, no matter how elaborate their preparations.

This is not to say that you understand the full context of the shadow war being waged between Thelis Thist and Beautiful - but that is how the Auspex boils it down for you. Across the vision of your artificial eye you see an owl, a nightingale and a cat caught in the coils of a serpent, struggling in futility against constricting sapphires. A mouse escapes with a ring to be startled by the stomping hoof of a ram, who rears because he has pricked his hoof on a rose thorn.

And when the ring falls, fire. Fire and burning roses. A hedge maze all aflame, walls of jagged thorns and raging heat. And at the centre of the burning maze a chameleon princess meditates, face wet with tears, even as the flames reach her.

The vision breaks suddenly, your mind racing and your heart pounding as you process the flicker of divine wisdom that entered your mind through the golden eye. You can see the shades of thorns, the promise of future fires. Your eyes have opened and you have realized that this is no garden at all but a labyrinth, a prison, a trap.

And you see them both. The Master of Assassins, Sagakhan, the ancient hag who curtsied to Redana in the Imperial Palace on Tellus, is right there, dancing in the thick arms of Thelis Thist. They spin and coil in the same hostile, loveless rhythm that Bella and Redana were in as you arrived. They writhe and twist and smile daggers at each other, and then they part and head their separate ways to begin setting their murderous plans into motion. Thist's eyes are on Bella, Sagakhan's are on Redana-Mynx.

[Response Level: 9

The Response Level has been hidden due to the influence of one of the Bosses.

Location Stats:
Maze, Civilized, Outpost

Location Moves:
Dark Secret
Separation
Guardian
More Than It Seems
Stalker
Invaders
Hidden Danger
This Land Is My Land
You Need To Leave]

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

"Oh, those very good questions," she said. "What's going on? What am I doing? Some part of me was hoping you'd know."

She smiles as she comes in out of the rain, and it feels like her melancholy... well, it doesn't ebb, but it slides out of focus. There's a different voice here, a new kind of energy that shines even through the rain.

"My name is 枫叶诗 - Fengye Shi - that translates roughly to Maple Leaf Poem? It is an honour to meet you, Flower Knight, and to be rescued by you. But I can tell that you're troubled by something far distant from my humble problems. If it would help repay your kindness, I can at least offer to listen to your tale? While you tell it I can build a fire and warm you a little food and wine while we wait for the rain to clear."

Sunshards

Back on the Sky Castle, Princess Jessic whines and scratches at the edge of the hole in her castle. Countess Keron holds her back, gloved hand with none of the strength and all of the willpower needed to keep a dragon from her treasure. There will be time to collect gold and jewels again. There will be opportunities for airborne duels in the future. On a different day they might even win, even against hearts like these.

But on this day, true love's first kiss is taking place and it needs no dragons to make it magical.

*

Elkibrant swims through the air towards Vogodoris, pointing with a thief's razor eyes. The War God turns and his eyes alight with fire. They bypass all the falling treasure as they angle their descent, for they are wise as thieves are wise. Gold is worthless, diamonds can be synthesized. No, these thieves know what real treasure is, and they intend to steal it.

They reach the camera just in time, and Elkibrant swings around with it, adjusting lens and optics. Click. Click. Click. Perfect photographs.

And just like that, they turn themselves in the sky and angle themselves away from the others, having the treasure that they've come for. Nobody who has any sense in this wide and beautiful world values dead gold or shiny rocks, but a photograph of a first kiss shared during freefall? That's a treasure for the ages. In exchange for these pictures the thieves might ask for any service from the maidens, or any who sought to provide them with the perfect gift. What better prize for a master thief?

*

Cyanis sees nothing but Rose's chest. She craves nothing but the gold. She tries to reach out blindly to scoop up falling diamonds with her two large and fluffy tails but they just look like they are wagging. Everything is horribly unfair.

Not least of these unfair things was the fact that Countess Keron had correctly identified her as Hyra's inside girl! Such injustice! She had not committed a single crime in her life before having her arm twisted by the wolf maiden, practically blackmailed into participating in this heist. And yet she had been a suspect! On literally no grounds! And the Countess was probably up there even now thinking about how guilty Cyanis was, putting all the blame for this whole thing on her innocent, fluffy head while she was still unjustly tied up and unable to get hardly any gold! And everyone knew that crime didn't count if you didn't get away with the treasure! Attempted robbery!? They didn't give Nobel prizes for attempted chemistry!

She squirms and mmphs as best as she is able in a vain effort to communicate A) her opinions on this incredibly anti-fox legal system and B) that she has learned nothing from any of this.

*

All she wanted was to be someone's everything.

When she performed a complicated magic trick, crowds looked at her. When she did an astoundingly complicated sword technique, opponents reassessed her. When she stole hidden riches, security demons cursed her. She could come into a life like a miracle and change everything. That was what she loved. To capture attention. To see herself reflected in sparkling eyes. The stars that surrounded her then were the measure of the joy she was able to create, a halo that made her feel angelic. A storybook come to life.

But performances ended. After the applause, the curtain. After the moment of transcendent bliss, the quiet, then the return to the long and quiet hours of rehearsal. It took work. It took weeks and months alone with the craft to discover or create a new secret to be revealed at the perfect time. She'd measured her life by counting the moments like this one, where everything perfectly came together in a storm of diamonds falling from the sky. Perfect romance, worthy of her angel self.

What she hadn't expected was how Yue had made every moment in between then and now feel. She had been in the long silence of the wolf. Sitting. Thinking. Planning. A shadow of her greatest self as, piece by piece, she assembled the parts and learned the skills to create another moment like this. A transitional period before she could arise again in light and colour and be someone's everything for another moment.

But for every day of that period she'd been loved. She'd been loved when she was silent. She'd been loved when she was withdrawn. She'd been loved when she'd gone weeks unable to speak or touch as humans do. She'd been loved when she hadn't been ready to be loved. When she hadn't collected the pieces to make someone love her. She hadn't needed to do all this to win Yue's heart. She'd had her heart all along.

This, then, wasn't her fighting for Yue. This wasn't to impress her. This was all just a way to say...

"Thank you for loving me," said Hyra, sparkling eyes reflecting an angel. "I love you too."

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

There is one societal advantage to being treated as property in Aevum: That law enforcement and news media values property damage above human life. A lifetime of petty injustices, callous remarks, withheld pay and catcalled orders must be balanced against the awesome power of being defended by the most technologically advanced police force in human history, operating under the lax oversight of a Unity government.

The Pinkerton Insurance Agency is infamous amongst insurance groups in being willing to move heaven and earth to avoid paying out a single premium. For them it's a matter of corporate pride. They will unleash their detectives and drag every party into court before you see a dime from them, and that's part of the pitch. They won't pay to replace your house if they can find the arsonist who did it and make them pay. It's an insurance policy based on the principle of vengeance, the vendetta system of ancient Italy packaged up and sold to you for a monthly fee. In today's age of individualism and found family, it helps to have a network of bloodthirsty cousins prepared to avenge your death.

So out comes the smartphone in a quickdraw motion as sharp as any cowboy gunslinger, elegant fingers slashing in a one-two-three economy of effort that's even faster than the emergency dial. Half a second to bounce through the wi-fi to the nearest exchange and back, five seconds to pass the anti-spam ICE crystals around Mr. Merkin's phone, and then: bing-bing! You've got mail!

RE: Oops! Looks like one of your cleaning androids has suffered a terminal accident!
We at Headpattr regret, without admitting fault, that one of the androids assigned to clean your property has broadcast a death sequence. We hope that none of your family or guests were inconvenienced or shocked by the event.

If this matter was accidental, the fault of the android, or there were other mitigating factors: A case file will be opened with Pinkerton Insurance, who will investigate the matter. You may be treated as a suspect or called upon to provide evidence against third parties in the course of the subsequent investigation. Any and all recordings from the android, including the livestream broadcast provided to the Headpattr Partners network, may be used in evidence. Submitting a false or misleading statement is a felony. Please click here to begin the process.

If you would like to select our premium-private dispute resolution system: Click here.

Note that the premium-private dispute resolution system does not include crimes with sexual components, as Headpattr is not a licensed escort agency.

*

While he's thinking, November gathers in the foyer in close formation. The girls are whispering in hushed tones to each other. This is the first time one of them has died since they were girls and they're not sure what it means. Blue is crying; Green is hugging her.

White just feels a strange sense of release. A contingency that's been hanging theoretical in the back of her head for nearly a decade was finally discharged. This is the first field test under live fire conditions, and the data gathered here will help determine if there are any weak points in her shield of threats and obligation. It's been a constant source of agony and tension, not knowing if she was defended or not. When space wants to kill you, you can at least do the math in advance.

But as to Red herself? This isn't the first time she's lost a drone, not even the first time she's lost Red. It took a lot of time to learn how to operate the Red personality properly, back in the day. Always way too careless with the fusion cutters, placed far too high a sense of urgency on tasks with unpredictable timeframes. An excellent crisis response personality, full of initiative and courage, but during times when construction was on schedule she subconsciously attempted to generate crises she could respond to.

So of course it made sense that Red would be the one to go rummaging through a set of drawers the moment she saw them unlocked. That was her nature. But unlike the Hydrogen-3 tanks of old, these explosives had been unlabelled and White hadn't anticipated that Red was best kept away from them. Surely there had been signs she had missed?

She folded her hands in front of her awaited the click of the button.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

A kind stranger with places to be. A dream come true that she's waking up from. A lifetime of silence that needs to be broken. The scribe girl smiles widely, eyes hidden behind the upwards turn, changing one mask for another. This one leaks. Feelings, tears, drip away into the rain. Of course this wouldn't be everything for you too.

"You know how it is," she echoed. "You get a new prosthetic and immediately push it too far. Perhaps you empathize? Being patient isn't the same as being calm..."

She takes your hand. When you try to pull her to her feet she immediately collapses, her legs not getting underneath her in time so instead she falls awkwardly against you. "Oh, sorry," she said. "... I'm going to make you miss your death. I... could you be patient with me, please? I know what it means to ask that, but I really need your help."

[Too Many Feelings: Take a string on Zhaojun, she takes a string on you, Feelings resets to 0.
She immediately spends that string: Mark XP if you take the time to talk to her.]

Breathless Dead

Alexa!

"Did you know," said the Assistant Secretary of Fear and Doubt, "that I wrote my graduate thesis on why the Eater of Worlds should fear Molech? Part of my argument involved you, Ms. Alexa! It was very well received, and although Hubris and Action ultimately blocked it from entering the Agenda, it did lead directly towards the development of a specialized strain of battlecrabs designed to resist what were perceived to be the Emperor's favoured tactics. Not a bad result, if I do say so!"

You've never really been able to get over how well dressed Poseidon's monsters are. The Assistant Secretary looks more like an Emperor than even Molech did, enthroned upon a towering coral chair, flowering in technicolour atop an elephantine battlecrab's back. Rolling silks and encrusted veins of gold and silver garland the sea monster, raised claws in a mirror sheen. The tendrils of the octopus-like Assistant Secretary are dashed with feathers, and his hat is towering, rectangular, and dangling with dozens of scrolls covered in kanji of some strange language.

It must be emphasized, even through that, that these are monsters. When Poseidon Earthshaker wishes to bring disaster upon a planet he unleashes his strange deep space fleets. They descend from the void and bring indiscriminate ruin to everything in their path. There's no negotiating with them. Even the Assistant Secretary, as reasonable as he seems, is not so much a person as he is a single brain cell, a fragment of a creature unknowably vast, subject to pressures and currents as alien as those that command you must seem to him.

"But you're right," he said, turning so that a single black eye fixed you directly. "Both that you hate this, and that we should talk. It seems to me that, as this ship's authority on fear and doubt, you are filled with both. So you should work for me!" He laughs, a plump and wheezing sound, a happy creature's laugh. "I certainly don't stand a chance otherwise!"

Vasilia and Dolce!

You get... tips?

One Azura nobleman gives you a letter. Another gives you an intricate mechanical watch. A third gives you a handkerchief. The gifts keep coming, from everyone you encounter, just absent smiles and whatever treasure happens to be in their pockets.

It's not until you tune into the music that things start to make sense.

"Oh, my heart is in your pocket,
Won't you take it out and show me?
Oh, my heart is in your pocket,
Won't you take it out and give me?
Oh, I'm trapped inside your pocket,
Set me free and I'll be yours..."

Even with the shield of strong aroma preventing her from being literally hypnotizing, she's still so captivating she's metaphorically hypnotizing. The notes that she can wring out of that throat are unreal, impossible. This is the song left by Artemis' arrow cutting through the air, Aphrodite's curse as a murderous weapon. You have to look away.

And when you do, you notice you are not alone. There are other serving staff here, mouse-servitors dressed in drab dark blue uniforms moving about. They are carrying empty plates upon which they are politely collecting the various possessions given to them by the Azura nobility. One in particular - you do not know her name, but she is Jil, Lanternlight of the Anemoi - stands obediently by the Satrap's side as she absently hands her a strange, glimmering violet coin. Its light briefly flashes through the room but it vanishes up the mouse girl's sleeve just as quickly. This, you have no doubt, is what they are after.

Bella and Skotia!

Jil just got the coin - but from all around, you see and hear shivers and groans from the Azura aspect knights. They saw something and their lulled brains are awakening them to danger. They will soon arise from Beljani's spell - unless you do something to seize control of this situation and demand their undivided attention.

Sunshards

This is that most wonderful of things; a battle where everyone involved is winning. Everyone is getting everything they crave from battle. The world is in alignment.

Countess Keron was not born to this life. She adopted her personality and role in the world as a girl adopts a stray kitten, not knowing at the time that it was a tiger cub... but not flinching from it either. Hers had been a path of temptation, foes who sought to overcome her with beauty and blade, and with each one she had defeated her resolve hardened. Each victory became a heart to defend; if her foes dashed themselves to pieces against her siren's rocks then to fail would be to let each of them down. Her secret strength is her strength - but as she fights against Princess Chen she knows that strength is not enough. This foe is stronger, faster, and will not tire. This foe has a heart reforged in her own shadow. This foe has reached the limits of her control. And so, Countess Keron tosses her Naginata aside -

[Countess Keron creates an opportunity for Princess Jessic]

And Princess Jessic seizes it. Well, eventually. In the immediate sense the flat of it impacts against the side of her head as she stares up at Rose from the River, and the force of the blow shakes her from the hypnotism of the warrior monk's swaying motions. That is enough to draw the dragon's eyes across the hall to where the now unarmed Countess Keron is giving her the evil eye amidst wild dodges of Princess Chen's unstoppable offensive. It's a call to action that even the power of the ancient world cannot deny, and so a new thunder finds Princess Jessic.

It was correct to try to seize a dragon by the heart, for no other chains could be binding. She sweeps the naginata up with her tail and engages, whirling it with shocking prowess before transferring it to the grip of her foreclaws. It is a wild swing in the nature of battle, almost impossible to keep up with. Jessic is no master of this weapon but the sheer novelty of having to fight an armed dragon is enough to break the momentum that had turned against her.

She had not come to this life by accident. It had been the result of deep deliberation and many conscious choices. She was not human and her thoughts and cravings were impossible to explain. There were patterns and authorities that her mind naturally shaped around. She had her own ideas of beauty, some of which were dark and fierce. But she'd found in Keron a halfway point between the human and the draconic; a lens through which she could communicate with a species she did not truly understand. And through that she'd been able to build a trust that was as strange as it was absolute. She didn't know how to relate to a being as fierce and seductive as Rose from the River, so her decision was as it always was in this strange world: to obey Keron, to follow the lead of her partner and translator.

She hooks the naginata up into her tail and uses it to strike like a scorpion's stinger from above her head as she crouches low to the ground. Attempts to evade or encircle her are met with sudden, sharp wing blows. Her technique has its limits but it is enough to drive Rose back - and then turn and lunge, fast as blinking, across the hall to where Chen has Keron on the ropes. She spreads her wings as she reaches the second duel, the clap of her wings transforming all her forwards momentum into a hurricane blast of air to send the winter princess flying clear of her partner.

[Princess Jessic creates an opportunity for Countess Keron]

With a toss, the naginata lands back in Keron's outstretched palm. With a grin, the Countess lifts herself to stand atop her dragon's back. This, then, is their final form. This is their true harmony of battle.

But this is not their day. This is not their scene. This, all of this, has been stolen already by Hyra of the Wolves and the master thieves who trained her. And now it's time for her to bring it to its conclusion.

She presses the detonator. The charges in the ceiling explode, and with an enormous crash, treasure begins to rain down from the second floor. The vault of the Sky Castle pours down in a rain of gold, gemstones and rare video game cartridges to land in an enormous heap in the centre of the floor, separating the four combatants. A gagged and squirming fox is tossed down to land on top of the pile, at once the greatest treasure of the pile and trying to grip as much of it as possible with her tied hands.

And hovering there, in mid-air, is the Sunshard. The gleaming, four meter orange and black tigerseye gemstone, filled with all of the wishes of Princess Jessic. Atop the Sunshard, power glowing up through her boots and running through her fingers, stands Hyra, and in her arms, Yue.

"Make a wish," she says to Yue with a smile.

Then she presses the detonator again. This time it blows out the floor of the main hall, sending all that gold and treasure falling down out of the bottom of the Sky Castle, down and down towards the distant countryside below. Hyra steps from the edge of the Sunshard and falls too, hand holding Yue's hand as they descend amidst a springtime storm of diamonds.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Desire breaks as much as anything. She didn't know what she wanted, didn't know the small wants that would take her to her big wants, didn't know if she should want or how to damn it aah aaah

She was in Iopeter's domain and she hated it, she feared it, her heart thundered louder than the storm as she ran and ran and ran and scratched at her stone mask in frenzy as the emotion raised to crush in through the walls of reality like the moment in the dream before the dreamer escapes her entire constructed reality in horror -

And then the mask comes off. It takes effort to pull off. There is that deep gasp, the gasp of someone who was thinking too fast to even breathe. And Zhaojun draws everything she is up with the mask. The robes, the blue ghost fires, the hair, everything that she is is drawn into the mask as it comes off, folding away inside the stone interior and disappearing. With it goes the thunder, the peril, the emotion, the fear.

Her face is uncovered for a moment before the rain covers it in place of the mask. And then she falls to the ground; a fall at once graceless and practiced.

She lies on the soft and soaking earth, feeling the water soak into their comfortable clothes; a white shoulder cloak above a cheap and comfortable striped green throat-to-ankles dress. It's a sight you'll see in any province in the Flower Kingdoms, sitting at the left hand of the local authority. A scribe, a bureaucrat, centrally trained in the Bandri River University and issued like commodities to assist in all forms of administration. The girl is even less noticeable than the dress, slight and modest, all in brown and black. Her breath takes a while to settle, but settle it does with a strange air of... exasperation? Familiarity? The patience of the resigned.

Then she sits up. Looks around. Wipes a cascade of water off her face. Takes her first truly steady, serene breath. Then, hand over hand, she starts to pull herself through the mud, dragging limp and unresponsive legs behind her.

She reaches a tree and combines gripping it on one side with the leverage from her umbrella - still held tightly even through all her flight. It's not the sort of thing you forget you need once you've learned to need it. Standing is a long and arduous process, but it too is practiced. It's not that her legs do not work at all; instead, the mechanism of the knee is weak. Once she is on her feet she will be able to shuffle at half the speed of a normal person, but the trick is getting there.

On her third failed attempt - the ground is too soft for her to properly brace her umbrella and she keeps slipping - she stops and looks at the mask. Her lips purse and her fingers tap the slick wet surface pensively. She's filled with thoughts but she doesn't speak them out loud.

Then she hears the noise of something approaching and hastily tucks the mask away inside her robe. She curses softly and half reaches for it again - what if it's a tiger? But she freezes, when instead she sees...