[b]Anathet![/b]

“This really is your first time, huh, dumpling?” The bouncer is sweating and you can feel how firm her arms are as she presses you down against the dirty arabesque tiles. “You’re not getting caught up by them. I’m just stopping them from hitting you until you curl up.”

(She’s wrong, but only because you’re a monk. You know that you’re going to be collared as a potential Enemy of the Chain. If only you had a disguise! But that’s a goal for later.)

“But sure, what the hell. At least you’ve got guts.” She winks, and then— oh no! You see a janissary loom over her with a baton.

“We’ve got a monk!” He yells back at his commander. And here it comes, oh boy. What are some of the protocols for handling a potentially rogue Zhianku, given their psychic prowess?

***

[b]Canada![/b]

“Don’t sulk,” the Cat crisply snaps back at you. “You came to me looking for guidance, and I offer it at very reasonable rates.”

Much like Variance, she’s a mercenary with ideals. She has dream logic work for you to do: rats to catch, mirror shards to sweep up, and bizarre secrets for you to deliver to her. It’s profitable for both of you, given your vastly different frames of what’s valuable.

“What you want is [i]redemption.[/i] To achieve it, you must undergo [i]transformation.[/i] You will never atone for your failures as you are, girl.” What makes the words sharper is the fact that she means them. She really does. From her point of view, she has to turn you into something different than you are.

You’ve already won serious concessions on that front after the Butterfly Incident. So now she’s focusing on changing you on the inside.

“You must be willing to kill one of them again,” she adds, her feline face betraying nothing. “But the process will be difficult. Now, let’s see about your payment for the next lesson. I do believe twenty rats will suffice...”

***

[b]Étoile![/b]

The restaurant is a mess. There definitely was a struggle here, and the rifle is gone. Most of what’s scattered about is your picnic supplies, a change of clothes, her sketchbooks and tablets (two broken). Of course not the wines, those were stolen by those brutes.

But, ah! Look here! Forgotten in the tumult: a sidearm with five shots left. (It’s an ornate, clunky revolver, very clearly not a laser weapon.) Your Lady must have had the courage to pull the trigger once! There are four of them, not counting their own valets, so that’s a margin of error of one shot.

It would be so easy to pick them off from the shadows with a rifle. It would take a skilled pistolier to take four Annunaki down at close range, and it would take a very, very skilled actress to make it seem like improbable luck. But what else can you do?

Your Lady needs you.