[center][sub]EE 87, May 6 | Morning[/sub][/center]
The dust settled, and the ashes did too.

As the sun crested over the horizon, the mist around Bermuda dispersed, melting away from the heat and leaving only a sticky dampness behind. Within an hour or two, even that residue to fade, until the picture of an island shrouded in fog disappeared completely. Only memories of the night before persisted now. Memories, and the remnants of wreckage left by the intrepid and the foolish. The crater left upon the beach, and the shattered lamppost on the adjacent street. The smell of burnt flesh, and the clockwork birds laying lifelessly on the ground. The destruction of a storefront, and the bullets scattered over the streets. Were strange things happening, or were stupid kids just acting out, now that no government oversight was there to remind them of how to behave in polite society?

No one knew for certain, and indeed, as morning cracked and the adults got to work, so too did Bermuda’s police force, judiciously cordoning off these incidents. The newspaper, of course, remained aware regardless, and soon enough, copies of the Bermuda Triangle began to pop up around the city, enjoyed with a cup of coffee in a quaint little café or read in bed with a warm croissant.

News, of course, still featured the Ottoman Empire’s civil war front and center. With Polymaths recalled to the capital or having found positions of leadership within the rebellion, it had now become a sight of international interest in seeing how [i]modern[/i] warfare looked. Nothing substantial could be confirmed yet, but certainly, there were plenty of stories, from mechanized castles laying close-quarters siege on each other to armored infantry possessing state-of-the-art steamcannons and piledrivers to, of course, the Egoists squads that murdered them by the dozens.

On more curious notes were stories of how some curfew breakers ended up amnesiac the day after. While only one such individual, a Mr. F, served as the account for this curious situation, it was nevertheless interesting. Was there something in the air out in the open seas? Certainly, there were more than a couple instances where transient global amnesia could set in, and in a world as unfinished as this, there were plenty of local legends out there as well that may have grains of truth connecting to this strange affliction. No peer-reviewed studies have been released, but more than a couple clubs had expressed interest in this as well.

And who could simply neglect the [i]increased[/i] incidences of property damage over the night before? While none had been so extreme as Jeanne’s immolation of a library, a bar had been broken into and the street littered with bullet holes. Had a student gotten fully shitfaced? And what of those clockwork drones littering an area blackened by flame? One could easily recall the illustrious Nazca Whitehall as both a craftswoman of clockworks and as one who had volunteered to supervise Jeanne from the day before? Had there been an altercation? Multiple altercations?

The truth was muddled, however, known only by those intimately involved…
[sub][@Zombehs][@Vega7285][/sub]
What were friends for, if not to help with dodging hospital fees?

It had taken time, but the natural regeneration of an Egoist was a powerful one, and even if Shou had been almost completely wiped out the night before from his self-flagellation and the strange creature in the fog, by the time his pains started to rouse him, he was strong once more.

Or well, strong enough to limp through the streets before curfew ended at least. It was [i]fortunate[/i] that he had managed to get Hana’s address one way or the other before any of this happened, as she was likely the only one that he knew and trusted now. His fried nerves still tingled, the warming of the air only rousing the many burns that covered his body. Every salty breeze brought a sting that reminded him of the blackness that caressed him the night before, and his left still ached from the effort it took to launch himself out from the beach in a single bound. But so long as he lived, he would continue to walk. The dragon’s path was filled with obstacles, but death was the only insurmountable one.

Blood tracked up the stairs through the Incan-style apartments, yet Shou, in his fatigued, pained, yet still alert state of mind, would notice that his wasn’t the only blood painting the white-washed floor. There had been another injury here.

To be shelved for later though.

Curfew ended, a faint electric buzz racing through his body, and the Egoist alerted Hana to his presence in whichever way he was accustomed.
[sub][@Click This][@Medili][@banjoanjo][/sub]
Pain.

Pain and confusion.

What exactly happened? Why was she like this? It hurt to breathe, and her whole body felt feverish, sensitive to the bandages that wrapped all around her. This was not her room. The smell of burnt flesh filled her nose with every breath, or was it that her nose itself was burnt? And her hair…there was something all too light about how her head felt, as if a weight that she was used to was suddenly removed.

With great effort, Nazca brought her body up, and as she did so, the bed itself moved up to match her efforts, propping her to a sitting position.

This…this was a hospital.

For all of Ryuuko’s incessant worrying and Bang’s own knowledge of first aid, neither of the Egoists were Polymaths who had dabbled in medicinal arts. There was no point for Egoists to do so, after all. Ryuuko wasn’t a true martial Egoist, but she could shrug off most encounters with motorized vehicles, while Bang’s specialization was regeneration and literally nothing else. The best they could do while Jeanne slept without a care in the world, was to rip linen off the curtains, sanitize it best they could, and try to bind up Nazca’s many injuries. And in the morning? With Jeanne dragged alongside them, they hurried Nazca to the closest hospital in the city, surprising the morning staff and having her immediately treated for her burns. Ointments and salves now coated her from head to toe, and her condition had stabilized enough that there was no risk of death and low risk of infection. Perhaps in a month, Nazca would be as good as new.

But that didn’t stop the nurses from whispering, of how that hellfire witch had already roasted one of those who were meant to guard her. Didn’t stop Ryuuko and Bang from expressing their concern. Didn’t stop Jeanne from sitting in a corner of the hospital room, reading through a small notepad as if none of this affected or was even tangentially related to her.

The question remained.

What happened to her last night?

And could she even [i]trust[/i] those who now stood before her?
[sub][@Izurich][@Psyker Landshark][/sub]
By all intents and purposes, Valeriya was successful. No violence was needed to get what she wanted, and Kiran was a fairly good partner in bed, possessing that ever-so-winning combination of a pretty face and a toned body. Both of them were experienced, and while much of their elopement was transactional, it didn’t meant that it was necessarily unenjoyable either.

More importantly, her cousin would be happy to hear from her after so long, and she ought to be looking forward to his response in the next couple of days too. Indeed, with libido satisfied, mission completed, and a couple days of freedom to enjoy, the world was quite literally Valeriya’s oyster. She could hit up that Egoist again about testing out the limits of her Technologist designs, pursue Kiran more professionally about a possible alcohol enterprise, or maybe even enjoy the city itself and sample the local cuisine! There was an atelier that might have her name on it, or maybe a couple of unburnt publications to study up on. For an enterprising young woman such as herself, it would be a tragedy if she spent the day solely indoors.

So she opened the door and, collapsing to the side of it was a familiar face.

Lucretia, the princess of the Konigsmahne. Hair stuck to her face, and clothing still possessing of a dampness that didn’t look to be from fog alone. Schwarzritter loomed behind, a silent, unmoving guardian, but the floating half-ring wasn’t anywhere close to large enough to obscure its mistress from the glances of other residents of the castle-dormitory.

And, just a couple beats later…

[b]“Aw fuck! Who broke the doors?”[/b]