[b]Piripiri![/b] [i]Never let a weaker person fight their own battles.[/i] The noodles sizzle in the oil. The knife flickers in your hand, cutting apart the vegetables that will add body and texture. [i]Never let a weaker person fight their own battles.[/i] What is going on between those two is certainly soft, and sweet, and good. But it is also a battle, of sorts, and you are letting Han (who burned so brightly, who fought so hard, but who still could not defeat you) stumble her way through romance for the first time, and isn't it just an itch on the back of your neck? Your own teachers certainly wouldn't have done so unless they intended on showing you how your untrained, inchoate instincts had failed you. How do you shut those instincts up, daughter of Hymair? Or do you find the temptation comforting? [hr] [b]Han![/b] "We should escape," Lotus says, and absolutely does not let you go. This is difficult, because she is smooshing your face into her body, and running her fingers through your hair, and generally being as clingy as a pretty girl like her would be over, like, some small kitten or her purse or a dainty flower. She's got her ankles [i]wrapped[/i] around one shin as you recline together, rubbing the rope of her leash against your skin. She has swallowed the dragon whole with her softness, her good smell, her caring fingers, and that is a far more constricting prison than any chain or rope or, hypothetically speaking, the tiny cell underneath a lake that her mother is going to shut you up in the second she finds out that you have been so forward with her beloved daughter, and this is definitely the best time to suddenly remember [i]that,[/i] isn't it? Jail For Dragon One Hundred Years, Plus Another Hundred For Face Crimes Committed Shamelessly Right Now. "Right? We [i]should[/i] escape?" She makes absolutely no move to get up off the divan, or to stop running her fingers through your hair. "We should start planning it, at least. Maybe we need to give her a false sense of security, lull her into complacency until she makes a mistake, but who [i]knows[/i] how long that will take? And how many [i]indignities[/i] she'll force us into for her entertainment? Maybe she'll tie us back to back, or, or front to front, so we have to stare at each other, and, that'll, give us time to come up with a plan...?" From the grip she now has on your hair, and on your shin for that matter, it seems increasingly unlikely that [i]she[/i] would be capable of coming up with a plan under those circumstances. [hr] [i]Giriel![/i] It's not Ven that lashes out at you. She's too soft for that, too malleable, too vulnerable, like some lost little kitten baring its teeth and hissing because it's scared of everything. How far she's risen from the depths of her preening villainy! No, it's not Ven. It's Peregrine. "Noodles? Disappointing," she says, as the wind-leopards bowl you over, sit on you, digging their icy claws into your arms, baring their half-there teeth. "Irrelevant in grander scale. [i]Cakkavatti[/i] imminent. Strike her down." "Witch, [i]you[/i] do not control me either," Ven snarls, turning back towards Peregrine, whose eyes flash with Hell's green fires. She still thinks she's in control of the project; that she's not just going to make another King who will Break. Another facet of the world-crafting tyrant who is, at the end of it all, pathetic and alone in his shattered grandeur. "Control? Yes. Also necessary." Another twist of her wrist, and ghostly shackles wrap around Ven's limbs. The sword is raised, and Ven is marched towards you, struggling against the spell, though whether from genuine repentance or affronted pride is difficult to tell. Peregrine is the greatest mind of her generation, but taking on all of Hell and thinking she was going to get the upper hand may have been too much, especially because she must have forgotten that they could tempt her with things she wants. You're going to need to find some way of diverting her, or at the very least making her think that you'll be of use to the hell-fueled obsession of making Ven into the perfect king, and you've got to do it very, very fast. [hr] [b]Kalaya![/b] You are bowled over by a screeching, hissing N'yari who has just been covered in all the mud and would like all of the mud to instead be anywhere else, including on you. She shake, she floof, she knock you on your knightly butt and then notice the screaming priestess behind you. You'd better act quick, before she gets the priestess all muddy as part of trying to scamper away with a prize from all this (that, very specifically, being the priestess). [hr] [b]Fengye![/b] The Maid is so grateful at being freed that she is giving your neck a hug with her hands! And shaking you! What a good girl she is, trying to show her gratitude! It can't be anything else, because she's too pathetic and feeble to really do anything else, but, gosh, the intensity in those eyes! The baring of her teeth in an adorable snarl! The way she wiggles as she hugs you! Then the monster roars, and she squeals in fear, and her hands drift lower as she [i]clings[/i] to you, shivering, trying to put you between her and the scary thing of mud that had imprisoned her! To not be delicate, she's managed to unintentionally cop all of the feels while pressing her mud-slick, shivering body against you, looking to [i]you[/i] to save her-- you, who she had, let's be honest, just been trying to throttle. This is something you will be able to lord over her [i]forever[/i].