[b]Eclair![/b] Even as you study, you are studied. Anesh Vessenmer is tall— or more accurately, since you are the sort of girl to worry about that sort of thing, she lifts herself up off the ground further back on her tail than some other Nagi do. Isn’t it interesting how height is a choice among these people? It’s not intentional; she barely even notices that she’s above you. She’s just used to it. She sees your discomfort. She sees the flinches. You see the seeing. You see the consideration. “I can do that for you,” she concedes, closing her hand on the swatch. “But by the Swallow, girl, it’s the Festival of Light! We’re closing in an hour so that I can send these hatchlings off to see Civelia’s performance. Supposed to be something big.” She’s seen big before; she thinks she knows what big looks like. “I was going to coil in the back with my books anyway. Come back in the morning and I’ll tell you what I’ve found.” She softens, suddenly, unexpectedly— like glass becoming water. “For Heron’s sake, girl, go enjoy yourself tonight. You maids are allowed to do that much, aren’t you?” The streets outside are loud and tumultuous, true, but they’re not being [i]here[/i] for another hour. The choice, as ever, is yours— and speaking of which, [i]do[/i] you celebrate the festival at the Mansion? This day of celebrating the many colors brought into the world by Civelia’s sacrifice, the peace and prosperity that the Queen of Light once brought, and the light that we all bring to each other’s lives. I mean, surely this would be an opportunity for oneupsmaidship, at the very least. [hr] [b]Yuki![/b] “Duel?” They say it at the same time, and they harmonize— the same note of surprised realization that, yes, they were very much about to duel. There is a fleeting moment where a song could start, an elegant duet of animosity. But then the Nagi on top of you scoffs and tosses her head, sending her pigtails swaying. “So that’s your game, Sully!” (“Shut UP that is NOT my NAME—“) “You lure me into position like the chess piece—“ (“YOU barged in on ME—“) “All so that you can ambush me with your vicious trained assassin!” (“Her NAME is YUKI—“) “Well, I shan’t have it! Do you hear me, Sully?! I shan’t! The whole city shall know of your perfidy!!” She flicks her way down the corridor, dragging the length of her red-and-black tail over you, the agitated tip leaving you a ringing slap to the cheek as a farewell. Sulochana doesn’t chase after, but instead insists on helping you up, her fingers covered in rings and delicate chains. “Do you happen to moonlight as an assassin, dearest?” She asks through bared teeth, doing her best to smile. “I have a pain in my coils that I need shipped on the [i]slow[/i] wagon to Aestival.” She brushes you down, hands as sure as ever, turning your chin this way and that to make sure she gets all the bits of rug fluff out of your hair. “Crammed into a [i]small[/i] barrel. How much are you charging?” She barely gives you time to answer before she’s wrapping you in one of her massive hugs, coils looping about you, hands on your hair, kissing the top of your forehead affectionately. “It’s been [i]too[/i] long,” she declares with the authority of an empress and the gentleness of the friend who convinced the Consortium to follow you to war. Her calf-soft skin is warm and her polished scales are cool, and there is lavender oil worked into her raven-black hair. “What took you? We’re barely going to have time for dinner at the Ox’s Eye, I have a private booth reservation for us and Civelia after—“ She stops, goes stock-still, stares into your face in growing horror. “Oh, [i]stonecracks,[/i] Civelia! Is she here yet? That— I’ll stuff Purnima in that barrel [i]myself![/i]” [hr] [b]Handmaidens![/b] On Yukisworld, they have someone who reincarnates, too. Every time he dies, his Civils watch for children who choose to play with the right toy, and then they know they have found their hero come back around again. That’s never been a problem for either Heron or Civelia, though. The Snare always responded to Heron’s return, and the Outside roils when she comes back around these days. But Civelia’s always missing her arm. That’s how the Civils know. Paladins and Civils— name a more iconic pair— glimmer into solidity before the Stone. Many of the Paladins are being used as packmules, carrying luggage and chests without blinking an eye. The Civils, meanwhile, are all in their formal habits: white and blue, their left arms pinned to their sides and covered with a flowing cloak. Terrible balance for dueling, and it means they need the Paladins to haul for them, but it conveys what it needs to: that like their goddess, they are not duelists. They are the helpmates of the world. The Plaza holds its collective breath. When Civelia appears, for a moment there is always the Miracle of Appearance. For a moment she is a statue, haloed in cold crisp dazzling starlight, her eyes brimming with it, diamond tears running down her cheeks, the way that she was when Heron first met her, when they first fought against the Dark Dragon. Then the light recedes, and the mortal body of the goddess is what remains. And what remains now, today, is an ancient woman’s soul battling the body of a gangly young woman, barely Yuki’s age, which is itself battling stress acne. (It is likely that dying in her sleep at her desk two decades ago caused significant delays to this project.) “[i]Hair-[/i]un,” she enunciates grandly, sweeping forward and locking eyes with Sayanastia for a moment before, satisfied that the Dark Dragon is behaving, offering Rurik her hand. “We are honored to once more put ourselves in your care. May your valiant heart be at ease, for I shall safeguard and succor it as twere my own.” Her smile is as subtle and refined as she can manage right now; Rurik is quite possibly her favorite of the current crew. She diplomatically does not bring up Sulochana’s absence. Behind her, one of the Paladins offers Yana a cheeky wave and grin from under the pole holding up a sacral chest, one stamped with the floral crest of Queen Anagesica. The energy is very “what up, go ahead and try something <3”. Next to her, a Civil rolls his eyes and adjusts his cravat with his free hand. Not too surprising: the Paladins fight the goblins of the deep caves a lot, so their view on Yana tends to be either that she’s basically the same thing as a horror of the Outside, or that she’s proof of Heron’s ability to whip even dragons into line and is thus thoroughly defanged. [hr] [b]Hazel![/b] It’s the perfume, first, and the jangling of bangles— but the perfume most of all. Light but earthy; jasmine and cedarwood. It’s like being wrapped up in a scarf made of soft and flower and girl. “First time in Crevas, yah?” The way she pronounces that last word makes it sound like there should be a J in there, wrapping its thighs around the H. “It’s the way you’re staring at everything like you didn’t imagine like colors could be like this. [i]Such[/i] a tell.” Glance over at her face, look down shyly, and then snap right back to her face— go right ahead, we both know that’s what you’re going to do. Go ahead and stare at her eyeshadow, and at the flick of her perky ear, and at the veil. It’s hard not to look at, isn’t it? Rich, sumptuous purple, like her eyeshadow and her silks, thin enough that you can make out the shape of her nose and mouth under it, but patterned with subtle fractals of ivy, drawing the eye in. That’s by design, so you can go ahead and appreciate it. “Yah, you’re lucky that a treat like you hasn’t been snapped up by an enter-[i]prize[/i]-ing serpent.” A similar perfume, with hints of brine, hits you from the other side. As does a hip, sending you scooching closer to your left, right up against the obliging bare shoulder waiting there for you. The woman to your right is almost the same, but instead of that rich purple, she’s chosen a bright sea green, edging into white here and there. “You know, when they get their coils around a cute little thing, they know how to squeeze and not let go? Strong enough to burst entire melons, but—“ “Stop it,” Purple says, raising one glittering-nailed hand to her hidden face, “you’re going to scare him, Seli~” And it all clicks into place. Because Yuki’s told you about those two girls, slightly older than she was, mischievous and conniving, who sold her out to Azaza and claimed that her victory was all part of [i]their[/i] plan. It’s just that now (don’t look back down that top, you are doing such a good job of being a good boy) they are [i]still[/i] a little older than Yuki, and thus a little older than you, because that’s how time works, yah? Yuki said they were like matching matchsticks, but the two girls flanking you are more like [i]driftwood.[/i] “But really, I remember my first time here,” Keli says, dripping sincerity, her lashes thick with mascara. “It’s a little overwhelming, isn’t it?” “Bet you haven’t even seen the statue of Sarkez,” Seli says, leaning back, voice grinning for her. Your purse is still there. Quit worrying about it. “They say if you rub her tail, you’ll be lucky in [i]love,[/i] yah? Like Han and the Lotus.” “Or the— ah, careful!” Keli stops the last of the ice cream from melting right out of the little cone, pushing it back towards the center with her fingers, which come away wet. Those fingers disappear behind her veil, and the little huff of breath she lets out is all the more agonizing for being almost certainly innocent. Surely a girl would not make a noise like that on [i]purpose.[/i] The world would not make sense otherwise.