[b]Yuki Edogawa![/b]

You can see it blossoming across her round face. It's surprisingly gentle, that face, for all that she strives to be a mighty warrior. But there is determination in every inch of her right now, from her alert triangles to her feet suddenly braced to run. There is an innocent to protect. There is a duty to carry out. There is a goddess to save.

If she goes alone, Yuki, as she yearns to, perhaps she will not be enough. Eclair beat her in a fight back in Crevas, after all. But she will go. All you can do in this moment is decide whether you will go with her, whether you will be something of a hero after all, or whether you will wish her luck and put your chips down here with Eclair and dear Hazel.

What will you be tonight, Yuki?

[hr]
[b]Handmaidens![/b]

"A rival for the Faun?"
"HAEH! A rival for more than that!"
"We could have him if we wanted--"
"And if we want him we'll have him, yah?"
"We'd do things to him--"
"--which would ruin Nagi for him forever!"
"Putty in our hands!"
"Melting like butter!"

They share a glance together. Seli rolls her eyes; Keli glances away with practiced ease. And if you want anything more than that, you'll have to break out the dice, young man.

"But that's not our aim."
"Not our move."
"Not our play."
"Not in this game."
"Not a game at all, yah?"
"Yah, not a bit."

Rurik is lowered to the floor with the exaggerated care that a revered elder deserves. They flourish as they bow, consummate performers always. But not everything about them is a performance. Do you understand? You've been performing for so long, young man, that perhaps it's easy to miss a strategic bit of sincerity.

"We're out of time for tonight's show!"
"Catch us at our next showing!"
"If Heron won't come and play..."
"...we'll have to show her up ourselves!"

They sound jovial. They sound careless, even. They are good actresses, after all.

[hr]
[b]Hazel![/b]

Smoke floods the stage.

It is not toxic smoke, not all of it. Not most of it, even. It smells heady, rich, inviting. Lie down, it promises. Lie down and your dreams will be sweet and full of kisses. It is the sacrificial death of flowers. It pours from the skin of Walking Elm, and perhaps that is why its aftereffects will not be pleasant - but for now it caresses the dancing Serigalamu, worms its way under their leathers, caresses their ears and their chests, and sings: down, down, lie down. The wild drumming dance falters.

And Aria Thendragon strides through them all, and where she walks the smoke billows and forces apart the Serigalamu, forces them to their knees, swallows their heads, sings little poppy-songs and fills their heads with what Walking Elm thinks laughter is supposed to be. Aria does not stand on huntresses. She does not need to. She is unmistakable even with her head at the level of your shins.

"So this is what you have to represent the champions of this age: wiggling serpents and prancing puppies." Her voice drips pitying venom. Under her eye, even Olesya seems smaller, ganglier, all elbows and knees and sweaty palms. And under your eye, you, Hazel, you are a small and silly thing, made to be pinned against walls and lead on leashes. She's not even that big! But she was a queen in her day, and a dragon in masquerade, and her dress is undulating smoke, and her voice is blackest velvet midnight.

"Come here, [i]Fletcher.[/i] Let me show you how we danced in a fairer age."

The smoke builds. It will build until you accept, or until you do something daring.

[hr]
[b]Eclair Espoir![/b]

[i]Rain flickers against the windows. There are no lights in this room, only the suffused grey nowhere light that seeps through the Mansion's windows. There are few lights anywhere in the Mansion, but there are many windows. The furniture here is classical Kel, all angles and muted colors with the occasional bright scarlet-and-gold throw, washed out in the light of the rain.

Timtam has her fingers interlaced under her chin as she looks at the board. Not the chess of Yukisearth: Vesper's Game, rather. There is only one win condition in chess. There are many in Vesper's Game, and part of the path to victory involves obfuscating one's win condition.

Timtam is very, very good at Vesper's Game.

"Tough luck," she says. A carrot-orange curl is resting between her eyes. Her smile is her mask in the games of dominance that the maids play here. "I've got you right where I want you." The board has different pieces than usual. Your hand rests next to a Detective. But your piece has been boxed in by Paladins. Her foot is so close that if you stretched innocently, you could have her by the ankle. Her finger brushes down the length of her Sleeping Goddess.

"Are you ready to concede?" Her smile doesn't waver. It could even be an innocent question. Innocence is a weapon in the Mansion.

In one corner of the room, you are watched by a griffon with mirrors for eyes, loafing with its head resting on a windowsill. But, in the ways of dream, this does not seem particularly noteworthy. Not when Timtam is this close. You could have her wrists, but for the fact that the gameboard lies between you.[/i]