This has become a difficult situation.

Difficult for what? Yes.

Hazel protests, of course. It’s probably a protest. It was almost certainly supposed to be a protest, before he was smothered in softness. If you examine the muffled squeak, really dial into the bit where it trails off into near-inaudible mush, you’re bound to find some protest. Promise.

It’s warm. It’s soft. Did he mention soft? It’s so soft. Soft all the way down to the heartbeat pulsing against his cheek. And flowers. And spices. Not more intense? But. Different. Mingling. So, so warm...

Hazel pushes away, of course. He almost gets far enough away to take a breath before Keli pushes him back in, pushes him deep, teasing his curls with her fingertips which just so happens to knead him in, in, in, and, and! Whispering right in his ears, delicate little shooshes with an indulgent trill, and anything and everything he can say melts into dazed murmurs against her skin.

(He ran the numbers. A silly boy in close proximity to this foxgirl faced a higher than normal chance she will cuddle, kiss, or teasingly touch as the whim took her. He was right. It’s happening. Oh gosh. It’s happened, and it’s happening. (Creep.))

Somebody remembers that he can’t stay here forever. It’s probably not him.

“Abwuh…?” (He does not need to pretend very much.) Ah, it’s Alcideo who remembered. Good Alcideo. Good friend. Good support. Thank you for the shoulder, he’s lost track of his feet.

Sorry, what was that?

What?

What???

“Deugh?”

(He does not need to pretend at all.)

“What?” His head is going to pop. His head is going to catch fire, and then explode, in front of Heron, and she will probably have to use some ancient relic of terrible power to put him back together again. “No. What? She? She doesn’t, no, it’s not, she’s just. What? Why? What?!”

And then, when the sputtering stops,

“Um. What…makes you say that?”

"I got your tincture of groundedness right here!" said Cair, though the way she pronounced it she somehow managed to include 'and I'll put it on your tab, the ingredients were very expensive' at the same time. When she lurches across with a mysterious molten gold-green vial in her hand it's anything but seductive. "Okay buddy, open wide, this'll get your head in the game and focus on what really matters - capitalism, and also saving the world."
"Is that the Avarice Potion?" said Rurik, pushing his glasses up along his nose.
"It is a potion sharing some of the characteristics of the original Avarice Potion, but less likely to plunge a city-state into gold-themed chaos when dumped into the water supply," clarified Cair. "But don't worry about that. Did you know that drinking it will give you golden fur? Very stylish and synergistic with your name and overall branding."
"I would like to clarify that this one is optional, Mr. Fletcher," said Rurik.
"It's an option," said Cair. "Another option is that you focus in on the mission instead of bwehing your way through the schemes and/or breasts of a girl with too much of both!"

TEAM RELAXATION

It is past midnight in the most luxurious resort this side of Aestival, the evening after a grand ball which had the greats and worthies of Thellamie all in attendance in their fineries and their resplendences. What this means, in practical terms, is that if you sneak down the corridor and descend two flights of the new backup stairways, you can get leftovers.

Steamed Aestivali crab simmered in goblin-butter. Rich tomato soup from Vespergift, with Crevasi chickpeas and a loaf of bread from the tops of the Kel mountains. Those little sandwiches cut into squares. On top of all that, there's still champagne, violet shots straight from Crevas, and bubbly-water-with-fruit-in.

Most of the folk in attendance in this particular after-hours cafe are the employees of the Chrysanthemum, and they're coming off duty. Ties are being loosened, jackets are being shucked, high heels are being stacked on an unused table. Technically, there's a night shift, but they're cleaning up the absolute mess left downstairs, which means that the mood is eat-as-you-please, grab a seat and ask if anyone minds you stealing a piece of the sausage-and-mushroom flatbread.

And you know whose presence means that you're welcome as part of the crowd as part of the crowd, rather than as guests to be skirted around? One Mayzie, right here, who seems to know everybody's name. She used to work here, after all - and that still means something to the hosts, even if she's moving into different fields at the moment (which is to say, construction brokering).

---

TEAM QUEST

The wry smile playing on Alcideo's lips is a knife, Cutie. He's not going to bail you out of this one: handmaidens of the Hero of Ages are outside his paygrade, unless you mean to make it very much worth his while (which is to say, got him a crown or the like). But he's not going to combo with Cair, either, to absolutely dunk on you.

The noise that comes out of Keli and Seli is not a bweh. It's much more of a "HOEH?!" And a lot of offended jingling (and, admittedly, now that you might be paying attention to it, Hazelkins, some offended bouncing).

"Are you going to--"
"--let your handmaiden say such things--"
"--to two pure and innocent maidens, Heron-senpai?" (You may blame Yuki for this.)
"I'll ground her if she doesn't--"
"--watch her step, yah?"
"Hazel~ don't drink that nasty potion~"
"Come over here and let's get that starlight out--"
"--and then you'll get to be a hero with--"
"--Heron, the greatest of heroes ever--"
"--instead of fussing with washboards~"

Either way, Cair or the Twins, it's time for you to get a move on! Time's a-wasting, my heroes! The longer you linger, the easier it will be to someone to catch up to you. And I think you all know who might notice you sneaking out of Vespergift into the hateful briar-choked woods beyond...

As it turns out, Hazel is amply grounded, and needs no potions of any kind to carry on with the mission. Which he does. Right away. Just like he said he would.

It’s not like he was slacking off on purpose. Hard to focus on the mission when nobody’s told you what your part in it is, exactly. Or that everyone’s waiting on you before setting out. Heron’s in the room, he thought, it’s a reasonable assumption that she’d be taking the lead, and she hadn’t said anything yet, so, how was he supposed to know otherwise? (Whatever happened to those simple instructions?)

It’s been a long night. It’s not over by a long shot. But he’s doing his best. He’s focused. He’s out in front. His antlers? Glowing steady. (He doesn’t know what he’s doing.) His eyes? Flitting about the twisting landscape. (Any minute, his “employer” will shout at him for, for, for doing something wrong.) His legs? Skipping surely, swishing silk. (It’s coming. She won’t care. It’s coming.)

“Could you let me know when we get Outside? I mean, really Outside?” Keli is there. There to catch his hushed whisper. There with a smile. “I’m not quite sure what counts.”

Handmaidens!

You were Outside long ago.

The light of the Golden Fawn has led you down a path. Presumably. Well, he has led you, that bit is pretty clear. But presumably there’s a path he’s walking, and the rest of you have walked in his stead. Here’s hoping it’s the path you wanted.

Cair, your employee has not spoken to you unless you’ve spoken to him first. There’s a tightness in him, a tension, when he replies. (He thinks he’s hiding it. He’s not doing a good job of it.) His answers are proper. His attitude is diligent. His smile is nowhere to be seen.

He has spoken to the twins. He’s speaking to them right now. To his credit, he has not observed any bouncing. He has studiously not observed any bouncing. Very focused, he is. Very relaxed.

You can see his tail flicking at his dress.

Just thought you should know.

[Hazel is Defying Disaster with Radiance. He’s putting himself out there, being brave, taking a big steppy as best as he can with full knowledge that this may go horribly wrong, for him. He risks looking like a useless goober who can’t take care of himself. In short, he is risking his dignity: 2 + 2 + 5 = 9]

"Oh my god, that crab is so good." Yuki takes a teeny tiny fork and pulls a whole chunk of crab leg out, which she unceremoniously dunks into butter and then drops in one bite.

"Mmmmm, oh gosh, I haven't had anything this good ever. This makes my aunt's crab boil look like amateur hour. And these are the leftovers?" Yuki shakes her head in wonderment.

Milling through the late night staff crowd has been the best part of the night. Well...no the best part of the night was training with Eclair, actually, but they're apples to oranges comparisons. Training was the gentle joy of taking in something new, learning, struggling, pressing against a challenge in a trusted and intimate space. This was electric, nearly manic. The energy of a huge group of people letting down their guards all at once, the massive release of tension of a job well done and the shared bond of everyone who did that job together and now gets to celebrate it. Eating at the ball was one of twenty different political games happening, but eating with the staff is an actual, honest to god, can't even complain if a hobbit makes a long speech party.

And Yuki was already down to her shift from earlier events, so all of this was not being a knight, or a captive, or a chosen one, it was just one of the girls dressed down after working the sauna mingling with the crowd. And mingling with someone who knows everyone. Mayzie's doing one of the things Yuki dreams of doing herself. That feeling of being intimate and close with everyone, of knowing how to move through the space, of being in the right place and everyone wanting you to be in that place, that's something Yuki wants. So getting to watch it firsthand, and enjoy, and try all the delicacies is something special.

Of course, she doesn't refuse when someone hand her a glass of sweet clear liquid that tastes faintly of strawberries, even after Mayzie points out it's alcoholic. Instead she grabs two more glasses and presses them into Mayzie's and Eclairs hands together.

"...To Vespergift, and to Thellamie, and all the small joys of good food and drink" she says and then toasts and downs her glass with a grin before grabbing a bowl of the tomato soup and liberally sprinkling in some chili powder.

The glass is in her hand before she can protest. This is a bad idea. This is surely a bad idea. Mayzie has even indicated that it is alcoholic. Difficult as that is to believe, given the smell. Perhaps it is not especially potent? But then there would be no need for the warning.

No, this is a bad idea. This can only be a bad idea. Champagne has already been consumed earlier in the evening, and stress, a lack of food, and relative lack of sleep will only have lowered tolerance further. Shudder to contemplate what kind of tragedy this is certain to unleash. Recommended course of action: set glass down and feign forgetfulness until the meal has passed. Tighten grip, shift arm, and--

A toast? Then all is lost. Damn you, Yuki Edogawa. You will be held responsible for this is, be certain of that.

"To... to home. To rebuilding it, discovering it, and to everything that worthy of returning to."

There. That is surely a toast worthy of the Mystery Builder. At the very least if I am to make a towering ass of myself at any point tonight I should make sure my fall is suitably spectacular. It does not and will not do to prematurely disgrace the persona I have been given for the sake of Mayzie and Vespergift. I should...

"What is? Sweeter than expected. Mayzie, you are certain this is- very? How could that possibly be equivalent to four flights by itself? Yes it was a larger glass but even so, the flavor! No I refuse. This testimony is written in purple. These are the words of a potential criminal. I will disregard it as self-evidently untruthful until physical evidence provides a clearer, urk."

She had meant to stand up. How could she already feel the floor shifting under her. With a small moan, Eclair takes her seat again and reaches for a leg of crab. This is something she has never eaten before. The inherent messiness of it seemed somehow distasteful, and surely there could be nothing about it as succulent as a properly prepared piece of fish?

But as she traces her finger along the knuckle, she smiles. A curious preparation indeed. Why did they see fit to leave it in the shell like this if not as a final challenge to the diner? You must best this animal to partake of its calories. She had not until this moment noticed the puzzle of it all. But perhaps, apply force here and... here. Application of heartblade at fingertip, trace. Twist.

The crab leg slides from the shell whole and unblemished. Eclair's smile broadens to full-on delight. She sets it on her plate, applies a knife and fork, and takes a demure bite. She tilts her head and stares at her plate in astonishment. Sweet flesh, and yet brine? There is a presence of herbs as well, no doubt from the boiling process. No indeed, this is another treasure worthy of the Chrysanthemum. How is she ever to hate this city again, as is proper?

...Someone has refilled her glass. She is not certain whom. She is only vaguely aware that she is sipping at it. She quickly turns to bread and soup and sandwiches and yet more crab to bury her mistake but it's.

"No, it is not pointless. Effects will not be counteracted but this is... fun? The flavor is sublime. Satisfying. I had forgotten the degree to which food can be something other than a waste of time. Even the elements without interactive qualities feel good in this place. No, Mayzie, there is no need to look so concerned. I am merely enjoying myself. I am aware of the effect of alcohol on my person now and I will simply..."

A blush rises up and paints her cheeks. She turns away and busies her hands with a napkin, folding it and weaving it around a second one until she has created a paper fish. A koi, specifically. She hands presents it to her new investigative partner without commentary. It was once upon a time her favorite animal. What more can she say?

"New recommended course of action: find coffee. The stronger the better. Surely the two will counteract? Yuki Edogawa, I am most certainly holding you responsible for what transpires this evening. Every blessed moment of it."

She laughs, perhaps at a higher volume than is proper. But can she be held accountable? There is color seeping into her world again, in more than just the words meant to unravel mysteries. But how annoying that it should be discovered through a meal.

"Unforgivable."

Princess Heron, Hero of Ages, stepped alongside Hazel. There's a tightness to her. A tension. She thinks she's hiding it, but she's not doing a good job of it. Her bearing is proper. Her attitude is diligent. Her smile is nowhere to be seen, even when she tries her best to put it on for you.

There is the attempt. The attempt to be a calm, supporting figure of strength. To show that you shouldn't take Cair that seriously and there is support and a listening ear there if you need it. But for the attempt to succeed it must overcome its internal barriers first, and those are many and varied and all united under a common banner: There is nothing anyone can do to help, so talking about it is pointless. And so, instead of being a calm, reassuring and steady presence, you get the feeling that the two of you really are in this together. Nothing is going to get better if you do not accomplish it yourselves, separately.

[Comfort and Support: 6]

TEAM QUEST

Of course there is nothing anyone can do to help. All of you have found the limits of help. So many empty words, so many pretty promises, and now you are here.

Now you are here in my body.

It is grand. I stretch across the Outside and the world, and I anchor it down with ten hundred thousand nails more subtle than those waystones the first of us used when he fell. My hands reach up towards the light and choke it. Nothing inside me wants their light anymore. My leaves are broad and bitter.

Talking about it is pointless. The one who talks all the time would tell you that talking is pointless, and she would have an irritating trill in her voice, and she would also encourage those two garishly-colored ones to tease the boy, and it would all be pointless. Teasing and flirtation and those useless little veils - it is all a self-satisfied ouroboros.

The boy's light flickers. Nothing inside me wants that light anymore; I reach out to choke it, but my growth is still too slow. I close the road behind them. At most I can catch at the heels of these playacting clowns, and I can whisper to them:

There is nothing anyone can do to help.
They should have helped anyway.
It is not your fault.
It is never your fault.
It is their fault.
Talking about it is pointless.
Blaming someone is better.

Just a little slower. Stay inside me for a little while longer. The boy is trying so very hard to make it out to places where the dreams of my trees recede, but there is nothing anyone can do to help. Start an argument. Pick a fight. Throw a fireball at the woods, which will smoulder and smoke but refuse to burn. You know you want to. It is their fault for making you start it.

Stay just long enough to put down roots.

Stay just long enough for my favorite clipping to catch up.

And as your allies fall into spiteful argument, Hazel Valentine Fletcher, I will give you what you have wanted all this time. I will give you a quest that you can perform. I will give you a lover who shapes herself to suit you. I will take away your pain and your hope and your light, which are all the same thing. Aren't you looking forward to being in the hands of my Walking Elm again?

(Hazel, help them.)

---

TEAM RELAXATION

It's time for you to put some cards on the table, Eclair Espoir. And by cards, I mean napkins, and I also mean theories.

You are on the far side of despair, buoyed up by the presence of a sidekick and a loyal companion, who I am sure is going to be chiming in with data points and suggestions. You are surrounded by my cheer and the air of possibility, of invention, of masquerade, that is my hallmark. You are also surrounded by crab. Feel free to use a pincer as a pointer if you need to.

This is the brainstorming session. The big one, suspended between yesterday and tomorrow, as you look for the place where Timtam's heart pivots.

Goodness, might you have a quest after all by the end of this?

"The shape of it keeps eluding me. No matter what I reference, I..."

There are three things worth noting about the scene unfolding right now. Oh, four. Sorry. Counting is hard. Hi, by the way! Me again! Better times, huh? Seems nice! But, yeah. Four things. We'll cover them as they come up.

The first noteworthy element is that Eclair has commandeered the entire table to disassemble her notes into this, er, "handy" flowchart. Dinner is now finger food only. Lucky thing there's so much crab and little sandwich squares and stuff, and lucky it's all floating around free to grab if you ask for it instead of being a "now or nothing" affair like most dinners. The table is now only for napkins.

Vessenmer Dyes. Tammithyn Murr. Idiot/Assassin/Chariot/Professional Nuisance/Cleaning Partner/Dimwit/Investigative Wall[1].

[1]in much smaller letters underneath she has remembered to write "Aadya, the Rock Upon a Mountain (???)"

Civellia - Assassination? Civellia - Kidnapping? Civellia - Reincarnation?

Chrysanthemum. Masks. Network - Imperfect? Khaganate. Kel. Civils. Wanted Poster (Increasingly Accurate).

Dollwaltz. Fireworks. Antimaid. Ruthmoreness?

"'Cursed be they that open dead inside.' Why would she paint that on a building in Crevas? It was verifiably her handwriting, same as the script on the invitation to the Chrysanthemum. Same as it's ever been in the time I've known her. Known her. Do I know her? That is a question that terrifies me. Possibly I do not. Certainly I do not understand what she meant by this damnable riddle.

"Cursed be they that... to literally open? To disturb the dead, somehow? Does it refer to a beginning, perhaps? A warning about... about starting the game without one's heart in it? Or to the contrary, a cry for help? Did she set this entire chain of events into motion because of something she had already done, or was made to do? But then... what am I to do with this? I am certain. Certain there is a light somewhere in these words, and if I could only read them properly I would have a proper angle. But I have searched every... mmmgh."

The second thing that you should know is that Eclair has forgotten to ask for that coffee. Which is a shame, because Vespergift makes really good cups. Worse than that, somebody keeps refilling her booze. She's so in the zone she's just kind of drinking whatever's to hand without really thinking about it, and it's very much getting to her. She can keep her powers of speech or her powers of movement, and she has very much chosen speech. Her penmanship is degrading into vague symbols at this point, and the crab leg she's holding isn't being used as a pointer so much as a floppy, clacking stim device. She keeps scratching her chin with it, which keeps making her laugh, which keeps throwing her off, and then she takes a sip without thinking about what she's doing.

Somebody should cut her off. But in your defense, this is really funny.

"She has, as we knowww, a lot of resources. Enough for costumes, masks, travel, accommodation for both herself and for... friends. And we know that it is money we know she has been sourcing from the Khaganate. In addition to the testimony that you-"

She jabs a claw at Mayzie and almost manages to look cute doing it.

"-provided that she purchased my pass with such treasures, and when I arrived the first time with that pass in hand I was accosted by a young Khaganate princess who barked threats at me about an assault on the Manor the Khatun was planning. I understand that she has been very, uh, aggressive in her movements of late, but she does not strike me as the sort to sell out on her position just because of an alliance with Timtam. Just what could she have offered that would even be of interest to a power like that? Nevertheless, this girl was barely more than a child so I am inclined, contrary to the standard position, to take her yapping very seriously. Too specific to be a lie and she was far too unguarded to consider what should or should not be kept secret."

Oh right, the third thing. This isn't super important, but I did specific noteworthiness and not importance so, wahey. But yeah this is a dinner table so there's a dearth of those little red strings detectives are always using to build a thought board when they're lost. But! Luckily? Eclair has access to a lot of crab shell legs. They're crisscrossing every which way all over the board, with the really important thoughts marked with claws pointing back at Timtam's name.

Pretty cool, right?

"Still, none of this suggests a motive! Even proceeding from the assumption that this is some form of aggressive, long-distance flirtation the nature of the traps do not fit neatly into any encompassing vision of the crime I can devise. Why has she worked so hard to constantly implicate m- implicate Eclair Espoir? And having set so many teeth against the Maid-Knight, why then not allow the jaws to close? Why leave so many hints and invitations, but then drop fireworks and run away? Why did the game with Erika Fullbright tilt so ridiculously from the very first turn? Why, when I- when Erika made a countermove did the setup collapse so precipitously? How could she be so over and so underprepared at the same time? Or was she? But then at the same time why never capture m-Eclair? What is the nature of the game? And for that matter why does she have any interest in the Goddess? I have chased down every lead that I could and still I..."

Eclair groans. She puts her head in her hands and finally takes a glance at the clear, sweet liquid that's still in the glass she's still been drinking out of. Her shoulders slump before suddenly jerking back up, and she waves her free crab claw in the air with entirely too much enthusiasm and vigor.

"Coffee. Please. I... strong. Large. As strong and as large as anyone in Vespergift knows how to make. Drowning in cream, if I am not being overly presumptive of anyone's time already. I am begging you. This is about life or death."

"...I am an idiot. An idiot! How could I allow myself to think so narrowly? I followed every avenue? Cretin! Dullard! I never even received a physical description of Tammithyn Murr! Does she exist to begin with? Ahhhhhh, the trembling, frightened Nun buying dyes and asking for help from Paladins, so terrified of the love drunk Maid-Knight. I had written her off as someone Timtam simply lied to, but what if?! Aaahhhh! Why do the Civil posters have Eclair's face and not Timtam's, not even a masked facsimile if she was who..?! Aaahhh! The Me Who is Not Me, the... dyes that won't come out.

"Lady Evening, I am so.... stupid! I could never deserve your poetry if I lived to be a thousand! No, damn it, no wonder I don't know what connects all this! She wants me to chase her! She wants me to have clues enough to follow! But never catch her, no, not until she's ready! Every time I get close it's smoke and fireworks and she slips away. And while I chase I neglect to follow up on the proper channels and yield all of my advantage! What is a detective for? To stop a crime? Hardly! To find the truth! And I!!!"

She stands, and her legs promptly sit her back down again. She is trembling with laughter and with anger. Where is that coffee, damn it? Wait no, that's very rude. She is so sorry. Is she even vocalizing any of this?

"I've allowed myself to be caught in the shell game. Everything I've seen is what she's planned for me to see. If that's the case I will be trapped forever. Never mind the game, then. I have to flip the table. There's something I'm not supposed to notice, and that... I need to circle back around. To Crevas, to Vessenmer. I need to track down that little Khaganate Princess and dangle her out a window until she sings. I need to find out the name of the Civil Healer who was allegedly tending to the Goddess when she..!"

So. Uh. Right. Fourth thing. Eclair Espoir is being... very loud. Right now. These are not her typical quiet musings, or her generally restrained demeanor. But she can't tell. Maybe someone else should try talking? If you can bring up some kind of good point or a clever place to look for information she might shut up and just nod too much.

Oh, and getting her onto that black, bitter, disgusting caffeine might not be a bad idea either. That might distract her too. You know, before everyone in this entire silly building knows everything about who she is and what she's in the middle of. I don't know, you don't have to listen to me. I'm just the actual, proper detective in the room here. What do I know?

It would be one thing for the Handmaidens of Princess Heron to fall to bickering. It is quite another for them to be bickering in the presence of Sayanastia the Dark Dragon.

"Who were these upon the road to Carterweigh?" she hissed, weaving through the treetops.
"Ye who walk a path of pilgrimage in the forests of the night
Wyrds come and gone on paths long forgot
Curses that blind those without eyes to see!"

It is impossible to say how large or small the Dark Dragon is at any moment. There is always some part of her that does not fit into the frame of the world. Sometimes she traces down into her shadow, a tail running beyond the field of vision, but follow it - follow it, follow it, follow it, and it will wrap you all the way around the world and back. And now that deepening shadow fills the skies, impaled upon the trees in ten billion places.

And she sings. Like a broken moon, she sings.

"Comes the mannequin with marquis' bearing
Comes now the scissors unsevering
Comes the heart ever hesitating
Praying over sloth and fear until they become holy!
He burns upon his altar
To Gods he has sewn!"

Through the twisting black, Rurik has changed. Now a wooden mannequin, heavy with dresses, he stumbles forwards on puppet's threads. No matter how many steps he takes he seems never to move.

"Follow the king with muddied knees
Follow now the hangnail flame
Follow the storm that does not wake
Meditating on wrath and pride until they appear serene!
She burns beneath her tree
For glory ungiven!"

Tsane walks as a king clad in fire, a silhouette of cascading magical glyphs aching with the potential of fire. A crown burns upon her head, and mud drips down into her eyes.

"Grasp the coin long unspent
Grasp now at proof of deeds
Grasp for what you have earned
For gratitude and memory pass with the breeze!
She builds herself a statue
To immortalize her love!"

Cair has become a great statue of marble and rose-gold. In genius, a great banner is cast; stone rippling as though in a breeze. Ever-changing mercury shivers inside.

"Allow the world to pass you by
Allow now an unlife to be lived
Allow your back to bear footprints
All of this is your duty!
Your duty! Your duty! Unfailing!
Eternal! Its own reward!"

Injimo eats as she walks. Her bowl is plain rice, only ever half full. Her clothes are bare burlap. She has no shoes. She has no complaints.

"Comes the pilgrims to Carterweigh upon the river,
Following no one at all!
Grasping at the hem of no one's dress
Allowing their puppets strings pull taught.
Curses blind those without eyes to see!"

And Kalentia is not there at all. She might as well never have been.

Initially, Yuki is hanging on Eclair's every word. This is like being somebody's Watson, or their Ritsuka Fujimaru, so her ears perk up and she sips her sake and makes very appreciative mhmmming sounds and punctuated exclamations. "Oh she purchased your pass?" "Oh gosh, I'd better not tell Aadya about that nickname *giggle*" "that's fascinating, I wonder why she needed to travel so much?" "Oh I never did ask her name, or how she ended up alone in the room, but Aadya might know since she questioned all the paladins, should I ask her?"

But as things are progressing and the throng is so enthralled, it is Yuki who notices that coffee isn't happening. And sometimes you just gotta make something happen yourself. So she pushes and squeezes and cat claws a little to get her way through the throng and into the bustle of the kitchens. And then she snatches the nearest white apron (a working outfit for both kitchen and service, with appropriate lace trim) and sets to work making the strongest cup of black coffee in the biggest cup she can find (it is a soup bowl) that she proceeds to drown in cream. She goes for the good stuff, as best she can tell. Beans from Aestival in what she understands to be a monsoon region from what she's heard of the area, which she learned on Earth is supposed to produce excellent coffee. They don't have the fancy electronics here, but they do have a very beautiful artisan press and plenty of boiling water already going, so it's only a matter of a few minutes to fill up the huge cup (soup bowl) with steaming black coffee, dump a whole pot of cream in the cup (soup bowl) and come bearing it out on the closest clean wooden tray she can find.

And, though her exit had been a push through the press, she finds that wearing a maid's apron and carrying a tray means that the crowd simply parts for her, bringing her back to Eclair's side with coffee in hand.

Which does bring her back to ask one last question she's been wondering about. "Does she have a reason that she never dyes her hair? Every time I've met her or heard about the real Timtam, it's been a description with a distinct orange curl of hair, and it seems to always pop out and ruin what would be otherwise perfect disguises. Especially with a huge dye order and everything, it's not like she was lacking the resources, y'know?"

The world turns to darkness, outside the reach of his light. There are trees, but perhaps they are the memories of trees, like the remembered outline of your dresser once all the lights are off. There are handmaidens, but perhaps they are not handmaidens now. No flutter of silk. No strong hand on his shoulder.

He is alone.

And despite a dragon, despite the darkness, despite a hundred and one quite reasonable worries at his door, all Hazel Valentine Fletcher can think is

Huh.

Never seen that happen before.

And it’s true! He hasn’t! When else has he had the opportunity to witness a legendary hero give a companion just what they needed, right before they needed it? Before anyone knew trouble was coming?

Because. Well. He had always found a way to muddle through whatever life threw at him, hadn’t he? Things had always turned out alright if he just kept on trucking, hadn’t they? Was he really going to give up now? Was Hazel Valentine Fletcher a quitter? No! Not in the least. Not in the past, and certainly not today. They were going to get through this journey. He would see them through, somehow.

Heron. Hero of Ages. She was really something, wasn’t she?

Right. That’s enough sulking, snapping, and/or stressing. Sayanastia (the Sayanastia!!!) is under some sort of curse. She’s not acting herself. Or rather, she’s acting like she used to, long ago. That sort of thing happens when you’re Outside. So, if you think about it, that sort of thing should stop happening once you’re outside of Outside? Hopefully? It’s the best he can do on short notice, anyhow.

One foot in front of the other, Hazel. Time to put those notebooks to good use.

Plus side, she doesn’t seem to have noticed him yet. He’s got a moment to get a plan together...

---

Sayanastia!

The shiny little morsel thinks that tree is enough to hide him from your sight.

Do you find it amusing? Adorable? Refreshing, maybe, to have a brave, clueless little thing cowering from your impossible might?

Well, whatever the case, you’ve got some entertainment while you vent your wrath at these cursed pilgrims. Just as it should be.

[Hazel is rolling to Figure Out A Person: 6 + 2 + 0 = 8 Asking:
-What do you love most?
-How could I get you to chase me?

Sayanastia gets a question of Hazel in return.]

TEAM RELAXATION!

You'd think the party would be winding down now. Some of the staff have already said their good-mornings and slunk away to find their beds (or, as is often the case at the Chrysanthemum, a friend's bed, by invitation). But the keen mind of Eclair Espoir will start putting together a brief timeline, whirring in the back of her head:

• An Aestivali woman as soft as sin, almost ready to burst out of her corseted dress, gets a ping from her tablet. She checks it, and her face loses its jovial cast. She whispers to the friends on either side of her.
• They whisper to others. Those who are whispered to pass the whisper onwards; it ripples throughout the room.
• A beefy young Kel bartender whispers in Mayzie's ear.
• Two gangly twins start putting up thick black curtains over the windows. They continue over the door.
• Mayzie fishes a mask out of her bag and whispers to you: "Ecl-- Mystery, you still have your mask on you, don't you?"
• "And Yuki, there should be one in your apron pocket, put it on, put it on--"

And that's when the lights go out and there is a moment, just a moment, of the deep darkness that was before the world was formed.

---

TEAM QUEST

Alcideo has a piercing whistle. The kind that cuts through creepy dirges.

He's waving to you, Hazel. He's got a tablet bag slung over one shoulder, a cut on his forehead from running into some whip-thin branch, and he's pointing upwards.

Up the staircase of moldering stone.

Up into the branches, where there is a dragon-sized door.

Up to the two pale torches which are not any color you can put your finger on, and the figures in shadow who hold them.

There's your path for scampering, when the time comes.

Can you feel anyone's breath on the back of your throat yet?

Yes, that is true. There is a moment that is darker than the deepest dark. Where Eclair cannot answer Mayzie because she is desperately and yet somehow elegantly slurping a soup bowl's worth of coffee as though she will die if she waits another second. Where she cannot see Mayzie or Yuki because even the sharpest eyes in Thellamie don't work without any light at all.

And yes, of course she's wearing her mask. There has been not one single solitary moment beyond the safety of closed doors where the Mystery Builder has been without her costume. Even drunk off her ass she knew better than to ruin the efforts of her best friend and new traveling companion. She was trained better than to do that.

But it is also true that it is only for a moment. Only for one merest heartbeat. And that is because she, the Mystery Builder, is Eclair Espoir. And she is called the Violet Flash. And this is another reason why:

The room is ablaze with pearly Light. That is how the First Darkness was first given shape, yes? Therefore it is the only natural response to a moment of complete blindness. Eclair is too inebriated to control herself. What is normally an act of precision, of carefully selected minimum viable effort all comes spilling out at once.

There are hundreds of different shapes glittering all around her. Some of them mere motes of raw Light, some of them ruined fragments of a heart she had not quite put back together, but still more of them, and more of them, and more of them Heartblades. An arsenal, a treasury, vast and blazing. An Avel is half a dragon already, and unable to be elegant about it Eclair Espoir has dumped that truth out into the open.

There is nothing of cleverness about this. Nothing of planning. Nothing of purpose. It is not to be remarked upon whether this was an appropriate response to the moment because it is an instinctive and automatic response to the situation. She: the Detective, had declared her eyes were open.

So then, they could not suffer to be closed again. Not even for a moment.

Figure out a person? You presume? She is no more a person than the Hero of Ages is. To imagine yourself the same manner of thing as the Dark Dragon or Hero of Ages, separated only by age and power, is almost as egotistical as to imagine yourself entertaining. She is not, and you are not. Nor, while we are discussing your delusions, is she wrathful.

Nor is she wicked.
Nor is she cruel.
Nor is she kind.
Nor is she in love.
Nor is she scheming.
Nor is she hateful.
Nor is she hopeful.
Nor is she loyal.
Nor is she brave.
Nor is she proud.
Nor is she beautiful.
Nor is she strong.
Nor is she deep.
Nor is she vengeful.
Nor is she tame.
Nor is she joyful.
Nor is she patient.
Nor is she reasonable.
Nor is she sane.
Nor is she aware.
Nor is she prepared.
Nor is she tender.
Nor is she wild.
Nor is she transforming.
Nor is she blind.
Nor is she -

Can you feel yourself, stretched around her like light warped around the presence of a black hole? She is not. All these feelings and emotions and quirks of human empathy you project on her vanish into the supermassive depths of blackness and give you nothing in return. You do not receive your answers. You do not receive a question in exchange. You do not interact with Sayanastia the Dark Dragon. She is the end and the death, ruination and revelation. Nor this. Nor that. Nor this. Nor that. You are not correct to approach her. You are not correct to be in her shadow. You are not correct to live in this world. She is as weary of it as she is of you. She is

She is tired.
She is.

A mistake. A contradiction at the heart of negation. She is tired. It is lodged within her unbeing like a seed. She once split the sun and revealed the ten thousand colours, but when Heron slew her then it split her just as surely. Night, fatigue, despair, malaise, ennui, depression, ten thousand ways to crave rest without being able to attain it. And along with everything else...

She is tired of failure.
She is tired of weakness.
She is tired of defeat.
She is tired of solitude.
She is tired of herself.

This is the ache that has grown within her most recent incarnation; the weariness at being as she is. It only took a request for her to become a storm of curses. Now she seeks to avoid losing at curses. To draw her eye is but a matter of harbouring a curse within your own heart that she will draw out of you and break you upon.

And what is that curse, little deer? What are the words the Dark Dragon sings as she draws it forth from inside you?

Yuki moves quickly. She trusts Mayzie because Eclair trusts Mayzie, and she particularly trusts Mayzie's understanding of the Chrysanthemum. So she reaches into her pocket and slips her mask over her face and has just finished pulling it tight in the back when the lights go out.

For that instant, there's something enchanting about it. Yuki feels like she's in a mystery play or at least some kind of dinner theater experience. One almost expects a spotlight to appear near the door of the room and a masked phantom to stride forward, flinging a cape over her shoulder with the sort of confidence of a Kpop video.

And then, then the room is alight with pearly white light, shining forth from hundreds of motes and shards and strange little shapes like a field of glass sculptures each lit from within.

Yuki lets out a delighted gasp, and her hands creep onto the table so that she can lift herself up on tippy toes and lean forward to see over the heads of everyone present and catch every last bit of this unique piece of art with wide delighted eyes from behind her maid's mask.

She will be looking around the room taking it all in for whatever happens next.

Well. You did ask for words. So here you are:

Hurry the treasure no one will grasp
Hurry now to labor unceasing
Hurry to wages of mist and silence-

And that’s all you get out.

The Golden Fawn runs on strong legs. With coiled legs he bursts into motion. From stillness. To tree. To stone. To root. Grasp the branch, bound from trunk, leap across nothingness, faster, faster, faster. A maid’s frills dance in his wake. A knight’s armor glints in his starlight. They do not slow him. Nothing will slow him. Nothing will stop him. Neither friend nor foe nor bleeding nor breath; he hasn’t the time. There’s work to be done. There’s a race to be run. One foot in front of the other in front of the other in front of the other in front of the other in front of the other in front of the other in front of the other in front of the other in front of the other in front of the other in front of the other in front of the other in front of the other in front of the other in front of the other in front of the other in front of the other in front of the other in front of the other in front of the other

He is gone. Up the stairs, hardly touching them, and through the door in the trees. Taking a second half with him. Taking a second curse with him.

You cursed him; he will never be caught.

You’ve seen him; so many have tried.

You are: Tired.

Tired.

Tired.

And: A dragon.

With no maids for your nest.

With a curse half-finished.

With a prize to win.

TEAM RELAXATION!

A lotus is pressed into Eclair's hands as she is guided up into the center of the room. The lotus glows, too. An opalescent light which reflects off your lights, your heart, and the dancers, and their shadows. It does not reflect off the walls. Where are the walls? Not lit by Eclair's heartlights. Her arsenal of blades. Her intentions and her wards. Those just shine on the dance.

Someone has a fiddle. Someone else has a set of pipes. Someone else, presumably, has a tambourine. Maybe more than one someone. And there is clapping as the Shadow Ball begins. (My Shadow Ball.) The courtesans of the Chrysanthemum link arms and dance in circles, then split up and, doing jigs, grab more partners. The smell of perfume covers everything: soft, floral, veiling whatever else might be here.

Yuki is danced with, which is to say, she finds that the dancers are happy to take the lead, to take her hands in opera gloves (was anyone here wearing those?) and guiding her, twirling her, dipping her low--

--where she gets to look into the empty pits of a skull, with Eclair's lights playing over the yellowed bone, making it seem like something out of the Day of the Los Muertos--

--and spun back up, link arms, join the line, kick one two kick one two, faster now, faster, the fiddle screams like a goblin as the bow all but catches flame, and the partner on her left is covered in vines and manages, without eyes, to look absolutely befuddled, and across the way someone is dancing with a marble statue, and the perfume mist gathering all around your feet is nothing like the sweet venom of the Walking Elm, because you are dancing in my house, my home away from home, and wherever else you are, that's still true.

Eclair, inside the lotus is you. All of you. All the yous that could have been, insofar as a beautiful star could guess at them. And you can see them joining in the dance among the courtesans and the service workers and the dead being spun from partner to partner, until you could almost weep from seeing all the yous there could be.

And Yuki, you--

---

Hazel!

In through the doors you go, Hazel, between those shadowed figures, past Alcideo glancing up with sweat on his brow from his tablet and how is he doomscrolling at a time like this, you might think, as your foot catches on a root and you tumble into the dark, across the filthy cobblestones of a castle claimed by the forest, across cold things that you cannot think about because if you allow yourself to think about the fact that they are bones then you will lose your nerve to get untangled, even as you feel roots slowly slithering against your skin, even as the vast dark of Sayanastia floods everything behind you and this is it, you're finally caught, you've been tricked and bamboozled by the Aestivali one more time and soon, oh so very soon, the claws of the dragon will be on you and she will whisper as she wraps her coils around you and claims you as a prize.

Only, the thing is--

Only, there, in the dark, in the deepest dark that there could ever be, in the darkness of absence and emptiness--

A bow scrapes across the strings, and a sweet breath whistles through the open holes, and light shines, not the insistent light of your antlers but beautiful opalescent light, surrounded by lights like those of your gift-giving Christymas day or luminous stained glass, and all around you, the dead of Aria Thendragon's court, knights and courtiers and damosels, are swept into the arms of the dancers which emerge from the shadows, and you are grabbed under your armpits and pulled back onto your feet and you can no more resist the dance than the dead can, and you catch a glimpse of Seli with the fiddle tucked under her chin and her eyes closed and her body more animated than you have ever seen her, feet moving furiously, and then you are spun about by a groaning skeleton with a ribcage cleft in two by maidly arms and then, oh, and then--

---

Handmaidens!

This is the sort of dance which is an expression of the power of a Fallen Star, my dears. Sayanastia could end it, if she liked, even as her puppets are swept up to join the dance with the shadows and the dead, only, only, you see, the thing is, there is light at the heart of it, and the light is broken and the light is beautiful, and the light says we play with the rules like this so that you're in your brilliant black gown from the time you tried to seduce Heron to the cause of the void, and it is vital that you both catch the Golden Fawn but also, but also, that you get to the center of the dance while playing by the dance's rules, that opalescent light and the music and the joy of it flooding into you, a false flickering that promises more.

(You were here, once, when the castle fell, with real swords and real shields, and the memory of that day is why our little Thellamie fears the swords of the Order of the Aurora. You were here, Sayanastia, as a queen who screamed and cursed and promised to crack the world open as the knights of Morning, Noon and Evening ran you full long on their spears. Here there was death. And here, now, there is a dance, for as long as I declare it so, which is for as long as Eclair Espoir holds her lotus and shows her lights.)

Around you, curses thaw. Around you, there is laughter and the sound of music and the void is full.

And at its heart, a woman so beautiful it hurts to see her shine.

---

Hazel! Yuki!

--you suddenly find yourselves swept up together by the dance, just like you never were at prom. Sweating palms, fingers interlocked, and all around you the mad ecstatic revelry of a world turned inside-out by Eclair Espoir's heart and the music of two very, very good ashiqs. And you have a breathing space, and are not torn away by the dance, and for the first time since Crevas you are together. In the castle of Aria Thendragon. In a cafe of the Chrysanthemum. Here.

I would like it to be noted that I do not as a rule partake in these sorts of opportunities. I have said, and I will say again, that logic is the only blade I need. I will further say that there is nothing it cannot cut. But though it pains me to say it, at this moment in time I find my hand is unable to achieve the proper grip. There is much that I cannot cut.

So I will do as hospitality bids me. I will sit in the center of this shadow ball and I will leave behind for a moment the world of facts and conjecture. I will descend down mystic pathways and see Impossibility in search of a glittering light in this darkness that I have missed among the ones I intended to wield. It is beyond the point of rudeness to refuse the invitation twice.

Therefor I, Eclair Espoir, declare that I will contest my power against yours. Yes, you directly, because you have finally come within reach. Let us do battle and see who between us will leave this exchange with the more valuable forfeit.

"What I watch is the truth."

"What I listen to is the truth."

"A mask is recognizable as a mask."

"My eyes cannot be closed."

"There is something I need to see."

"There is something I have failed to see before."

"When I close my hand around this lotus, the world shall return."

These then are my moves. This then is my power.

Go on. Show me my other selves. Show me the mes that have more potential than I do, and the mes that are pointing in the direction that I must travel if I am to arrive at the truth with my blade in hand. You may take your time and cover each in as much detail as you like. Go one by one if need be.

I am in no rush.

[Call on a Toxic Power w/Radiance: 5 + 3 + 2 = 10

Hazel ran here. Hazel will run from here.

Hazel pauses here.

He needs not run, for she is not chasing. He needs not work (too much), for she knows him too well.

He needs not flee, for she already has him.

Yuki!? How, you-!” And there’s so many thoughts all trying to get out at once, they tie his tongue in knots and all that comes out is a tasteful variety of silly noises. He has no idea how you’re here. He’s so happy you rescued him. Your dress is so good!

And what can he do when confronted with the impossible, but laugh? But twirl? But let himself fall into the steps that two very, very good ashiqs drilled into him? But follow the lead of Yuki Edogawa; his hero, his knight, and his best friend?

(He has forgotten he’s still wearing the dress. The earrings. The boots. The makeup. He hasn’t quite realized he’s wearing a mask too, dotted with glittering stars like his freckles. Perhaps that makes it a weak mask, but it would take a concentrated effort to hide those ears.)