"Buddy, you're not even... ugh, whatever." There was a time in Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits' life when she would have wasted a lot of air tryin' to yap this guy into submission. Just, lots and lots and lots (and lots!) of words to tell him that the world she lived in is beautiful and lovely and that she's sorry he can't see it. It's, like, a crime for a dude this quiet and fluffy to be basically made out of spikes, y'know? That time has passed. She's a hero now, y'know? And a hero's job is to save the world from Clearly Evil Space Sheeps. Among other things [i]obviously[/i], please do not put in the paper that heroes only fight one thing or save one thing or sheep one... thing? Ok wait I'm lost. Let's start over! Kat doesn't have a lot to say on the ride. She doesn't glower, naturally. That's a villainous act if ever there was one. Heroes try not to perform any acts synonymous with frowning (even when they're deep in thought) I've heard it said, so long as you're not quotin' me on this. But yeah. Which is to say no. Which is to say no, yeah. A Fluffybiscuits Move in this case would be to flash a dazzling smile, which in this moment is basically indistinguishable from a devious smirk. The only way to save the world? Fox Crimes. And so, this intrepid pair comes to a stop outside of a nearly empty building made out of nice wood that's maybe been out in the sun a little too long. The paint isn't as fresh as it would like, not if its job was exalting the glory of whatever was inside. The sign's a bit beat up too, come to think. But the door is slid all the way open. The smells coming from inside are [i]otherwordly[/i]. Rich, fatty, savory, salty aromas assault Dolce's nostrils with such intensity that the clouds of delicious steam almost physically lift him into the air as though they were a pie cooling on the windowsill. It takes days to develop something like this. Days of cooking, of not eating or serving but merely preparing. Discipline to rival an Azura craftsman. But this is not a holy place. No gods attend here. None would dare. "Hey Shana, can I please get..." "Katherine." Across the room, beyond rows and rows of completely empty tables and on the other side of an equally empty bar, there stands a woman wearing an apron. And pants and a shirt! Obviously! Sheeeeeeeesh. She is nearly of a height with Bella, with features sharper than the knife she's using to cut radishes on the countertop. "We have been over this. I will not allow you to use my shop as a staging ground for your or Cyanis' ridiculous schemes. I have been party to more than enough farcical delusions to last me a lifetime." "It's, uh, pronounced 'foxgirl' actually." "ENOUGH!" The woman named Shana slams her hand on the counter and fixes Kat with a glare that could wilt flowers. This is all the more impressive considering her eyes are completely covered by a crimson blindfold. Her lips, currently pulled into a scowl, are painted an absolutely toxic shade of purple. Her hair is blacker than blindness and set in six perfect loops like wings spreading behind her head that have each been speared by a gold-and-ruby hair stick. She is royalty. Or an assassin. The assassin's Queen, maybe. Her every motion is martial perfection and she seems wholly out of place in this run down little shop. But goshies gollies gees, the [i]smells[/i] in this place. "I could use a little more respect, Shana. I'm your best customer, y'know?" "Tch. Meaningless drivel: you are my [i]only[/i] customer." "Wha- how is that s'posed to [i]undermine[/i] my position?! A-and look! Anyway I'm not here for schemin' so there. Y'see that guy? He has woe'd upon me! So I'm here to revenge him, see? Revenge him good!" Shana's posture shifts in an instant from the threat of ultra-violence to absolute stillness. Unless you count her breathing, or the way she tilts her head like a cat that doesn't understand something. Or the smile spreading across her poisonous lips. Aside from all those things? Still as a portrait. "Oho? Vengeance..... you say?" "Yush!" Shana lifts her knife to her forehead like a swordsman's prayer. She flips the blade and her blindfold is sliced clean in two. And I'd say something about waste, but I can't because holy wowies, her eyes. They are the most bizarre and violent things a body's ever set eyes on. Concentric circles of green, red, orange, and purple dance with nightmarish delight. Her lips part into a wide grin that flashes her perfect teeth, which feature canines that would be more at home on a vampire than anything else. "Kehe.... kuhahaha! INTERESTING! INTERESTING, FLUFFYBISCUITS! THEN LET THE DANCE OF SHADOWS DESCEND UPON THIS SHATTERED STAGE ONCE MORE! HOWL, MY SWORD! MY FANGS OF HELL!" Should I have warned you? I feel like I did. Shana is an edgelord. A former princess, in fact, who got herself out of the game some time ago but never got around to getting the game out of herself. Now that she's been activated, her knife work takes on a whole new quality to it. Where she had been rather blandly cutting radishes she now reveals this to have been a sort of forced calm. She doesn't slice the vegetables so much as attack them. One slash creates a whirlwind that does for all of her peppers and her onions. Spinach and more radish slices follow on the counterstroke, while a downward thrust manages to perfectly slice the most tender, perfectly cooked beef into beautiful cross sections that show off their marbling. She tosses the blade into the air and whirls toward the counter with a pair of large earthenware bowls that she fills with steaming, nigh-crystal clear broth with such force that it's a wonder [i]and[/i] a miracle nothing spills. It's true though! Everything's pristine. And as the knife lands it cleaves a pair of soft boiled eggs in half, and nobody watching can even be sure when those even got here. She holds a pair of strainers, one in each hand crossed over the opposite shoulder. She shudders with laughter, and! Slash! Swish! Dunk! Hold! Pull! Flick! Set! "Your doom tonight is... SHIO!" She pauses and ties a fresh wrap around her eyes, and suddenly she is still again. She bows with a gesture toward the bowls, "Please. Enjoy." Kat wiggles her tails in anticipation, and carefully measures some broth to go with noodles and one of every vegetable and meat inside the wide, flat spoon she's holding. Thus does she display her Ultimate Technique. But she doesn't eat. And she doesn't say anything. There are, she knows, two types of spiky people in the universe. And one solution for each. Which is this sheep? It's time to find out! Well, Dolce? How does Fox Vengeance taste? ***** As everyone is no doubt aware, water on Earth tends to be haunted. Well, maybe haunted isn't the right word. Cursed is a bit more on the nose. It's the demons, you see. Rivers are so clogged with them and their wicked curses that fish up and packed their bags for the sky a long time ago. It's mostly not a problem? The government is dependable and good about pumping purified water into most everybody's houses, and ferrying it in nice, usable packages where the homes are a little bit too remote for the normal infrastructure to reach. Drinkable fluids and regular bath times are not at risk here, it's mostly just that old saying about always walking with your cart to the river, if you remember it. But all the same, y'know? Curses build in potency where they roll downhill and pool. People don't forget a thing like that. So there's a goodly amount of caution among regular folk as regards large bodies of water, be it standing or running. It's why the Terraced Lake, beautiful as it is (and to be sure it DEFINITELY qualifies as The Big City) is kind've a Sticksburg compared to, say, Ys. Sure it's safe enough but who'd really wanna live there? Do you really want the reminder all the time if you've got options elsewhere? I mean. Takes all kinds I guess. But the point is, it's a big deal when somebody with sufficient spiritual Oomph (to use the technical term) comes along and uncurses some water. But even when that's good and done, when the celebration is over habit tends to kick in, unless it's like, a [I]really[/I] good well or something. Again, who wants the reminder? Most people don't enjoy fighting demons. Obvious enough when you say it, right? And that's a whole lotta air to say that, especially in the dark of night, only two kinds've people frequent hot springs: the very very brave, and the very very foolish. And there's a lot I wish I could say about geothermal springs right now and solitude and the effects of mineral water on your skins or scales or whatever. I've got this whole routine about how the pipes need to be clean because they acrete sulfur and calcium and junk just from the slow little drip drip drip until there's enough to make a puck out of. Or how a mountaintop spring like this is a perfect place to hunt for falling fragments of the old suns. Even though those fall everywhere, but a place like this is-- "Excuse me?! I think maybe you should check our record again before you say something like that to me!" "Oh what, like 62-58 is anything worth bragging about???" "62 to-- darling, [I]please[/I] get your head looked at. You're so delusional you're going to drown!" "The water here's nowhere near deep enough for that to happen!" "NOT THE... It! Is! A! Metaphor! You're drowning in your [I]delusions[/I], you little dunce!" "Tch. Yeah sure, I'm the delusional one here. You wanna go again?" "I'd love nothing better! But unfortunately" "Come on let's go! Let's go right now!" "Without getting dressed?!" "Pffft, NOW you're embarrassed? I've already seen everything!" Dyssia, you have walked into a storm. There are women here. Exactly one women: that is, two womans. Neither is wearing anything other than a soaked towel that's stuck to them through the miracles of mineral water. The first of them is very much a pretty girl's idea of a pretty girl, with a glittering tiara sitting atop her head even here in the bath and her hair stubbornly worn in twintails so long they dip into the waters even while she's standing. Her, um, partner is lounging in the water with her arms pulled up and back behind her to rest on the rocks she's leaning against. She's a study in contrasts to the woman she's arguing with. Slender and cut where her opposite number is curvy and built. Short cropped, rather butch hair against that stunning, magical girl-esque femininity, its color a rich chocolatey brown against the first girl's softer, sandier look. Her face is slashed down the middle by a mess of soaked bangs worn overlong with a flash of super cool white lightning painted inside of it. "That is NOT the point," says Twintails. "Then what is?" Spikes shoots back. "This is a bath! That is not! Are you suggesting it is appropriate to race in this?!?" She plucks at her towel. Very carefully, so it does not betray her. Spikes throws her head back and laughs. "Sure! I'd love to see that! And you'll love checking out my ass when I go shooting past you!" "Ex, e-e-EXCUSE??" Twintails' face turns redder than a beet, "That isn't... what I... you'd be stuck behind me anyway so I wouldn't-- I mean no! What! If! Somebody! Sees! Us????" "Izzat what's bothering you? Scar', nobody cares! Like, look! There's somebody here right now! She sees! Check it! You don't mind, right lady? Right? Like hell, who would?! Body like this!" And she takes the opportunity to strike with the precision of a loosed arrow and snatch away her partner's towel (and dignity) to prove her point. The slap that follows echoes on the water five times before it falls silent. The woman named 'Scar' (presumably that's short for something because her skin is frankly flawless) trembles with barely contained rage. Her mouth opens twice to say something, but no words will come. The water sprays everywhere as she suddenly turns and dashes at full speed for the showers and the locker rooms beyond. As she goes, her beautiful tiara falls from her head and she does not stop at all to collect it. "Ugh, [I]women[/I]." says the woman who remains, sinking back into the springs and blowing really cool and not at all frustrated bubbles. She pokes her head back up almost immediately and takes in Dyssia properly for the first time. "Uh. I... I screwed that up pretty bad. Didn't I?" ***** "Chennnnnnnnnn! Oh my gosh hiiiiiiiiiiii!" There are hugs, and there is delighted dancing, and there is cake with strawberries in it, and a bottle of sparkling cider that Yue fishes out of her seemingly bottomless bag, since it doesn't go [I]at all[/I] with sake. "Don't, um, don't get the wrong idea," she leans in close to her friend and whispers, "It's her accent, right? She's from space and all. So when she says 'Princess' she really means--" "So." Bella looks up from her cake, which she has been devouring with surprising speed given the degree to which she is observing the Laws of Decorum. Her eyes shine fiercely in the night, one cat looking at another for the first time in her life. "You're one of them, then? These fabled superior duelists Yue was describing? I'll ask you then. How does she... no. How do [I]I[/I] rate?"