Hm, what a curious notion... the emotional appeal of allowing one's thoughts to dissolve. Is it meant to be peaceful? Relaxing? Fun? It feels like an unusual thing to want.

"What an unfortunate piece of luck, friend. Had any other Maid of the Aurora found you they would have been able to treat this wound on the spot. I alone among the order lack medical skills of any degree," Eclair shrugs her shoulders to adjust (Aadya?)'s weight upon them a little better, "I could, of course, attempt to punch the hole in your stomach off of you but even my rudimentary understanding of the healing process tells me that is unlikely to be helpful. You will simply have to grit your teeth and live with it until I can take you to a house of healing."

An argument could be made for some sort of meditative state? A focus, perhaps, from a vast range of possible thoughts down to a single line of observation or deliberation for a period of an hour or so. Is this possible to accomplish without the aid of a notebook? Simply by the presence of another person?

Certainly that would seem to be the right manner of catalyst, particularly if the individual is sufficiently stimulating and vibrant. But that would not seem to follow from the lamentation, as it implies the sort of person one is looking for is better described as a thought suppressant. That would be counterproductive, would it not?

"Hrm. A regalia of buttons, stolen from Civil Nuns. A possibility space to be avoided. Khaganate warriors in false Maid-Knights' clothes. This fits with the testimony of the little princess and the Khatun's sudden overt aggression. That would seem to confirm at least the likelihood that Timtam has a new patron. It is difficult to draw the line all the way to this campaign without the promise of some manner of alliance enabled by her participation, rather than she herself being the catalyst. She is talented, but not enough to set in motion a plot of this scope. No more than I myself would be."

What is the appeal, exactly, of an actual absence of thought? It is at least important to distinguish the notion from mere thoughtlessness, lest it become poisoned from the onset by negative association. Nevertheless, is this desirable to begin with? It sounds similar to a drug addiction. In this melted, buzzing state, could a person have any assurance that they are in control of their faculties? To say nothing of their body?

Perhaps it is pleasurable. This allowance can be made. But again it calls to mind a sedative or narcotic. At best a medication: the Long Sleep, but misapplied in the pursuit of recreation. If there is a case then it requires a detective to solve it. If there is a detective solving the case she needs must be thinking until the job is complete. Surely this logic is beyond all reproach.

"The problem facing us at the moment is that we lack firm evidence to come forward with. Even if our, erm, Paladin friend here is interested in offering testimony, her story at best complicates the narrative; it does little and less to overturn the presuppositions of the Church. I could, perhaps, hand myself over as an act of good faith? But that would seem to be counterproductive, wouldn't it? I would prefer to remain free and active on the board. Or off of it, as the case may be."

No, the notion is rejected. Refuted. Whatever the value of a quiet mind may be, it is nothing against the beauty of an active one. So what if it costs a few cuts here and there? A general lack of productive sleep? Difficulties with any nameable act of daily care? These are irrelevant concerns. A chorus of ideas, each with their own distinct colors... that is worth any amount of difficulty or pain. What, are a person's thoughts supposed to turn off during sex? That sounds horrid.

"What do you think, Mayzie? Given our current knowledge and needs, what line of inquiry would you pursue? Shall we hunt some of the hunters, or trace a neglected path for information I would have overlooked the first time? Maybe there is physical evidence we could find in Crevas or Vespergift. I would very much like to hear your thoughts before I leap down another idiot pathway. And while we're on that topic, why... did you follow me here? That was such a dangerous thing to do!"

Enough.

Enough games. Enough of not saying what you want, and then being mad at everyone for not reading your mind correctly. Enough lashing out at everyone around you, and acting like you're in the right. Enough of the hatred, of the masks, of ignoring everything except a heart you cannot see. Enough people have been hurt tonight.

There will not be another one.

He glows.

He shines.

He burns.

The void says there is nothing at the end of a fox goddess’ limb. The void says there is no paw.

Hazel disagrees.

[Rolling to Defy Disaster with Radiance, to restore Inara’s paw. Hazel risks losing his mask/composure/filters in the torrent of starlight: 1 + 2 + 2 = 5! Uh oh!]

Sayanastia!

I have been. Very patient. With you. I have given you battles to face, made room for your grand and marvelous sulking, and kept an eye on you and the other Handmaidens, since I can tell that there's still something interesting here that we're not quite done with. But spiting me, after all the hard work I have done not getting into fights? Bad girl! No treats for you!

But at the same time, I'm not going to hold your head under reality in order to gently persuade you to behave. Despite the chance that you might have tried to sink down with Hazel, I'm not about to let you leave on your own. Not when your presence still makes things so exciting! Imagine what we'd miss if we lost your insight into the coming war between the Church and the Khaganate.

No. I have a better fate in mind for you, as my light mingles with that of Hazel Valentine Fletcher.

YOU HAVE LOST YOUR ADULTING PRIVILEGES, LITTLE MISS.

---

Yuki!

You are witness to the shrinking, petulant dragon beside you: emptiness becoming compressed, compact, fun-sized, bullyable. I shine like the sun. I shine like the moon. My light envelops Hazel and he is lost in the radiance, that reality-making light which insists that we continue enjoying this strange little world.

I hope you have enjoyed it, by and by. You were such a lovely heroine last time, and you're up to more than even I expected. Well done with Aria - she would have been a dreadful threat, otherwise. But don't give me that look! Or, do, I suppose- oh. Oh no. What is this urge to be polite? What have you done, Hazelkins?

---

Hazel!

Er. Um. So I do need to let you know up front that while I have taken on some of the, well, metaphysical qualities of you, and I didn't mean to do that, and there's probably a way to undo it or just let it wear off after a while, and I promise I'm not going to transform into you or anything, that would be weird, right? But you're, well, I'm afraid that you've just taken on some of the metaphysical qualities of me.

I shrink down to the size of Keli and Seli. Not too far removed from them, in fact, but I'm less, um. See, you'd be really awkward about having curves, and I'm like you right now, so I'm all lanky and nervous and I'm sweating, Hazel, and if you don't mind me saying so, this is your fault? All of you are going to think I'm gross for sweating, when I've just been exerting myself magically and otherwise, and I do very much hope that this is reversible soon! Because! Otherwise, this would be very mean to me! Why do I feel the sudden sense that something being good is actually horribly underwhelming and it has to be Perfect?

But you, Hazel - you're now buoyed up and boyed up and, well, Aestivali'd up with the light of the False Fire, the Hidden Aunt, the Veiled Star. Me. A light of tricks and deceptions and lies and pranks and entertainment. Do you think you could, if it wouldn't be too much trouble, do something with that? Something useful, maybe? I only ask because all of us are right now in the midst of the Rot Star's forest beyond the proper edges of Thellamie and that is a very bad place to suddenly get lost until I remember myself properly again so if you really don't mind I'd appreciate it awfully if you could consider making use of it?

---

oh heck and beans it's Eclair Espoir

Um uh um I really should have started this by paying attention to you oh no

The thing is you're really cool and I'm your biggest fan and I've been cheering for you to somehow unravel the mystery this whole time and I knew this moment would require proper attention but then the thing with Hazel happened and now, gosh, okay, I can do this, right, so, you're here with Mayzie, and actually, as a treat, she takes your hand properly. In her eyes, caution wars with the same fire I feel whenever you do the thing with the skateboard and the air combos and you just knocked Timtam, who is blessed by me, out and I'm still cheering for you! Woo!

But yes Mayzie. "We need to get her help first," she says, practicality winning out over the desire to go and punch the Khatun in her face, which probably wouldn't end well for her, given that the Khatun is an acolyte of Demon Queen Miaou, and I think that's come up already in the story? I'm fairly sure this is information which you either have, by this point, or have suspected. I might be misdirection and tricks and japes but Miaou's just angy, angy, angy. She did not adjust anywhere as well to being down here as I did, thank you very much, if you don't mind the brag. "Then we can take this straight to the top!" It's a silly phrase, the sort of thing that's said by detective-heroines in thriller novels, but think about the top, think about the sorts of tops involved here: not just the top of the Mansion, your lovely half-sleeping dragons, but the top of the Church and the top of the Khaganate. Who might be willing to listen to you now? Who might best be able to stop a war?

The Mansion is on a defensive footing, and active maid deployment might flare things up in a way you're probably hoping to avoid right now. The Church is now missing their goddess and might be acting rather irrationally for them, if they don't mind me saying so - they're usually a lot more sober than this. And the Khaganate is all might-makes-right and if anyone could challenge the Khatun, they'd be in charge.

...are you thinking what I might be thinking? It's crazy, but it just might work...

Sayanastia, The Dark Hatchling!

Biting you! Biting you biting you biting you! Biting you biting you bapping you bapping you bapping you - other paw - bapping you bapping you biting you! Void breath into biiiiig yawn into biiiig stretch bapping you running running running hiding beneath Eclair's dress curling up power nap POUNCE BITING YOU! BITING YOU! BAPPING YOU! running running hiding beneath Eclair's dress biiiiig yawn biiiig stretch curling up chewing her sabaton power nap. Wake up! Can't sleep here, can't sleep anywhere, overtired and angry and filled with zoomies and biting you but everything hurts and even BITING YOU isn't helping any more. Augh!!

Dragons are cats, as it is known, and this little dragon-kitten is stressed and tired out of its mind. This is everybody's promblem.

Yuki!

Was Hazel’s hand always so soft?

“Hmph! Maybe that will teach you not to bite the paw that hardly bothers you.”

Did he just say hmph?

“Yuki!”

Hazel squishes you up in the biggest hug a knight could ask for, and a little more besides, because you’ve been good, haven’t you? Oh yes you have! His cunning, fluffy triangles hear many things, you know. In fact, you’ve been so good, he’ll curl both of his luxurious, beautiful, softful, starlit tails around you. Free of charge!

Go on. You may revel in them. You’ve earned it.

“Just the knight we needed! Our quest to save poor sister Juni,” and that’s one truth, and it might be two! Hee hee! “Is now down quite a few members. Won’t you join us on a little adventure to the Khaganate?” He’ll help! Just between you and him, he’s got a keen eye for trails and that sort of thing. Maybe as keen as your axe! It’s possible!

Anyway, the foxy lad only turns his wide, starry eyes off of you to wink at a certain other fox.

“There’s no need to ask; of course you can join us too! We would never leave you abandoned, lost to these terrible woods, now would we darlings?~”

---

Inara!

It seems you have been outfoxed. On both sides. And they’ve got smiles that you would no doubt be proud of, were they not pointed at you, and just how do you feel about that, hm?

“We would never do something so cruel!”
“Leaving a poor thing like you all alone!”
“For the vines to catch”
“For the roots to swallow”
“And the Thorn-hounds!”
“They’d smell you from miles away.”
“And their jaws…”
“And their claws…”
“And the creaking of branches”
“Dry and hungry”
“Wicked! Scaring the little sweet like that~”
“Ara ara, but we’ll take good care of her, yah?”
“Such good care of her”
“No need to think of the danger”
“You’ve done so much for us…”
“Let us handle the rest…”
“Little sister~”
“Little sister~”

"Did you just...?" Yuki watches the unfolding of the sky before her like the divine comedy that it absolutely is and she does her utmost to choke back a snort and keep her tail from practically wagging. Well, this was the outside and things were only big or small in relation to their own perception and metaphorical symbolism. Like Gandalf being a simple old man sometimes and having the presence to completely overtake a room of the great and powerful at others. Only more accentuated here where there were no solid stone walls or substantial snakegirls whose whole self-ideation was based on their consistent ability to coil around you. Pity, that one.

"Mmph" says Yuki, surprised by the hug, ears flattening for a moment before she collects herself and returns it while patting Hazel's back. It's a comforting pat, gently passing through the tails to ease the knots in between his shoulders. The sort of gesture one does to reassure a younger brother or perhaps a niece who's been through a lot. Yuki's happy returning the hug, and Hazel suddenly developing fox tails is telling her a very great deal. But he's still...well...a he. And this is a bit more weird than it is hot, so her response here is to give him a space to just be with her.

And to let Keli and Seli have their fun as well. It has been a long time, after all, and they're too busy at the moment to properly appreciate their reunion or step up their meme game. So all she can do is smile in a sort of bemused way and see where Hazel wants to lead them all. For the moment, this whole little group is her latest charge, and she'll follow as she can and then reconnect with her other friends after. Eclair and Aadya most of all, that thread still nags, but until she can stop and sit and find a way to contact them safely, it's well beyond her reach.

And, when she has her turn, she does have some questions for Inara, while she can. In particular, the one at the tip of her tongue is "were you the one who called me last time?" and after that, it's a sneaking suspicion that despite not being the goddess who holds up the land of Thellamie (that's Civelia, supposedly), Inara must really love the world as it is if she's loosing knights on other stars.

"Excuse me? If somebody could please-"

Eclair takes a fast step forward and pivots on the balls of her feet an instant after. In the same motion she leans forward and snatches up the little dragon by the scruff of the neck. Dragons are, in fact, like cats. This is known to all who care for one for a living. And part of that when you take hold of the base of their shoulders like this, they go completely limp.

She lifts this... what is this, exactly? What is happening right now? Everything made perfect sense until precisely ten seconds ago and now... what? What just knocked the foundations of the world off of its agreed upon track?

"If the progenitor of this... sassy, lost child would kindly step forth? You had ought take better care not to misplace such creatures in the future."

Hm. What, precisely, is she holding in any case? Dragon spawn. Quite young. Not dissimilar to the confluence of Morning's challenge and Evening's prank, but altogether not similar enough to be quite comfortable. Fangs appear in good health, gum coloration normal. Claws have not finished hardening, wings appear normal for development level but not yet capable of flight. Pupil dilation, tracking, no problems detected. High tension? Stress response?

"...Apparent fatigue. How lost are you, little one? Your mother seems rather sluggish to collect you. Again, anyone? Anyone at all? I do not have time to wait around in this place!"

Eclair shrugs and stuffs the little dragon into her pouch, next to the pocket with her tablet in it. The inside is cluttered with a great deal of things that Aren't Quite Yet, requisitions from the Manor she has failed to specify (nor shall she until she knows what she needs). So it is perhaps not the most comfortable of resting places. But it is dark, and smells faintly of the Long Sleep from where it splashed into the pools that Timtam had been meddling with.

"Perhaps in the meantime a name. Given her coloration, I suggest Soline."

"...What? Mayzie, what? Why that look? Do you not think it is funny?"

Hazelikins and Yuki...!

A wagon winds through the borderlands of the Khaganate. Let us focus our attention up front, to where a handsome young man is guiding two goblin-stags along the windswept plains, and where a shining young fawn is sitting next to a former heroine, free to speak, to ask the wind what they will, to consider what ending this all shall come to soon enough.

Up front! Let's focus there, please! Not in the back where COMPLETELY NORMAL noises are happening! Keli's going to be coming up there to snuggle up by Hazel soon enough, mark my... just mark it!! It's going to happen!! There's only so much shibari they can demonstrate before they get bored, I swear!!

---

Handmaidens!

One by one you find yourselves in Kel.

It is cold there in the early morning, when the wind whips through the narrow streets, when the warmth of this mountainside nation is locked up tight indoors. The cobbles underfoot are all different shapes and sizes, but they fit together like a perfect puzzle - for this is Kel, where the mines run deep, where crystals shine, and where spires and towers jut out from cliffsides. Kel, where the Goddess first took a breath and looked up at the dancing stars. Kel, where mystics and decadents get drunk on stargazing, where architects hone their craft, where starglasses are worn even at night.

One by one you find yourselves in Kel, alone at first, but doubtlessly drawn together. Bereft of the dark dragon, you still find yourselves drawn - by chance, almost - towards the Ceveline, that labyrinthine monastery-of-monasteries, that sprawling complex spilled across two mountainsides. The starlight flickers eerie on the polished streets.

---

Eclair!

I'm sure the cleaning isn't a compulsion.

It's just that when the Idiot gave you gasping directions to a side-gate in the Ceveline, to a small apartment in the paladin's complex, well, I'm sure that you decided you had enough of a disguise to pass through. And you had Mayzie right there, too, slipping her shoulder underneath the Idiot's other arm.

But she hadn't even properly cleaned in the place before she left. She's still got bowls stacked up next to the sink (or, well, had). She's left bits of exercise equipment scattered across the floor. She let small items build up behind her couch. What else could any knight of the Aurora be doing, as Mayzie sits by the Idiot's bed and strokes the head of the small, sassy lost child?

It's hard to think about endings though, y'know? Like, sure, there are contemplative moments that happen and this is one of them. But you've got the two youths from Earth back together and there's just a lot happening in the background with Keli and Seli teaching their younger sister all sorts of things.

"It reminds me of Card Captor Sakura, you know?" Yuki says to Hazel. "I mean, there was somewhat less squealing, but like, lowkey Inara is just trying really hard to get everybody dressed up the way she wants and I'm kinda into it, y'know? Tomoyo was always the best character, and now Inara has even chibified herself. I guess everyone is trying to capture you, but that's kinda cool I think. Like, it's a lot less work for you, y'know? I mean, not saying it's not a tough choice to decide on contests and stuff, but like, you get to be the sub here and let everyone court you until somebody wins your heart."

Yuki sighs, runs a hand through her hair. "I dunno, I've always said it was a lot of fun my first time, but it was also a lot of pressure to be like, the glowing chosen hero. Like, you've felt the star power now and it's lit but it doesn't...like...tell you that everything's gonna be okay. The whole time I was worried I wouldn't actually be able to win when I was there. I had to just take it on faith that everything would work out and Thellamie would help me out. And Eclair did, but I feel like that wasn't a foregone thing, y'know? So...I feel like it's nice for you that everyone's coming to you and doing their best to make you feel cute and loved until something finally clicks. It's nice."

Yuki's ears flick and her tail wags. "Though, now that I think about it, I do have a couple ideas for a really nice navy blue dress for you. With a built in waist for your figure that flares out below the waist, long sleeves so it fills you out a bit more, low neck, and little red hearts all over the fabric. Maybe matching red barrettes for your hair? You'd look good."

Yuki makes the best kitty face, you should know.

Sayanastia!

It is dark and quiet in the bag. Dark and quiet and full of treasures.

And. Not too many treasures.

It takes her a while but she can count them all. Her claws touch every angle of each of her things (for they are her things now. Her half things - broken or incomplete - reminiscent of the ruined castles she would nest in, the desolate landscapes and broken stone. They do not stretch on and on forever, more than she can fit in her claws, more world than she can destroy, a to-do list that continues as far as her eyes can see.)

She is asleep before she realizes it. It's embarrassing how easily it happens, how small her horizons are, how close it was all this time.

Injimo!

She is going somewhere. She has a sword.

No words are needed. No explanation is needed. There is a place to go, and violence at the end. Every trap and obstacle and door is just part of the process of going; she moves through them. She is one with the going as she will be one with the future violence. Her feet are bare and feel the stone, her hands are bare and feel like knuckles, her eyes see only the moving parts of the world and filter out all of its beauty and complexities. Her mind is empty. She has a sword. There is somewhere to go. It was enough for Heron.

"You do understand the seriousness of your situation, yes?"

It began simply. These things always do. The idiot had clothes and rags scattered about in a few notable places among old glasses and disposable trash. Just a matter of bending down to pick a couple of things up off the ground. Then the pressing, folding, and returning of each item to its proper location. Such a mindless, easy task it did not occur to her to not do it.

The trouble began when she took the glasses to the kitchen to wash them. That's when she saw the state of everything. She has been trapped in here ever since, washing smudges and streaks of grease or spots of old milk out of dishes and cookware. Every step of progress reveals a new link in the endless chain of traps set here to capture her. The work of a villain, clearly.

"I have explained to you in detail the degree to which I am incapable of providing services as a healer. Even if I were of some modest talent, you are hurt quite badly and I would not trust myself to your convalescence," She shakes her head, "When you gave directions I did not believe for a second that you were leading me to your house. Is it your intention to sleep off a stab wound? Are you somehow dumber than you look?"

The soap here has been allowed to run low. She is obliged to supply her own. Something that should be trivial to provide takes double the effort and care because she needs to not wake little Soline, who is apparently deeply possessive of her requisitions to a degree that even Morning would find greedy. Troubles pile atop of troubles.

"Is this some misguided attempt to protect me? I assure you I have grown quite used to needing to run from everyone with even a shred of authority. It is not new. There is no need to prioritize-- Evening's Light, how did you get it on the sides of the pot?!"

Not only has an infinite maze of dirty dishes kept her pinned in place, as she moves to put away the freshly cleaned items, Eclair Espoir has discovered streaks and stuck on cheeses on the surfaces of the utensils that had already been shut away and (allegedly) cleaned. Her eyebrow twitches. She pulls an entire stack out and sweeps them toward the sink.

Sigh, sweeping. She had not even found the time to do that.

"...There is such a thing as being too focused on the big picture, you understand. Now. Please tell me you have, mmn. No. Show me. Show me you have some means of contacting help, or I cannot continue on my investigation. I am going to get you to a healer even if I have to drag you back into the streets and scream murder."

"Like this?"

With a snap and a twinkle and a foxy smile, starlight swishes through his tails, one heading to paws and one heading to triangles. In their wake, a party dress becomes a wishing-dress, which is the sort of dress you get when you wish upon a Faun. The barrettes even have a soft little flower, for extra style points. A wagon Is no runway, nor is it a modeling studio, but it may be just right for showing off a new look to close friends.

"Would I be Syaoran then? I wouldn't mind that. He starts out rough, but only because he thinks that's what he has to be. In time, and with love, he learns better. His heart grows, and becomes his own."

"Or maybe I'm the Yukito, hrm? He had his fair share of suitors. And a whole side to him that he never knew about. Nobody did, for quite a while anyway, but he never learned himself."

"You'd tell me though, wouldn't you, Sakura-chan~?"

Hazel makes the best fox face, you should know.

The Ceveline!

It is a truism of storytelling: when you are at your wit's end, have a woman come through the door with a sword.

This is particularly true of detective stories.

The door opens. The door closes. Injimo has followed starlight and purpose straight to the loud, vibrant heart of Eclair Espoir, her hands in the sink, her companion applying sacred bandages to the wound of a Paladin. It is a cramped space, the sort of space that is made for martial arts, for fights where victory is found in inches.

I declaim knowledge of what is to come.

---

The Outside!

There are cards half-hidden in the grass. Stones lie on each other like links in a chain. There are cherry blossoms on the high and mournful winds. This is a reflection of Card and Captor and Sakura, yes? This is the half-awake, the dreaming of the world, a place where heroines find what they are looking for (except, apparently, how to undo a knot!!).

We're all in the Outside, a place of Random Encounters, a place of Quests, a place of Dragon Dreaming, after all. In such a place, maybe even I seem small. The stars aren't out - the marvelous artifice of the Sun is blocking the view - but they must seem awfully small all the way up there, wouldn't they?

There's something about this world that gets into you, for all that I am its counter-goddess, which means for all that it's a fanciful story. Because it's still real to all the people in Vespergift, and in Crevas, and out here in the plains of the Serigalamu. There's more reality in a goddess being bullied in the back of a wagon than there is in all the whirling dances up there, even if starlight is what makes things solid and real and more than the passing fancy of the sleeping dragons far down below.

You have to keep traveling. The Ossuary is farther still.

She only has one move, and it is to lose.

She knows the moment she sees the Opponent she has to use the move. She knows it as she kicks down the door. She knows it as she kicks over the table! She knows it as she slams forth the stool like a battering ram! One move! Every time! She has practiced it over and over - the taste of blood and bitterness, the feeling of dirt and bruises, the sight of a distant star getting further and further away. Endless exposure to the greatest, most esoteric martial arts and ancient techniques ever made and she only picked up the capacity to lose!

Injimo screams as she strikes forth with the blade's hilt. No space to maneuver in here, not to swing, not even to rotate her sword to stab. So she makes do with hilt and elbow and shouting and the one technique she knows. Many paths! One destination! Many opponents! Smarter, stronger, wiser, more virtuous - this one a giver of healing, one who understands the lie at the heart of the world, who can cut through mysteries that leave her as befuddled as a stone hammer. Why is she striking!? She doesn't know! She has a blade and a path and she's fucking going somewhere and it doesn't matter who put her on it or what curses she bears or who she used to know or who has forgotten her name! It doesn't matter what she's used for if all she can do is lose!

"WATCH FOR THE RIGHT MOMENT TO COUNTER!" she screams, heedless in her attack. The Dark Dragon did not have to reach deep to bring this curse to the surface. "BREAK AN OPPONENT'S GUARD WITH A HEAVY ATTACK! OR DON'T!! YOU SURE AS FUCK KNOW BETTER THAN I DO!!"

She has only one move, and it is to lose. There's nothing to it, and nothing to lose.

"No need."

Surprise attack in limited space. Opportunities for creativity are restricted. This is a benefit. Forward lunge, turn on opposite hip. Throw right hook toward jaw. Momentum counters momentum, doubling force. Natural motion of attack carries zone out of now-shattered range of wild opening blow.

"I am simply faster."

Seize wrist, following turn of hip. Twist toward opponent's back using arm as a fulcrum. Small step forward, opposite hand on back of head. Sweep leg, guiding upper torso in grip, drop to floor. Knee on back. Hold.

"Well. This is certainly strange. The last time we met as I recall you demonstrated remarkable combat acuity. Not only was your form precise and worthy of copying, you understood within a single exchange that further dueling was pointless. I have you written down in my notebook and everything as a woman of intelligence and talent."

Secondary lunge inevitable. Shift weight to twist arm, stop short of dislocating shoulder. Press knee into center of back and apply full weight. Press her to the ground again, more forcefully this time.

"By comparison this is the work of a starving dog. What could have... aha."

Eclair releases her assailant and lifts her up onto her feet. As she turns, her tail flicks the leg of the stool/battering ram/makeshift shield and knocks it up into the air, if only slightly. She extends her leg behind her and juggles it until the legs are properly facing the floor, and sits her new guest down on it even as it clatters onto the floor.

She takes three steps toward the kitchen. She makes no even vague concessions toward her own defense. This is no longer a puzzle of battle. It's not a fight of any kind, even if she's attacked again: it's is a mystery.

"Owing to the... spectacular nature of your entrance, I would estimate I have between seven to ten minutes before a local response reaches this place. As such I must be gone before then. So you will forgive me if I skip straight to the conclusion without offering supporting suppositions."

While she says this, she prepares a cup of green tea. There's being in a hurry and there's being rude, and one is not an excuse for the other.

"Princess Heron is gone, isn't she? She has left Thellamie entirely and will not be returning. That is the reason for your... downturn, is it not? How long has this been the case?"

Yuki is not especially experienced at traveling the Outside. When she had been the one empowered by starlight, it had been direct and fast. But then, that’s how it works for a kid: you wanna skip ahead, you skip ahead. It’s one of the first things she learned how to do on a TV, and honestly she still doesn’t totally believe her dad that his shows just ran continuously and you missed part of it if you wanted a snack in the middle. Like, what kind of idiot would even design it that way in the first place?!

Anyway, she’s not quite in the driver’s seat this time. And while she might have influenced the route, her guess is that was mostly by influencing Hazel.

“Hazel, I don’t know how to tell you this, but you’re Sakura here. Lowkey everybody wants to dress you up or truss you up. Some both. You’re the destined princess, or prince, whatever. And you’re the inheritor of power who’s being tested for what to do with it. Don’t ask me why, that’s her deal” Yuki gestures to the well-knotted fox in the back of the wagon. “But don’t let the fact that you went full on foxy foxy foxy foxy throw you off that truth. You’re being asked to make choices with the power you got, and they’re just as important even if they’re not about who to stab with it. Probably more important, cuz when it’s about stabbing there aren’t usually a ton of options.”

Oh! Oh Yuki why didn’t you tell him this is what we were doing? You haven’t any trouble telling him the obvious, you could have slipped that little tidbit in too. He wouldn’t have minded! He doesn’t even mind now! He is a professional! No no, there’s no need to say it now. He reads you loud and clear.

No gasps when the Golden Fox grants your wish? No applause for a private, exclusive show? Blithe disregard for shining pearls of Fox Wisdom? Yes, he understands you perfectly.

Step one: Turn up his snout with a toss of his fluffy curls and a dignified hmph!

Step two: Stand up. Again.

Step three: Spin dress. Again.

Step four: Swish tails. Again.

Step five: Did you see the tails, Little Miss Yuki? Did you see them this time?

Step six: You see he’s not sure you’re looking properly.

Step seven: They’re so fluffy! And shiny! And two of them!

Step eight: Here; he’ll graciously sit on your silly little self. So you won’t miss a thing.

Step nine: “As I was saying: You’d tell me though, wouldn’t you, Deo-kun~?”

Step ten: Swish tails. Fox face. Again.

The Ceveline!

Aadya sits like a rock settling in place atop a mountain. There is an inevitability to her, a weight that will not be denied, as she takes a seat at her own table. She can be forgiven, I really hope, for sitting down somewhat heavily, for putting her weight on one side of her body, and for taking a deep and careful breath.

"I'm the local response," she says. "I'll tell 'em that I tossed her out a window. Now. Heron is what?"

Unthinkable! Scandalous! Blasphemous! The Paladins are not a religious order devoted to Heron specifically - they're an offshoot of the stargazers of Kel - but they are in tight with Civelia, and thus also with Heron, and so this stubborn paladin looks to Injimo for answers.

(Incidentally, I think it's quite possible that Tsane might have figured out that with the recent drubbing of the Rot Star, the Stacks might be retaken with a bit of elbow grease and someone who can fight. As a thought.)

---

The Outside!

The Ossuary is made of bones.

The bones of goblin-boars, vast and yellowing and curved: ribs and tusks, hooves and spines. From its spiraling towers, Serigalamu huntresses can see the inconstancy of grass and sky for many long spans. There is no stone-road that can get anyone here quickly; it must be quested for. And it is here a damsel languishes, knowing that as soon as her usefulness to the Khatun is over, she will be buried among the bones.

You must have some sort of clever plan to get past the guards, mustn't you? Something clever to trick them, since they'll certainly see you coming? Hey, why are you looking at me like that??

If Eclair imagined that this was the first time Injimo had been kicked into a tea party, she would be wrong.[1]



Her long hair, unbound from topknot, falls down across her eyes. She slumps halfway across the table, elbows on, holding the teacup drunkenly in one hand. She whirls it around her finger, then sloshes the whole thing over her shoulder. She slams out her counter onto the table - teacup, teacup with saucer, margarita glass, majong tiles. She flicks her hair back and looks up with dead, hollow eyes as she lifts the teapot and sloshes boiling water across all three cups in one swift slash, spraying water all across the table. Nonmatching ceramic bowl, ivory dice, three cigarettes, potato chips arranged into a delicate lotus pattern. Her sleeves whirl and slash as she arranges the tea set, then flick as loose leaf tea pours out onto the table.

She snaps her hand, her magical tablet flicked into her hand. She breaks eye contact, profoundly indifferent, cups rattling where she brushed them, pressing buttons. A bright yellow plastic toy excavator, a Yukisworld relic that had found a place in the Stacks, rolls across the table, controlled remotely. Its bucket lowers and it picks up a huge scoop of the tea leaves scattered across the table. It rolls forwards, mechanically beeping, and dumps the tea wildly across the two teacups. Into the margarita glass Injimo pours clear vodka, splashing two drops precisely into both tea cups as she tosses the flask over her shoulder to land with the original tea cup.

She shakes the lid around the edge of the two teacups, staring directly again, eyes red, then sets it on top of the toy excavator. She looks at what are now her guests and offers her hand expressively with a lidded stare.

A Yakuza-style tea ceremony. The artistry it required to be this rude - the way the scattered tea-leaves still formed a lotus pattern - underestimate it at your peril.

"I wouldn't know what you're talking about," said Injimo. Discipline was back. This was a trained Handmaiden, after all - even here past the edge of despair, tea ceremony drunken and mad and an offense to every law of etiquette, was a dangerous thing. Reminded of her duty, she had drawn a demon blade of lies and chipped chinaware, and threw up this last wall of entropy in the face of logic. "Unless -" gasp! "- this is a gaaaame! Officerrr, you like the idea of creating panic by spreading rumours about Heron's absence, don't you?"

It would be so simple, do you know. So simple and also so satisfying. Just three quick motions: pop, twang, snap and all of these feelings would fade into mist. Nobody in this room even knows she has a heartbow, let alone that she's practiced with it enough to put a light arrow directly up this sore loser's left nostril from where they both sit. Could you imagine? Her food would taste like Light for a week!

...But she's probably someone who eats nothing but burned eggs to begin with. Even imagined delights are tainted by exposure. No, better not to rise to the obvious bait. Better to maintain composure and accept the shift. Better to--

Eclair turns the mechanical toy over in her hands several times, tilting it this way and that as she twists her neck that way and this to see the curious thing from every possible angle. With a sigh, she sets it gently on the ground, and then she sets to work. First she passes her hands over the table: once, twice (she turns them over), thrice (she turns them again). In her hand is a small tea strainer. There is a swift, faster-than-snakelike bit of movement and in that flash the tea leaves scattered artfully on the table have been trapped. She passes her hands over them again once, twice (turning them without spilling anything), thrice (clap!): it is gone again.

She lifts her hands up to eye level and spreads her fingers. Snap! She is holding a pair of small sugar cubes. She flicks her wrists and bounce the pair of them into Aadya's cup, which is free from loose tea leaves and fit to drink. She lifts her own cup to her lips without bothering to alter it and takes a refined, delicate sip. She even only makes the smallest of faces at it.

"To begin with, let us respond to that question by flipping the table around."

She holds both hands out. One to her side and one in front of her, in anticipation of a particular reaction.

"Metaphorically. The question posed is whether or not I enjoy spreading baseless rumors for the sake of causing a panic. From this side of the table, this is a blanket denial: an informational void. But if we look from the other side..."

Eclair drains her teacup without removing it from her lips. Long and slow, nobody ever sees her swallow, and nevertheless the liquid is gone. She taps it against the table once, twice (lifting a hand to cover it), thrice (smashing her palm down onto the table). It does not shatter. It disappears.

She smiles.

"We are left with a different question altogether. Why do this? Well, to buy time of course. She cannot (obviously) lie about something like this, not when the question was posed so directly, and not without being caught. So she does not. She does - are you going to drink that? - this. Supposing that I require an answer, she can sustain her professional pride and her duty to her station by stonewalling with a flashy and rather time consuming show until I no longer have the time to press her on it. And by my own admission did I not say I had a very limited window in which to act? The show makes sense the moment you put these pieces together."

Now she raises one finger. This, she simply touches to her lips before she slides it down to her chin and lets it tap there for a moment.

"Fear not, my dull witted apprentice. I can defend my thesis without it being necessary for her to utter another word. Shall we examine the Festival of Lights? I was, as you will recall, not present at the actual ceremony but a delightful fawn did fill me in on the details after the fact, so we can remain confident that this speculation is at the very least, grounded in something. As a ceremony conducted by the Goddess Civelia, the crowning of a Queen of Light is something that relies somewhat heavily on the presence of Princess Heron. Most Civil rites tend to, if you'll forgive me for saying so."

Eclair glances briefly at Aadya. Her eyes also flick backwards to check on Mayzie.

"That ceremony failed. Now, there are any number of reasons why it should happen to select a diverse assortment of candidates gathered around a starlight-chosen champion's heart rather than accomplishing the single thing that it is supposed to, but I submit that the most important among them is that Heron was not involved in the first place, and the mechanism could not help but function along an alternate path. And certainly! Yes! This hardly counts as firm evidence of anything in and of itself. Let us move on, and quicken the pace."

"In Vespergift, multiple members of Heron's retinue were sighted, this lovely young woman among them. The Dark Dragon Sayanastia was also present, which I find rather interesting but setting that to one side, the city was assaulted by all manor of its own primal terrors including the sudden and seemingly resurrected Architect Knight, who has not been anywhere on Thellamie in its recorded lore since the original fall of Aria Thendragon. And despite all of this, though Heron's motivations and exact missions are as mysterious as a passing storm, the hero herself made not one motion to help or hinder. Neither was she present for the rebuilding, which relied instead on a strange "Mystery Builder" and the collective efforts of the ordinary citizenry. Neither was she present for the conflict at the ball that followed, though darkness itself should threaten to devour the final home of the North."

She does not request more tea. She does not produce or pour her own. This is not her party. That is fine. She taps her lips through a smile.

"More to the point, you at least I know are aware that Civelia has been kidnapped. Not killed, mind you, but kidnapped. Gone, perhaps forever if nothing is done about it. And thus there is no need for anyone to make up rumors of Heron's disappearance if one wanted to spread terror and confusion among the denizens of this fair reality. Would you not agree the truth suffices far more? And yet, whither our Hero of Ages? All anyone can seem to find are her handmaidens, forever missing one among their number, and an endless assortment of inconsistent and hollow imitations of the Hero herself."

Once, she taps her lip. Twice, she taps it with the opposite side of her glove. Thrice, and she is holding a lit cigar. She puffs on it, and it produces bubbles instead of smoke.

"Of course, all of this pales in comparison to my own prey. The Khaganate moves with increasingly surety that they will have total control of the world. Their ally, whom I chase, has fully broken her ties with the Aurorae and has settled under the patronage of a new figure I do not yet know. Their schemes together paint a picture of a total rewrite of the story of Thellamie. This would not and could not even begin to take root in a world with Heron the Hero. So with certainty, even setting aside the deteriorating condition of her handmaidens, I conclude that she is gone. We are in our own hands now."

Eclair blows a ring of bubbles and rolls the cigar between her fingers like a pen before flicking her wrist and swapping it with the teacup she vanished earlier. She sits it on the table and gestures in request for it to be filled again.

"But this remains supposition. Testimony from an eyewitness would be invaluable. Now. I am offering you, Trainer, as I did before: an opportunity to do the correct thing and answer my questions. The more you can tell me, the better. If you do not I will be forced to make my way through your order until I find someone willing to part with the information. Do you think I can't? And yet twice I am asking you. Be more than some... shadow sword for a departed heroine. Be more than an obstinate brat, stuffed with pride and straw. Do not come to me seeking to lose, defeat me by aiding my investigation. This is your last, your only chance to free yourself."