Scarlet turns to look at Violet. Violet looks back at Scarlet and shrugs. As a pair, they turn their eyes back to Dyssia. "Wait, for real? Didn't you say you were-" "Hmph! So you're saying you want perfection in exchange for a miracle? Well then-" "No seriously Scar, she was askin' me about the water! She said it was-" But Scarlet's got a hand over Violet's mouth, so the thought doesn't complete. And she's got another hand (that's two, for the record, perfectly normal) pulling a ticket out of... um? Wh-where... where [i]did[/i] that come from, exactly? That bathrobe doesn't have pockets. She just. Like. What did? How did she? Uh?????? Ok well anyway there's a ticket in her second hand ok, let's not think about this too hard (please), and she flicks it with two crisp fingers into a position where Dyssia can see, consider, and also easily take it for herself. "As. I was saying! You're in luck, Dyssia. It so happens we're in town to gear up for a major race in just two weeks." "The Iron Lady's Divine Shield!" "If your wish is to see us compete at the highest level, you can easily do it there." "It's cool if you can't make any others, though! We're kinda all over the place." "Like Violet said, a typical race tour is a national affair. It's a lot of travel, more of a commitment than all but the most diehard enthusiast can handle." "But if we win two more, we'll qualify for the international circuit! You can check us out easy when we get to California!" "...What? Violet, why would she be able to see us there?" "I told you, she's foreign!" "Why do you think that every tall foreigner is American? There are other countries, you uncultured oaf!" "Y-yeah? Well [i]you[/i] name one then, you're so smart. Where's she from?" "Obviously she's Australian?" "Psh! You dummy, that's a continent." "..." "..." "..." "...What?" "You are so lucky you're pretty. Right. Well. Dyssia, I don't have a quite know the full picture of what you're after, but I promise you this much. If you come and watch, you'll not only see for yourself how much Violet and I can push each other-" "Oh right! We cut through the river here like, four times goin' down the lakes! Yeah, she'll see all [i]kinds[/i] of stuff that way! Hell yeah, Scar!" "Of course! Who exactly do you think you're talking to?" And that's kinda how that goes. The pair of them preen at each other, and then suddenly there is a three way hug. The cool thing about a group hug is that, unless you're touch averse, you don't gotta panic while one is happening. There's no awkward answers you need to have. Nobody's checking if your thoughts are staying in a straight line. By the time it's done you could have thought of, like, nine things and nobody would know [i]or[/i] care. You can just be quiet and enjoy it. Or yap, if that's how you stim. It's just, y'know, it's still a hug. Y'know? They're grateful, this pair. They're happy. And they're very practiced with doin' whatever whenever. You could have worse friends, is what I'm sayin'. But wow, Dyssia. Wow wow wow. This [i]and[/i] dance lessons from Yin? I guess you're never gonna be bored, if you stick around. There are answers to your questions. All bajillion of them; and for the record I think you'd look [i]great[/i] with some kinda chain mesh hair analog whatsit. You could totally pull off the flip with a good weekend and a mirror. Give it a go! Anyway, yes. Your questions. They may not be answers that come outta anyone's mouth (especially not [i]these[/i] two mouths), but if you watch? And you listen? You'll know them all. I think you probably don't hear this a lot, but Dyssia? I happen to think you're a better listener than most. ***** There's a lot that Kat could say about Elly, but all of it is better expressed in song form. The moment is coming. A bit more walking and everything will be made clear. But right now there's... well, right now there's a lot of [i]stuff[/i] happening. Like a sniffle that is [i]not[/i] almost crying. And not 'cause it's actual crying! It's a regular, non-crying sniffle, the kind any girl could get. It's a quiet little spin around to put feet on the proper path to the destination again, since the destination is where feet need to be going. It's no thank you, no spoken thank you of any kind, because all the not crying Kat didn't do very much didn't leave a not ball of no stuff not stuck in her throat. She's swallowin' a bunch 'cause it's, uh, fun! Yeah. [i]So[/i] much fun. But as fun as it is, it does leave enough room in the action budget for a squeeze of a sheep's hand. A squeeze so friendly it can only happen between friends. But let's set that aside for a moment. 'Cause like I said, there's a lot happenin' right now and it deserves its moment. Everything else is coming. Right now there is a sheep. A sheep with questions. It's just that there is also a fox. And foxes? Have an impeccable sense of the moment. At least most of the time. S'why they're so good at Foxgirl Schemes. Kat turns her eyes toward a spot just over yonder. It happens to be the exact spot Hera is passing through at the time. She smiles. ...Later, a long time later, she will think about what it is she saw. And when that moment comes, she will tuck her chin between her thumb and forefinger and engage in Serious Thinkies. "Huh," she will say, "She was... wrong? But she seemed so [i]sure.[/i]" ***** Trying to compress Bella's yearnings into a single point is a fool's errand. Her childhood, her adolescence, and even the vast majority of her adult life is best described as a yawning, endless cavern of pure desire. A hungry void where things that would or would have been nice should go. And they never did, for the most part. Why was she born? Why did Sagakhan choose her for the Temple of Artemis? What purpose does her family serve, and what is her place in it? What kind of creature, what Servitor species was she meant to be? If she'd been normal, what might she have looked like? How would she think and act and [i]be?[/i] Maybe she has no purpose. Maybe there was no reason. Maybe she is wholly unique in all the known universe with no model to speak of. Maybe, just maybe, the meaning of her life is that she [i]is[/i]. The thought hits her in the stomach, harder than Jessic's tail could ever manage. But one thing she could definitely say about her life is that it had been missing something. Everyone around her from the moment she was born, from the lowest to the highest, had conversations with the gods. It seemed to be the most natural thing in the world. But not for Bella: for her, questions tended to hang in the air and die. Prayers and offerings never came with the results she hoped for, never once filled the myriad holes in her heart. She always assumed that meant that nobody was listening. She watches them walk with their candles. She watches Redana pass so easily among them, child of the gods that she is, and she cannot join in. She is frozen in place, clenching her fists and her teeth so hard that something in one of them starts to creek. All that is lift for her to do is lash her tail in frustration. The gods have always been. They have always been [i]right there[/i]. Did her fires not light? Did her meals not cook as well as she could ever make them? Did her chores not finish, did her love not blossom, secret inside her chest until it pulled her across the very Rift itself? Did her claws not tear in half whatever she put them to? Of course it did, of course it did, of course it did, of [i]course it did.[/i] Blessings unasked for. Blessings unpaid for. Blessings freely given. It is so hard to see without eyes. It is so hard to speak without language. How in the fuck was she supposed to figure out how base and... [i]transactional[/i] the world she'd lived in had really been? Once, she made fun of a planet for using something as stupid as currency. Tellus had bought and sold more every day, and with a far uglier coin. Prayer was simply commerce. Conversations merely wealth. And she. And she? And she! Bella! Bella, who had (though under a different name) been worshiped as a demigod. Bella, who had stepped foot on Olympus itself. Bella, who had killed every mother she had dared to beg for. Bella, the slave who had briefly put her foot onto the path of kingship without ever bothering to loosen her shackles. She! She. She? She has every right to say something. She has a hundred things she wants to have or to know, and these gods are the beings who can give her that. She has to say something. To all of them. To any of them. Bella falls to her knees and cries. Twisted, sorrowful howling fills the Sky Castle. It wracks her body and sends shivers down her arms. It burns her chest and stings her eyes until it blinds her, and still she cries. "I'm sorry," she says. Because she has to, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so, so, so sorry." Miracles exist because they are something that can never be purchased. They can only be given. That is why it only happens now, after everything else. That is why, while she sobs out her apologies and asks nothing at all, she feels a hand touch her shoulder. Her head is heavier than stone, but she lifts it to see. Who has come at the end of this long journey to tell her it is alright?