Ah.

Hm.

Well.

I guess it's my turn again?

I know.

Like, I really, really do.

So soon, right?

You don't, like

Think that.

Um.

Eclair is a...

Person.

Do you?

Gosh this is awkward.

Ok so for the record I don't think this is your fault. She really does come across as a stapled together collection of, like, ideas. Doesn't she? Like ah yes, of course, the clip-tongued maiden! Bad with words, [i]unless she's not~![/i] She needs a notebook to think in a straight line: this never comes up! The peerless, invincible warrior! If a god smote her with lightning she would simply dodge... no, catch it! But a single mote of stress blips across her brain and, uh, I guess this happens?

Well what is she, really? Is she a clear-eyed sage with every answer? Is she a detective? How much detecting has she really managed, do you think? Is she a shy, pathetic little meowmeow who doesn't know how to handle people? Is that even [i]compatible[/i] with the rest of the sales package? 

You don't know when she's gonna break! You don't know how! You know she probably will, I bet, but it probably feels pretty friggin' arbitrary how and why and when, doesn't it? What is even the deal with this weird metatexture crap, anyway? What, is she having a breakdown because there's a mess, ooooooh~? Jazz hands? That's a frankly insulting charicature of obsessive compulsion, somebody should be ashamed of themselves. Right? Right? You think so too, right?

I'm Erika Fullbright, by the way. In case you forgot. I think it's been. Er. A minute. Since I told you. This is my parlor scene. It's a layer of abstraction Eclair's brain is using to make sense of what is happening to her. Like, you ever have an out of body experience. Like, uh, uh, um. Uh. Dissociation! Standing outside your own body while someone else pilots it? That's me! Eclair's childhood persona! Eclair's imaginary friend! Eclair's thin line of defense that keeps her from howling like an animal and crying so hard she chokes on her tongue! 

Yeah I think I'm pretty cool too, thanks. 

But like. Yeah. Ok. I'm stalling. You caught me. Congrats. Happy for you. Nice. Er. Yeah. Anyway. 

So.

I just want you to realize that she's a mess. And she's a mess because she's a person. Not a character. Not a story. A [i]person[/i]. So, like, yeah. She is invincible. She is fragile. She is comically hyper-competent and a bumbling doofus at the exact same time. She can handle anything and everything up to the exact moment she can't. Because people are like that, aren't they? They way they fit into each others' lives is more like a set of plates that slide against one another and sometimes that makes mountains and sometimes that makes valleys and sometimes you can predict the general shape but you never ever ever ever [i]know[/i]. You'll always be surprised. 

And.

For the record?

It's not the mess.

You're aware, right?

Eclair Espoir is possibly the most arrogant creature in the world. Dragons fall utterly short of the magnificence that is her own self conception. She is the personification of 'Nah, I'd win.' Even when she insists that someone is her better she is basically lying to you. Like with Heron, ok? I'm pretty sure she's made mention, inside her own head if nowhere else, about the impossibility of imagining her defeated or something like that?

And, uh, ha. Haha. Hahahaha! Yeah, no, like. Eclair has imagined Heron's defeat [i]a lot[/i]. At this point she's pretty sure it'd even be easy? Or. Well. She [i]was.[/i] See, all of a sudden, faced with this giant pile of plantoid zombie infested crap, she is left with the cold realization that Heron really was built different. How in the hell could anyone manage anything in this level of disorganization? Did she just... know? Everything? Or did she never care in the first place? 

That's not something she can overwhelm. That's not somebody she can conquer. The urge to clean is, obviously, so strong she's started to twitch a little, but to even begin the attempt she would have to admit to herself that she [i]can't[/i]. She can't clean this. It is too big. Give her the unknowable terrors from beyond the edge of the universe, please. Except don't! Because they and this are both distractions from the case she's on! The case that [i]nobody seems to want to let her follow up on[/i].

In any case she can't admit this. To anybody. She shouldn't even be admitting it to herself! She can't fight off the swarms of trash mobs, Mayzie needs a sleeve to cling to. She can't go dusting, she'll have to stop and [i]then[/i] she'll have to deal with having done an inadequate job and we all know where that puts her. She can't fall to pieces at the sight of it all or everyone's gonna know her secret. She's not invincible. She's not. She knows this.

[i]But she has to be.[/i]

And that's why we're here, now. Because she can only stand there all stoically and stare. She can't even wonder why she's here in the first place. One supposes it must have something to do with taking the place of-- oh, I'm getting ahead of everything. Sorry. The point is, she's super duper stuck, ok? There's just no way that she could--

"No."

Um? I'm sorry? There's nothing she can do to--

"That isn't true. I would win. I [i]will[/i] win. It is as inevitable as the truth."

Oh yeah? Well sheez, make me look all stupid why don't you. What makes you so confident all of a sudden, anyway?

"Because I am here. And she is not."

Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Oh. Oh [i]wow.[/i] 

...Eclair does not move. Eclair does not speak, except to mutter weird things under her breath. Eclair's fingers tighten around Mayzie's, and she holds steady with her double-bladed staff of a heartblade held opposite. That has to be enough for now. That and wondering on some inner path of the maze of her own mind which imbecile was in charge of keeping this place tidy.

And how long ago they got fired. And that is the first step toward salvation.