"Water is available at the combination hospital bed and torture slab!" said Titanomachia brightly as the Dakinis lifted you by the arms and began to drag you to the entrance where Titanomachia posed, hand raised to her mouth[1]. "But we might be in track for more of function one tonight. I need to do a full calibration of your biology to make sure you processed all this shit properly. Also that you didn't crack your skull any of those... seven times? Eight?"

[1] A shot-for-shot recreation of the iconic Capture of Princess Truesmile in the classic animation Lovely Hearts: Kissy Connect, as you would soon find out.

"My darling sentinels here have kindly volunteered to drag you all the way home," said Machia, leaning down with a glint in her eyes. She was back with it now, the disharmony in her resolved at last. "Though if you prefer, I will return yesterday's favour and carry you myself. What do you think?"

"No... no! We can't, stop! Not for... not for this!"

Her stupid traitor lungs won't breathe right, they can't seem to hold any air. No matter how much she wheezes, it's like she's just done laps around the city limits. It almost sounds like a death rattle. Her body is soaked through with sweat and her hair seems somehow thinner than before, though that might just be because something has rendered it limp and greasy. Even the omnipresent dark circles under her eyes have deepened, as though someone stole several nights of sleep in the last ten minutes.

"Let me... walk. At... least. I can do that. I can... I can. I can do it. Let me... please. I'm so, so, I'm so... tired. Of losing. Like this..."

Her shoe squelches when it taps against Stripes. Something happened to her foot. The idea of letting her even limp back draped over someone else is laughable. But still she glares at Titanomachia, daring her to tell her no.

And her eyes, at least, are bright as lanterns. Her irises are steady and clear as they drink in every detail of the woman currently looming over her. The sense is that she'd throw a punch if her arm wasn't so heavy.

"I'm... not. Going back like this. They can't come. I don't... want that. I'll walk. I'll walk. Let me... walk."

"Oh-ho-ho?" said Titanomachia. "I thought you were tired of losing?"

She leaned down slowly, to allow the imagined Imperial Princess dress to billow behind her in all it's magnificent black finery, lace and gold and weave.

"Trust me, little dove," she quoted. "For one in your position? This is a mercy." She leaned down, eyes absorbing all light. "Let me take care of you~"

And with a sudden rush of her shoulder, stand and straighten, she pulled Madeline Cross up into an over-the-shoulder carry. As though to emphasize the point, she flicked her tail up into her face. One arm locked into place around her knees, and then she was off, striding confidently down the street, prize held securely.

"Put me down! I said put me... down! I can, I can, I can walk! I can WALK you... egomaniac! I want to... nnnngh! Listen to me, you, you, gackphbbttt!"

Madeleine spits tail hairs out of her mouth and then all at once the fight seems to drain out of her. She hangs as limp as a dead body over Machia's shoulder, left with nothing to do with herself but feel the rhythm of the walk and watch the sidewalk pass by.

She could fall asleep like this, if only she dared. The sweat covering her body has started to dry off, pushing her from burning hot to clammy cold, but the back she's pressed into is strong and warm. She squishes her cheek against it and moans as she bounces down the street. Her breathing is slowly settling, though it still sounds like it belongs to a dying woman. When she presses her ear flat she can hear stronger, healthier lungs and a steady heart.

All she has to do is match this pace, and she'll be ok. She'll be ok. She's stronger than this, she'll show you.

People are watching her. She can't see them, but she knows it. What are they going to say this time? What are they going to write about in the morning? For once she doesn't know. Her mind refuses to picture it. Her heart refuses to care. There's no room in her heart for anything but the war raging for control of her emotions. The shame of having failed, of having failed in this specific way and the terror of knowing it had never come for her in Aristeia! training before, against an inexplicable sense of comfort emanating from this... this warmth, this softness, this irritatingly steady gait, these muscles that she must be close to earning a doctorate in studying.

"If you... hated me carrying you so much, I... I wish you had. Said something. I had... an entire plan for today. I wanted - you are so annoying - I wanted to show you my apartment. I have nothing to wear now. I was... going to teach you about... it's all ruined now. It's all ruined. Everything is ruined. I can't stand this."

But if that was true, then why had she started to smile? Was she so tired it was making her delirious? Those weren't even the words she'd meant to use. Oh, terrible. Absolutely terrible. How was she ever going to get stronger if she loved being weak this much? That can't be true. But it has to be. There's no other explanation for the fluttering inside of her.

Titanomachia radiated strength. Her energy grew as yours ebbed, like darkness advancing towards a dying bulb. All that wicked yin of her went into holding you aloft like a war banner; if you could not be glorious then you could at least be a glorious prize.

"Your tail," said Machia suddenly. "It's been low on my check lists, but I am now noticing these hairs are significantly longer and stronger than my own. And is that...?" her nose pushed in amidst those silky hairs, taking a deep breath. "... tip of my tongue, I can't recognize the scent. Is it because your cranial hair is natively straight so the genetic translation is simpler? My tail and hair are incompatible hair types - this tangle wants to curl - but yours feel like extensions of each other. Is it routine, diet, environmental? Tell me everything you know."

"Wh-why now of all the-- nngh, you idiot! Not here, not... ok, ok, ok! I'll talk about it! I'll talk! J-just stop... stroking it where people can see!"

Madeleine is flushed and hot again, her body stiffly coming to life against the shoulder she's trapped on before the pressure suddenly eases and she collapses again into a horsegirl-shaped sack. Now her heartbeat is strong, if still erratic. The comparisons to a corpse are fleeing, and she'd like them to come back, please. If this is Machia's idea of being kind, then-- EEP!

She swats her in the face in retaliation.

"St, stop that! You're smelling orange blossoms, ok? And lavender. I use an argan oil treatment twice a week with the first scent, and my leave-in conditioner is the second. Horse tails aren't like the other kinds, all those cats and dogs you see running around. They're... much more sophisticated. Elegant. I treat all of my hair with care because it is part of me, and I am the final most essential piece of my fashion."

Of all the distractions she could possibly be offered, this is surely the dumbest one. It is so annoying that it's working. Would she, she wonders, be so indulgent on such a sensitive topic if she were less trapped? She'd like to imagine she wouldn't fall for it. But she is for all the difference that it makes just trapped in the levitator again with nothing to do but float and think. It beats falling asleep like this at least.

She sighs.

"There's a... very particular rhythm to the shampoo application and rinse. As gentle as possible, fingers spread apart. It took a while to learn a good technique. After a shower, I pat it dry. The conditioner works best on lightly damp hair, so that's why. After that I braid it most nights. It helps the oils soak in. That's what keeps the hairs silky and glossy. And don't brush. Almost never brush. If you're having a problem, you are... almost certainly overbrushing."

If it's possible for a person dangling over someone else's shoulder to draw themselves up with pride, then Madeleine does it. There's so little energy in her body that she'd still look pathetic even standing up, but even so her ears are lifting up on her head again and her tail has started dancing as if to show itself off. Just look! Look how pretty it is!

"Tail hairs take a very long time to regrow, if you pluck them. Possibly years. And brushes always pluck them, even if you're gentle. To stimulate tail growth, you're meant to massage the places nearest the base. The muscles promote strong, healthy growth. So you need to rub at the base of the back and the... uh. Th-the. Er."

Oh no. Madeleine sees the trap swing shut on her too late for it to matter. Why did this conversation have to happen on a public street? With a celebrity at that? She turns red, a true full-body blush, and starts to tremble the more her imagination runs away with her.

"The... area b-below that. As well. So. Um. Butt. But! You're probably... more interested in solutions for tangles.

"...Right?"

"No brushing?" said Machia, sounding genuinely upset and betrayed. "But the whole point is - mmm! Solutions; change brushes, change biology, overstimulate growth." Her hand moved ominously up along the tail towards the... growth regions. "Sometimes the gap between what I want and the tools available to me feels -" she gripped the base of the tail firmly. "- frustrating."

She held there, tight and firm for a moment, and then released - and pressed into the base of the spine with two fingers, circling around firmly and absently as her mind wandered. Her legs kicked up a bit, a jog working its way into her system by bits and pieces, irritated energy seeking an outlet.

"Short term forces compliance with reality," she said, bouncing you on her shoulder with her knee-ups, even as her fingers continued their rotation. From this angle you could see the blue light glowing underneath her shirt - glitters of Vade Retro as she jolted back and forth. "Long term - mm. I need to run. I'm going to try and use Vade Retro to keep you stabilized as I go. Tell me more about the tangles as I go."

One ear flicked forwards. The other down, towards you. Her eyes locked onto the future. Her hands gripped the base of your tail and the back of your knees. Her muscles strained as they sought their perfect configuration. The air glittered as it was forced into a perfect configuration. She was an eagle, ready to fly, black rabbit caught in its talons. Three, two...

"Were you about to tell me the point of having a tail is... brushies? Are you eight?!"

For a moment Madeleine can't speak. She needs her air for gasping and her breath for moaning. There are fingers pressing into the most sensitive part of her back and at the same time she is being bounced on top of a firm yet warm and yielding surface and she has never been so confused in all her life as she is right now.

And then she's hit with the sensation of running and the world takes shape again. These should be her footfalls on the city pavement, her legs pushing her forward and her body absorbing and redirecting the impact, but even still it is her hair being pulled by the resistance of the air around her and even through the efforts of Vade Retro she can still feel momentum.

So everything makes sense again. Which is how she remembers she's mad.

"I'm not even going to tell you," she huffs, "Why should I waste my time explaining tail care to an ignorant oaf like you?"

Her mind is racing right alongside Machia. Running like this she can see the pathways to the future and they all frighten her as much as they make her furious. Maybe it is just the residual effects of the cubegel speaking to her but this is an even bigger indignity than being pulled from training against her will.

What happened last time you assumed your stupid ideas had more weight than Madeleine's expertise? hmmmMMMMMM, Titanomachia?!

"Stop it! Stop even thinking about what you're thinking about! And turn at that corner! Run all you like, but wE... are going shopping! A woman of your, nnnfff! Po-potential! I wonnN'TT - be more careful down there, idiot! - I won't stand for it!"

Even though she feels like she's shouting at the top of her lungs, her voice is low and breathy. Just very full of passion. If it were possible to cross her arms in defiance or take any kind of powerful stance while being held like a sack of presents she would be doing it right now. Instead she is pressed into the strongest shoulder in the world, jolting but nowhere near as much as the speeds she's traveling at tell her she ought to be.

She's going to run out of breath for this soon. But the fire still has air.

"Don't you dare start tweaking yourself over this deluded fantasy before you even understand what proper tail care FEELS like. And you will. I don't trust you with this... I'm handling it myself. Do you understand me? I will be the one to wash it. Treat it, braid it. I'll teach you all about tangle treatments while I'm massaging them out with my bare hands! Brushing! Honestly! You absolute horse!! We'll see how much you want brushings... when I'm done with you."

"Your rest day is tomorrow," said Titanomachia thoughtfully, legs devouring the city miles. "You may do as you wish then, in preparation for the evening's battle. Tonight you're still on my schedule."

Sliding, but not losing momentum. She's changed the friction on her shoes. She's coming down, down into a crouch. And she's

Leaping

Carrying

Flying

Through the air

Legs extending before her

Kicking out the cardboard cover on her broken window

Twisting perfectly in the air as she soars into her apartment

Slashing - wobbling - the artificial leg comes in wrong, she staggers forwards, arm flying out for support, balancing on tiptoe with her overbalancing cargo tilting her out of control. The fall has started but now it's going to be a thing of stages, each part of it a new struggle for balance. Grabbing at the couch, turning towards a safety roll to protect her head, lifting Madeleine up in the air, holding her for a moment like a ballet dancer before all the momentum comes back in and slams her head-first into the couch and the soft embrace of Blanche.

Titanomachia sprawls on her back on the floor.

"Hmmm," she said.

"...Well caught, Blanche. Thank you."

The nature of the entrance meant the only place Madeleine could have ended up was in a tangle of tiger and Titanomachia. The only difference between now and the way in is that her body is pressed against the front of the woman who carried her here instead of the back. She tried to push herself up with the help of the couch so that she'd merely be straddling Machia instead of sharing entirely too much personal space, but her hand slipped and ended up in her hair.

She tilted her head and stared as her fingers pushed through that tangled chestnut jellyfish of a mane. As she sat there she massaged it, with rather more aggression and thoroughness than the situation really called for, circling ever closer to the ears. And then she slipped free, and rolled over onto her back next to everyone, instead.

"Tomorrow. Fine. But don't you dare run away. Your treatments begin as soon as I have what I need."

She groaned as she swung her foot up into the air so she could fumble with her shoelaces. Everything was sore and exhausted, and she was starving. But she'd felt it snap in training. She needed to know. The shoe dropped onto her thigh and bounced off of her stomach, drawing a wince. Her sock had been white when she'd put it on for training; it was red now. She sucked in breath through her teeth and slowly peeled that layer off as well. Shattered toenails oozed but did not drip anything actively, and she let her foot drop back to the floor.

"Not the worst... that I've seen it. No cause for concern. What is tonight's training then, that was so important we had to rush straight here?"

Titanomachia's eyes glazed a bit. There was a deliberate intention to put her eyes nowhere in particular, her ears turned in alternate unfocused directions. She took a deep breath through her nose and pawed the ground with her good foot. Her muscles were tense again, angled back at the window. She walked over and gripped her workbench, gave a reassuring smile, and then gripped harder because that handgrip had just been the only thing that had stopped her from sailing back through the window the way she'd come.

"Oh wow," she said. "Prey instincts! You know, one time I got so scared I ran all the way to Exeter before I realized that what I'd seen had been a t-shirt on the ground? Ha ha ha!"

Her good leg tensed again. She reached down and hurriedly undid the clamps of her artificial leg, kicking it to the ground with a heavy clatter. That helped in physically preventing her from leaping out the window, but now she was breathing rapidly instead.

"Do you get that? Instincts? I get them sometimes. Comes with copying the neurological structure. Do you have any funny stories? Phew. Guess I'm more out of shape than I thought!"

It takes a minute to want to move in the face of this. But no one else is going to do it for her, and lying still is only making things worse. With the backing track of a hyperventilating horsegirl to get her pumped, Madeleine Cross drags herself up the couch arm and onto her feet.

She makes it as far as her knees before she realized this isn't going to work. She whimpers like a dying flute and drops back onto the floor. But it's too soon to give up: she pulls her knees up into her chest and then stretches out her arms in front of her, sort of wiggling in a vaguely forward direction toward the medicine cabinet.

"You're, nngh, not out, nnnf, of, nnnf, shape, hnngh, you're just, haaaaa, having, fffffft, a, hhhhh, reaction. Everybody, nnngh, does this, hhhhfffff, the first time, heeesh, the first time they... oh thank you finally, the first time they see it."

Now she has to drag herself into a sitting position so she can fumble around for the tape. The ideal thing would be to apply a clear coat to the damaged areas first, but a woman who doesn't even understand the basic tenets of fashion is sure to ignore the medicinal powers of nail polish. It's fine. What she really needs is pressure, and to make the sight of the thing go away.

"I don't know though. About instincts, I mean. I couldn't tell you... when I'm panicking over nothing versus when it's. You know. Real. But... oh!"

She smiles brightly as she looks up from her tape job. The offending area is gone, replaced with a makeshift ballet slipper in white skin safe tape. She pulls off her other shoe just to check, and clicks her tongue. She pulls her arm back from the drawer and starts measuring out more of the stuff.

"One time I was getting a sandwich, right? And an old lady got in line behind me and I just... I kicked. At full force. And then I tried to rear, even though obviously I am already standing upright. So I just bolted. I ran for so long. And this was... prior to meeting you, so it was. Quiet. Everything I saw, I thought was her ghost. And then I noticed... my leg was covered in orange juice. I hit her groceries. I've never been back to that shop since."

Two feet wrapped now. Problem all gone! Madeleine drags herself onto her feet and instantly falls forward onto her face.

"But I don't have those episodes anymore. Not since we became... partners. When I feel a shadow now, I meditate. I picture running. With... er. Yeah. This is the first..."

She wiggles her feet. One more time she makes the push and this time it sticks. Her steps are wobbly but her feet actually hold her weight. She shrugs.

"Hmm. I guess I can't banish them all. But! Like I said... this is very normal. By the morning you won't notice. What about you? Are you stable? Can you breathe? Let me get your leg back on so we can train."

"Fine," she said, visibly pushing the incident into the closest unbooked 2am, "Fine! Fine, good. Well, if the police didn't come looking for you she probably survived. Lying down!"

She wavered on one leg, for a moment unclear if that was an instruction or an announcement. Then she found a line and things snapped back into place for a moment.

"Leg stays off," she said firmly. "It's the same foot as your hurt one. If it's off I can break simulational spirals by reminding myself that I have no leg at all. We're also not doing psych training tonight, I need to do a full diagnostic. Make sure that your body metabolized everything correctly, do microrepairs of any damaged muscles that won't heal in a full day of light rest. We've got a for real match tomorrow and we're shifting to repair and recovery from now until then. That means you'll be free to choose any light activities you regard as psychologically restful and focusing."

"But tonight -" she thought. Weighed something up. Hmmmmed. "Lying down. Give me a moment to think."

"If this is too much... you should say so. I need you whole. There is no one to take care of me if you are not."

Her clothes come off without ceremony. The coin flip comes up null this time; there's too much else going on to feed any active bandwidth into something they've done so many times already. Besides, they are both women. Nothing is even possible between them. Every one of those stupid little pangs was nothing but jealousy, or... inadequacy, or shame. If it felt like excitement that was just further proof she was broken. More hauntings for the pile.

She hobbles over to Blanche and clutches the tiger to her. If she's going to waste a day like this on pointless trivialities she might as well be comfortable while she does it. Back to the table, the usual spot. If only it was the usual maniac.

"...No leg then. Whatever. But this is frustrating. I cannot train, you say. I cannot do any of the things I want until the morning. I can't even go home. You look like you are about to pass out. Why are we bothering? Go rest if you need it, I will heal. I am fine. There is no danger. It released me the second I wound up on your back. So, what then? What are you still thinking about? Am I... that much of a disappointment?"

"I'm thinking that stimulants are not a valid path forwards," said Titanomachia suddenly. She slid a combination of lenses into place, then picked up her dimscalp. She slid over a stool and settled into place, light beams falling into place, focus aligning - and mouth starting to meander as she worked herself out of her tilt into a more comfortable, familiar focus. "Which is a shame because there's affinity there."

The dimscalp was a silvery hook, like a crochet needle. It had a dimensional phasing effect that allowed it to pass through the skin without cutting, only a molecule-tip rematerializing to begin the long and painstaking work of knitting together and strengthening aching muscles beneath the surface.

"Which is particularly frustrating because I'm running up against a similar limit in my own design," she went on. Despite her hands being steady and clinical, her voice was anything but. A deep frustration was coming to the surface. "The paradigm of Vade-enhanced physicality has a bare level of function but it is not enough. Even if I was able to continue to explore that path without interruption I would have dropped out of the league sooner or later because there is a ceiling on its results and I am not going to achieve my ambitions with a midwit patchwork design. I need - I need to redesign fundamentally, and that means coming all the way down from where I am now because the peak of that mountain is not tall enough."

Despite the intensity in her voice, her hands are steady. The steadiness of the hands was a precondition to everything else; control in one place enabling weakness in another.

"And I see the same thing with this path. Xoxic forced me to seriously consider it, and the worst thing I see is that there's something there for you. Practice, refine, comprehend, manage the side effects, you could be an international round of sixteen player. Maybe even round of eight some years. But I can't see how you'd ever break any of the Legends - not Bixie, not Hazard, and not HexXer. It'd take everything we both had to get you that high and there'd be no space to deviate once we were on that path and - and the path would suck anyway!" Suddenly she was genuinely carried away. "Graceless. Joyless! No colour, no flair, just another chem-dog like Hammerhead, and there's an entire industry of idiots like Hammerhead trying and failing to make it. Just like there's an entire industry of people trying to ride fucking cybernetics to the -"

Her free hand reached up to brush your hair away, then gently rest against the surface of your cube. Tracing the outline, one, two, mirroring the motion of her other hand reconstructing your shoulder.

"There's something better," she said. "Something that doesn't cap out. Something that can go all the way to infinity. To join the pantheon of the legends and become eternal. You're good at converting stimulants into effect. I'm good at predicting people enough to dodge through them. Those aren't sufficient; not stylish, not unique, not transformative. The technology isn't there for what I need to do."

The words fell away into silence again, only the soft hum of her dimscalp's engine.

"Sometimes I think you'd do better without me," she said. "There's so much potential here. I don't feel qualified to shape it."

For a long time, Madeleine is quiet. Her tail flicks involuntarily but outside of that and a random ear movement or two she is as still as Blanche. There is nothing but the motion of the dimscalp and the slow dance of her muscles toward recovery.

"I think you see yourself as a failure," she says without lifting her head, "Because you're trying to foster potential that is not there."

A sigh. A swish. She is secured to the table and there is nothing for her to do. It is the sort of gesture that renders a lot of what she could say and do irrelevant. Didn't she already tell Machia she was wasting her time?

"Put a broadcast on. Go ahead. If you can find one... where they bother talking about me. You'll see what they say. It's what they all say. What they always have said."

Swish, flicker flicker. Madeleine winces as a sore spot suddenly flares to life. Her arms tense around Blanche, but she doesn't struggle, doesn't strain. Flicker swish swish. She is still. She is here.

"You are the only person I have ever met who called what I have 'potential'. I'm sure that it's a lie but... no one's bothered lying to me, either."

Sigh. Twitch lift flick. Settle.

"...You know, I've thought about HexXer a lot since you brought her up. I don't believe she uses Vade at all. Or if she does, then only just. It kills me to tell you this, but you are the smartest person I have ever met. I refuse to believe the gap between your capabilities is that high. Her magic is lying. She is up to something, and whatever it is I do not want it."

Stare. Shadows dance on the farthest wall. One of them looks like a clawed and grasping hand. It stretches out toward the table and then melts away.

"I don't want the chemical stimulants. They are inferior to coffee in every possible way. If I pull Xoxic I am going to tell her to stay away from me, and that I will kick her in the throat if she doesn't. I hope she is an enemy. She is an enemy. I see that now. And you..."

Flicker. Swish. Smile?

"...And by the way, you are an idiot. You do realize I'm using you, yes? When I've fixed your tail... and your hair... and your fashion... your makeup... when I pierce those magnificent ears of yours... you'll finally see the shape of the spell I am casting. See? I've already lied to you... so please. Keep lying to me, too."

Because nobody else will. Because the alternative to the wrong peak is getting tired partway up and saying, 'eh that's close enough.' Because whatever world the answer is on, if it's even there at all, there's no one else who'd think to look for it. No one. No one else at all.

Her heartbeat flutters. Nnngh. These stupid chemicals really are the worst.

You couldn't see it, but the way her hand came to rest on your back felt like a smile. "Madeleine," she said. "I -"

"I hope," said an unfamiliar voice, "that I'm not interrupting anything~"

There was a loud crunch and smack as Titanomachia made a one-legged startled leap for the window, and wound up smearing herself across the floor for a second time today.

"Oh, gorgeous," said a woman, stepping out into the room with the force of a breach-and-clear. Smiled like she was putting a grenade in every corner. She was wearing hands - gleaming, artificial hands, android hands, golden hands, mechanical hands, clasped together in an interlocking weave. Hands clasped her breasts, hands wrapped her waist, hands opened on her back like cherub's wings. She bent down, a shiver running through her many hands, looking down at Titanomachia down on the floor. "Titties. Sweet thing. Did that hurt?"

"Whatcha doing here Fingers?" said Titanomachia, resting her head on her arm in Absolute Casual. "Let yourself in?"

"Darling, you know as well as I do that your door was probably unlocked," said Fingers. "So careless of you! After all these years, too. I was in the neighbourhood and saw that you had gone active again, so I just had to drop by and say hello."

"Hello!" said Machia, leaning up to try and grab her kitchen drawer. "Not throwing any matches today. Thanks."

"Titties!" said Fingers, scandalized. "I would never! An old friend like you? After how you left things between us last time? I believe you have already made your feelings on the matter quite clear!"

"Uhuh!" said Titanomachia, opening the drawer and grabbing a fork. She brandished it experimentally at Fingers, who looked down at her nonplussed. Titanomachia shrugged, put the fork back in, and tried again with a butter knife.

"Darling," said Fingers flatly.

"I think there's a gun in here somewhere," she said, giving a menacing flourish with an egg beater. "Don't mind me. Go ahead, say your piece."

Contrary to what her anecdote might have implied, Madeleine Cross was not particularly skittish for a horsegirl. The consequence of seeing ghosts and evil spirit creatures in every shadow was that she quickly had to make the choice to either dial up her resolve to max on a constant basis, or fall over dead from several heart attacks. It took a lot to startle her to the point of bolting. Until it didn't.

The only reason she is still in the room right now is that she was tied to a table when the intrusion happened. A sudden strain into her straps, caught and dissipated. Now she lay still, seemingly ignored by both other figures in the room. With flight cut off, the old patterns reassert herself. She is calm, and she is quiet, and she wants nothing to do with this woman whatsoever if she can help it. And if she simply stays shut up, meditates and presses her face into Blanche, she might escape notice entirely.

"Don't... call her that."

Her own voice surprises her. The smoothness of it. The chill. She turns her head but from this position she can't quite look either of them in the eye. They'd have to come to her.

"That vulgar word. That is not her name. So don't..."

"Good heavens, that's a person," said Fingers. It was difficult to tell if she was putting it on. "What is she doing down there, Ti -" she paused, like a figure-skater on a frozen sewage outflow. "- taaaanomachia. Would you prefer I called you Titanomachia, darling?"

"Well, yeah, more than -" started Machia.

"Why darling!" she cried. "Why did you never tell me beforehand?"

"You never -"

"Gracious, all this time," Fingers bulldozed through, coiling one of her ringlets around one finger as she walked over to look down at Madeleine's back. "I presume, then, that this is your plus-one? Miss Madeline, was it?"

"Madeleine. And more like I'm hers," said Machia. "I've been working on -"

"Her?" said Fingers. "And not yourself? Should I be revising certain estimates downwards?"

"I am in between mobility options," said the legless Titanomachia.

"Just as well!" said Fingers, leaning down to examine Madeline's shoulders and neck. Coils of hair brushed against her skin. "My purpose here is not to talk about what may or may not happen in the ring, but instead something adjacent to it. The price for you rejoining the arena is that you must wear a cybermask until such a time as we feel it is narratively dramatic to reveal your hidden identity. It's not often we get such a proven star in our little corner of the world and we want to milk it for all its worth, don't we Titties?" She raised her head a little, smiling like grease. "Oh sorry, it's going to take me some time to get used to such a big change."

Titanomacha sighed. "Fine, sure, cybermask."

"And three matches minimum," said Fingers, sing-song. "Same schedule, Friday evenings, no breaks."

"Alright."

"Wonderful! And you, darling?" said Fingers, reaching down to tap Madeleine on the nose from behind. "Three matches? No special orders, lock ins or funny business, just all the normal arena house rules. One of those is, of course, no talking - to the press, to the cameras, to anyone else who might come knocking. Can you do that~?"