[IC] Return to Thellamie

[TheAmishPirate]

Well. Crap.

Nicely done, Hazel. You’ve scared her off. He knew he should’ve waited for the tea. Maybe gotten some snacks too or something. If he had to apologize for overstepping, maybe he could’ve, oh, I don’t know, not overstepped?!

He should’ve known better. After weeks of living under her tent, he should’ve known her better.

Lucky him, he’s got plenty of time to replay the scene in his head before Keli and Seli get back. He’ll need it to figure out what he’ll say to them. But somewhere along the way, another thought strikes him, and he reaches for his tablet.

>[.snowkitten]
>Hey Yuki, could I ask you a favor?
>I’m worried about Olesya. It’s a long story, but the short version is: She stopped by my room, she was acting really strange, and it looked like she’d been crying.
>I tried asking her about it, but she wouldn’t talk to me.
>Just said she was fine and left.
>I know you’re probably busy with the ball, but if you can, could you keep an eye on her?
>Maybe also check on Juniper? She’s here somewhere, right?
>I could be wrong, but it kind of felt like Olesya went to see me because she was being forced to? And Juniper might know more. Or…she could be in trouble herself.
>Sorry I don’t have anything more concrete to go off of. Just worried about them.

***************************************************

Keli and Seli pull the silk curtain from the mirror in one fluid, twirling motion, that by some Fox Trick ends with them flanking him on either side.

Hazel stares at his outfit.

They stare at him. In the mirror. Smiling.

(It’s hidden behind the veils, but he knows. It’s a second Fox Trick they do with their eyes.)

He’s pretty sure that’s tinsel in his antlers. Not star-tinsel. Not gem-tinsel. Not any kind of magic-tinsel. Just. Tinsel. From a christmas tree. It doesn’t match the golden cape. Which does match how he doesn’t match the golden cape. It’s too big to hide, too small to hide in, and too cape to hide from him. Every step he takes, he’s going to be aware of and fretting over the giant cloth fluttering behind him. The only thing worse than how much of his chest is exposed is that any moment now, this structurally unsound neckline is going to fail catastrophically, and the world will see him naked from the waist up. And speaking of the waist? He’s seen boxers longer than these glittering shorts. Come to think of it, he can barely see the glittering shorts. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said of his legs. All of his leg. Right down to the booties - no, different booties - that were made to glide across the dancefloor, in dances that are certainly never performed at proper balls.

It is worse than he could’ve ever thought to imagine.

“Oh. Wow.” What do we say to relatives when they give you a spirograph kit and several thoughtfully printed-out articles for Christmas, Hazel? “Thank you, for picking all this out. Goodness. I-”

“We chose you the very best!”

“Nothing but the finest!”

They circle him in a swirl of spices, silks, and tails, darting in to make little finishing touches to their masterpiece.

“All eyes will be on you–”

“--you musn’t be outshone at your own ball–”

(He doesn’t realize how their fingers always linger on his bare skin. He doesn’t catch them craning their necks to drink him in at every angle. At every angle.)

“--what lucky girls, to dance with such a handsome Fawn–”

“--the pictures will wish they could’ve captured your beauty–”

He cannot go out there like this.

“Don’t you think?~”
“Don’t you agree?~”

Oh heavens above, he cannot go out there like this.

“Um.” They are being nice, Hazel. They have been so nice these last few weeks. “Gosh. I really do appreciate the help…” Let them down easy. You can’t disappoint them. “Do you think, well, do we have anything, or, could we make a few…changes? Here and there? There’s things here to like, this is a good starting point-”

“Oh, but of course!”
“Oh, say no more!”

-huh?

“You should look exactly how you like on your special night. Don’t you agree?”

“Yah, you should get everything you want tonight. Your wish is our command.”

Huh. Well, that’s a relief-

“So what do you want?”
“Just tell us what you like, yah?~”

-huh?!

“What you wish for–”

“--what you long for–”

“--what your heart aches for–”

“--what you’ve only dreamed about–”

“Tell us.”
“Tell us.”

“We’ll make your wish come true–”

“--if you’ll only tell us–”

“--won’t you tell us?”

“We live to serve–”

”Master~”
“Master~”

“Um!” Aaaaaaaaaaaaa??? “Could. You. Both of you. Give, me….a minute to think about it?”

Keli and Seli fall silent. Keli and Seli fall still. Squishing him close on either side.

“.....................................................alone?”

Miss Yaz herself could find no flaw in their graceful bows.

“Of course!”

“It would be our pleasure.”

“Just don’t take too long.”

“You’re on in two, Master~”

-click!-

He is alone.

He is alone, with The Outfit.

He is alone, with The Outfit, and if he does not think of something better to wear, he is going to have to go out. Wearing The Outfit.

He is going to die.

What else did they have? What were his options? What were clothes?! He’s no fashion expert! He can’t become one in two minutes! They probably don’t have just a plain suit in his size! And, no, they probably wouldn’t let him go out in just a plain suit either! He doesn’t know! It just…doesn’t feel right? For a ball? For some reason???

Yuki. Maybe Yuki texted him back? Did she know what clothing was? He all but tears his bag apart to fetch his tablet, but no such luck. No messages at all. What about his other friends? You know, all his other friends. Who are waiting just outside. For him to appear. At the ball. And who probably aren’t checking their tablets right now aughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

…unless.

Unless?

Unless there was one friend who might be free…

>[.eclairespoirviolet]
>Heyo Eclair! Sorry I haven’t been able to chat since coming here. Things have been really busy, and I haven’t had a lot of time to myself.
>Is there any chance you have a few minutes right now? I have some fashion questions.
>If that’s not something you can help with, no worries. I remembered you mentioned disguises as a part of your work, so I thought you might have some pointers. Like I said, no worries if I’m off-base there.
>I can send some pictures too if it’ll help.

[Tatterdemalion]

Eclair Espoir!

You have, naturally, retreated to the facilities when you receive word from Hazel Valentine Fletcher, asking for your aid. I should like to think that this is an impulse that is common among the Knights; when your shield must be adjusted to face the world, seek a secluded room where everyone is alike in their vulnerability. A place where you can inspect yourself in the mirror, can make small adjustments, can see how the world sees you and make it fit with how you should very much like to be seen. There's an impulse there that I can respect.

This is not a retreat, except in the strategic sense. It is fortifying yourself for what is to come.

But then, ah. A quest. Something to distract yourself with, avoiding the smiles of adoring children and the applause of those who unknowingly still hunt you, for just a little while longer. A damsel in distress has called for your aid; a princess in a tower, if you will. And being a knight, you know just how to answer.

---

Yuki Edogawa!

Aadya barely apologizes as she pulls you from the grasp of Walking Elm. There is a much bigger trouble to be concerned about.

She needs a battle sister to deal with the Dark Dragon.

"Sayanastia," she says, summoning her heartglaive; behind the two of you, Paladins block off the dance floor. There is distress, confusion, but they know their duty to protect the innocent and defend Civelia. If you squint, and you're not good at recognizing aprons, there's not so much difference between them and the Knights of the Aurora - thus, the professional rivalries. Well, one source of the professional rivalries. "Dark Dragon. Going for Hazel."

Do you need much more prompting? Look at this absolutely unhinged woman, fending off three paladins at once; on the floor lies Civelia, the goddess of civilization herself. You might not be the hero this time around, but that doesn't stop the impulse to do the right thing, now does it?

---

Sayanastia!

The thing about heartblades is that they're very good against you in particular, and other things of the Outside. Where there is nothing, let there be something; let that something fill you up, however briefly, and shine.

Three paladins? This is a joke. This should be a joke, rather- but when you fend off one, in comes another at your blind spot.

A thrust. Righteous anger fills you.
A cut. Controlled fear fills you.
A slice. Confused attraction fills you.

And they bleed away - of course they bleed away - but the residue remains.

As a group, take Frightened, the lot of you. This is frightening, isn't it? Not just to be struck, but to watch Sayanastia stagger and yet keep going, relentless, only to be faced with a bright-eyed girl in a silver dress. She shines. She sparkles.

She's a little like Heron, isn't she?

---

Hazel!

Rejoice! You shall be saved. Not just from Sayanastia- don't worry about that, unless she decides that she will let absolutely nothing stand in her way in order to seize you, which she'd better not- but from the impish fashion choices of those two lovely girls. Between you and me, they're prettier than anyone else at the ball, aren't they? Not that you'd have them in mind as suitors, goodness no, but... there's something there, isn't there?

I should very much like for you to be assailed by thoughts of such nature until Eclair's arrival. Come now, you can tell me, don't be shy: is it the way that Keli swishes her curves, or the way that Seli's eyes gleam when she has you right where she wants you, Master~?

[Anarion]

Yuki gasps. Air. Sweet air not choked with honey. And then she back kicks in a silver heel, sending Walking Elm stumbling away from her before falling into stride with Aadya. It’s nothing truly damaging, not even a harm to her dignity with all eyes turned to the dark dragon. But it is a reflex, and perhaps a warning. Walking Elm will meet only ice from Yuki the next time she sees her.

But there isn’t time for reprisals or for the sort of shiver that Yuki might have run through her to shake off her lingering feeling of drowning in her own body. Not when Aadya is pulling her so urgently and so suddenly into the melee. Not when she’s suddenly part of the five against one fight against the dark dragon in the flesh.

At first there’s instinct. Paladins are sent flying, the dark dragon flings a sword across the room to pin someone else, and so before she knows it, Yuki’s heartaxe, the weapon that cut Aria Thendragon, is in her hands and she stands before the dark dragon.

Perhaps she ought to strike at once, make such a great cut that it must be met to offer an opening for Aadya to bring her own great glaive to bear. And to give the other knights a chance to recover. Instead, she hesitates. Her hands tremble, and her eyes stare at this strange woman dressed as Heron dressed as the dragon. Why had she done that? Why had she fought at Vespergift? If she had just left Aria alone, Yuki couldn’t have held her off. And neither could the suitors.

She stares up at the dragon, even as Aadya circles for an opening. Even as Yuki still holds her ace up high. “You…you saved my life” she says, loud enough to be heard even over the rattling of chain and the murmur of the crowd. “…why?”

[Thanqol]

Sayanastia!

Killing everyone would be trivial. Desirable, even.

The first step: Assume her true form, releasing a reality-shattering shriek that would crack this cacaphonic world. Every person at this party would be rendered empty, the remnants of their bodies as delicate as drained eggshells, only curses where their hearts once beat.
The second step: Finish the wine

... only...

She does not think about the physical damage to her body. It is irrelevant - call yourselves paladins all you like, none of you wield the Aeon Blade or any of her sisters. No, the hard part is making sure their blades only fall upon her flesh and do not tear her dress. That itself requires a lot of thought and careful positioning, which affects how long it takes to strategize how she might assume the form of a ten mile long avatar of cosmic annihilation - also without tearing the dress. Should she simply undress? Nobody would survive to think about it afterwards, but that also did not seem to be sufficiently elegant.

And before she can investigate that thought more deeply, she is being addressed. Yet another pure-hearted maiden warrior about to be cursed for the sin of not being Heron. Had they met before, like this?

"Saved you?" said Sayanastia, frowning. As she thought about it she snapped up a hand to catch a falling heartblade. The hand came away, fading in a burst of mana, and a great talon of black burning smoke emerged from the stump where it had been. Using the enormous claw she batted away the paladin and left a corrosive arc of boiling violet negentropy on the floor. As she extended a long, sharp heeled leg to step over it, the massive talon condensed down into a starless void in the shape of Civelia's missing hand. She paused - all of her moves were followed by pauses these days, such a slow and deliberate sequence of gestures, as she assessed and judged if the destruction she had just wrought was sufficiently beautiful.

"Saved you." she repeated. "I do not remember saving you. I did not intend to save anyone. All I intend is destruction and ruination. All I intend is to put out the stars and eat the earth and burn the conceptual framework that gives rise to life. All I intend is to destroy you, interloper, to destroy your world, and to destroy everything that you cherish and desire."

She extends her void hand, intending for it to become her terrible claw once again. It does not. She scowls at it. Civelia. Civelia's influence. Civelia's trap. This was another part of it, no doubt. To attack her heart by poisoning herself. To attack her heart by placing her somewhere she cannot escape without becoming ugly. To attack her heart by shaping it like her own. "I hate you," she said, to her hand, to her claw, to herself, to her nemesis, forgetting for a moment that the interloper was there.

Then she placed that void hand against her chest, and drew forth a heartblade of her own.

It was a brutal thing; a long and heavy kanabō forged of white marble veined with black. It was set through with studded barbs of twisting corruption, lashing out with small connective electrical bolts to every nearby surface. Of course there was lightning - Heron had forced it into her heart too many times for it not to be there. Of course there was marble - the thing could have been carved from a toppled statue of Civelia. Of course it was a bashing weapon, a crude and terrible and absolute thing that no armour or wall would be proof against.

Of course she held it lightly. All that weight that would have snapped a mortal wrist instead being applied perfectly to the point where flesh met shadow.

"You shall fail," announced the Dark Dragon. "You shall all fail. I shall not be trapped here, not least by beauty. For I shall become in war more beautiful than any of you dare imagine."

[TheAmishPirate]

W-what?!

No! There isn’t! There’s not!

He is not!!!

He’s never!

They! Are! In a precarious social standing righ now! They are playing a game of make-believe! They all agreed they were playing make-believe! He hasn’t even seen everybody at the ball oh gosh how many people are even going to be at the ball?! He doesn’t know! So it’s impossible to say, and it would be dishonest to say, and unfair to say, and, he’s not saying, and he wouldn’t say-!

He’s not-!

They’re-!

Oh beans and biscuits, not again

Do you have any idea how hard it is to make his dumb brain shut up whenever he first thinks. Y’know. A girl? And, maybe, one day, one day? Is there something here? Does he want something here? No of course not. But he would say that, wouldn’t he. That’s exactly the sort of thing a twitterpated person in denial would say. So doesn’t that prove that it’s not nothing? Except it’s nothing! There’s nothing! They’ve never indicated even the littlest bit of something, and it’d be way out of line for him to think that way! So obviously, there’s nothing!

Unless…

No! No unless!

Well. Not an unless.

It’s not something either! He just, there’s, it’s, kind of,

Mmmmghhhhhhhhh

(He has an outfit to pick out Eclair hasn’t messaged him back this is not the time)

It’s just. It’s only. Only, mind you?

They were good sluzhankas. Maybe there were more complicated metrics that the Serigalamu used, but they made these last few weeks easier, and that’s good enough in his book. He thought they were both going to be upset about the whole. Y’know. Being captured and forced to obey him bit. But, no, every time Juniper caught them sneaking something into his pack, it turned out to be a little treat and an extra handkerchief. (He could always smell their perfume on it.) And when they got back, there they were, waiting to greet him.

Keli especially. She’s very…huggy. And hair scritchie-y. (And put his head on her lap as a pillowy ha ha ha ha) It was. Nice? It was really nice. Put a little bounce in his step when they saw the tents rising over the last hill. She was always so welcoming, and soft, and yes he knew to keep an eye on his wallet but she tossed out nice words for him so easily and so, sincerely. (“What a clever boy you are, yah? Come here and give me a hug and I’ll give you some scritchies~”) He never got used to it. Sure, she was playing a role, they all were, but she did it so well. Though, yes, she is a performer, it is sort of the point that it should all sound real, it’s not a very good act if no one believes it. Still. Never quite got used to it.

And then Seli. Gosh. Um. Seli.

Sometimes, she looked at him the way Olesya looked at a beast she’s hunting. Do you know how well you have to know a beast to hunt it properly? Because he doesn’t! A few weeks in the wilderness with one of the best was just about enough to show him how much he didn’t know. You have to know your target. From head to toe, inside and out, in ways that he can’t even guess at. So when you have them in your sights, nothing escapes you. You see them. You see everything they are. You see everything they could do. Frankly, they’re already caught. They just don’t know it yet.

Which is to say. Seli.

She’s clever, and she’s quick, and a few weeks with one of the best was just about enough to show him how much he didn’t know. And he did try to keep up! (Most of the time. Some of the time. Don’t ask him for an exact percentage.) But when she looked, like that, he didn’t know what to do with himself or what would happen next or what he was supposed to say or what she was implying, but she never made him feel bad about it. Quite. Um. Quite the contrary. Usually. Gosh. Sometimes it was all he could do to retreat to his tent, flop down, and kick his legs like a goober until he could think straight again. Goodness.

So! Yeah. That’s how it is. With them. And him.

Like he said, there’s nothing.

And he will keep saying it until his brain shuTS UP

[Phoe]

A request for fashion advice, just beyond the beginning of a major ball. A guest of honor who has failed to make their scheduled arrival. A pen pal from Yukisearth offering apologies for his lack of contact since making the journey to Thellamie, owing to a hectic schedule and lack of available free time.

...No, this is not a difficult deduction at all. Rather, it is the sort of puzzle fragment one might offer to a small child to get them interest in the concept of solving mysteries. In fact calling it 'child's play' would be an insult to the games Eclair and Mayzie played as children. A more appropriate comparison then might be a hook dangled with unsecured bait to attempt to entice a particularly depressed fish. Just a nibble, River Queen, and then maybe you will remember the thrill of the chase and the game. Eat and grow strong so you can become a worthy rival once more.

The temptation to ghost is overwhelming.

And........

Yet.

Here she is, clinging to the outside wall of the building, shaping a lockpick out of Light. Curious that magically locked objects should be so much less secure than mundane fastenings, but so it goes. No need to steal a key when the lock for everything fastened in this manner gave way to the same password. It is as though the wizards of the world never bothered to conceive that a powerful or pure soul might think to use that purity to force entry somewhere. Or perhaps they had considered it all too well, and this was actually...

Click.

The Hero of Vespergift lets out a silent sigh from between her black painted lips and slides inside the frame. The window closes behind her without a sound. In front of her an antlered figure awash in Starlight sways nervously to and fro with his eyes focused on an impossible rack of clothing and his foot twisting into the carpet in such a way as to suggest a mind drifting every which way but fashion. She smiles, if only slightly, and aligns her tablet to capture her own face (ever-so-briefly sans mask), two fingers raised in a "V" gesture, and the back of the Golden Faun's head.

This image is the reply that .eclairespoirviolet sends to @cinnamondrumroll. She smirks when she hears the pinging of the tablet in the room. There are moments left to her to rearrange her mask while she waits for recognition to dawn, and to position herself behind him as recognition turns to understanding.

Before he can yelp, before he can call by accident or fright whatever guardians and attendants may be waiting outside, she loops an arm around his neck and presses a single velvet gloved finger to his lips. 'Shhhhhh'.

"You must not speak my name," she whispers, "It would not do for you to imply familiarity with a wanted criminal."

She spins him around, steps back, and curtsies (using the tails of her coat in place of a skirt).

"I apologize for not giving warning; this seemed overall the fastest method. You are having difficulty getting dressed? Then tell me what the problem is. I will help as my meager skills allow."

A single tiny smile steals its way across her face, here and gone in an instant. The only thing that makes it beautiful is the lack of any other emotion or tangle of thoughts to weigh it down.

"I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance, Master Hazel Valentine Fletcher. For the time being you may call me the Mystery Builder. I can spare..."

She pulls a watch out of her pocket and frowns. She replaces it and pulls a pen and a small notebook in its stead.

"Ten minutes of our mutual time. Perhaps fifteen if I knew what this was about. What is a 'Golden Faun' exactly, and why is it important?"

[Tatterdemalion]

Aadya, the Rock Upon a Mountain!

There shouldn't be doubt in your heart at a moment like this. And yet, o daughter of the peaks, and yet.

Curse that Eclair Espoir. Go ahead. You know it will make you feel better, don't you? She did this to you by defeating you, by making your heart race, by making you an inconvenient witness who still knows, deep in her heart, that Eclair must be innocent. And you've gotten nowhere with it.

You've been mocked by peers into silence. Aadya, the meathead. Aadya, who fell for yet another Maid trick. Aadya, sent on a chase she'll never be able to fulfill. And now here you are, without Eclair, standing in front of the greatest challenge of your life. And if I'd come up to you and asked you an hour ago if you and Yuki could fight the Dark Dragon herself, you would have laughed and told me: yes, of course, because we'd both be trying to be the one who lands the final blow! Because together we are unstoppable!

But now your hands are sweaty on the very light of your heart. It's not just your imagination; it's duller than it should be. You hear yourself placing all your hopes on Yuki days ago, and how it hurt her. You are a Paladin of Kel, and you should know better than to hurt the hearts of others. Of innocents. Of your friends.

You do not know if she can win this fight.

You do not know if you can win this fight.

Your mouth is painfully dry.

Civelia, the Light of Civilization, was in the arms of her enemy, and she has fallen, and now is the moment when stories of the clash between good and evil begin anew. Heron will surely be here any minute. But Sayanastia was disguised as Heron. So maybe Heron's not here at all. Maybe she's busy on the other side of Thellamie, tricked into completing a bug collection quest. Maybe it's just you and Yuki, and Yuki's not ready to be a hero, and you are dull and unworthy and all your training failed to make you a woman who could fight Sayanastia in this moment.

You grip your heartglaive and sweep it into the first drill stance.

"I've got this, Yuki," you say, and step in front of her. Only the two of them, Yuki and Sayanastia, can see your fear. Can see that you will fail. But everyone here has seen you try.

---

Olesya!

Your mother pulls you out of the restroom by your arm. You do not struggle. When have you ever?

You've run, certainly. That was encouraged. It is good for the heir to the Khaganate to be comfortable with riding goblin-beasts, to struggle against strange mirror-eyed folk, to become familiar with the ragged edge of stable reality, is it not? And if you happened to ride with a loyal, devoted, beautiful sluzhanka, well. No one can see indiscretions out in the strange places of the Outside, not when you are careful and keep an ear out for travelers drawn to a place with more observed reality than the norm.

You and I both know that you have gone farther with her than is acceptable, and we both know that Juniper wanted you to. Isn't that a funny joke? I think it's funny, that you were trying to show her the delicate balance of mastery and submission, the hierarchy that must be obeyed to bring order and reason to the dreamscapes beyond the Stones, and she was so eager to learn that you ended up somewhere else entirely. You don't need to be afraid of your strength with her. You don't need to speak when it's just the two of you out there, because she understands what you mean and what you need.

"I fixed," you start to say. I think you've done a lovely job given the circumstances. Sure, you could have called on one of the clan's other sluzhankas to do it for you - you should have, in order to demonstrate that you are in command - but you weren't thinking and you half-remember what Juniper's shown you about how to paint your lids, how to fix your mascara, how to touch up your cheeks, and getting that wrong seemed even scarier. In the wild, there's usually only one or two scary things to think about at a time.

Your mother gestures with two fingers, as if cutting a throat, as if wiping away words. Your words all crumple into a heap against your teeth.

"The Dark Dragon has struck down the Goddess," she hisses, eyes bright embers. "Now. You will go and defeat her." She does not explain that this will further make the paladins and the Civils seem toothless, unable to defend Thellamie against the threats that rally against it; she does not tell you that you will be lauded as the defender of the Golden Fawn; she does not even point out that it will solidify support for you as a worthy heir to her throne among the clans. She does not need to. Whether you understand or not, what is important is your obedience.

You want to ask where Juniper is.
You want to ask if she is all right.
You want to explain that you kissed Hazel but then she would ask how it went and if you tell her the truth she'll be angry at you and if you lie she'll be able to tell and she'll be angrier and if she's angry she won't hurt you, her golden child, so easily led astray
You want to run back into the bathroom.
You want to start crying again.
You want to start a fight you cannot win without suffering any of the consequences of losing.

You nod and your bow comes easily to your hand.

[Anarion]

It is not Aadya's fear, but the appearance of the Kanabō that moves Yuki to action. Aadya steps forward first, but she does not step forward alone. After all, Yuki was trained in fencing, and an armed opponent is a very different thing from an unarmed one, even if they are fighting with heavy weapons and not with rapiers.

So Aadya steps forward to strike, and Yuki steps forward and to the side, her tail whipping behind her for balance as she crosses over her feet to slide around Aadya and bring her axe around in an arc designed to push the Kanabō out of the way and lock up the Dark Dragon for Aadya's strike.

Six years ago, this might have worked perfectly. A smaller, faster Yuki would have made it in under the dragon's guard, used the leverage she had from her rush, and a smaller Aadya would have been able to make the maneuver while effortlessly shifting herself to avoid Yuki. Today, this still might have worked if Yuki and Aadya had been in sync with each other and Aadya had been reading her friend's movements. But she had resigned herself and so when Yuki stepped in, it threw her off instead, causing a moment's hesitation and instead leaving Yuki to take the full strength of her second actual physical dragon she's dueled in Thellamie this time.

As she pushes past the stunned Aadya and flings herself at Sayanastia's Kanabō, she has time to only say one thing: "who are you becoming beautiful for?!"

[Figure out a person: 2+2+2=6. Yuki's only question on a miss is "Who do you love?"]

[Thanqol]

"For?"

Sayanastia has never formed a heartblade before. In all the ages of this world, all the battles with Heron, that was a technique she had always left upon the table. A matter of ideology, or pride, or even an aversion to admitting that she had a heart to wield. Stubbornness.

Pointless stubbornness.

Look at all this power.

"It is not for Heron," said Sayanastia, raising her kanabō. The lightning spokes reached out and grasp Aadya, pinning her in her wrists, her hips, her ankles, and lifting her from her feet into the air. There is no need to aim. Sayanastia swings her kanabō with all her might and her opponent is dragged directly into its path at the apex of the strike, with no stone beneath her feet to ground the strike into. Yuki might think that the cumulative effect is akin to a cricketeer striking a ball thrown her way. "No, not her. She has seen me at my worst too many times. My worst and my greatest - she has seen me devouring the sun, and has seen the last of my lifeblood ooze away into the mud. I have nothing to say to her, and she evidently has nothing to say to me."

"Nor is it for Civelia," Sayanastia continues thoughtfully. There is a profound experience to how she speaks and fights at the same time, timing each motion to ensure she never needs to hurry her words or her thoughts. She raises the kanabō and slashing arcs of electricity strike out to snatch Olesya's arrows from the air. One by one they whirl around behind Sayanastia, orbiting behind her head while still aglow with toxic violet light, until they begin to burn together into a wicked halo. "She will not see any of this. She may hear about it later, perhaps decades later when she reincarnates. And will she be impressed then? I doubt it - no more than she is already." The halo shatters and the full spread of arrows blasts back towards Olesya, screaming with the shattering might of the void.

"Nor is it for you," she said, turning her lidded eyes to Yuki. What a terrible thing, to have the full attention of a being like this. Your axe crashes against her club to no effect; it is as solid as the bones of a cathedral, and again and again she orients her wrist so that all the shock of impacts falls upon that dragon's claw rendered into the shape of a hand. "As I said, I intend only your destruction."

She caught her warclub half way with her second hand, and with a shift of pose and stance it seems to now be a sorcerer's staff. A violet orb emerges from the tip, glowing like an eye - and then it discharges a catastrophic blast of lightning. Lightning, lightning, lightning. She could not get away from it, could not deny it - this was her Heartblade and its presence spoke undeniable truth. And the truth of her heart was simply this:

"I am becoming beautiful for beauty's sake," she said to herself in the aftershock, almost inaudible over the ringing thunder in the air. "Heron is not always beautiful. Some of our battles were clumsy, amateurish things, disasters of scroll and potion and hours of sweat and blood. But sometimes, the way she fought me - the way she moved, the speed, the precision - where my defeat was not only inevitable but incidental, where failure was measured not in blood but in seconds."

She hefted her kanabō over her shoulder, resting both of her arms atop it, looking around the room for what challengers remained. "She was fighting for something more pure than love. More pure than hate. More pure than the defense of the world. More pure than its destruction. I see what it was now, and once you have seen it, how could you not love it? How could you not want to chase it? And my pride," she runs her fingers along the sharp square lines of her club sensually, "was but the first obstacle the pursuit shall cost me."

[TheAmishPirate]

Ping!

The tablet. The tablet! On the chair. Out of reach. Where he put it down. One and two and stop! And, and, grip, and, go. Past the lock screen. (First try. No hesitation.) Hold it close. Messages. Eclair!

A…photo? What was…

Oh. She didn’t-!

(Alas. A world so narrowed could never dream this was only the first surprise. A boy stands utterly defenseless, and the coup de grace falls.)

The sound that fizzles against her finger is startle and jolt and blooming delight. The ear her breath tickles can’t decide whether to shoot stock-still or wiggle itself silly. She spins him, and his eyes can’t keep up, and his ears can’t keep up, and his thoughts can’t keep up, and the face he greets her with shines brighter than any starlight. Here, or anywhere.

Eclair Espoir. The Violet Flash. Currently the Mystery Builder. A hero of Thellamie.

Wow.

(And the world has a solid bit of ground to stand on. A familiar bit of ground. A place of peace and safety, built over many nights reading impossible letters, and feeling the words inside of him bubble up until he had to spill them out in a letter of his own that was much too enthusiastic. A fact which he could only seem to discover the following day, and yet never managed to stop her from writing back.

He’s not out of it yet. But now there’s hope. Just a bit.)

Right. That’s enough fretting and moping about. A bit late is better than sniffing out the nearest service entrance and spending the rest of his life as a gremlin living in the backroom rafters. (That wasn’t actually his Plan B. Just a goof. Not important.) There’s a ball to attend and an outfit to pick. Focus up, Hazel. It’s time to get stuff done.

……………………………………………………..excuse me Miss Mystery Builder could you? Repeat that?

No. No, hrm. He did hear her properly. Probably? Probably.

Wait, no, what is he doing? Of course she might not know everything. Maybe very few people know everything. He has been spending a lot of time in very Golden Faun-centric places recently. Bit of a biased perspective there. And besides, shouldn’t a detective make sure she has all the facts straight? Something like that. Anyway, point being, there’s no reason to make a fuss, they’ve only got ten to fifteen minutes, better stick to the short version.

“Right! Yes, okay, so: I’m the Golden Faun. Not the one from the older Heron stories, but a new one. Civelia was,” too long! Cut it! “Well, no, sorry, long story short, the stars gave a prophecy that whoever will,” and he knows this bit by heart. There’s even a ring of raven in his voice as he repeats, “‘Claim him! Tame him! Prove that he is yours!’ - will be the next Queen of Light. Then they made my antlers start glowing, and, then everyone started hunting me. Only, a lot of them didn’t care who or what they had to go through to get me. So Civelia gave me this amulet,” and he produces the miraculous thing from around his neck. It has never left his person, not once. “Which let me decide what the contests to win me were going to be, and I decided a ball was much more orderly than a hunt burning down half of Thellamie.”

You know, when he puts it like that, it’s almost like the last few weeks have been a bit wild, huh?

Ah well. One foot in front of the other, Hazel.

“The problem is. Um. This…is the outfit they picked out for me.” Oh. Oh right. The outfit. The outfit for him. The outfit chosen specially for him. His outfit, which he is wearing, in front of Eclair. And has been wearing this whole time. Maybe it isn’t too late to pursue a career in rafter goblin-ing after all? “And. It’s. Nice of them to do so, but, I don’t, I don’t think it really suits me.” (Everybody is going to laugh at him. There’s going to be a long, long pause where everyone is waiting for someone else to ask for the first dance. They will sit with him, and it will be out of obligation, and it will be to make sure their enemies don’t get him first.) “Which is fine! But, there’s so many options, I don’t know what to pick instead, and, I think they said I was on in two minutes, and I’m pretty sure it’s been more than two minutes. So. I wanted to see if you had any ideas? If that’s okay?”

A pause. A breath. A clap of the hands together.

“Oh, and: It’s really good to finally meet you too, Mystery Builder.” No goofs. No winks. Eclair is working in deep cover (what was that about a wanted criminal?) and he knows what’s up. Her secrets are safe with him, no worries.

[Phoe]

Queen of Light ceremony recently held with fractured results. Second Yukisworld visitor Hazel Valentine Fletcher (friend, correspondent) confirmed Child of Prophecy. Yukisworld residents remain at 1:1 invitation to starlight ratio. Curious property, should attempt to make the crossing in the other direction to study their civilization in greater detail.

Regardless, subject involved in caravan wreck of a marriage proposal situation. Appears to have no idea of his circumstances. No cause for alarm. Subject is fully capable of grasping the shape of his own heart once he comes to know and understand love. Without knowing the full list of marriageable candidates it is impossible to speculate on the exact future of the world, but given the target there is no reason to suspect the eventual fiancée will be anyone who could persist in remaining a high class threat after claiming their prize. Will be rooting for him, but other matters retain investigative priority.

Mystery Rank: E-

"Aha. Ravens and Starlight. Well. That is rather... stereotypically Thellamie, is it not? And you say the Goddess gave you an amulet? Was this pre or post her attempted assassination?"

She frowns for a moment, not from any sort of displeasure but in a fussy, lost in thought kind of way. With a shrug, she blows her ink dry and flips her notebook shut. She leans against the back of a chair and taps her chin in deep contemplation. Her eyes rake up and down Hazel's form and the way he carries himself when he knows he's being watched, lingering extra long on the horn-tinsel.

Then she is in motion, taking his head gently between her fingers and tilting it this way and that to see it in different lighting, sweeping her hands across his neck, his shoulders, lifting one of his arms and pressing her fingertips against his knuckles. She tugs on his cape and examines the fabric with the same kind of seriousness to her expression she might have if she were fighting a rogue Paladin or a bandit of some kind.

"They have dressed you in a joke. I see no point in... this," she picks at the thing masquerading as a shirt with complete disdain, "Other than as an attempt to fluster you. I suppose your attendants find that sort of behavior attractive? Well that's as may be, but this is still a dereliction of duty. Shameful."

She disappears among the racks of clothing. Her progress is only traceable by a few vague "hmms" and the occasional clack of a hangar or sudden shift of an item when her browsing becomes more hands-on. One unnervingly silent minute later, she returns with an armful of clothing in her arms, and a pair of boots balanced precariously on her tail.

"I must apologize for this," she says with the tiniest dip of her head, "I do not know a better or faster way. And as you so clearly indicated, this is an emergency."

One step, two steps, three. Toss unassembled outfit into the air above target's head. Pounce. Sweep leg and press opposite shoulder, unbalance. Catch under waist before he hits the floor. Use momentum to spin target up and around. Lift, throw. Leap after. Touch. Touch. Touch. Palm on left shoulder blade. Right. Lower back. Left knee. Right. Ankles, opposite order. Grapple around waist with legs and use own hips to reverse momentum.

Land. Adjust bearing, rotate target thirty seven degrees to face mirror. Knock out knees and push gently downwards on shoulders to encourage sitting position.

"There is a name for this technique, but I have never learned it. The Order of the Aurora uses it to dress unruly children, but I have... shall we say 'adapted' it for combat purposes. It has been an interesting experience to reapply the technique toward its somewhat intended purpose."

Hazel has been undress. Hazel has also been redressed. Each individual piece happened faster than blinking, without exposure and without a hand appearing anywhere near anything sensitive or unwanted. Other than perhaps the actual weight of the strikes themselves. In any event, she has him in a stately white silk dress with a modest cut that exposes part of the collarbone but nothing more. The skirt is pleated but plain, a simple a-line to flatter any body frame, and ends at the lower part of the thigh, where loose, cream colored trousers take over the duty. Eclair bends for a moment to better tuck them into a pair of a pair of slender boots with the same brown color as an ancient tree's bark, narrow around the toes without pinching and sporting a raised heel with a wide and flat base. A beginner's fashion boot from top to bottom, balancing the need for easy walking and dancing with the necessary adjustments to posture and the stately movements of the leg and torso that a deer is meant to have.

She clips a bangle that she missed around his left wrist, slipping underneath the flowing, loose sleeve of the dress to lock the silver band and its leaf-like spiral of sapphires and diamonds into place. She pops up to check that the matching earrings are securely in place, and then fastens a golden necklace made of chunky, flat plates of the shimmering precious metal around his neck so that it covers most of what the dress' neckline exposed with something regal and (tastefully) flashy.

"I have to say, I admire your boldness in setting these challenges. I was under the impression from your letters that you were more... shall we say, shy about these things? I suppose starlight makes Herons of everyone it touches. Each in their own way of course, I found Lady Yuki Edogawa much the same. Still though, I am desperately curious: have you given much thought into what you are looking for in a wife? Or is the romance of the notion that you should discover your own tastes alongside theirs?"

Eclair descends upon Hazel again, though more gently this time. With an array of brushes. With careful art she pulls his cheekbones into view, paints his lips the lightest, softest pink (plausibly their natural color, but fuller and less easy to dismiss. all the better to make a pretty smile out of the goofiest heart. or hart), and dusts a blemish on his neck into oblivion. She paints around his eyes, lines of cobalt and lines of gold, and curls his lashes until they stand kingly and beautiful against the colors. At last she slips behind him again and takes to brushing his hair, every stroke adding luster and softness to an untended mop abused by tinsel.

"There. You are, in my opinion, stunning. But if you are unsatisfied you need only say so, and we shall do battle once again."

[Tatterdemalion]

Olesya!

You were twelve when you wrestled with a Fallen Star.

You did not know back then. You knew nothing of what your mother had touched in her hubris, in her pride, in her glory. All you knew is that the sluzhanka was hot. Painfully hot. Feverish, sweating, wild-eyed. She laughed and gloried in the struggle, your strength against hers, and in the shattering of furniture, the breaking of porcelain, the tearing of rugs. And when you cried out to your mother, she sipped her tea and watched. You knew then that you would have to be strong or that you would perish.

And you won. You brought that burning woman to her knees in a headlock until her thrashing stopped, and then she granted you a token of victory: a red word.

Your arrows have proven useless. The wolf arrow, the fox arrow; the heartseeker, the howler, the birdcatcher. All spin around the head of this dragon from before the world's birth. These are secrets that your mother passed down to you, weapons proof against the half-real creatures that you hunt. And each has failed.

Juniper.

This event is in distinct risk of being canceled. Your vision narrows with the certainty of horror. If you cannot win Hazel's heart to your mother's satisfaction, you will not be the one who is punished. Will you be allowed to see her again? Will you be blamed for the failure of your quiver? Told that you should have wanted it more? Should have felt more? Should have let your fury roar?

And Hazel is not here. There is no risk of him becoming afraid. Juniper is not here. There is no risk of her disapproval. Your mother is here, and she is prepared to step in if you cannot do what is needful. You know that like you know the beat of your own heart.

It beats faster.

You draw the string of your heart's bow, and you feel. You dredge the red word from inside yourself. Light bleeds from you in banners, in pennants, in fire. A word which no one should have hidden in their hearts. You are so calm, so gentle- does not Hazel think so? Because you are strong. Because you felt bones give way under your palm, then. Because you have a red word in your heart.

"-MIAOUQASTRA-"

Somewhere in the ballroom, a child screams. You screamed then, too.

For a moment, your light spans wall to wall.

For a moment, you feel nothing. Because Juniper is not here.

---

Sayanastia!

The really funny part is that Civelia would have had a fit.

She would have summoned a shield to make Kalentia positively pink with jealousy, one designed to let that furious howling wrath dissipate down countless labyrinthine grooves in its face, one which would accept the poisonous anger of Demon Queen Miaou and envelop it within smothering acceptance of eternity.

Firing this thing, in here? In here? After all the repairs? It would have blown through the walls of the whole block. The shockwave would have knocked down everyone in the building. Blown out all the windows. Knocked down some door or other and revealed Hazel in a compromising position with a wanted fugitive. Only--

Only, it is focused on you, instead. And the raging light of the Hell Star enters into you like a meteor striking the sea. Light which defines. Light which says Be. A weapon which could blow open the very walls of Vespergift, in the hands of a panicking child, instead disappears into your depths and forces your power to turn inward likewise. In that moment, you are solid, connected, present, forced to reckon with existence and its weight, as the howl of an imprisoned queen at the very roots of the world resounds within you, every inch, from your brow to your fingertips to the lashing end of your tail.

And that's when Aria Thendragon lands a right hook on your jaw.

---

Yuki Edogawa!

Aria Thendragon stands victorious over her reincarnated self. Simulated lungs wheeze. Her teeth are bared in challenge. The leaves of her false corsage sway in no wind. There is a terrible silence, punctuated only by hyperventilation and sniffles and, from Purnima, complaints about how she just got wine on her dress.

Then Aria grins, and for a moment she has the charisma that caused Thellamie to bow to her, once upon a time.

"Friends, I may have been an evil queen," she says, holding her arms out. Showboating. "I may have conquered, fought wars, made cursed blades, and been brought low by Heron. But damn it all, I can't just sit by and let this faker ruin our party! We're here to dance, aren't we? We're here to see a pretty boy, aren't we? And we're here for Thellamie, aren't we?"

The tension breaks. There's applause - for a dead tyrant. There's cheering - for the woman who stepped up and defused the situation. There's whistling - for the pawn of a tree. In a moment like this, after terror and fear and confusion, there is a desperate need to cling to the first relief that makes itself known.

"Now, I'll go down and have a look at Civvy, and my old enemies the Paladins will see to it that this shabby has-been won't bother us any more! Everyone else - let's drink! Let's feast! And let's tell Hazel Valentine Fletcher that we want him to come! out!"

The chant starts, even as Aria pushes past you and Aadya. This close, you can tell: that may have been her charisma, but it wasn't her speech. There's still honey clinging to her, honey and rot.

And up on a balcony, a huntress slumps to her knees in defeat. She may have made a reckless, awful shot-

But she never would have had the words.

[Thanqol]

Sayanastia!

When you have personally created so many world-destroying threats that you lost track of them centuries ago, it would be profoundly inelegant to begrudge one of them from punching you out. Absolute dunce move to go to your grave screaming about fakers and inferior copies.

After all, it wasn't like she could remember why she had poisoned Civelia and was returning to evil in the first place. That was just the sort of thing you had to take on faith when you were the Dark Dragon and had shattered your mind into a thousand jagged shards and sent them forth to destroy. To stop and tell everyone 'wait a minute, let us be reasonable about this' would be just as insufferably basic a move as getting in the way of a part of you who clearly knew more than you what was going on and had a speech loaded and ready to go.

The fact that she didn't actually have the power to stop Aria, even with her new Heartblade, was not especially relevant. The point was that it would have been gauche to even make the attempt.

Cair!

The best thing about this situation was that '#1 Dark Dragon Fan!' gear adapted so easily into '#1 Aria Thendragon Fan!' gear.

This wasn't the time to try anything. This was the time to put on the uniform of the winning team and go stand obediently in line behind the Rot Star. She'd been here before, a logistics officer in the ranks the last time Aria had made a go of it. That was the way to live in this world of gods and demons. Sure she might flip back later, but she was guaranteed to put up a decent fight for the cause first.

[Anarion]

Yuki's first action does not, perhaps, win her any fans in the ball. Indeed it is possible, in her vastness, that the dark dragon may not even notice what happens after she takes the punch, being entirely inward focused from the combination of the shot and the punch.

But, the fact of the matter is that until Aria waded in, it was still Yuki and Aadya at the front, Yuki who had pounced in through the lightning in a flash of silver. So it was Yuki who caught the falling Sayanastia and lowered her gently to the floor as her great heartclub vanished, a tiny metallic gleam beneath the great height of that darkness that made her shine all the brighter, and at her neck a purple amethyst that almost glowed with Sayanatia's dark light. If you asked in that moment, Yuki couldn't quite tell you why she'd reacted that way. Just that...Sayanastia would have wanted it and that she deserved to be placed with a tender beauty and not in any way that could be described as "slugged out."

After that...well after that attention has shifted, and so her hand is on Aadya's shoulder. "Aadya...you were incredible" she says, and she her other hand is helping her friend to stand. Not because she asked, no no Aadya needs no help whatsoever. But because they are friends, Yuki does it anyway, giving Aadya an extra lift. Because she matters, because she deserves the attention, because two knights should always do that for one another. And then they are both at Civelia's side and Yuki's hand is upon her forehead to...feel if she has a fever? Okay this is stupid, do goddesses even get fevers? Is she tipping her hand to everyone present that she's a total fraud as a knight? There's probably some kind of paladin protocol for how you handle this kind of thing that she doesn't know and nobody ever bothered to mention. But she's still touching Civelia's forehead and inspecting her because...because she needs to help and that's all there is to it. She needs to help and everyone else is starting to party and drink and whoever put those words in Aria's mouth got things exactly right and...and...and Yuki's hand is holding Civelia's just like Aadya had held hers earlier when she had been drowning in Walking Elm's poison.

"Goddess...goddess Civelia" she says "I am here for you. Though I...may be bereft of Starlight...I am here." And though there is no starlight, yet there is a silver gleam and glitter with no magic whatsoever falls from her dress and glimmers on the goddess' hand.

[TheAmishPirate]

“Somebody tried to assassinate Civelia?!”

(See? See how easy it is for someone not to know everything? Good call not making a fuss about it.)

“Sorry, I don’t know. This is the first I’m hearing about it. If I had to guess…” Think. Think. Think! “This is just an estimate, so take it with a grain of salt, but: The prophecy happened at the end of the Festival of Lights. I got the amulet…oh! Oh, it was when the Chrysanthemum was attacked. I don’t know what day that was exactly, but somebody here ought to. So Civelia must have made it sometime between then, probably a little closer to after the festival, if you count in travel time?”

Civelia. Attacked. Almost assassinated. He didn’t even know they had assassinations in Thellamie. There’s stories of older wars, older troubles, but nowadays? When the world is more solid, and heartblades are always close to hand? “I hope she’s doing okay,” he offers, woefully inadequate for the happenings at hand, but it’s the best he can do. “I mean, I hope she’s not hurt now, and that she didn’t have to reincarnate.” Frown. “If reincarnating is a bad thing for her?”

Further musings on the difficulties of the divine are stifled by Investigation. It’s a lot of work, don’t you know, to try and offer as little resistance as possible to the knight posing you without going so limp you fall out of place. Also not to flinch too much or yelp too loudly. (But some yelping is good. Feels right for it.) Where’s that line, exactly? Don’t ask him, he’s busy. With. Stuff.

In time, the whirlwind of Mystery moves on to descend upon the clothing racks. Leaving him in bedraggled silence before he can comment.

Good. He wasn’t quite sure what to say anyway.

A joke. Hrm.

It makes sense, given…well, Keli and Seli. Though, the timing. Could have been better. This is a…difficult moment. For him. (Though it is flattering that they might have liked his fluster.) They didn’t make him go out like this. They did offer to change him, and he never bothered to ask for help with deciding. Maybe they would’ve helped. Maybe he should’ve at least tried. So, ngh, is it fair? To be mad? What should he say to them? When you dressed me all silly, that made me feel embarrassed and anxious. Please provide a more obvious off-ramp next time. Or, no, next time he’ll ask them directly? He was a little indirect here. He could’ve communicated that better. But! He still needs to- hrm?

“Oh, no worries, you’re being a big heLP-!”

Oh hey. That’s the ceiling.

Neat.

“-whOoP-!”

Oh dear oh gosh oh heavens that’s the floor that’s upside-down augh he always hated rollercoasters ohhhhhhhhhhhnonononowaitwhatwhoa

Freeze. It’s the first thought. It’s the best thought. He’s trying.

“Hap! Bup! Bap! Dwegh!”

It’s not working? It’s working? His arm goes there now. His legs over here. His back bends like this. Freeze. Roll with it.

“Eep?!”

The noises are automatic. They’re his best noises. He’s had a lot of practice, you see.

“Mrp-!”

Breathe. Blink. Breathe.

The mirror blinks back.

The mirror. Blinks back.

“Wh….wha….”

The noises are gone now.

Hazel’s head darts down, and finds the trousers, the boots, the flowing sleeves, Eclair clipping a jewelry to his wrist, the skirt, the dress, the skirt, the dress, the skirt, the dress. Here. On his body. Close to his body. Closer than any t-shirt ever was. Farther than the uniform of Cafe Le Faun. But not too far. The soft material glides lovely over his skin. The boots wrap snug around his calves, binding him into shape and space with a firm hug.

In the mirror, an arm rises, lifting a trail of waving white behind it. (He doesn’t think to move a touch slower. His fingers uncurl, with grace, because this is an outfit for moving more gracefully in, isn’t it? Like the first time he wore a suit, posing in the mirror, hearing the clomp-clomp of his fancy shoes as he walked, smooth as silk. It’s just the sort of thing you do in an outfit like this.) The earrings sway and jingle at his tapping finger, silver against silver. Not a wince of pain. His ears are pierced. Dangle, sway, jingle.

The skirt. The dress.

The mirror stares back.

“A…bit of thought, yes.” He answers, in time. He’s been asked a question after all. “But never as a part of the contests, no.” He answers, without any of the panic or nerves that had crippled him. His voice is small. Soft. Fragile. “The prophecy never mentioned marriage. I had never thought it would go that far.” He answers, with a blade against his skin. The clothes were a surprise. The makeup is not. “I think…love ought to be discovered, and grown, together. I don’t think it ought to be forced.” He answers, carefully. He dares not move. He speaks only when it is safe. “I’m happy to help Thellamie get a good Queen. Whatever ‘taming and claiming’ looks like, for everyone, I’ll be the best Golden Fawn I can be. But a good Queen shouldn’t get disqualified just because she doesn’t want to marry…me…”

The work is finished.

Hazel gasps.

Against all odds and sense, the mirror gasps back.

A lot of words happen. Supposedly. He’s making noises, this cannot be denied. Not his best noises though. Not a lot of practice with these ones. Whatever they are. He’s trying his very hardest to put them into words, only, there’s no words that fit right, he has to keep starting over, but there’s something in his head and in his heart that’s started short-circuiting every time he looks at himself again. This final gift of brushies - soothing, gentle, running long and slow over his silly head - keeps him from bursting, but only just. Words are hard, as it turns out. It might take a letter to get them sort of a little right. But he works in a “thank you,” several times too many. “Wow” is a faithful companion. And hiding amongst them, on small and wobbly legs, there ventures out a “I didn’t know…”

Until a growing chant from outside sends it scurrying away. Hazel rises to his feet, looking to the door.

“Oh. Dear. I should get out there…”

Mystery Builder!

He is terrified to get out there.

He’ll do it, mind you. You know him. When there’s a job he’s got to do, Hazel Valentine Fletcher will see that it’s done. But in all the relief of not having wars fought over him, he never imagined this moment. Not really. He thought of stepping out in a spiffy suit, he thought of attending fancy dinners, he thought of doing silly dances at weddings with a crowd of loved ones around him, and when he put all of those together a ball seemed totally doable.

Now there are crowds cheering for his entrance. Now there are going to be the most eligible ladies in all of Thellamie waiting to see him. Now he is pretty, and he’s never been pretty before, and you know he thinks he’s pretty, but he doesn’t know if anyone else will. Perhaps Hazel Valentine Fletcher has done something wrong, and he won’t know it until the eyes of Thellamie are upon him.

He’ll do it, mind you. You know him. He’ll do his very best, even as fear carves through his heart.

But you’re here too.

He’d never think to ask, mind you. You may know him enough to tell. You’ve helped him so much, and he’s done so little for you. How could he ask for more?

But you’re here too. Sharp. Masterful. Hero to this city, and this boy. That’s quite a bit to work with, don’t you think?

Do you take him by the arm, and present him to the crowd? Do you set some plan in motion with the Aestivali scoundrels waiting outside? The loyal staff of the Chrysanthemum?

How do you shape the entrance of the Golden Fawn?

[Phoe]

"I have two... no. One piece of advice and one selfish request, Master Hazel Valentine Fletcher. In the first place if I have earned any thanks at all for my contributions to your night, small though they have been, I would ask you to inquire about Eclair Espoir. It does not need to be tonight. You do not need to tell me what you learn. Merely ask about the name, to one someone or to many. Or about the Order of the Aurora, if you prefer. I request that you ask. And then do with that information what you will."

Final touches, final checks. The Mystery Builder takes Hazel by the hand and lifts him to his feet with uncommon strength and ease. She frowns a moment thereafter. Deep thinking, and nothing more.

She leads him in silence through the hallways, toward the ever louder chanting that calls for his appearance. She walks on confident and steady feet with her back straight and proud, the way a hero should be. She links her arm in his and holds him steady. There are no grand tricks at play here; she had no time for coordination and no particular taste for the kind of looping schemes that someone like Timtam would have favored. Her comfort is merely the presence of a friend, and an inevitable march that does not give Hazel time to hesitate or spiral into misery.

There are flashes of smiles from the staff of The Chrysanthemum as they push the doors open. The Mystery Builder leads the Golden Faun into the ballroom without a word of commentary and without stopping. Through the crowds, and does not stop. Past the suitors, and does not stop. All the way to the dance floor and then through the center, closer to where the band is set to play.

And she raises her arm toward the ceiling, and turns to pass it over the entire crowd in attendance.

"I have brought you what you wished for, Party Goers and Good People of Vespergift!" her voice feels almost mystically powerful, "I claim as payment the right of first dance! To those of you who flatter yourselves candidates for the Queen of Light: do not dare embarrass yourselves by performing worse than my example."

She gestures for music. She flashes the smallest of smirks to Hazel, and pulls him close against her body. Their dance is something like a waltz: slow and easy to follow along to, if he follows her lead. And close enough for quiet words to not be heard by any ears but his, at least overtop of the music playing so jubilantly and so close by.

"I told you I have advice. It is this: Love is all that can save you, Sir. You stand at the center of a trial for dolts and thugs who heard the call to Thellamie's highest and most sacred station and immediately assumed that pulling Crevas apart at the foundations was a suitable path forward, and so you will never be out of danger so long as you are in this world.

"But somewhere among that lot are one or several girls who might, if you let them, plant a blossom in your heart that will flower into something truly special. These facts are all that you can trust: that you are capable of loving. That you are worthy of being loved. And that no Queen of Light will ever guide Thellamie who is not capable of loving you.

"Civellia and her pendant cannot save you. But you are a hero chosen by Starlight, Hazel Valentine Fletcher. So that is the path I suggest you walk. Set your challenges so that you may come to know each of these silly girls. Let your heart connect with theirs. You do not need to force anything. You do not need to worry about what ending this may all come to. Simply trust in Love, and let it save you. When you are claimed..."

She places two fingers on his neck and for a fleeting instant where they pass Hazel can feel the weight of a collar against his skin. Though of course this is a phantom sensation, invisible to all but him.

"Tamed..."

She takes him by the back of the neck and dips him low enough to brush his hair against the dance floor. Her arm is strong enough to suspend him in place, just on the edge of danger, without even seeming to tense or tremble. She pulls him back up and spins him close.

"When you can prove that you are hers..."

She mimes placing a ring on his finger. And again, though there is nothing there he can feel it. The weight of the band. The cool kiss of metal. The squeeze of something wrapped tight around him. And then it all vanishes into butterflies.

"You will understand. Goodbye for now, Hazel Valentine Fletcher. And good luck."

She offers him a deep, flourishing bow and steps backward. With a flash of her cape, her job here is finished. She vanishes into the crowd, to seek her own advice.

[Tatterdemalion]

Handmaidens!

Aria Thendragon was a proud woman in her day. Her glory burned so, so brightly, as bright as the thousands of candles that lit her halls. Prior to her war with Heron, she had been a queen, she had ruled the Avel and the Kel with false justice, and she had built castle after castle across Thellamie. There was no reason for her not to be proud, even in that disguise. Perhaps she even forgot, sometimes, that she was ruling in order to undermine the reality of Thellamie and ultimately plunge it back into dissolution and slumbering dragons.

To have that taken away from her by some Mystery Heroine absconding with the spotlight? That would be difficult enough for her to bear even if she did not have the bitter spite of a Fallen Star oozing like sludge in her veins.

"Minion," she growls at Cair, staring down balefully at Hazel Valentine Fletcher, "with me. I must prepare panoply."

Let some other blushing maiden take the lead! She must be dressposted. You know what's popular these days, right? You're in the fashion group chats, probably.

---

Yuki!

Civelia lies in state down in one of the saunas, commandeered for purpose by the Civils. Her chest rises and falls shallowly, and dark veins run through her marble skin. Her eyes are closed and her lips are parted ever-so-slightly. There is an uncomfortable voyeurism to seeing her like this, isn't there? To see how almost peaceful she is.

Outside, Paladins, big and burly and quiet to hide how much they're fretting. (Aadya got you through, and is grilling them over what went down.) Inside, a Civil herbalist fusses with the coals in the center of the sauna, finding just the right herbs and incenses to burn--

No, she's tossed some on the coals and looms over you now. "Miss," she says, politely, "the goddess needs her rest. We'll have her right as rain soon enough."

The word rain left her mouth like a sigh. An orange curl hangs, a little messy, a little bouncy, out of her habit. Steam mists up from the coals, sweet and warm and tingling against the skin.

"...but I must admit that I am curious. What does the goddess mean to you, Miss Edogawa?"

---

Hazel!

Your eyes meet. How could they not?

Hers are dark and ringed with kohl, but there is a fire inside them. Princess Sulochana of Crevas drinks you in, and a dark color rises to her olive cheeks. She is still, her tassels and bangles at rest as she savors the moment of looking upon you, of how you look in this moment, and there is no one else, just the two of you. Just here. Just now.

Which is why you are not prepared for being swept up into the arms and bosom of Purnima Karn-Pana. Her perfume hits like a wagon. Her powerful midriff also hits like a wagon. Her smugness also hits like a wagon. The world is suddenly cut off by the waves of her dark hair.

"It won't be hard to avoid a worse performance! Ballrooms, bah- everyone knows that it's Crevas who knows how to dance properly!" Her belly undulates against you, as she scoops you up--

And then you are aware of a second Nagi pressed up against your back. "We should be dancing in order of rank," the Princess Sulochana says, grabbing your wrist possessively. Her forehead is already pressed against Purnima's in a dominance display. Your feet are off the ground, but don't worry: you are in no danger of falling. Not with Purnima in front of you and Sulochana behind.

Just like the fantasies you have never dared to write down, Cutie~

---

Eclair Espoir!

And the Nagi have already swallowed him up in their coils. Tsk, tsk. And after you tried so hard.

Ah, and here's Mayzie bustling up with two flutes of lavender champagne in her hands, beaming so hard that it's a wonder her head doesn't fall off. "That was- you- incredible," she enthuses, pressing one flute into your hands, her eyes sparkling with The Emotion That Dare Not Speak Its Name.

You can take a String on her if you linger here, in this moment, with her. With the champagne. With the adoration of the party.

But.

But but but.

Somewhere, ever so faintly, in the air, beyond the squabbling Nagi and the lavender hitting your nose and the color in Mayzie's cheeks as she sips an expensive vintage, diluted by distance to the degree that it takes time to convince yourself that it is not a trick of nostalgia...

Someone, close by, is burning the Goodnight Special. Designed to lull Morning, Noon and Evening into a pleasant half-slumber when they are too close to waking. Designed to lull exhausted members of the Order into the sweetest dreams. An expensive and secret blend. Not the sort of thing to be found here...

[Phoe]

"Mayzie, I..."

Force eyes closed. Force deep breath. Force slow sip of champagne. Force tasting notes: the dry elixir, the floral burst, the bubbles popping against the tongue. Swallow, delicately. Force exhalation. Force eyes open, meet her gaze.

"The first time we knew each other, I fell in love with you. It was a child's love, and I was such a coward that I could not express even that. But I have been lucky enough to get to know you a second time and I, I do feel a flame stir within me again."

Stupid. This is stupid. This is the least romantic confession in the history of Thellamie. And every moment spent on this inevitable rejection carries me farther away from the inflection point where my decisions buy me time to act. But I. But I!

What is a Maid-Knight's duty if it is not this?

"I am terrified. I have thought and I have gathered all the evidence I could, but I cannot pierce this mystery. I don't... know what it is you wish for. And so I cannot grant it. I don't know if you would ask me to go, and not return. I don't know if you would ask me to set aside my colors and my mission and remain at your side instead. I don't know what would become of me in either case. I do not know. I simply do not know what to do."

Clench empty hand tight at side. Feel heat rising in cheeks. Drain glass to shut self up, forget to savor. Regret instantly. What happened the last time you drank with her, you idiot?

"...At the end of the night I am going to ask you again. If you will let me. Whether there is a path that we can walk together, and whether that path stays still or chases the horizon. I believe in the vows that I took, and the colors that I normally wear. But I know that I am not unique or special in that regard. It does not need to be me. Except tonight, it does.

"There are faint traces in the air of an incense both exclusively used and developed by the Order of the Aurora. It has powerful soporific effects, though it is not inherently dangerous. Only, all members of the Order have returned to the Manor. It can only have been lit with ill intent. And there is another question eating at the edges of my mind, about why my face is on wanted posters. What is the act that they say that I committed? What is the point of manipulating all the actors thus? Something dangerous is happening beyond the lights of this party, Mayzie."

Reach forward, cut self off. Set glass on ground instead. Grasp wrist with opposite arm and squeeze. Turn away.

"I am going. I will return, and I will do whatever you ask of me after. I will pay any price. I will make any recompense. But I cannot live with myself if, knowing what I know, I allow anyone here tonight to come to harm. And I... believe. That if you believe me, you would not forgive me either."

The first step. The second step. The third. I have spent so much time on this childish need to be understood and loved that I may have cost myself my window. But I must act. I must.

I have to know.

[Thanqol]

Cair!

Low and slow and filthy, like a tar fire on a mudslide.
"I've held the needle that punched the stars
I've fought the Hero - and still got the scars
I was there when the Dragon bit the black
And tonight, girls, the Dragon's biting back!"

Cair slouches through the shadows like an industrial accident; like the Pinkertons covering up the industrial accident; like the first sludge-covered bicycle spat up by the Mississippi over the crest of the levee. The white frills of her black handmaiden's dress flare with shining magnesium brown into the shape of wireframe wings.

You didn't get gigs like this if you didn't do 'em right.

"It sure ain't blood that runs through her veins
And no collar's ever clean from lipstick stains
No heart's ever clean that's felt her falling leaves
And no back's ever clean from the footprints she leaves~"

It's all about the shoes. Every other piece of clothing is snipped and slashed and carved away, but the rhythm and flow of the words turned it from undressing Aria to revealing her. Every act of violence inflicted upon her clothing was just as much a part of her new outfit as the clothes had been. This was just what happened to clothes in the presence of the Rot Star; it took a certain gravitas to wear a dress made of destruction.

Sometimes fashion needed dress, belts, frills, skirts, garters, swords, umbrellas, and five hundred knives. But sometimes all you needed was a single pair of shoes.

"Did you ever get tired of waiting your turn?
Did you eulogize the bridges you burned?
Nine million moves and all of them wrong
Take all the time you need, but don't take too long~"

Shoes. There were many angles high heels could take - a lazy diagonal, a sharp downwards plunge, but these needed to look as uncomfortable and threatening as the Rot Star herself. So not only was there the sharp vertical line traditional to stilettos, there was a bounce at the bottom, raising up the toes. All the force was pushed onto a single, painful point on the sesamond bones. Only thin bands of black ribbon held them in place, revealing the feet and green painted toenails. Less like shoes and more like a harness for dragonriding; like the silken straps of a torture device; like the sash that'd hold a secret dagger against a maid's inner thigh.

"You're a terror, you've gotta, army to lead
Rising from a tomb filled with mercury
It takes an empress to win the game of royalty
And a fallen star to force the blind to see~"

She strikes the matches off Aria's breasts; left and right, scales spitting sparks as the twigs immolated. One and two they dropped, left foot, right foot. They caught, and spat, and coughed, and blazed, running in columns of greasy fire up to her knees, sending columns of greasy smoke up to her neck. The fires did not settle but burned yellow-green, the smoke flicked and wrapped demurely, so thick and poisonous it'd make your hair the same oily yellow-grey as itself. The smoke coiled around thighs and hips, around breasts and shoulders, up into rearing serpentine shapes above. Aria was naked but for the smoke, but the smoke concealed everything. You could reach right through it but your finger would be chemically burned if you tried. It wrapped and coiled around the Rot Star's body, a dress dangling upside-down - at once more and less than any terrestrial dress.

"The needle stabbed too deep when they tore her whole
She'll leave you scars, body and soul
No more blood running through your veins
Open your mouth and drink of her flames
Infinite moves but only one move remains
Fall on your face and scream out your praise
All the powers of cat, deer and girl
Useless against the end of the world
She'll leave a kiss,
One that won't wash away,
She'll take a bite,
One that won't go astray,
Feel your knees go weak
As your bones all decay
Lie down on your face
Her foot on your back
And stare up at your antlers
On Aria's mantleplace."

[Anarion]

Yuki's tail flicks as she sits in the sauna. Back and forth. She's not touching Civelia, but she looks like she wants to be, wants to have one hand over her shoulder, another brushing the damp hair out of her face. But she's not, she's just watching and close. Uncertain, but present. Trying her best to help, hoping that she can.

Then the attendant asks her a question and uses her name. She starts, her ears twitch and the hair on her arms rises in goosebumps. It's not...not that nobody would know. Purnima had her and knew who she was from the original Crevas arrival, so it was simple enough to believe that Purnima had been loose about it. No more random knight in service to Suli pretending to be some Kel Paladin, she was Yuki Edogawa and had been all along. Hardly a surprise, and it's not like it changed anything except maybe the expectations around her. But even so, it made her start to be addressed that way by an attendant.

"I don't...I don't know. She's a goddess, but a good one, right? The light of this world, the foundation of its civilization. So, like, everybody in Thellamie wants to defend and support her while stopping all the other goddesses like Azaza and the Rot Star, and the dark dragon, right? But I guess I haven't really thought about Thellamie theology or anything. Like, I've fought two different dragons now and it's not like I got smitten by divine might. Super strong, yeah, but this feels more like the Greek gods or the Maia or something. Like uh...my world has the idea of gods that are like really strong people but not perfect, and then there's like capital G God who's omnipotent and omniscient in some religions, but that also means you can't really interact with that sort of god because it's everyone and nowhere all at once."

She brushes her own hair out of her face, the heat of the sauna having loosened it so that it falls all about her face and shoulders now, little bits of glitter from her dress twinkling at the ends. She likes the sauna, but she doesn't like the way that the black veins are pushing at Civelia's face. Was this really the right way to treat her? It felt hard to breathe.

"I guess, I dunno about Civelia like as a person. I like lots of the people in Thellamie, so if Civelia is good for them then I support her. And I like the ideals of her paladins. I want to fight for protecting the people I love and care about. Even if I'm outmatched. Even if I don't know everything that's going on. I want to fight to bring people together. To...to have all my friends and keep them and find ways to share with them instead of constantly being dragged around and regretting every second where I was one place meaning I couldn't be with someone else."

It was really hard to breathe in here. Yuki was panting. Why had she said all that to this random attendant?