Phoe

Princess-Champions of Hyperborea

Ugh. Blech. Ick! Pfthyeh! Notes for you in the back: being a puppet is awful. Awful! Kittens in a downpour, never ever let this happen to you! It's worse than being hypnotized, by a lot lot lot lot. At least then you get to drift through the fuzzy warm feeling that whatever it is you're doing is a thing you'd actually like to; this was more like being a hostage inside your own body. Your own body that's already been squished into a shape you know in your heart isn't right, by the way. Mittens could feel every sensation of her arms moving through the air and her legs dancing across the train car. She felt her hair bounce and her ears flatten expressively and her tail curl around her leg.

For a moment, she knew exactly what it felt like to be Princess Marina... if Marina were an Askaian princess. She was briefly the stuff of legends! And a toy at the same time, dancing around to make Azora Howl laugh her hea-- no, that's rude. Laugh herself silly. And then? And then the worst part of all! She had to kiss the old Adila! Fffbleurgh! Like sticking your lips on a phoenix-vulture's beak. Dry! Bleh! Rough! Urgh!! And now everything tastes like sandy ash!

Mittens is still quietly spitting and desperately slurping tea (politely) when she notices Eupheria watching her expectantly. Her? Say something good? About this? Mittens draws herself up and glares her most defiant glare, taking a deep breath to finally give the Evil Queen the lecture she deserves. But then...

But then she surprises herself by smiling softly, instead.

"My favorite?" she says softly, "Well that's... you."

She closes her eyes, still smiling her strange smile. The picture of the train car, the beautiful glass table and all its guests still shines clearly inside her mind, but when she turns her thought to Eupheria, it's Freesia she sees looking back at her. And yes, that's right. That's exactly right, isn't it? That's why she feels so full of hope right now.

"My... back home I have, well, maybe you already know this with your snakes stick and everything, but my little sister? Freesia? She makes glassworks. She did the casing on that silver flame you took from me. Wherever you've got it now. But, um, anyway. Every time she finishes making something, she gets that same look on her face that you do. She shows it to everyone she can find. 'Do you like this? Do you like that? What's your favorite part?'"

The smile on her face is as warm as Ourania's good friend the sun, even though nothing's really changed. She's still facing down a dangerous enemy, and even in this happy tea time she's one dumb word away from being burst into confetti or snap changed just like that into a three-headed kitten or whatever else Eupheria could think up on the spot. Nobody give her any ideas, Azora. She's got rivals on either side of her to boot, and probably? None of them care that Freesia lives for the praise that comes from a work of art. Mittens flashes her sharp princess teeth and sets her cup down.

"I thought of her just now, looking at you. But that's not what it is! It's, just now, just here, I really saw it. You're an artist. And, now that I'm looking for it, I can see that in everything that you've built. Even in stuff like your army and this labyrinth, there's all these... details! All these," she waves her hand in the air, "These flourishes and extra touches that I know are there because..."

Her eyes settle on Adila I. The smile falls off her face, and her hands fall back into her lap like they've been slapped. Mittens sighs.

"We're still enemies, ok? You're the Wicked Queen and I'm a Princess-Promised, whatever name you try to put on my collar. As long as you're hurting people, I have to try and stop you. But I... but even still I... to me, you're..."

With a flourish, Mittens pops back out of her chair. She turns and faces the Wicked Queen Eupheria, and then curtsies with the very specific smile she only uses with her family.

"If you've got a solo story or three to tell for an encore, I'd be happy to volunteer as your actress. What do you say?" she gestures around the table, "Let's not keep your adoring fans waiting!"

Masks: Resurrection Roundabout

This is the moment where two comets collide in the sky. So much momentum, opposite trajectories, and no fate left to them but to smash headlong into each other and light up the night sky like malfunctioning fireworks.

You want her best shot, Sara? Do you? Fine.

Euna snatches up at the vest on your flight suit with lightning reflexes. One hand, then two. She lifts you off the ground without effort. This is nothing for her. You're no tiger: you might as well be a kitten for all the trouble she has snatching you up. And the look on her face is wild. There's a flame in those eyes that can't be put out by anything, an intense promise to do something here and now, put her money where her mouth is, to take this step that she can never ever take back again.

She yanks you down to her level. She's staring right into your eyes, Sara, and if you're not shaking too much to notice, this is where you'll notice that she's trembling too. Her right hand brushes your cheek just barely before it's gliding through the back of your stylish new haircut, and before you know it she's pulling you backwards and sweeping out your foot with her leg in the same fluid motion, dropping you down toward the ground and

Catching

You

And

Leaning

Closer

And

Stealing. Your. Lips.

Euna kisses you like a demon. It is nothing like the tender gratefulness of that moment after the moon portal, or the butterfly wing touches from That Night. Her lips smash against yours and her mouth opens and it takes yours over completely, and she pins your tongue down under hers without ever, even once, looking away from you. Hers. Her angel. Her treasure. Hers!

She bites your lip before she breaks to let you breathe. Then she kisses you on the chin. Under your perfect, stupid jaw. On your neck, and now again it's long and lingering and when she parts her tongue traces her path of conquest back up to your lips.

She's floating over top of you, panting breathlessly. Her hair falls down off of her neck and tumbles forward to tickle your cheek like a river. And through this entire time, Sara, she's holding you. She'll never, ever let you fall.

"Moron. Idiot. I love you, don't you get that? So just... knock it off and come help me save these people. Please."

Masks: Resurrection Roundabout

Her first mistake was not looking up. Sara dropping her call sign means she's mad as hell and there's more important things to do than strap in a pair of jet boots.

On the other hand... jet boots! How often do you even get to say those two words together? She could have gone for the wingsuit, obviously, but that was a tactically unsound decision and she knew it from the get-go. You need training for those things, and for once she doesn't have it. Moreover (and this is why), it's a powerful piece of machinery that tends to supersede the user's own physical parameters. In her case this is an especially stupid idea. But she still needs to be able to land without breaking anything, fight off more heavily armored opponents than usual... unless she wants to try suplexing more TAGs today, and probably jump higher in a move than she can on her own. Hence, the jet boots. She stands, slings the mirror (which for some weird reason is shaped like a kite shield, but you won't catch her complaining) over one arm, adjusts her handy new shock gloves, turns around and then... uh oh.

There are wings. On her face. Euna is literally looking at an angel right now, and she feels her breath catch. For one delicious moment, she blushes and stares at Sara with stars in her eyes and doesn't care whether or not there's a stream watching her making stupid kissy faces because a pretty girl flexed near her. It's not like the elevator this time. It's... it's...

She freezes. The words sink in, and her face hardens instantly. She rushes around to Sara's front and gets right in her face. Don't think about how she has to look up to get there. Don't think about the lobby or the game field, or any of that. She takes a step forward, and dares Sara not to step back.

"Hey," she snaps, "Hey! If you're mad you're mad, but this is. Not. The. Time! I don't wanna hear it! There are people down there in danger, right fucking now! So we're not divvying up the kills right now, you got that? I will not 'wait up'. You will fall the fuck in line and you will get your priorities straight right fucking now, or I will drop you like a bad habit and take out Victoria and the 'evil computer' with the functioning part of my team while you take a nap. Get me? Good."

Her eyes are burning. She did not fight her way through the entirety of AEGIS by herself to put up with this shit right now.

Princess-Champions of Hyperborea

Nnngh! Don't give in! Don't give her the satisfaction! Euphie is a condescending jerk who just dropped all her friends down a pit while she was distracted and Mittens is not about to let her rub it in her face like this. She's not! She's a strong, independent princess with a plan to, t-ttttoooooooo...

Mittens purrs. Darn it! This isn't her fault, ok? She's half a cat right now, and Eupheria is really good at pats! This isn't fair. Her cheeks burn with shame, but that happy kitty sound won't stop rumbling in her throat even as she steps onto the train with every ounce of dignity she can muster.

It's dark inside the dining car. Dark and damp. Dark and damp and warm. Dark and damp and warm and, eugh! Squishy. It's like... you know what it's like? It's like walking inside of a big mouth. Mittens' tail bushes up and stands on end as she takes one quivering step after another. Her eyes dart about in the dark, looking for teeth. Squish squish, squish squish. That'll be her companions. Squish, squish, SPLORT!

"Eeeeek!"

Mittens jumps ten feet into the air, shrieking, her foot covered in blood, or, or pus or or or... the lights flick on, and Mittens lands back in the burst remnants of a simple water balloon. It's a shockingly normal train car, after all. Very plush, even! Velvet walls and swirling feather tapestry carpets and the most charming painted glass table Mittens has ever seen sitting in the middle. Each of its legs is another type of fish leaping up out of a stream of water, and on top is a sumptuous spread of cakes, cookies, and other fineries that would be more than home at one of Mommy's super fancy, super boring Queen Tea Parties, though mixed in there are pastries and party favors from... all over Hyperborea, really. You could tell a lot about Eupheria just looking at this table.

But you also didn't need to. You could tell almost as much from the bursting ripples of laughter spurting out of her mouth as she points at Mittens, doubling over and filling the entire car with her thunderous squeaks and, if Mittens' sharp triangles did not deceive her, the haughty trills of one (1) Azora Howl. Mittens glares reproachfully, but soon she's giggling too because the looks she's getting remind her so much of Freesia and Jessamine that every prank she's ever had pulled on her comes rushing back up to the top of her memories and there's a second where she can even remember her name starts with an A. That's! That's important! Don't forget that, A... Mittens. Rivers.

There's only one person here not laughing, and you can guess who it is. Mittens' delight curdles when she sees the look on old Adila's face. Get back to work, princess. This is what you fought for, now don't waste it. A spark of green light flares back to life in her emerald eyes, and Mittens swings her attentions back to Eupheria as she sits down at the table.

Properly, of course. Mittens is careful to curtsy and ask permission before seating herself, and doesn't take a single offered treat until the hostess has handed something out to everybody else. She thanks Eupheria politely and keeps her hands daintily folded in her lap when she doesn't need them for a fork or a cup. She observes every nicety, because... yes, there it is. Eupheria's only really got eyes for her right now. And after that fiasco with the floofy dress, she knows exactly why. Brrr, is it getting cold in here now?

"So!" Mittens chirps brightly, with only the tiniest hint of a wobble, "I've, erm..."

Yes? Come on Mittens, you can do this. For Momma, and for everyone else.

"Oh! Yes. I've heard that before you, that is, what I mean to say is when you were a Princess-Promised, I was told you put on a lot of puppet shows. You kept that up after, um, taking your crown, right? Talents beg to be used, after all."

Masks: Resurrection Roundabout

A bite of one cake. A bite of the other. Then the first again. She alternates with extreme care and precision, watching Sabrem with almost as much focus. Then she sniffles loudly, because today is a day where even the good things don't quite go right.

She exhales sharply through her nose. Another bite of each cake; she's more than through her fair share at this point. The fork goes down two more times anyway.

"So... anyway, Seventy Four right? It's, you know, it's a... a romance drama set against the backdrop of that one stock market crash? With the virus? That's, yeah, that's how come the title. So like, yeah, the protagonist is, she's fictional by the way, it's not a real story, but she's a trader named Alys Mayer who makes this huge computing error at the beginning of the movie that costs her firm almost 40 billion dollars in the span of an hour. It sinks her entire division and gives Crown and Slate this overlarge market share in a space they... well I mean, the business scenes are really boring but that's not what the movie's about. The thing is, I mean like, why it's good is, you know, getting to see her life fall on this sad, beautiful arc.

'Cause, like, she's on top of the world, you know? Power suits and her apartment in the opening scene is just, like... wow. Gorgeous. And then she loses it all, bit by bit, till you hit that scene in the park where she's surrounded by all these people she used to know, used to identify herself by how she measured up to them... and she's the only one there getting rained on. And all she wants to do is get her boyfriend to turn around and acknowledge her! And then he doesn't and there's this just phenomenal close-up zoom onto her face with the rain blending against the tears on her face, and wow wow wow! But I mean... no, I shouldn't spoil you. But yeah. Yeah."

One last bite of the store cake. One last bite of the genuine one. The former is absurdly delicate and fluffy, with flavors that dance on the tongue and don't overwhelm her with sweetness even though the only sweets she's had in a year have been Sara's breath mints and the occasional tanghulu when the commissary was taking requests. The latter is... well, that's the lesson, isn't it? You aren't good at the things you don't practice.

"I just... you don't look like you watch a lot of movies. But you should watch that one. You'd... you'd like it."

Maybe Sara would like it too. She should ask.

Princess-Champions of Hyperborea

Mittens shares a look with Azora for a moment. Then she sighs into the dregs of her tea.

But when she walks out of the tent there's a look of determination on her face, and the way she's walking suggests she might even be holding Azora's hand out of more than just a sense of self preservation. She can do this. She can do this! For her friends and family and for Rita... she can do this.

When Mittens reaches her hand down to offer Adila I some help getting back up, a violet tray with the uneaten sheep cookie floats there beside it. Both are there if the proud, stubborn woman wants either.

"I know it may not feel like it, but we are on the same side, ok? There's a happy ending here for everyone, I still believe that. Will you help me find it?"

She smiles, but there's a tiny spark of defiance that won't leave her eyes. That poor cookie, it's never going to get eaten.

There's so much she wants to say to everybody here, but there's no time to say it in. It's not really safe to with Euphie floating just above their heads, either. Mittens delicately arranges her scarf around her neck and does a bit of light twirling to make sure it's on right. Her movement is as fluid as water: watching her pirouettes, her tail, hair, boot and scarf all swirl about her and give off the impression that she's become a whirlpool filled with colors. She steps out delicately and offers each other player a polite little bow in turn.

She's sorry. She really is. None of you deserve the humiliations you're going through. And she really, really hopes you know that, but... she needs the opportunity that comes with winning. There's a, a... something, a fragment of a memory tugging at her heart, of something Kazelia said at Argossa when they'd first learned about the Caduceus. That feeling is everything. She's sure of it. So, so forgive her for this. Please.

Then the hoops start running away from everyone, which she guesses mean the game is starting. Without a word, Mittens leaps into the air to grab the ball before it can drop into anybody's hands. She flips forward and smoothly transfers the ball to her scarf loop before her feet touch the ground, and then she's prancing across the court like some sort of strange cat-deer. She's everywhere. Nowhere. An untouchable ghost.

She's been playing this game since she could walk, after all. The only way you could make this harder for the field is if you let her have Jessamine on her team. There's a tiny smile on her face as she zips past Kazelia and very nearly runs into Adila. They each get a tiny nod, that means "Thank you. I'm glad we're in this together." And then she bends one leg over her head and whips around in a full flip without leaving the ground, tossing the ball across the court to the old Adila and not even needing her hands to do it.

Twirl, twist, and leap! If the hoops are going to run around all over the place like this, there's really only one way to score. She soars through the air, spiraling in a corkscrew as she waits for the pass back. Then, with a flourish, she finishes what is quite possibly the daintiest dunk in recorded history. The net barely even moves. She bounces back and gets ready to guard the next play.

It's going to be that sort of game, girls.

[Grace: 6, 4 + 2 = 12]

Masks: Resurrection Roundabout

Cakes.

There are cakes.

Why are there cakes?

There are two cakes. Is this a test?

Thump. Thump. Sniffle... sigh. Euna lifts her head up again to stare at Sabrem through her bleary honey-brown eyes. Her "idol's eyes", like Mom always called them. There's that stupid word again. And Mom. And the... and the woman... and the woman who... there are two cakes. This is a test. It's a test and she's failing.

She rises up onto her knees. Staring at cakes. At two cakes. This is a test. Suddenly she's seized with a wild desire to scream and smash both of them against a window. That's just what she's gonna do. She moves slowly. She's watching Sabrem. Watching her enemy, waiting for signs of an attack, looking for the moment she needs to jump up and fight and this whole thing will make sense again. Her hand is near the beautiful store bought cake now. Stupid thing. She hasn't eaten a cake in six years. Not about to start now. Her fingers move by themselves.

Quietly, Euna grabs one of the blunted knives fixed to the packaging. She slowly and carefully cuts herself a slice from both cakes, and puts them on a plate. She grabs a fork, sticks it in the slice from the clearly homemade one, and then brings a bit up to her mouth. She closes her eyes as she chews. It's sweet. It's much too sweet.

"...Can't finish these by myself."

Princess-Champions of Hyperborea

There's at least one thing Adila is wrong about (half a dog that she is): Dandy is far from the most dangerous princess in Hyperborea. It turns out that title actually belonged to a properly motivated Rita von Catabas. Mittens couldn't remember ever feeling more outmatched in her entire life. The way she moved! The way she... well. It was all Mittens could do to bravely sacrifice herself to maintain Azora's freedom.

Also, maybe this was just part of her curse? But something was definitely making Rita a lot, um... friskier than usual. Like, there was no need to lace the ribbons through her collar and around her wrists like that. Or bind her in ribbons instead of ropes in the first place, come to think of it. And for that matter, while Rita was pulling her elbows in close to her sides and wrapping all those extra bindings around her chest, was there really a need to tie them in a big bow? Also, does capturing a Knight in Heist! usually involve that much ear massaging?

In the end, all she could do was sit there on her knees with her legs delicately bound together and her arms lifted up to dangle her p-- hands! Dangle her hands just under her chin like she was begging for attention or table scraps or, um. Y-yeah. Anyway, Rita was dangerous. And this was the single worst game of Heist! Mittens had ever seen played. Although...

***

It's been ten, maybe even fifteen minutes here in the Winner's Tent, and Azora Howl has not shut up for a single sopping second of it. On and on she goes, bragging about how well she did, how great her plan was, how her brilliant moves lead to the winning capture of Eska, and barraging Mittens with those awful crushing headpats the entire time.

For her part, Mittens endures the assault with the kind of good humor and grace worthy of an Illuminan Queen. She doesn't complain, and she laughs enthusiastically like a good Number Two should. When she cuts in, it's to (delicately) make fun of Eska, or Kazelia, or herself. She lets the useless twit puff herself up and waits for an opening. And then when it comes...

"Princess, Princess, you have to try this!" she chirps and pushes a plate with a beautiful chocolate tartlet in front of her, "Seriously, it's uh-maze-ing! Come on, come on, you're our MVP! You deserve a treat!"

And then she watches with glee as Azora takes a bite and makes that face like she's just fallen through a cloud and found heaven.

"See? See? Puts the sandwich platters to shame. She made this herself, I guarantee it! My family? The best at desserts."

Mittens had pushed that one up specifically because she recognized it. She'd learned this recipe from Momma, actually: a salted caramel and marshmallow chocolate tart. All the tightly packed layers of decadent sugar made you feel like you could fly... and had a tendency to weld your mouth shut, if you weren't careful. Ah, blissful silence. Mittens smiles and takes a long sip from her lovely cup of oolong tea.

Her eyes smile at the "other" Adila from over top her cup, but hidden in those crystal depths, there's a challenge there waiting. Do you see, she says without speaking. Do you see? This is my greatest enemy, and yet I'm having fun. I won't forgive her, but I'm trusting her. Just like your successor's trusting me. And do you see what we're accomplishing, just with this?

But these aren't the words she chooses to say when she sets the little glass cup back on its saucer. It's these:

"Look to love, always." Mittens smile is toothy, a little pointier than it ought to be, but beautiful, "I don't like the Watch, I'm sure you know this. But I've always liked those words. They're yours, right?"

She pushes a beautifully iced sugar cookie in the shape of a rainbow sheep across the table, and waits for a response. There's none. She sighs.

"I think about them a lot, actually. Whenever I'm talking to Adila. My Adila, I mean. You know, she loves you. No of course that's obvious, right? She can't hide her heart from anybody. But I love that about her! But that's not the love you meant, is it? And, obvously... Eupheria loves you too, right? I mean, that dress and..."

The smile falls off her face. Mittens watches the starry eyed Adila coolly.

"But that's not what you meant either. Look to love, always. I'm sorry, I just... did you ever plan on telling her? That you'd fallen in love with someone else?"

Princess-Champions of Hyperborea

Ok so... problem number one: it's really, really hard to win at Heist! when you're down a player. The field is HUGE. It has to be, because you wouldn't be testing any of the right skills if all the players could see each other the whole time. Single Princess, Double Queen was an impenetrable wall of defense that could pick apart other teams at will. But Single Princess, Single Queen? You're sending out an invitation to get mobbed from all sides. Double Queen would mean just sitting there and hoping to come in second, and we all know how Euphie will reward that.

"I think," Mittens says while very carefully holding Azora's hand, "We need to go full offense. Between the two of us we might be the most talented Princess players on the field. If we can steal down their treasures faster than they can get them back, we might be able to--"

"Um?" oh no, Azora is too close she's looming over her, Ourania in a wedding dress why is she so tall, "Excuse me? Excuse me? Are you trying to tell me how to play this stupid game?"

"I..." Mittens gulps nervously, "I'm j-just saying you're really good, so if we--"

"First the hag, and now you! I can't believe this!"

"Well I mean, I'm sorry but--"

"That's right you're sorry! And you'll be even sorrier when I tell daddy about this! Don't you go thinking that just because we're on a team together it means we're friends. I'm older than you, and that means I'm in charge, you got that?"

"Um, I don't think that--"

But no amount of protective hand holding could guard Mittens from being lifted off the ground by her shirt. She squeaks and flails about.

"You. Got. That?"

Nod nod nod! Ok ok, yes yes, you're in charge, tall and mighty Meowstress! Mittens squeaks again as she's dropped and falls right on her tail. She winces, rubs her butt, and tries to recover what's left of her dignity while Azora draws herself up and in charge or whatever. This is about having fun, remember Mittens? It's about having fun, and that includes her. It's fine, it's fine, don't hiss, don't bite her, AND STOP ACTING LIKE A CAT!

"Better!" Azora smirks, "Now, when daddy really wants a job done right, he sends me out to do it with Morgina at my side. She's broken or whatever now, so I guess this time you'll have to take her place!"

"You... wanna go Princess/Knight?" Mittens' ears press flat against her skull, "But that'll be so slow! And we won't have anyone to guard our treasure. This is stupid! This is the stupidest plan I've ever heard!"

Mittens pops up off the ground, ready for a fight. Ready to defend herself, or get knocked back into that ditch alongside Adila I and just let this stupid jerk fend for herself! Solid Adila is the one she needs to connect with anyway, so... so... she draws up short. Mittens was ready for lots of things, but none of them were the sight of Azora Howl. Azora Howl! That terrifying witch who's been terrorizing her life and her dreams for the last several years... with a look on her face like she's about to start crying.

Mittens wants to roll her eyes. She wants to laugh or walk away or... well anyway, can we blame this on leftover venom? Mittens, in her gorgeous suit, takes Azora by the hand again and drops to one knee, the way she's always imagined Helya doing in her dreams.

"You win Princess," she says as she kisses the back of that hand, "I'll be your knight."

There's a moment of incredibly awkward silence. Was this, uh, right? Had she imagined the whole thing? Was she even-- eeeeeeep! Mittens gets yanked off of her feet around the stomach again and pulled into a possessive, crushing, dangling hug.

"Oh kitten, I knew you'd see things my way!"

"This... hrrrrk! Isn't.... heeeerrrph! H-helpful!"

[Rolling damaged Courage: 6, 1, 1: 1]

Masks: Resurrection Roundabout

The door to the break room hisses shut, and Euna is left alone in the obnoxiously bright and sterile hallway. She can't help but glance over her shoulder. But there's nobody here. No Corporate Champions charging down on her with the thrust of a missile. No principles to defend. Nobody to save. Nothing she can do to help. No more catastrophes to avert. No threats on her life. It's just her. It's just her and this cup of coffee spilled all over the ground. She stares at it, stupidly.

...This is such a stupid thing to cry over.

Euna walks as far as the wall opposite the door she just ran out of, and slumps onto the floor. Her cheeks burn. Her eyes sting. Her nose is running. She sniffles, but it won't stop. She can't get it to stop! It's just coffee, what is wrong with her?!

She pulls her legs up to her chest and rests her head on her knees. Her vision fills with blurry red before she squeezes them shut and starts thumping her head against her legs. Being able to feel every part of this exchange does nothing to make her legs less made of combat-rated alloys: this hurts a lot.

And she cries. It's the quiet, sniffly sort of sobbing that begs not to be caught, even though she hasn't bothered to find a safe space for herself. Feelings bubble over on top of feelings that wash over still more feelings and it's just and it's just a-a-a-a-a-nd i-i-it'ssss j-ju-just...

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Hic. Thump. Thump. Thump. Snnrrrf.

She's so tired. She's so hungry. But she doesn't move, except to occasionally wipe her eyes or her nose on her criminal-red sleeve.

...Some soldier. Can't even order a pizza.