Phoe

Breathless Dead

"Khh..."

Bella's heart pounds frantically in her chest. Be calm. Be calm. Her tail lashes angrily behind her, and no amount of willpower can make it stop. Be calm, damn it! Her arm starts trembling by its own traitorous will. She uses it to pull the length of leash between her and the seneschal.

There's no accompanying rush this time. His undignified croak doesn't even reach her ears. Every step she takes gets more exaggerated and deliberate. Her hips swing powerfully from side to side. The layers of her skirt bounce up and down in lacy waves. Her bells sing a song of challenge and determination. Her blue-black hair cascades behind her. Her back is straight and stiff and proud.

And none of it slows the beating of her heart. None of it fights off the sense of panic, the animal instinct telling her to run away, and even worse, the servitor instinct telling her to beg forgiveness. Aphrodite, God of Unsolicited Advice and Terrible Timing, has forced her to consider for the first time since she stood up from her table that her path now might not lead her home. There's a type of dread that comes only from knowing that you're locked into a mistake, and it's spreading through her body like needles tipped with ice. To fight a Codexia directly is to die. Of course she knew that already. Of course she did! But she didn't... she hadn't counted on Athena standing against her. She hadn't bothered to augur at all.

And now without warning she's suddenly playing the wrong game. Princess...

Bella's thoughts are a rapid jumble, impossible to comb through or pay attention to. Her ears strain, and her eyes flit about. Her fur bristles. Her tongue runs across her teeth, again and again. She is dimly aware that she is still moving forward. Her head keeps dipping meekly, and then forcing itself straight again. She pivots... before the ramp? At the bar? She says something to the servitor there.

She has no idea what. It could be anything. She's asking for a drink, probably. She gets one. The glass feels brittle between her fingers. The liquid is redder than blood, and smells like syrup swimming in wine: overly aggressive fruitiness trying to smother the acrid sting of alcohol like very thick perfume. She is delaying here. Buying time.

Looking for the shape of the board.

[Look Closely: 4. "What is going on here? What do my senses tell me?"]

Masks: BABYLON MUST FALL

It would be so easy.

All she has to do is put it to tape and disseminate it across the city. Simpler than breathing, especially once Set gets here. And then just sit back and watch it all burn. She can picture it so clearly: the panicking of the elites. They'll bluster harder than ever and insist things are as normal as could be, all the while drawing closer to their inner sanctums and pulling their security closer in fear of "Ma-ri-Ann". They'll invent new festivals, just drag them out of the calendar and pretend they were always there, just to put their own minds at ease and lose themselves in revelry. But everywhere she goes, she'll hear them whispering the name, watching the shadows, and shaking because they will not understand how it happened. The extra space she'd buy for the next job would be worth it if she had to repeat this a hundred times tonight.

But sweeter by far would be the satisfaction of watching their great and terrible wheel turn on itself. She'd burn most of her extra planning time just to be able to see it happen in person. The look on her face! The mewling cries for mercy! They'd ignore Jerry just like they'd ignore every human, then they would discipline her, and then they would break her! And when she was vapid and harmless and of no use to anybody, Marianne would get to watch them kick her all the way back down to the bottom of their ladder. And she would laugh!

Her third eye blazes furiously on her forehead. Marianne's hands curl into fists. She cracks her neck; a slow, deliberate motion that produces a thick and horrifying crunching sound. She glares down at Jerioth, full of fury and resentment and shadow and fire. Say the words, set the blaze, say them say them say them say them!

"...You will not free your slaves. You will do no such thing, Jerry."

A derisive snort. Marianne wads up the sodden packing and tosses it to the floor. She bends down on one knee to put her face inches away from Jerry's. Her breath is hot, and smells like rust.

"You've let your brain shrink to a shiny little marble. Your gaze is no wider than a puppy's; yapping without understanding just to please your mistress. My eyes see farther, yes! I understand your society better than you do, yes yes! You are not the source of the rot, chérie. You are a symptom. Declare your slaves free, and your friends will come and scoop them all up to parcel them out to crueler owners than you had dreamed of being on your most decadent day. Worry not! I will burn your whole society clean, in time. But tonight your silly promises will do nothing to keep my brothers and sisters safe."

She pauses and sighs. Let it go, Marianne. Let it go. Dim your flames, if just a little. She pats Jerioth on the head, a motion that snatches away two more ornaments as reparation and funding for the Resistance.

"Here is what you will promise me, instead. You will keep your slaves. You will protect them with your entire being. Do not punish them, not ever. Learn their names, properly. See that they are safe and treated with the kind of respect you would afford your own house. Keep being my good girl, Jerry, or I will find you, and I will be furious. My reach is longer than your walls, Jerry. My eyes are everywhere. I will be watching. But I can trust my good girl to behave, can't I?"

She stands up again, and makes no effort to undo the chains still binding her prisoner.

Masks: BABYLON MUST FALL

"Awww, what's the matter little cow? You are disappointed that your beaten down dogs could not save you, yes? HA! As if they could! You must not allow yourself to think your precious slaves can steal you away from me, any more than they could stop me plucking you from your party tonight. It will only break your heart, ma chérie."

When she smiles, it is not with kindness. There are too many teeth, they are too sharp and too colorful, and the shadows that her hood casts over her face keep warping and twisting it, as if just underneath the skin of this earth woman was a terrible monster out to devour the stars themselves. When she lifts a red-gloved hand to touch Jerioth's hair, it is not to soothe, but rather to neatly pluck the many glittering and sacred ornaments from her head and tuck them carelessly into jacket pockets. Making good the promise of her face. She radiates power, and spares not one look at the troll her prisoner is now trying very hard herself not to eye too greedily.

Marianne sighs and shakes her head.

"I am very disappointed in you, Jerry. Did you not hear me? Have you not seen me? And you're still thinking you might be in control? Non, non! You are not. Sweet little thing, you are mine."

Here she spins and sweeps low, tilting Jerioth until her head nearly brushes the ground and leaning in a powerful dancer's lunge to push her face inches from the Annunaki's nose. It's a corny romantic gesture that belongs in a movie on some other, sillier world, but the baleful light in her eyes makes it seem so dangerous it might actually wrap back around to sexy. She bends even closer, as if to kiss her prey, but at the last moment turns and sweeps Jerioth back into her lap, instead.

Now her fingers are under Jerioth's chin, directing her gaze forcefully to the troll. She grins with savage triumph when she sees her eyes try and flick away.

"There it is. That's my Doom, Jerry, yes! And you are hoping that when I loosen your gag so we can sing together and open that little door over there, you will be saved by your precious monster. But you won't do that, will you Jerry? No, you will not. Would you like to know why? Because you know already, you will not stop me. You may inconvenience me, yes, but I will have my prize just the same. And then I will be very angry, Jerry. You have not seen me be angry yet. And you do not want to.

Normally, a disobedient little cow like you, I would drag to market. I would bring her through the darkness to the secret dens of my brothers and sisters, to our little haven that your rumors call Absolution, and I would toss her to the stage in shackles for all the free spirits to enjoy as they please. Can you imagine it? All those filthy human hands, touching her divine body? Stroking her thigh and laughing at the noises that she makes? Maybe they will even touch her lips! I think that I will do this to your little sister, yes! But not you. No, never you. You are Jerioth ab-Ishtar. You do not get to feel the other side of your coin. No, I will take your sister, and I will steal all of your secrets with her, and you will know that this is true while you sink beneath the waters. Your people keep so many chains, yes! They will not miss their heavy irons, yes yes! I will tie you down with the full weight of your monstrous soul, and I will laugh as the waters take you and erase your memory from this earth. That is what will happen if you call out."

Marianne is burning tonight. She burns hotter than Jeanne D'arc, and more darkly at that. In the warped light around her, she seems to cast a shadow three times the size of the troll, with her head and her chains but a body made of snakes and tigers and worse things besides. And then she smiles, much more simply, and the illusion breaks and leaves her simply as the woman of the revolution once again.

"Or~" she chirps, "I will free your mouth, Jerry. And because you are a good girl who has learned her lessons at my heels, you will not speak out of turn. You will sing, sweetly and simply, and you will open the door with me, sit quietly by, and watch me plunder your treasures, and you will smile while I do it. Do you know why? Because you are a good girl, Jerry. You wish to please me, yes! You know that unlike your entire filthy rotten fortress of sin, I mean what I say. That is why I am not worried about your monster. You are a good girl. You are my good girl."

And when she smiles, she has all the charming countenance of a demon carved from shadows.

[Provoke: double sixes]

Breathless Dead

Bella scowls and flicks her tail with undisguised irritation. Her ears are perked fully up as they strain and twitch themselves around trying to pick up useful noises over the top of all this loud and obnoxious music. By Hera, please don't tell her the Admiral has her soundtrack playing on her personal craft too, or things are about to get smashed.

She glares down imperiously at the grovelling seneschal, straightening her back and drawing herself up to her full height without quite realizing what it is she's doing. But looming over this pathetic symbol of authority is doing nothing to calm her nerves. If this keeps up, she's going to... no. She must not claw herself again. She mustn't. Giving in will make it worse, and there is still so much to do. Thank the gods she'll be able to put this all behind her once she has the Princess again.

"You know, I wonder what kind of smile you'd have had on your face if we'd let you march us back to the feast. Must be a pile of corpses by now, what with all the horrible accidents happening on this ship today! You an actor? Or... no, I think you're more the type to laugh while you push me in front of a spear. Lucky thing I'll get to find out when I take you to see a dead Codexia!"

All at once, Bella's tongue goes horribly, desperately dry. She can't swallow. She can't speak. She's stuck, with this half feral, half terrified smirk on her face, willing every muscle in her body not to betray her and show how terrified she actually is by the thought of having to follow through on her threat. One on one? If she's lucky? Frankly, she'd rather just tuck her tail between her legs and walk politely back to the murder feast.

It comes unbidden. The image is so strong it has its own scent. The quiet garden adjoined to the Princess' room where Bella secretly grew and gathered all the herbs she used to prepare Red... the Her Highness' meals. It was supposed to be a flower garden, a little bubble of beauty that showed everything the Empress thought worthy of praising about Tellus. Bright lights and huge flowers and sweet smelling grasses you couldn't find anywhere else, trees for taking shade under and even a tiny river that ran through with different mineral mixes depending on when in the day you drank from it. And Redana would study there, under that cherry sapling, and pretend to study, her face all screwed up with fake concentration when she was really watching Bella watch the tiny yellow butterflies that were attracted to the mint leaves, and...

Bella plants her right foot firmly on the ground, and reaches up behind her head to toss her hair with both hands. When she steps forward again with her left, her hands are clutched along the thick iron leash dangling from her collar. The symbol of her guilt as a shameless destroyer of the pride of the holy Olympic Games. And just as much, the symbol of her pledge of loyalty to the Empress. Of trust.

She swings it like a whip and watches with satisfaction as the links at the end wrap themselves around the seneschal's throat once, twice, three times. She pulls on the slack and hauls him, retching and coughing, to his knees. There, now their fates are connected, at least for a time. She grabs him by both shoulders and drags him the rest of the way to his feet. It satisfies like nothing else to see she's taller than him.

"Show us the way to this other bay. Point out the guards to me, unless you'd rather they die. And then say your oaths of penance to the gods. You've been a very unvirtuous man, little mouthpiece..."

[My second Speak Harshly question is "Tell me where the Admiral's personal craft is docked."]

Chuubo's GMD: Love and Shattered Alchemy

Wait. Wait wait wait wait whawawawawawaaaaaaiiiitt!! What is this what is happening oh jeez oh wow this was not the expected outcome! Not the expected outcome at all! She was supposed to! But then she! And now she's! Oh yikes oh yikes oh yikesy yikes yikes!

Dulcinea is not used to being dragged around. She is very used to plans going wrong but the way! This girl! Is toouUUching heeeerrrrr! Is very! Eeep! Distracting! And not! Conducive! Toward! OptimAAAL! Thin-thin-thinky things! That's why she doesn't manage to shout apologies even though her crystal is battering her. That's why she's a warm and squirming mess right now with every mincing step she takes. That's why (please trust the narration on this) you do not want to see the inside of her head right now. It would only hurt you. And her.

And that is why you should be impressed when she does at least manage to scribble out a note, fold it into a paper airplane (specifically a Learjet 35!), and toss it over her shoulder at Shoykyou. There, are you happy you nosy little guilt crystal? There's a request to talk about (gag) comic books in there and everything.

Then they round the corner. Alone. Together. Oh no. She should, like... say something smart? Or witty? Maybe cute? like, omg?

"Did you know there are technically infinite varieties of ramen?"

Yeah? Ok? That's what we're going w-- a-all right!

"It's true! For example, the place we're going right now serves a creamy, emulsified broth that's... oh, see, so like, they take the bones from animals, right? Pig feet and chicken feet mostly, but you know, some shoulder blades and vertebrae and stuff, it's really cool and good trust me! You take those bones and you simmer them in water for hours and hours and hours, and there's a lot of fat content in the marrow, right? And because you're bringing the water to a boil it creates an unstable emulsification! Cause you know, normally all that fat doesn't mix with the water; they're not chemically or even alchemically compatible, but with the addition of heat they'll mix anyway, only to sort of break apart again when the stock returns to consumable levels of heat. Hence the creaminess!

And anyway yeah that's one part of the soup stock, but you can do it in other ways and even siphon the fat back out for use as a topping later! This place just tosses butter in for the fat component so it's different, but you can do it and that's the important part. Then of course all ramen adds a lot of dashi to its broth, because the fish flakes cut out some of the astringency of the fat and just overall give the bowl a much richer flavor profile, see?"

At some point in the middle of all this, Dulcinea has managed to spin herself free and is now walking backwards with a little sashay in her step. She resolutely holds the umbrella over Jasper no matter how badly this gets her own outfit ruined, and she doesn't turn her head to look behind her for anything in the world. She even manages to round another corner and cross the street without missing a step. Ask her how she does it some other day! Right now, she's too busy blushing and breathlessly talking about food.

"And then! There's the tare, right? That's where you add in more salt content through soy sauce and a low-alcohol wine called... do they have wine where you're from? Anyway it's called mirin, I think, and it's got a very high sugar content so it's just extremely high energy, very dense, and a super rich flavor profile. You could just pour... well ok no, I could just pour the stuff down my throat for hours, but that doesn't even get into all of the ingredients! The chashu, the sprouts, the onions, all add varying levels of nutritional content while also conveying new complexities to the flavor profile of the dish...

But more importantly than any of them is the noodles! See, here's the thing, right? The noodles used in ramen are already separated by thickness between six categories, and depending on which one you use you get different resting temperatures and mouthfeels and absorptive properties, differing levels of protein depending on the flour you use of course. See, because how much flour you add to the noodle mixture changes the level of work that needs to be put into the dough, which produces higher gluten contents and continues to affect the overall profile of the soup. The higher the flour content the less water goes in the noodles themselves, so they can become so absorbent, in fact, that if you let them they'll drain an entire bowl's worth of broth into themselves! That result can be a little messy, but incidentally if you ever see a dry pack of ramen at a store, this is the technique they use so watch out before you get distracted in front of your bowl.

And oh gosh! I haven't even gotten to the matter of alkilinity! See, the noodles are held together via the strong flour proteins, like I said, but a critical component of a ramen noodle, as opposed to like, a somen or, god forbid, tagliatelle or whatever, is carbonate salt like good ol' reliable K2C03! And this is an alkaline mixture, which means the noodles are basic. Not simple, though! They're obviously extremely complex! I mean they are, themselves, a base! And since as we've already noted the soup itself is so highly acidic in nature there's actually a major chemical war being fought inside of the..."

She can continue like this the whole way, if she's allowed. It's her favorite food for a reason, after all! It's just... you know, a shame about what happened the last time she tried to cook it herself. But that's not the point! The point is, even something as distastefully pastoral as cuisine can, in fact, become fascinating when you allow yourself to pull it apart and understand all of its chemical complexities, and the sympathetic connections that build up between the energies of the various components and...

Masks: BABYLON MUST FALL

Naturally, when she was doing the early scouting work for this job the first thing Marianne tried was slipping through the vault door in the Nameless Library. It was a disaster. No matter how many angles she tried attacking it from, she wound up being thrown aside. Sometimes the hidden paths just wound up this way and there wasn't a way between them that didn't require something stupid like growing wings, but this felt very frustratingly different. It was more like something Papa would have loved to ramble about before the Annunaki came: cognitive... such and such, a barrier that extended in all directions because it was like that inside her head.

And outside of her head, merde. In the end she'd wound up hitting her head so hard it had actually left her concussed and she'd actually had to spin up a story about falling down some steps that required her to twist her own ankle just to keep Tamytha from asking too many questions. But today? Today would be sweet, sweet vengeance.

Since the library was housed entirely within the Temple of Ishtar, it meant the entrance was surrounded by gaudy, giant statues and carved stone pillars that formed a kind of labyrinth of broken roofs. Here a monument to the Bull of Heaven, there a long series of columns that only existed so that somebody could hang rich tapestries between them depicting all manner of acts of submission and obeisance. Disgusting. But a perfect hunting ground.

She leaps from the tip of the bull's horn to an archway that's spaced dangerously far away, twisting in the air as she flies and catching herself upside down by sticking her foot inside the keystone. Her chains jangle as she links them into the stone, and then there is the satisfying lurch inside her stomach as she drops in a free fall with Jerioth in her arms, still pinching her nose shut to block out the pitiful screams that would give them away. There's a tiny clank and a jolt, and together they come to a halt in mid-air, swinging roughly from side to side in the dim space just above the temple lightning below.

Marianne takes her hand off of Jerioth's nose. She immediately slides it over to cup her cheek instead, and flashes a nasty grin when she sees the Annunaki's flustered response. Yes, she dares! Are you feeling helpless yet? Are you feeling controlled yet? Are you feeling frightened yet? Yes, yes, yes! She lets herself fall free and straight through the floor, which leads her back to the top of the archway again. Let the hunt begin.

She is a shadow, passing overtop what passes for a patrol. Merci, Canada. She leaps, twists, and swings her away across the architecture, staying just out of sight except to brush the tops of their heads with the lining of her coat, say, or let them hear the jingling of the ornaments on her shoulders. She's everywhere, and then she's nowhere. Her eyes blaze with amusement to see the way they draw into a circle, forgetting even to abuse the drugged-up lynx. That one will be last.

Her hand reaches into a wall, all the way down to the shoulder. The taller one first, that's the way she'll do it. She stretches, tongue poking out from between her lips with concentration, until she feels her fingers close around the ankles of a salamander. Just like fishing. Except, you know, fun. She yanks her hand back up to the sound of screams and angry shouts. She'll never get tired of the expressions on the faces of these sycophants after they travel the paths for the first time. There, see? This is how she does it. Now you try.

"Allo~"

She lets the salamander fall again, screaming, into a nest of chains she's wound between the pillars behind those tapestries. She hears the snarling rushing closer behind her, and runs vertically up the wall without so much as a wobble.

"Mek Ah? Mek Ah! I am coming! Where are--"

The trap is sprung. The snarling guard feels the tap of two fingers on her back, and then in the next second her screams join her clutch sister's as she's falling up, up, up, bound from tail to chest and left to hang upside down and stare at the squirming, thrashing form of Jerioth ab-Ishtar trying to keep her veil from flopping uselessly and scandalously up over her eyes.

One more. Marianne glides across the ground like a shadow now catching those wide, runny eyes and waving before -- zwoop! She disappears inside a statue and reappears a second later in the air with her leg already extended above her head. She twists 180 degrees and lashes out with her heel, reveling in the dull sound of contact across the back of the neck. The lynx bounces twice on the ground before she comes to a halt, moaning and twitching, but useless.

"Sweet dreams, little kitty."

She spreads her arms and makes ready to catch her prisoner when she falls.

[been told this is another Unleash roll, which is another 10]

Breathless Dead

She must have been a very bad girl. In fact, despite all her efforts to the contrary she must have gotten worse than ever, because this punishment was awful beyond anything she'd ever experienced before. Worse than the beatings. Worse than the cold nights without anything to eat. Worse even than that week the Master had taken all of her clothes and forced her to hunt the roaches and the rats that had been creeping into the dark corners of the kennels.

The Box was the scariest punishment in the whole world.

She was already suspicious when they washed and brushed her and put her in the cute frilly dress like she was going to auction again even though she was a bad, worthless, useless bratty mistake. Her little heart pounded with terror the entire time they made her sit in front of the scary woman in the bright red dress, whose eyes were so sharp and nasty looking that they could make the sun stop wanting to shine, and whose lips were pressed so thin they seemed to disappear. She didn't have a mouth at all except when it suddenly sprang out of that awful face to cluck disapproval at the trembling voice trying to recite the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice whenever she would hesitate or leave out too many details.

And it was even worse when they made her sing a lullaby! She'd never done that before! She'd never been taught any! They made her make her own little song, right there on the spot, and then... everyone's eyes looked so cold when she was finished. Her palms felt so sweaty, but she knew better than to wipe them on her dress, and even still, even though she tried to be a good girl and keep her head down and her tail still and her ears meekly flat the Master still picked her up by the collar and tossed her in the Box.

It was dark inside the Box, and cramped. She couldn't turn around or stand up even if she wanted to. Just to fit she had to fold herself almost in half and curl her little legs in against her stomach. She couldn't tell how long she'd been inside, though it felt like forever, or whether the jostling she felt was from being carried or because she was secretly dangling over a pit of snakes. It felt the same to her. She tossed and turned too much and kept squeaking with fright, and every time she did it there would be a sharp hit from the side that bowled her over and hurt her ribs, and an angry shout from the woman with the scary face.

"Be silent, she's going to hear you!"

Who was going to hear her? How many new faces had the Master brought in for this punishment? Was it a test? Or was she finally really actually being thrown away like the garbage that she was? Some nights, she... some nights she told the gods she wanted that, just so that the rest of it would stop. And now that her prayers were being granted she found it was impossible not to cry. Bad girl! What a bad, bad girl! Such a horrible, useless, rotten little--

The Box opened up, and over the top peeked a mess of golden hair, so pretty it must have belonged to some god or another. All her fur bristled at once and her tail stood on end. She even showed her teeth and hissing, knowing how wrong and bad it was. She was scared. She was so, so scared.

"Wowies, she's sooooo pretty! And she's mine? Really for real? I get to keep her? Oh wow!"

Then the tiny little hands, smaller even than hers, shot into the Box and wrapped around her shoulders and tried to pull her up. What happened instead was that a ridiculous human girl with a dress worth more than a thousand servitors fell in on top of her and broke the side of the Box. When she dared to open one eye, she found that a pair of the warmest and most dazzling green eyes staring back at her, and a smile so full of glee it could have made a star blush.

"Hi!" she chirped, "I'm Redana! We're gonna be best friends now, ok?"

The silly girl with her silly hands pulled the shivering kitten close and started patting her on the head. The smell was something... sweet, something she didn't have words for yet. But the true magic was the warmth. It was so soothing it took her barely any time at all to unclench all her little muscles and forget her plans to bite and claw and scratch her way to freedom and back to the Master. Without even meaning to, she started flicking her tail from side to side, which made the golden bell on the ribbon that had been tied to it chime merrily. The girl giggled.

"You're so pretty, did you know that? I think I'm gonna call you..." she trailed off with a look of intense concentration. The bell jingled in anticipation of her decree, "Ooh! I know! What about Bella? That's a good name for you, right?"

***

Bella blinks. Her hand is around the seneschal's throat, pinning them to one of the grandly decorated walls of the Rex. Her fingers squeeze tighter until she can feel the rushing pulse of life dancing just underneath the tips of her claws.

There it is again. That feeling. It's overwhelming her, taking her over, shining through her eyes and rushing inside of her brain to drown out all of her thoughts. There is the roar and the wave and nothing else inside of her. Her fingers clench tighter, cutting off the seneschal's wind. Soon she'll tear the throat out and nobody will be standing in her way. She licks her lip in anticipation.

She twists her arm and throws him to the floor, instead. She turns her head to one side and stares at her hand. It is clean. She closes it into a fist, and fights off the desire to shiver as the Princess' face swims to the front of her mind. She's so close. She's so close! She snarls.

"I don't care," she sneers, "About your stupid excuses. Find a way. Take. Me. To. My. Ship."

Chuubo's GMD: Love and Shattered Alchemy

"A... favor? W-well I mean, like... it's really not that big a deal, you know? Anyone would do this! Or, well, I mean, I guess nobody has, since you're standing there all... like this, but still! That doesn't mean I need a--"

Uh oh. That right there? That's trouble. That's trouble with a capital T. That's Trouble with mousy brown hair in just the tackiest ponytail. That is Trouble in the tackiest ponytail walking around like a fashion disaster friendship tornado comic nerd wrapped up in so many bad ideas even Rinley would go, "Hey wait a minute Dulcy I'm busy daring my new friend at this maid cafe don't you go bringing me into this hypothetical imagination whatsit!"

Although actually she would misspell hypothetical even though she was saying it aloud, but we're speaking in laymen's terms right now. In any case, Trouble.

"Aaaaa-te-te-te-te-te-te noooo? No no no no you go crawling right back into your danger hole right this second. Back! Back! Away! My cancelled plans are not allowed to walk up next to me right as I'm cancelling them! That's illegal! Worse than illegal! It's inconvenient!"

Dulcinea snatches Jasper's hand out of Shokyou's with a possessiveness rarely shown by her (or, that one time, by her evil shadow clone who went by Dulcinae). She manages to forcefully drag the scientific find of her lifetime a full five steps before her stupid jerkfaced jerk of a conscience crystal flies up and smacks her in the face.

"OW! What was that for, you... blue? BLUE?! What do you mean, blue? I'm guilty?! No I'm not! Ah! Uh uh uh uh, don't you flash at me, missy, or I'm taking you right back home to get recalibrated. Is that what you want? Huh? Guilty. Feh. Don't you even start with me you..."

Blue. Float. Stubborn crystal noises. The sfx team is out to lunch right now, ok?

"But she's annoying!"

Stare.

"You're gonna make me get the notebook out? Really?"

Staaaaaare.

"No, not The Notebook! Nobody has time for your weird references right now, conscience crystal! You know I mean the record of experiments that she's--" angry gesticulating at Shokyou, "wrecked! Do you really want to add another one to the list? You want that on your, er... my conscience?"

Blink blink!

"Yes I know I was literally on my way to see her just now! But that doesn't mean I w-- uuugggghhhhhh! Come on, you can't be-- I mean what would it hurt me to just this one time-- oh come on, that doesn't even-- no, they do not conflate! I know what conflation is, don't get lippy with-- fffffffffffffrrrrghle!"

She stops in her tracks. And hangs her head. Ok fine, she's feeling very guilty right now. That's not a fair reaction at all, or even an especially useful one considering the present circumstances in and about what passes for civilization around these parts. But three's a crowd, right? Besides, Shokyou's probably one of those "no rules in ramen" types who doesn't blink when she winds up at a sadsack chain restaurant dopily serving her soup with half a grilled lemon sitting on top.

...No really! It's a thing! Something not even nightmare science would dare concoct, yes, but even so it's been unleashed upon the world at least once! No amount of guilt is worth that risk! Besides, if she comes, this is gonna turn into some sort of romanti--

Dulcinea snaps her fingers. She throws a helpless look in Jasper's direction.

"Hey, so, I get a favor, right? Anything I want? That's cool. Then, as payment for my incredible selflessness and sacrifice, I demand you tell me whether or not I'm supposed to invite That Girl along."

Breathless Dead

The feeling starts in her chest. It's warm and it's wet, like someone snuck up behind her and shot her full of Ambrosia. It tingles as it floods through her body, down her arms and into her fingertips, turns funny in her stomach and threatens to bubble up into something fierce and terrible like laughter that would ruin everything if she let it out.

It sinks lower and deeper, slowing its spread even as it builds in intensity. It reaches hips and she has to bite her lip to keep from letting anything out. It pushes lower still, and becomes a fire. Her thighs clench. Her head buzzes. It is so warm. It is so wet. Her fur ripples in waves from the shuddering muscles underneath. Her skin tingles, and even the heavy, suffocating air in the room feels good where it touches her. Bella's fingers curl inward and clench tightly enough to draw blood from her palms. Even this feeling is ecstasy.

Her eyes, half-lidded and useless, find Odoacer standing across the room from her. In a blink, she's crossed the room and broken the intricate circles of hidden defenses with nothing but her own raw power. In a ragged breath, she's broken the admiral herself. Bella's indomitable glare and feral snare crush Odoacer's will like a rotting grape, and her ears fill not with the sounds of impending battle, but of sobbing pleas for forgiveness. Forgive her, Praetor! She knew not what she did! Forgive her, please!

She will consider it. But in another turn of her head she's back in a dark room on Tellus that's so heavily misted with perfumes that nobody save Zeus herself could enter and think clearly. But Bella is in charge. She is tall and strong and proud, and at her feet the Master of the Kennels is a quivering mess. The whip is singing beautifully in her hand, and his cries of pain are an accompaniment worthy of Nero's golden theater. His back is bleeding from thirteen different lashes and for once there's no vomit-inducing smell but just the rush of her blood and the feeling of the wave building inside of her again and lighting her on fire when he whimpers that it was his fault, all his fault, he called her 'worthless' but the word was really 'priceless'! She could not be sold because she was invaluable and irreplaceable! So please, please, please forgive him!

She does not consider it. With a step, Bella has planted her heel in his back and the Master becomes the bottom step of the staircase leading to the throne of Tellus. Bella's tail swishes as her hips sway with each confident step up. She would never dare do this, but today it feels like her right. Step by step, she ascends. Her body is drowning in that wet fire feeling, which drips off of her claws with the color of blood. Intoxicating. Good. Good! She reaches the chair. It is not the Empress she finds waiting there, but the Princess. Redana... Bella's smile splits her face and she pulls the Princess down onto her knees and it feels so good to see, yes that's right that's where you belong, good girl, now you'll--

All at once, Bella is brought back into the banquet and the feeling of tension and war. She lifts a hand to squeeze her temple and shake her head, without regard to how it makes her look. What was that? What was that? She shivers; she's found her insides again and they've dammed up the wave inside of her, but they've filled themselves with ice to do it. Was this the wine? Nngh, what did that bitch put in there? Bella snorts irritably and forces her eyes shut. Breathe, damn you! Breathe!

hhhhhhhhffffffffffff. Wine and and sweat and shit and blood and misery and stress. She holds it all on her chest.

ksshaaaah. She lets it out. Her mask slips back into place without any further effort. She is calm. She is perfection. She is ready.

"I'm glad you realize that," she says with no small amount of effort to keep her voice from shaking, "Don't fall behind."

She is coming, Princess. Your Bella is coming to bring you home.

Masks: BABYLON MUST FALL

The Annunaki are, if nothing else, extremely solid. It's a trick of their physiology or something; their muscles and their bone structure are both very dense. It makes them tougher than their decadence would otherwise imply. It's at least some of why they think of themselves as so invincible. More to the point, it means it hurts a lot to punch one.

Marianne's sharp backhand across Jerioth's cheek sounds like a hammer hitting a cinder block and cracking it in half. Her grin, impossibly, grows wider when she sees the neck twist in surprise. She grabs a great handful of silk and jewelry gathered around Jerioth's chest to keep the sudden change in balance from toppling the useless cretin over (with all that hair, she'd never get her facing the right way again). She squeezes her other hand into a fist to hide how numb it is.

"That is how you command silence, tyrant dog. You were told to dance, and so you shall. There is no need for you to move your lips."

A phantom thief must dazzle. A phantom thief must seem capable of anything, at any time. And most importantly of all, a phantom thief must be cool. Tonight will ripple far beyond the job itself. They must talk. They must whisper at each other, look over their shoulders at every darkened corner and wonder, and in their dreams for weeks to come see the face of the revolution and the republic, whose name is the name of the people.

The eye on Marianne's forehead opens wide, burning like a tiny star. She stares openly at the heart of Jerioth ab-Ishtar, and judges her prey without words. Disgusting. But she must be motivated for what comes next.

Marianne jabs her hand down toward the ground, a useless gesture with no meaning other than misdirection. But beneath Jerioth, the ground is warping. Chains snake through the hidden paths, encircling their target unseen before they burst forth all at once like a furious hydra. She binds the neck with thick links like a collar, complete with leash. She wraps each wrist in turn and ties them both together with a short band that will allow for little more than vague wiggling or shuffling along on the hands and knees, which she repeats around the conceited brat's bronzed ankles. More and more and more, squeezing the thighs and binding the chest and encircling the waist. Marianne's fingers contract in another exaggerated command gesture and all at once the chains pull taut and pull Jerioth down onto her belly.

There is a gleeful sound of slashing, tearing fabric. Marianne's eyes are alight as she bends down and lets her mask chains dangle in her prisoner's face. She holds up several strips of what was once a gorgeous and perfect festival dress and waits with saintly patience for the inevitable scream. Her fingers fly down to snatch at that weak chin and hold Jerioth's fat and stupid lips held open.

"For such superior beings, you do not seem to have very good schools for yourselves. These were very simple instructions, yes. And even then, you failed to follow, yes! So now, lucky you! Marianne will teach you your missing lessons, yes yes!"

She shoves a square of torn fabric into Jerioth's mouth without a hint of gentleness. Then a second, then a third. Her smile is toothy, glinting, and more than a little evil when she sees the proud matron's cheeks bulging. You Annunaki love your excess, don't you? Then you must be enjoying this. Marianne pulls the final strip of dress taut and ties it between the lips. Her fingers drag slowly underneath Jerioth's chin, and then she rises and repeats the gesture with the toe of her boot.

"There, class is in session. Aren't you lucky? Now come along, today's lesson is a field trip, yes!"

She grabs up her makeshift leash and, with a powerful backflip, dives into and then through a corner of the hallway, dragging her "student" behind her.