Phoe

Breathless Dead

All of her weight is resting on Redana's back. Cool. Firm. Stable. It supports her where her own power has deserted her. Someone picked her up out of the dirt. Someone picked her up out of the Box. Someone holds her still.

Even now.

Her breath comes in shaky sighs. Her vision is dotted with starlight and dancing shadows that exist nowhere but between her retinas and her malfunctioning brain. She cannot stop the drool from falling from her lips, can barely raise her neck to look at the Shogun.

But even so.

She raises her hand into the air. Though her shoulder strains with the effort. Though her hand trembles horribly just from being held aloft. She lifts it high. To ask for... no. To command silence.

"Save it," she half drawls and half slurs in a voice like a slow dragging knife that cuts across her exhaustion even as it emphasizes it, "For your pups."

Bella's arm falls limp against her side. Her other hand pushes against Redana's shoulder, and though she shakes even harder, though her ragged sighs and hissing fill the comparative silence of the space, all the same she rises. Her knees that wish to buckle under her hold up the sky instead. This must be her next impossible labor, she supposes.

It's those eyes. Those same eyes every time, that have forced her to pick herself back up. She looks one more time for their light, and turns her sneering face back to the woman standing in front of them.

"I don't give a shit about war. I don't give a shit about peace either. I'm not Her Majesty, after all. What amuses or motivates your pack of dumbasses doesn't concern me at all. I'm only here for one thing."

Her first step is small and pathetic. But her second one is longer. Her third is the perfection of both maid and Praetor. She turns and offers her hand to Ember, to Redana, low enough that she can hide how much it still shakes.

"Enough of this. Come on. We're... we're going. To go see Her."

Return to Thellamie

"You absolute cretin."

Whispered venom and undisguised hurt. Take her by the hand. Squeeze the wrist and palm: tight enough to prevent the attempt at slipping free but well enough to not cause pain. Priority remains civilian safety and mission integrity, in that order.

"Come. Now. I will knock you out and drag you if I must."

Walk. Imperative to clear the danger zone. In her flustered defiance, Mayzie will yelp and complain but forget to fight physically. Intended disguise for this moment is a pair of arguing lovers dealing with stress from whatever accident just happened at that cafe. Easy to be convincing, should allay suspicions enough to pry witness eyes away and toward more interesting subjects until they are clear enough to speak openly.

Destination: personal lodgings. Enter room and note armor, uniform, and personal gear. Close door with foot. Pivot, turn hip, slam Mayzie against near wall. Follow through and SLAM open palm next to her head. Lean close, nose to nose. Show the light burning in own eyes.

"I will say it again: you cretin. There is a point where pride turns to poison inside your body, and you have long crossed it."

Reach up, tear off wig. Natural hair will tumble messily down to shoulders, bangs drifting haphazardly across face. Allow it. Unimportant. Things only need be said as myself.

"Charity? Sugar?! Idiot! Ass! I gave you that money because you earned it! It! Was! Payment! For services I deemed invaluable! Do you even understand what it was you accomplished that night? Do you have any concept of your own true worth? You may mock me. Denigrate me. Belittle me all you like. I will not speak a word of complaint to lashes I have earned."

Frustrated growl. Feel own ears bending low in misery. Flash of teeth and press of forehead against forehead.

"...I will have you put that armor on. I will dress you in my colors and see how well you are able to stand it. And I will have you lead me to where you disposed of that money, because it was neither frivolous nor improper and even if you hate me so much that you cannot accept fair payment from me I would still see it do more good than rotting in some ditch to soothe your feelings. You will do this, or it is to be heartblades at dawn.

"Not even you, Mayzie. My love for you cannot protect you from this. So I will have you feel the weight of that dress and apron, and we will see if you can continue deluding yourself about the Aurorae after that."

Feel tear welling in left eye. Allow to roll unimpeded down cheek, fall to floor. Resist urge to clean it. This is... all that I can do to protect her from the wrath of the Order. Which will descend upon her like a storm. Turn away, walk free. Lean/collapse against the door.

"You moron."

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

"Hum," said Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits, "Mm. Well... well, well ok then. I guess."

She doesn't laugh. Not at Assassin's wish, or at the absurdity of the cats swarming in front of her, and not even out of plain and ordinary nervousness either. Though neither is she an iron wrought figure of determination. Instead she just turns and quietly stares at Berserker for a very long time before turning back to 'face' Assassin, tapping her chin with her index finger in thought the entire time.

"So if we're what got him going then he's not the... unless he is? No but probably not. I dunno. I think I need to talk to Actia. Oh wait, shoot. Does this mean that we can't let anybody have a wish at all? Even the not icky ones?"

She frowns.

"Actually actually, wait! Wait wait! Like... no but, that would mean if we just keep everything the same then- oh. That's bad, right? Like it's not just bad, it's icky. And I don't use that term lightly!!"

A very flustered Kat has begun pacing around in a circle. This is a habit she picked up from watching a certain someone who may or may not have needed to leave her house more often than she did in the past. It's a gesture she associates with extreme agitation, and the sense of motion helps move her blood to free up her 'thinkies', which are currently trying to switch to 'no' and stay there. She shakes her head. Once, twice, hard. Enough to rattle her brain.

Her tails fluffle from side to side as she turns, and when she stands briefly still, and when she looks up, and also when she looks down. There are thoughts forming somewhere inside of her core, the kind of thoughts that might turn out to make her more dangerous than any fox who ever lived, Fluffybiscuits though she is. It might not have been a complete fluke that she once triumphed over Rose from the River. It might even be the case that the shape of these thoughts make her fully qualified to be a Princess, and not just because Berserker said so.

It might. Or it might mean nothing at all. She isn't even sure she sees where she's going with all of this.

"...Ok well. I guess we've gotta stop Lancer if we can no matter what. Right? If you could just, uh, tell Miss Saber where I'm goin'? So she can hopefully maybe meet me there? If she's ok?? Actually anybody you can find who can help'd be great. I just. Mmf. So. This did not go well last time but I think that's 'cause I just kinda yipped at her y'know? If I use my words maybe it'll go better. None of the Servants can fight her anyway, she's got really weird powers.

"But what I can't do is handle Mr. Blinky Lights McActually. Ok? He's very, uh, Talky Smart in a way that people like Lancer and Caster think is very good and if he starts in on me one more time I'm gonna cry like a baby, ok? I just, like, I just. I'm not made've rocks and iron and whatever, right?? So someone's gotta..."

As she trails off, she finds her mind snapping back to those dangerous thoughts and memories. Guilt and uncertainty claw at her chest, and even 'one step at a time' isn't a strong enough spell to get her through this part. It turns out that saving the world is actually super difficult. And that's why almost nobody ever does it, even when they're the ones who doomed it in the first place, and even when they feel bad about that to begin with.

So her lips part on their own, and she asks another question she's perfectly aware is her fault that she even needs to ask it.

"Also, um. You said," she chirps mid-squirm, "There were nine ghosts. But there's only seven of you Servants."

"What, er, do you... happen to know where the other two are? Or who?"

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

In the face of such revelations, a hero might be expected to make a clever quip or a statement of resolve and defiance. A Princess might hide a haughty laugh behind the back of her gloved hand and relish the challenge in front of her. Or a philosopher might offer some sort of insight into the nature of this last and greatest opponent that reflects on the Kitty-Cardinal's very useful and intelligent information.

Katherine folds her arms across her chest and thinks in silence for a long time. This has more to do with not wanting to think about a voice coming from the middle of a kitty pile like it was a normal face than it does anything else. When she finally opens her mouth, what she manages is this:

"Ahhhhh, chicken noodle soup. With a soda on the side."

"Beans," she continues, "Honey butter waffle. Marshmallow mango juice."

Please understand she is not ill. This is just what being upset and scared looks like after a lifetime of not learning any cuss words.

"Ok so just to be a hundred percent clear on this, this means that Adam - Mr. Blinky Lights The Argument Bird," she dangles its corpse between her fingers, "Is-- was Caster's Master? He's the one trying to blow up the world? Like, if Berserker and I go stuff him in a locker we're done? Or is it, uh, he, uh, them? Are we talkin', like, what the treasure Actia wanted turned out to be? You've gotta understand, Mr. Assassin Sir, I'm real dumb. So I'm not gonna get it if you don't explain it, y'know?"

Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits is not in fact "real dumb". But she is a Fox, and therefore very intimidated by large or shiny sounding concepts. She wiggles her ears nervously and turns with apprehension toward what she can see of the horizon, even though her destination seems to be underground.

Wringing her hands across her wrists, she gives a final fierce nod and turns to face Assassin again to the maximum degree she is able in his condition. The constantly fluctuating mass of furry bodies making up his face is making her dizzy, not to mention scaring her in a way that only cats have ever managed, but she swallows hard and maintains composure anyway.

"Ok well two other things, right? These are kinda important. First of all, uh. Is it too much to ask you in your state to send a message to Miss Saber? Whatever else is meant to go down she's been real nice to me from the start and I'd just really rather she be around, y'know? Sending letters is your whole thing, right? If you need hands to write it you can borrow, er, I mean I'll do it for you.

"...Second of all, can we not play games here? The whole time I've been workin' with Actia you haven't even once given me the time of day. Like, Iono if you've ever spared me a mean glance or a sneer, let alone told me any kinda stuff. Right? But here you are. And here I am. So just, tell me. Plain language please and thanks. What do you want outta this?"

Return to Thellamie

"I! Might ask you the same question!!"

Heart in throat. Blood running cold. Select metaphor for feeling of unease later. Is it possible this is not a coincidence? If so, then my fault. Ought not to have crowed so loud. If she is a target then- easier to express anger in the moment than deal with it.

Adjust wig, center correctly again. Act may be over, but appearance essential in case of witnesses. No visible signs of Eclair Espoir on the streets, no half-combinations to help them draw the line. Align face into stern frown.

"Think you that I would so casually break an oath made to a beautiful maiden?! I said that you should never have to look at my face again! Why then should I seek you out? And so immediately at that?? Am I that cruel and faithless to your mind, or simply that stupid?! But you!"

Finger thrust in accusation. Planting feet in authority, with angry stomp. Casual toss of wig's pigtails for effect, not sure which kind. Eyes set hard, mouth open, combination consternation and concern. Surely this is how to thread a needle?

"Are you even aware of how much I paid you at the end, last time? The capability to travel anywhere! To do anything you like, even taking control of some modest premises somewhere in the wider world! In what subset of reality should I expect to find you working as a waitress, and here of all places?! You cannot, surely you cannot have spent it all already! Have I stumbled across your own secret fetish?"

...Regret. Obviously flush of cheeks, can feel stance breaking. Turn head to one side and cough.

"I... I thought you safe. I thought you safe and well and free. I have pursued my case to the place it has led me, and you may believe me or not but come! Along! The trail is burned out and smoked, and we are not the slightest bit safe here like this. You least of all! Oath or not, while you are in my sight I refuse to let you come to harm do you understand me?"

My face, close to hers. My fear, tangible in my breath. My hands, trembling. My hands, seizing hers. My body, turning, pulling, begging. Come.

"Please."

Breathless Dead

Eagerness falls from her eyes and from her lips. To dream is to dream, and to experience reality is something else entirely. Bella: Maid, Assassin, Praetor, Chief, Demigod, Mosaic. Whatever you call her she is built for battle. Not for war.

It is only here in this place that she understands the difference. Countless fights and a hundred bloody wounds suffered in the name of victory, and of perseverance, and of love itself so strong it spits in the face of Aphrodite, and not once has she seen war before now. It is not merely something she has no context for, but rather something she is built entirely counter to. XIII with her list of names could shut out war and turn an army into a thing to kill.

But Bella is all alone. With no golden path to guide her.
But Bella is all alone. With no silver path to guide her.
But Bella is all alone. With only love to guide her.

Bright light blossoms into flowers.
It roars with the fury of a beast m
ade of Thunder and it is the ang
er of Zeus
and it is the shriek of Ares from
beyond the veil of death
and

Protect her keep her safe
You promised you could do that a
re you a liar or just stupid
Protect her keep her safe
That is your only role here
Block every bullet block every knife block

the crowing of Mars.
Fire flash and thunder clap.
Red and

Blue and

Green and

But who are you protecting?

Pink and

Yellow and

Ring and Chime and

Frost and Lime and

This is all for Her? But which? But who is--

And roar and scream and muzzle flash
And oil and shit and pilot crash

and Brown and
Black and
Orange but

Pause. Terrible pause.
Silence worse than darkness worse than

What was your wish again, Bella Mosaic?

B L O O D

She hisses and froths and twitches, for all the good it does her. Her senses will not be shut off. A bodyguard cannot afford to be blind or deaf, or even block her nose from the scent of roses. Just in case.

But her ankle catches in an uneven patch of ground. But it twists and wrenches and it fails her. But all of everything is joined by the hollow swoop in her stomach that means her sense of balance is abandoning her to the rush of gravity and she feels it pulling ten times harder than it should.

And then with only this for warning Bella is --

f

a

l

l

i

n

g

g

g

g

g

g

g

g

g

g

g

g

g

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.
.

.

And all alone. And all alone. And all alone. And nothing of honor to guide her.
And all alone. And all alone. And all alone. And nothing of joy to guide her.
And all alone. And all alone. And all alone.

And all alone. And all alone.

And all alone.

And nothing.

Of.

Love.

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

"Huh buh bwuh bwuh hweeeeeeeeeeeeeh?!?" said Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits, model of poise and eloquence.

Further exemplifying the degree to which all of this was expected and normal, Kat punctuated her remarks by sailing a near meter into the air while bushing both of her tails to more than double her normal size, landing gracelessly (but very very princessly!) in Berserker's outstretched arms.

Berserker, to her credit, held her Master firm against her armor and did not immediately pivot on her foot to use her as a fluffy green sword. Only the twitch in her eye suggested she had even considered it. But a knight's duty is clear even in the face of cats, or so it is said.

"Muh, er, M-mister Assassin? Why are you? I mean, uh, hi! Hiya! Hello! It's been a... erm. Wh-why are you several cats? Sir?"

Kat bleeds from her many many kitty cuts in the way of small wounds that manage to convey a lot of drama and war but really don't do a whole lot worse than sting a little. The squint they force her face into makes her look much shrewder and more aware of the suspiciousness of her new companion than she's properly capable of. Actia's Servant always gave her the creeps (and this new magic trick is NOT helping!) but it's not like in all their time together she can really remember him doing anything bad. If he says he's been looking for her then he probably has been, but that's not what her face and posture communicate at the moment.

More she looks like a mess: both very frightened and in the middle of some serious thinkies worthy of the most brilliant foxgirl schemes. More to the point her face is a warrior's face, which is why she still stands in this war holding a dead bird instead of cowering on the sidelines or trapped in some sort of awful dimensional prison or strung up on a pole or whatever other horrible things might have happened to a different world's version of her.

"Also you're not... telling me to kill myself. Are you? Because that is very rude, even for eight cats. And I'm not trying to go to h-h-he, um, y'know Cutie Fox Island or anything like that. Unless? Gasps! Is that where this whole plot started?! Oh no that's so brilliant! I would've never in a thousand years thought to look there! Gosh, we're dealing with a criminal mastermind aren't we Mr. Catsassin sir?"

She frowns and fidgets in Berserker's arms. It feels like so much has gone wrong all at once, and her warrior's mystique will not be the last casualty? Is everybody ok? She takes her eyes off of what's in front of her to squint uselessly in the vague direction of the horizon she thinks she left all her friends.

Return to Thellamie

The annoying thing about a crisis is how little room it leaves for planning.

How is she meant to press an advantage, now that Timtam's game is broken? How is she meant to follow up on this rare blunder in execution, or detect if it even is one? What opportunity is there in the middle of this storm of noisy color to answer a question, firmly push the case further open, or plant a seed that might grow into larger evidence? She can't. She can't guarantee any path forward, because she doesn't even have time to settle on what role she's meant to play here between the detective and the knight?

In the end there's barely even enough time to register the frustration. Mayzie is in trouble, in a way she would not be if Erika wasn't around. How could she live with herself if she prioritized schemes and plotting over the health of the sweetest person anywhere across all the compass of reality? Neither Erika nor Eclair are capable: all she does is all that she can ever do.

Thus, the first move is to summon a heartblade. Tumbling through the air still wrapped in the arms of Mayzie Sighs there is no good time or space to observe the proper forms, but ask any master of the martial arts and they'll tell you that strict adherence is a liability. Anyone with keen eyes (or who just happened to be looking in their direction) will see a curved sword appear, but quickly its shape changes into an elongated pole with a scythe blade on the end. Crackles of purple energy do a bit to disguise the pearly color of the weapon, but how successful that is doesn't really matter. Erika takes her weapon in hand and swings it in a great circle around Mayzie, and around the pair of them the air falls away like a bubble. Already her weapon dissolves into insubstantial nothing, but its job is finished. The thing that she was trying to cut was sound.

Thus, the second move is to reach inside her little bag, and take some appropriate tools from its depths in the moment she has bought to act without succumbing to this stupid, awful, terrible, clumsy assault on her poor senses. The first thing she finds is a pair of starglasses, stolen from an idiot. She slips them on in the same motion she seizes a length of rope and winds it up to wrap around a ceiling beam. A skateboard would, of course, have been a much simpler and more flexible tool than any of this, but with Eclair Espoir nowhere to be seen these more amateurish attempts are all that's left. Forgive her, won't you? She really didn't expect to wind up in this situation.

Thus, the third move is to take hold of Mayzie with her legs. She wraps those strong limbs around the other girl's waist and pulls as tight and close as she dares so that she can hold onto her rope with both hands. As a pair they swing wide around and above the chaos; all the fighting and smoking and exploding doesn't touch them even though it envelopes them both as they twirl around the length of the main teahouse floor once, twice, three times. Not quite enough to make it to a window, blast it all. Erika has to settle for a landing on the floor.

It's Mayzie's feet that touch the floor, softer than feathers. Erika merely uncoils and flops into this woman's arms, nestling her head into the crook between this pretty girl's neck and shoulders. All this shouting and smoke and the bang bang BANG BANG color are giving her a headache. And really isn't giving into that her last, best weapon in this duel? The game might have changed shape but she still needs to play it until the end. Maybe she'll catch something before the end, if she keeps her eyes open and doesn't take herself out stupidly.

She nuzzles Mayzie's neck.

"We've gotta go," she mumbles, "Not safe here. Can you? Outside? Please~"

[Defy Disaster with Wit is an 8]

Breathless Dead

The unyielding ground welcomes her like the arms of a lover. It drinks the blood that weeps from her imperial roses and the tears that spatter from her half-divine eyes with equal rapaciousness. Its cold surface steals away her warmth with the greed of water, and emphasizes the softness of her form where it presses her flatter and wider as she twitches, convulses, writhes, and trembles against it.

Her vision is white. Her vision is all-in-black through wide open eyes. Her ears are buzzing, ringing, hollow silence and her spine is a blazing forge through which love long since chipped and pitted has been crafted anew. Her sigh is full of drool and ecstasy and reverence, misery, and pity in exacting measure, swirled together in her throat as by the universe's most supreme bartender.

There is a sensation of sudden weight across her shoulders. A single cube of ice has been tossed into the glass that is Bella, and when it clinks against her insides the world once again fills up her senses. Shining halos and kaleidoscopes break up her vision, but as she clutches what she realizes at last is a jacket wrapped across her to cover her shame, these brilliant hallucinations fade down to nothing.

Bella turns her head. It is not Redana but Vasilia who she sees standing above her, watching her with neither words of care or admonishment but rather only a single cool and calculating expression buried somewhere in her eyes. Bella watches her for long moments before suddenly turning away and making a show of wiping her lips dry on the back of her hand. She shivers as she pushes herself up onto her knees.

Now her ears fill with the soft threshing of a billion-billion tails all swishing in anticipation. She tastes sweat in the air, smells the blood pumping through the heart of this machine of war, listens to the whine of gears winding up to perform the next step in a perfect ritual dance. She smiles at it all.

As her lips spread her mouth fills up with glinting daggers. Her eyes flash with the sharpness of a thousand spears all pointed in a single direction. Inside her heart, a sword is drawn. She clutches her weapons tight and she laughs with a broken chime of a voice even as steam issues from between her teeth.

"There is nothing to be worried about."

She is singing. Her voice was made for that before any other considerations, and here at the end she lets it fill with the aching lilt and joyous tremolo that were whipped into her as a small child. They weave inside her body and turn weakness into power. She stands, slipping her arms inside the sleeves of the jacket and dipping into a bow in a single motion as smooth and certain as the bouncing of a river.

"I will be the only one who touches a single hair on your beautiful head, Lady. Show us the way! Bring us to Her! Come, come, come, hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry hurry hurry HURRY!"

Her howling laughter does not join the chorus, but splits it like a leaf against an evil blade.

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

Kat is afraid of cats.

She has been most of her life, though it isn't the kind of terror that would leave her quaking in her foxy shoes, the way that certain kinds of demon or a particularly large and edgy looking bug might. It is more correct to say that she is intimidated, and that she has yet to internalize that she is now significantly larger than most of them (a fact which was not true for most of her life).

A cat is perfect. A cat never loses anything. A cat is proud and unafraid and must be coaxed after long effort into trusting you before they will accept anything you have to offer as better than what they can get for themselves. But mostly it the absolute lack of fear that makes them so imposing.

It's not impossible to briefly corner a cat, or to pick one up without its permission. It is impossible to do those things without being injured, and even a quarter moment's hesitation for fear of pain is too much reflex advantage to give these proud, fierce hunters. But this is a war, is it not? She had forgotten, until she saw Berserker move.

She's not going to get away with anything less than her best effort.

Katherine ducks under a vicious swing of the cat tower, which costs her a chunk of rock from the shattering storm drain to the shoulder. She winces, but there's no time to focus on that. It's a necessary risk to get position, to slide into this narrow corridor and use her body to head off the cat's most obvious escape points. It can outjump her, surely, but Berserker is rapidly seeing to that even being an option, let alone an issue. The storm above or the fox below? Your move, kitty.

As a pair they bound and bounce off of the walls of the stormwater system, narrow passageways cutting off the benefits of agility and creativity. They may reward small size over long arms, but Kat will wear every bruise with pride in just a few minutes time. Around they go, and around, three times in a loop. Berserker's rage is cutting off the escape points, whether she means to or not. And Katherine is well past the point with her Servant where she feels the need to call out and stop her.

No, it's time to trust her partner. It's time to trust her knight.

At last she finds her window, which hisses and arches its back in defensive posture. The cat growls around the bird still dangling from its mouth. But Kat does not flinch. She bends and she lunges, and she closes her arms around that furry belly. Yes, she is scratched. Yes, she is bleeding. From her arms, across her collar, one really nasty one on her left cheek, on the back of her hand where once burned three Command Seals. But she does not let go.

"Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow owwwwwiiiiieeees!"

It's not her bravery that gets rewarded so much as the kitten-esque pitch of her exclamation. There are paw-knives dug deep into her wrist and it's hurting a lot more than she told herself it would. Tears bead in her soft eyes, when all at once the pain stops. She feels the wait of a robo-bird drop into her palm. The cat watches her calmly, clearly reassessing. Kat offers it a smile, carefully closing her eyes the way she was taught, to show trust and support.

And then she feels a bunch of sharp cat teeth sink into her arm. She screeches in pain and alarm, and is so surprised she drops the cat back onto the ground. Its eyes gleam in the dim before it lifts its proud snoot into the air and scampers off, slinking through the rubble and disappearing from view.

It's important this be realized: this is not a victory. No cat has ever lost a fight, and certainly not a kill. This is merely pity for an inferior opponent. An offering to an inferior huntress, as an act of generosity. Kat would do well not forget it.

"Got iiiitttt~" she chirps, thrusting the bird up out the shattered ground as proof. It takes her quite a while to scramble out. It takes her no time at all to pat Berserker on the back until she finally settles.

"I thought it was a nice tower," she says, "I mean, I'da gone in there. If I was a cat."

And that's really about as fair of a compliment as anyone can give or get. Kat glances down at her trophy, trying not to look at how many stingy cuts she's covered in, and smiles.

"At least we have this. Now we can... oh. Uh, hm. Hey Berserker, d'you know anybody who knows how to trace magic? 'Cause I got nothin'. Leastways without my phone..."