Phoe

Breathless Dead

She knows these smells better than any others in the entire universe. The chemical sting of a vast, metal prison that understands the importance of cleanliness. Smoke both acrid and sweet that sweeps over endless walkways of such dense metals that she can taste them on her tongue from here. Oil compounds running through the veins of the Prison Planet's great machine heart. The pheromone cocktail of True Humanity, laced with every signal imaginable to instill maximum loyalty in the unwashed, miserable Servitor population that surrounds them. And everywhere, everywhere, everywhere, the scent of roses.

The smell of home.

For years, she'd chased this. For years, she'd longed for air that tasted right, for olfactory responses that pressed calm into her lungs. For years, she'd carried around a small bottle of this place to help her sleep at night. For years after she lost it, she simply had not slept right. For years, her life had been nothing but a ceaseless comparison to this exact sensation.

Bella's spine tenses like a bowstring. Her eyes, already opening wide in shock at the lessons the gods had taught her, contract into furious slits. She bites down in fury and her jaw groans from the strain. Three sharp, angry sniffs and then her tail flicks behind her back. And she rushes outside with such speed that she has to kick her leg out in front of her, duck low, and dig her clawed gauntlet into the earth just to stop again.

And she beholds Tellus. Insubstantial and flickering. Threatening. Even now casting its shadows over the grass and demanding that water cease flowing save where it is directed to. That air pass through the specified channels, that weather turn null lest it interfere with the grand working of Humanity.

Home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home. She is home.

"NNNNNEEEEEERRRRRROOOOOOOOOO! HERMES!"

Bella's scream splits the sky. Her claw tips quiver. Her muscles pull so taught that she is carrying a mountain on her back again. Her eyes slash through the shadows and the twilight, searching. Searching. Seeking and never finding. She snarls.

"SHOW YOURSELF! SHOW ME YOUR FUCKING FACE RIGHT NOW! IS THIS ALL IT WAS?! IS THIS WHAT I WAS FOR? IS THIS WHAT REDANA WAS-- NERO!"

Her chest heaves. Steam hisses off her shoulders. A lifetime of worship and adoration and longing stick in her throat as tears sting the corners of her eyes. How long? How long has she carried the title of Praetor beyond all reason and through every trial where dropping it could only have been a blessing? How long, how far had she gone to prove her loyalty to the woman who had kicked her out without explaining anything in the first place?

She can feel them coming. Even from here, she can feel them. The Imperial Kennels. Home.

Breathless Dead

The inside of the cab is musty in a way that makes Bella think about dried sweat. The outside mostly smells like rust and gasoline, which is a new sensation. There's something oddly delicious about the fumes wafting through the vehicle, which feels like a shame because the truck gets to drink it instead of her. In the right wine glass it's probably sublime. What a waste.

She is in a hurry to sit down. To sit, and to ride, and to listen to nothing in particular. She is in such a hurry that she barely even notices the helpfully labeled sack of potatoes sitting in the bed as she passes it. Her ear bends back at a sound as she moves toward the door. Assassin-bred instincts pull her neck around to check it over again.

[POTATOES - FOX]

See? Helpful!

But Bella is in a hurry, so she merely shrugs and doesn't press it harder. And so long as nobody pays attention to the sound of rapid tippy taps begging someone to record a certain concert because stuff came up, nobody will be any the wiser! Nyehehe! Also shhhhhh!

"...I knew a woman named Jil. She belonged to a Servitor caste called the Lanterns."

Her voice surprises her. Not because she didn't mean to speak, but because it is so clear and bright. Even after all her tears and through the fatigue of an endless journey now weighing full upon her body, her words at least are beautiful in the way of song. She leans against the window, feeling cool glass press against her skin and the fur of her ear, and smiles.

"She was so afraid when I first met her. Her people were used on board our ship for menial labor, and for hunting practice when the warrior Kaeri were bored. Lamplight gleaming in the dark of a ship that hated all light and swallowed all sound. Huddled mice, flitting between the beacons and speaking mostly through touch. They taught me the language but I don't... remember it now."

"But she didn't stay that way. The Kaeri broke and I put the Lanterns in charge because they could do fucking anything at all. Sorry. Even my being 'in charge' of the Anemoi was just some stupid Imperial joke, so it's not like that meant anything. I didn't do anything. But with just that one chance, Jil turned into the most amazing person I'd ever met. She was sharper and surer than a knife. She protected her people, followed me through every dumbfuck choice and mission I ever made or had. Right up until--"

Bella stops suddenly, lifting her head up and craning her neck to look out the window and watch the world pass her by. A planet really is such a huge thing, y'know? Asking someone to follow you across and past so many of them feels increasingly ridiculous the longer she stays here. Why did it used to be so hard to see?

"...She was really good at cards. Nobody knows that about her. But we'd play something every night, usually in place of talking, and even from the beginning she'd do everything in her power to kick my ass as hard as she could. And she'd apologize about it too, which was the funniest thing I'd ever seen. Or when we did talk, she'd ask me about wine, and I'd have to describe the flavors to someone who couldn't have spoonful of the stuff without falling over. I guess this isn't much of a story, is it? Sorry. She was just... my friend. Maybe my first real friend. And I did nothing to deserve her. And I just... wanted somebody else to know her name. I don't know if anyone else remembers her, anymore."

Return to Thellamie

It would be so simple, do you know. So simple and also so satisfying. Just three quick motions: pop, twang, snap and all of these feelings would fade into mist. Nobody in this room even knows she has a heartbow, let alone that she's practiced with it enough to put a light arrow directly up this sore loser's left nostril from where they both sit. Could you imagine? Her food would taste like Light for a week!

...But she's probably someone who eats nothing but burned eggs to begin with. Even imagined delights are tainted by exposure. No, better not to rise to the obvious bait. Better to maintain composure and accept the shift. Better to--

Eclair turns the mechanical toy over in her hands several times, tilting it this way and that as she twists her neck that way and this to see the curious thing from every possible angle. With a sigh, she sets it gently on the ground, and then she sets to work. First she passes her hands over the table: once, twice (she turns them over), thrice (she turns them again). In her hand is a small tea strainer. There is a swift, faster-than-snakelike bit of movement and in that flash the tea leaves scattered artfully on the table have been trapped. She passes her hands over them again once, twice (turning them without spilling anything), thrice (clap!): it is gone again.

She lifts her hands up to eye level and spreads her fingers. Snap! She is holding a pair of small sugar cubes. She flicks her wrists and bounce the pair of them into Aadya's cup, which is free from loose tea leaves and fit to drink. She lifts her own cup to her lips without bothering to alter it and takes a refined, delicate sip. She even only makes the smallest of faces at it.

"To begin with, let us respond to that question by flipping the table around."

She holds both hands out. One to her side and one in front of her, in anticipation of a particular reaction.

"Metaphorically. The question posed is whether or not I enjoy spreading baseless rumors for the sake of causing a panic. From this side of the table, this is a blanket denial: an informational void. But if we look from the other side..."

Eclair drains her teacup without removing it from her lips. Long and slow, nobody ever sees her swallow, and nevertheless the liquid is gone. She taps it against the table once, twice (lifting a hand to cover it), thrice (smashing her palm down onto the table). It does not shatter. It disappears.

She smiles.

"We are left with a different question altogether. Why do this? Well, to buy time of course. She cannot (obviously) lie about something like this, not when the question was posed so directly, and not without being caught. So she does not. She does - are you going to drink that? - this. Supposing that I require an answer, she can sustain her professional pride and her duty to her station by stonewalling with a flashy and rather time consuming show until I no longer have the time to press her on it. And by my own admission did I not say I had a very limited window in which to act? The show makes sense the moment you put these pieces together."

Now she raises one finger. This, she simply touches to her lips before she slides it down to her chin and lets it tap there for a moment.

"Fear not, my dull witted apprentice. I can defend my thesis without it being necessary for her to utter another word. Shall we examine the Festival of Lights? I was, as you will recall, not present at the actual ceremony but a delightful fawn did fill me in on the details after the fact, so we can remain confident that this speculation is at the very least, grounded in something. As a ceremony conducted by the Goddess Civelia, the crowning of a Queen of Light is something that relies somewhat heavily on the presence of Princess Heron. Most Civil rites tend to, if you'll forgive me for saying so."

Eclair glances briefly at Aadya. Her eyes also flick backwards to check on Mayzie.

"That ceremony failed. Now, there are any number of reasons why it should happen to select a diverse assortment of candidates gathered around a starlight-chosen champion's heart rather than accomplishing the single thing that it is supposed to, but I submit that the most important among them is that Heron was not involved in the first place, and the mechanism could not help but function along an alternate path. And certainly! Yes! This hardly counts as firm evidence of anything in and of itself. Let us move on, and quicken the pace."

"In Vespergift, multiple members of Heron's retinue were sighted, this lovely young woman among them. The Dark Dragon Sayanastia was also present, which I find rather interesting but setting that to one side, the city was assaulted by all manor of its own primal terrors including the sudden and seemingly resurrected Architect Knight, who has not been anywhere on Thellamie in its recorded lore since the original fall of Aria Thendragon. And despite all of this, though Heron's motivations and exact missions are as mysterious as a passing storm, the hero herself made not one motion to help or hinder. Neither was she present for the rebuilding, which relied instead on a strange "Mystery Builder" and the collective efforts of the ordinary citizenry. Neither was she present for the conflict at the ball that followed, though darkness itself should threaten to devour the final home of the North."

She does not request more tea. She does not produce or pour her own. This is not her party. That is fine. She taps her lips through a smile.

"More to the point, you at least I know are aware that Civelia has been kidnapped. Not killed, mind you, but kidnapped. Gone, perhaps forever if nothing is done about it. And thus there is no need for anyone to make up rumors of Heron's disappearance if one wanted to spread terror and confusion among the denizens of this fair reality. Would you not agree the truth suffices far more? And yet, whither our Hero of Ages? All anyone can seem to find are her handmaidens, forever missing one among their number, and an endless assortment of inconsistent and hollow imitations of the Hero herself."

Once, she taps her lip. Twice, she taps it with the opposite side of her glove. Thrice, and she is holding a lit cigar. She puffs on it, and it produces bubbles instead of smoke.

"Of course, all of this pales in comparison to my own prey. The Khaganate moves with increasingly surety that they will have total control of the world. Their ally, whom I chase, has fully broken her ties with the Aurorae and has settled under the patronage of a new figure I do not yet know. Their schemes together paint a picture of a total rewrite of the story of Thellamie. This would not and could not even begin to take root in a world with Heron the Hero. So with certainty, even setting aside the deteriorating condition of her handmaidens, I conclude that she is gone. We are in our own hands now."

Eclair blows a ring of bubbles and rolls the cigar between her fingers like a pen before flicking her wrist and swapping it with the teacup she vanished earlier. She sits it on the table and gestures in request for it to be filled again.

"But this remains supposition. Testimony from an eyewitness would be invaluable. Now. I am offering you, Trainer, as I did before: an opportunity to do the correct thing and answer my questions. The more you can tell me, the better. If you do not I will be forced to make my way through your order until I find someone willing to part with the information. Do you think I can't? And yet twice I am asking you. Be more than some... shadow sword for a departed heroine. Be more than an obstinate brat, stuffed with pride and straw. Do not come to me seeking to lose, defeat me by aiding my investigation. This is your last, your only chance to free yourself."

Breathless Dead

Scarlet turns to look at Violet. Violet looks back at Scarlet and shrugs. As a pair, they turn their eyes back to Dyssia.

"Wait, for real? Didn't you say you were-"

"Hmph! So you're saying you want perfection in exchange for a miracle? Well then-"

"No seriously Scar, she was askin' me about the water! She said it was-"

But Scarlet's got a hand over Violet's mouth, so the thought doesn't complete. And she's got another hand (that's two, for the record, perfectly normal) pulling a ticket out of... um? Wh-where... where did that come from, exactly? That bathrobe doesn't have pockets. She just. Like. What did? How did she?

Uh??????

Ok well anyway there's a ticket in her second hand ok, let's not think about this too hard (please), and she flicks it with two crisp fingers into a position where Dyssia can see, consider, and also easily take it for herself.

"As. I was saying! You're in luck, Dyssia. It so happens we're in town to gear up for a major race in just two weeks."

"The Iron Lady's Divine Shield!"

"If your wish is to see us compete at the highest level, you can easily do it there."

"It's cool if you can't make any others, though! We're kinda all over the place."

"Like Violet said, a typical race tour is a national affair. It's a lot of travel, more of a commitment than all but the most diehard enthusiast can handle."

"But if we win two more, we'll qualify for the international circuit! You can check us out easy when we get to California!"

"...What? Violet, why would she be able to see us there?"

"I told you, she's foreign!"

"Why do you think that every tall foreigner is American? There are other countries, you uncultured oaf!"

"Y-yeah? Well you name one then, you're so smart. Where's she from?"

"Obviously she's Australian?"

"Psh! You dummy, that's a continent."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"...What?"

"You are so lucky you're pretty. Right. Well. Dyssia, I don't have a quite know the full picture of what you're after, but I promise you this much. If you come and watch, you'll not only see for yourself how much Violet and I can push each other-"

"Oh right! We cut through the river here like, four times goin' down the lakes! Yeah, she'll see all kinds of stuff that way! Hell yeah, Scar!"

"Of course! Who exactly do you think you're talking to?"

And that's kinda how that goes. The pair of them preen at each other, and then suddenly there is a three way hug. The cool thing about a group hug is that, unless you're touch averse, you don't gotta panic while one is happening. There's no awkward answers you need to have. Nobody's checking if your thoughts are staying in a straight line. By the time it's done you could have thought of, like, nine things and nobody would know or care. You can just be quiet and enjoy it. Or yap, if that's how you stim. It's just, y'know, it's still a hug. Y'know?

They're grateful, this pair. They're happy. And they're very practiced with doin' whatever whenever. You could have worse friends, is what I'm sayin'. But wow, Dyssia. Wow wow wow. This and dance lessons from Yin? I guess you're never gonna be bored, if you stick around.

There are answers to your questions. All bajillion of them; and for the record I think you'd look great with some kinda chain mesh hair analog whatsit. You could totally pull off the flip with a good weekend and a mirror. Give it a go! Anyway, yes. Your questions. They may not be answers that come outta anyone's mouth (especially not these two mouths), but if you watch? And you listen? You'll know them all.

I think you probably don't hear this a lot, but Dyssia? I happen to think you're a better listener than most.

*****

There's a lot that Kat could say about Elly, but all of it is better expressed in song form. The moment is coming. A bit more walking and everything will be made clear. But right now there's... well, right now there's a lot of stuff happening.

Like a sniffle that is not almost crying. And not 'cause it's actual crying! It's a regular, non-crying sniffle, the kind any girl could get. It's a quiet little spin around to put feet on the proper path to the destination again, since the destination is where feet need to be going.

It's no thank you, no spoken thank you of any kind, because all the not crying Kat didn't do very much didn't leave a not ball of no stuff not stuck in her throat. She's swallowin' a bunch 'cause it's, uh, fun! Yeah. So much fun. But as fun as it is, it does leave enough room in the action budget for a squeeze of a sheep's hand.

A squeeze so friendly it can only happen between friends. But let's set that aside for a moment. 'Cause like I said, there's a lot happenin' right now and it deserves its moment.

Everything else is coming. Right now there is a sheep. A sheep with questions. It's just that there is also a fox. And foxes? Have an impeccable sense of the moment. At least most of the time. S'why they're so good at Foxgirl Schemes.

Kat turns her eyes toward a spot just over yonder. It happens to be the exact spot Hera is passing through at the time.

She smiles.

...Later, a long time later, she will think about what it is she saw. And when that moment comes, she will tuck her chin between her thumb and forefinger and engage in Serious Thinkies.

"Huh," she will say, "She was... wrong? But she seemed so sure."

*****

Trying to compress Bella's yearnings into a single point is a fool's errand. Her childhood, her adolescence, and even the vast majority of her adult life is best described as a yawning, endless cavern of pure desire. A hungry void where things that would or would have been nice should go.

And they never did, for the most part. Why was she born? Why did Sagakhan choose her for the Temple of Artemis? What purpose does her family serve, and what is her place in it? What kind of creature, what Servitor species was she meant to be? If she'd been normal, what might she have looked like? How would she think and act and be?

Maybe she has no purpose. Maybe there was no reason. Maybe she is wholly unique in all the known universe with no model to speak of. Maybe, just maybe, the meaning of her life is that she is. The thought hits her in the stomach, harder than Jessic's tail could ever manage.

But one thing she could definitely say about her life is that it had been missing something. Everyone around her from the moment she was born, from the lowest to the highest, had conversations with the gods. It seemed to be the most natural thing in the world. But not for Bella: for her, questions tended to hang in the air and die. Prayers and offerings never came with the results she hoped for, never once filled the myriad holes in her heart. She always assumed that meant that nobody was listening.

She watches them walk with their candles. She watches Redana pass so easily among them, child of the gods that she is, and she cannot join in. She is frozen in place, clenching her fists and her teeth so hard that something in one of them starts to creek. All that is lift for her to do is lash her tail in frustration.

The gods have always been. They have always been right there. Did her fires not light? Did her meals not cook as well as she could ever make them? Did her chores not finish, did her love not blossom, secret inside her chest until it pulled her across the very Rift itself? Did her claws not tear in half whatever she put them to? Of course it did, of course it did, of course it did, of course it did.

Blessings unasked for. Blessings unpaid for. Blessings freely given. It is so hard to see without eyes. It is so hard to speak without language. How in the fuck was she supposed to figure out how base and... transactional the world she'd lived in had really been? Once, she made fun of a planet for using something as stupid as currency. Tellus had bought and sold more every day, and with a far uglier coin. Prayer was simply commerce. Conversations merely wealth.

And she. And she? And she! Bella! Bella, who had (though under a different name) been worshiped as a demigod. Bella, who had stepped foot on Olympus itself. Bella, who had killed every mother she had dared to beg for. Bella, the slave who had briefly put her foot onto the path of kingship without ever bothering to loosen her shackles. She! She. She?

She has every right to say something. She has a hundred things she wants to have or to know, and these gods are the beings who can give her that. She has to say something. To all of them. To any of them.

Bella falls to her knees and cries. Twisted, sorrowful howling fills the Sky Castle. It wracks her body and sends shivers down her arms. It burns her chest and stings her eyes until it blinds her, and still she cries.

"I'm sorry," she says. Because she has to, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so, so, so sorry."

Miracles exist because they are something that can never be purchased. They can only be given. That is why it only happens now, after everything else. That is why, while she sobs out her apologies and asks nothing at all, she feels a hand touch her shoulder. Her head is heavier than stone, but she lifts it to see.

Who has come at the end of this long journey to tell her it is alright?

Return to Thellamie

"No need."

Surprise attack in limited space. Opportunities for creativity are restricted. This is a benefit. Forward lunge, turn on opposite hip. Throw right hook toward jaw. Momentum counters momentum, doubling force. Natural motion of attack carries zone out of now-shattered range of wild opening blow.

"I am simply faster."

Seize wrist, following turn of hip. Twist toward opponent's back using arm as a fulcrum. Small step forward, opposite hand on back of head. Sweep leg, guiding upper torso in grip, drop to floor. Knee on back. Hold.

"Well. This is certainly strange. The last time we met as I recall you demonstrated remarkable combat acuity. Not only was your form precise and worthy of copying, you understood within a single exchange that further dueling was pointless. I have you written down in my notebook and everything as a woman of intelligence and talent."

Secondary lunge inevitable. Shift weight to twist arm, stop short of dislocating shoulder. Press knee into center of back and apply full weight. Press her to the ground again, more forcefully this time.

"By comparison this is the work of a starving dog. What could have... aha."

Eclair releases her assailant and lifts her up onto her feet. As she turns, her tail flicks the leg of the stool/battering ram/makeshift shield and knocks it up into the air, if only slightly. She extends her leg behind her and juggles it until the legs are properly facing the floor, and sits her new guest down on it even as it clatters onto the floor.

She takes three steps toward the kitchen. She makes no even vague concessions toward her own defense. This is no longer a puzzle of battle. It's not a fight of any kind, even if she's attacked again: it's is a mystery.

"Owing to the... spectacular nature of your entrance, I would estimate I have between seven to ten minutes before a local response reaches this place. As such I must be gone before then. So you will forgive me if I skip straight to the conclusion without offering supporting suppositions."

While she says this, she prepares a cup of green tea. There's being in a hurry and there's being rude, and one is not an excuse for the other.

"Princess Heron is gone, isn't she? She has left Thellamie entirely and will not be returning. That is the reason for your... downturn, is it not? How long has this been the case?"

Breathless Dead

One hundred times she is asked the question: "Can you overcome this?" And one hundred times she answers: "Might as well try."

One hundred attempts, in one hundred different forms. Each time faster, sharper, harder, more skilled, more ferocious. And then? Softer, more graceful, more controlled, more refined and fitting of a Princess (whatever that's supposed to mean). As is proper for a knight, and then a dancer, and then a damsel, and then a beast, and then a hero. Everything that can be asked of her, is. Everything that she can be without changing who she is, she tries. And at the end of one hundred permutations of this single question there is...

The sight of the sky. The flowing wisps of white cloud against an infinite blue field and a sun that has not budged an inch so that it could sit and watch this happy miracle.

The feeling of her knee touching the ground. It is firm without going all the way to hard. The grass tickles her knee as it dances around her, not caring one teeny bit about the violence of the scene it just witnessed, or even for the miracle of it all. The feeling also of heat, of steam pouring off of her flesh, of ribs straining against her heaving breaths and the burning of her lungs. Her heart pounds staccato and it is... delicious?

Failure has never felt this clean before. Exhaustion has never felt this fulfilling. She has poured the entirety of her power into a match against a monster greater than herself, and for the first time in her life there is no need to slink into the shadows to recover. Her body is not a ruined, bloody mess, for all that she was bitten and burned and smashed through rocks more than twice her size. Her mind is buzzing, but pleasantly.

Everywhere she looks she sees the same. The same exhaustion, the same satisfaction, the same gratification. Even Princess Jessic is not immune. Only Yue, the only one to look at a dragon and go, "whoops wait I need to practice for this first!" is standing placidly and untouched. She fishes around in her bags for some water bottles and lines them up in waiting with a serene look etched across her face.

"You... lying... bitch..." heaves Bella, nevertheless snatching up the offered water and pouring it all over herself.

"Awawawawawaaaaa???? W-wait! Wait! What'd I do? What'd I do?"

"These... secret... swords."

"Secret Swords."

"What... ever! You said... yours... was different! But it's the same! The exact same!"

Even as she spits out this final word, Redana flops like a fish into Bella's arms. It's kind of amazing how neither of them are actually hurt, isn't it? In spite of Chen's warnings, in spite of all of the dangerous and borderline stunts they just attempted, the pair of them are just... sore. And tired.

"I knew it. I knew you were good," says Bella, "I wouldn't get my ass handed to me that badly by someone who wasn't on this level."

And at this, Yue can only giggle. She's still laughing when she gathers up her water bottles and hands them out to these greedy, thirsty girls. Even as the final vestiges of the dance taper out between Jessic and Chen, every breath she draws comes with the risk of another little snort.

"Oh goshies, if you're gonna go and say something that sweet I think I might really have to try."

*****

"S-Scar?!"

This is a bit crass to say, but Violet was born to run. Her lithe frame is built for speed, and her muscles hide outsized power relative to her weight for a kick and drive that is just killer. That is to say that, even with Dyssia holding her, and even if she were to employ several tricky moves with that little miracle she calls a Grav-rail, I'd still be puttin' my money on Violet to drag her right out of this hotspring during her flight of terror.

Why'm I bothering to tell you this? Well, 'cause Violet hasn't moved. And if you understand the implications, then you know the only possible explanation for that is that she hasn't run. She's about jumped out of her skin just now, but she hasn't run. And that, ladies, is the power of friendship. And hand holding! Yay!!

Because Scarlet has indeed returned, in all the fullness of her glory and a very elegant and fluffy bathrobe. She wears it with the grace of a first class princess, even though the sleeves are just a touch too long and are flopping a teeny bit past her wrists. Her twintails dance like flames as she walks forward.

Poised. Graceful. Elegant. Perfect...ly nervous. She coughs, again.

"...You didn't chase after me."

"Huh? I, er, didn't think you wanted me to."

"I didn't! But you always do it anyway! I got worried, you idiot!"

Scarlet puts her hands on her hips and lifts her chin up into the air, but something about the motion comes across as... defensive? Flustered? She's not entirely on her game, and it's not exactly difficult to figure out why. Violet flushes at the sight, and the only thing keeping her in the room is the steady hand wrapped around her own. So that's two she owes you, Dyssie!

"D'you come here to yell some more? 'Cause I--"

And that's as far as she gets before she feels two fingers press against her lips. It does a better job of shutting her up than you'd think, considerin' two fingers on a body's lips do precisely squat and nothing to stop the motion of lips or the formation of a voice. It's just the suggestion of shushing that does all the work, y'know? And you wouldn't think that a prideful, cool, wild punk like Violet would have so much Good Girl lurking inside her.

But she does. She must, because Scarlet's blushing too much to do any proper domming.

"I-I heard. What you said. Did... you mean that? Or was it just more hot air?"

"Come off it Scar, how long have we known each other? We fight, but I don't lie. 'Course I meant what, uh, what I... you know. That stuff. And junk."

"Even so, I, I... I want to hear you say it. To me. If you do that, then I..."

Sometimes, cycles are things that just perpetuate forever. The blood gets hot, the mouth says a bunch of dumb silly stuff, the feelings well up, and fighting and competition become the only way to express all of the stuff lurking under the surface. The craving for something more seeps in, and then, and then... and then nothing, actually. The blood gets hot and it all just starts again.

But sometimes, a miracle happens. A perfect stranger waltzes in and doesn't balk when the hot-blooded spill their guts without prompting, and in that moment...

"It's true, Scar. You're... m-my goal. I'm gonna fight to stand by your side. A-a-a-and I'm not sayin' you win, ok?! I love the look on your face when you lose too much. But I, if, u-uh. If I had the choice of being the best and losin' you... I'd stay, instead."

"Violet, that almost sounds like you're offering to be my handmaiden."

"W-well look! A handmaiden's way the hell cooler than a prinmmMPh?!?"

The miracle resolves with lips touching lips. Scarlet is not such a blushing maiden that she won't conquer in front of a stranger. Won't allow herself to be claimed in turn. It isn't chaste by a long shot. It isn't even tender. The pair of them are ferocious and hungry, stoked on by years of circling without ever quite tasting.

When they retire to their room, they will not sleep. There are too many experiences they have missed out on, too many delicacies to taste for the first time in the context of them being a thing that belongs to them, and to each other, and to themselves as a pair. And ohhhhhhhh, the things I could say about that! Y'know, if I could watch. But they don't need anybody to step outside for an hour, or even a moment. Because Scarlet and Violet are strong.

I don't expect that makes any sense, but that's ok.

"I'm not going to ask what happened between you two, Miss..?"

"Dyssia! Don't worry, we just talked. I talked, mostly. I think she might be foreign? She's got a really cool accent I've never heard before."

Scarlet looks at Violet for a moment before shaking her head and returning her attention to the matter at hand. She clears her throat, imperiously and very forceful.

"As! I was saying! Miss Dyssia then, I will not pry. But it looks like I owe you a thank you." She frowns, just a little, a cute little pout of somebody who just took a loss when she wasn't even competing, "I'm not someone who appreciates being in debt. Is there anything I can do to repay you for the treasure I've just claimed?"

"H-hey! What the!? What treasure? Scar, the hell're you talkin' about? I ain't no treasure! I just said Handmaiden, got it? Hand. Mai. Den!!"

They should put Scarlet's face in textbooks. 'Cause this is what it means to gloat.

*****

"You've got a good eye, McSheeps. She's my lock screen, in fact."

Kat, who to this point has been simply the best and most attentive listener ever, gives Dolce a cool and appraising look. Then her eyebrow raises and oh, whoops, nope, she was just impressed! She smiles and pulls out her phone, briefly flashing an image of a pink haired dragon girl with curling purple horns, a winning smile, and a dynamic pose featuring fingerhearts with fingers that very confusingly seem to end at the second knuckle in pink polished... claws? But if they're claws they're unusually well manicured, and also the picture is gone and back inside a fox's pocket. A foxet, if you will.

"Elly's short for Elizabeth, but don't call her that. The cutest, most beautiful, most charming, perfect best dragon hero I✦D✦O✦L of the world!"

Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits stands tall and proud and completely unabashed for exactly four and three quarters seconds. Then she blushes crimson and drops her eyes to the ground, laughing in an extremely bothered way to show how not bothered she is about all of this.

"She... that's how she wanted to be introduced. I didn't mean to become president of her fanclub, y'know? I was just. Like, there. When she saved the world. There was a... oh beans and biscuits I'm no good at tellin' this story. You should ask Mom about it. I know you're staying in her house right now. Pretty sure you're sleepin' in my room, even. And just, ah here, look."

Not so very long ago there had been an entity called Adam. What he wanted is the source of a very different tale, but what matters right this second is that he was a big believer in cameras. In short, this moment got captured from every angle a body could want. Kat pulls out and up her phone again and quickly tippy taps her way to a popular upload.

She holds it up for Dolce to see, and then turns her body away from both it and him, holding her arm out and steady so as not to mess up his view.

And on her little screen, space. Just beyond the reaches of Earth, still kissed by her atmosphere, but nevertheless Space. Choked with ugly, metal combat drones and a giant industrial laser drill determinedly burning a hole in a massive vault. Blue light and pop music and the tinny sound of a young girl crying.

The idea of Pandora's Box comes readily to mind. It would not be difficult, not at all, to imagine how letting that vault get cracked open might be the doom of the whole planet. But the cameras frame the work of those drones and lasers as a heroic triumph, and it's barely even possible to spot the tiny figures standing on the platform of a space elevator in the center because they are so determinedly focused on the efforts of the drill. More and more of the titanic seal is pealed away, cracked, and melted and...

And then everything burns pink for a second. Cameras swivel all at once to catch a vision in black and the pinkest of pink blazing in the sky, parrying gunfire and even drawing the ire of that giant beam of vault-destroying light. From the chaos, voices rise up. One of them, cool and smooth (and cool!). Another, higher pitched and very stressed out. A third warbling with tears but recognizable if you tilt your head as one of the two individuals currently on their way to see a concert. You may guess which, if you dare.

"We believe in you, Elizabeth!"
"They'd better give me so many wallets for this I'll need a cart just to- oh! Sorry! Yeah, go Elly! And stuff! Woo~!"
"You can do it, Elly!"

Their chants of encouragement lift higher and higher, like prayers to a goddess. And then a clear voice, bright and beautiful and so powerful it rattles the cameras booms out over top of them.

"OF! COURSE! I! CAN!!!"

Blue and Pink clash and then ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

The surviving cameras pick the scene back up. They are lower, within the boundaries of the planet's embrace. A woman of surpassing beauty plummets from on high, coats flapping in the wind. Her hair is brightest pink and flutters in a halo as she tumbles. Her eyes are purest sapphire, and welled with tears. Her painted lips spread wide in a smile and she murmurs something nobody can catch.

She hugs herself tight and dissolves into golden light even as she falls.

Kat snatches her phone away and snaps it into her pocket with unnecessary force.

"Eventually, most people'll forget. She won't stay popular forever. They'll move on. But I won't. 'Cause if she... 'cause I'd be... Miss Ivar wouldn't have made it in time. Without them both I could have never."

Her voice wobbles, exactly like the video. Her sword flashes, and Dolce's net falls in tatters all around him. She quickly runs away.

If only she had a friend right now, huh?

Return to Thellamie

"You do understand the seriousness of your situation, yes?"

It began simply. These things always do. The idiot had clothes and rags scattered about in a few notable places among old glasses and disposable trash. Just a matter of bending down to pick a couple of things up off the ground. Then the pressing, folding, and returning of each item to its proper location. Such a mindless, easy task it did not occur to her to not do it.

The trouble began when she took the glasses to the kitchen to wash them. That's when she saw the state of everything. She has been trapped in here ever since, washing smudges and streaks of grease or spots of old milk out of dishes and cookware. Every step of progress reveals a new link in the endless chain of traps set here to capture her. The work of a villain, clearly.

"I have explained to you in detail the degree to which I am incapable of providing services as a healer. Even if I were of some modest talent, you are hurt quite badly and I would not trust myself to your convalescence," She shakes her head, "When you gave directions I did not believe for a second that you were leading me to your house. Is it your intention to sleep off a stab wound? Are you somehow dumber than you look?"

The soap here has been allowed to run low. She is obliged to supply her own. Something that should be trivial to provide takes double the effort and care because she needs to not wake little Soline, who is apparently deeply possessive of her requisitions to a degree that even Morning would find greedy. Troubles pile atop of troubles.

"Is this some misguided attempt to protect me? I assure you I have grown quite used to needing to run from everyone with even a shred of authority. It is not new. There is no need to prioritize-- Evening's Light, how did you get it on the sides of the pot?!"

Not only has an infinite maze of dirty dishes kept her pinned in place, as she moves to put away the freshly cleaned items, Eclair Espoir has discovered streaks and stuck on cheeses on the surfaces of the utensils that had already been shut away and (allegedly) cleaned. Her eyebrow twitches. She pulls an entire stack out and sweeps them toward the sink.

Sigh, sweeping. She had not even found the time to do that.

"...There is such a thing as being too focused on the big picture, you understand. Now. Please tell me you have, mmn. No. Show me. Show me you have some means of contacting help, or I cannot continue on my investigation. I am going to get you to a healer even if I have to drag you back into the streets and scream murder."

Breathless Dead

"What do I... get out've it?"

Violet gets a look on her face like she's just heard the stupidest question of her life. But when she opens her mouth to say so (well, say the polite version of it anyway), she winds up shutting it again without any noise. She tries three times, and gets as far as 'ah', before she realizes she's been defeated.

"I, uh, I dunno."

She doesn't take that offered hand. Not 'cause it wouldn't be nice! She just needs both hands for folding her arms across her chest and tilting her head up toward the ceiling: long known as the single coolest way a person (be they horse, snake, fox, or otherwise) can engage in the act of thinkies.

"Kinda hard to say it's confidence, ain't it? Or if that is it then I've screwed the whole thing pretty royally. But nah, like... nah. Coolness' supposed to come from confidence. If you're chasin' it to be able to look at yourself in the mirror and smile you're runnin' the whole race backwards. Though that does sound kinda fun. Maybe I should... ah forget it."

Violet flashes Dyssia a little grin before she looks down and notices there's a hand flopped there. Just... on offer. Sorry, I guess she didn't notice it earlier. That's my bad! Ok well she notices it now. And she blushes and looks real hard at the water. But she does take it. She takes it and squeezes, and when her hand goes slack after that she's a bit surprised to see she isn't free again.

She clears her throat.

"And, uh, if I... I mean no. It doesn't make any sense that I should care what other people think. Like, I don't, but then like, I kinda don't want them to be mad at me? If that makes any sense? But I don't want a cool they can just take away from me! If that's what I've got then I don't got anything, if you follow. I wouldn't be me! I'd just be some lame blob of trends, morphing all the time whenever anybody new looked my way. Like a... uh, shit. There's a type of demon that does this, least I'm pretty sure it's a demon. It's got a super cool name but I just can't, mm. Nah, s'not coming to me. But you know what I mean, right?"

There's a moment of silence. That moment stretches into a minute. Into five. It's enough for an entire storm of errant thoughts and tangents to live and die and live again inside of either head presently engaged in, erm, conversation? Is is still conversation if nobody's talking? I guess so. The quiet only lives on because in every second of it Violet looks like she's on the verge of making a new point. Her lips are moving without ever stopping, it's just that no words pass through them.

Until she flips up her bangs, as if to clear her head. This is Dyssia's first good luck at Violet's eyes, which are of course not violet at all, but a deep, dirty honey color and sharper than swords to boot. Then her hair flops back down and that white shock covers all of her mysteries again.

"Actually, I take it back. It is for someone, for... Scarlet. S'like, it's all well and good to say she's got the easier path to follow, but from where I'm looking she's just a miracle. Don't tell her I said this ok, but she's perfect.. How hard she works, the way she moves, how she never settles, not when she's on the top and sure as hell when she gets knocked down off it. I wanna be cool for her. I wanna be so god damn cool that nobody will ever bat an eye when I stand next to her. 'Cause I'm gonna chase her no matter what, til both of us are dead. And I gotta be someone worthy of doin' that."

And from the door, a small cough.

*****

"Um," ums Kat. She also 'er's as a follow up, but you don't need that written out as such according to a style guide.

So. There's a look people get on their faces when they detect the presence of an in-joke but can't find the doorway through it. That is, ever so briefly, the expression that passes across the face of one Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits as she watches Dolce marvel at this can of matcha latte.

There's the shape of a Fox Trick to it, right? 'Cause he's very diligently no sold more or less everything he's seen on their little tour with this veil of very forced politeness, but this tiny little wonderless wonder has stumped him? Is this a genuine reaction? Is he engrossed, or just regular grossed? She doesn't know! And there's a whole lot've mischief you can fit into a 'don't know', I'll have you know.

"The vending machine? It's, like, right over there. Sorry, didja want a coke instead? I can go grab a bottle if you'd rather somethin' fizzy while you're checking if there's any more serpentum in yonder machina. I just, y'know, people say... some people say," she corrects herself, "That a matcha latte is a sin against tea and coffee at the same time but I just figure when you want a little treat it oughta be creamy? Especially chasin' crunchy. Y'know?"

She flashes Dolce a little grin and hops down out of her chair to scamper gracefully on over to the machine and demonstrate the arcane art of pushing a button to make a little elevator rise up out of a glass case and slide a bottle of brown, bubbly liquid into a little hand slot thingy so she can grab it and bite off the cap with her teeth (rawr!) and reach out in offering.

When he just kinda stares, she shrugs and takes a long swig. And flashes a big, knowing smile.

"Good. In another life, perhaps we would have been friends. Oh well! Come along then, my lovely pet, if you're good to go. I've got one more stop today and it's a bit of a walk. If you've got anything to say you can tell me on the way."

Kat takes three steps toward the exit. Just three dainty, foxy little steps. And somehow they've transformed her. Her back looks straight and proud, her tails fan out gloriously behind her. For the first time, the sword at her hip doesn't feel invisible or tacked on. It's an essential part of her, here in this moment. She turns her head to look over her shoulder, and her eyes sparkle like the foxiest sort of jewels.

"They're doing a tribute show for Elly. I'm the president of her fanclub, so it'd be downright rude of me to miss it, y'know?"

*****

A field of stars on a sea of purest black. Though, not stars so much as the eye would see them, not the night sky of this here Earth or the busy, colorful kaleidoscope of (I'm told) Poseidon's wrath and wonder, but simple hand painted orbs of radiating light as placed there by a girl that had never been permitted to gaze at anything other than a ceiling even once in her life. Swirling, overlarge orbs of yellow and white hanging, almost floating in the stillness.

Here and there, little specks of dappled paint attempting to convey the farness and the otherness of the sky, something beautiful but also very very scary at the same time. No ground, no heraldry, nothing but the inky sea for these clumsy motes to swim in and no sense of perspective anywhere to be seen.

It's a painting she's tried to recreate in many forms since. None of which have ever quite matched the wonder of that first doomed attempt. Once upon a time she had destroyed it rather than risk letting it be seen by the only eyes it had been painted for. Something clumsy and naive made suddenly vindicated by the slow, steady drip of new information.

Her ignorance made manifest. All that she could ever want. Bella holds her old painting once again, in the form of a shield. It was the very first time she'd tried to make a promise. Not to do what was expected of her but to stand with Redana as an equal and give her something that could not be taken. The stars, Bella, the stars. For love. And for ever.

Is it any wonder that this is what her heart would call to when it needed a defender?

Bella looks at it with quiet that is deeply unfitting for a duel with a dragon decked in all her knightly panoply. Redana leaps into action and Chen follows with acrobatics that should be as impossible as the castle they're all standing on, and Bella can't muster any reaction than to take the thing in her hands and turn it over to look at it.

How many times? How many times was a revelation going to come to her? How many times would she be made to look at her perspective and learn how wrong she'd been about everything there ever was? How many times could she survive having her world upended? How many times could she take being told how soft and fragile she was before she just... shattered?

"Oh! I love the colors on that."

"Gyah?! What the fuck are you doing there? Shouldn't you be secret swording this castle to pieces?"

"Uh, 'Secret Sword'ing. And hahaha, no! Are you kidding? You think I've got any practice fightin' dragons? Last time I came up this way I spent the whole time in a dungeon. With four pawsies! But isn't it pretty? Your shield, I mean? Like look, up there!"

And sure enough at the top of the field, the motes are not like the stars at all. There are no details other than color and a different brush stroke to tell them apart, but these feel like something other than celestial bodies. The green and blue, next to two golden circles. And next to those, purest violet. And more besides. And more besides! Some are brighter and some are duller, some are larger and some are smaller, some are clearer and some are dimmer, but the way they gather, the way they watch...

"Psst! Hey Bella? You feelin' a little naughty right now?"

"Why do you phrase everything in the weirdest way possible?"

"Well, Chen told you not to fight, right? But IIIIIIIIiiiiiiiiii think it'd be a shame to miss a big brawl with a dragon-princess when she's been so nice and invited you. Y'know? So, whaddya say? Wanna have a go?"

Bella says nothing, but stretches her neck in response. She rolls her shoulders, slowly, as if testing the joints. She tenses her fingers, stretches her core, and brushes one hand down the length of her shield before she finally takes her grip along the handles, looking for all the world like a perfect knight before she hunches low for the pounce. Her tail twitches once, twice...

"Woah woah woah, not like that! We've gotta be smart about this, Bella! We're gonna get in so much trouble if we don't!"

"Oh for," Bella grumbles and straightens herself back up again, "Then what do you propose, you sword addled maniac?"

"Ooh, I like that one. I'm gonna add it to my resume!"

"..."

Yue grins and pats her own shield. With a teeny and very unnecessary hop, she takes one knee and braces herself underneath it with her shoulder.

"Kay, hop on! I'll launch you, and then you just... well, remember what we taught you. Easy, right?"

What'd be easy is arguin' the point. But Bella simply shakes her head. If there's a window to regain her pride, she's going to lose it arguing over decorum. That's no way for a Diodekoi to be, now is it? When it comes right down to it, aren't pride and shame just separated by the width of a single blade? I think so, anyway.

Bella leaps with none of her usual ferocity and lands on Yue's shield just as light as she can. Yue puffs her cheeks and shudders a bit as she takes this big, cat shaped burden onto herself one more time. But she doesn't tremble. She plants her foot and turns her hip.

"Let's! Go! Time! To! FLY!"

Bella flies on wings of Qi. Up and up and up she goes, high enough to kiss a cloud. High enough even to make the Sky Castle seem like a small thing as she crests onto the apex of her ascent. High enough to become half a dragon herself, at least in metaphor. And she laughs. She tucks her weight behind her dark and beautiful shield and she laughs in place of a war cry.

Remember what she learned, Yue said. Well what did she learn? She learned that she was empty, I guess. Then how come she feels so full right now? How come she can't bring herself to scream? How come?

A brilliant, kitty eared comet descends upon the Sky Castle. Gravity and bravery are her allies in this fight. Yue is her cheerleader ("Go, go, go!"). The desire to hit something. The desire to not be hit in turn. Desire, desire, desire! Her old enemy, the warden of her jail cell. But even though she's high enough to smell ozone, it isn't scary.

There's no cigarettes up here.

Bella falls. That is to say she flies. Just toward the ground. And with a bark of laughter that'd've done Mosaic proud, she slams her shield forward with all her might, thinking only about Princess Jessic's lance and how she might shatter it.

Return to Thellamie

"Excuse me? If somebody could please-"

Eclair takes a fast step forward and pivots on the balls of her feet an instant after. In the same motion she leans forward and snatches up the little dragon by the scruff of the neck. Dragons are, in fact, like cats. This is known to all who care for one for a living. And part of that when you take hold of the base of their shoulders like this, they go completely limp.

She lifts this... what is this, exactly? What is happening right now? Everything made perfect sense until precisely ten seconds ago and now... what? What just knocked the foundations of the world off of its agreed upon track?

"If the progenitor of this... sassy, lost child would kindly step forth? You had ought take better care not to misplace such creatures in the future."

Hm. What, precisely, is she holding in any case? Dragon spawn. Quite young. Not dissimilar to the confluence of Morning's challenge and Evening's prank, but altogether not similar enough to be quite comfortable. Fangs appear in good health, gum coloration normal. Claws have not finished hardening, wings appear normal for development level but not yet capable of flight. Pupil dilation, tracking, no problems detected. High tension? Stress response?

"...Apparent fatigue. How lost are you, little one? Your mother seems rather sluggish to collect you. Again, anyone? Anyone at all? I do not have time to wait around in this place!"

Eclair shrugs and stuffs the little dragon into her pouch, next to the pocket with her tablet in it. The inside is cluttered with a great deal of things that Aren't Quite Yet, requisitions from the Manor she has failed to specify (nor shall she until she knows what she needs). So it is perhaps not the most comfortable of resting places. But it is dark, and smells faintly of the Long Sleep from where it splashed into the pools that Timtam had been meddling with.

"Perhaps in the meantime a name. Given her coloration, I suggest Soline."

"...What? Mayzie, what? Why that look? Do you not think it is funny?"

Breathless Dead

So, here's a fun and funny fact! Yue? Doesn't know Chen's sword flight technique! The ancient scroll she bought at market one fine afternoon taught her a personal flight spell, one that did not use a conduit. Another fun fact is that Yue is famously terrible at extrapolation! Yaaaaay! She knows what she knows and does not know what she does not know, and the basic principles from the first thing simply do not carry over to the second no matter how similar they may or may not be. Double yaaaaay!

Want a third fun and funny fact? Ok! Since you insist! Bella? Ok, shh shh shh, don't tell anybody this, but Bella? Incredibly heavy. You wouldn't think it to look at her but she must seriously be denser than Dense-ium (the densest mineral known to fox kind!) because, like, wowies meowies. It is a shame the only path to the Sky Castle involves Yue carrying her there the whole way!

I'd tell you another fun fact about this but you are out of freebies. If you want to hear it, pay a fun fine. I offer very reasonable deals to first timers!

"How did she know I was hurt? Nobody's said a word about it since it happened, not even Vesper. She wasn't even fighting me seriously, so what gave it away?"

"Nnnnnnnf." says Yue, trying as hard as she can not to breathe more than she needs to or drop the cool cat lady she's holding several hundred meters above the ground.

"...I should have known better. Every time I've ever thought I was at the pinnacle something came along and knocked me off of it. But I didn't even think people lived here!"

"Ynn?"

"No. I'm not explaining it twice. You'll get your answer after I see this Jessic person."

"......."

And that is the story of how Yue just barely landed on the grounds of the Sky Castle, and why she immediately crumpled into a sweaty, breathless heap upon doing so. But hey, who wants another fun fact? It turns out, Princess Jessic is actually...

Ha! You thought I was gonna say it, didn't you? Nerds. Ask someone else~

*****

"Oh wow, you got Snake Time! That's when the game hisses at you because you did so good! Congratulations, buddy! You must be a musician or somethin' 'cause I swear you're feelin' the notes."

Kat beams hearts and sunshine at Dolce, wagging several tails at what is genuinely the highest score she's ever seen at that cabinet. Everyone's got a talent or six up their sleeves, right? Even if they don't know it yet. There is something about the combination of sights on display in this quietly buzzing little arcade, the sheep uncertainly poking every little button without an understanding as to how it works but also commanding them with such supremacy as to nearly set a track record with... what? Five attempts? Or so? That's just kind of... adorable. Y'know?

"You're way better than the last guy I took videogaming. Though right now?"

Her tail twitches, and through a shimmery haze she produces a small box of candy. Ridiculous, indulgent little things: a small cluster of hard sugar clumps around a soft gummy core. She pops one in her mouth and crunchy-chews with a delighted grin before offering the box to Dolce with a tempting little rattle and shake.

"You're reminding me a lot of him."

It is true that a body only gets one first arcade experience. There's no going back and redoing it, and no accounting for lost magic once that same body knows what to expect, even if just a little. That's all the more reason to try and make it as special as possible, right?

Luckily there are cathedrals everywhere for those with eyes to see.

The Skee Ball skees. It also balls, not that it matters. Its the sort of challenge you can't really brute force, a sort of becoming oneness with the little ball roll up the hard packed little slope and leap! into the air on its way to one of several cute little rings. It takes some getting used to, especially for a girl like Kat who has never been very keen on grinding past failure (unless there is a timer running), but with her good luck sheep in tow she very quickly completes the team up to heist enough tickets and foxgirl scheme her way into a Hatsune Miku noodle topper and a soft, huggable deer plush to ward away bad luck and evil spirits.

She gives both to Dolce with a wink and a kiss of his hand.

The fighting games are games in which you fight. This particular arcade is very fond of them and has a whole row in the back wall dedicated to all manner of styles and specialties. A long time can be spent on pure, 3D simulation battle games where the most important tech to master is something called a Korean Back Dash, though exactly where and how this little double tappy wonder got its name nobody is quite sure. There are Princess Simulators, which instead of being tense struggles for positioning (until the timer runs out) are much more realistic rushdowns of Perfect Super Ultimate Death Shots that chain and counter off of each other into infinity (until the timer runs out). There are glitchy, ancient messes where everything moves at one quarter speed and pressing two buttons at the same time causes the cabinet to reboot. And everything in between.

Kat is very gracious in her explanations for each game and character, keeping it concise enough not to overwhelm but never skipping past a question and only one time chooses a character in any of them she could describe as a "favorite" (a purple haired girl with a beret who fights with a combination of razor wire and a handgun).

"Heh. That was all within my calculations." she preens.

And then hands Dolce a very pretty, cold can of matcha latte.

Being gifted with lots of open space and an obsessive manager, there are a great many kinds of games and things to do here. All at one's own pace, of course. The air hockey table with the warped surface is pretty cool, of course, or the pinball wing and the defunct gacha game arcade pods which haven't worked in hundreds of years but will still print out stickers of your favorite characters if you ask it to. Assuming you have a favorite character, of course.

All around, there are people. Not so many that it makes a huge scene, but enough that the place doesn't feel like the ghost town that Shana's ramen bar is. Some are old, and some are very young. Some seem like absurd talents who belong in some kind of professional league, and others have only a passing interest in the claw machine full of cute girl figurines.

Games aren't like duels, you see. Especially taken as a whole, there's no real way to say what being the best at them really means. Unlike sword fighting, which has a clear and obvious hierarchy with Yue at the top because everybody who has ever beaten her is a dirty stupid cheater and I hate them. Except the ones I don't, cheaters though they are.

Anyway, it is possible to lose a very long time here, under the gentle guidance of friendly fluffy tails. I say 'lose' but it's really more 'misplace'. Certainly it cannot be wasted, not when it's all this fun. Some people seem to live here, others merely pass through. It could be everything, or it could be nothing.

But it's enough to say that it is. Y'know?

*****

Violet laughs.

Well only, that doesn't really tell the story does it?

Let's say rather that she guffaws. She has a rich, not really so much melodious but all the same kinda sort musical, deep laugh that comes directly from her belly and never lets up. It shakes her chest and all the way to her shoulders until she's forced (forced I say!) to sit down again just to stay stable enough to not fall over and learn how well she can laugh in the water.

Probably... not very well. Good thing we don't get to find out!

"Ahhhhhhhhhhh. Man. That's a good line! I've gotta remember that one. Private hot spring. Dang."

She looks half ready to lose herself in laughter again, but manages to just shake her head and grin.

"Friends, then? Yeah. Hell yeah! Your name's... Dyssia? Sick, I'll remember it. Haha! All right then, you said you wanna talk about the... water? Ok, we'll..."

All of a sudden and seemingly at random, the fight drains out of Violet all at once. She slides down into the water, past her neck, until she has to tilt her chin up to keep her mouth above water. She sighs as she floats there, and then switches from floating to slowly paddling around on her back, even though this really isn't the kinda place where people should be doing that.

"We're friends, right? You said that, right? You're not gonna take that back?" She heaves a long sigh even as she surges a full 7 meters on one kick of her powerful legs, splashing the rocks in a profoundly petulant manner, "Alright well I'm holdin' you to that."

She lifts herself up out of the water again to look at this very large, foreign snake-woman directly in the eyes. There's a fierceness in hers now that wasn't there before. It breaks again when she glances toward the exit and doesn't see a certain silhouette waiting for her.

"...What does it mean to be 'cool', d'you think? I'm, like, all my life that's all I've really wanted to be. You know? Not the strongest or the fastest or the smartest, not even the bravest. The coolest! That's why I've always thrown myself at every challenge that catches my eye. I don't care if it's not in my skill set or whatever, or if my opponents are more experienced or even what it is I'm doing. Racing, fighting, hot dog eating, ghost stories around a campfire... I'm down, right? And I'm gonna be cool as hell!"

She shakes her head. She is not, in fact, cool as hell. She is moping, Dyssia. The least cool thing anyone can do.

"I really envy Scar. She's so... uh, what's the word? Driven? Yeah. Like her whole thing is bein' number one, and she works real hard at it. She runs every day to keep in shape, she takes me on motorcycle rides to keep her cornering sharp, and it's just always, like, aim for the top right? And I've always figured that ain't me! If you're cool then you should be able to be cool no matter how things go down in the end, shouldn't you? But then, like, I kinda just run my mouth and then when I eat shit after I look like the biggest dork of all time. That ain't cool at all! I don't, like... know what I'm chasing, any more. You don't usually get that long in this game to make it all fit together and I'm just kinda spinnin' my wheels not goin' anywhere. What the hell is cool, anyway? What'm I after here, if it's not that? Like I know I just said I'd fix things with Scar, but like honestly? I dunno if I deserve a girl like her."

She laughs again, a little less pretty this time.

"Ah, well. It'll work out one way or the other. Maybe I want to be cool because I'm just that lame. That'd figure, right?"