Phoe

Aristeia! Building a Champion

"You have no appreciation for fashion at all. Yes, the restriction is the point. No it is not serving some secret competitive function. Do you have any understanding of the concept of lines?"

Madeleine is blind. Madeleine is falling. It's a very strange sensation; it's different from being suspended and there is no sensation of weightlessness. But without the feeling of the air fighting her there's nothing to conjure the image of plummeting toward the ground either. She is simply above the ground, a creature of gravity with no ability to fulfill her contract with it. Not quite falling, not quite flying, not quite floating. If it was like anything at all it was like being held, a sensation that only intensified when the ropes started pulling across her ankles.

She sighs.

"I didn't hear you complain about my tie or my vest, or even my coat. All of those were tight enough to keep me from moving properly but that isn't an issue. At home, I have pieces I can't even bend in. Sometimes I wear shoes I can't run in, and they hurt my feet if I'm in them too long. It's fine. It completes an aesthetic. The posture is... as important as the piece itself."

In this permanent floating/falling/held state it is difficult to conjure much in the way of a strong physical response to anything. It feels oddly safe. Against the backdrop of her skin prickling and itching from neck to toe thanks to the extreme amount of gel coating her a marker barely registers at all. There's just a slightly different kind of wetness, and then the vague awareness of ink drying on her skin before it settles. She can envision the pattern, but only by focusing on every dot and following the pattern down her spine and around her legs.

"It's the sense of formality and attention raised ears imply. With all of the clothing, it compels me to stand and sit taller than I normally do. The design is striking, the color stands out against my hair, but... it is in the end about compelling my body into the most pleasant shape possible. Sometimes that means fighting my nature. Sometimes it means leaning into it harder. Now that I have the piercings I can play with chains and charms that allow for more flexibility, but - please pay more attention to where that's going - my ears are beautiful. I think. I wanted to make them unignorable, too."

There's a strange vulnerability to being marked up like this. Especially in the grip of the levitator where she's not even privy to the sensation of having laid down on the ground. Nothing is touching anything, and all her wandering mind has to contemplate are the twin sensations of her tumbling hair/tail, and the pattern of markings crossing her skin. It's very easy to stay still, she's far too relaxed (and tired) to even squirm, but even so she can't help but think a little about whether she is being dressed up or prepared for slaughter. What was the point of all this cubegel? What was the aim of this next exercise?

"It upsets me, having to explain all this to you. You don't get how beautiful you are. Some of us have to work very hard to catch up, thank you very much. But even still, the things that I could do to your body... you waste so much potential! If you'd just give yourself over to me even one time, I could, I could!"

Madeleine stammers. Her skin has fully gone over to warmth from the initial chill of the gel, but she shivers as though she were underneath a high powered fan. The sense of her impending doom bothers her so much less than the sudden, unplanned vulnerability of the truth, this weakness and longing she'd already revealed to nothing so that she wouldn't have to reveal it to its source. Her entire body flushes with color, and her empty ears flick vigorously.

"I mean. I-- yes. Forget all that. I'm ready. Do it."

Aristeia! Building a Champion

With Titan? I don't think she knows what that is.

Then this must be when she learned. Because what else could you call it? Madeleine's skin is covered in fireworks and ice dancing all across her. And even that, even then it does not obliterate the mindfulness of the fingers touching her skin. Melting her tired muscles. Massaging, caressing, brushing-against-but-not-quite-worshipping, torturing, yes torturing, everywhere except one specific place, why did she, why would she..?

But all of that means nothing. Because this is just to cover her in cubegel. All of this excitement is in service to preparing an aural anti-hypnosis training session, and that is only about defeating Taowu. What Lios said about Titanomachia was correct - the arena was always with her. There was always someone else in the room. It was correct. It should be correct, except...

Except those eyes are looking at her. And then she asks the question. Such a boring, petty, mundane question. And as the words fall from her lips, Madeleine feels as though she's melting. Training is gone. Taowu has faded into nothing. In the moment, in just this one moment, it is only Madeleine and Machia. And she is dressed in nothing.

"Ah, ah, aaahhhhhh~" she sings.

"Th-this f-feels... really weird." she recovers. Her legs twitch like traitorous jelly underneath her, and her tail is dancing a samba. But she turns her head down, and she meets those eyes with her own.

"IiiI! Had to have them, mmmgh, m-made custom. There's a, oh god what is that, a woman in the C-Cat District who speciAAAAlizes in modified ears. Name is, uh, CA, Cassidy. Lowe. I think. Sssshee said it once, and she talks... a lot. I HAA, had her take my measurements. It c-c-c-cOSt my l-last stipend. But she finished... a week ago. They, nnnnffffff, are, are beautiful. I have a, a, a, a gun. To do the, piercings myself. So I, mmf, you know."

She has lost track of what is sweat and what is spicy medical slime on her body and if there is anything else that fits the vague description of this feeling she is forgetting right now. Her back is tense and her legs are not, her hands are gripping each of her forearms and slipping free and for a moment all she can do is pant.

Pant and look. Watch. Stare with burning amber eyes. She bites down on her lip and with a giant shudder forces herself to continue.

"They are... mnGHH! Comfortable for a while but I... can only wear them for, for, for a, a, AH! A few hours! I c-can rotate ok but it's, a little... StIFf and I, uh. Um. Wh-why are you stopping? Be thorough. They're, because of the bar they get... stuck upright. Can't fold or fl-flutter. So it, gosh, cramps. But I do... like them. Do you... think they're pretty?"

Aristeia! Building a Champion

"Charming. Do you use that line on all your dates, or just me?"

This really shouldn't get to her as much as it does anymore. How many times has she had to take her clothes off in this stupid apartment? It's been an almost daily occurrence for months, and yet every time it feels like someone rolls a dice in her heart. If the number is too low, she feels the heat prickle across her skin and her spine locks up.

But maybe this time that's just the heat from stepping in from the cool, flowing air into the stillness of a space she hasn't readjusted to. Probably not worth thinking about.

Madeleine peels off her gloves with as little passion as she can put into the gesture. She tugs at the knot on her tie until it loosens, and slips the whole thing up and over her head and through her hair. She walks over to the usual chair and sets her accessories down on the seat before slipping off her long dark coat (different from the one she'd worn on during the Bridle Incident - this one has a capelet in the back and no ribbons), folding it neatly, and putting it on top. Next, the buttons on her dark gray vest come undone and she shrugs that off her shoulders, as well. Her blouse features pearl buttons: off it comes, revealing the sports bra she'd been running in during training today.

With a grunt of effort, she pulls that over her head, too. Now topless, she runs her fingers through her hair to straighten it back out before bending her neck to focus on her ears. Her golden earrings, long coiling serpents that wrap around a bar extending the length of her black, pointy ears. These have multiple fastenings so they each take her close to a minute before she can remove them.

She's milking this, a little. But then that was half of the appeal of wearing such elaborate outfits over her training gear. She always did it whenever she knew she'd be outside for more than ten minutes, even though it was annoying to take off before she could work up a sweat. Feeling more Horse was important, but around Machia it was just as important to be more human, too. That's all this was. She certainly wasn't preening. She coolly looks over her accomplice through half-lidded eyes before sighing.

She slips out of her pants, too. Drapes them over the chair's back, and then peels off her long black socks. Now the only stitch of clothing on her entire body is the pair of deep navy, sweat wicking athletic boyshorts clinging to her hips and the very top of her muscular-yet-skinny thighs. Not the cutest choice, but not enough people appreciate how expensive women's underwear really was. She couldn't afford to ruin her good stuff with her sweat.

Well, here she is. No more impressive to look at than any other time she's done this. She walks across the room with forced calm and presents herself to Machia's hands and strange goop.

"So this is all... rather expensive, isn't it? How much are you spending on all this? Can you really afford it? I mean, am I actually worth it?"

She probably wasn't going to get an answer. And if she did she probably wouldn't like it. But there's a thing about being naked around someone all the time, and that was that it made it harder to keep your soul hidden, too.

Breathless Dead

"GHKKK!!!"

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck? What is she supposed to do with her hands? Her body?! Does she look, does she not? What the fuck is happening right now?

Bella hisses and vanishes in a flash to the other side of the spring. Her hands are shaking and her tail is fully bushed even soaked with water, and the reddish color on her cheeks has nothing to do with the heat of the water or the rocks.

"S-s-so this is why no one's allowed to see you bathe. You're a, a, a Mi--"

She claps her hand over her mouth to keep from finishing the thought. Is it really that strange? All her life, Bella had envisioned Artemis as a perfect being, something whole and separate from all things of the universe. The Hunt, wrapped in a moonlight suit and snappy gloves for pushing papers. The teeth hidden inside of ever system. But wasn't the whole made up of the parts all along? Each temple had an Assassin, and each Assassin was made in Her image.

Vesper was the easiest one to see. But there was Bella in Artemis, too. And Beljani also. So why should it shock her that there was something of Mynx inside her, too? The mistake had always been assuming that the gods were perfect. They were not. She was not. Bella startles when something bumps her elbows, but it's only her wine tray. She plucks the cup up again without looking, fills it to the brim, and brings it to her lips for a long, slow swallow.

All the while her ear bends to follow the motions of the spring. She is not alone, in spite of everything. She is still joined by moonlight, dangerous in repose. Black and silver splashing in the little crests churned up by the waterfall, reaching for the same wine that the new caretaker of the dead was crutching on. Bella sniffs at the air, but it isn't really the same as it used to be. Hers are not a huntress' instincts anymore. What she smells is just The World, and her place in it besides. She has a right to walk Olympus. One given, one earned, and one taken. Slowly, she lets herself float back to where she'd been. Her back bumps into the Goddess of the Hunt's, but all she does is lift her cup again to drain what's left before she throws it away. And then she laughs.

"Right, yeah, of course. Thanks for being honest. I had this fear inside of me, that I was shackled by some destiny I couldn't live up to because I didn't earn it. But, ha! I actually didn't! And it doesn't even matter, because you're all kind of... dumb? Like you're all a bunch of stupid fuck ups, aren't you? That's great! I'll fit right in."

The grin falls off of her face. Bella flexes her claws, and then brings them up to her blindfold. The sharp tip slices through the holy shroud and the world explodes in color for her: the gray and green of the rocks, the clear black of the pool and the white of the mist, the pink of the tree blossoms drifting down to settle on the water with her. She does not turn around to behold Artemis. This is the furthest step she is willing to take.

"I have no idea what you think about it," she says, "But you and I are partners now. The Hunt and the Underworld are meant to work with one another."

A shrug. She sinks into the water up to her neck and stares at the endless stars. Completely absent everywhere she looks is the ugly pink gash across the sky that had dominated so much of her life. Just the moon, or... a moon or, however it worked now. It was a lot better than the sun, as far as company was concerned.

She braces herself against the stones and find her courage to finish the thought.

"So I'll tell you this much for free. If you think you dropped Hope, then pick it back up. Dust it off. Desire, you called it. Yearning, grasping... no. You're confusing the only good thing in the universe for one of his toys. Hope is how I let go, in the end. Hope is why the gun finally went off when he was standing in front of it. I'm sure with enough time I'll forget I ever saw it this way, but...

"I made it all the way to the end of that plan because I was clinging to your words. You promised me 'peace', do you remember? All I had was the hope that, if I just shattered myself enough times and managed to pull myself together just enough, that I'd... fuck, I don't know. I didn't know if that meant I'd get to die, or what. But the idea of not made it so much easier to do. Then I thought peace would actually be Gaia, and I clung even harder. And if that'd all been the old bastard's thread then all you'd have to show for it is more waiting for your easy fucking shot. Like, come on. You don't even believe it yourself, do you?

"I won't take credit for any of it. I mean, all I did was die. But I couldn't even have done that right if I didn't believe that kid was following in behind me. I had faith. I hoped. That was the death of yearning. And that's why I'm telling you now, don't give up on it. Whether we agree on what a better world is, I don't really give a shit, but if your shot ever goes off and there's no vision behind it? I will be there. And I'll be the one to pluck the next idiot up from the ground to replace you. Looking forward to the show, sister."

"Don't disappoint me."

****

The air grew warmer with every passing day. The snow had long since melted, and grasses had begun to sprout up everywhere. The wind was alive with the scents of a thousand different unfurling blooms. Light came more easily in this season to the Land of the Dead than it had in an uncountable while.

And Bella ignored it all, so she could watch the horizon. Her sandals alight on the tips of flowers without crushing a single one down. Her fur is whiter than the light now flooding her kingdom, before it disappears underneath the black skirt which rests at her knees. Three swords rattle in the belt around her waist, while glistening jeweled talons cover every one of her claws with wonder that would make a passerby wonder what she needed the blades for in the first place. Her belly too, is robed in white bound together with delicate golden buttons running up to her chest where a tight black halt top covers her breasts and hides her neck. Two long, black detached sleeves flutter in the wind and fill her world with the sounds of the bells she's woven through the decorative ribbons that helix up and down the fabric.

Her blue-black hair dances behind her, though all the rest of her is still. Her ears bend forward, chasing the stars in place of her feet. She can hear plates being set and dishes hastily finished, with the cries of battle that can only belong to a kitchen mixed in for good measure. She can hear singing and laughter and dozens of stomping feet, either running or dancing or both. She hears another dance too, one with no feet at all. She can even hear a light clash of blades and a single, flustered 'goshies' drift across her favorite meadow.

But none of that matters to her. All of it is for later. There are other sounds she is waiting to hear, and other sights she is waiting to see. It had been long. Difficult. Weird. She'd clashed with every god and goddess in creation, and apologized to every single one. Sometimes she'd been apologized to, in turn. There had been adventures. So many more than she could have anticipated. So many pointless, mundane stories. Baubles to show off. Faces to reintroduce.

The time was easy to fill, because there had been so much of it. But it was shrinking now, smaller and smaller, and all that Bella can do is stand and watch. To bend each of her senses toward that single spot on the edge of nothing and feel her heart grow warmer in her chest. All that time. All for this.

The light has come. The spring has come. And love has come, as well. Bella's face melts into a smile.

"Redana..."

Aristeia! Building a Champion

They'd really better have somebody on the reporting beat for this one, because this scene should absolutely be burned into the memory of the world. Titanomachia, the Titanomachia, draped in the arms of another woman whose name nobody can manage to pronounce. Her tablet nestled safely between her tummy and her curled in thighs, with her (beautiful) ears lit up in white. The pair of coffee cups stubbornly gripped one in each hand while she tap tap tap taps without end on the screen in front of her with her second knuckles. That feral sovereign's smile plastered on her face and her wild violet eyes gleaming in both reflected light and the thrill of some undiscovered fact or terror.

She could be in the arena right now. In fact, to look at her is to imagine her dominating the Hex even as she's slowly carried home from an empty park that never warranted attraction. The invincible Titanomachia. The inevitable Titanomachia. The face of the next generation. Except that imagination had to give way to reality the longer those cameras stare (let them stare, let them stare, please let them freeze this forever). Because she is not dominating the Hexadrome. She is being carried. Like a princess. By a shadow named... Madeline? Uh, C-Croix? Something French anyway, and therefore stupid.

Madeleine clears her throat, but there's no response from Machia. She is so absorbed in her work, absent the need to even think about walking, that someone could probably punch her in the face and she wouldn't react to it. To make absolutely certain, Madeleine whistles. Nothing. Her eyes flash in the city-dark.

"...You know, I hate that stupid noise you make. That little 'HmmM' when you get surprised. Because you aren't really surprised, are you? This was within your calculations. Somehow. It all fits inside your theory, so nothing ever catches you."

"It makes me... think you're lying to me. About something. I just don't know what, yet."

"I wanted to hear you squeak," she admits after several moments of extra silence, "Just the most girly, undignified noise."

"It is so annoying that you never let me brush your hair. Or suggest clothing. You have so... much potential. You are wasting it. I hate when girls prettier than me work less than I do."

"The way your finger taps on the..."

"...Don't stop twirling pens..."

"Put milk in your..."

"And then the..."

"...Don't forget about..."

"Always a contest. And I can never win."

She is at the door now. Her legs are tired beyond reason and she has no capacity to continue carrying an entire extra person, especially when her lifeblood is being so cruelly withheld from her. This must be the end of the scene, one way or another. Besides, even if the key was in her pocket, how was she supposed to reach for it like this?

"You really are the weirdest, most annoying person I have ever met. I..."

There are many words in many worlds she could use to finish that thought. She chooses none of them, and lingers at the threshold. Not releasing her princess just yet. Not until she notices where her castle is.

Aristeia! Building a Champion

Madeleine is much too busy staring at the thermoses to even try reaching for one, let alone notice it hadn't been offered to her in the first place. She turns on her heel and follows Machia back into the night air like a shadow. She tilts her head to one side in quiet contemplation of the mystery. This could be one of her traps. Or she simply thinks Madeleine hasn't earned it yet. Or is she just on autopilot? Did she even mean to ask for these cups in the first place? For that matter, why had she actually stopped for drinks?

She frowns as she returns her gaze to Machia's stride. The original leg and the mechanical, marching down the street in ruthlessly efficient harmony. The sweat still glistening on her skin, and the subtle twitching of muscles as they contrast against the synthfibers on the other side. Her teeth clench at the sight, then her fingers, and then her spine all the way down to her tail. Silently, she quickens her pace.

One.

Two.

Three.

Madeleine lifts Titanomachia into a perfect princess carry. And now both of her legs are equal in repose. She doesn't look down at all, doesn't let her face show or waste any time checking for a response. All of her focus is on the path ahead, and keeping her body steady so she doesn't give away how difficult this is for her right now. Big and tough, right? Those were your words.

"Do not misunderstand me. This is training," she says with her cool, low voice, "I wasted all that time on my outburst earlier. I just... want it back. This has nothing to do with you."

Heat rises up her back as her brain unhelpfully conjures imaginary headlines in tomorrow's sports section after someone catches her in this maneuver, too. She shakes her head, and risks the tiniest of glances downwards.

"So don't fight it, or I'll bite you again."

Return to Thellamie

From the very beginning, this case has vexed her. Eclair has chased ghosts and flashing lights instead of solid evidence. In fact, from the onset every attempt to approach this in the manner of a detective has resulted in a trap, a farce, or a farcical trap. And that is because Timtam had been preparing for a detective the entire time. The disadvantaged party was always the one following the heist, once you assumed the other side was skilled enough to manage the crime in the first place.

It was very telling that the moment she'd given up on the chase to do something selfish (like help repair a destroyed town), the circus had landed on top of her and scattered all the missing information on the floor for her to pick up. She knew the culprit, the means, to some uncertain degree the motive, and as important as anything the final location of the magic trick. It did her no good now to double back and verify any of the previous steps. As amazing as it might seem, the abduction of Civelia was just a step in an ongoing game.

"It is irritating for me to admit, but the facts of this case are irrelevant. There is nothing left but to fly on wings of intuition to the place where the final duel will occur."

Draw weapon, tasseled heartspear. Thrust, circle, thrust, vault: swing board off of back and heel stomp off of shaft. Rise, 1080 off-axis to misalign center of balance, switch weapon to greatbow. Draw, fire. Four daggers follow, cardinal points around arrow. Descend, longswords aimed at the ordinal points. Stalefish grab, return board to harness on back.

Land on balls of feet at top of arrow shaft. Sigh.

"The Khatun is a laughable problem. Is there any smaller minded or more pointless exercise of power than an attempt at world domination? I do not understand why so many children playing with toys end up in positions of authority. Well. It is not my part in this game to swat her and offer reprimand. There are plenty of capable heroes en route who are equal to the task."

The dice were already cast. The final moves have already been made. All that she could do is trust in fate, and hope that whatever asinine tendency lead her to do something as stupid as collapse and rest had been as worthwhile as what she could have done with her time if she'd toughed it out, instead. Broken and abandoned though they were, the handmaidens of Heron were coalescing around her.

Eclair had no power in her to be a guide. Though she often played the role of advisor when people around her were confused, it didn't change the fact that her observations were rarely insightful, barely intelligent, and hardly ever useful. The spiritual equivalent of 'do not get hit' or 'try being better than your opponent/problem'. Have you tried being good? Ninety eight percent of the time, it works!

Be that as it may, they came to her. She could at least burn as a beacon until they found themselves and came up with better things to do. And that meant making use of them while they stayed.

"I do not fear the army of the Khaganate. Should it come to that I could fight the lot of them well before I exhausted my arsenal. But I cannot do that while pinning down Timtam, and as long as she has a clear play the game will not end. She has formed a new Order. The Aurorae have withdrawn. I can only hope to succeed if I do the same."

A beat, then two. The dramatic pause turns to awkward silence. Eclair tries to stand still and imposing but her body is so impossibly light and fit after her nap and the magic of HEAL that she cannot help herself. She dances through the Stacks and calls upon a dizzying array of opal-tinted weaponry; every flavor of sword and spear and shield the world has a name for, as well as bows, whips, scythes, and to finish it all, a humble ribbon. She wraps it around her chest and waist, and poses with her right hand covering the opposite eye.

"My name is Eclair Espoir, the Violet Flash. For the very final time, I fight as a Maid-Knight of the Aurora! Once more only, I wield my blade for the sake of the world! And I am..."

She grits her teeth, but moves out of her pose to spread both arms wide to either side of her. A breeze picks up and a cloak she is not actually wearing flutters behind her.

"...Asking you all for help. Please. Be my wings. If only once."

And in the hereafter (she looked at Mayzie, and lifts her head up a little higher), she will fight only for love.

Aristeia! Building a Champion

"What would... be the point?"

Madeleine groans as she sits up. Willingness to endure pain is not the same as ability, and she has been running for hours. Her whole body is a very happy, contented kind of heavy, the struggle to make her limbs obey her that makes her smile a little before her face settles into deep thought. She looks up at the sky and watches it transform while the groundskeepers grumble to either side of her. They'd really done a number on this place.

"A weapon wouldn't make me faster. And I don't know how to use any. And to have a trick, I'd need to think of one first. I wouldn't know where to begin. And as soon as one person figured it out, I'd be..."

She stretches her arms toward the sky, joining her fingers together over her head and reaching out towards the remnants of the sun, and then above it to the encroaching darkness. She turns her head away from the heavens, and just watches Machia as she too struggles to turn herself back into a functioning, mobile person.

This had been the best training session she could ever remember having. The pair of them glisten in the city's glow.

"When I run... it's quiet. All the voices that whisper in my ear, those miserable ghosts can't keep up, and then it's me. Only me. Of course I care about the game, I want to score, but... I only think about other players in the sense that I enjoy the game. What they do doesn't matter to me. I just... want to run. Faster and faster. Faster than sound, faster than light. So fast that everything else falls away, and all that's left is me."

It takes everything she has to push herself back to standing. Her legs are wobbly and even at rest for this long her breathing can't quite seem to get in rhythm, but she extends her arm toward Machia in offer to pull her up as well.

"But I didn't pick this game by accident. I want to win. If you say I need to have a second skill to do that, then I guess... I can try. Thank you for today. But it's time for the evening session. I'd like to grab coffee on the way back, would you like to make that part of my challenge?"

She smiles: a sure sign of an unusual mood. Could she be feeling playful?

Aristeia! Building a Champion

This is the woman she has watched more than any other in her entire life. The various legends and current stars of the Hex she has only ever looked at through the lens of the official Aristeia! broadcast, which she can only sort of watch without getting twitchy and starting to pace her apartment. She has never studied footage, has never built a profile on an opponent, cannot even name half of her competitors without looking at her phone.

But Machia? That's been a matter of survival, hasn't it?

What does it mean when her fingers twitch? Why does she look down in certain circumstances when she's so unnervingly capable of driving her eyes right through Madeleine's in so many other cases? When does her little frown mean she's pensive, and when does it mean she's happy? When is it neither, and she's simply digesting a problem too big to describe? What is a trap, what are her vulnerabilities, when are those a trap? She shows too much teeth right after she drugs something, and too little when she hasn't and she's lying about having done it anyway. It's dangerous when her eyes flash too bright. She's up to something when they dull. She can recognize the moment when Machia has decided to take her leg off almost without looking at this point. The shift in the air from the temperature spike in her body is plenty.

Although, it's never looked like this before...

Madeleine is not a woman with much in the way of talent. She has no mystic sixth gear, there is no wizardry she can perform with her body to shift tempo the way that her opponent can. Now that she's moving this quickly, she doesn't even really have enough strength to stop herself in the hex without tearing something in half. The one and only thing she has going for her is a willingness to endure pain. She sees the 'kick' coming but all she does is open her eyes wider to lock onto the missile and, with a final gathering of strength, launches herself into the air.

There is no graceful twist around the leg. At most she manages to torque her neck and tuck in her shoulder so that when it smashes into her it cuts her over her right eyebrow instead of stopping her cold. She winces, gulping in a way that somehow swallows what's left of her sandwich as she leans even harder into her trajectory. She curls inward, snatching at the leg as it passes and cradling it against her chest with one arm and hurtles directly into Machia.

The two of them collide. Madeleine, laughing and still half crying, stretches her body at the moment of impact, just enough to put one foot under her to sort of kind of gracelessly "land" on the ground instead of just crashing. She kicks, leaps, snatches her drink bottle in her teeth where a sandwich used to be, and streeeeeeeeeeeeetches for the very corner of the hex.

Two fingertips. That's all that sticks. She lies there on her back, arm still desperately reached into the scoring zone, heaving and sweating and giggling like a deranged lunatic.

Aristeia! Building a Champion

The nice thing about Machia ignoring her is that Madeleine got to watch her run. For a moment not as an obstacle to be overcome, but as an art form to be chased. The other nice thing is that she got to stop saying sorry and just sit with her thoughts. And this sandwich. Lot of vegetables in this thing. Cooling. Very nice.

This is not, of course, the end of the storm. But even driving rain and thunder sometimes mellow out for a while into a more standard drizzle. There's time enough to feel the tingle on the top of her head where a hand had been some little while ago, and time enough to watch the scoreboard climb. And time enough to frown.

Madeleine takes her feet. She gathers herself and her power as she hunches low to the ground, and with an explosion of tearing turf behind her, she is sailing at reckless speed toward scoring zone five. Sandwich dangling half in her mouth, drink bottle clutched in her hand, tears still streaming down her cheeks, she flies and somehow manages to laugh at herself. She chews, she swallows, she doesn't even choke, and she runs runs runs runs.

This is euphoria. But make no mistake, she is here to commit a murder. That scoreboard is growing lopsided and the longer her wet eyes behold it the more irritation creeps into her perfect feelings. One point. Just one point. If not this pass then the next. But she will have one; the Away Team is not getting blanked today. She rips holes in the earth and paints the absolute edges of the obstacle facsimiles. She is an arrow all in black with only one target.

Bread still dancing in her half open mouth.