Just want to confirm, Amish, me boy: if this is a Mixed Messages move, then a) you’re asserting they’re alone and Masque has already fled, and b) Timmy is trying to make the moves on Elodie. That doesn’t seem right to me, so just wanted to confirm?
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SECOND PLACE
WEREWOLF MAGNET
“Don’t you listen, Timmy!” To say that Elodie bursts forth from the closet would be putting far too much weight on that poor verb. Explodes might do a better job. Her face is flushed and she is not letting a single one of her thoughts do the talking for her. She’s figured out what’s going on.
“Youuuuu, Masque,” she says, with a stab of her finger, “are well overdue for a trip to the underworld! You can either get out of Timmy’s hair or I’ll see if my Dad has room on the next wagon to Tartarus!” It’s dangerous flaunting her position in front of Timmy like this, but what else is she supposed to do? Scream and faint and beg for somebody, anybody, to help? No. No, this must be handled decisively.
“As for you, you poor dear,” she says, hauling Timmy up to his feet and hooking his arm with her elbow possessively, “you are under the effects of magic! I’m pretty sure it’s Analee cheating, just because she got to have you first!”
Oh, boy. Oh boy. Elodie, no. Ellie. Ellie please. Don’t air that out right in front of young Crompton. Don’t let him know that everybody knows.
“So what we are going to do is get you uncursed. We may have to get physical! But that’s why I’m bringing my strong knight in shining armor,” she says, grabbing his hand and dragging him over to the door. The danger’s passed, and there’s a much more pressing danger now! “Don’t you believe anything she says, and remember, we can’t let her go until she uncurses you, the jealous little witch!”
WEREWOLF MAGNET
“Don’t you listen, Timmy!” To say that Elodie bursts forth from the closet would be putting far too much weight on that poor verb. Explodes might do a better job. Her face is flushed and she is not letting a single one of her thoughts do the talking for her. She’s figured out what’s going on.
“Youuuuu, Masque,” she says, with a stab of her finger, “are well overdue for a trip to the underworld! You can either get out of Timmy’s hair or I’ll see if my Dad has room on the next wagon to Tartarus!” It’s dangerous flaunting her position in front of Timmy like this, but what else is she supposed to do? Scream and faint and beg for somebody, anybody, to help? No. No, this must be handled decisively.
“As for you, you poor dear,” she says, hauling Timmy up to his feet and hooking his arm with her elbow possessively, “you are under the effects of magic! I’m pretty sure it’s Analee cheating, just because she got to have you first!”
Oh, boy. Oh boy. Elodie, no. Ellie. Ellie please. Don’t air that out right in front of young Crompton. Don’t let him know that everybody knows.
“So what we are going to do is get you uncursed. We may have to get physical! But that’s why I’m bringing my strong knight in shining armor,” she says, grabbing his hand and dragging him over to the door. The danger’s passed, and there’s a much more pressing danger now! “Don’t you believe anything she says, and remember, we can’t let her go until she uncurses you, the jealous little witch!”
Juicy prompt, Amish! I’d appreciate a quick vision from the Abyss before RIGHTEOUS VENGEANCE FALLS UPON THAT GHOST
POTENTIAL 2
“Mierda.” The shining mandala begins to form around her. Close combat is so not her speed, and of course Witcherphim probably has a hot, sexy relationship with Euna the... other Witcher? Sexy witch? What’s the deal with witches and Witchers anyway, is it a sworn enemies thing or are Witchers like witches but upgraded and— right, yeah, fight.
“How about some milk?” She spits bullets at Witcherphim, and scowls as they’re torn into shining prisms of regular non-zappy light by those really dangerous swords. “I’m sure you drink a lot of that in your backwards backwater Game of Thrones-ass ripoff.”
Of course there’s a crowd gathering. And her fan’s hand, waving as she jumps and tries to get her attention. Maybe she’ll give her an autograph after this if she doesn’t get splattered instantly on those swords. Really, all that magical power and you go for swords? Lame and really deeply inconvenient.
[6 on Assessing the Sitch.]
“Mierda.” The shining mandala begins to form around her. Close combat is so not her speed, and of course Witcherphim probably has a hot, sexy relationship with Euna the... other Witcher? Sexy witch? What’s the deal with witches and Witchers anyway, is it a sworn enemies thing or are Witchers like witches but upgraded and— right, yeah, fight.
“How about some milk?” She spits bullets at Witcherphim, and scowls as they’re torn into shining prisms of regular non-zappy light by those really dangerous swords. “I’m sure you drink a lot of that in your backwards backwater Game of Thrones-ass ripoff.”
Of course there’s a crowd gathering. And her fan’s hand, waving as she jumps and tries to get her attention. Maybe she’ll give her an autograph after this if she doesn’t get splattered instantly on those swords. Really, all that magical power and you go for swords? Lame and really deeply inconvenient.
[6 on Assessing the Sitch.]
SECOND PLACE
WEREWOLF MAGNET
They’re not necessarily gore-splattered visions of killing, mind you. Elodie’s family doesn’t deal with killing. They handle the processes that happen afterwards. But that means certain hussies who get poor, innocent lambs fired from the job mind find themselves, ah, given expedited service. Once you’re in Tartarus, does it really matter if you’re there early?
Oooh, or maybe she’ll give Xibalba a call! There are so many humiliating torments and tortures down there, and she still has an IOU from Uncle Hun-Came after he missed her birthday to play skull basketball. Yes, Xibalba has a lot of potential...
[10 on that Gaze!]
WEREWOLF MAGNET
They’re not necessarily gore-splattered visions of killing, mind you. Elodie’s family doesn’t deal with killing. They handle the processes that happen afterwards. But that means certain hussies who get poor, innocent lambs fired from the job mind find themselves, ah, given expedited service. Once you’re in Tartarus, does it really matter if you’re there early?
Oooh, or maybe she’ll give Xibalba a call! There are so many humiliating torments and tortures down there, and she still has an IOU from Uncle Hun-Came after he missed her birthday to play skull basketball. Yes, Xibalba has a lot of potential...
[10 on that Gaze!]
Adila!
Strictly speaking, there’s nothing in the rules that says you can’t be a racer, as long as you don’t touch the ground. And that’s not a problem, given your whole wing situation.
Demon Gulch is one of the Bazaar’s more dangerous tourist attractions, a swelteringly hot crevasse dug into the earth for over a mile. It goes deep. Nobody knows exactly how deep. The Bazaar being what it is, there are a bunch of speciality saunas built on either side, heated entirely by the gulch.
The Gulch Race is an officially unofficial race. Racers, with specialized gliders, launch from the clock tower and try to make it down to the belches of hot air rising from the gulch. It’s thrilling and so, so dangerous. Sure, there are carpets on standby to save anyone who falls in, but every year there’s always at least one contestant who ends up looking like a lobster by the end.
It even makes a little thrill of excitement run up your spine when you get too close, making you wonder if there might be something in this world that burns like a dragon’s flame.
Officially, you’re off-duty and stretching your wings. Unofficially, you are allowed— encouraged, even— to bring down as many gliders as you can before you hit the gulch, and then floor it and get to the finish line on the beach as soon as you can.
How you feeling, hotshot?
***
Alina!
“I know you will.”
There is still some unyielding crystal inside your mother, Alina. Just like Argossa spreads its roots all throughout this world, so your mother has in her soul an unbreakable faith, and her faith is this: she has the honor of loving the most special princesses in the whole wide world.
When she fought Oberon, bereft of her Gold, she knew that one day you would come back for it. When she refused to break, it was because she believed in you. You and Jess and Free, working together, each one playing their part...
Who on Hyperborea could even hope to stop you?
Your mother wipes away your tears carefully, making soft and soothing sounds, like you were a little girl again needing to be comforted. She has her three wonderful daughters holding her; she is strong enough for this. She is tired, and the shadow of the ice is heavy on her heart, but she loves you. She loves you. That is enough.
“I am willing to... to lend you Gold again,” she says, carefully. She won’t be selfish. She won’t force you into the crown. It’s just a loan if that’s what you want, little Lina. “You will need its help when you fight him again.”
There’s no fear. Her voice does not tremble. When you see yourself reflected in her eyes, for a moment, it’s hard to recognize yourself. Rita may have grown on this trip, but she’s not the only one. You’re so silly, Lina. You can see how Jess and Free grew, but not yourself?
The next time you meet Oberon, he’d better have his running boots on. Because you’re going to beat him.
Jess puts her hand on yours, and Free puts her hand on Jess’s. They’re willing to help you with the magic again. More than willing, even. Eager. Ready to give as much as they can to help.
And when you come back... you’ll have thought of something. Figured out how to properly heal your mother’s heart. You will. You have to.
What does it feel like to pour your magic into your mother? Is it like wrapping up someone who got caught outside all night in a warm blanket? Is it like pouring hot water on ice, like when all those brave lava sharks thawed the castle basement? Or is it like the warmest hug in the whole wide world?
***
Kazelia!
The little girl stumbles into you without even an invitation. You are observed. You are drawn forth, the shadow cast by the light, surging forth full of hunger without a name and an urge to find the Truth.
No one ever has much Truth inside them. They are pale, faking things, assemblies of their environments and connections and memories and when you pluck them out of that context, there is nothing left at the bottom. You are so good at explaining this.
That girl is you. You remember being here. But that’s not where you are now. That’s the you that was, but that’s not the you who is, to put another way.
There are stars falling in her eyes. There are always stars falling here, into the waters on the deep, where they shine to fall again.
She’s jealous, isn’t she? Jealousy of things that aren’t True is a false emotion. But you will let her make a defense, anyway. It’s only fair before you disassemble her and show her all the false parts inside her. Maybe she will even be interesting, and make this disruption of your innocence of your loneliness fleetingly worthwhile.
How do you invite the observer of false reality inside yourself, Mother? And how disorienting is it to lose yourself in the role of another, Kazelia?
Strictly speaking, there’s nothing in the rules that says you can’t be a racer, as long as you don’t touch the ground. And that’s not a problem, given your whole wing situation.
Demon Gulch is one of the Bazaar’s more dangerous tourist attractions, a swelteringly hot crevasse dug into the earth for over a mile. It goes deep. Nobody knows exactly how deep. The Bazaar being what it is, there are a bunch of speciality saunas built on either side, heated entirely by the gulch.
The Gulch Race is an officially unofficial race. Racers, with specialized gliders, launch from the clock tower and try to make it down to the belches of hot air rising from the gulch. It’s thrilling and so, so dangerous. Sure, there are carpets on standby to save anyone who falls in, but every year there’s always at least one contestant who ends up looking like a lobster by the end.
It even makes a little thrill of excitement run up your spine when you get too close, making you wonder if there might be something in this world that burns like a dragon’s flame.
Officially, you’re off-duty and stretching your wings. Unofficially, you are allowed— encouraged, even— to bring down as many gliders as you can before you hit the gulch, and then floor it and get to the finish line on the beach as soon as you can.
How you feeling, hotshot?
***
Alina!
“I know you will.”
There is still some unyielding crystal inside your mother, Alina. Just like Argossa spreads its roots all throughout this world, so your mother has in her soul an unbreakable faith, and her faith is this: she has the honor of loving the most special princesses in the whole wide world.
When she fought Oberon, bereft of her Gold, she knew that one day you would come back for it. When she refused to break, it was because she believed in you. You and Jess and Free, working together, each one playing their part...
Who on Hyperborea could even hope to stop you?
Your mother wipes away your tears carefully, making soft and soothing sounds, like you were a little girl again needing to be comforted. She has her three wonderful daughters holding her; she is strong enough for this. She is tired, and the shadow of the ice is heavy on her heart, but she loves you. She loves you. That is enough.
“I am willing to... to lend you Gold again,” she says, carefully. She won’t be selfish. She won’t force you into the crown. It’s just a loan if that’s what you want, little Lina. “You will need its help when you fight him again.”
There’s no fear. Her voice does not tremble. When you see yourself reflected in her eyes, for a moment, it’s hard to recognize yourself. Rita may have grown on this trip, but she’s not the only one. You’re so silly, Lina. You can see how Jess and Free grew, but not yourself?
The next time you meet Oberon, he’d better have his running boots on. Because you’re going to beat him.
Jess puts her hand on yours, and Free puts her hand on Jess’s. They’re willing to help you with the magic again. More than willing, even. Eager. Ready to give as much as they can to help.
And when you come back... you’ll have thought of something. Figured out how to properly heal your mother’s heart. You will. You have to.
What does it feel like to pour your magic into your mother? Is it like wrapping up someone who got caught outside all night in a warm blanket? Is it like pouring hot water on ice, like when all those brave lava sharks thawed the castle basement? Or is it like the warmest hug in the whole wide world?
***
Kazelia!
The little girl stumbles into you without even an invitation. You are observed. You are drawn forth, the shadow cast by the light, surging forth full of hunger without a name and an urge to find the Truth.
No one ever has much Truth inside them. They are pale, faking things, assemblies of their environments and connections and memories and when you pluck them out of that context, there is nothing left at the bottom. You are so good at explaining this.
That girl is you. You remember being here. But that’s not where you are now. That’s the you that was, but that’s not the you who is, to put another way.
There are stars falling in her eyes. There are always stars falling here, into the waters on the deep, where they shine to fall again.
She’s jealous, isn’t she? Jealousy of things that aren’t True is a false emotion. But you will let her make a defense, anyway. It’s only fair before you disassemble her and show her all the false parts inside her. Maybe she will even be interesting, and make this disruption of your innocence of your loneliness fleetingly worthwhile.
How do you invite the observer of false reality inside yourself, Mother? And how disorienting is it to lose yourself in the role of another, Kazelia?
<Snipped quote by Thanqol>
Sorted. Busy weekend and storm knocked my internet for a bit. All back now.
Sam is so not going to move, unless there's like a fire or something.
That sounds like a request for a fire in Sam’s office to me~
Kazelia!
The elven sage groans and whimpers and generally acts like a great big baby, just because your chill winds are wrapped around his body, chafing him painfully. As you press and push and threaten, you notice his eyes flickering over to one wall. Jackpot.
Then you’re grinding his face against the wall, stone against skin, playing “thaw or freeze” with him. Thaw means farther away, freeze means you’re getting closer, naturally.
When he finally sobs “frozen! frozen!” you let your winds drop him and claw at the wall until it yields its prize.
“Well done, Kazelia,” Azora says, gliding over to you. She doesn’t touch the ground if she doesn’t have to; that’s the one spell she’s only shared with Father. Imagine how wonderful it would be to fly under your own power! One day, you’ll convince her to share it with you. One day.
“I was wondering when you’d figure it out,” she adds, smugly. Had she really figured it out before you had? You never can tell, with her. She always claims to know what she’s doing, and she loves to play with and test her inferiors, you included. It’s... entirely possible, and not worth challenging.
She reaches into the hollow hidden within the wall and unearths the sage’s hidden prize...
What was it?
***
Alina!
“I can handle it,” your mother says. Which is not the same as saying it’s not too painful. Which is not the same as refusing treatment. It’s a way to reassure you, but... she’s the one who needs to be reassured now, isn’t she?
Which isn’t how a queen is “supposed” to be. The role of a queen is to be strong for her kingdom, to care for them like a mother, and to guide her princesses into full bloom. (There are, naturally, exceptions to the ideal: warrior-queens who took to the field alongside their princesses, for example. And Wicked Queen Eupheria, who... okay, maybe she’s not the best example right now.) That’s the role your mother’s played all your life: encouraging you, being strong for you, offering advice and praise. But right now, what she needs more than anything is reassurance that you will be strong so that she will not have to. That she raised you right and you grew into yourself on this quest, that you won’t need her to follow behind at a safe distance like she did on your very first quest against the Naughty Jackdaws of the East.
It’s not unknown for a queen to abdicate, you know. Sometimes, a queen just wants to have a quiet retirement in Feloria or Askaia while her successor revitalizes the land. The Konkon have turned this into an art, with queens being encouraged to step down by their rivals constantly. But you never thought of it being a thing that your mother might ever do.
Maybe she won’t. Maybe when you come back, she’ll be strong and hale and laughing again. That cold in her bones will have thawed with Oberon’s defeat, and you can return to being a carefree adventurer and princess, dashing all across Hyperborea with your dearest friend!
But you have had that scar for so long. And for all you know, you’ll have it for the rest of your life. Maybe it won’t ever really go away, for all that you’ll find ways to mitigate it. Or maybe...
Do you even want to go back to being a princess, Alina? Does the thought of your mother stepping down and yielding the crown fill you with fear or determination?
What is the next step for Princess Alina Cascade? Other than insisting that you know what it feels like and that you can help, without drawing her attention to your eyes any more than you have to. And rescuing Adila and Dandy, of course, that part goes without saying.
***
Adila!
Oh, yes, how could you forget what it was like, to be like this? Crossing the city was an epic adventure! The rooftops of the Bazaar were a mysterious realm of rickety bridges and deep chasms full of danger and intrigue, the streets and markets huge and chaotic and all too happy to sweep you along, and the alleyways full of cats. So, so full of cats.
How could you forget chasing Nine-Tom Lily down the Via Piazza? How could you forget being interrogated on the roofs of the docks by Big Kitten Teresa, trying to keep your cool with her claws tickling under your chin? How could you forget hiding under the incense wagon with your tail curled up, claws digging into the wood to keep yourself from falling onto the cobblestones below as you were brought into the presence of Rita von Catabas?
How did that case end, anyhow? Did you manage to catch her and ransom her at such high price, or did she nimbly evade you, give you a scratch or two, and run away with a wicked little laugh? Or did you talk her into surrendering peacefully while being lowered into a vat of incense meant to leave you a drooling, blissed-out mess lost in your own dreams? Or were you found in the incense vat later, sleeping peacefully on top of an illusionary hoard of impounded contraband?
The elven sage groans and whimpers and generally acts like a great big baby, just because your chill winds are wrapped around his body, chafing him painfully. As you press and push and threaten, you notice his eyes flickering over to one wall. Jackpot.
Then you’re grinding his face against the wall, stone against skin, playing “thaw or freeze” with him. Thaw means farther away, freeze means you’re getting closer, naturally.
When he finally sobs “frozen! frozen!” you let your winds drop him and claw at the wall until it yields its prize.
“Well done, Kazelia,” Azora says, gliding over to you. She doesn’t touch the ground if she doesn’t have to; that’s the one spell she’s only shared with Father. Imagine how wonderful it would be to fly under your own power! One day, you’ll convince her to share it with you. One day.
“I was wondering when you’d figure it out,” she adds, smugly. Had she really figured it out before you had? You never can tell, with her. She always claims to know what she’s doing, and she loves to play with and test her inferiors, you included. It’s... entirely possible, and not worth challenging.
She reaches into the hollow hidden within the wall and unearths the sage’s hidden prize...
What was it?
***
Alina!
“I can handle it,” your mother says. Which is not the same as saying it’s not too painful. Which is not the same as refusing treatment. It’s a way to reassure you, but... she’s the one who needs to be reassured now, isn’t she?
Which isn’t how a queen is “supposed” to be. The role of a queen is to be strong for her kingdom, to care for them like a mother, and to guide her princesses into full bloom. (There are, naturally, exceptions to the ideal: warrior-queens who took to the field alongside their princesses, for example. And Wicked Queen Eupheria, who... okay, maybe she’s not the best example right now.) That’s the role your mother’s played all your life: encouraging you, being strong for you, offering advice and praise. But right now, what she needs more than anything is reassurance that you will be strong so that she will not have to. That she raised you right and you grew into yourself on this quest, that you won’t need her to follow behind at a safe distance like she did on your very first quest against the Naughty Jackdaws of the East.
It’s not unknown for a queen to abdicate, you know. Sometimes, a queen just wants to have a quiet retirement in Feloria or Askaia while her successor revitalizes the land. The Konkon have turned this into an art, with queens being encouraged to step down by their rivals constantly. But you never thought of it being a thing that your mother might ever do.
Maybe she won’t. Maybe when you come back, she’ll be strong and hale and laughing again. That cold in her bones will have thawed with Oberon’s defeat, and you can return to being a carefree adventurer and princess, dashing all across Hyperborea with your dearest friend!
But you have had that scar for so long. And for all you know, you’ll have it for the rest of your life. Maybe it won’t ever really go away, for all that you’ll find ways to mitigate it. Or maybe...
Do you even want to go back to being a princess, Alina? Does the thought of your mother stepping down and yielding the crown fill you with fear or determination?
What is the next step for Princess Alina Cascade? Other than insisting that you know what it feels like and that you can help, without drawing her attention to your eyes any more than you have to. And rescuing Adila and Dandy, of course, that part goes without saying.
***
Adila!
Oh, yes, how could you forget what it was like, to be like this? Crossing the city was an epic adventure! The rooftops of the Bazaar were a mysterious realm of rickety bridges and deep chasms full of danger and intrigue, the streets and markets huge and chaotic and all too happy to sweep you along, and the alleyways full of cats. So, so full of cats.
How could you forget chasing Nine-Tom Lily down the Via Piazza? How could you forget being interrogated on the roofs of the docks by Big Kitten Teresa, trying to keep your cool with her claws tickling under your chin? How could you forget hiding under the incense wagon with your tail curled up, claws digging into the wood to keep yourself from falling onto the cobblestones below as you were brought into the presence of Rita von Catabas?
How did that case end, anyhow? Did you manage to catch her and ransom her at such high price, or did she nimbly evade you, give you a scratch or two, and run away with a wicked little laugh? Or did you talk her into surrendering peacefully while being lowered into a vat of incense meant to leave you a drooling, blissed-out mess lost in your own dreams? Or were you found in the incense vat later, sleeping peacefully on top of an illusionary hoard of impounded contraband?
POTENTIAL 2
Let’s get one thing out of the way first, okay?
Yes, her hair’s turquoise now. And, yes, she is rocking the shaved sides and back, with fashionably spiky bangs. It’s eye-catching and stylish, and combined with the dangling chain earrings, the aviators and the grav-biker jacket with GODDESS emblazoned across the back? She’s leaning hard into her image as the cool @SARAHPHIM. Untouchable.
Sure, she vanished. Sure, there’s tabloid gossip about What Exactly Happened. Sure, the shipping wars are burning fast and furious in her more casual fan base, as the True Ending faction (Ferraphim) unloads full salvo against the Tragic Duelist faction (Eunaphim), while being stabbed in the metaphorical back by the newly resurgent Wincest faction (Sarastorm).
And Sara does not give a shit.
It’s refreshing as hell. She’s established! She doesn’t have to pander to them. She’s receiving so many franchising offers, her agent is having to compile them into a daily update. As long as she doesn’t shit the bed in public so bad that nobody trusts her to be the hero this city deserves, she doesn’t have to worry about the future.
Isn’t that amazing?
But blowing up this cafe is not a good look. So she sighs, startling the Shiny, Sharply-Dressed Representative of Asmodeus Fashions (worth your very soul) sitting across from her.
“It’s not you, chill,” she says, rolling her eyes behind the tinted lenses. “It’s... hero stuff. Just sit tight and I’ll be right back. Don’t spill coffee on your tablet or anything, and I promise I’ll think it over while I work.”
Hot swig of her vanilla double caramel flavor-blasted cappuccino. Stand up, collar pop, stride confidently out the door to the sound of phone cameras, click click click.
Hands on hips, look up at the sky, ears sharp, muscles tense. Game face on.
“Look, can we reschedule?” Her voice has to carry, so that the alternate dimension version of herself can hear, wherever she lurks. Probably drawing a bead on her right now. Her hardlight generator flares to life under her shirt. “I’m kind of in the middle of a business meeting, but I’d be happy to pencil you in around 3:30?”
A pregnant silence. She stretches her fingers and visualizes her new Prydwen defense matrix, a spinning whirlwind around a fixed point, silver as Euna’s... well, now her tips. But silver’s Euna’s color. A quiet way to say she’s serious. She really is.
“Hell, I’ll even get you a coffee. You take yours molten black, right?”
Let’s get one thing out of the way first, okay?
Yes, her hair’s turquoise now. And, yes, she is rocking the shaved sides and back, with fashionably spiky bangs. It’s eye-catching and stylish, and combined with the dangling chain earrings, the aviators and the grav-biker jacket with GODDESS emblazoned across the back? She’s leaning hard into her image as the cool @SARAHPHIM. Untouchable.
Sure, she vanished. Sure, there’s tabloid gossip about What Exactly Happened. Sure, the shipping wars are burning fast and furious in her more casual fan base, as the True Ending faction (Ferraphim) unloads full salvo against the Tragic Duelist faction (Eunaphim), while being stabbed in the metaphorical back by the newly resurgent Wincest faction (Sarastorm).
And Sara does not give a shit.
It’s refreshing as hell. She’s established! She doesn’t have to pander to them. She’s receiving so many franchising offers, her agent is having to compile them into a daily update. As long as she doesn’t shit the bed in public so bad that nobody trusts her to be the hero this city deserves, she doesn’t have to worry about the future.
Isn’t that amazing?
But blowing up this cafe is not a good look. So she sighs, startling the Shiny, Sharply-Dressed Representative of Asmodeus Fashions (worth your very soul) sitting across from her.
“It’s not you, chill,” she says, rolling her eyes behind the tinted lenses. “It’s... hero stuff. Just sit tight and I’ll be right back. Don’t spill coffee on your tablet or anything, and I promise I’ll think it over while I work.”
Hot swig of her vanilla double caramel flavor-blasted cappuccino. Stand up, collar pop, stride confidently out the door to the sound of phone cameras, click click click.
Hands on hips, look up at the sky, ears sharp, muscles tense. Game face on.
“Look, can we reschedule?” Her voice has to carry, so that the alternate dimension version of herself can hear, wherever she lurks. Probably drawing a bead on her right now. Her hardlight generator flares to life under her shirt. “I’m kind of in the middle of a business meeting, but I’d be happy to pencil you in around 3:30?”
A pregnant silence. She stretches her fingers and visualizes her new Prydwen defense matrix, a spinning whirlwind around a fixed point, silver as Euna’s... well, now her tips. But silver’s Euna’s color. A quiet way to say she’s serious. She really is.
“Hell, I’ll even get you a coffee. You take yours molten black, right?”
Alina!
Your mother's hand is calloused. This isn't Rider's work, mind you; she's just had to do a lot with those hands. The two of you were apart for so long! She's had strange and wonderful and painful adventures without you, and hurt for them, too. Maybe she knows better than Halcyon what your life has been like ever since the day you poured water over a stranger's head with a joyful laugh and an invitation to come and dance. Your mother's hand is calloused, and it is holding yours so carefully that she might never let you go.
"Of course," she says, and gives you a reassuring squeeze, even as (your shoulders shuddering with the weight) Gold dissipates and returns to your crown once more. She stops to whip a gauzy tablecloth off an abandoned table, not even disturbing the curry bowls abandoned when the square cleared in a panic, and ties it around her shoulders. Not the most dignified look, but she pulls it off.
[King Isolde has joined your party, with the stat Mysterious Wanderings!]
And together, you leap up after your friends, your Red flaring powerfully, and Rita charges in alongside you. Into the depths of the Time Dragon's clock. Into Hyperborea's time, compressed and filtered and gone strange under the influence of Eupheria...
***
Kazelia!
"Tch. Worthless."
You drive your heel harder into the back of the sniveling elf under your boot. He deserves to be punished if his observatory doesn't have anything for Azora, your teacher and your superior. Let the others strive and scrape to try and surpass her in father's eyes: you know where your place is, you and your entire flight. Your soldiers rip books and hinges off walls, wherever Azora's eye falls, in an attempt to find anything of worth here.
But there isn't. And this elf has wasted your time.
How dare he?
***
Adila!
Time twists strange, pulling and stretching at itself. Even you cannot remain unmuddled as all of the time of Hyperborea runs through you like a sieve, and it is so much worse for you than it will have been for your friends, whose fates are entwined with yours, you see clearly for a moment, a flash in the torrent pouring through you.
Damage your Sense, then tell us: where you do find yourself, as your mind slips away into more familiar times to escape the crushing weight of history?
***
Alina!
When you wake up, Mommy is playing with your hair. Her fingers run through your violet locks slowly, carefully, the way you would stroke the fur of a cat if you wanted to make sure she wouldn't be disturbed from her nap. For a moment, you close your eyes and snuggle closer, trying to ignore the light beginning to shine through the windows.
You're in the headquarters of the Iluminan Resistance, in the biggest bed that could be found. None of the rooms in the castle felt right, even now; there is so much cleaning that still needs to be done. But Freesia knows how to make a house feel like home, and more important than having any of the beds at home is having this. It's been a very long time since you got to sleep over with Mommy; you've all been such big, grown-up girls, after all. But not even wild horses could have dragged you away, not now. Not now that she's back.
The blankets are warm, and heavy, and slightly fuzzy. Jessamine is draped awkwardly over Mommy's legs and, on the other side of her, Freesia is snoring. You are cuddled up so close, so warm. The moment opens up into forever. Then Mommy shifts, and cups her hand against the back of your head.
"Thank you, Lina," she says, so softly. She leans in and kisses the top of your head, so carefully. Ever since she was unthawed, she's moved like she was made of glass, trying not to stumble and break into pieces. But she has nothing to fear. You've buried the bed in pillows and stuffed animals and blankets, and there's nothing here that could possibly harm her. Not with her three brave girls here to protect her.
But you can't keep the moment, can you? Not forever. Eska's out there, with both Dandy and Adila in her clutches. After all you went through to be held one more time by your mother... it's almost time to say goodbye again.
But almost isn't hardly the same as is, is it? You have this. You have now. You have your Mommy. You have the soft light shining through the window, and her hand on your head, and her heartbeat going thump, thump thump, thump next to yours. You have this. You have now, this now, and nobody can take it from you.
Your mother's hand is calloused. This isn't Rider's work, mind you; she's just had to do a lot with those hands. The two of you were apart for so long! She's had strange and wonderful and painful adventures without you, and hurt for them, too. Maybe she knows better than Halcyon what your life has been like ever since the day you poured water over a stranger's head with a joyful laugh and an invitation to come and dance. Your mother's hand is calloused, and it is holding yours so carefully that she might never let you go.
"Of course," she says, and gives you a reassuring squeeze, even as (your shoulders shuddering with the weight) Gold dissipates and returns to your crown once more. She stops to whip a gauzy tablecloth off an abandoned table, not even disturbing the curry bowls abandoned when the square cleared in a panic, and ties it around her shoulders. Not the most dignified look, but she pulls it off.
[King Isolde has joined your party, with the stat Mysterious Wanderings!]
And together, you leap up after your friends, your Red flaring powerfully, and Rita charges in alongside you. Into the depths of the Time Dragon's clock. Into Hyperborea's time, compressed and filtered and gone strange under the influence of Eupheria...
***
Kazelia!
"Tch. Worthless."
You drive your heel harder into the back of the sniveling elf under your boot. He deserves to be punished if his observatory doesn't have anything for Azora, your teacher and your superior. Let the others strive and scrape to try and surpass her in father's eyes: you know where your place is, you and your entire flight. Your soldiers rip books and hinges off walls, wherever Azora's eye falls, in an attempt to find anything of worth here.
But there isn't. And this elf has wasted your time.
How dare he?
***
Adila!
Time twists strange, pulling and stretching at itself. Even you cannot remain unmuddled as all of the time of Hyperborea runs through you like a sieve, and it is so much worse for you than it will have been for your friends, whose fates are entwined with yours, you see clearly for a moment, a flash in the torrent pouring through you.
Damage your Sense, then tell us: where you do find yourself, as your mind slips away into more familiar times to escape the crushing weight of history?
***
Alina!
When you wake up, Mommy is playing with your hair. Her fingers run through your violet locks slowly, carefully, the way you would stroke the fur of a cat if you wanted to make sure she wouldn't be disturbed from her nap. For a moment, you close your eyes and snuggle closer, trying to ignore the light beginning to shine through the windows.
You're in the headquarters of the Iluminan Resistance, in the biggest bed that could be found. None of the rooms in the castle felt right, even now; there is so much cleaning that still needs to be done. But Freesia knows how to make a house feel like home, and more important than having any of the beds at home is having this. It's been a very long time since you got to sleep over with Mommy; you've all been such big, grown-up girls, after all. But not even wild horses could have dragged you away, not now. Not now that she's back.
The blankets are warm, and heavy, and slightly fuzzy. Jessamine is draped awkwardly over Mommy's legs and, on the other side of her, Freesia is snoring. You are cuddled up so close, so warm. The moment opens up into forever. Then Mommy shifts, and cups her hand against the back of your head.
"Thank you, Lina," she says, so softly. She leans in and kisses the top of your head, so carefully. Ever since she was unthawed, she's moved like she was made of glass, trying not to stumble and break into pieces. But she has nothing to fear. You've buried the bed in pillows and stuffed animals and blankets, and there's nothing here that could possibly harm her. Not with her three brave girls here to protect her.
But you can't keep the moment, can you? Not forever. Eska's out there, with both Dandy and Adila in her clutches. After all you went through to be held one more time by your mother... it's almost time to say goodbye again.
But almost isn't hardly the same as is, is it? You have this. You have now. You have your Mommy. You have the soft light shining through the window, and her hand on your head, and her heartbeat going thump, thump thump, thump next to yours. You have this. You have now, this now, and nobody can take it from you.
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