Tatterdemalion

Breathless Dead

“It could be Bella,” Redana lies to herself.

It looks like a tomb, and that’s freaky. It looks so much like a tomb of steel that even Redana, sheltered from the signifiers of death save in the iconography of Hades himself, recognizes its shape. But the glories etched into it, the prayers written on slender ribbons and attached with wax, the symbol of the thousand eyes and the circle of arrows— this is a holy sarcophagus of Artemis. When she runs her fingers over it, it should tremble and thrum with barely-contained power. It doesn’t, though. It just lies here, in the depths of the Third Shrine, sealed shut.

Is it so hard to believe that maybe Bella’s curled up inside, the same way that her— that Dany used to, when she was overwhelmed by her responsibilities and duties as the Imperial Heir? It would be nice. Redana could undo the seal, give Bella a wry smile, tell her she was looking for one Bella, have you happened to see her about? There isn’t room inside that coffin for two, but she could wait, she could take a seat, she could sing songs from back home. Anything to get Bella to sit down and talk to her.

The brass knuckles are heavy in her coat pocket.

Because it’s not Bella in there, and Redana knows that. She can feign surprise when she opens it up and reveals the other assassin. Not Bella, not Mynx, not even Beljani-Epistia. (She feels guilt when she thinks about that; she hasn’t mustered up the courage to ask Beljani-Epistia if she regrets what happened, or if she would have preferred to stay dead in that shining refuge within the Eater of Worlds.) The other one.

”I really think she loves you.” A taunt. Trying to get under Redana’s skin. An assassin too clever for the world trying to slip a knife somewhere soft. She hadn’t heard the things that Bella had said that night; she hadn’t heard Bella’s disgust after being kissed on Sahar. She hadn’t even seen Bella run off after everything Dany did, so what did she know?

Dany slips one hand into that pocket, curls her fingers around the knuckle. An intuitive weapon. Not hard to understand at all; a layer even harder than human bone, designed to add heft to a blow, to spread the force evenly. A weapon for a blunt instrument.

When she pulls her hand out of her pocket, she’s got a knuckle on one hand. After all, it’ll take both hands to break the seal; it’s designed to avoid accidental opening. An assassin, loosed without preparation, without a target? Very dangerous indeed. Inauspicious, besides. But maybe it is somehow, impossibly, Bella in there, and Dany will laugh and think herself so silly for being ready to toss out a challenge.

The sarcophagus opens with a hiss of pressurized air. The inside is white, white, white; the blankness that approaches the infinite. And inside, her neck still faintly bruised, her eyes sightless yet open, her breath achingly slow, is the assassin. Her hair is loose, a shining halo around her beautiful head. Redana’s fist clenches tighter until the brass bites into her palm.

Come on. Get up. It’s not a fair challenge if you don’t get up. Who proves a challenge against someone lying down in their bed? All that would prove is that Dany’s a brute, violent and ignorant. So it has to be on the level. Then she’ll show you. Then she’ll win. Then she’ll… then Bella will be able to see that her Dany cares. Cares enough to make a stupid, stupid challenge on her behalf.

Come on, then! Get up!

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

A muzzle lowers, whispers in a receptive ear. Names, offered. This is a place of the fair folk, and an offer of a name is perilous. But it’s given. Let it be known that 3V Wuz Here. And more than that, the connections of a shared name mean that when 3V trots giddily back to Black, she’s trailing two wolves along with her. Only two; they aren’t a monolithic whole. But maybe it’s like atoms smashing together to form new elements.

“So this is my girlfriend,” 3V chirps, and if she’s panicking at all she’s not showing it, she’s glittering like the disco ball, radiant. “November, like the month, like the heroine. Novie, this is Amie and this here is Lupawn, like the thief.” Do you know that thief, Black? Diving into cleavage, running from the Inspector, made kindly by the old man still young who loved the planes? “We’re going to get hydrated.” She takes that clever possessive hand in hers and tugs Black close, tapping on the back of her palm like it’s all macros.

Go for the collar. She might be mortified later, but right now she’s exploding into stardust and you could tie her up with a cobweb and make her hop. Push her a little more. See how she yields.

Huntresses of Hybrasil

"And the cultivar dropped out of fashion in favor of varieties with thicker leaves that had an easier time growing in dark places, which, naturally, but the slight blue-green sheen you get right here on the edges, that's unique to this cultivar, and when the Hybrasilian Seed Archive was founded, we thought that there weren't any more of these around, a hundred-year-old strain gone, until a hobbyist from Vúlacuar found a bag of seeds in his grand-aunt's shed, but it had been water damaged, which is deadly for seeds, so it was a race against time to try and-- huh?"

Dolly blinks like, yes, a barn owl as she's accosted by Angela, mid-gesture at the gorgeous Seastone Fern that they have here, spilling hungrily out of its pot. She takes a step back and bumps into a stool, her tail curling defensively around it as she is accused of, of...? Getting away with something? "Ai! Aiiii mean hello!" Dolly's eyes cross for a moment as she tries to focus on the barrage of accusations and the neurofiber, which has Jade on it and, oh, oh no! Oh no no no no no!

"Oh, hello there, Angela Victoria Miera Antonius," Jade purrs, draping herself over Dolly, hands roving over the dress she'd designed. A nice, tight dress to show off her Dolly's curves, fringed at the collar and shoulders, with a beaded skirt swishing and dangling down her thighs to her knees, disguising the fact that it was dangerously short-- except from the back, where it dipped very low indeed, below her bouncy curls. Impossible to hide that. The use of bright Compass colors in bold arrows was a deliberate Hybrasilian fashion statement, old-fashionedly religious: black, white, red, and blue. Dolly's fur provided the yellow. Her earrings, too, were fringed, with real blue and red feathers. A high priestess for the modern era, a messenger for a goddess, someone who didn't need confidence when she had a goddess pressing up against her bare back. "Fancy seeing you here. Dolly, don't apologize."

"I'mmmmm," Dolly says, before eating the word sorry. "Glad to see you made it!" "Oh, Dolly, she's going to assume you thought she couldn't make it." "I mean, I knew you would! Why wouldn't you?" "Because we trussed her up, Dolly. Remember her squirming on your shoulder? Making such cute noises? Mmmph, mmmph~" "I'm! I mean! I mean! Hi! Sorrrrr." "Shhhhh. No apologizing, remember? Chin up. Shoulders straight. Look her in the eye, and tell her you don't have a game."

"I don't have a game... Angela, Victoria, Miera, Antonius!" "There we go. See? Try to remember the name next time." "I'm just a humble priestess," she says, gesturing downwards at herself. "Really, I'm honored to get to be here alongside the likes of you!" "Flattery. Really, she should be honored. She just doesn't know it yet." "I'm... not thrilled that somebody wrote that!" "Good save. Good girl~" "IIIII, think you did good, no, I really did! It's not your fault you couldn't beat Jade, and haughty heiress is just a dumb headline alliteration. It was fun, and--"

Smokeless Jade Fires flows down Dolly's gloved arm and flicks into the air, resting there at Angela Victoria Miera Antonius's side, putting her chin on the back of one hand. She's mostly like a Hybrasilian, but her tail is huge and brushy and silky; her fur is black, and her cobalt hair is stiff and styled like two wings of a helmet, flanking her goddess mask: a black fox, eyes and ears and upper lip limned with gold. Below it, her teeth are like the fangs of a TC "vampire," or the fangs of a Marshwolf. She lifts her free hand, and Dolly's leash falls neatly into it. She tugs, and Dolly feels her collar stiffen around her neck. "Come on, Dolly. Let me get a good look at her."

"And, really, I mean, as long as we both had fun, I had fun, did you have fun?" "Oh, she definitely had fun. She belongs on her knees right next to you, don't you think? What could be more fun than that?" "Sure, maybe, knees, knees got bruised?" Dolly makes an exaggerated shrug as she starts circling around Angela, trying not to look like she's sweating and flustered. "But you're Angela Miera Victoria-- Victoria Miera Antonius! Aaaaaand!"

More of Jade's hands pull Dolly's hands onto Angela Victoria Miera Antonius's hips as she's in the middle of turning around, and Jade doesn't care that Dolly's stepping on the train. Jade's leaning in close, drinking in the glittering hair, the swell of Angela's hind end, tail wagging. "Mmmhm, mmmhm~! Just like I thought. Good girl, Dolly. Okay, over here, let me get a look on this side before she explodes~" Tug, tug! Swat, swat! Get moving, Dolly!

"And I think that participating in these games is a good form of cultural interaction and exchange between our cultures and I'm sorry about the...!!" "The mark? Mmmm. No. We're not apologizing for that, Dolly. Do you really want her approval more than mine?" Dolly, blinking, shakes her head, tail swishing in flustered agitation, as she ends up right back in front of the Haughty Heiress. "Good girl. Now. Go ahead and be your cute self. Win her over. I know it's tough, but I believe in my Dolly~"

"What I mean to say is... can I make it up to you? I honestly, really don't want you to feel bad. No games. I just had to do the circle thing forrrrrr cultural reasons! You know! A friendship thing! I'm so silly, I didn't think to explain, I'm just, the neurofiber was a lot, and I got all flustered, and! Please? I promise, whatever you think of me, I can try to make it right." She dips into an approximation of a TC curtsy that her beaded skirt was definitely not made for.

Dolly stands there, heart hammering, extremely incredibly aware that she's being stared at by everybody. I'm being a quirky little alien might have a shot at working on Angela, but every single Hybrasilian in the room knows that's definitely not what she was doing, the sleek-furred girl she was talking to about the fern is staring incredulously at her, and Jade is dragging her tongue up her ear, and Jade watch where those hands are going she doesn't need the encouragement, and she wants to melt into the floor but in a way that can definitely be seen through her dress. She puts her gloved hand over her bare one and gives it a little squeeze to steady herself as seconds drag out into subjective years, waiting for Angela, Mierida, Victoria, An..gel...os? Her last name is not Angelos. A...? Aardvark. NO! Anton?! ANTONIUS. And she didn't even need Jade purring it to remember!

[Dolly makes an Entice roll, forced into the role of a manic pixie dream kitten, and barely manages a 7, because she's a little flustered cutiepie.]

TSL: Sjakal

Nahla!

For a moment, everything hangs in the balance. Ruz's eyes are boring through you, as if trying to find the real girl underneath the performance. Then, amazingly, she begins to chuckle. "She really is a ridiculous thing, isn't she? Far be it for me to hold you back from instructing your slave in the ways of the Faith, my sultan. In fact, I think this is an excellent opportunity!" Her smile is a wicked, flickering rapier. "Go and teach her. I expect her to provide me a demonstration on what she has learned tomorrow night."

Grace-of-Heaven freezes up for a moment as she imagines how, exactly, her guardian might want you to demonstrate. You have to squirm and give her a little discreet pinch on her rump before she stammers back into life. "Of course, ma'am! That's my responsibility, after all! How can I hope to lead the host of the Faithful if I can't even teach one barbarian?"

So saying, she drags you out of the room awkwardly by your hair. It's a difficult performance, whining and squeaking all the way out while also being nimble enough on your hands and feet to keep her moving-- and even outside of the room, all she can do is help you up and keep leading you by the hair, making you walk backwards. But she's starting to get a little shaky; she's still exposed, she's likely got thoughts of you alone with Ruz swirling around her head, and she's also so close to succeeding that the adrenaline's likely turning her head.

Maybe you should pull her into an empty room for a brief reassurance and congratulations?

---

Soot!

"Hmmm." Ruz flicks through the sketches you provided her as you finish dinner. Together. "Yes, you do have an eye for quality. Naturally." She lingers on the sketches of herself, and drinks in the sight of that self-insert sketch, before devouring the kiss with her eyes. There's a lot of feelings churning there, which you're only beginning to unpack.

"She's not ready," she says, finally. "Isn't it obvious? She can barely control one of her girls; she'd tip all of our dominion into chaos if she took full responsibility for the administration. And my heart aches for her, it really does, but I will not fail her sainted predecessor by failing to carry out my own duty. If she sat on the throne today, she would be the next Ejelgarn: she would march our armies to defeat, provoke the populace to riot, and simper and whine about how unfair everything was before being deposed and bringing the Vulenid line to an unceremonious end." Her sigh is more than a little theatrical. "Can you imagine how this weighs on me, my dear? If anything were to happen to me, and she lost the support of the soldiers I brought in to assist her, everything would come undone. And this is the axis point of the entire world! I bear the weight of civilization itself while a silly girl lets her concubines paw all over her."

Ah. She's reacting to the picture of Grace-of-Heaven, looking so sad. Don't pity her, Ruz is arguing: give me sympathy, instead. A chance for you to reaffirm your loyalty, and Grace-of-Heaven would never need to know. Just flatter her. It's fine. What could possibly go wrong?

---

Birsi!

Just you, because you have a choice to make, pinned up against the wall.

You've got Silsila's sword locked hilt to hilt. If you pull off just the right twist (and you can, you know how to do it), you can disarm her. The sword will clatter at her feet and you can bring the tip of your sword up to her chin, informing her that you have won and you will carry out your duties. It's questionable whether the Fire Wheels would stick around or try to run away now that their champion has failed, but you'd have done your duty. You would be upright and righteous, carrying out your oaths to the House of the Vulenid. And you would, doubtless, make an enemy of Silsila Om.

Or you could let that opportunity slip (no one would know you let it pass, probably not even Silsila herself), and you could accept her terms. Likely you could even add on an extra obligation or two on Silsila's part. And if you brought Silsila to your commander, the Strategist Hai Lin, you would likely be commended, given a duty that only a Host and a treasured guard could carry out, and given the opportunity to spend more time with the rambunctious, powerful Host.

What's your choice, Birsi of the House Guard of the Vulenid? Your oaths or your desires? Thankless righteousness, or praise from your commander and the thanks of this powerful, playful, bullying Host?

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Kalaya!

Petony, the Tiger Knight, steps forward and wraps you up in the kind of hug that squeezes the air out of you. "See? That's why you're special, sprout! Never doubted you for a moment! Here we are, busting in to save you from the wiles of that clinging vine, and here you are worrying about my feelings! Well, let me tell you something, little Lily! My heart is indestructible, and nothing is going to get in our way! The three of us are going get off of this boat and see about earning you a story worth the telling!" Relief seeps into you as you realize that-- wait. Three?

There's a shadow at the doorway.

They must have gone down to the brig, first.

"Let's go," Uusha, the Stag Knight, growls. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. It's impossible to see the expression inside of that unearthly muzzled helm of hers, but the wood of the lintel creaks where she grips it. Uusha, who knows what you did in Hell. Uusha, who beat you senseless for it. Uusha, whose armor was shaped by forest gods, snaking and whorling about her long limbs. Uusha, perhaps greatest of the knights of the Flower Kingdoms. "We have work to do."

---

Han!

Emli blinks a moment. Her bemused smile is not cruel at all, and her fingers are soft on yours. "I'm your caretaker," she says. "It's my job, and my delight, to ensure that every guest assigned to me is satisfied with their care aboard the Beneficence." Then her voice softens, and for a moment, she's holding onto you, rather than the other way around. "I'm also a girl who was given the chance to see the world, to serve the Dragons, and to meet wonderful, wonderful people like you. So won't you let me be part of your story, Han of the Dragons, if only for this chapter? And for the rest of my days I'll get to remember the day I helped a dragon and a daughter of gods elope." Her laughter isn't magical, like Lotus's; it's just real, and delighted with herself, and so very, very happy to be held.

She guides your lips up to hers, her rosebuds part, and...

---

Giriel!

"You're dangerous."

The Rakshasa holds you by the chin with one finger, and you could not break that hold with all the power that is in you. Part of you is aware of the danger that you are in, but it is locked in the back of your head, hammering on the door, while the Rakshasa leads you on with that one finger resting beneath your jaw.

"Not that you could outsmart me, but even a big, dumb bear like you can be dangerous once you figure out what you're doing, and you're the only one of them, the whole lot of them, that knows how to stop me." (That's not true. The Hymairean, the one who hates you over the blood you shed, she could stop her. But you can't say that, and you shouldn't say that.) "Even the Celestial Lion, the diarch! I led her on and I danced with her and she's got my song coursing through her veins, all that power and it spins about like a child's toy here and there, wherever I lead it!" (She's gloating. She has to gloat. She put on the mask of the shrine maiden and it's still influencing her, her cloyingly sweet voice melting through your head.)

"And as for the witch, well... maybe we just forget about you? It happens. So much is happening tonight! When Kalaya Na rules the Kingdoms, do you think she'll remember you at all?" (The trees are whipping past terrifyingly fast. The wind is a howl and the rain is barely able to keep up, being lashed sideways to spatter against skin. The roar is filling your ears, the bottom dropping out of your stomach. She's hesitating, she's thinking, she hasn't made up her mind, she holds your life in the palm of her hand.) "No, maybe we just--"

Something shrill and small crashes into the Rakshasa, diving into her side, and that finger slips away as the two figures skid on the wet deck, howling in indignation and awkward scrabbling, and you are left staggering, and she had you right up against a gap in the railing and your heel's out over open air, so when you take a step back everything goes out from under you and the world plummets with a sickening lurch and the scream's bubbling out of your throat--

You're dangling from one hand, branches scraping against the barge dangerously close to your face, no purchase on the slick wood, gone from helplessness to helplessness, and there above you is the Rakshasa's lion, long nails digging into your wrist, being pulled inexorably close to falling herself, hair a wild mane, eyes burning a hot lambent pink flecked with shining azure stars.

Stagger, Giriel Bruinstead. But take also a String on the Rakshasa's lion.

---

Zhaojun!

Giriel is heavy and this is very difficult actually.

Your mistress and your would-be suitor are having Romantic Follies on the deck, the kind that involve hot-headed slaps and hissing, and perhaps that will not be a very good match after all. Ah, well. Sometimes it's more important for the experience to happen whether or not there's a permanent connection, no? But that's not what has your head pounding and your muscles screaming and even though in a moment here both of you might tumble off this impractically tall barge into a thicket while traveling at precisely twelve-and-a-half miles an hour, you don't let go.

Why?

Which one of you reached out for her hand, or were you working in tandem at the moment when you saw the step out into empty air, the spell broken, the horror in her eyes?

---

Azazuka!

Yayeh!

You are in love with the Red Wolf. You are going to kill the Red Wolf.

Yayeh!

Lead her on! Make her think she wants you! Be interesting, but not too interesting! Entertain her associate, but don't be indecent with her, either! And then you went out on a boating excursion, and everything from then on has been chaos and adventure and danger and Agata has been ignoring you! Why? Is it because she doesn't find you interesting without your attendants and your gifts? Is it because that daughter of the Sapphire Mother has been all doe-eyed and coquettish about the ship? How dare she? You've been sulking and miserable for days because you want her to want you, even though it's not allowed; you want her to glance at you and have her eyes widen, you want her to actually be clumsy and speechless for once looking at you, you want her to admit that you've learned quite clever things from your teacher and that there's more to you than knockout curves and your family's money!

Yayeh!

And speaking of the teacher, here she is! Enigmatic, exotic, competent, sweeping demons off their bellies and sparing you hardly a glance! How dare she? How dare she ignore you, too? You should teach her a lesson! You will teach her to underestimate you - you, Azazuka, who was never allowed to even dream of being one of the knights! Well, how's this, mother? How do you like this, father? Your cash sword lashes through the space where her neck was, but a moment before, but instead of curling around her and dragging her off her feet, she's ducking to one side, battering you back with her umbrella, as if she's trying to teach you a lesson still, as if she's not taking you seriously!

Yayeh!

"Are you watching, Pipi? What do you think?" Laughter bubbles out of you as you cut off her avenues of escape, forcing her into a smaller and smaller zone, your sword hissing all about. "Is it too much? Too noisy? Do you think darling Agata will like it? I'll ruin her! And then-- the funniest thing, Pipi, is that I don't know what to do next! Mother and Father will be so awfully cross, won't they?" Your familial piety, the very same that kept you from chasing dreams and fancies, still makes frantic attempts to bind you, but... but you can worry about that after you've slain your love! Then everything will explode so very messily, once these fireworks going off inside you have gone silent!

You catch her umbrella's haft with your sword, and you twist, put your shoulder to the work, pin her against a locked door and force all the air out of her. An elbow is deployed viciously. "Well? What do I win, Pipi?" Laughter is bubbling out of you; isn't this grand? Isn't this just wonderful?

---

Piripiri!

Mark a Condition, and do your best to squirm out from under Azazuka's pin; the heiress has got a solid advantage here in the tight, cramped corridors that don't let anyone escape her sword, and she's got you close and fast. Playing on her family's orders and plans for her would be a cruel knife, but perhaps a necessary one; she's let them stand between her and her childish dreams all this time, after all.

Breathless Dead

Redana's eyes widen as she absorbs what her mentor has just laid out for her. "Mother told you not to keep going out past Tellus. Of course. Because of everything she'd lost, and... and because she wanted to keep you safe. Just like she wanted to keep me safe." She rolls the thought around in her mouth. "Then I guess I am a Hermetic, then. Because I made that choice. Just like you did." And nothing can take that away from her. She made the choice. She made the choice! She became a Hermetic the moment she reached out her hand and asked Bella to come with her across the stars. And nothing could take that away from her! Not even...

"Do you think she'll be okay? Bella, I mean. I don't know how much you know about her. She's my maid. She used to be," Redana corrects herself. "I don't know what she is now. Alive. Not wanting to see me. She chased us down all the way from Tellus, and she helped us defeat Sagakhan, but I don't know if that's because they were enemies, and... I spent time with her on Salib. Only she thought I was someone else then, because Lord Aphrodite allowed me to wear his cloak as a disguise, and she thought I was someone else, someone who she could spend time with, and... she hates it out here, she thinks it's cold and dark and dangerous, but she can't go home. Not without me. But I'm not going home. So she's on the ship and she won't let me find her, but there's so much I need to say to her! I need to apologize for what happened on Salib and I need to tell her that I'm glad she's alive and I need to tell her that I missed her and that I'm sorry for the closet, it's just that I panicked and she hit me and she was going to stop me from leaving at all and I don't know if she hates me or if she... when I told her that maybe I had feelings for her, but she didn't know it was me because I was in disguise, she punched a wall into pieces and started screaming at Aphrodite! And I think I do have feelings for her but that's not the kind of thing you can have in a palace because she had to do what I said and what if I told her to do something she didn't want to do, like kiss me, and she didn't want to but she did it anyway and she hated me for the rest of forever? And then she's been chasing us and she's been a really different person and she's been mean and when I thought she was dying and abandoned I tried to turn this whole ship around? I could have really hurt Mynx and Dolce, I could have killed them, because it felt like my heart was ripped out of my chest thinking about her sad and weak and alone, do you know how much she hates being alone? She pretends she wants her privacy sometimes but I can tell, she's always been there for me, always. I was ready to hurt my friends because I could see her curled up on a venting, broken space station with nobody there for her, and is that love?"

At this point, she is pacing. Urgent hand gestures are involved. She has fallen into the excited, breathless cadence of a Hermetic offering a counterargument.

"And then I kissed her! On Sahar! Because it looked like we were about to die and that's the sort of thing that heroes always do when they're about to die, they kiss the girl, except she got really mad at me afterwards and even though I didn't order her to kiss me maybe that counts as the same sort of thing just because I didn't ask her for permission? Except there wasn't any time to ask her if I could kiss her because the Master of Assassins was about to trample us into the earth and bite us into little tiny pieces and if I had died and hadn't kissed her then can you imagine how I would have looked to Hades, all tormented by the fact that I never did get to kiss her like that, as myself? Because we did do kissing on Salib, only she didn't know it was me, and I thought maybe I wasn't going to be Redana anymore, because Mynx was doing a better job of being me, only that awful assassin girl who I think Bella like likes tore brave Skotos off me, and that's another thing, I don't know where she is on the ship but I bet you anything that the Master stuck her someplace like a sleeping princess and when she wakes up Bella is going to make a beeline for her, for some reason? Just because she's pretty and talks like she's the smartest person in the world and Bella wasn't silently resenting her for all of her life!"

Now she's starting to get a little weepy. Sniffling. Rubbing her face on the sleeve of her jacket, which is the same colors as the Shepherdess's armor today; that color scheme's now on pretty regular rotation in her wardrobe.

"I didn't know! I thought she was happy! Or, no, I thought I could fix her unhappiness! Because I could tell, sometimes, only I thought that maybe it could be fixed by the same fix as the thing that was making me sad, but now I think maybe the problem wasn't Tellus, it was always me! She was punished when I wasn't good enough and she was forced to pretend she liked to be around me because that was her job and how could you like like someone who you had to spend all day around while also pretending you liked them while also wishing they'd stop being an idiot so you wouldn't get in trouble? And I thought Mynx was the actor! So maybe I should just let her be with that assassin, who probably knows her real self far better than I do, and then I can toss myself right out into the rainbow sea because I did all of this because I wanted to give her the whole universe and it turns out she hates it, and we've come so far that if I turn back it's all for nothing and everyone who hurt and changed and died on Sahar did it for nothing, and I promised Hades, I mean uncle, I mean... the Lord of the Dead, he's so hurt every time he thinks we've failed, would you want to look him in the eye and say, oh, I got a case of the sadness, now Aphrodite has defeated yet another crew with nothing but the power of a mean, rude catgirl with tits out to here who wants to kiss a fucking Athenakissed genius who wanted to pull our eyes out, please don't tell her I said that, I'm just!! She hates this! She hates me! I'm terrible! I kissed her and she made a face! I want her to kiss me back! I want her to call me her little pet again! I want her to forgive me! I want her!"

Her own words hit her like a punch to the gut. She staggers.

"I want her, Iskarot. I want to hold her. I want to say sorry. I want to make her actually for real smile. I fucked up. I want to tell her everything. I want to get to know her again and find out if anything I used to love back on Tellus was actually real or if it was all assassin bullshit and forced smiles. I want to kiss her again. But I want her to want to kiss me more. And she doesn't. She won't. She ran away and I can't find her. What do I do? Do I let her hide? Or will she think I don't care about her and it's proof? Or do I go and find her? But what if she's Eros and I'm Psyche and lighting the candle makes her go away forever? If you'd waited and let me have the time I wanted... but even then she's just going to go and be with someone she likes more and I'm going to dive into the engine, right into the engine, except I promised my uncle that I'd find Gaia first, so we'll do that and then I'm going straight into the engine, and also! Also!"

She turns to Iskarot, face flushed, and declares, in anguish: "And I also promised Vasilia I'd tie her up! And she'll be disappointed if I don't, because Bella was extremely rude on board her ship, but now that she's here, what if she hates me even more for siding with Vasilly? What if it's the closet all over again?? What do I do, Magos???"

TSL: Sjakal

Silsila! Birsi!

The Vo siblings start out cheering for their Host and telling Bratty Birsi that she’s going to get it. That they’re going to make those kisses extra sloppy, just for her. Mele even starts applying the lipstick on herself, trying to distract the House Guard with exaggerated movements and smacks of her lip.

But it doesn’t phase her, and Om doesn’t immediately pound Birsi into the floor, and some of the energy bleeds out. “What are you doing, Host,” Emissa complains, frowning and folding his arms. “Hit her already! Are you going to win or not?”

“Fire Wheels are on the line here, so if you don’t win, Ekh is going to make your life hell,” Mele hisses. And she’s probably right! If Birsi wins, four people are likely to be punished; if Om defeats her, just the one.

But, oh, how well that one can fight!

---

Soot!

That’s it. You’ve got it.

Part of it, at least.

Ruz is vain, for all that she is cunning and capable of hiding her emotions. She’s given you your choice of subjects and told herself that you’re going to make good work no matter what, but in her heart she selfishly wants you to reaffirm that she is the most worthy model in the room.

But from the way she almost smiles at the clumsy slave, how she drinks in the moment with a sip from her glass, how she very carefully considers her next move and whether or not the dancer deserves punishment… well, perhaps she might enjoy a private commission. Something to hold onto, something for her to remind Grace-of-Heaven she’s immortalized this moment.

You are an interpreter of beauty, of moments, and of bodies. If you wish fine rewards and Ruz’s favors, interpret these things in a way that flatters her and cements her control over the young Sultan.

But what will she learn from you, when she glances at you, when she sees your sketches? What are your feelings towards Grace-of-Heaven, Soot? Do not think you can hide them from the Vizier.

---

Nahla!

“Best???”

Grace-of-Heaven awkwardly covers herself with one hand and pushes you off of her with the other. Her acting is surprisingly good, or perhaps she underestimated how mortifying it would be to be exposed in front of her guardian. She grabs your long black hair, near the scalp, and pulls you up.

“How dare you? In front of our esteemed guest? You stupid girl, you, you…!!” She lets out a strangled scream and stamps one foot. (Was that a chuckle from the Vizier? Perhaps she’s glad to see the Sultan acting childishly.)

“Ma’am,” she says, hotly, “please excuse me. I need to discipline this, this barbarian. Myself. Best assets… what a horrible thing to—“

“Without giving her a chance to make amends?” Ruz lifts one hand, and Grace-of-Heaven sputters. If the Sultan’s forced to go too far off-script, she might flounder. “Dragon-daughter, what have you to say for yourself?”

But this is good. You can salvage this. She’s still thinking of you as Grace-of-Heaven’s girl, not an ordinary palace slave, and she still thinks of you as an exotic barbarian. If you are haughty, just the right sort of impudent, she’ll let Grace-of-Heaven drag you off and then likely ask to see you again at a later feast.

TSL: Sjakal

Silsila! Birsi!

“What do you think, Big Girl?”

Mele Vo gestures expressively at the palace guard, who is presently mid-makeover. Emissa Vo has the blonde’s chin in a vicegrip as she gets some expensive palatial lipstick on her lips. Those lips won’t even be visible once she’s dressed properly! It’s just a waste of lipstick, a way to show off, and an excuse to manhandle her.

Mele Vo absolutely is not thrilled that the Khan’s Host walked in on this humiliation session for the poor guard, because she’s a wild card. Silsila has the authority to pull rank with a couple of low punks like the Vo siblings (and Ders La, who’s too drunk to function right now). The Host could join in, order the guard released, or even take the guard for herself, and Mele doesn’t have the brains to figure out which one Silsila’s leaning towards. So she’s going for shameless pandering, hoping it will endear her to the Host.

Birsi, meanwhile, is ungagged but still cuffed, and she’s only been ungagged for the lipstick and so that much worse things than a glove can be packed in her mouth. This is her chance, possibly— but her only hope for a savior is the imposing, muscled, dangerous Host.

Now, if she wasn’t currently cuffed, Birsi could relax in the knowledge that she’s been trained in anti-Host combat styles. A battle between the two of them would be surprisingly fair, as she’s a member of the elite House Guard. But helpless like this, how could she possibly use that to her advantage?

Unless she were to challenge Silsila Om…?

---

Soot! Nahla!

Ruz’s lips thin. Her Soot definitely has said something wrong, or gone the wrong direction. Not enough to chastise her yet, but just enough that it’s impossible for the artist not to pick up on it, as carefully attuned to her Patron as she is. Soot has likely opened herself to criticism after dinner, unless she can recover.

But, hooray, a distraction! Grace-of-Heaven claps her hands and lifts her face, grinning for the first time since she entered the room. “Oh, yes! Your gift to me,” by which she means Nahla, purchased by the Vizier, “is so talented, ma’am! I could watch her for hours, and I insisted that she should entertain tonight for us. She has a new dance that she’s dedicated to your diligent service!” Ruz raises an eyebrow, but the flattery is sweet and the implication that Nahla is acting as an appropriate distraction for the Sultan (who should be thinking about girls and pleasure and not about authority or rebellion) has put her at ease.

Nahla, Grace-of-Heaven is using her String to encourage you to show off a very special dance. The trick is to not be so good that Ruz intercedes on your behalf, but not so bad that you lose her attention. Afterwards, you will have to be quite silly-headed and “accidentally” provoke Grace-of-Heaven into a childish tantrum— and that, too, is part of the performance.

Soot, Ruz gestures for you to show off your skill. One of her personal slaves hands you your sketchbook and charcoal, but she does not specify a subject. Who is worth sketching while exotic Nahla performs?

Huntresses of Hybrasil

Smokeless Jade Fires is young. She does her very best to hide it behind her laughter and her pride and her love, but she is astonishingly young, even for an immortal hunt-goddess of rushing, cascading thought coursing through the systems of a mechanized idol. She is young enough that when the thought begins to run through her, it frightens her enough that she pounces on it and wraps it up and hides it until that thought is entirely unrecognizable, and she can sit back and smugly accept the thought that it has become, squirming in layers of defensive lying: I think she would make Dolly a good rival.

Because stories are full of those! Dolly’s stories loved the figure of the brooding, dark-furred rival, exiled from their clan for unforgivable but perhaps understandable sins, dangerous and nimble and difficult to predict. Even if Angela Victoria Miera Antonius doesn’t have fur, perhaps she could be worked into shape. For Dolly’s sake. And if it so happened that the rival ended up repeatedly humiliated by a mighty and powerful goddess, well, that’s hardly without precedent!

And imagine the crossover. Imagine the two of them squirming together. The comparisons. The contrasts. Cupping Dolly’s face and lifting it up, seeing the blissful serenity of submerged space in her wide and placid eyes, and then forcing Angela Victoria Miera Antonius’s head up, her ears twitching, her eyes slitted and furious, because she might as well be Hybrasilian in this daydream, chewing uselessly on whatever Jade chooses to fill her mouth, squirming, struggling, uselessly, defeated, owned, tagged, and on the other side of her Dolly soft and inviting and moaning like she’s in heat as she pushes herself against Jade’s hands, and Angela refusing to stop trying to enunciate some petty defiance, and both of them showing Jade’s power and control and glory, Dolly through her eager surrender, Angela through her completely impotent indignation. And isn’t that beautiful?

The conception of Jade’s self shoves her knuckles into her mouths and swishes her tails giddily, imagining it. Girls. Girls. For Dolly, of course. It’s important she have some brooding firebrand to antagonize for the glory of her patron goddess. That’s why she’s even considering this. Her High Priestess is irreplaceable.

Even if she’s a goddess, her whims are sacrosanct, and there is nothing Dolly could do to stop her except cry, if Smokeless Jade Fires wanted to take on new pilots, new concubines, to form a harem. That thought alone is why she must wrap even the possibility of doing something that might lead to Dolly crying up in lies to herself, so that she does not fall into the terrible passions of a goddess unshackled. Just imagine it! That soft, beautiful face falling, crinkling, all of her emotional defenses crumpling as she fails to hold it back; the gulping breaths as she sobs, trying to understand why she wasn’t good enough. Because, and this is the terrible truth that stops Jade from collecting every pilot she defeats and cackling wildly about it, if Dolly was replaced as Jade’s pilot and slave and lover and polestar, she would blame herself. She wouldn’t rightfully call Jade out for being an insatiable demon tyrant; she wouldn’t even consider it.

Jade clings closer to Dolly, digs her nails in, drags tongues rough up her fur, nearly makes her drop the Barn Owl. Let the cameras speculate on the shakiness of the victorious mech, of its unsteady footing; she cares not. Her sweet, selfless, indulgent Dolly must be rewarded and reminded of her place in Jade’s heart.

…but the prize. Angela Victoria Miera Antonius encouraged to fight her again, in a better body, to make it more of a fight. The tangle of limbs, the lock of pistons, the terrible destructive wrestling of these vast bodies. Angela Victoria Miera Antonius ambushed, caught in a net, outsmarted, raging, screaming in that staccato— ai, ai, ai! Tagged again, and again, and again. And then Dolly ambushes her with a memory circuit blindfold, and Angela Victoria Miera Antonius finds herself in Jade’s clutches, dressed appropriately, and it would be worth the effort to allow Dolly and Angela to interact with each other in the simulated reality she constructs for Dolly, and then— oh— yes— mmmmh— to the victor, the spoils— the best for her Dolly— teach her to dance, to sing praise, to grovel fuming before the High Priestess—

“We’re going to the fashion show tonight,” she declares, her excitement a rumbling purr all around Dolly. “I’ll pick out your costume. Your reward for being my good girl…”

TSL: Sjakal

Birsi!

“Contained? Treated properly?” The Fire Wheel grins like a hungry wolf, and her companions bestir themselves behind her. “I think we know a thing or two about this ourselves, palace girl.”

She has her fingers around your sword hand before you can draw on her, and twists it up above your head. Then she shoves forward and pins you against the wall with her body, burying your cute little face beneath her bulk long enough for her friends to get involved. Three against one is hardly a fair fight at all, and soon enough she lets you slump against the floor, panting through your nose, chewing on the leather glove stuffed in your mouth.

“Now, the real question is…” The singer winds back, and then smacks your raised rump hard. “Do we take her back to the quarters?” Another swat, this one aimed to make what you’re working with bounce and jiggle. “Or do we help her back to her barracks?” A third, a fourth; you can feel blood rushing to your cheeks.

“Or do we take her out for a night on the town,” the drinker growls. “Lots to carry, and she looks like she’s good for it.”

Smack! Smack! “Really?” the singer drawls, dragging your ass back up by your belt, thwarting your pitiful attempts to squirm away.

“Yeah,” the drinker says. “Cows are good at carrying things.”

Which one do you think they’ll end up agreeing on? Being taken as a trophy back to their friends, being left humiliated to explain yourself to the House Guard and Strategist Hai Lin? Or being removed from the palace and taken out into the city to help the Fire Wheels on their “errands”? And while you’re considering that, how are those cheeks of yours holding up? Don’t tell us you’re making a mess drooling around that glove…

---

Silsila Om!

“Ekh! Ekh! Ekh!”

Rosethal dangles from a trellis by her ankles, and when she wakes up, she’s going to be furious with you for beating her— and ruing the fact that she was wearing a skirt. This is the first time she’s ever been subject to the Fire Wheels’ brand of humiliation. Of course, you could tell her stories.

When they decided to break you in, you weren’t protected by a mother’s wrath. If they subjected her to half of what you went through, Ruz would have their heads.

“That’s right,” Merov Ekh crows, and with a twirl of her finger, forces you into a spin. “Who turns the wheel?”

“Ekh! Ekh! Ekh!” The roar is deafening. The Fire Wheels know how to amp each other’s energy up.

“Now, tonight, I say we follow the wheel where it spins!” She’s amping them up. Tonight, you’re going to cut loose on the streets of Sjakal. Stealing kisses, purses, and wine in the name of order and the wheel itself.

Do you enjoy that, Silsila, or are you more often dragged along by Ekh as they make merry and teach the citizens of Sjakal not to fuck with the Fire Wheels?

---

Soot! Nahla!

The Lotus Hall is for private dining, overlooking the palace gardens. It’s nowhere near one of the outer walls of the sprawling Adamant, but it’s high up enough that it gets some magnificent views of the setting sun.

Here, soft couches with their backs to the sun look out over a mosaic of parading soldiers and dancers, a cleared space for dinner entertainment lit by the dying sun. Here, Grace-of-Heaven sits alone, hands folded in her lap, as her guardian examines her.

“And have you been keeping out of trouble? It’s very important for you to avoid besmirching your station.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“It would be terrible if you stumbled now, after so much hard work. We would have to go back to practically the basics to finally get them to find fertile ground in your head. And you wouldn’t want that, would you?”

“No, ma’am.”

Ruz tuts, doing her best to project the persona of the harsh but fair mistress of the house. Grace-of-Heaven doesn’t raise her head, for fear of being accused of ungracious manners, or of neglecting graceful movement, or of exhibiting unbecoming haste. As her guardian, Ruz has the right to discipline her until she’s ready to assume the throne— a time which seems as distant now as it was when she first took the post.

“Now, my dear,” she says, turning her attention to Soot, running one hand along the back of the artist’s, “what do you think you could make of her?” Another test; be careful with what you answer. Feel free to consider the question first.

Nahla: what do you think of the Vizier’s guest tonight? Have you had the pleasure of meeting the court painter before? There’s obviously something there, some chemistry between the two. While the artist is judging your lady, judge her right back. Feel free to lurk behind Grace-of-Heaven’s couch and think whatever you like while you wait for your performance.