Tatterdemalion

Huntresses of Hybrasil

Dolly!

So the thing is that Jade is a goddess. Dolly could, with quite a bit of focus, follow the cord back, see through the eyes of Jade’s idol, make sense of the feedback coming through her sensors— but she doesn’t, because she’s not allowed unless Jade gives her permission (or, unspoken, if there’s an emergency).

So when something like this happens, when Dolly can tell that Jade’s preoccupied, there’s a little bit of temptation that grows out of worry. What’s going on? Could she help? And entwined within that, the natural curiosity: what is happening while she’s here and Jade is there? It’s always the things we’re denied seeing that distract us the most.

But Jade has told her that she is not to disturb her goddess’s privacy, and that she is to obey and prove her loyalty, and also Dolly is not particularly good at it anyway, and Jade would definitely notice, and sating her curiosity isn’t worth breaking her Jade’s trust. It’s not! But knowing that the key and the door and the lock are all mental is stressful in its own way, too, and it’s really easy to stumble from thinking about not opening the door to inversely, accidentally, opening the door and stumbling inside, and—

Meep!!

She tunes back in to Angela Angela Angela Antonius just a little bit before she’s jostled and squirms desperately inside the tablecloth because her body’s telling her that she needs to be in control of whether or not she falls, but she’s not in control, that’s all Angela. A stray curl flips into her face and all she can do is bounce and tilt her head to try to— wait, wait, what did she say? About the boots? About— is she— why would she— does she???

Dolly looks away and pretends to get really interested in the ferns, hoping that Angela can’t read what flusterment looks like on a Hybrasilian. Just the boots. Just the boots! As if they’d be all that special outside of the outfit! It would just be a contrast to her fur, the gold and the black, and her—

In the tablecloth, she twitches her tail back into place, foiling its pitiful attempt at flagging. She bites down on more flirtatious purrs rising in her throat. She’s not going to shamelessly flirt with an alien who can’t even recognize what she’d be doing, in public, in front of other Hybrasilians, and Jade isn’t even paying attention, and come to think of it, if she wants to do that (she wants to do that), she really, really wants to do it when Jade is watching and ordering and appreciating the show, and…

A flustered, helpless hum escapes her sealed lips as she instinctively bites down on the stuffing that isn’t really there, and she turns her head again to— oh! Oh, incredible! A silly, hapless girl stares wide-eyed at the future of clothing and drinks it in; even if she can’t come up with the fun applications herself right now, she knows that she will— and that, more importantly, Jade will.

And she doesn’t doubt that for a moment.

(And perhaps she should be paying attention to the scuffle down at the bar, but she’s been trying to keep her focus on the dresses for Jade, and besides, she’s engrossed in what the Zaldarians have to offer, and she’s going to perk up and grunt so excitedly when the next designer gets revealed, because she’s a huge fan!!)

---

Jade!

Jade’s voice is a irritable rasp that echoes harshly out of the speakers. (Dolly is horny and writhing and very interested in things! She could be playing with her bride right now! What is she so excited about??) “Who is this that thinks they can negotiate offerings? Either he offers me something he treasures and thinks I will treat it carelessly, or he offers me something awful to try and trap me in words! He comes to give offerings with conditions?”

(This is backwards, besides. You offer a goddess something that pleases her if she will take action to benefit you. When the hunt is successful, the gods and the ancestors are given thanks; but your role, o creature of the waking world, is to petition and promise. Not to make demands. This is the wrong script, do you think her ignorant? Do you think she is small? Do you think there is no blessing she may give you beyond committing to a research project?)

She raises her head again, but switches to secondary sensors; all the gesture of being ignored, but none of the impracticality. “If he wishes my attention upon his offering, he gives it freely. He may petition, he may give context, he may await its return, but it is not his place to make demands of the gods. I have spoken.” Her speakers switch off and she returns to seeming dormancy— but inside of herself, she curls up and watches, fuming, not sure whether she will be angrier if he walks away (and proves that he was wasting her time) or if he argues (and wastes even more of her time with Dolly) or hands it over (which proves he didn’t even need to make this useless scene). Go ahead! It’s your move, dipshit! Dolly is squealing in delight(?) and she can’t focus on her until she knows why she’s going to be angry!!

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

All Aboard the Beneficence of the Hearth!

The barge has been moving uphill this entire time, and now it has finally reached its apex. For a moment, for a vertigo-inducing moment, the barge is airborne, a flying barque as might be seen in far-off Heaven. And then it plummets, and hits a downwards slope at a bone-jarring, hull-shearing pace. There is a desperate grasping for hands, for deck furnishings, for ropes, for anything that will stop a terrible and undignified fall.

The Beneficence of the Hearth comes to a final, terrible stop at the bottom of a ravine, where it will remain, in the midst of a wild inland forest. On one side, the rain will assail it; on the other, it will be assaulted by the vines and growing plants of the Flower Kingdoms, until it becomes something beautiful, sad and utterly changed.

And from here you are scattered.

---

Kalaya!

You are exhausted. Petony has dragged you off the ship and into the forest, and now her remaining squires are setting up a camp. But you can't sleep. You won't be able to sleep. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not after that. No solace, no home. Not while you're in the Flower Kingdoms.

"--were you doing?" cuts through the haze. Petony looks haggard, horrified, the rain streaking down her face. Like she's trying to figure out what happened, and keeps hitting against the fact that Uusha (not here, where did she go? you didn't--) was stabbed by a knight she'd tried to take under her wing. The way she's touching you is not particularly gentle. "Why, bud? Why would you turn on us?"

And in the way that a wounded mind will latch onto the strangest things, you happen to see a snake (an ordinary snake) hanging from a branch, and from there... where does your mind go?

---

Zhaojun!

The barge still crackles far below. What an excellent dismount! After all that work, what else could you do but to leave them wanting for more? Let them yearn for more, let them burn to discover who you are, why you have overturned their lives, and let chaos burn wild through the rice fields! Let them--

"You!"

The Maid Confined is climbing up the slope with the clumsy fervor of a furious kitten. Her serving dress is torn, her dark hair is wild, her entire front is filthy with mud, and she has a pair of knives tucked into her sash. She stares up at you, and her heart burns. "Get back here," she insists. "I'm not done! We're not done! I--"

Her heel slips in the rocky muck, and she faceplants with a wet splat. Again. But she gets back up, growling, crawling on her hands and knees to try to get to you so that she can try to challenge you (you!) to another fight. There is no need to let chance decide: if you let her catch up, you will win. Here and now? There is nothing that she could do that would allow her victory.

You took all her weapons away from her, after all.

---

Piripiri!

"They're not here," the Red Wolf growls.

She's about to explode. She's been holding it all in: for her witch, for the knights, for her image. But the fire rages and seethes inside of her, and the quieter and more strained her voice gets, the closer she comes to exploding into an inferno. Her luxuries, her pride, her position, her control over the situation: all lost, except for what she can force her troops to carry in chests as she attempts to forge her way out of the wilderness. You stand together inside the Earth Pavilion, one of four that have been erected outside of the ship. (It should be five, but there isn't time and manpower to erect a fifth.) "There's one of your girls," she says, like you're to blame for her staffing decisions, "tied up in their bedchamber. They're unaccounted for all night, and we don't know where they are, and I want them back."

She looks to you, and the essence roils just beneath her skin. "I will salvage this. I want you to find them, and I want you to extend an invitation to the Black Spur." The redout, a military camp far downriver, the most fortified position you have in the entire Flower Kingdoms. This is a dangerous escalation that she is pursuing, but it's not tactical sense that's speaking, is it?

She's been rejected. She's been bested. She's been humiliated. And having her prize slip between her fingers is the insult that she is unwilling to bear, above all others. If you fail in this, you might as well not come back at all. The only problem is that this is a nigh-impossible task; finding two travelers in the entire Flower Kingdoms, stealthily, with no clear idea of where they are heading or where they disembarked, will be incredibly difficult.

Unless, say, you had a lead tied up in their bedchamber.

---

Giriel!

You're in one of the corners of the Water Pavilion, on a hastily-relocated couch, sinking into the cushions, with a blanket draped over your shoulders. And out of the strangest possible place, you're receiving care after what you did.

The snake-demoness balances the tray on her tail, offering you snacks that were only slightly waterlogged: biscuits, dried fruit, a freshly-poured cup of tea. It's not so much that she's kind as that she's curious about why you're distraught, attempting to fulfill the duties that the Hymairean set her to, and... she's trying to be human.

She doesn't know how to do that. But she's nodding and going "mmhm" whenever it's appropriate (and sometimes when it's not), and she's staying with you, watching you intently, studying you and trying to figure out the way you're acting and how she can mimic it, but part of that is that she's the one who brought you the blanket, and she's the one offering you food, and she's studying you but she's not judging you. How could she? She's a traveler in a world that's not her own among a people that overthrew her ancestors and imprisoned them within Hell. She's not human.

But she's trying to be, and she's pretending as best as she can, and she brought you a blanket and she brought you snacks.

How does that make you feel, Bruinstead?

---

Han!

There's a point where it becomes readily apparent that neither of you has the power to break the awkward silence. She's holding onto your sleeve instead of your hand, and you could say something, but that would mean having to acknowledge how, well, possessive you were, and you might blurt something out about the kisses, and besides, she's not talking. She's staring at the river as you make your way back upriver, trying to find an inn, and the two of you walk in a deepening silence, in the rain, and you didn't include the umbrellas, really, Han, what were you thinking? The two of you will have to find a new umbrella. In fact, probably two. Why would she want to share one with you? She can't even hold your hand.

And if she clings to that sleeve, well, it's dark. She's probably trying not to stumble, too. And if she raises a hand to the veil you made for her, well, it's dark, and you can't really see what she's doing with it. And if she's screaming in her head, too, well, it's not like you can hear anything over the dragon tantrum going on inside of yours.

And that's why the first things you say to each other are when you manage to get in each other's way trying to get into the Blown Dandelion Inn are flustered apologies as you press up against each other, and catch glimpses of each other's eyes, and look away, and try to convince each other that, no, you go inside first, which eventually you decisively end by picking her up and pushing her through the door so she'll stop standing out here in the rain, and then she stammers and lifts her dress up from her ankles and makes her way deeper inside to dry off and use their facilities, and leaves you to start arranging with the innkeeper for... two rooms? Two rooms. And isn't it lucky that you've got this full purse that someone packed for you and--

"Han," your big sister says from behind you. "Now who was that I saw you with, young lady? Do mother and father know you're fraternizing with girls on your way back from the big city? Hold on, ma'am, I'll just be a minute-- Han, look at me when I'm talking to you!"

Sagacious Crane, priestess of the Sapphire Mother, butts in and tries to fill up as much space at the counter as possible so that you can't do that thing where you pretend not to notice her and her big mouth, while you're in the middle of trying to pay for the two rooms, it's obviously two rooms, Crane.

Breathless Dead

Redana folds her hands over her chest and thinks about standing up. Her head informs her that if she even so much as thinks about it, it will unfurl the banners of revolution and overthrow her seat of consciousness in a glorious upheaval: red banners fluttering between the spires of her mind palace, the doors flung open wide for the common blood vessels to track their crimson boots on the carpeting, and where was she going with this?

"I don't need a detective," she opens her mouth to say. Instead, what comes out is: "Her name's Bella and she's used to be my maid. She's somewhere on the ship and she's alive because she braided my hair but when I woke up she was gone. And I know she left because ever after I left home, it turned out that she isn't just a maid, she's also an assassin, but the kind that only kills people that get in her way. I don't know what her school is. I don't think there's a maid assassin school. She must have learned it when she was very young, but I don't know when she found the time to keep doing assassin training? Imagine if she learned everything when she was a baby but then it was all thrown off by being an adult? And she's been chasing me all the way from Tellus and then on Salib she was taken by the Master of Assassins and locked in armor and when I broke her out we fought her together and she's still there, and I hate how many people we left behind, and even the ones that came back onto the ship with us, they came back changed, and if I hadn't told Hades I would do this none of this would have happened, but now that we're here it would be a waste if we didn't keep going, so we really have to keep going, and it's all on me to keep us going."

She stops talking for a little bit and stares at nothing, her Auspex-- her mother's eye analyzing, disassembling, making a hundred decisions about how to keep ninety-nine things away from her. Her body is heavy and intensely here, right here, right now, in a way that her mind isn't; scrabbling, trying to figure out the next step.

"She was mean," Redana admits again. "To Vasilia. To me. I don't know if she ever wants to see me again. I failed her over and over again. But she won't even let me catch up and try to talk to her about it. There is so much to apologize for, from the kiss, to what happened on Salib, and that also had a kiss, and when we left her on that awful station, I don't even know how she got off it, and she doesn't know that I tried to turn the ship around to go and get her, and that went so badly that-- and Mynx, I haven't found her again either. Everything is fallen apart and awful and all I have are these brass knuckles because my Magos told me I should challenge you if I found you, but you don't even remember Bella..."

Should she even be talking to Beautiful about her? The brass knuckles are heavy on her hands. Because it's inevitable, isn't it? When Bella sees the two of them, gets to compare them against each other?

It's just that she has to apologize. She needs to see Bella again and explain everything. Even if she's doomed to lose.

"Bella is a feline servitor," she loops back. "She used to be my maid. Then she was an assassin and my hunter. Now she's on the ship, after we saved her from being a weapon on Sahar. I need to find her. I thought she liked small spaces where she could find some privacy, but maybe I'm wrong. I don't know. She's got more to her than I knew, and... I thought she was going to come with me. I thought we were going to have an adventure. And when she hit me, I panicked. But I was going to come back. I was going to bring her the stars. Please help me find her. I have to try and apologize. Please."

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

Brainstorming!

The problem is figuring out how to write about it. “I went to Sirius Drinks and I ended up sandwiched between a wolf girl and one of my android girlfriend’s personalities, learning a lot about how to relax and how good it feels to get praised?” Wrong venue for the content. She doesn’t do the advice column, after all; too much pressure, too much of an impact on other people. Besides, that might bring folks just to gawk.

“My experience at Sirius Drinks: fries, FAEWYL-D and wolves.” Closer, though— she didn’t actually end up getting the fries, did she? Maybe she should go back later, order all those dishes, nibble on each one in turn. But should she wear something, or was that just tacky to wear ears on a headband? Thoughts, thoughts.

(Besides, she’s going to remember having her mouth stuffed much more than dainty nibbles on fried chicken specials, thinking about Sirius.)

“I think my fake girlfriend is actually into me. Thoughts?” Not about Sirius Drinks. Not relevant. Not scary. Don’t think about it. Black just likes being in charge. If she’d been allowed, she could have walked in and pulled Amie out just to have the experience— but she’d wanted Vesna, instead. Dumb Vesna Valentine with the perfected hands. Vesna making dumb faces and mortifying noises.

(Is Black going to share that? Were the others streaming the experience? Do all the others know what she looks like with sweat-drenched hair sticking to her skin and bulging cheeks? The thought’s uncomfortable. She’s never been cool with being recorded; can you imagine what that would have done to her career?)

“Sirius Drinks: where a wolf can be a wolf.” There. That’s the heart of it. People can be more themselves when they choose the symbolism to apply to their lives; it’s meaningful that the wolf she met at Sirius (wolves, okay, but Amie’s the one she got to play with) picked a wolf instead of a hyena, or a flamingo, or a mouse. It’s intended as a place where you drop the mask and show off the version of yourself that you have decided upon. And that ties back to FAEWYL-D, too. There. That’s the hook.

(and what does that make her? melting when someone took charge of her? which doesn’t make any sense. she needs her freedom. her motorcycle. her ability to decide when and where she spends her time. to flit in and out of lives as she pleases; to spend as little or as much time in Gensoukyo as she likes. the version of her mewling as Black cupped her jaw and told her to relax as Amie pushed inside— that’s. that’s enchantment, she says to herself, staring up at the ceiling of her living room above the shop. black magic, hah. not herself. when can they do it again?)

Huntresses of Hybrasil

Irritating, the split; she relegates herself for a moment to a pre-determined pattern, fingers running through fur, a hum just on the edge of sneering, except she'd never be that mean to her precious Dolly. But she hates it. It's... dishonest. Pretending that Dolly has all of her attention while she is forced to attend to matters in her body, when Dolly deserves so much, all of her, particularly while she's toying with a possible member of a harem, and her thoughts are like thunderbolts that shake the trees, the wind that whirls their leaves, the black pit of the sky.

There she stands, a doll surrounded by ants. Most mecha are at rest, slack, empty, but Jade insists on her stance: one foot forward, one arm outstretched, her lance resting one tip on the ground with such precision that the immense weight isn't even going to leave a mark on the floor (though the lack of charge running through it plays a part in keeping the floor unmarred, too). This is the Guard Who Keeps The Gate, a stance of vigilance, of strength, of refusal to scamper. Under the circumstances, it is the proper position for an idol, rather than cross-legged and sitting in meditation, or back arched and preparing to leap. She will not have anyone question her legitimacy here, under strange stars.

Scaffolding surrounds her, particularly around her breastplate, where the scuffing is strongest. Were she to move, it would be... disruptive. How brave her engineers must be, knowing that they serve her at her sufferance; that where other mecha are silent and only contain danger in their inert elements, their fuel tanks and their electric nervous systems, Smokeless Jade Fires contains within her at all times the power to take a step forward and send them plummeting about her feet. Thus, when her head shifts, a sudden hush falls over the gaggle of engineers surrounding the Zaldarian, radiating outwards from Silver Ripples, who happened to catch the motion out of the corner of one eye, and the pair still working on filling in the pockmarks on her chest immediately drop tools and make for the stairs, just in case.

"Nine Forests," Jade projects, her voice inescapable, echoing and repeating off the floor, drowning out the frequencies of the larger hangar all around. "Who dares approach the goddess?" Her fingers, one by one, drum on the lance's haft, never letting it escape her control but bringing attention to how she holds it. Her head slowly tilts to one side as she eyes both her Head Engineer (a mountain-cat, thick-furred, colors of fiery smoke drawing the eye down to her torso) and the impudent Zaldarian. "This disturbance is unwelcome." And that is all she needs to move to convey that she inhabits this body, this vast idol made unknowingly for her inhabitance, that she is immanent.

She will have the answer. And if it is not interesting, more interesting than pampering her precious Dolly, then the Zaldarian will be expelled. And if it comes to that, she will drum the lance on the ground, the once. The damage to the floor will be as much part of the point as the sound, the shockwave of air, and the reminder that she is still in control. And what will the authorities do, anyway? Reprimand a goddess? It will be the fault of this Zaldarian, their insistence on disturbing Jade while she is busy.

The fashion show is a blur of motion, recorded through Dolly's fluttering eyes. Her hands grope Dolly's curves blindly, and she cannot fine-tune their force; are they too weak, mere fluttering wingtips, or too strong, making her arch her back on Angela Victoria Miera Antonius's shoulders? A rumbling growl vents through her speakers as she awaits the insight of Nine Forests, and do not think her mood will be improved if the Zaldarian thinks themselves worthy to speak directly to her.

Breathless Dead

"I don't need! An! Assassin!!"

Redana is very difficult to fell. She used to push herself to her limits (which are very far indeed, even compared to some humans) for fun, for the hope of one day getting to be part of the grand competitions, and because exercise and strain felt rewarding compared to the nebulous, confounding difficulty of trying to get the entire universe crammed inside her head. And perhaps it's the fact that she is the daughter of gods, too; that now that she knows, it's that much harder to stop her.

"That's the last thing!" She lashes out, thud thud, too close in for Beautiful to do anything but twist so that it's not the vulnerable parts of her that end up beneath those brass knuckles. You can take it, can't you, Beautiful? These aren't weapons for killing; these aren't swords or claws or giant hands looking to crush everyone or the fangs of the hydra she slew. These are for the frustration. "I need! Like I want people killed?"

She pops up, catches the underside of Beautiful's jaw with her head, then falls on top of her and brings them both down. No more footwork. Just punches. "Fuck you! Fuck your training! Fuck your trainer and fuck her army and fuck her poisons! That's what she gave you, isn't it?" Then she stops, and several emotions slam into her face just before Beautiful's palm slams into her face, and Dany swings back with the brass gleaming on her hand. But she doesn't keep punching the same place, she doesn't fight like a killer, and that's what gets her shoved off and onto the floor, world spinning after the final savage punch to her Ajna.

"I don't need assassins," Redana says. "So try being something that's not that."

TSL: Sjakal

"Iris!"

From up here, you can see--

Well, you can't see the swell of the city the way that you could from that statue. But you can see a bit more than you could have seen from ground level. Don't get too close to that edge; your knees are still shaky, aren't they? Not that it seems to bother Gími; she scrambled up as easily as a rat, or some sort of monkey (not that you've seen monkeys before). By the time you've caught your breath up two stories, Gími is spinning your unmentionables around one finger and grinning like a fool.

"You know," she says, with a saucy little lilt in her voice, "we could just have a bit of privacy here to ourselves. You have to pay to get that inside the Heavens, and it's got nowhere near as nice a view. You can see the laundry lines, the trees from Tourmaline Square over there, and-- snapping chains, what is that??"

On a roof, just visible if you crane your head out a little bit, is that awful brutish Host from the Fire Wheels, in her very, very big form. You're about at the same height, and if she turned her head-- she wouldn't see you, right? Especially if you both ducked back? But Jasmine down there, she doesn't have the same unobstructed view, and she's probably starting to wonder why Gími isn't clambering down to help her out.

All thoughts of sexytimes seem to have fled the urchin, who has plastered herself back up against a wall, barely breathing. Once again, it's up to you to salvage the situation. But if you try to climb back down-- oh, that's high up. That's really high up. It's Gími who's got the climbing prowess, and now that you're up here, you're at her mercy (not that she's figured that out yet, probably). And if she starts climbing back down, what if the brute happens to see her?

---

Birsi!

The Thief-Queen is clambering up the wall after your partner, but you're getting dragged off, hands already behind your back. Your giggling adversary drags you up a short flight of stairs and pitches you roughly into the broken crack, letting you fumble your way down a rough passageway before you manage to right yourself, and when you try to stumble to your feet, they slip out from under you and you tumble down a several-foot drop onto one of the rickety wooden streets of the 78 Heavens.

This is perilous, not least because one of your feet has slipped between the boards and is stuck. You're overlooking a maze of the poor, the desperate and the debauched, and this is one place where your knowledge of the city largely fails you. Your hands have been lashed together behind your back, but your captor hasn't followed after you-- yet. Presumably, they think you're hapless enough that you'll end up jumped by the locals.

Are they right?

---

Om! Soot!

The thief-queen's coming after you, but you have a moment to talk, if you like. Or you could just cut straight to dangling Soot over the edge and making threats, but that doesn't seem like the sort of thing Om is in the mood for right now (and Soot, you'd best keep things that way).

Huntresses of Hybrasil

“Of course you are not a little imp,” Jade says, tracing one finger around Dolly’s ear with deliberate laziness. “You’re my jackal, did I hear that right?” Dolly dazedly nods up and down, somehow managing not to flick her ear. “That’s right. My little pet.” Jade stretches, lifts one foot in the air with a moan of luxury, digs her nails in and feels the feedback, the stifled shiver, the way Dolly’s tail is smooshed up between her thighs and can’t go swish swish like it clearly wants to. She has draped herself over Dolly’s swaddled body, perfectly and impossibly balanced on Dolly’s back, and she visualizes herself despite the fact that most of her is outside of Dolly’s vision. A little flourish of processing power, a preload that makes her feel more present, more tangible.

More real.

She can envision the swaddling, too. She has a better memory than Dolly; she knows the cloth from that one quick glance, can mull it over, recreate it in her own thoughts. Inconvenient that Dolly can’t see the knot, just feel it pressed down against her by Jade’s phantom weight. Another flourish, but this one much more necessary. She needs her Dolly to feel her, to experience her. She’d explode if she couldn’t make that happen for the girl of her dreams.

But it’s just. That wicked grin. That insolence. That fluster, that potential. What’s the difference between being interested in someone and being hot for someone? Is there a difference? She wants to push, wants to know, used Dolly as her pawn in the opening of a game she’s going to win, and letting Dolly get tied up by someone else was just part of that. Besides, it’s giving her ideas. Sashes, scarves, bandages… wrapping around and around and around Dolly, until she’s completely covered… dangling her, or trapping her, or making her hop… all things they could indulge in later, all data points that were better when proven in the primary reality rather than just theory, outside of the dreams she wove for her bride.

So why does she want to dig in her nails?

“I wonder what she’ll do with you,” Jade says, and drags one nail slowly up the inside of Dolly’s ear, feeling how Dolly tenses up underneath her and holds her breath, toes curling, eyes rolling back ever so slightly. “Eyes on the fashion show, my jackal. I want to know how a bride is meant to be flaunted here.” Dolly dutifully returns her attention to the beautiful dresses, the, the dragons, the waves, the pink, it looks so pretty, and she blinks away the tears as her body reacts to being told that her sensitive little ear is being played with. Nobody else can see what Jade’s doing with her, in the middle of the room, and nobody can see her gag, but everybody can see if she’s squirming, and she can’t do that, she’s trying so hard not to embarrass herself any further. When Jade pinches her ear gently between finger and thumb, Dolly lets out a strangled little gasp, only maybe barely audible to Angela Victoria Miera Antonius, and clenches around her tail. “What do the Terenians do with their prisoners? Strip searches, probably.” A muffled whimper, Dolly imagining being pulled out of her dress, examined from all angles, cuffed and collared. “And then… they’d try to make you deny me. To bow down to foreign gods.”

More hands. Pulling the cocoon closer, nails barely behaving themselves, working over both ears right on the edges, in circles. Jade’s simulated heart hammers and her head spins. Hers. Her Dolly. Hers to protect and punish, hers to guide through her life and reward with her presence. It would make no sense to giddily run scenarios of Dolly being threatened, forced to her knees before whatever commerce-gods the Consortium were rumored to worship, faced with punishment, increasingly strenuous bondage, increasingly forceful rebukes, as she refuses to deny her goddess. It would make no sense at all. It would be a waste to run that scenario in her head and get angry at the thought of a hypothetical Dolly hanging her head and succumbing, and being rewarded with the blandishments of her captors.

It would. And yet.

“Don’t worry,” Jade purrs, and licks the back of Dolly’s ear, drags her tongue up and feels Dolly clamping down on the squeal she wants to unleash. “No matter what she does to you, no matter how she tries to ruin your pride, no matter how she humiliates my pretty, darling bride, I’ll be here, and together we’ll make her eat those words. Everything she does to you? I’ll remember it. And the reward of my faithful bride will be seeing Angela Victoria Miera Antonius succumb to me.”

And she stops, and she waits, and the microseconds stretch out. She is hyper aware of the feedback she’s receiving, the dragon robe extending into infinity, the buzz of the crowd and the noise of the music and the huff of Dolly’s breath isolated and picked apart and locked in stone chests, the strain of not knowing exploding her mind into strained oblivion.

And inside the cocoon, Dolly thinks about dancing with Angela on twin leashes while wearing just pink silk robes with dragons on them, and about the ways that Terenians don’t even really know that they smell, and about power plays in a goddess’s harem, and about the indignant noises that Angela was making with Jade’s mark on her mech’s thigh. And Dolly nods. And Jade internally melts in delirious relief, and covers it up by letting her hands sink through the tablecloth and stretching in luxurious satisfaction as Dolly’s eyes threaten to bug out of her skull.

“Now. I hope that you memorized the order of presentations down there,” Jade continues, and what she means is I love you I love you I love you please keep loving me and thinking about me and appreciating what I do for you. “Because I remember, and if my forgetful little ditz can’t answer my questions later, well, I think she will deserve punishment, don’t you?”

And Dolly makes a blushy, tiny nod, and she means it.

[Both Dolly and Jade are marking Smitten with Angela, though it’s just a crush for now. I think it’s pretty clear how Dolly pursing Angela risks Jade overthinking herself into petty jealousy of a “real girl,” and how Jade risks letting Dolly feel like she’s splitting her focus (and how Angela must be new and intriguing and alien). Angela gets a String on both of them, and Dolly and Jade mark Harmony 2.]

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Kalaya!

The mistake was drawing your sword. But how could you know? How could you know that the chaos of the ship was because of the gleeful, dancing heart of the swords? How could you have known that Zhaojun has cursed you all?

Your sword strikes the haft of Uusha's spear as the Stag Knight spins around and stops you from striking her down, from behind, because it's the right thing to do, because she's a danger to Ven, but really because the sword wants this, and it's got you under enchantment, girl, as everything seems so reasonable in the moment.

And so you find yourself next to Cathak Agata, the Red Wolf, the two of you hemming Uusha in, and she's fending you both off, that double-headed spear spinning and swift, and the sound coming out of her is like the monster in the big black woods that you were scared of when you were barely more than a baby, the one that would gobble you up whole. She's a wound in the side of the Flower Kingdoms. She's old and cruel and bitter. You have to do it. For the good of the Kingdoms. For the good of your love. The Red Wolf is burning and she's got Uusha's spearhead locked against the crossguard of her sword and she leverages it up, and it's a fool's move if she's fighting alone, but she's got you on her side, and you drive your sword into her wounded side, where her armor's still damaged, and it comes back wet--

And Petony tackles you onto the deck and punches you. Above the two of you, Cathak Agata and Uusha fight like furious gods, but Uusha's blood intermingles with the rain running down her armor. Petony yells something and punches you, hard, and the sword slips frustrated and thirsty out of your fingers, and the veil of enchantment slips.

"--doing, bud??"

And everything you just did felt right, even if it was the wrong thing, and the savage joy when your blow hit home! Knowing that, this time, you'd gotten in a hit! But how do you balance that with the stinging of your cheek, and the inexplicable thing you just did, and Petony looking distraught and betrayed and furious at the whole mess?

And listen to the witch, for it's her moment now. She'll get you out of this, likely as not, but you're still in what is commonly known as the deep fertilizer.

---

Giriel!

The Stag Knight is bleeding again.

She is too proud to collapse, but she's stiff. The wound, reopened. The work of the Dominion, a wound to be avenged. The only concession she makes is that when you interpose herself is that she shifts to a defensive stance, rather than trying to stab through you to get to Agata. When you make your request, she makes a mocking, broken noise in her throat.

But Agata looks at you, then at Uusha, then at you again, and she shifts into a casual stance, leaning on her sword, its tip sizzling on the deck. There's a calculation to her stance, even now, as she tries to seem as if she's not ready to shift her grip on it and bring it back up. "Of course. I'm sure this was all a... misunderstanding. Fairies, sorcery, and a ship that moves on its own over land." The barge rattles and groans as it runs over some rough ground; you'll all be in the depths of the forest with a long and treacherous trail to follow back. It's possible that the barge will have to be abandoned, if you and Agata can't figure out a way to bring it back to water. "Tensions running high. But I have always and ever been a friend to the Kingdoms. Isn't that right, Lady Bruinstead?"

"By vine, by leaf; by blood, by teeth." Uusha forces out, and there's power in the words. "Find no solace and have no home, not from our wood and not from our bone." She's laying down as serious of a curse as she can, student of the wild gods, and it's very indiscriminate. Agata's grip shifts on that hilt.

If you want peace? You turn that curse aside, you make it clear that you are siding with Cathak Agata, and you stand between the Red Wolf and the Stag Knight until the latter turns aside and leaves, but you will have made an enemy of her from now until the end of days. She could forgive the dead, she could forgive playing at being Agata's pet, but she is speaking from her marrow and her pain and you would deny her this?

---

Zhaojun!

It's knife-work against a firewand, and if you can line it up, then the Hymairean will be in trouble. But that's not all you have to line up, is it? You've talked with her, you've read her like a book, you can see how she's all tangled up in her responsibilities. All those wants, smothered underneath what her honor and her family and her self-regard demand. She's the least free person on this entire deck, and you're counting the maid in that, too.

Of course, there's also the matter of your mistress. Looked at one way, she was defeated by this Hymairean right in front of you. Looked at another way, she was defeated by the maid who tripped her up, quite on accident. Do you pick one? Do you even bother to choose? Doubtful you mean to go back for her; the likes of her wouldn't be stopped that easily. Never dead unless you find the body, and not even then.

(be we and be free!)

Uusha's spitting her hate and her blood, Cathak Agata's so horny for her Flower toy that she's all knotted up inside, the Tiger Knight's horrified that she fucked everything up somehow, and here you are dancing with one of the most repressed girls on this whole ship. Do what you like, do what you will, keep pushing. Only good can come of this, by definition. Go ahead! Laugh! You're making things happen! Out of everyone on this giant gaudy oversized boat, you've got the most agency!

Well, other than Giriel Bruinstead over there. She's the kind of fulcrum on which everything's turning right now. Co-fulcrum, perhaps. But you've got both thumbs on the levers and the lovers.

---

Lotus!

Emli gives you one more lesson, doesn't she?

Because you, oh little princess, oh blushing in your makeshift veil, oh trying not to rub your shoulder up against Han because she doesn't want you like that, you do not know how to tie someone up either.

But it quickly becomes apparent that you at least know the theory better than Han does, which is weird, because hasn't she tangled with N'yari a lot? You'd think that she'd... but maybe she always wins? Oh, that would make sense. Han wouldn't lose, she'd send them packing and untie all their captives and never get caught and trussed up and be straining and struggling against the ropes as Machi tilts her chin up and HEY KNOTS. WOW. YES. THE DRAGON GOES OUT OF THE CAVE, AROUND THE TREE, AND BACK INTO THE CAVE. WE'RE ALL LEARNING SO MUCH TODAY.

Eventually, you (and let's be honest, it's still mostly you, Han's being adorably sulky about it) manage to get Emli tied up appropriately: hands behind her back, ankles together and tied to a bedpost, rope under her chest and around her arms to keep her from squirming her wrists out from behind her. You can't help but sneak one more thank-you kiss before she opens wide and offers that (wonderful, wow) mouth for stuffing, and then you pull a sash snug between her lips and then another over those lips and then, hey, she's got more right here, why don't we keep just adding a layer or two using those knots we learned and-- OH RIGHT, YES. SORRY. YES, HAN, SHE'S. YES. DEFINITELY NOT TALKING. NOW. UHHUH. But she looks happy, and makes a show of squirming and trying vainly to call out for help, and something in your chest jumps sideways and starts flailing around while watching her, and you reach out for Han's hand without even really thinking about it.

You're going to have to be very quiet (but not like Emli's quiet) (but just imagine if you were) (Han carrying you and warning you in that gruff toe-curling voice not to make a sound) (and you're wearing something very indecent) (but you're safer than you could possibly be anywhere else) (and she's going to kiss you senseless once she's got you right where she wants you) (and you're not the daughter of a goddess but just a girl helpless in the face of her adoration) (and you need to stop because you're just going to hurt yourself worse thinking about this) (she doesn't want you, Lotus) to escape the barge. Luckily, Han's got a plan, and it's going to be weirdly dead quiet as you make your way out, and slip into the river, and swim for shore, which in your case means running over to shore while carrying the bags in your arms and desperately trying not to drop anything and then waiting for Han to finish swimming over.

And it's then, as you help her up out of the water, as your fingers interlace with hers, as you open your mouth to try and say something stupid in thanks, that the barge will suddenly shudder and turn and run aground, only it's not running aground, it's sailing on dry land and picking up speed as it turns right around on the far shore, heading back the way you came, only deeper into the woods, and the two of you will sit there dumbfounded and wondering what in all of creation just happened.

Breathless Dead

“I! You! Shut up!” Redana Claudius is not particularly eloquent at this moment; her cheeks are flushed. She is tap-dancing on dangerous mental ground, the shifting mirrors of Bella all around: maid, friend, longed-for, hurt, unattainable and slipping through her fingers like a phantom. She heaves the lid of the tomb up, the heavy stone, and flings it at Beautiful. Of course it won’t connect; both of them know it won’t. But whether Beautiful ducks beneath it or jumps atop it and runs across its face as it flies, pushes off into a jump, she’s still being pushed into a space where she’s reactive, and that gives Redana, her head throbbing, her heart open, room to breathe and room to seethe.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about! You don’t know anything!” She lashes out with one fist, and Beautiful slams her elbow joint so hard it nearly locks up. “Fuck you! How come—“

Beautiful clocks her in the same point again, and Redana staggers back, choking on the wires. How come she gets to be beautiful, a vision of loveliness, but so cruel? How come she gets to be so smart that she can impress Bella, how come she has room for all those encyclopedias in her head? How come she has the chance for a fresh slate with Bella, when Redana’s already spent a lifetime wasting her chances?

How come Beautiful gets to be perfect, and Redana has to be Redana?

“You’re a loose gear with serrated edges,” Dany hisses, fists up, footwork evasive, memories of Olympic boxing baked into her muscles. “And no one is going to lose a finger. Not on my ship.”[1][2]

---

[1]: “You worked hard to earn your very own fingers. Don’t lose them!”
- Coherent wisdom as regards workplace safety.

[2]: Perhaps Redana can be forgiven for forgetting that Dolce is in charge of the ship now. Most everything in her life has been hers, and also, she’s facing down New And Improved Redana Plus, which would make anyone somewhat possessive.