Tatterdemalion

Breathless Dead

Redana, frantic, subconscious running faster than her thoughts, pushes Epistia back, clamps one hand over her mouth. “Wait,” she says. “Not like— if you just yell for her she’ll—“

But it’s too late. She’s made a mistake. She can’t de-escalate now that she’s wrestling with a Ceronian. A thousand generations howl through Epistia’s veins, all daring her to rise to the challenge and end up on top. She grabs for Dany and the two of them stumble into a pillowed alcove and there is a confusion of limbs, growling, and muffled yelps.

But it ends with Dany straddling Epistia, wrists pinned over her head, mouth stuffed and wrapped tightly with regal black and gold, and a shuddery blushy Dany trying to look somewhere that’s not the Ceronian’s pretty gagged face or her heaving chest (damn to the shining waves that Party Top). Every attempt by Epistia to wrench her wrists out of Dany’s hands, every twist of her torso under Dany, every garbled word through the spacer’s cloth, they’re just making the color rise to her cheeks all the faster.

“See,” Dany says, and tightens the grip of her knees. “If you— she— she thinks she’s hiding— and—“ Epistia bucks and makes a glareful noise and Dany nearly combusts. “The Coherent, she, and vines, and…”

And imagine Bella in her place. Straining, bucking, silenced, moaning, free to be touched, batting her yellow-and-red eyes and mumbling an invitation…

Dany makes the tactical error of letting go of Epistia’s wrists so that she can bury her confused silly head in her hands and make a noise like a tea kettle.

Breathless Dead

“And because of that,” Dany hoarsely whispers at Epistia, trying to simultaneously be loud enough to be heard over the noise of the room and its many conversations, laughter, and cheering for the dragon, while also not being loud enough for everyone to hear her, while also catching her breath. “We need to stop the party. Until we find Mynx. And— can you two smell her? That would be really helpful. So there’s only, if I remember, five exits from this hall? That shouldn’t be hard for the daughters of Ceron.”

When she says stop the party, she really does mean until she can find Mynx. The energy in here is almost infectious, and even though the sight of Dionysus has her on edge… isn’t this, maybe, just a little good? One great big party for everyone after everything that’s happened. Wouldn’t it be nice to stop and rest and have some drinks? To cuddle in dark corners on soft cushions and smoke whatever that violently violet vapor is? It would do Bella some good, certainly. And maybe the tightness in her shoulders that’s been there from the moment she woke up on the Plousios might melt away.

She just has to find Mynx first. That’s important. Do your work before you play, Princess Redana Claudius. You only get to stop thinking your head into aching once you’ve finished everything you were assigned. Find Mynx. Help Mynx. Then come back and ask Bella to lie down on cushions with you. Maybe let your shoulders touch. Breathe in the smoke until you get the giggles and rest your forehead against Bella and watch the languages of impossible places radiate throughout the room.

Trust Dionysus again.

Would it be so hard?

Huntresses of Hybrasil

“Would I ever…? Oh! Thank you so much!”

The server slides the breadsticks onto the table, ears politely flat and tail low. (Not garlic breadsticks, of course. Not many Hybrasilians thought the taste in TC cuisine was worth the vomiting afterwards, so you don’t get garlic in any Hybrasilian restaurants. Just meat gravy for dipping.) Then she’s sliding back down the cable connecting this private shelf to the kitchen far below. Dolly returns her attention to Ksharta, squeezing her hand assuringly through the mesh glove.

Jade is leaning on Dolly’s shoulder, in full view of Ksharta Talonna, with all the potential menace of a crocodile basking in the sun. She doesn’t speak, ostensibly because she is letting Dolly answer, but also because she is orchestrating the spread of this information with the aid of an engineer-cultist, who— as she is explaining, must have a conversation about Dolly’s date within earshot of Angela Victoria Miera Antonius, wondering idly out loud if Dolly and Ksharta Talonna are having an enjoyable dinner as the honored guests of Keoni’s Tower, and how Smokeless Jade Fires hasn’t decided which fight was the better one, which will be an irresistible lure to that deliciously proud woman…

“Why would I?” Dolly continues, trying to grab a couple of breadsticks before they all mysteriously end up on Ksharta’s plate. “Jade— Smokeless Jade— my goddess is a caretaker. She wants so much to take care of us.” Her tone suggests she is talking about the children of Hybrasil; the look she gives suggests she is talking about two specific daughters of Hybrasil. “I don’t expect her to do everything for me— it’d be beneath her dignity to make me brush my teeth, a failure of my responsibility to do my part— but why would I want to disobey her?”

If she thought, for some reason, it would make Jade happier. That’s the thought that would strike Ksharta as she watches Dolly turn her head and kiss Jade on her stiff cobalt hair, then give that hair a loving lick, as Jade’s long tail lazily swishes and she flashes her wicked teeth. Sure, maybe if she was surprised with sudden danger, she’d take action even if it meant breaking rules, her body making decisions for her. And if she was convinced that Jade was going to get herself hurt, she might take drastic action. Or if she was just exhausted and Jade was focused on something else and wasn’t paying attention to her. But the best way to desync these two sillyheads would be to dangle something in front of Dolly that would make Jade even happier than being obeyed.

”My turn,” Smokeless Jade Fires says, suddenly, gracefully moving. She places one hand on the table and flips herself over, impossibly, her spine fluid as she lands on the table next to Ksharta Talonna. One foot presses against the young pilot’s breastbone, pins her to the seat, as Jade gives her an intense, intent examination from where she sits. “Tell me of your faith, Ksharta Talonna. Do you honor your ancestors? Do you give thanks for your food? Do you know what it is to worship a living goddess?” She reaches out, and a goblet unfolds from one of the shining strings of the universe, filling with star-clotted wine for her to sip as she listens. All artifice— she is still trying to decide what wine made from the dregs of stars would actually taste like— but it’s for Ksharta Talonna, so that she can feel appropriately awed, so that she can feel like a great and powerful and classy goddess is giving her personal attention.

Dolly dips a breadstick in the meat gravy without breaking eye contact from her goddess and her date, eyes wide, heart dripping, thighs clenched. Jade is so hot, mmffff. Her appearance is lithe, but her presence is so powerful— and sometimes it’s like she has the strength of her idol-body, but she has such fine control that she could pick up an egg with its fingers, let alone touch a girl’s jaw and stroke it so gently. Like that. That’s how she can make you feel when she touches you. Like she’s invincible and all-powerful, but she’s too controlled to hurt you. That there’s no point in struggling against her, unless she wants you to struggle (and she does, she does~).

[Smokeless Jade Fires slams an 11 on Figuring Out Ksharta. So— what does Ksharta Talonna love most, and how can Jade make Ksharta Talonna obey (such as, say, obeying a command to ambush Angela Victoria Miera Antonius)?]

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Kalaya!

“The Conclave will be in Chrysanth,” your sister-in-arms says. It is morning, and your ragged band is making its way through the morning drizzle, through the thick wood. “Once we make our way out of the jungle, we can orient ourselves appropriately and take you there. You’re still in trouble, little princess, don’t think you’re getting out of it!”

But she’s not taking you home. She’s going to take you to be judged by your peers in the greatest city in the Flower Kingdoms. You made it through and won that concession from her amidst the tears and drinks last night. Now all you have to do is make it through the oppressive gloom of the wood.

…is what you thought. Then the first snare snaps up one of Petony’s squires, a pretty young man who drops his club as he ends up dangling from a tree. With a roar and a delighted war-cry, the N’yari burst out of the woods with swords swinging, and Petony barely manages to get her hook-sword free before she’s fending off two of the raiders at once.

But you? You are facing down a massive leopard of a girl, bearing a sword almost the same size as you.

“Little knight,” she says, flexing as she hefts that sword up on her shoulders, and, wow, she has muscles for days. “Look! Machi of the Ōei has found a trophy for her dragon! Will you come quietly, knight, or will you play with me?” Her wild grin, with her fangs on display, suggests that she very much wants you to draw your sword and show her a good time, but that she’s fairly confident that you and Petony won’t be able to stand up to her.

What do you do, Kalaya-phraya of the Flower Kingdoms, in the face of a mountain barbarian who wants to have you as a prize? Whatever you do, know that you do it back-to-back with Petony, who laughs and rages with almost N’yari glee herself.

---

Fengye!

The night was cold and the rain was not kind, and the Maid brooded over what you said all night long. Even now, there are bags under her eyes as she drags her makeshift sled to where you lie. There is a bruise blossoming on her scowling face, one that looks a little like a dainty fang-deer hoof.

“Nothing in this awful world remembers its masters,” she says, bitterly, by way of explanation. Then she takes up the leads she wove out of vines.

“Get on,” she commands, pointing imperiously, her lip only wibbling a little bit. From the look of it, she intends to start dragging you through the woods, the least dignified captor you’ve ever seen. But there’s more to it than that; she commands, and expects you to obey. Do you, Fengye? Or do you want her to try to pick you up again?

---

Piripiri! Giriel!

“This way!” Golden Banneret of Miles cries, her shining tail wagging as she looks back at the two of you with the biggest grin on her mask. Because, after all, right now she’s not Azazuka; she is the Golden Banneret of Miles, who chose (with the caprice of Mercury’s Hounds) to insist on the regal daughter of merchants as her host.

Giriel’s working worked beyond what she had intended; you drew down this wandering star, who offered to make the path straight for you. All she required in return was Azazuka’s body (which she moves with an alien grace and energy, and which echoes her giddy laughter; the synchronization is uncanny, like a hand fitting perfectly in a glove) and Giriel’s company as the three of you make your way through—

Well, you’re not so much making your way through the wood as you are making your way from spot to spot. Golden Banneret’s walking-stick is hung with the charms that she had Giriel write, permission slips she signed that allow her to make creative edits to distance. In barely an hour, you’ve crossed all the way to the place where the Lamentation left the river.

“She’s not far,” Golden Banneret adds, her shining tail wagging even harder. “Her and her Blue and her Red.” A lover and a… rival? Enemy? “They’re at a crossroads. We’ll be there soon.”

How have the two of you prepared? Piripiri, do you have Giriel’s leash tucked into your belt, or are you letting her roam slightly freer than that? And speaking of, what do you make of this Golden Banneret? And Giriel, oh, Giriel, what are you planning to say to Han when you see her? And how are you taking care of Azazuka?

---

Han!

The salvation is completely unexpected, but perfect all the same. Because you’ve got somebody looking out for you, Han. And she peeked out from the toilets, saw you arguing with a priestess, and then rolled up her sleeves and went to work.

A little brown fox races into the room through the open door, shakes itself off dramatically, and then zooms over to Sagacious Crane and nips the bottom of her dress.

Your big sister lets out a sound like a teakettle, and then, fists clenched, kneels down and tries desperately to balance not falling over and not tearing her dress and asking what her goddess’s messenger wants and not yelling at the sacred animal that… clearly… wants her to follow…?

And she’s so preoccupied that she doesn’t notice someone clamping a sweet, floral-scented hand over your mouth, taking your other hand, and pulling you insistently over to the stairs and then going “shhh” and letting your mouth go but still pulling you up the stairs and then “which room is ours” and then you’re in and through and Lotus ties the handles shut with the sash that’s there for the purpose and then it’s just the two of you, in one room, with one bed, and she flings herself into your arms and her hands are on your face now and she’s looking at you with such worry.

“Are you okay?” She asks, and she’s staring at you in the low light of the lantern. “I could hear an argument, and that priestess was… do you think she was… looking for me? Because…”

Her eyes slide down off your face, and she slumps. “B-because… Han, if you told her… I don’t want to go home yet. You didn’t tell her, did you?”

Downstairs, unseen by you, the little brown fox is leading Sagacious Crane in circles, scampering through the mud, but right here she’s looming over Lotus and making her sad and what do you do, Han, how do you let her know she’s safe and you won’t tell your sister anything about anything?

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Episode 3: Hunt!

Everyone gains 3 XP from the End of Episode resolution.

Tatters currently has available 5 Generic Strings out of 5 for the episode.

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

The really scary thing is that, at some level, the chemical hypnosis thing is sexy, in that primal monkey shudder sort of way. Imagine trusting someone enough to do that with them. Now stop and imagine federal governments having access to that. Yeah, that’s right, horny monkey. How do you like that ice cold shower of suits in sunglasses and disposable patsies? Brrrrr.

Focus. If he’s writing about something that illegal? Cops might have an excuse for questioning him about it. Domestic labor? Still a little risky. “The construction angle,” she says, smoothly. “That’s the project you’ve been working on. Makes for a good excuse for meandering all over the station and crashing here at odd hours.” She’s more speaking out loud to heart right now, but maybe it’s sinking in? No, it’s really more for her benefit, so she remembers it’s what they (she) decided on.

As for that ramble at the end— he’s right about the hand soap, probably. (Vague memories of hearing that it was four different companies trying to make basically the same thing, though.) Incredibly correct on the four day work week, ??? on the aglets (surely it’s just so it’s easier to thread them, right? right??), and as for home ownership…

Well. Is he right?

Huntresses of Hybrasil

“Do I look all right?” Dolly fusses with her outfit, her top’s tassels, her shoulder strap, her stud earrings, all nervous flustered energy. ”Of course, my bride. I wouldn’t let you out otherwise. You represent me, after all.” Dolly makes a high-pitched huff and squirms, tail swishing in flustered agitation. “Yes, but I want to—“

And then comes the omigosh, the kitten-like bounding, the invasion into Dolly’s personal space, and Jade’s hands on her back keeping her in place in case she thought about stepping back. But why would she? The smile is infectious, and Ksharta looks adorable in that loose, fern-laced top.

“That was incredible? Oh, don’t sell yourself short, Ksharta!” Dolly wraps her arms around Ksharta and squeezes her in a big, enthusiastic hug, gloved hand carefully closed. “You are so talented!!” She rubs their cheeks together and purrs enthusiasm, even as Ksharta continues to enthuse about her and— and—

“Smokeless Jade Fires didn’t let me see what she showed you,” Dolly says, unable to look at Ksharta as they prepare to board. Her gloved hand plays with a tassel like a braid. ”No asking her, either.” “It is my goddess’s choice how she chooses to… give me to you.” Ksharta’s grip tightens, and Dolly’s heart races, and she lets out a giddy little giggle. She can’t help it. ”Oh, what a good girl you are, Dolly.” Jade reaches around and cups her, thumbs working in circles. “Letting our little convert know that you are my gift to her tonight, and how happy you are about it. You’re already so firm, too. Should I check to see if you’re drooling for her, my eager little kitten?”

Dolly’s clamping down on noises by the time she takes a seat and gets buckled— ”No. Help Ksharta Talonna first.” —reaches over across Ksharta, takes her seat belt, and draws it across the cat’s body, burying her face in Ksharta’s shoulder in turn. People are staring, and Dolly is going to melt, Jade, right here in her seat.

”Now tell her, dearest Dolly. Use my words.” “The goddess is always with me,” Dolly says, eyes fluttering closed, voice low, as private as could be managed on a public shuttle. Ksharta smells warm and delicious; something of fresh bread lingers on her fur. “I wear her token and serve as her…” She rubs her thick thighs together, sucks in air through her teeth. “Vessel.” ”Good girl. Good vessel. You are that through which I choose to act.” “I am a good girl. A good vessel. I am that through which she chooses to act.”

Jade involuntarily colors for a moment, hiding her face and rueing that she forgot Dolly was repeating her words. Dolly does not notice; she is hanging in suspense as Ksharta muffles a squeak. Jade, listening through Dolly’s ears, considers whether this is the right moment to act more openly, but… no. The glove is her secret. It may be an open secret for the clever, but she is not going to show it off before the common folk. That would rob it of its power, its use.

“She will show you, too,” Dolly continues, after a moment. She opens her eyes and watches Ksharta’s lips, the excited breath in and out, the shifting underneath that fern-lace. “Not here. Not yet. But you’re going to be a good girl for our goddess, aren’t you? Do what Dol— do what I say, because I speak her words. And then, oh, Keoni’s Tower is dark, and is so private, and she wants to meet you in person, Ksharta Talonna. Now shush. Shush for Smokeless Jade Fires. Not. Another. Word. Imagine her hand over your mouth, firm, demanding, unstoppable. Obey, and you’ll be her good girl, too. And good girls get treatttsssssh.”

Dolly breathes through her nose, hard against Ksharta’s neck, shaking. Jade, mercilessly, keeps rubbing: up, down, up, down, flick. Good girls get treats. She turns Dolly’s head and Dolly obediently opens her eyes, and Jade drinks in the shocked and envious stares, the judgment, the embarrassment. Two horny catgirls all over each other, just like in the match, because their goddess demands it. Maybe Dolly will even get a reputation. Maybe Angela Victoria Miera Antonius will hear of this. Yes. YES. Let her. Let her be jealous. Let her imagine being part of the goddess’s HAREM. How pretty she would look as the centerpiece of…

…the centerpiece?

To assuage her guilt, she leans in and nips at Dolly’s throat, and her heart races at how hard Dolly clamps up and tries not to make a scandalous noise right there on the shuttle. Yes. Her Dolly. Her favorite. Her favorite. Her favorite.

It’s just that Angela Victoria Miera Antonius’s height. Yes. The height. That’s why she considered her as a centerpiece. Topless, too. Dolly and Ksharta Talonna on either side, pretty faces pressed up against either side of Angela Victoria Miera Antonius’s chest… yes. That’s why. Yes. Face glowing over her gag as the Hybrasilians do their cheek rubs and purr. And Jade, tilting her head back by her hair, welcoming her to the harem.

She’s even got an outfit in mind for you, Angela Victoria Miera Antonius. She prepared it from your people’s historical records. The veil will look perfect on you.

But Jade is a goddess of Hybrasil. And these good girls need her attention. And they’re such good girls, aren’t they? They don’t care about their dignity. Not when their goddess demands humiliation. The delight of it makes Jade’s tail the concept of a nebula stretching across entire solar miles.

Her girls. Good girls. Her girls.

Breathless Dead

Running.

It’s hard, because her mind is racing and trying to unpack what’s going on, because that was Mynx, but it shouldn’t have been, because Mynx… she hasn’t seen Mynx since Salib. She’d been so focused on Bella, saving Bella, worrying about Bella, that everything else had just been noise. And the worry is a servant gnawing on its own tail, a loop of stress that unspools the more she runs and becomes not a thought with words but a burning in the elements of her self, a raw chafing discomfort—

But she is running, see.

And running is one of the best things in the whole wide universe.

It is her whole body optimized for purpose. It is an explosion of intent and capability. It is a speed so reckless that the mind becomes a thing of sensations and reactions and words go away, thoughts are sublimated, and there is just the raw animal power of a human being who has pushed herself to this purpose, who has become a thing that runs, whose will is not befuddled and worrying and stymied but effortlessly expressed, and why couldn’t ruling an empire be the same way? Why did it have to be a cramped closet of a thing, shut up in the dark of the mind with so many books and reminders and scales?

It is like piloting the plover of the self.

And so Redana does not process what soothes that chafe. She does not understand why she is so happy that she laughs, a convulsion of muscles, even as she flings herself through her ship, her ship, alongside Bella. All she knows is that in this moment of stress, when she should be tearing herself apart, she instead feels powerful, light-headed, capable of finding Mynx no matter where she tries to hide.

And that, too, is a gift.

TSL: Sjakal

Birsi!

“And what do you make of Sjakal?” The warrior-woman— Jekkan— steps forward and runs her fingers through your hair. Powerful, commanding, but not unkindly. “You all are very far from home. Is this truly a better place than the plains for you, Fire Wheel?”

A lot hinges on your answer to this question, guardswoman. The more you add to whatever answer you give, the easier it might be for you to make a mistake, but the tall, intense woman really, really wants to know your answer. One finger runs along your jawline as you consider her question.

She’s got so much power. Why is she down here in the gutter?

---

Silsila!

“And where is Birsi, Silsila?”

Hai Lin is not exploding. She is intensely, furiously not exploding. Steamed, salted fish sizzles on her plate, but her eyes don’t leave you. You are still surrounded by her guards.

“It was such a simple thing I required of you, but it seems that only one of you came back. Why might that be? I am all ears.”

If you don’t give a good answer, you are going to be extremely arrested. And if you try anything funny, you might extremely end up in a duel.

---

Nahla!

Ruz’s private chamber is like the lair of a dragon. She is a collector of the strange, the unusual, and the gaudy. Her hoarded wealth is reflected in every golden tablet, every jade ornament, and the massive chandelier that casts dizzying shadows over the place. It’s… disorienting. And she moves almost silently on the plush carpets.

“Ah, the northerner girl,” her voice hisses, from deeper within the candle-speckled gloom. “Do come in. There’s a good girl.”

You are in danger if you do so. You are in terrible risk if you do not have a plan and a performance to match it. Not everything here is as it seems.

---

Soot!

“What?? You can’t be serious,” Rosethal sputters, furious. Her finger jabs you: here, here, here! “You are supposed to—“

Then she stops, runs one hand possessively over the sword. “Well,” she says. “Well, well, well. I mean, if you can provide the ante, I see no reason that you shouldn’t join in.”

And she sits down opposite you, her green eyes startling and hungry over her veil, ready to win the sword.

Prepare to Fight, Soot, or Entice, as pleases you— but this is a battle, even if it is done with cards and bluffing. You will win the first hand and scrape together enough of the pot to hold you in for a few more hands, and it’s up to you how you play them.

Do your best, and keep in mind that Rosethal can be goaded into some very reckless bets.

Huntresses of Hybrasil

Through a jackal’s eyes, Jade sees the cables of the net snap away, one by one. Through the eyes of her heart, she sees Dolly taking deep breaths, her tail curling, about ready to explode. Through the eyes of her imagination, she pictures Ksharta Talonna writhing in her mesh, so similar to her Dolly, thighs pushed apart by the knee of a goddess, mouth open, eyes wide, ears down. Through her mech’s sensors, she sees Ksharta Talonna hide her face and hears her flustered, needy squeal.

“Good girl,” Jade purrs, running one of Dolly’s hands up the front of Ksharta Talonna’s chassis. Not a kitten. That would be demeaning, undercut the symbolism: that she is being initiated into a rite, into something holy. “You were so brave, fighting me.” Her fingers, strong enough to crush stone to rubble, slide into place on one side of Ksharta Talonna’s magnificent throat, her thumb applying precise pressures. Here, Dolly— and here, too. Make her feel conquered.

Dolly’s tail curls around Ksharta’s. In her eyes, Ksharta is wearing an archaic hunt-mask, rimmed with river stones. This is so much. She’s fooled around before, on Hybrasil, gone from meadow to meadow, but Jade has been her everything, intense, trained on everything Dolly wrote as a horny teenager, and it’s still wild, heart-hammeringly wild, that she’s going to be Jade’s vessel for…

It’s all confusing and hot and she wants this. She wants this, too. She wants Talon, but in a different way than she wants Angela (don’t think about that) (but what if) (Jade will take care of it) (and she sees, with Talon, and thinks she wasn’t good enough) (Jade will take care of it)

Jade’s two fingers, untaloned, show Dolly her appreciation for not just complying, but for eagerly participating, and thinkies leak out as Dolly’s eyes unfocus and everything is Jade’s hands and Ksharta gasping underneath her.

And, uncoaxed, she presses her gagged mouth to Ksharta’s.

White noise burns through Jade’s speakers, a hum to send shivers through Ksharta’s chassis. Then she lifts Dolly’s head as she frantically recalculates, incorporates Dolly’s unforeseen… enthusiasm. She took Dolly for granted, assumed her bride would blushily hide behind the excuse that she needed to serve the goddess, a way for Jade to indulge her through instruction.

“My bride, Seven Quetzal, shall guide you in my rites,” she promises, and feels Dolly buck, which grinds metal against metal. “She is beautiful beyond compare, a tear of the moon fallen to earth. And because you have impressed me, Ksharta Talonna, tonight you will be given her as a reward.”

Dolly’s noise is noise for the sake of noise, for the sake of hearing her attempts to speak dominated by her goddess, for knowing that Ksharta can’t hear any of it, not yet. And Dolly’s noise is because she’s going to explode like a firework if her Jade keeps praising her like she’s not even here, and is Angela listening, too? That big, confusing, strong-handed alien who smells so nice?

“You may thank me now, Ksharta Talonna,” Jade commands. “For stealing you from your lodge, for offering you my treasured Seven Quetzal, and for sending you— this.”

And Smokeless Jade Fires stabs Dolly Montage 9sz into the defenseless cloud of Pulsar Cat’s cognition, which flares open across Ksharta Talonna’s mindscape like the nine-headed spear of Kyu Kyu Kyullyn inside the body of her prey. Dolly, Dolly, Dolly: digitally generated by the goddess who worships her, the memorized body translated into pin-ups. A come-hither look as she coyly half-hides behind a tree; a soulful look in her full regalia, and all it reveals; a pleading look over her gag, Jade’s talons tangled in her hair. Dolly, as Jade sees her and wants her to be seen.

Look, Ksharta Talonna. Look and love her, as I do. Look and see what you are offered for your surrender. Look and compliment her profusely, or else. And thank me, who possesses her, and who rewards good girls— every sort.

Dolly feels her eyes hidden by Jade’s hands, a deliberate— ah, ah, ah, Dolly, you don’t get to see. She knows, roughly, what Ksharta has been sent, but Jade hasn’t let her look yet, and knowing that Ksharta gets to see but SHE doesn’t, that Jade decides who gets to see her art of Dolly, has her half-crush the Pulsar Cat’s pelvis with a desperate, needy whine, but she can’t help it, it’s just so, just SO…

…so HOT.

[Jade hits Ksharta Talonna with a 7, and also, the next time Dolly tries to Entice, she takes +1 forward as a result of Dolly Montage 9sz.]