Tatterdemalion

Breathless Dead

Redana’s first instinct is mortification. People are staring at her, and not at her face. Not at her face at all. Her outfit seems to consist mostly of triangles, and translucent sleeves that just bring attention back to the triangles. She’s practically naked from behind. She reaches up, into her hair, looking for the knot holding the kerchief over her mouth…

And then she lowers it, slowly. Epistia’s smart (and smells good) (and her mouth tastes good). She’s… she’s right. Maybe even Mynx wouldn’t recognize her in this disguise. Nothing to give her away, not even her voice.

The Eye of Hermes shows her a hunched-over, blushing girl with PRINCESS emblazoned over her head, and then WOMAN OF MYSTERY over a confident, hip-shaking, strutting… woman. The Eye of this woman flashes, as if to remind her— as if to remind her that it can scan the room. It just needs the Woman of Mystery to give it time to work.

R’dyna? Rhythalla? Reshella?

Reshella lifts her veiled chin and tries swaying her hips. Her heart is beating so fast, and skips a beat when someone cheers for her. She takes a step, then another, then another, and it takes more discipline than— than the likes of Princess Redana, who is very different from Reshella, might use to push herself past her limits when straining for an Olympic gold. Reshella is very brave and she likes it when people stare at her body, at the triangles, at the way she moves, like the way she imagined Bella might, dreaming of space pirates and damsels in distress and kisses from girls with triangles for ears.

Reshella bites down on the sodden mass between her teeth and shivers in feelings that it would be very inappropriate for an Imperial Princess to have. Nobody knows that she’s gagged. They might wonder to themselves, as she flits from person to person, offering them the chance to ogle, and even— R-Reshella is brave and okay with being groped, actually, because she’s secretly a spy and that gives her the time she needs for her very special eye to do its work. You can’t see her red cheeks behind her glittering Dionysian veil and her hair is down over her ears and in this light nobody can tell that the blood’s rushing to her breastbone, too, even though all of it is on full display. In the smoky light of the party her eyes are colorless and sultry.

No, no, no, no— again and again the Eye tells her, tells Reshella, that the assassin she’s looking for, that she’s playing a game of disguise against, isn’t where she’s looking. But Reshella is willing to do whatever it takes to win this game. Whatever it takes.

Someone tugs on her wrist, and Reshella is pulled onto a table. Instructions and suggestions are excitedly thrown at her from all sides. But that’s okay. Reshella remembers these scenes. She’s confident and sexy and she’s not going to compromise her mission. She lifts her hands over her head, shakes her hips, rolls her stomach. She’s not tall and she’s not busty and she’s not graceful, but she knows what this is supposed to look like. She stands on tiptoe, slowly rotates around the table, someone is beating a tambourine on the off-beats of the bass, and dancing is just like running, isn’t it? It’s about control of her body, but instead of optimizing for speed, or for strength, she’s optimizing for…

For everyone looking at her. Wanting her. She’s not Princess Redana, who would be covering herself up frantically. She is Reshella, dancing-girl, party entertainment, mysterious in her silence, as fearless as Skotia, and maybe, just maybe, it would be acceptable for Reshella to be wanted in ways that Redana could never be.

A Ceronian waves her over from the table, grinds against her, whispers in her ear that she smells like Epistia. Let him add something, if she will? And Reshella doesn’t say no, she just nods, because what if she’d have to explain herself? And letting him know she’s gagged would just cause more questions, and it feels so good to say yes, doesn’t it? (It does.)

And the Ceronian pulls the belled collar around Reshella’s neck and locks it behind her throat and she is complete. She thanks him by stroking up his jaw and wiggling free, jingling as she continues to prance from knot to knot, almost forgetting why she’s here, because it’s snug around her neck and the bells are so soothing and it’s almost like Reshella is back on Tellus with Bella, except Reshella isn’t a princess, so perhaps there could have been… perhaps they could have shared the bells, at the very least.

And it’s like this, sultry, jingling, sexy, desired, and caught up in the waking dream of the party, that Reshella suddenly comes face to face with the two people who she knows can’t possibly be the Assassin she’s looking for, because they’re the other two Assassins.

And there she is in triangles and bells, smelling like Ceronians, completely unable to explain herself.

Huntresses of Hybrasil

Once, there was a goddess in a stone egg…

Jade doesn’t often think about when she was like Ksharta Talonna. New, exploring herself, trying to decide what she loved. For one thing, Jade was lucky enough to have her Dolly to observe, to fall in love with, to desire more than anything else. But for another thing… Ksharta Talonna has the power to act. She can pounce, can run, can explore and see the galaxy. But for Jade, the only freedom was inside her own mind, back then, constrained and yearning. She doesn’t know how this makes her feel, and she doesn’t much care for that ambiguity.

She lifts her foot from Ksharta Talonna’s chest and presses the ball to Ksharta Talonna’s lips. Dolly’s grip on Ksharta’s hand tightens, all intermingled excitement and envy and big-sisterly concern for the kitten. Jade holds her there for a moment, looking Ksharta Talonna in the eyes until she blinks. It is impossible to win a staring contest against her.

“It depends on the god,” she says, when she is satisfied with how Ksharta Talonna squirms in her seat. “If I preferred everything to be natural, I would dwell within an Unworked Figure.” She says the capitals deliberately, invoking some of the oldest archeological finds on Hybrasil: rocks heaped together, overgrown with dead vines, in the rough shape of a woman, a celestial body, an animal. Idols without artifice beyond selection and gardening. No, she will take the artifice of the idol, the power of the body made for her; the effort and the intent is more important than some ideal of purity, of unmarred perfection. “But I cannot speak for us all.” A simple way to step around the inconvenient fact that she cannot speak to any other god or spirit, not as a peer, not in a way that gives her relief from doubts of her own nature.

She lowers her foot, tilts her head, bares her fangs at the awed kitten. “Now. Here is what you two will do, Dolly.” Hierarchy. She does not look to Dolly; this is a lesson for Ksharta Talonna. See who is granted authority. “Finish the appetizer. You will need the energy. Inform the staff that you are stepping out but will return later in the evening. There is a Lodge seven minutes’ walk away. Present yourselves there and make use of their armory; I have already told them you are coming.” Or, rather, the cult sent a messenger on her behalf, on a separate shuttle. This was planned out, after all. “Prepare a pole; you will hunt a prize for me and bring her back here for the main course.”

”I thought—“ Jade raises a finger, and Ksharta Talonna gets a front row seat to what it looks like when Jade’s Dolly is shushed: the cloth materializing, filling her mouth, wrapping around her jaw, bulging, dark and light-drinking cloth threaded with cyan. Dolly pulls her hand off Ksharta’s without thinking about it. Then she looks over at Ksharta and deliberately puts her hand back on the younger girl’s skin, so… so she can see. Her head is yowling with excitement and embarrassment and her eyes keep flicking between Jade and Ksharta because does Jade know how big a deal this is, is this too much for Ksharta, it’s one thing to do this in the cockpit but Jade’s really making her flaunt it in front of Ksharta, is she that interested in Ksharta joining her temple-harem, or does she just want Dolly to be thinking all of these things, about to combust, and is it okay? Is she allowed? Does Ksharta like this, too?

“Dolly, do you have a question?” Jade rubs finger and thumb together, very casually, even though she’s lightning racing across the spine of Hybrasil inside her stone heart. She wants to giggle and wrap her arms around Dolly and rub those stuffed cheeks and give her kisses and make her squirm, but she has to be the goddess for both of them. For Ksharta Talonna and Seven Quetzal. Is she doing it right, Dolly? She can feel your heart racing. You’re beautiful, right now, more beautiful than anyone, and it’s all Jade’s strength to keep playing out the scene for you. Don’t worry, it’s dark, you’re secluded, it’s an audience of two, and both of us can see it instead of just sudden silence and blushing and slightly puffed cheeks, as if you’re sulky, but we know, Seven Quetzal, we know.

”Yhff,” Dolly says, her free hand balled in her lap, her silly head nodding, and in her heart she is plummeting in freefall trusting that there’s a black-and-cyan net that will catch her and wrap her up so safe. Her eyes are still flicking between Ksharta and her goddess, trying to read both of them, trying to remember their reactions forever and ever.

Jade snaps her fingers and the cloth melts away into shadow. For now. “Then you may ask,” she says, still intent on Ksharta Talonna’s reaction. Are you clever enough to understand, Ksharta Talonna? Do you realize that you are choosing to put yourself under Jade’s power, under the will of a goddess, who can do that to you? You should be awed, Ksharta Talonna, and a little frightened, and very turned on, because you should be thinking about the things that Smokeless Jade Fires could do to you, for you.

It takes Dolly a minute. She can’t find her voice, she’s so whelmed. When she does speak, her voice is trembling like a small, furry thing in the sight of a jackal. “…I thought we were doing something for Ksharta tonight, my exalted lady of the hunt?” She hasn’t figured out who the prize could possibly be. Because Jade said her, and that was very deliberate. And while, yes, she understands how a sacred hunt will help Ksharta feel included, she wasn’t prepared for anything more than a dinner and performing for Ksharta and Jade, and she doesn’t know how to feel about things going in such an unexpected direction.

“We are,” Jade purrs. “But you are both mine tonight, and I want to give you both victory.” Yes. That’s what she wants. It’s not selfish to want to hear Angela Victoria Miera Antonius’s garbled complaints as she’s carried into Keoni’s Tower on a hunting-pole. It’s giving her little kittens a trophy, and sending a message to Angela Victoria Miera Antonius about her place (beneath Jade) (sandwiched between adoring kittens) (reminded that if she gets to play with Dolly it is because Jade is indulging both of them in her boundless generosity) (held fast with the mesh, so that Jade can show her exactly how creative she can be)— that’s just a natural outcome of the treat she has orchestrated for them both. “So eat up, kittens. And Ksharta Talonna?”

Jade leans in, until their faces are a breath apart, and runs her multitude of hands along Ksharta Talonna’s arms, jaw, ears, chest, hips.

“Dolly’s glove is unique. I do not intend to make more. But if you please me, if you serve me, if you are a good girl— I will keep these things in mind, and you may enjoy my presence through her. Am I understood?”

It wouldn’t be that hard. It’s not something that she had to pour her essence into and was forged under the light of the moon. It’s just a neural mesh connected to her consciousness. But hearing that, that exclusivity, that possessiveness, that implicit display of dominance… Dolly makes a noise in her throat that is, embarrassingly, not muffled and therefore deniable.

Her Jade’s Dolly. That’s her. No matter who she brings to dinner as a trophy. Hers hers hers.

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.