Tatterdemalion

Huntresses of Hybrasil

Jade isn’t the one who puts Dolly’s hand on Ksharta’s. The comforting squeeze? All our girl. The smile? The kind that melted Jade’s heart when the goddess was breaking out of her egg.

“Not really,” she says, bashful but owning it. “Not before I met Jade, and not, well, like this. Not after, I mean. Angela’s my first real nemesis, the cute kind who will end up defeated and joining us eventually, shh, yes you will, and you are…”

New. Like me. Cute. Proof that Jade isn’t just trying to turn me on when she talks about— talks about? Oh, she did more than just talking. Memories of last night flood Dolly, whose toes curl under the table. Very, very definitely more than just talking, teasing, making her squeal. No, she. She did it. She did the thing. Until all three of them were sweaty and mewling and leaning against each other, and Jade chuckled and ran her talons through their hair and called them cute, sweet, precious, and oh-so-fuckable.

”Aren’t you going to finish that thought? She’s hanging on your every word, high priestess~”

“…you’re our first, um. The first girl we. We do have a cult but they don’t.” She’s telegraphing embarrassment furiously. “You and Angela, really, we. It was the first time she. Shared me. And you. The thing is.”

She stops and takes a drink of water and tries very hard to ignore the smug chuckle from Angela. As if you’re any better! You’re just doing that because you think it’ll, it’ll! And it’s working! She is so very super aware that you intend to turn the tables, and Jade thinks it’s cute how you think you can try, but you’re… you’re interesting, too, Angela, it’s not just Jade who sees something in you.

“Welcome to the harem,” Dolly says, finally, and shines a smile so earnest that it should be illegal. “As the goddess’s high priestess, it’s my honor to invite you to submit to her glory. And as just, you know, me… I want to fight both of you again. Jade knows we’ll win, but I think you’ll make us work for it. And when we win… if you ask nicely… you can join me in submitting to her will~”

Her voice gets huskier than even she’s really aware. Nobody is looking at Jade’s face, which is good, because it’s hard to maintain an air of effortless dignity when you’re shivering happily. And if Ksharta and Angela see Dolly, for a moment, as someone who’s not just Jade’s mouthpiece but someone who’s so into Jade that it loops around and becomes hot, especially when she’s inviting you to join in with what she’s got, well, who could blame them?

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

Gensoukyo!

“For Casual? I’m running the Wild Hunt,” 3V says, sitting backwards in her chair like a hip youth counselor, watching Red work with a blissful look on her face. She knows what it’s like to have her mind and hands work in tandem like that, too. It’s beautiful. She’s beautiful. “Their playstyle varies hard based on whether you’re doing Choosers of the Slain, which actually has a chance against Zalmoxis, or the Tiend, which gets hard countered. Naturally, I run Tiend. Your Sentinels are a pain in the ass to abduct from the board, your Reapers bog down my elves, and eventually I risk running out of charge opportunities and getting swarmed. But, c’mon, I have to go with my man Herne over Odin for my general.”

Both models actually kick all the ass. Herne’s doing the whole deer skull and antlers for a head thing, with armor that looks fantastic with her autumnal red-and-bronze scheme, while Odin looks like a pissed-off Gandalf on an eight-legged horse. Both have phenomenal spears, which is (probably) not a euphemism.

“But, like, if I’m playing seriously? Sit tight…”

The case she takes down from the apartment is shining metal. From the careful niches inside emerge two giants made of whirling, chained stones; a massive three-horned dragon with a howdah on its back; soldiers with the heads of dogs, with faces in their chests, with ram’s horns, with a cyclops’ eye, all dressed as hoplites with weapons and shields made out of giant gems; finally, the general himself, in elaborate brocaded robes and miter, surrounded on the howdah by his inhuman harem.

“The Amaranthines of Prester John. Elite infantry backing up Gog and Magog, and one of the best commanders in the game with a full array of miracles. They don’t have cavalry, but they don’t need cavalry, because Prester John can spend command points like the water he’s turning to wine, and even though he’s a high-priority target, good luck dropping the Odontotyrannus. Big monsters, glamorous infantry, and gorgeous concubines: what’s not to love? If we actually had tournaments here, these bad boys could sweep. Though it’d end up a John vs. Zalmoxis race to see if Zalmoxis could disrupt the phalanx and giants faster than John can get them back into position, and whether John can dispel Zalmoxis’s enchantments fast enough to get Gog and Magog smashing Sentinels. I think I’d still have the edge, but…”

Breathless Dead

She’s still on edge, even though she shouldn’t be, has no reason to be. Bella isn’t interested in Beautiful, not like that, they’re just… friends. Friends who gush over each other. Friends who are still closer, after adventures together, than Dany is with Bella. And she’s doing an aesthetic, and it’s well-acted, but the awkwardness of not knowing how to react grates at her. She’s on the wrong foot, walking blindfolded, and Beautiful can tell all of that with just a glance, like she’s a girl made of glass.

“You could always try something new,” she blurts out, on the off-chance that she’ll get to stop calling this flawless girl on a self-destruct spiral Beautiful, a reminder that when she’s next to this Amazon, she’s small and ordinary. “Like… Pellamy. Or Gastrodaín.” Is that a name? Pellamy’s a name, at least. “Or, like this, in the rain… Night, Nox, Nyx, Nyxë? No, it needs to be smoother. Maybe alliterative. Noelle Knight? Or…”

She glances over at Bella and deflates a little, feeling even smaller and sillier. “Or just Beautiful. I suppose. The Beautiful Detective. Inspector Beautiful.” She fidgets, scuffing her heel against the floor, waggling the toe of her boot. “And we’re here because there’s three assassins here and we’re looking for the Fourth.”

It’s capitalized as it comes out of her mouth, she realizes. That’s the power of Beautiful’s story. The winner is the one who finds the Fourth. Four directions, four seasons, the four-headed totems of the Alcedi, the four arms of Alexa. That’s energy that she can work with, and Beautiful can too.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Sagacious Crane!

“What has she done?” You glance from one to the other, this odd pair who happen to be on the road this morning. The incongruity of a Hymairean leading around an oddly familiar highlander hasn’t quite sunk in yet. You feel like you’ve seen her before. Tip of your tongue. Maybe if you hadn’t been chasing that ridiculous fox all night long, you would have remembered… the recollection slips away as you take another sip of tea. You have more important things to think about right now, after all.

“She is a barely civilized menace!” Your voice rises to a somewhat undignified squeak. “She has disrupted festivals, attacked Dominion soldiers, dumped priestesses in rivers, refused instruction, and— did I mention that she is assaulting Dominion patrols? If she is not brought to heel soon, she might convince the Red Wolf that we are not serious about peaceful coexistence!”

You push the teacup and saucer to one side so that you can lean forward. “And if the Dominion is convinced that we cannot live in peace with them, then they will invade in force. Do you think our knights can hold off an actual Dominion legion? I thought not.” (You are, of course, repeating the wisdom of your elders. But there is no shame in that; the elder priestesses have lived their whole lives in the pursuit of wisdom and noble service to the Sapphire Mother. One day you will be one of them, garlanded in sapphires, respected with a reverent hush whenever you enter a room.) “The longer she runs around doing whatever she pleases, the more risk she puts everyone in the Flower Kingdoms… into! You understand me, right, Giriel?”

It takes a moment to sink in.

“…Giriel!!” Your eyes shoot open as you finally place face to name. “Giri, darling, forgive me, I didn’t recognize the new… look!” Thank blossoms she can’t see the color rising to your cheeks as you look her over. “It’s certainly… you’re very… are you enjoying yourself?” What you are feeling is most certainly mot envy. That would be ridiculous. Why would you want to hold that leash, hmm?

---

Fengye!

The Maid laughs. And in that laugh there is a faint echo of her former magnitude, her former glories. She pushes you back down onto the sled as if it is nothing. “That’s right. Cutie. That is your title from now on. Maybe I should even engrave it on a collar. To help you remember.”

“Oh, we can help with that,” says the N’yari looming out of the shadows of the trees. You recognize her as one of the raiders that Zhaojun tried to mobilize in her schemes— and that means she’s definitely not alone. The look on the Maid’s face is incredulous, but it’s clear that she has no idea how much trouble the two of you are in.

---

Kalaya!

Beneath the water lies my heart,
where I let it fall;
and though the banks echo my song,
I have lost it all.

Dragonbreaker lies at the bottom of the Green River, pulled down by Dima’s jealous ex, the spirit of the river. She and Silver Currents knew each other so, so well— they were perfect dance partners.

Then Dima met the Red Wolf.

And when I saw her locks of scarlet hair,
which shone like fire,
I, most wretched worm, most awful beast—
I knew desire.

She (in her own words) seduced a naïve, wide-eyed diplomat from the Dominion, who had no idea that she was on a relationship with Silver Currents. Then Silver Currents found out. Now there is no ship sailing up and down the Green River, keeping common folk safe from river dragons and bandits.

And now she is convinced that she might just be the worst person in the whole world.

But even so, she might be convinced by you, Kalaya-phraya, that she is not irredeemable. She’s not likely to believe awful stories about Agata directly, but perhaps you can convince her that making one mistake is something that can be fixed.

---

Han!

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Lotus is the most innocent girl who’s ever lived. Just look at that innocent waggle of her shoulders. The way her eyes slide innocently across you. She’s just asking a question. “Sisters are always doing that sort of thing, after all, and it’s not like you couldn’t. If you wanted to. So is it that she was prettier than me, or is it that you’re… not into girls?”

Her grip tightens in a very casual way. And, you know, some people aren’t!

If you admit, very loudly, that you like pretty girls, that girls are pretty, and that Lotus is very definitely included in the context of girls who are also pretty, you may take a shiny XP.

Huntresses of Hybrasil

A handicap.

Soon she will know everything about this Whispered Promise. She has ordered her engineer-cult to begin gathering information. That is what cultists are for, after all: doing the hard work of gathering and interpretation for her. An offering of time and effort for her glory. And it means she doesn’t have to stop clinging to Dolly, who is sandwiched between her and Angela Victoria Miera Antonius just like Angela Victoria Miera Antonius is sandwiched between Dolly and Ksharta Talonna.

A handicap. Of all the arrogant bluster. Who did she think she was? Doubtless she would not hold a candle to Dolly, let alone Jade herself. Though, perhaps, the specific skills that a mecha pilot would learn over the course of their career might make it possible to surprise Jade once. Only once. The hunt-goddesses are not omnipotent, after all, and neither are they omniscient. It is simply that they, that she is sacred. Set apart. Of a different class of being. So even if this Whispered Promise, this cunning little trickster who slunk out of one of Dolly’s stories (and nearly right out of that ridiculously unzipped suit), were to overcome her once, well, it wouldn’t really be an existential threat. Not really.

It would just be fucking infuriating. Imagine how Dolly would feel, seeing her goddess humbled! Would she ever look at Jade the same way? Jade has never had to worry about this before; the thought of losing was always so far away as to make it impossible to consider. But that arrogant, preening, dappled minx! She was hiding some trick up her sleeve, and why couldn’t Dolly see that?

(Because she’s Dolly. Because she’s sweet. Because she’ll forgive you even if you lose. Probably. She won’t abandon you for a real girl like Whispered Promise or Angela Victoria Miera Antonius. Not after everything you’ve offered her. Not after you’ve danced with her and let her ride in your heart. She can’t. You won’t let her. You won’t let her? The thought is uncomfortable. Therefore the thought is bad. Let it be chewed between your teeth; you make nothingness of it. Let it be sufficient that Dolly will not abandon you and there is no need to consider the potential response. You are the beast that devours that which displeases you in your self. You make of yourself perfection through shedding. You are perfect. You are radiant.)

“You’re welcome,” Jade says, her hand wandering underneath Dolly’s top. “I knew that you would look even more beautiful like this.” ”Lkk— like what?” “Sitting next to Angela Victoria Miera Antonius. Play with her hair a little for me?” Dolly leans against Angela more, reaches up and begins twining curls around one finger, purring. “Hee~” “Good girl. My girl. Pretty girl.” Jade kneads like a needy kitten, uncaring of the noises she’s squeezing out of Dolly in Angela Victoria Miera Antonius’s ear. “You have been very good. You may ask of me one boon before we leave Akar, and it is yours.”

Dolly’s head spins. Not literally, but… her immediate thoughts are not appropriate at dinner, or in front of Angela. Maybe even Ksharta. But what else could she ask of Jade? What was appropriate to ask a goddess? What was—

“Actually,” she stage-whispers, resting her forehead against Jade’s, as Angela huffs and doesn’t pull her hair out of Dolly’s playful fingers, “can you… get me a present from Mayze Szerpaws?”

“Not just for you. For the harem.” Jade nips possessively at the softest part of Dolly’s neck; her purr ratchets up appropriately. “You deserve for everyone to see you as you are.”

It will, of course, be no easy thing to commission Mayze Szerpaws in the first place. She will need to sort through the art pieces she wishes to send as inspiration, before giving them in a portfolio and demanding “something like these.” She will need to convince Szerpaws that it is a religious offering and that payment may be in unusual forms. And she will need to prepare backups, up to and including kidnapping Szerpaws to make her work. But her Dolly made a request.

And her Dolly gets whatever, whatever she wants.

Breathless Dead

Beljani’s hand is soft. It’s soft, and good, and weirdly steadying. Which helps. A little.

Once upon a time, there was a girl who didn’t know what she was, and she lived in a house in the center of the universe. And someone very important thought that this girl would be a weapon, the blade of a sword, to be used and to be broken. And someone very young thought that this girl was a best friend, and nothing could change that.

Bella stalks alone down a road of stars, winding along. She looks incredibly alone, too. But she’s not. She won’t be. She’s got Beljani and Beautiful and… and she gets to decide what to do with her life. That’s the biggest and best gift that she can be given. No matter how hard the little girl in Redena’s heart is making grabby hands for her oldest, dearest, bestest friend. The kitten who made the world safe and kind and make sense.

And then this girl grew up, and the young girl abandoned her, and the important woman turned her into something that would kill anybody. Anyone. That would even kill Mynx— would kill someone who she sparred with, but never would hate. And she became hard, and sharp, and she didn’t know who she hated, and who she would cut…

“The claws. They’re new. I saw but I didn’t really notice. They’re…” Connected to the suit. To the monster that Dany believed Bella could overcome if she tried, and she did, and it was glory, glory, glory. No wonder she’s hurting. If the last time she used them, it was to try to kill…

And now this girl is alone, and falling, falling so far and falling forever, and she twists in the air to land on her feet, and the bottom will come to a surprise to her all the same.

“I don’t want to make her choice for her,” Dany continues. “Can you imagine that? Making someone do what you want? A word from me as a Princess would, it might be like taking her over from the inside.” She shivers, and then notices Beljani’s uncomfortable shift. She doesn’t know why, so she changes tacks. “And… I want her to know that I care about her, and I just wish she, I want her to be safe. I don’t want her to feel that she has to follow me through the, through the fucking Lethe.”

(Beljani does not remind Redana of how excellent Bella’s hearing is. She nods, awkwardly, knowing that Bella can hear it all.)

“If it’s true what she said, Beautiful, if Bella gets anxious when I’m not around, then… I want her to be able to choose. Even if that means she doesn’t choose me. Even if it means— well, I thought she’d want to stay here, with Beautiful, because she had feelings, because who’d be interested in me when she’s around, but now I—“

“Princess.” Beljani gestures at the makeshift neon sign, with rerouted fountain water dripping onto it with a sizzle, streaking down the dingy windows. A great deal of effort went into setting up this aesthetic.

“Oh,” Dany says. Then, without thinking, without knowing that it’s anything but right, she steps past Bella and her lashing tail, waiting for them, and she opens the door. For Bella. Rather than the other way around.

“Lead the way,” Dany offers, daring to look at Bella again. Daring to look. Daring to try to see.

Huntresses of Hybrasil

“Wait!”

Dolly catches the model/pilot’s wrist. Those wet blue eyes stare down at her fingers, then back at her, and she doesn’t say a word.

“I just wanted to say. What you said isn’t true. About being less attractive in person.” Jade doesn’t move. She can’t move. That wanton little minx! Did she know about the glove? The fleeting moment of connection— is that enough? No, fading already. Give her another! “I actually, I touch my spots up with this, here,” she fumbles with her gloved hand in one inner pouch of her top, comes out with a tube of her furstick. “But you are so much more than your spots, miss. You have panache, glamour, when you jumped up on that table, wow! I thought Jade would— I mean, you are, pretty is as much about what’s in your soul as it is your girls.” She gives her own a little bounce and gives the warmest, most helpful smile that she can. “So, please, I hope you don’t think of yourself as ugly, and if that helps, keep it, the brand’s a bit expensive but you can’t beat it for glossiness!”

Jade blinks. Why did she decide her eyes should be…? A mystery. But clearly something she decided, if only subconsciously. It must be because people tear up when they see someone they love being… themselves. So very, very themselves. That’s why she couldn’t move. Not any of this upstart’s machinations, but…

But because her Dolly is the most beautiful person in the entirety of the universe, and she must have known to wait, to let herself see this.

“And it’s Seven Quetzal. You don’t have to earn it, silly. Besides, I’m registered as a pilot, just like you are. It’s not that hard to find out!”

Dolly lets go, puts her hand awkwardly by her side, ears flattening as she realizes she’s been forward. “A-anyway. I should. I’ve got dinner to get back to. Can’t risk that wily Angela tricking Ksharta or something. But I’ll ask Smokeless Jade Fires if she wants to fight a flower battle with you sometime.”

Jade grabs her from behind and squeezes. Dolly’s tail flicks between her ankles in submission, but… she’s just burying her face in Dolly’s shoulder and imagining her smell as hard as she can. And if it reminds Dolly that she’s owned and loved, all the better.

“So I’ll see you later, okay?” And Dolly, stroking an invisible hand wrapped around her, lets Mira Fisher go, hopefully a little happier than she was when she came in, because even if she likes playing around with words and is very foreign, not alien but just very Fisher, even then, Dolly could tell that she wasn’t just being self-deprecating about that. And that’s just awful, isn’t it? She’s been there before, a little bit, and she wasn’t lying about touching up her spots— like, of course she’s not, she had it on her, after all!

But more people should feel good about themselves, and should be encouraged to think of themselves as better.

“Did I do okay?” She whispers, out of earshot, confused and hopeful for a little bit of praise.

”I made the right choice,” Jade whispers back, and clings tighter, and ignores Dolly’s flustered whisper about that wasn’t what she asked, Jade!

[If that touched Mira at all, it’s a 13 on Entice.]

Breathless Dead

Bella’s back is its own sort of wall. You got your wish, Dany. She followed. Now it’s your turn to follow her down the shining streets like a little lost puppy, chewing on what she said, trying to make it make sense.

“I’m sorry,” she said. To Beljani, next to her, moving at the same pace. (Slower than Dany usually goes. The Princess’s feet aren’t quite certain about what they’re doing.) “I just… I didn’t see you around. Much. There’s a lot I didn’t know, and not just about…”

She stares at the blue-black hair. The gentle sway. The furious prowl.

“…I couldn’t keep any of the assassin schools straight. Not their names, not what they could, can do, because I thought I didn’t know any. Mynx was just Mynx. Bella…”

An ear twitches. Maybe she’s listening. Maybe not. Could she, so far away?

“It’s like they’re two different people who are the same person. Bella, my best friend. Bella, the assassin who chased me down. And if she doesn’t know who I am, I guess it’s mutual, because— does she think I like Beautiful? I thought she, because of what happened, and Beautiful thought she liked me, which is ridiculous, because… because she hates me. Or hated me. Or doesn’t know if she hates me. If she doesn’t like Beautiful that way then why does she keep running away? Why does she keep pushing me—“

Dany stops. She walks in silence. Beljani stares at her extremely loudly. Somewhere, an Alcedi calls down a corridor, high and clear.

“Do you think she is ever going to forgive me?” Her voice is very small. Childish, even. “I keep trying. And no matter how I try, it hurts her worse, and— I thought she’d want to stay with Beautiful. Because she has feelings for her. But she thinks I’m the one, and, I don’t, I just…”

Beljani, awkwardly, offers Dany an embroidered lace kerchief (disposable). Dany wipes her eyes aggressively. Bella doesn’t turn around. But she slows down. Just a little bit.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Fengye!

The Maid seizes your wrist, her eyes smoldering. “You are not pathetic,” she squeaks. “You did this to me. That means you are worthy of defeating.” She leans in, closer. Her breath is warm, human. “When I come into my power again, then I will make you pathetic. Or… cute. Is that what you will be, in my cells beneath the wrack-sea? Cute? Will you be cute when there is no one to look at you but the dark?”

Her forehead makes contact with yours. Her eyes are large and dark. Her fingers rest against your vein, feeling your pulse flutter beneath it.

“Your punishment will be legend in all the annals of Hell,” she promises, lips so close to yours. “And all will know my glory, having overcome you, demonbinder, wanton, revolutionary. And you will wear your weakness so, so well. Cutie.”

---

Kalaya!

“Why should I?” Dima’s eyes are red-rimmed from crying, her robe loose and disheveled. It’s almost artful, but she doesn’t have the self-possession of someone who knows that she is making herself so beautifully miserable that she belongs on a tapestry. “I am the worst of knights— false, inconstant, a traitor to… love…”

She cradles her instrument like a beloved pet and begins inelegant bawling. Machi makes a dismissive noise and rolls her eyes, doubtless considering this an example of lowlander hysterics.

“I have betrayed both my love,” she manages to force out, “and the object of my lusts! Why should I even be alive? I will— I should dive into her waters— and in death, atone—“

One of her squires, a burly young woman with heavy hips, sits down next to her and wraps her arms protectively around the knight. Dima strains against the arms for a moment, and then crumples back into them. She stares forlornly at the river, as if forgetting your presence.

“I do not deserve either of them— my river or the daughter of the Dominion,” she concludes.

---

Han!

“What caused your feud?” Lotus’s eyes are wide and very innocent. “Sisters are always getting into those. Is it because she’s jealous of how pretty you are? Or did you steal something from her chambers? Or, no!” Something shifts just a little bit behind her eyes, and she looks back down the road, grip tightening on your arm. “Did you steal her girlfriend?? Han! You did, didn’t you??”

This is an innocent question provoked by Lotus’s innocence, and the fact that she probably knows all those gods better than ordinary people, and it is not a cunning and clever and sneaky way to get you talking about if you maybe have a girlfriend or like kissing girls? Haha that would be so silly, wouldn’t it? Answer the question. Do it now.

“I bet she was prettier than me,” she adds, Extremely Casually. “That’s why you had to ssss-woo her out from your sister’s arms! It happens all the time, so don’t even bother lying about it, I’ll know it really did happen!”

---

Piripiri! Giriel!

“You’ll laugh,” Crane says, nursing the tea. She has a deathgrip on the cup, as if it is the tether that holds her to life. Every other moment, it disappears under her veil for another sip, and— oh, thank you for refilling it, how kind of you. “But I have been chasing— following that fox all night!”

A door has suddenly opened for her to jump through. Her shoulders straighten as she takes the dive to safety and decency.

“I will, of course, spend much time meditating upon the goddess’s message about the land over which she holds dominion. One sleepless night is hardly anything when compared to enlightenment. Spiritual consciousness is the most valuable attainment any being may pursue, and if I achieve understanding of what the Sapphire Mother meant to communicate to me last night, I would consider that a greater gift than even the blood of the dragons.”

She takes a longer sip after that, perhaps weighing if she was too bold, or if she should double down.

“Which I say, of course, because we have our very own example of a dragon’s daughter without any spiritual attainment, who is much the worse for it. I would rather be myself right now, muddy and sleepless, than to be a raging brute like the Vermilion Beast of Lanterns. I wish someone would teach her a lesson sooner rather than later!”

Sagacious Crane radiates self-satisfaction as she closes her eyes. Just for a moment. She’s not falling asleep. She’s got tea, after all.

“Of course, that thug isn’t the worst thing to haunt our fair kingdoms— there is a much more dangerous spirit on the move, a trickster who falsely claims to be sent by heaven, having stolen the name Zhaojun. I have been spreading this warning everywhere I can, as is my humble duty. Beware her traps and schemes! She is an ill star who seeks to spread lies and misfortune! Why, I shouldn’t, but if you insist— thank you, you’re too kind.”

Huntresses of Hybrasil

“Keep looking.” Jade has a hand on Dolly’s hair. So gentle. She needs you to keep looking, Dolly. Keep staring. Your eyes are your goddess’s cameras, her ability to create a 3D model of this little Huitla, to be able to still see her when you looks away. So keep looking.

What was that if not a challenge? She feinted, preened, dragged her claws while feigning to groom, unlaunched— unleashed a deliberate, calculated attack. Even before that flick of the tail across their faces, it was all meant to send a message. And it wasn’t a message for Dolly.

”…well!” Dolly adjusts her hair, still staring after that girl, barely needing the command. She had something! On the tip of her tongue! She’s seen that girl before, somewhere, but then she had a tail in her face and she’s lost it. Mira of the Gods-Smiting Whip. A pilot. Oh, right. She’s wearing the mesh. It’s just that she wasn’t so much looking at the suit as what the suit promised underneath. Streaking stars!

A pilot, wearing the mesh. What a presumptuous title for a mecha. Look at her taking her seat, pretending not to look at them. The challenge isn’t for here. It’s for the arena. This is theater. She thinks she can play the game like Jade can. That’ll be her mistake. Hubris! Proud little thing!

”I think we should probably— I should— don’t you think?” She glances over at Angela, who is huffing and glaring and imperiously tossing her braids, and at Ksharta, who glances over at her and agrees with a nod, because—

Because she’s made it so that ignoring her is impossible. Because trying to call her back gives her the opportunity to refuse to heed. Because disrespect needs to be addressed, or Angela and Ksharta might doubt the will that holds them both by the scruff. Because there’s only room in the nest for one dragon.

But on the off chance that this is some sort of trick, from a trickster, from someone who can make their face dance while their eyes are like melting ice…

”Ksharta, stay here. Jade thinks it might be… it might be a hide-the-shell game. Don’t let anyone take our Angela, okay?” She possessively nuzzles her cheek against Angela and snuffles. Hers. Stars. When their shoulders rubbed together last night. When she got to listen to Angela and heard the deep moans under the theatrical fussing. Hers. Is that wrong to want, Jade?

Well, she’ll let— they’ll let Angela go, after. And hopefully Angela will want revenge. And maybe this won’t be their only chance to play. But right now, she’s Dolly’s, just as much as she’s Jade’s and Ksharta’s. Her trophy. Her— her beloved Terenian. Is that allowed? Her nostrils flare a moment, her teeth peeking out from under her lip, before Jade tugs at her leash.

“Come along, Dolly.” Jade leads her beloved off the bench with a tug, marching her across the room like a victorious lodge mistress. “Chin up. Confident stride. She’s not worth worrying about. You belong to a goddess, one she can’t smite.”

Where was she from? Not university, it’s more recent than that. Not pit crew. Not from dinner. The look on her face was softer…

Dolly manages an excellent strut, as if she’s too important to pay much attention to anything else in the hall. The little trickster is watching them, and she doesn’t blink. She is small. Mortal. Another trophy. She’ll be begging forgiveness soon enough, once her mecha is overthrown, once her confidence is peeled away. She’ll be wishing she was Dolly, collared, leashed.

”You left before you could get an answer, Mira,” Dolly says, unprompted. Jade stands next to her, playing with the leash, running it between her fingers. “Do you often do that?” Oh, what a good girl. “Don’t let her answer. Tell her she’s yet to earn my interest.” ”You haven’t earned her— oh, Szerpaws! That’s where!” “Dolly!” ”Sorry, it’s just, it took me a minute!” “Dolly!!” ”I, just a minute, I just want you to know that you looked just lovely, that presentation was the climax of the night, and— mmf!”

“Dolly.” Jade waits a moment to let it sink in, a moment for Dolly to stand and fidget in front of those disrespectful eyes. “I don’t— it’s nice that she was Mayze Szerpaws?” Shake, shake, “nnmph.” “Was connected with Mayze Szerpaws, then. But that’s not what we’re here to talk about.”

In front of the model. She can’t keep eye contact. The embarrassment is flooding into her legs, her toes. Jade’s hand over her mouth, just because she was silly and excited and the model’s watching her, judging her, trying to— would she be clever enough to catch on? Like, like Angela? She seems as smart as Angela. Not as— she’s curvy, cloud-colored, pretty, invitingly soft to look at, but Angela’s, she’s got that, you know, she’s…

The hand lifts, and then as she opens her mouth to keep going, Jade smacks her rear. Punishment and encouragement and, and Jade knows how she’s feeling, how much like Angela, how much like everyone must be staring, even if she knows it’s just her and Mira. “AAII, I, you haven’t earned her attention yet, Mira.” “Of the Gods-Smiting Whip.” ”Of the Gods-Smiting Whip. You think you’re… very clever?” “Yes. Look at her. She thinks she’s so clever.” ”But flouncing— flouncing? Flouncing in here and showing your tail off isn’t impressive. Not like your modeling wasn’t impressive.” Her eyes flicker to Jade for a moment, who doesn’t seem interested in punishing her for squeaking that out. No, she’s focused on Mira.

Do you want to catch her, too, Jade? You’d need more than one Ksharta to help with that. Or is this about your pride? About seeing your Dolly get smacked in the face with a tail?

“…you can offer her homage or you can test the strength of your Whip against her, if you want to talk to her. Though if you’d just asked me in the first place, she probably would have listened. You didn’t really need to do the tail thing if you actually wanted to talk, which means…” “Oh, you figured it out, didn’t you?”

That she’s looking for a fight, if she’s not running some sort of misdirection. And Jade’s ready and eager for either. Just look at her! Angela’s a delight, but this kitten? She needs a firm hand on her mecha’s scruff.