Tatterdemalion

Huntresses of Hybrasil

“Up over the table. Come on, Dolly, there’s a good girl.” Really, Dolly, there’s no reason to be hesitant. Your goddess has got you, and she’s not going to let you put a foot wrong or tip the table over, and everyone should be paying attention to you anyway. Still, oddly, it takes a smack for her to scramble properly, and is that Angela Victoria Miera Antonius laughing? Why would she be laughing? Dolly is the very picture of grace. And going around the table would have been too slow, and— oh, good girl, what a landing, right next to Ksharta Talonna!

”L-let me,” Dolly stammers, offering an arm to guide Ksharta up from her seat. There are a lot of stares, a lot of staring, why did she have to go over the table, Jade? Sure, it’s nice to be the center of attention but it’s also so, so—

Jade tugs her leash hard.

The important thing is guiding Dolly to tilt her chin up. Getting the kiss is the goal, after all. Dolly doesn’t wrap her arms around Ksharta Talonna on instinct, instead being a silly thing and bracing herself against the seat (what, doesn’t she trust her goddess?) but the kiss was aimed correctly. Mouths have come into contact. Now her horny little slave girls will melt into a kiss for all to see.

It’s so awkward. Oh gosh. Jade. Jade! Their mouths are on each other, and neither of them are sure what to do about it, and Dolly tries to say something but Ksharta tries to turn it into a kiss, and then Ksharta tries to say something but Dolly’s responding, and it’s wet and messy and Jade’s got a hand on the back of her head, and the embarrassment is throbbing through her hard, and if you’d just asked, Jade!!

Dolly and Ksharta Talonna fumble it, but Dolly’s hot for it. The adrenaline is coursing through her, and a familiar heat warms Jade’s bones delightfully. She purrs contentedly and plays with Dolly’s leash, winding it around some of her fingers.

“I’ll…… won’t leave you alone? Can’t have anything happening to you. D-dear.” She’s still up in the girl’s face. It would be very easy to kiss her again. Properly. “We should take Angela with us, though,” she adds. She can’t look Ksharta in the eyes. Her mouth is so. It’s. And she. Would it be so bad?

Fuck it.

Dolly presses herself up against Ksharta, pinning her for everyone to see, and kisses her again. Properly. As apology. Because she wants to. And because Jade giggles and strokes her behind her ears. And she hopes, too late, that Ksharta can handle being this shameless in public like she can, soaking it up, a naughty little sponge for Jade to torment by forcing her to be bolder than she could ever be herself— except she was the one who decided to kiss Ksharta again.

Look who was right about everything and is the most intelligent and wise and generous goddess ever. What wonderful entertainment her two girls are. How envious everyone else is of their special bond. How Angela Victoria Miera Antonius must be squirming in her seat wishing she was squished between them. Aren’t you glad you obeyed, dearest Dolly?

All of this, she does for you, after all.

”Now let’s go tell those chefs how to cook,” Dolly says, coming up for air, loud and blushing and grinning. “I’ll help Angela up, I’ll be right behind you, pounce on them good!!”

[Dolly and Jade manage a 6 to comfort Ksharta, which, as we all know, is a hit, because Jade is infallible and Ksharta is just like her Dolly, and the chefs will understand completely that they are in the wrong and they should listen to Dolly’s special kiss friend.]

Breathless Dead

What if I kill her?

It’s a dull roar of a thought thudding in Redana’s head as she comes to guard. Bella looms in front of her like a nebula, like the rainbows of the sea, vast and enveloping and dangerous. In her dark waters there are sharks and pearls, and Redana dives into her like a Plover with a cut tether. No, not right— she’s not bleeding power. It thrums in her as her fingers find the familiar grip, tear the blade’s tip through the air as she tests the balance and the weight that she already knows.

She’s been here before, after all. It’s just that Bella is much grander than her usual choices of partner. Much more dangerous, too. Like a nebula. Like the rainbows of the sea.

At the start, the Auspex tries to read Bella. It suggests probable arcs, tries to calculate the strength of her arm, then comes to the immediate conclusion that Redana needs to stop letting her hit their sword. Red flares of warning racing through her skull. But it’s been on edge since Aphrodite lit his cigarette. Even her mother’s eye can be surprised; even it doesn’t know everything. It didn’t know what Aphrodite had done, after all, or it had buried that knowledge so deep inside itself that Dany was never meant to access it. Not until her mother decided she was ready. Or, perhaps, not until Nero Claudius was honest with herself.

Redana Claudius leans into the clash of swords. She strains her own muscles against Bella, stares into her face, grins without knowing exactly why. Her body’s smarter than she is. Her body knows, her body learns, her body—

Knows the punch is coming when Bella grabs the sword. She’s already half-turned. The kick was a surprise, though. When she hits the far wall, the wall isn’t the only thing that cracks. For a moment she is a marionette with cut strings, slumping as her nerves scream and flail, cut. Then they reroute, rejoin, reset—

The sword buries itself into her to the hilt. The world is a shriek. The world is the Spear firing again and again and again. The world is nerves come back online just to be overwhelmed. The world is Bella panting bloody-mouthed screaming howling monstrous. The world is surrender. The world is a black pyramid inverted. The world is the hungry grass underneath her body waiting for her to succumb.

The world is the feeling of a hilt under her palm. That, she knows. That, she can do. She can draw a sword. Ignore— ignore— the sound, the long sucking wetness, the throb of sensation. Draw a red sword. Draw a sword for Mynx.

She takes it two-handed as she charges again, and the noise coming out of her mouth is nothing she learned on Tellus. It is a dead echo of the Nemean, and is it so hard to believe that they are the same person? For all that Dany is smaller, and lesser, and kinder— she is the same metal, for all that she is a different cast.

An obvious feint, a thrust caught by the blade again, and this time Bella squeezes and twists and her claws bleed against a sword made by humanity, made to endure, made to be unbreakable, and on the one side are the claws of Bella, the holy monster, the leviathan, the bloody-handed, and on the other is the simple sword-arm of a god’s daughter, who strains and screams—

And the clap of the sword’s breaking is a thunderstroke, and she is already reversing it, and Bella breaks her jaw for it, backhands her so hard that her neck nearly snaps, but the half-a-sword comes away red, from rib to chin.

And then it is diving into the storm. Flashes of sensation, of light and dark, of the red of dying stars. Battle roars within her, the drum-beat of Ares, discordant, the roiling chaos of the deep, and she bites the dragon’s neck, the thing of claws and fangs and hair to wrench. And what if I kill her is drowned under the diving-love, the thing that lies on the other side of pain, the song that is being crushed out of her mouth by Bella’s arms.

Bella’s blood is on her lips. Her Auspex is white noise, calculating her odds of survival, useless, useless. All she needs to know is the fall. All she needs to know is descending along a curtain, and on its far side moves a lioness huge and terrible. All she needs to know is the sword in her hand, the sword which is another part of her hand, the sword that Bella’s muscles grind against as Dany twists it.

Dany makes a noise, the words before language, and what it means is you are beautiful. And then the noise rises into the shriek of bones buckling underneath Bella’s embrace.

Beneath them, their waters intermingle.

Breathless Dead

This time? Dany shuts up. And more than that, she listens.

She listens to the smartest person on the ship tell her that she’s the center of these assassins, and she doesn’t jump to the assumption that she’s just being told what she needs to hear for the plan to work. She suddenly feels like it. Like she— small, stubborn, pining, feckless, hopeful— might be the anchor that these four girls need to not be washed away. Even after all her failures, all her best intentions, all her running… that if she is strong for these huntresses of empire, that she can safeguard them from the storm.

She listens as Bella, this new Bella, this Bella that was always hidden under propriety and lace, apologizes. And she needed that apology. And she didn’t know how much she needed that apology. It drives through her like a thunderbolt. It cleaves her apart.

And all she can do is to cling tighter to both of them, no, to the three of them, to Beljani who looked after Bella, to Beljani who deserves to be here, and she hugs indiscriminately. She hugs like someone who was starved of hugs growing up in a big, empty, echoing palace. And she cries like the Alephus and the Peneus are rushing through her, her uncle’s waters, roaring and sweeping away everything, the petty jealousy, the fear of losing, the fear of being judged, the slap on the cheek and the stolen kisses and everything that tried to keep them apart, drowned in the deluge of tears that burst from her.

But she stays strong, and she stays as tall as she can, and she holds Bella up and buries the tears in her hair, and she pulls Beautiful and Beljani closer, until every heartbeat shakes through the four of them, four rods bound together and not easily broken.

I love you, she says, in every way but words. Let her body say it. I love you, Beautiful, for seeing me with your violet eyes and finding the right word, the right action, the right moment. I love you, Beljani, for being a good girl and taking such good care of Bella. I love you, Bella, despite everything, because I can’t help it, because you’re the most beautiful girl in the galaxy and you were with me when we were wild and alone, and nothing you can do can hurt more than the fear of losing you.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

And even if love is our enemy, we must love all the more[1].

---

[1]: The Aesthetes, author unknown.

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.]