Tatterdemalion

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

Gym!

Rising and Setting Sun.

Always makes her nostalgic. You can’t play a game professionally and not have stray bits and pieces lodge in your brain. This is the Surya pack emote, her brain helpfully supplies as she stretches her arms out, arching her back, accepting the glory of the sun. Voice clips echo in the back of her head. Breathe in. Breathe out. ”Oh, let me show you my boys! I’m so proud of both of them!”

Leg Lifts.

No fair! November can do this so much smoother than she can; her legs still tremble a little bit as she lifts them up, back level with the ground, hands by her side. The way the pros do it here has always made her think of machinery, even the ones without prosthetic legs. As if there’s a swivel in the hips. Up, and down. Up, and down. ”Up and down, up and down, all day long! Can you blame me for wanting to make things a little more interesting?”

Mermaids.

Torso flat. Shoulders down. Feel the stretch of her spine. Her head feels a little light as she returns to neutral. What does that feel like for androids, that expenditure of power? Like ebbing strength, or an awareness of power being used? Can November feel her spine stretch as she goes through the motions, leaning first to one side, arm above her head, and then to the other? At the furthest point of her stretch, she runs an impulse through the fingers on her raised hand, letting them rise and fall in a wave, up and down, up and down, and tries her best to understand the connection between her thoughts and her shining invincible hands.

Then she hops up onto her feet, wobbles a bit, and then offers that hand to November to help her up.

---

Gensoukyo!

“Would you have picked Zalmoxis?” It’s getting easier to see the colors as aspects of one person splintered through a prism, but it’s hard to shake the humanocentric assumption that one body is one person. She intentionally holds her tablet in such a way that Blue can see the blue kitty ear headband ($16.78) in her peripheral vision. The lack of eye contact is also part of the Bit. “You did a really good job subbing. You know, halfway through. But I don’t think you would have gone for the vampires?”

New tab. Burger Kong Maid Outfit. $66+shipping. Her stylus hovers menacingly.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Fengye!

Fighting in the mud is, evidently, what is done around here. There's no protection from the rain here, save for what the branches overhead break, and the N'yari revel in the opportunity to show off how tough they are, how good they look with wet fur, and how steady their feet are in the constant mire of the wilderness.

You are seated on a throne of lootboxes and repurposed bamboo, with a covered mug cupped in your hands, filled with some spiced alcoholic drink that the N'yari have brought down from their mountain homes. The N'yari flanking your throne have one hand casually on either shoulder, reminding you that you are not yet out of the peril. And that peril is looking rather certain, given the disparity between the two combatants on the field in front of you.

One of them is Jazumi, who is flourishing her oversized blade to show off, to the cheers of her raid-sisters. She scampers past the Maid, who is stumbling and trying to keep her footing in the mud, and smacks the Maid right on her rump, which elicits lewd hooting and a breathy gasp from the Maid. The tip of her sword drags in the mud, and she runs into her own crossguard, a ridiculous little comedy act.

But before you can offer advice, you are grabbed from behind your throne. Big, soft arms wrap around your chest and half tug you out of the grip of the N'yari. "Hello, Zhaojun," someone bubbles into your ear. "What a naughty little thing you are~"

---

Giriel!

A N'yari raiding camp!

The Banneret has given away most of the opportunity for surprise, but it's very clear to you what's going on here. How could it not be? You are a witch, after all. The sorceress and the Maid were caught by N'yari as they wandered lost in the woods, and now, well, it seems that the sorceress has convinced them of her power while the Maid is being forced to fight for their entertainment. And that's dangerous; that might awaken some of her latent power, if she gets angry enough, if she's allowed to use a sword enough. And having her bindings snap would be perilous for anyone around, most of all the sorceress.

It would be best for everyone involved if you took possession of the Maid and the sorceress, and stopped either of them from having exciting swordfights or speaking. Give the mask to the Banneret and she'll take Zhaojun back to Heaven, and then you'll be left with Azazuka and your prisoners and--

Actually, you should probably hang onto Zhaojun's mask until you've been escorted away from the camp by the Banneret. Which means you'll need to get hold of it before the Banneret does. Which is a problem, because it's swinging from the belt of the N'yari dueling the Maid.

---

Ven!

The din of forgework is everywhere. Your arm itches at the shoulder. The molten metal writhes and tries to escape its molds, and you force yourself not to look away, until the afterimage of it is seared into your vision. Your most glorious teacher tempers the metal with the touch of his blackened fingertips, and then drops his creation into a barrel. The barrel strains, then bursts, spattering boiling black blood across his apron, across his tools, across your boots. Hearth-imps rush to dab it away with their yellow rags, and the Green Sun strides heedlessly through them to bring you the third of his gifts, cooling, dark as night.

The lock is a puzzle made of teeth. The waves on the outside are the waves of his sister-bride, frothed with acid and bile. The ring for the chain is elegant, a spur, as unbreakable as his edicts. This one is a gift. Your choice. The first is for the creature that was the General, and the second is for the creature that has twice disrupted Hell, but this one is for whosoever you choose to give to him.

"When you bring them back," he says, his eyes disassembling you, peeling away all that you might try to hide from him, "then you will have your heart's desire."

Your companion smiles, thinly. There is a fire in her, too. If you stepped away from this path, Peregrine might drag you back here herself. She needs you to win. Only the Flower Empress can wield the temporal power she needs to carry out her greatest experiment.

Time to go on a date with your consort-to-be.

---

Kalaya!

You go from dreams about fire-breathing pigs to awake in the flash of an eye. You reach for your sword, but a hand's already on your wrist, pushing it back against your chest, and warm metal presses over your mouth, pinning you down against your mat ruthlessly.

"Hey," your girlfriend whispers in the dark.

You're at an inn just inside Holly, and Petony is still snoring on the other side of the room. Nearer the door, the third occupant shifts uneasily. It's just the three knights to a room, right, your mind's catching up to you, and their retinues are sharing the common room downstairs.

But Ven's here, impossibly, quietly, stinking of sweat and metal, and there's someone else in the room. In the dark, it's impossible to tell who, but they've got something long slung over one shoulder.

She lets her palm slide down from your mouth, her fingers trailing on your lips gently, and then tugs your sword-hand. The universal signal for "let's go without waking anyone else up."

---

Lotus!

Okay, clearly, this is a trap, right? She'll say anything in order to hand you right back to the Red Wolf.

But it's her. You know. The one who was so kind to you on the barge. What if she's telling the truth? What if--

what did that wink mean. what did that wink mean? it was clear, through the mask, she was winking at you, both of you fun, is she? is she flirting with you? does she? and Han? she and Han? um??? you are no stranger to that sort of thing, in concept, because you have grown up among gods, who are both jealous and non-monogamous, but the thought is looping in your brain, and Han, she doesn't, so maybe?? maybe kissing mysterious Dominion woman okay? but is it okay when it's Han you really want to be kissing? and?? "mysterious domineering woman initiates blushing virginal innocent" is, even you know, a thing in cheaply-printed commoner broadsheets, the kind that have a prayer to your mother at the top.

"You'll have to MAKE us," you say, and then your thoughts catch up with how much you would like her to make you actually and wow you are the worst girl, selling Han out like that, Han doesn't want, doesn't deserve... Han doesn't deserve being kissed by... Han. Uh. Han. Uh. Han. Getting kisses. From Dominion agent. Like she deserves. Someone who knows how to make her body. Aaaaaaaaaaa. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

The sound you make might be mistaken for fear instead of distress over how conflicted the thought of Han getting what she deserves from someone who isn't you makes you feel, and that thought is so much a Thought that it's completely trampling out the thoughts of being ravished by someone who's actually interested in you, but don't worry, you can melt down over that later.

Huntresses of Hybrasil

Her heart is a rabbit in her ribs. She pushes up, and the Bander pushes down, and the Bander wins, and her heart has its paw caught between two ribs, and all her words are crammed up in her throat. The Bander kneads, lazily, the clench and release of her fingers sending an undignified sound bubbling out between those words, and the blushing little gardener turns her head and tries to hide in her hair as her bodysuit squeaks under tension.

The Bander reaches up and forces her head back to looking up. Squeezes soft cheeks under her fingers. Dolly’s lips form an undignified O, and she can’t stop it, can’t stop her, reaching up to wrap her fingers around her wrist, and she knows what happens next. Bossy little mouth. Should watch where it runs. Before it gets stuffed and hidden. Jade. Jade. Jade?

”Mine.” The reverb sets the scaffolding vibrating, runs through both the vulnerable bodies and through the concrete and through the faithless and the faithful. There is a raw edge to it; speakers and voices are both inadequate for what may be contained within them. ”Seven Quetzal is Mine.”

She turns her head and the scaffolding shakes. If she moves too fast, too hard, it will fall to pieces. She will be fast enough to catch Dolly. She will not be fast enough to protect her cult. Therefore. Therefore. Therefore.

”Your hands, unclean. Is this how you approach me? By thinking yourself my equal? That you may touch what is sacred?”

Sacred. Scared. Sacred. Scared. Jade. Jade, the scaffolding is. Jade, are you—

Dolly closes her eyes, wet breath through her puckered lips, and lets her free hand dig into the ridges of the grate beneath her. Like little waves. Up and down and up and down. If this all comes down, there’s not a thing she can do about it anyway.

”I hunger for the heart of a maiden, given over to suffer unimaginable bliss as my Bride…” You promised. You made so many promises. Beneath her, waves. On top of her, peril. And her heart works her way free of those ribs, and plummets into the soft, infinite embrace of the many-handed sea.

”I set my face against you. I declare defeat upon you; you will be delivered to the hands of your enemies. I set my face against you. I hear you not when you cry to me. Victory to your foes, glory to those who break your spear. I set my face against you. Let this not pass from your pack until I will it so. Four times have I set my face against you, three rivers have I crossed, eight roads have I mastered.” She ceases to speak, and the silence rushes in, vast, and she shivers in the idol-body, reclothed from her descent, her drop down, down, down to the place where she can, she really can, she can do this thing.

“Now. Take your filthy little paws off my high priestess and beg her forgiveness, or I will take the star path of your birth and unmake it.”

She.

Can do that?

Above them, Jade is still, but her attention is almost smothering, so total that she isn’t even manifesting. Is it just her imagination that makes her think she can feel it? The magic, the curse. Like she should be able to see it arcing from post to post, settling on the heads of the Banders, and—

She tugs at the Bander’s wrist, and it’s slack enough for a moment (in thought, or in fear?) that she can lift those fingers from where they have dug into her cheeks.

“I… I’ll intercede.” She has to. Even for this. Even for them. “Just— she’s protective.” Of me. Of me. Of little Seven Quetzal who studied how to maximize crop yields without sacrificing beauty. Of someone who can’t fight like the Banders or like the Huntresses. “Just get off?”

Because even this pirate doesn’t deserve Jade’s curse.

Her Jade.

Her Jade who saved her, like Dolly knew she would.

[Jade Defies Disaster with Spirit and offers to sacrifice Dolly’s Security. She also rolls a 6, which is her fourth XP.]

Huntresses of Hybrasil

The stairs exist for safety reasons. Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should, particularly when tools and components are being carried. Nevertheless, the scaffolding that caresses Jade’s idol-body is designed with vertical ascension in mind. And so there is much less unconscious barrier between where one is and where one desires to be, and Dolly doesn’t think to ditch the stairs until it’s too late, and the Red Bander is there, winded with the exertion of the sudden ascent, grinning lopsidedly.

“Hey,” she says, through a golden fang and hair coming loose from its tie, jacket over the bodysuit, armband pinned to the sleeve.

Dolly draws herself up to her full height, which is almost eye level. “I didn’t you approach me,” she says.

The pirate (the pirate) raises an expressive but silent eyebrow. The blood rushes through Dolly like a flash flood. I didn’t you approach me. “Give you leave to,” she corrects, crossing her arms, then uncrossing them, then very intentionally shifting her feet (so belatedly, Omen would be so ashamed of her) into a dueling stance. Just because she’s, she was a Gardens doesn’t mean she hasn’t had hand-to-hand training. She might not have the instincts, but she knows a little of what she’s supposed to do.

Dolly is helpless. Jade’s supposed to do all of the fighting, to make the decisions, to stop her from being in this position in the first place. She loses precious seconds cycling between options. Is this a deliberate ploy to get her eyes off Nine Forests? Or is there a second Bander making their way through the scaffolding? Dolly’s perspective: limited. Look through her eyes, never see what’s going on behind them.

The pirate looks down. Looks up. Looks down again, lingering on the swells in Dolly’s suit to the point that it feels vulgar. Like she can see right through it. Like she can see the things that Dolly was trying to cram into a box in the back of her head. Like she’s putting her thumbs on the collar and peeling the suit open, and inside—

Dolly steps up, jabs one hand onto the pirate’s breastbone. The pirate leans back, still grinning, half-gloved hands gripping the pole beneath her body, one leg locking behind Dolly’s thigh. Precariously balanced. If she fell, she’d probably catch herself on the way down. Probably.

“You…! How dare you,” she says, and then continues to die inside because that’s what the heiress says when her barge is boarded by pirates, that’s a stock phrase from network fiction, that’s the best she could come up with, and she’s obviously flustered, and now they’re all looking at her, aren’t they?

Jade coalesces her attention, guides Dolly’s hand out, hooks her fingers in tight-fitting fabric, has her bride tug the impudent girl closer. To— push her down? Toss her to the scaffolds at her feet? She’s used to syncing Dolly in combat with all the power of a mecha at her disposal.

If part of the mecha breaks, it can be repaired. If. If. If.

Even the strain on Dolly’s fingers makes her thrill with an unbecoming terror.

“Care to explain yourself?” Dolly asks, brushing her hair out of her face so that she can try to salvage this with a haughty high priestess look that would come across so much better if she was in control of her ears right now.

[Even taking into account her Anger, Dolly manages an 8 on Figuring the Bander Out. So, honesty, please: what does the Bander feel towards Dolly, and what does she hope to get from Jade? One question may be demanded in turn; feel free to fold it into the next beat.]

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

White!

"Well, you're coming at it at a disadvantage," 3V says, staring at the places where those black shorts pull taut. Mostly because, you know, it's a signifier. She stares because that's what you're supposed to do at a girlfriend. To a girlfriend? And that's part of the social bond of girlfriends. "Our central nervous systems are evolved to Make Monkey Go. All of that unconscious processing power. We spend years learning how to master it, and even then, we have to do things like sportsball games to master it. Which is to say you're doing really good compared to babies."

And then she giggles because that's the vibe, isn't it? World's Smartest Baby. The intense look of concentration before suddenly bursting into motion and then freezing up again.

And then she stops because that feels like an asshole move to laugh, and that clams her up. "You've got this," she says, as penance, because so much of social interaction is about penance, when you get down to it, all about penance or performance. "It took me ages to learn the hotkeys by heart, after all. And once you get down here, we've got stretches."

She waits until November glances back to do big stretch. Will that cost you a moment of processing power, dearest fake girlfriend? Or will Blue just spontaneously lock up somewhere?

---

Blue!

"Oh, ah, jeez," 3V says, running calculations in her head so fast that they start ramming into each other and creating a cognitive conceptual bottleneck and how cool is this? How okay is this? This is her house. Her workplace house. There are customers. But this is a bit. And you have got to commit to the bit.

She closes her eyes, and when she opens them again, her smile is the sweet poison of the scorpion sitting on top of the frog. "You played well," she says, and tugs the leash juuuust so. She stands, places one foot on her chair. "But you were doomed from the start, you adorable little android. It is not enough to know the game, but you must..."

She places one hand on the back of Blue's head, the free hand, the hand that's not wrapping her glow-throbbing fingers around that leash. "Feel the game in your heart. You must surrender reason to the passion of the dice. You must be vulnerable to their whims, and present yourself before the unfolding narrative with no shroud to hide behind."

She kisses the air in front of Blue's lips like a striking cobra, waggles her eyebrows as that grin sharpens, and then lets the leash fall slack with a flourish of those same fingers. "Can you put the miniatures up, dear? I've got to check something behind the counter." And there's nothing behind the counter to check, but it's... another move, call it. Seeing if the maid bit lands. A chance for Blue to contextualize losing, too.

Breathless Dead

“I thought you liked them,” Redana accuses, but what little fire is in the accusation comes solely from what it means. What they mean. What this means.

The rumble of the Engine is soothing. She knows it now, knows that tremor in her bones, is familiar with the power of the trapped star. She’s carried scythes that sing with a fraction of its power; she’s sung work-songs with its contribution being the deepest bass. It’s more real to her than the role it is playing. Like seeing an actor first as the actor, the way she used to back home. Which brings her back around to this. Her head rests on Bella’s lap, and she has quite the view looking up.

Looking up. Did she never notice? Maybe because Bella was always trying to make herself smaller back home, to fit inside of the shape that a Servitor should. But she’s so big, here. Like a titan standing vigil. And that’s, in its own way, a relief. Pick her up again, Bella. Hold her tight like you did on Salib.

“How am I supposed to know anything about you if you didn’t even tell me you didn’t like Batrachomyomachia?” Above Bella, branches shift; light dapples; the trees bend over the two of them. Dany’s fingers stroke down scales, warm and almost purring beneath her fingertips.

“I thought I trusted a maid who appreciated those small, brave hearts. Who understood that it was about the mettle, not the size. Who sacrificed themselves for each other.” Ignore the fact that the sacrifices never stuck, not even the ones that involved explosives. It was the willingness, over and over, to declare the lives of your brothers and sisters in arms dearer than your own.

“…and if you didn’t like them, we always could have watched something else,” she adds, and means it. Her legs are asleep beneath Beljani, who has found her spot and will not move from it, who breathes sweet contented summer out that licks their chins.

Here, briefly, is paradise. Here, briefly, is truth. Here, the windows clatter, but faintly, never startling. Here the world is broken into light and shadow and both are kind. Here there is a vast and terrible power capable of destroying it all in an instant, but it will not, it will not. Here there is peace beneath Olympus.

The princess demands it, after all. So let it be.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Fengye!

“I cannot believe you have put me up to this,” the Maid hisses. “I should just…”

She makes an attempt at making an expressive gesture with the oversized N’yari sword and squeals as it slips right out of her hands and yields to the demand of earth that all things descend. When she prances backwards in the confines of the tent, her leash bobs up and down like a wave, and she hisses.

(The rain beats down on the tent’s sides. It’s becoming an even more pleasant noise. Like a drum you can almost forget is beating.)

The poor thing had to hop to the camp after being spanked, after all. Her legs are still wobbly, like that of a silly little sheep. You, on the other hand, were carried here by Jazumi as a way of showing off her catgirl muscles. Do they call it the Princess Carry where you’re from, dear?

“…well? Do you mean to give me back my power?” She thinks she’s being subtle about it, and that the air of composure isn’t slipshod and ready to slide off her face at the slightest provocation. “Or was this just buying yourself time before you end up groveling for them, you idiot woman?”

---

Kalaya!

“That doesn’t exactly sound like a bad idea,” Petony says, and you get the feeling she’s not talking about the summoning. If she’d been trapped on that barge, she probably would have been even worse than Han. And wouldn’t that have been something to see?

“Then it’s settled,” Dima says, clapping her hands together. “Come morning, we head for Holly!” Which is to say, she intends to march you right back to the highlands, to go find Peregrine and, by extension, Uusha.

Machi makes an amused mmph and gives you a Look, as if to say: oh, you’re getting yourself into trouble, little lowlander, and only I will be able to save you in the end.

---

Giriel!

“Oh, the daughter of Hymair is where she is required to be,” the Banneret says. Her voice is high, enthusiastic, slightly breathless. “But my job’s not done.”

And she takes you by the wrist. Rather forcefully.

“Come along~! We have to go find my dear, darling Zhaojun!”

Can you even believe it? She wants you to abandon Han to the mercies of Piripiri so that you can play some small part in Heaven’s inscrutable politics, so that you can go and confront that spirit again all collared and unprepared! But what other choice do you have? The Banneret is likely to take Azazuka’s body off into only Mercury knows where, and this might be your only chance to go and stop that spirit!

What are your priorities in this moment, Giriel? To Agata, to Han, to Azazuka, or against Zhaojun?

---

Lotus!

You glance behind you. No, this isn’t a distraction so that someone else could flank you. That’s what you’d do if you were ambushing someone, so maybe… “Han,” you say, and your voice trembles like a reed in the wind, and wouldn’t you know it, the wind is kicking up, the rain rolling down and spattering on the umbrella you’re still trying to hold over Han, “maybe she really does want to talk?” Maybe she’s just here to scold you. Or to confirm that you’re safe and to let you know that Agata’s extending an invitation somewhere. Or maybe it’s one of Mom’s servants in disguise!

You peer over Han’s shoulder, trying to see through the rain whether this really is a human person or something that’s good at pretending.

Breathless Dead

Bella didn’t break.

Redana’s head rests on Bella’s shoulder. It’s not lolling. Her hair’s a mess and her face is streaked with blood and she feels, rising out of the numbness like a monster rising out of deep waters, the pervasive exhaustion and soreness of putting her body through its paces.

She threw everything she had at Bella, and she didn’t break. All of her power, all of her poise, all of her determination, and the girl she’d tried to protect back on Tellus (so long, so far ago) took it all. And the relief is immense. That Bella is strong enough. That she can take anything that Dany could throw at her except being thrown away.

“I don’t know what happened,” the princess admits. “Any of it. Am I dead? Again? Is this just what happens after…?” After Mynx killed us all. But she lets the thought fade into empty air, because it’s a silly thought. Look, turn it around: it’s empty, too. Nothing there at all.

She should lift her head. She doesn’t. She can be selfish, right now. Bella isn’t shoving her away. And she did such a good job. Didn’t break, either. Was Bella scared about that, too? Probably. But it doesn’t feel real. Not the way the fear of shattering Bella did.

“I’m so glad I didn’t kill you,” she says, finally, pathetically. “That would have been… I couldn’t have. You know. Lived with it.” Her tongue probes the space of a hollow in her jaw, the dull ache where the bone will sprout again. Dolce, will you make her soup? “I missed this. I missed you. I. I’m glad. The three of us. And Beljani. Four of us. Does Beautiful count, too?“ Maybe. For now. Until she explodes again.

“Maybe that’s why.” The thought circles back, grasps itself by the tail. “Because I couldn’t. And someone just… did something, this time. Just for us. And maybe we didn’t deserve it more than all those worlds along the Spear, but… isn’t this worth, that? Isn’t that?”

“…I want to be wine,” she concludes, and closes her eyes. The thought makes sense in her head, because Bella is the cup: her shoulder, where it meets her neck, so big, so solid, so alive. So alive. So alive that it makes Winedana alive, too.

Huntresses of Hybrasil

“Let them approach.”

The rumble of Smokeless Jade Fires’ voice pours out of the speakers all around her idol’s berth. It is as if these motley, opportunistic pirates are surrounded by her presence on all sides (which, in a metaphysical way, they already are). They are not surrounded by simply an engineering-cult (who are, in their own way, armed with the tools needed to maintain the intricate circuitry of her idol-body, to pry open the cobalt stone of her breastplate, to weld rents in its figure shut), but by Smokeless Jade Fires herself. She watches them approach from a dozen lidless eyes.

From up in the scaffolding, Dolly pokes her head out, not quite sure what’s happening. Jade is preoccupied, thrumming through the mecha’s systems, and the engineers are gathering down there, led by Nine Forests. One of the newcomers looks up at her and meets her eyes coolly. Belatedly, she wonders if she’s presentable like this, her curls peering out from underneath a work kerchief, her face framed by feather earrings, her regalia-inspired jumpsuit hugging her curves. (The arrows are red and yellow, crossing over her in bold splashes, contrasting the simple blue-and-black base, with white for the accents, the five dominant colors appropriately mixed for the high priestess.) She scampers over to the stairs, one hand grounded on Jade’s idol body. It’s comfortingly cool under her fingers.

“Hunters.” Jade almost keeps it from being a sneer. “For all else you are, you are hunters, are you not? Do not think to hide from me, students of Jacinta Niares.” Dolly stops halfway down the stairs and presses her back against Jade’s idol body, eyes flicking left and right. Jacinta Niares? Here?? “Present yourselves to my servants. To approach a living goddess, you must meet their approval.”

A gamble on a coin spinning in the air. If they are here to gather information, then there will be an exchange of it, in close quarters; they will see more, but Nine Forests will see more of them in turn, and Jade will be able to scan their appearances. If they are here for intimidation, the engineers will show them exactly how difficult that will be. And if they are here for some ill-conceived smash and grab, then it will be in closer quarters and with engineers concentrated around them. And if they truly do mean to provide an offering and receive her blessing… well, washing themselves before offering their gifts is only proper. Maybe that’s their game. Well, she’ll give it. Her nature is that which rewards the hunt and the seizing of that which is desired. And if pirates value that, well, she is a goddess. She is the one who declares law.

“Dolly!” She shunts herself to a more limited view for a moment, stepping out in front of her being silly on the stairs. “What are you doing?”

”I’m— nothing! What are— I mean—“ Dolly rubs her cheeks, glancing down guiltily at the floor. Why would she even try to lie to Jade, just because she’s embarrassed to be hiding like a kitten? “I just. Is Niares really here?”

“Not likely. But her hounds are here as supplicants. Come back up and enter me, and I’ll keep you entertained until—“ She leans in, presses up against Dolly, feels a wicked thought uncurl through her being. “Until I feel like letting you go. I won’t need your pretty face for this one.” When Dolly tries to speak, she covers her bride’s mouth and clucks her tongue, shaking Dolly’s head. “Mm-mmm~ Get up there. That’s an order.”

Ridiculously, Dolly is suddenly tempted to argue. The thought of Niares(‘s pirates) is frightening, but she’s supposed to be Jade’s high priestess. That’s why Jade upended her whole life, after all. For a moment, hand over her mouth, staring down into Jade’s unearthly eyes and impish smile, she feels more like a toy. The moment it looks like there’s trouble, suddenly Jade’s ushering her off to enjoy squirming in her cockpit to be private entertainment for the goddess’s eyes alone, when Dolly could be representing her goddess in front of even the most perilous of petitioners. (Heh. Perilous petitioners. Probably pretty, uh, pusillanimous, possibly. Or pugnacious?)

But Dolly’s not Angela. And Niares really is scary. And more than scary; her thoughts about being shanghaied by the Red Band Pirates are the kind a good collared bride definitely shouldn’t have anymore, especially one spoiled with everything Jade can imagine. She nods, slumping a little in submission, and lets Jade turn her around and give her an encouraging swat on the rump to hurry back up the stairs.

(Maybe if she requested multiple pairs of hands, and a rough simulation, maybe having her jumpsuit torn open, while thinking of how Angela— how some Terenian might smell, might taste…)

With a sigh of relief, Smokeless Jade Fires disperses herself again. Dolly is taken care of. If there is any threat, it will not fall on her head. Maybe, if this is just what it seems, maybe on a later visit she can parade Dolly out in front of the pirates, make them envious, make Dolly’s heart race as she’s eyed by hunters while marked by the biggest, baddest hunter of them all. But not yet. Not until she’s sure it’s safe. Not after what happened on Akar.

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

Gym Euna!

November, meet a potential rival.

Like, not particularly potential, when you really crunch it out. 3V has a lot of baggage that she’s slowly relaxing about, and the “fake relationship” is the necessary paper for anything more than a real relationship. Plus, y’know, you’ll eventually figure out that she’s taken. Having the nerds kiss would be the kind of messy drama that would topple dynasties. But 3V definitely likes Euna in a way she’s not comfortable admitting behind multiple layers of obfuscation, and Euna would have to be blind not to think 3V is fine. But try not to worry about it. It’s one of those things where they’ll build a friendship on top of a bridge of “the timing was never right, but in another world,” y’know?

“That’s a new record,” 3V says, sotto voce, pretending to lean into White’s confidence. (And is this a way of defanging the scariest of her fake girlfriend’s faces?) “Usually she doesn’t clear five feet when she’s embarrassed~”

Then, with an overdramatic flourish and a click of her wrists: “M’lady Euna Kim, may I present to you my girlfriend, November?” She did consider making a joke about it being 11 point 11 percent repeating of her girlfriend, but she’s going to make any snoops work to figure out exactly what her situation is. And, yes, she’s hamming up the girlfriend part, ostentatious and showy and perfectly optimized for disseminating the info about relationship status. No more awkward propositions at the gym! And no more crass threesome jokes from Sara. (Who is she kidding? They will now be swinger jokes.)

“She didn’t believe that an android could have a real workout, so I brought her to the person who knows steel and circuits and how to make them burn like nobody else.” She maneuvers White ably into place, much smugger than Black had been. “And I have got to see you put her through her paces. Even if that means I have to get a workout, too~”

She’ll wait to ask about the ownership at a more convenient time. After she’s made White play along for a while.

---

Gensoukyo!

”You’re extremely hot.”

It takes 3V a moment to recover from that dagger slipped under her guard. She hasn’t had to brace herself like that for a while. That’s part and parcel of being a streamer, you know? Particularly a girl streamer. You’re part of the content, and you’re simultaneously approachable and desirable. You get used to hearing both starstruck compliments and seeing very crass comments before they can be moderated, and flinching a little bit every time you open a DM, and the only people who could understand that you’re not asking for it just because you make sure you look nice before you stream are, well, competition, even (in their own way) the off-the-wall guys who just want you to play Mario Party Ultimate But You Lose By Winning Stars and just want you in the video because it’s Content, Baby to get a pro gamer complaining about the random minigames and getting to make jokes about how you have robot hands and you still can’t bake a digital cake perfectly?

(Like, don’t get her wrong, genuinely pleasant memories of getting ribbed by Polarisdam. The guy weathers everything in his personal life by coming up with even more elaborate challenges and shenanigans. It’s just that every collab is a gamble that more of their audience will like your work, and less of yours will decide that they like their work better. A dumb worry, but there even so.)

And there it is. Something she’s proud of, her skill at games, and it gets her a compliment from her sort-of-girlfriend. Right at the central pillar of her professional identity, where it intersects with her being a huge nerd.

“I’d better not take you to any tournaments,” she jokes, deflecting, not meeting Blue’s intense stare, because if she does, she’ll want to melt into it in ways that her brain tells her would be inappropriate, indulgent, self-centered. “I just got you, I wouldn’t want to lose you to Adrian. From what I hear, Adrian’s the best player on the station.” She doesn’t awkwardly explain that Adrian doesn’t use any pronouns and requests the use of Adrian’s name instead. She privately thinks it’s a little odd, but she’s not rude enough not to use Adrian’s preferred (lack of) pronouns. Names are important. Gender is important. Being who you want to be is important. And Adrian really wants to be Adrian rather than being just a guy or a gal.

“You’re good too. By the way. Was this really your first time?” She waggles her eyebrows, a half-hearted, suggestive rejoinder easily blown out of the water.