Tatterdemalion

Return to Thellamie

TEAM QUEST

Of course there is nothing anyone can do to help. All of you have found the limits of help. So many empty words, so many pretty promises, and now you are here.

Now you are here in my body.

It is grand. I stretch across the Outside and the world, and I anchor it down with ten hundred thousand nails more subtle than those waystones the first of us used when he fell. My hands reach up towards the light and choke it. Nothing inside me wants their light anymore. My leaves are broad and bitter.

Talking about it is pointless. The one who talks all the time would tell you that talking is pointless, and she would have an irritating trill in her voice, and she would also encourage those two garishly-colored ones to tease the boy, and it would all be pointless. Teasing and flirtation and those useless little veils - it is all a self-satisfied ouroboros.

The boy's light flickers. Nothing inside me wants that light anymore; I reach out to choke it, but my growth is still too slow. I close the road behind them. At most I can catch at the heels of these playacting clowns, and I can whisper to them:

There is nothing anyone can do to help.
They should have helped anyway.
It is not your fault.
It is never your fault.
It is their fault.
Talking about it is pointless.
Blaming someone is better.

Just a little slower. Stay inside me for a little while longer. The boy is trying so very hard to make it out to places where the dreams of my trees recede, but there is nothing anyone can do to help. Start an argument. Pick a fight. Throw a fireball at the woods, which will smoulder and smoke but refuse to burn. You know you want to. It is their fault for making you start it.

Stay just long enough to put down roots.

Stay just long enough for my favorite clipping to catch up.

And as your allies fall into spiteful argument, Hazel Valentine Fletcher, I will give you what you have wanted all this time. I will give you a quest that you can perform. I will give you a lover who shapes herself to suit you. I will take away your pain and your hope and your light, which are all the same thing. Aren't you looking forward to being in the hands of my Walking Elm again?

(Hazel, help them.)

---

TEAM RELAXATION

It's time for you to put some cards on the table, Eclair Espoir. And by cards, I mean napkins, and I also mean theories.

You are on the far side of despair, buoyed up by the presence of a sidekick and a loyal companion, who I am sure is going to be chiming in with data points and suggestions. You are surrounded by my cheer and the air of possibility, of invention, of masquerade, that is my hallmark. You are also surrounded by crab. Feel free to use a pincer as a pointer if you need to.

This is the brainstorming session. The big one, suspended between yesterday and tomorrow, as you look for the place where Timtam's heart pivots.

Goodness, might you have a quest after all by the end of this?

Breathless Dead

1. We submit to the court's attention that Princess-Alpha Redana Claudius stepped in front of her wife when faced with a sudden attack from someone who seemed nice, if frazzled. We speculate that it is, in fact, because on the level of instinct, Redana still wants to be there for Bella, to protect her, despite all that they have been through together, despite the fact that Bella could pick up this frizzly-haired assailant and put her up on a shelf (high), despite her hope that she has reached the end of the quest.

2. We further submit that while Redana put her hand on her sword's hilt, she hesitated to draw. For a moment there, she hoped that maybe she was wrong. That she'd misunderstood something. That she'd turn around and, just like in her nightmares, the Master of Assassins would be standing there, only her head would be falling off and this swordswoman would click her sword back into her scabbard and, with eyes grown suddenly as hard as granite, say, "Tch. You're welcome."

3. We deny categorically that she has "forgotten her training" and "gotten soft," despite whispers to the contrary from Professional Associates A-H gathered in the area, who drew their weapons (five swords, a ceremonial labrys, a naginata and a weighted net) to back up their Princess-Alpha. We submit to the court that further speculation along this line of questioning would risk prejudicing the court and hampering the Princess-Alpha's divine mandate to carry the message across the universe at what is almost certainly the finish line.

3.5. If it turns out that the message was actually for someone on Tellus the entire time, we request that the court allow some time for yowling, crying, and kicking various cans and bottles into the lake. This allowance will not compromise Trip 2.0: I Don't Want To Lethe Again, Daddy, Make Us A Bridge Or Something, I'm Not Forgetting My Wife Again, Fuck.

4. We submit to the court that, as soon as the aggressor started sheathing her weapons, the Princess-Alpha relaxed and looked to Bella Hostilius Mosaic with a wry smile and a conciliatory release of Relief from her glands, before turning to address the assailant again. Please note that she did not let go of her sword's hilt, and the claim otherwise is defamatory.

5. We submit to the court that the part of Redana that had enjoyed working with the Hermetics and the ship crews as a part of a larger whole was the part that let out the shrill shriek when the Plousios - which, we note, was literally her comfort starship - fell into two pieces as a direct result of what we all presume was one of the assailant's cuts.

5.5. The assailant literally apologized and admitted that she had intended for her attack to be parried.

5.55. The Princess-Alpha could not have parried that.

5.555. Bella Hostilius Mosaic could totally have parried that, but chose not to do so.

5.5555. We theorize it was because her wife was acting in the name of Ceronian chivalry, which currently requires all the advocates it can get, given the political leanings of the current Shogun.

5.55555. It is honorable that the Princess-Alpha throw herself in front of threats, especially ones which she has no hope of overcoming or ones which are looking for a potential abduction victim, and we humbly submit the Bella Heart Hellscape Nightmare (Fuck You, Aphrodite) file for consideration in the matter.

6. We submit that the Princess-Alpha allowing her hand to go slack as she stood behind her wife and peered around her at devastation which not even a thunderbolt could equal was not rank cowardice but, in fact, a prudent acknowledgement that her weapon would not, in this case, suffice to defend her crew if the blushing, stammering girl before them (that is to say, behind them, as they were turned around at the time) were to suddenly throw out another attack of the same caliber.

7. We submit to the court that Redana took several deep breaths, hands held in front of her face, and let the shiver run from the base of her bushing tail up to her triangles before she shuffled back around and, wide-eyed, informed the assailant that, "We would love tea. Bella does the best tea in the whole universe."

7.5. The Princess-Alpha is willing to swear under oath that Pretty Kitty Meowmeow Sweet Tea is, in fact, still the best drink in the entire universe, and she is aware that it is just whatever tea Bella has brewed today, and she is also aware that the last time she asked for it Bella picked her up and carried her out of the room, but that will not stop her from suggesting it under her breath anyway, as a tactical concern, as plying the assailant with the best drink in the entire universe is just common sense, and the fact that her tail was wagging shows that, in fact, she is full of love and is not a "dumbass," Mrs. Mosaic Claudius.

8. Given all of the above, we request that the court give us a nice teatime where the Princess-Alpha receives headpats, explanations for what is going on here, immediate remedy for the damage to her literal comfort starship, and kissies from her wife for being brave in the face of starship-cleaving secret blades, to the fullest extent of the law, with extreme prejudice, and furthermore that her pack be barred from initiating leadership challenges at this critical juncture, given the extraordinary circumstances and the fact that she is so fucking close.

8.5. The Princess-Alpha also requires time for the thought she just had to unfold fully, the itch in the back of her thoughts to be scratched, and the feeling she feels when she watches the wind dance over the hills covered in grass and sunlight and sheeps with lace ribbons.

8.5.5. The Princess-Alpha disavows thinking about how cute Dolce would look in a lace ribbon, despite the undeniable fact that he would look absolutely precious, legally speaking, and maybe Vasilly is thinking the same thing? Maybe? Maybe if she makes eye contact with Vasilly she'll realize it all on her own, despite the fact that she's totally not thinking about that.

Return to Thellamie

TEAM RELAXATION

It is past midnight in the most luxurious resort this side of Aestival, the evening after a grand ball which had the greats and worthies of Thellamie all in attendance in their fineries and their resplendences. What this means, in practical terms, is that if you sneak down the corridor and descend two flights of the new backup stairways, you can get leftovers.

Steamed Aestivali crab simmered in goblin-butter. Rich tomato soup from Vespergift, with Crevasi chickpeas and a loaf of bread from the tops of the Kel mountains. Those little sandwiches cut into squares. On top of all that, there's still champagne, violet shots straight from Crevas, and bubbly-water-with-fruit-in.

Most of the folk in attendance in this particular after-hours cafe are the employees of the Chrysanthemum, and they're coming off duty. Ties are being loosened, jackets are being shucked, high heels are being stacked on an unused table. Technically, there's a night shift, but they're cleaning up the absolute mess left downstairs, which means that the mood is eat-as-you-please, grab a seat and ask if anyone minds you stealing a piece of the sausage-and-mushroom flatbread.

And you know whose presence means that you're welcome as part of the crowd as part of the crowd, rather than as guests to be skirted around? One Mayzie, right here, who seems to know everybody's name. She used to work here, after all - and that still means something to the hosts, even if she's moving into different fields at the moment (which is to say, construction brokering).

---

TEAM QUEST

The wry smile playing on Alcideo's lips is a knife, Cutie. He's not going to bail you out of this one: handmaidens of the Hero of Ages are outside his paygrade, unless you mean to make it very much worth his while (which is to say, got him a crown or the like). But he's not going to combo with Cair, either, to absolutely dunk on you.

The noise that comes out of Keli and Seli is not a bweh. It's much more of a "HOEH?!" And a lot of offended jingling (and, admittedly, now that you might be paying attention to it, Hazelkins, some offended bouncing).

"Are you going to--"
"--let your handmaiden say such things--"
"--to two pure and innocent maidens, Heron-senpai?" (You may blame Yuki for this.)
"I'll ground her if she doesn't--"
"--watch her step, yah?"
"Hazel~ don't drink that nasty potion~"
"Come over here and let's get that starlight out--"
"--and then you'll get to be a hero with--"
"--Heron, the greatest of heroes ever--"
"--instead of fussing with washboards~"

Either way, Cair or the Twins, it's time for you to get a move on! Time's a-wasting, my heroes! The longer you linger, the easier it will be to someone to catch up to you. And I think you all know who might notice you sneaking out of Vespergift into the hateful briar-choked woods beyond...

Breathless Dead

From the jaws of the beast, a wolfgirl emerges. Now, she's not Hyra. But there's certain similarities all the same, such as the fetching triangles and the way that they twitch. She's wearing a scarf wrapped about her hair and neck, and one end of it catches the breeze as she descends, looking not at Yue but at the sky. She doesn't seem to mind the rain much. No, she's grinning from ear to ear - she must love the rain.

She looks around as she makes her way down. She's not alone, either. Behind her, those terrible jaws are tentatively pouring forth more wolfgirls, and mousegirls, and a beautiful catgirl, and a sheepboy, and a snakegirl or two, and two familiar foxgirls all the way in the back, an entire menagerie of people tentatively following in the footsteps of this forerunner. She's coming down the fastest, though. And she's got armor on like a fish's scales, and a sword swinging by her side, and a fur coat with all sorts of bristles in the fur, and underneath her gauzy scarf she's got hair the color of really nice buttered corn.

She's crying, too. The tears are mingling with the rain and she's grinning, so maybe she's enjoying crying, or maybe something got into her eyes and stung but she's toughing it out. There, near the bottom, she turns around and looks, properly looks, at the vast behemoth which vomited her up and is still sucking up lakes, getting the last little dribbles of water down at the bottom where all the fish should be hiding. Maybe they're stealing fish to make suits of armor for spunky wolfgirls.

Yue has to clear her throat to get this mini-Hyra to snap out of it and pay attention. And those ears flick up and the woman looks Yue up and down in a flash with mismatched eyes: one like the dearly departed lakes, the other like the rolling hills in the midst of summer when all the grass is growing long.

"Hello!" The word bursts out of her explosively. She's shaking a little bit, the way that you might when your birthday suddenly has a surprise party on it after you thought everyone in the neighborhood straight-up forgot about it. "Is this - we're on Gaia, aren't we? This has to be it. It's beautiful." One might uncharitably note that she's not looking at the muddy sad pits where lakes used to be. She's looking at Yue, and the bystanders, and the hills, and the cottages, and the horizon. "We've come a very long way, and - I'm sorry, Bella told me I should have practiced this part more, hello, I'm Princess-Alpha Redana Claudius of the Silver Divers, and I'm here with a message from Hades. Can you... do you know who I need to speak to? Are you the Empress of Gaia? Or the most high priestess? Or..."

A slow blush steals over her cheeks, and she reflexively hides her face behind the scarf. "...well, I'm sure we'll figure out who the message is for," she says, failing to live up to her mother's legacy at the very last possible second.

Breathless Dead

Don’t be fooled by how Redana can’t hold still, not until she’s weighed down by her wife in her arms. It’s not that she’s impatient, you must understand, and it’s not that she’s bored— it’s just that this is her paradise, too. If she can’t keep her eye on one butterfly in particular, it’s because she’s noticed all of them, and if she can’t hold still to count them all, it’s because she’s noticed the flowers they spring lightly on, and the birds which prey upon them, and the rustles of the grass in the wind.

Also, she’s Ceronian. She is doing a very good job stifling the urge to run feckless and wild and free until she’s tuckered out, and she doesn’t even eat any weird bugs, which is— well. Let us not besmirch Ceronian honor. It would be quite beneath them. Even if the bug was particularly weird and interesting. She’s not going to do it.

“This must be the last test,” she muses aloud at one point, one specific point, as Bella follows small squeaking creatures from hole to hole, whipping her head around as they continue to taunt her from just out of reach. “A place no one would ever want to leave.”

But she does. She wants to go and get her sketchbook and fail at drawing for another hundred years. She wants to punch a tree in order to get wood enough to build a shelter. But even that might be too much to bring here, a terrible curse which would inevitably bring cities and farms and nature preserves and extinctions. Not that she thinks in those terms precisely, but that is the shape of the shudder that runs through her as she rests her knuckles against a tree which droops its long hair over the water.

Maybe just a tent would work. Or a pack and a blanket and willingness to sleep out under the stars.

These are the sorts of things she considers while she fights to maintain her self-control and not run up the nearest mountain just for the satisfaction of making it to the top and seeing what sort of creatures might be up there[1].

When the creature— the noble beast— the Questing Beast itself— emerges, she takes Bella’s hand[2]. She feels the awe, lets Bella’s transcendence spill into her own cup, which is ready to be filled. Somehow, the two of them find it in themselves not to bolt after the Questing Beast.

For a long while, she just holds her Bella close. The sky is nothing like a box. She tries to find ways to explain, but none of them can withstand the full, searing light of Bella’s ecstasy. Eventually, Redana gives up and focuses on the things which are important: running a hand over the back of Bella’s head, subvocalizing at a supportive resonance, and not chasing any, any rabbits at all.

“…let’s spend our honeymoon here,” she eventually manages. “Once we save the universe and all.”

If there is any sense or reason in Bella’s love, maybe it is found in the calm, happy certainty of those words.

---

[1]: she has a vague memory of a picture book which informed her that goats live on mountains. And lammergeiers, too.

[2]: her wife’s hand is an anchor that keeps her from running up and excitedly asking if it wants to be her friend, as per long-dormant genetic protocols.

Return to Thellamie

TEAM RELAXATION

Mayzie can't help but stare, and when she isn't staring, or trying desperately not to spill her hot chocolate whenever she takes a desperate thirsty sip, she's drawing madly.

Not only is her girlfriend(???) radiant, smiling, alive, and what if she was wearing the sort of suit with angles that should be illegal, that goes in the upper left corner, but Yuki! Edogawa! is straining to achieve new heights of skill with her craft, and... wouldn't it be nice if she could make, say, a heartpen? A heartbrush? Something with which she could dab the canvas and see it explode into colors, into hopes and dreams, into all the things that it's normally hard for her to say?

Things like the face study of Eclair that goes down onto the bottom, across from the study of Yuki, and it's a wild coincidence that Eclair's got her lips parted and looks like she's about to lean in for a kiss, and she wasn't thinking about that when she placed those two next to each other, and she isn't thinking about it now - I promise, on my honor - and instead she's getting lost in the eyes which she's looking at in order to get them down properly on the page, and she's purring.

Quietly, but unmistakably.

The world is warm and quiet here.

---

TEAM QUEST

"Cair Route?" says Keli indignantly, pressing a hand to her bosom (coincidentally taking a deerboy at least partially with it).
"Heron," Seli says, with a flourish of her sleeves, with a low bow. "It is my honor--"
"I don't see you going out there onto the dance floor, floozy--"
"--to fight alongside you at last, yah?"
"--where this poor, delicate boy is menaced by huntresses and the coils of seductresses seductressing--"
"We will fight for love and desire intermingled--"
"--just look at him, still red and speechless from how dreadfully they must have seduced him, yah?"
"--and bring discord into a tyrant's court--"
"Oh, don't you worry, you good boy--"
"--for the sake of the world."
"--you're safe from the world."

Seli's eyes shine with determination. Keli's eyes shine with the ambiguity of whether a bit has become the truth.

Then Alcideo steps up, whispers something very whispery in Keli's ear, and she releases a boy just enough for him to catch his breath, and for Alcideo to look him over for terminal fluster, sleepiness, stress, or-- "Ah. Yes. Quite. My lady, he's going to need a tincture of groundedness before he becomes entirely too breathless for this." He loops in an arm and pulls Hazel away, talking about how he will need to check his tongue for the proper dosage...

...and then whispers in a silly cervine ear: "I think she likes you, Hazel."

Breathless Dead

It's harder to draw here. The energy of the planet below... no, it's not that. Even if she can't capture it, can only get across squiggles that become angles that she adds little dots between, trying to convey what's going on down there: the final glorious battle of people who need dragons, or people who are trying to become dragons, who can't stop themselves from fighting, who...

Who are very Ceronian.

If an enemy is not provided, they will invent one. Isn't that the way of Ceron? To always be looking for a new challenge. Always pitting yourself against someone, and discovering whether they are weaker or stronger than you. If weaker, then good, bully and tease and steal. And if stronger, then use them to sharpen yourself, to become better, to become worthy.

Maybe that's why she's tempted to go down there. To challenge herself again. To learn what inside her isn't good enough, still - or was that sufficient, being reflected against herself so many times inside of Bella? To lose at infiltrating. To win at teaching them how to be a little kinder, a little better, a lesson she never truly noticed.

Or maybe it's the chill. The familiar feeling settling into her bones. Comfort and safety, in their own ways. She's never let either hold her back for long, but... would it be such a bad thing to linger here a little, Bella? Where it's easier to hear your heartbeat and feel your breath? Where things feel...

Right.

Another itch. It's harder to draw here. Sometimes she catches herself in reverie, and sometimes she has to get up and pace, and the pacing turns into running, and the air is cool on her skin, and she talks herself out of descending and helping, as best as she can, to contribute to the work of Jupiter. This isn't quite right. But Gaia's getting closer by the hour, by the minute, by the second slipping past her, and Jupiter's another part of it.

They aren't ready for the stars yet. But one day they will be.

What if they needed a guide?

What if they all need...

Somewhere, a beloved bride is writing. And Dany sits nearby and draws stars. Draws hands. Draws her wedding ring.

Isn't it funny how this whole time she thought she knew what she was going to wish for?

Eventually, the pens get put down, rather mutually. Bella always was good at sniffing secrets out. Maybe they linger a while on certain sketches, and then the sketchbook gets set neatly on the desk next to Bella's journaling.

In the cool of the underworld, there are secrets which can only be learned in the dark. And one of them is: You were following me and now I'm following you. And another is: We both want to help, deep down. And another is: I love you, and I love you, and I love you. I have seen your weakness and your strength, and I still want you.

And I'll say it over and over again.

Return to Thellamie

Everything has gone exactly as I have foreseen.

...well, that's what I would say if I were a villain, right, Sayanastia? That's what you say when you want a shiver to run down the hero's obliging spine, before she offers up one of her rote catchphrases (remember when it was just "schwing"?). It's what you say to convince yourself that you're in control of the situation and that no one can stop you now.

Fortunately, I am as humble as I am beautiful and clever and perfect. I am well aware that I didn't foresee any of this. Well, most of it. The Serigalamu contingent went about as well as could have been hoped. A boy got squeezed and squeaked uselessly about it. But an old man falling down from the ceiling? I'm not even going to say that I guessed that would happen, because I prefer not to tell obvious lies.

Still, I think the pieces have arranged themselves quite neatly. The Golden Fawn just so happens to be going off with a band of hero-support-staff to accompany two lovely girls on a quest to save a damsel in distress, given a perfect opportunity to see them at their best. And Eclair Espoir has met darling little Yuki when the maid-knight was at her lowest. Two neat narratives. And Civelia gone, to boot!

I will have to have her saved in the end, I think. A little nudge to Eclair, a dropped clue or two. It would be a shame to lose a counterbalance unless I had my own hand arranged properly.

---

TEAM QUEST

I think this will be the first time that the Handmaidens have assembled together in a little while, won't it? On a noble quest, even, one which requires Heron's touch. And with guest party members, who include:

• Hazel Valentine Fletcher, still wearing his gorgeous dress
• Alcideo of the Chrysanthemum, who neatly joined Cair and Hazel on their way out, because I am not letting my girls run off without support (and I suppose Hazel too)
• Keli, beautiful and heroic
• Seli, heroic and beautiful

You are not going through the Roads. You are going to have to cut through the Tanglewood, using the Golden Fawn as a stable waypoint in the midst of the Outside, in order to beat the Khatun to the Boar's Ossuary. The life of Sister Juniper hangs in the balance. You will have to set out from here, in the upper rooms of the Coachwoman's Arms, into the snow and the hateful forest that lies on the other side of Vespergift's walls.

So I suppose the biggest question is who attempts to convince these four companions that Heron is here and ready to lead the party? Who has it in them to even make the attempt?

(And I suppose the most sensitive question is what Hazel makes of these Handmaidens, all assembled, all pointing towards something that they lack in plain sight?)

(And also my daughters are very hot and they've incorporated magical charms of warding and protection into their outfits, and Keli is going to wrap you up in a big delighted hug, Hazelkins~)

---

TEAM RELAXATION

Mayzie wraps her hands around her spiked hot chocolate and lets out a little purr of satisfaction. This is one of the promises of Vespergift: that while it snows outside, you can still be safe and warm inside. There's a clever little window that lets you see out of the Ophidia Room and out onto the streets of Vespergift laid out below, and the snow swirls past this window as Eclair Espoir and Yuki Edogawa chirp together.

Mayzie is drinking in both of them, and trying and failing to look like she isn't. The giddiness of meeting a hero meets with the giddiness of having her feelings reciprocated by the most wonderful, frustrating, singular girl. She lifts her mug and gives herself a little mustache of cream as she sips.

Then she sets the mug down and, using notebook paper, begins to sketch the scene that is unfolding before her...

Return to Thellamie

Mayzie!

You’ve missed a lot tonight, haven’t you? No room for dramatic fights when you’re in the bathroom frantically trying to freshen up and catch hold of your thoughts careening about. And when you emerged into the tea-scented mists (which are, yes, tea mists, mists caused by the tea), you had a goal in mind. Your heart drew you closer to Eclair Espoir, and

And also Yuki of Yukisearth??

For a moment you stare at Yuki like a child who has met a clown for the first time: unsure of whether to bolt and run or break out into laughter. Not that you think Yuki is a clown. Civelia, no, of course not, ahahaha, she’s, not a clown at all, and, you cannot, given, the stakes of the heart, ask Eclair to organize the coat room while you swear Yuki to secrecy before you ask her to sign The Tale of Yuki and the Mirror Star, by her Two Bestest Friends. The collector’s edition. You know, the book which you have in the vault where you keep most of the other possessions you’ve managed to draw close to yourself, patiently awaiting the day when you have a new apartment.

But no! You must be strong, Mayzie! Be strong for Eclair! Do not be distracted by the siren song of Yuki Edogawa (wow) being here!

“Yes, the – the mystery builder. Who I have a message for. You asked me earlier if we should… travel together.” You cannot, absolutely cannot be as candid as you wished, because Yuki Edogawa is right here (is she looking at you (oh no she noticed you looking at her (the only way to fix this is to pretend you weren’t looking at her this is so smooth))). “I don’t know if we can… walk the same road together forever. But you need someone to walk with you at least until you… have solved… the problem we were talking about earlier.”

You offer your hand, fighting your hardest to look her in the eye (DO NOT GLANCE OVER AT YUKI (MISSION FAILED)). You are blushing. You are aware that behind her mask she is looking at you as intensely as she looks at every enigma, every puzzle, every ball of yarn. How can you hold up to her? How can you be worthy of her while she loves those dragons?

Why are you hoping, vainly, Mayzie, that she will choose you at the end of the adventure?

But you have to try. You absolutely must. If you were to walk away it would shatter you like glass. You have to try to love her.

“...my funds are at your disposal,” you say, with such incredible romance. “Let’s solve your problem.”

---

Handmaidens!

Aaaaand swap again, because one of you is going to run into Hazel “Chick Magnet” Valentine Fletcher on his way through the back corridors of the Chrysanthemum, the mazy staircases and closets where the staff are frantically working to get more tea, more fairy cakes, and more anti-Rot Star defenses at the ready.

Cards on the table, my dears: I think that this is where he gets to go on another adventure, not by his choice. After all, Juniper needs to be saved, and Eclair Espoir has a villain to pursue, and can you even imagine what it would be like for him to dance with Walking Elm? Simply ghastly.

Operation: Kidnap the Golden Fawn is go.

So who’s going to succeed where Rurik and Sayanastia have been having issues with the Very Unsubtle route?

Breathless Dead

You’d think Redana would be unstoppable right now, wouldn’t you? Charging about hither and yon, getting everything shipshape, asking people seven times a day if they’re excited about reaching Gaia, making a list of everything she’s going to do once she’s wished for the freedom of all humanity, and then dragging her pack to a tea party?

Sure, you’d think that. But while she is throwing herself into the work of getting everything shipshape, it’s a return to being an engineer. Everything in the ship got taken apart and put back together, and someone’s got to make sure everything got put back together the right way, map out where everything is, and start dimming the engine’s output so that they don’t slam heartily into Gaia at the other side of the system. There are more Silver Divers following her than you might expect.

Stories spread about our Redana, after all. What she did on Portugal. What she did in the heart of her wife. How they slew a monstrous hydra of the underworld together. How she stole her own guard and the heart of her own maid and sailed across the stars accompanied by pirates and songbirds.

Can you blame her for trying to learn something new?

Well, partially new. The Silver Divers had taught her how to make quick sketches of enemy-held positions from memory, how to erase those sketches just as quickly, how to make a topographical map by eyeballing it. They didn’t teach her this thing which she is trying to do.

She draws.

Not well. She makes faces at the gulf between what she is trying to depict and the reality of it outside. She has to take rides on her horse, to look down at the tangled nightmare maze of what humanity once made of this comaratively far-flung rock, and then she must return and in her chambers put down onto the page what she remembers. Sometimes the lines are quick, an impression of the clutter, jagged lines implying the great press of weight upon itself. And sometimes the lines are not anywhere near what she wants, and she makes a face, and she tries again.

And she tries again.

And she tries again.

She should have been doing this the whole trip, something whispers in the back of her head. It’s too late to start now. One day she’ll have forgotten half of what’s happened to her. Maybe it’s already started. How would she know if it started?

That’s when new subjects start being incorporated. Sketchier, because she’s drawing from memory – from an impression. From what she remembers. The first person who comes out is blocky, mighty-armed, and has the kindest face she can put down onto the paper. The next has a beautiful shock of plumage and round cheeks. The heroines at the end of the world, with more attention lavished on their teaset rather than the reality of those daring pilots. A film reel. Owls and mice. Monsters. Broken and vivid robots.

None of them real. None of them accurate. All of them drawn from what she’s pulling out of herself as the Plousios drifts towards an ending, as an apology for not saving them all earlier, for leaving people in her wake, for having her eyes on Gaia – which must be out there, somewhere, ahead of them all.