TheAmishPirate

Return to Thellamie

You know, in the long, long, long line of mistakes that had led him to this moment, at least Suli wasn’t here to see him like this. Hands bound with, what was this, silk? Something soft. Shirt gone into a huntress’ pack, carefully folded. Muscled arms around his middle. A ribbon tied around his neck, complete with elaborate bow and bell. ”Until I get you a collar fit for a Queen,” she’d whispered through her teeth.

She was going to kill him, wasn’t she? When she found out he hadn’t really meant to kiss her. Or, well, kiss her, in the sort of way that makes someone think you want to kiss them again, regularly, for the rest of your life. His memory wasn’t…no, his memory was just fine. He knew everything he’d said and swished and slashed, and none of that was particularly honest either, was it?

She was going to kill him. Or at least be hurt and disappointed in him. Which was just about the same thing.

“I, don’t think that’s something we can really count on.” The pats were nice. Yuki was nice. Mikela keeping Yuki from seeing his back was very, very nice. “The prophecy said ‘tame him’, right? Well, I don’t think it’ll work if I just walk up to somebody and say, ‘yep! They tamed me!’ Doesn’t sound very tamed, does it? Goes against the spirit of the thing.” He nestles up flush against the Khan. To keep all the angles covered. “I don’t think we’ll have a Queen of Light until…” (At least blush when you say it.) “...um, until I’m. Tamed. For reals.”

Return to Thellamie

Yuki!!!

Wait oh no Yuki.

She can’t

She cannot see what’s still written on his back.

It’s bad enough that a bunch of huntresses saw the name Cutie written on his back in magical, flowing script. But! But he’s about to be rescued, and he may never see them again, and he can absolutely, for sure get this removed the first chance he gets. (No more fooling around. You knew this would happen. And yet.) But Yuki?

Yuki will never look at him the same way again.

(We can’t explain it. There’s no excuse. She’ll know.)

Keep your head down, Hazel. Just act casual.

“Excuse me?!”

Act casual after correcting this misunderstanding. Yes.

“What part of that was brat behavior?! That was a normal…mostly normal duel! As far as I’m aware! Dueling somebody shouldn’t qualify you as…as a…”

Hazel, along with a dozen of his closest huntresses, turn to watch Yuki stroll away.

“Um...Yuki?”

She. Uh.

She’s not doing a whole lot of rescuing.

“Yuki?”

Not very much rescuing at all.

“Yuki. What are you doing?”

Juni. Why are you smiling like that.

“Yuki? Yuki?!”

Keli stop blowing him a kiss this is NOT the time

“Yuki!!!!!!”

YUKI THIS IS NOT HELPING

Deo! Deo. Deo?

Deo, please, c’mon, don’t leave your Cutie out to dry.

Best and dearest catboy friend, you wouldn’t :3 him at a time like this, would you?

Breathless Dead

Dolce can only hear her die.

He bought every step he could afford, and many he could not. Wool smolders where it passed too close to the flames. Everything from the waist down burns, aches, and throbs in turn. He’s not built for sprinting. He is quick, he is precise, but kitchens aren’t taken at a run. The corners, the debris, the child on his back, they all cost him, and every time he paid for it. Just to reach the noise of slaughter a half step faster.

But he does not even see her die.

Ten steps further, and Redana’s scream cuts him clean in two. Out fall the thoughts. Out fall the plans. Out fall the hopes, the cautions, the daydreams, the quiet nest he’d painstakingly built around a wish, now unraveling. In its place, a cold, dreadful certainty steals over him: Nothing will happen as he thought it might. He has traveled the length of two worlds, and arrived at the end too late.

He slows. He stops.

There is an alcove outside the throne room. Hard. Cold, still. Devoid of cushion and ornament. Devoid of comfort. Devoid of anything that might burn. It will do.

Dolce slips XVI off his back and leans her against the wall. She does not resist; Redana’s scream still tears through her senses. She cannot question why Mister Sheep draws away from her.

“Stay here. It’s about to get very loud.”

It’s quiet. There is only one body still moving. There are only two voices still speaking.

He has to go now.

A few steps more. There’s only a few steps more.

He reaches into the lost, homemade bag slung across his chest.

There is a sword in his hand.

---

“Get away from them.”

A third voice hisses. Hardly much louder than Redana’s last whispers.

Dolce stands in the throne room of Empress Nero. Around him, the dead and dying and broken. He knows most of their names. Before him, a monster, after a journey of monsters. He knows his name.

“I said.” There is a small, plain sword. He must hold it with both hands. “Get away from them.”

Aphrodite turns. Bulk and blood and hate rumbles, interrupted in his moment of victory. His moment. His! As…as some fucking sheep comes out of nowhere - !

“Don’t look at me like that.”

Dolce stands alone in the throne room of Empress Nero. Around him, the detritus of madness and murder. He knows how to make himself invisible. Before him, a god, and the orders of a god. He knows how to work within orders.

The swordpoint wavers. His voice cracks. He’s not built for volume. “Get. Away. From them.”

If Aphrodite had truly wanted him to suffer, and suffer as much as possible, he could have used Redana. He could have used Bella’s corpse. Dolce couldn’t have done a thing to stop him. But Aphrodite’s patience had run out long ago, and this is one more indignity he will not bear. “I said,” he roars. “Don’t look at me like that!”

In the seat of Humanity’s power, in the throne room of the Empress, Authority crashes down on Dolce. It demands he speak. Speak. Speak! And if you cannot speak, beg! And if you cannot beg, kneel! Why have you come here? Why have you spoken out? How could you possibly know anything of gods and power, Dolce of Beri!? Know your place! Wait your turn to die!

His legs will splinter. His hands will break on the hilt. His heart will burst. But before that. Or maybe after that. It doesn’t matter. It won’t matter.

Aphrodite won’t get away with it.

Bella’s sacrifice won’t be for nothing.

Dolce. Stands.

The monster fills his vision. Already on him. Terrible hand raised to strike. He leaps back; it won’t be enough. He raises his sword to parry. In both hands, it is balanced.

Claws tear across his body, and bury themselves in the floor to the wrist. No more than a pace in front of him. Short. The blow falls short.

Aphrodite stares in confusion. Opens his mouth.

-jingle-

And coughs blood.

XVI holds the ruin of Aphrodite’s heart in her hand. She nods, satisfied. ”quiet.” She lets it fall, and slumps down for a nap.

Aphrodite crashes after them, suddenly without blood nor divinity to sustain him. But he is tenacity incarnate. Hate will sustain him when all else fails. Snarling, steaming, his body burns. Limbs twitch. The floor groans. His eyes lock onto the impudent, little- “How dare you. How dare you. HowrkKK!!”

There is a sword through his head. There is a sheep on his skull.

“You’ve. Said. Enough.”

The beast screams; a gutteral, ugly, unintelligible sound. He is bleeding. He is dying. He will speak. He will speak!

“No more curses.”

Dolce clings to the blade. Beneath him, Aphrodite pitches and heaves. He ducks, and the god’s free hand misses him by inches.

“No more blood.”

A shadow blots out the flames. Dolce grabs the sword at his belt, still clinging to Persephone’s blade, and swings wildly. A fragment of claw skips across the palace floor.

“No! More! Ruin!”

The craving of the entire universe, the maker of all, he who contains infinities, cannot dislodge a single sheep. A sword that cannot cut him drives back his hand, and he cannot reach him. Hooves that cannot break him stomp his head down, and his mouth shut, and he cannot speak a word. So he burns it all. All he has left, let it burn! Let him try a little harder. That will be enough. He’ll kill him. He’ll curse him. He’ll tear him apart, in front of Zeus’ precious little daughter, and drag his shade to where none may ever find him. That is what it will cost! Do you hear him?! It will cost the universe one, last scar. And in time it will fester, and in time it will grow, and…and……

And Aphrodite lays still at last.

“No. More. Calling yourself. Love.”

Dolce holds himself up by Persephone’s sword. Panting. Shaking. Standing.

“You. Will never. Pervert it. Again.”

No god speaks for Aphrodite. No champion rides to his aid, guided by foxgirls. That privilege is reserved for another, one far better than him.

All that is left for him is one last prayer, as befits his station:

“Good riddance.”

So ends Desire. So triumphs Love.

So Dolce of Beri got his wish.

Return to Thellamie

This is the part where he really ought to explain himself. What will he say, exactly? That’s an excellent question; he’ll get back to you on that one. Unfortunately, it is very, very difficult to explain yourself when someone’s kissing you so fiercely they’re threatening to claim a piece of you for themselves. There may have been some…oh, who is he kidding? There’s no words said. Noises, yes. A yelp muffled beneath her tongue. A panicked squeak at the prick of his lip. And. A soft little whimper. Shuddering and fluttering. When she pulls away.

Now, this is the part where he needs to argue for his life, because whatever dance he had been thinking of it was not an intimate session of getting twisted into a pretzel in front of a live huntress audience. This would require at least one (1) plan. But whatever he had been thinking of, it was not what would happen if he kissed a Khan, much less a plan for what comes after, now was it?!

(Ah, eto…bleh! :3c)

(EXCUSE ME???)

Unfortunately, it is very, very difficult to think of a way out of any kind of mess when a half-dozen huntresses are creating a thorough map of all the interesting places they can squeeze you. And checking their work. And sharing their discoveries. And showing their Khan, in great detail, where she should put her hands to make you make this noise or wiggle like that. Which is completely unfair in a pre-wrestling context, if you ask him, but you’ll have to ask him later, because one of them just found where he’s ticklish-

OH OKAY THAT’S HER ENTIRE BRA

This is the part where he looks away! No, wait, this is the part where he looks at her! No, wait, this is the part where he looks at her, but not her chest, but still her arms and legs, but not her chest, but yes the wrestles, but, but-!

“Excuse me!”

Oh, so this is the part where he talks?!

“PleASe! Could you - ack! Couldyoupleasebecarefulwiththattop?” Which one of these huntresses has their hands on his back? Wait why are there three hands on his back?! “That was a gift from a friEEND! It’s very important to me! Please don’t rip it!!!”

Cool! Yes! That was the most important thing to straighten out! Good job, Hazel!!!

“Khan! Ma’am! Miss Khan! Is this ackpthpth, is this, really, the sort of hunt you want? It seeaaah, ah, seems a bit! Stacked! And IIIIII! Thought! Chase! Contest! Preferable???”

What is he saying?! Why is he saying?! Why is she licking her lips?!?!?!

“Good question,” says a huntresses from behind him, and he can feel the grin in her voice. ”Cutie~”

Oh.

Oh no

[Why, I do believe this is the first time Hazel has had a proper conversation with this, an important NPC. Which triggers Friendly Benefits. Khan Mikela takes another string on Hazel, and tell us one thing she finds attractive about him.]

Breathless Dead

Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits Esq! (Card pending)

Have you ever tried to stop a horde of escaping children mid-scramble?

Well, neither has he, and now doesn't seem like a great time to try, so, yes. Yes, we can have this conversation on the run, thank you for asking.

Have you ever seen a space sheep’s face light up like the sunrise?

Well, neither has he, come to think of it. So that makes two of you, twice. Now down to one of you for one of them. Because you've hardly gotten a few words out before those sheepy eyes are brightening, and despite the flames and too many children, a bit of the tension leaves his face.

Just a bit. Just a bit. He turns away to glance back at everyone following him. That's a lot of lives on his shoulders, you know. Sure, you say you might not be up to something, minus the something that you are up to, but he did just meet you earlier today. One ramen and one arcade visit doesn't prove much of anything. It really, really doesn't.

But between you and me? Proof may be a little overrated, where love is concerned.

“Then can you please get all of them out to safety? I can't take them to a battle.” Ah. Well. He says that. He does say that. But there is one child with her limbs hugged tight around him, and they all sink deeper into his wool as she desperately tightens her grip. “...I'll…find a safe place for this one. I can figure something out along the way. But please Kat, can you take care of the rest for me?”

Have you ever granted a space wish?

Breathless Dead

You don’t have to tell him twice. But he appreciates it, all the same.

“Everyone! Follow me!” His voice is whisper-quiet. His voice reaches every ear it’s meant for. With a child clinging to his back, Dolce leads them from the corpse.

Yes, everyone has a job to do. And he won’t ever regret the regret of there only being one Dolce. Ask him not to wish he could draw his sword with a knight, and you ask him to erase the whole of their friendship. It’s both or nothing. But tell him twice, before he thinks. There are words enough to forget himself, clever and poisonous words, and it’s best to stay far from them.

“I am sad.” She can hear it, can’t she? The divine wrath haunting their steps? Here’s something a little softer to listen to. “I’m sad, because she was sad. She gave us fresh crops year after year. She grew flowers, trees, birds, beasts, all sorts of beautiful things. She had a husband. She wanted a family and a home.” There’s more that could be said. Much more. But she’s not the one to be saying it to. “I’m glad she can’t hurt you anymore. I’m sad she died for that to happen.”

“Now, I am also hungry. We didn’t eat before coming here, and I’m afraid it’ll be well past dinnertime before we’re out. I’ll have to cook everyone something nice when this is all over.” That goes for you too, XVI. You’re everyone now, if you like. Though he hasn’t given much thought of what you are if you’re not, but he has it on good authority there will be a place for you outside these walls. A place that somebody made with you in mind, though they’d never met you, and may never meet you. He trusts they did a good job of it, and if they didn’t, there’ll be somebody on hand to make it better. Maybe even - no, but that’s for later.

They are in a burning palace, and he has to get them out.

Return to Thellamie

HEY

Stoppit! Stop that at once! You! He! He doesn’t care how many hands you lay on him he’ll just squirm them right off! Twist and tug and groan and squirm them right off! Riiiiiiiiiight off! Squirm and squirm and squirmity squirm squirm off!

Right! That’s it! You wanna cheat the foxboy? You wanna cheat the foxboy like the princess? (Princesses totally get cheated, that’s the only way anybody ever beats them, duh) You just let him go and let him get his heartblade back out and eep! get his heartblade o-ooh!! let him get his heart why!?! let hapskjuk?! go and let him hrkk-! get his squeak! heartbl ohmygoodness ade to to mmmpphhh!!! to show you o-oh, that, thigh go squish show you all wait hang on

The Khan takes his chin in her hand. Her big hand. Her hand that is big. Because of many much muscles. That’s why it’s big, silly. And! She is delighted to hold his chin. She is adoring to hold his chin. Adoring, hold, for chin, who wouldn’t, for Golden Faun chin? This is all proper and good and so it’s really weird that you’d call any of these huntresses disrespectful bet you didn’t think about that huh. A-and, he’s breathing in her face, actually. Oh! No! Not, mocking her! No mocking breathing here! That’d be rude! Feel how hot his breath is, can breath that hot be mocking? Didn’t think so. See, he’s breathing to get all the heat out, because he needs to get the heat out, or else he’ll burst into flames, and she’ll burn her hand, and that’ll be super embarrassing. She might even burn her other hand. If she’s got one.

“A-aww, you - eep! - you recognized me?” Now he’s speaking in her face! How about that! “And I thought no one in a…ahh…alll the Outside still remembered the Tale of Twin Tails.” Now he’s foxily smiling in her face! How about that! “Lucky me~”

Now he’s kissing in her face! On her mouth, specifically!

How about that.

When a foxboy doesn’t need to fuss with arms, hands, legs, standing, the next five minutes, that sure clears up a lot of room for kissing, huh? Between you and me and the Khan, he maybe doesn’t exactly know what he’s doing. But he has thought an awful lot about it. So when, for once, he’s the one doing the stealing, well, that’s the perfect opportunity to try, isn’t it? Not to smother. Not to overpower. Just. Glow. Give. Let a little hum flutter in his throat. Let the joy and fire bubble up from his chest and press it tenderly, clumsily to her lips. From a Prince-Princess to a huntress.

He really did want to finish that duel. Wasn’t it fun? Won’t you give him your name? Won’t you indulge him with one more dance?

Taste him, and know truth.

[Hazel takes a String, and gives one in turn.]

“The offer still stands, my brave khan.” He breathes. He whispers. Dangerously close. “And that makes two points for me~”

There is a glimmer in his eye. And his nose. And his triangles. And all both his tails. And his other eye. And

FWOOSH

And Hazel Valentine Fletcher’s mouth hangs open. Unable to speak another word.

(oh gosh i led her on)

[Rolling to Entice Khan Mikela: 5 + 5 - 1 = 9]

Breathless Dead

“I remember…bits of it.”

“We were flying on a shuttle through the Eater of Worlds. Chasing after Redana, of course. We were following the Armada’s own shuttles. They bombed it without hesitation. I’m not sure they even thought about it. The land, the people there, the life there. They had something more important on their minds. Well. More important to them. I think, if I could ask them about it, they wouldn’t even remember it, but if they did, they’d not understand why they would do anything different. Why it was even a question at all.”

Quietly now. For XVI’s sake.

“I saw it over and over again. People chasing dreams so grand they could ignore the people around them. Moving the stars for another’s sake without ever asking if they wanted them moved in the first place. I couldn’t understand why they did it. I wanted to know why they did it. I wanted to know how they could do it. Did you know; they always called it love? When really, it was never about anything but themselves.”

Quietly now. For the children’s sake.

“And still, they could change. Notice. Learn. Choose differently. Let go, bit by bit. It wouldn’t be easy. Wouldn’t be impossible either. But. Still. I wish, there could always be time…”

Quietly now. For a daughter’s sake.

“What a waste.”

One cut. Every joint. Dolce passes beneath Demeter’s throne, and there is a sword in his hand. Only when he returns to Dyssia’s side does he look back, and there is only pity for a goddess.

Had she loved her throne, then maybe-

No. Had she loved her throne, Demeter wouldn’t be here.

Breathless Dead

The next one sings in her cage.

”~please don’t don’t i’ll be good please i’ll be good don’t don’t no no no no no no~”

Her long limbs splay out in random directions, lying where they fell. Save for the twitching. Her eyes - yellow, sharp, familiar - struggle to focus on him. Her ears - big as her head - struggle to hold every sound in the Kennels. Her ribs stick out. Her expression is empty. Her notes are perfect.

“I’m here to get you out of here. I’m going to come in now, slowly.”

Dolce speaks in a soft whisper. She does not react.

Dolce turns the Master’s key. She does not react.

Dolce enters the dog’s cage. He does not stop.

“My name is Dolce. The palace is burning. I’m here to get you out of here.”

”~i’m a good girl~”

“I know you are. It’s going to be okay. I’m going to unlock your chains now-”

”~staying staying staying staying~”

“If you stay, you’ll burn to death. But that’s not going to happen.”

”~staying staying staying staying~”

“I came here with XIII.”

She stops singing.

“Do you remember her? She’s married now. I made her a big cake for it.” He reaches into his wool, plucks out a tiny, tiny bell, and lays it on the ground near her hand. “She gave me this. I think she’d like you to have one too.”

She closes her hand around it. Holds it up to her ear. Her trembling arm shakes it for her.

”~it’s so…soft…~”

Dolce unlocks the chains. She struggles to stand, and he offers his arm. She touches his wool with just a finger, like it’ll bite her if she lowers her guard. Then she throws herself on his back, clinging for all she’s worth, burying her face and ears into an impossibly soft, rich cloud.

Dolce takes a moment to steady her. Just a moment. And then he is off to the next one.

He crosses paths with the first one he freed. She’s got three of her siblings in tow, and heading for a fourth. Ahead, a gaggle of children are divided on whose door to unlock first. When he is done with them, they are split into two teams, with a few extra joining him; there’s a fellow with wings who might be out of reach for someone like him. No one struggles for too long before help is sent their way. No one stops and grinds all around them to a halt before he is kneeling beside them. No one, no one is forgotten.

Dolce carries XVI the entire way.

Breathless Dead

It would be easier to stab her.

Six and a half steps. Turn. There could be a sword in his hand, and if it is not drawn it makes no sound. Then forward, and through a goddess. And that would be that.

No breath may hitch. No muscle may twitch. No thought may be spoken, but must be cast down to boil in his belly with the rest of them. Wait. Observe. Listen. As he has done, all his life. Unheeded and undetected. Stand ready for the moment to act, and then do what needs to be done. Whatever it is. However long it takes. From now, until it is time, whenever it is time. Wait. Observe. Listen.

It would be easier to stab her.

No, he doesn’t know what would come after. No, he doesn’t know what he’d decide if Demeter deemed him able to choose. Those are just two things he doesn’t know. It’s a long list. Long enough that no one could argue that he deserves a say in the matter. And Dyssia! Dyssia is a good knight and a dear friend. She will follow her heart, and it is unthinkable that she will choose poorly. But Dolce of Beri has journeyed a long way. He’s seen the worlds above and below. He’s done a fair bit of seeing, and a lot more thinking, and here at the crossroads of Biomancy, Dolce of Beri wants his say.

But though other ideas might be easier, he waits.

He waits.

He waits.

He. Waits?

He does an awful lot of waiting. Doesn’t he.

Hrm. Hrmmm.

Hrm?

Oh.

Of all the times - of all the places! To almost forget! Observe! Bless you, Dyssia the Distracting, and may you never question your knighthood again! You

You’ve given him a say.

His say. The say, even.

Perhaps he ought to have thought a little more carefully about that list of things he didn’t know. Preferably before the path of the universe was laid on his shoulders. That would have been helpful, wouldn’t it? No, it probably wouldn’t. But it is something to think about that won’t crush him flat. He’s just one sheep, after all. How is he to decide what’s best for the universe? That is, in a more concrete way than. Well. Other ideas.

So. Yes. Deciding. After worlds above and worlds below, decide what becomes of that which made him and everyone he’s ever met. Better to let it burn, or is there something - anything - that deserves to be saved? That the world would be worse off for losing? Quickly now; the fire waits for no one. The irony of proving Demeter right at the last might be worse than choosing wrong. Come, listen to the tale of Dolce, who could be trusted with an assassin but not a decision.

…well. Hrm.

Demeter didn’t trust him with Authority. (Capital A, just like and not at all like Princess.) This decision, to her, required Authority. What one god does, no other god may undo, so she needed someone with Authority to decide to do it for her. To make a real Decision.

Dolce was not trusted with real Decisions.

Dolce was trusted with an assassin.

Assassins did not require real Decisions. According to her.

Another roar shakes the ground. He doesn’t know who it is from. But he knows what they are, straight away. And he sees another way out. For all of them.

Demeter wouldn’t trust him with Decisions. Why should he trust her Choice?

With a discrete sign for Vasilia to stay, Dolce silently walks through the door. Not the door, mind you. The door to the servant’s entrance. There’s always one, some way for everyone needed to keep the place running to get about without getting underfoot. Demeter might’ve used it herself, if she’d thought to look for it.