TheAmishPirate

Breathless Dead

-jingle jingle jingle-

Silver bells sing their song from Dolce’s curls, swaying gently from their strings.

There’s no breeze. No wind at all. The storm has passed through. All is quiet in its wake. Just a few little bells, singing gently, from a little sheep, swaying gently. Still upright, through smile and sword. Still upright, but don’t ask him how.

Dolce rips the paper from his notepad without a sound. Slow and steady. Along the line. Not a tear out of place. He folds it. Once. Twice. Thrice.

He pops it in his mouth. Munches without a trace of emotion.

Waste not and all that. Loose paperwork can cause all sorts of trouble.

“Vasilia? Could you pop over to one of the kitchens and fetch a few pots and pans? And perhaps some…food, of any kind? I think we may need some. Of those.”

“...mm? Oh. Yes. Yes of course, darling. I’ll just. Go and get those. And perhaps close some of the blast doors while I’m at it.”

“That seems wise.”

“Yes, it does, doesn’t it?”

“Right. Then, I’ll…over here?”

“Of course, of course.”

“Good.”

“Yes.”

Vasilia rises silently into the sky.

Dolce stays upright.

The bells sing on.

Return to Thellamie

As it turns out, Hazel is amply grounded, and needs no potions of any kind to carry on with the mission. Which he does. Right away. Just like he said he would.

It’s not like he was slacking off on purpose. Hard to focus on the mission when nobody’s told you what your part in it is, exactly. Or that everyone’s waiting on you before setting out. Heron’s in the room, he thought, it’s a reasonable assumption that she’d be taking the lead, and she hadn’t said anything yet, so, how was he supposed to know otherwise? (Whatever happened to those simple instructions?)

It’s been a long night. It’s not over by a long shot. But he’s doing his best. He’s focused. He’s out in front. His antlers? Glowing steady. (He doesn’t know what he’s doing.) His eyes? Flitting about the twisting landscape. (Any minute, his “employer” will shout at him for, for, for doing something wrong.) His legs? Skipping surely, swishing silk. (It’s coming. She won’t care. It’s coming.)

“Could you let me know when we get Outside? I mean, really Outside?” Keli is there. There to catch his hushed whisper. There with a smile. “I’m not quite sure what counts.”

Handmaidens!

You were Outside long ago.

The light of the Golden Fawn has led you down a path. Presumably. Well, he has led you, that bit is pretty clear. But presumably there’s a path he’s walking, and the rest of you have walked in his stead. Here’s hoping it’s the path you wanted.

Cair, your employee has not spoken to you unless you’ve spoken to him first. There’s a tightness in him, a tension, when he replies. (He thinks he’s hiding it. He’s not doing a good job of it.) His answers are proper. His attitude is diligent. His smile is nowhere to be seen.

He has spoken to the twins. He’s speaking to them right now. To his credit, he has not observed any bouncing. He has studiously not observed any bouncing. Very focused, he is. Very relaxed.

You can see his tail flicking at his dress.

Just thought you should know.

[Hazel is Defying Disaster with Radiance. He’s putting himself out there, being brave, taking a big steppy as best as he can with full knowledge that this may go horribly wrong, for him. He risks looking like a useless goober who can’t take care of himself. In short, he is risking his dignity: 2 + 2 + 5 = 9]

Breathless Dead

(Just) Yue!

There is a sheepboy.

Ordinarily, this would not be worth mentioning. Oh! Not because sheepboys aren’t worth mentioning! Because they are! For all sorts of reasons that you definitely don’t have time to get into, not on a morning where you’re dealing with monsters full of monsters and also a tricky cup of tea. Come to think of it, that’s why it wouldn’t be worth mentioning in the first place. There’s sheep, and there’s boys, and there’s sheep who are boys, and there’s boys who are sheep, and they’re all quite lovely in their own ways but not really the sort of thing to pay attention to when there’s a monster full of monsters you’ve got to contend with. But! This one! This one came out with all the other monsters, so onto the Mentioning List he goes.

Hmm. Perhaps not very high on the Mentioning List, all the same. He’s not doing much of anything. Well, he’s watching, and he’s listening, and that’s two things, and two’s not really a much sort of number most of the time. Especially when those are two things sheeps tend to do a lot of. He is very much like a sheep, isn’t he?

Except. Hrm.

He is very much like a sheep, but very much like and is a aren’t really the same thing, are they? Sheeps aren’t ever as still as he is. Not ever. Not even when they’re scared. Not even when a wolf’s about, and Hyra did apologize about that but she was smiling an awful lot when said it so you apologized to the poor sheep too, just in case. No, this isn’t a very sheep-like stillness at all. It’s, ummmmmm. Hrm.

It’s like a fox about to pounce, but gentle? But slow? A slow pounce. Somebody who is ready to spring into sheepish action, which typically moves at a reasonable bumble.

No, no, he’s only very much like a sheep, isn’t he?

Perhaps, perhaps this is how this sort of monster hides?

Anyway! Watch out, Just Yue! Don’t let that sheepboy sneak his way off the List! And don’t let the cute little vest distract you! Or the little pad of paper he’s writing on! Or the curly wool! That one should be easy! Whatever he’s been grazing on, his wool is not nearly as thick as any sheep or sheepboy you’ve ever seen! Maybe that means he’ll be more amenable to snacks! Instead of butt kickings!

Anyway! He’s got a little sword too! So! No distractions!

Return to Thellamie

This has become a difficult situation.

Difficult for what? Yes.

Hazel protests, of course. It’s probably a protest. It was almost certainly supposed to be a protest, before he was smothered in softness. If you examine the muffled squeak, really dial into the bit where it trails off into near-inaudible mush, you’re bound to find some protest. Promise.

It’s warm. It’s soft. Did he mention soft? It’s so soft. Soft all the way down to the heartbeat pulsing against his cheek. And flowers. And spices. Not more intense? But. Different. Mingling. So, so warm...

Hazel pushes away, of course. He almost gets far enough away to take a breath before Keli pushes him back in, pushes him deep, teasing his curls with her fingertips which just so happens to knead him in, in, in, and, and! Whispering right in his ears, delicate little shooshes with an indulgent trill, and anything and everything he can say melts into dazed murmurs against her skin.

(He ran the numbers. A silly boy in close proximity to this foxgirl faced a higher than normal chance she will cuddle, kiss, or teasingly touch as the whim took her. He was right. It’s happening. Oh gosh. It’s happened, and it’s happening. (Creep.))

Somebody remembers that he can’t stay here forever. It’s probably not him.

“Abwuh…?” (He does not need to pretend very much.) Ah, it’s Alcideo who remembered. Good Alcideo. Good friend. Good support. Thank you for the shoulder, he’s lost track of his feet.

Sorry, what was that?

What?

What???

“Deugh?”

(He does not need to pretend at all.)

“What?” His head is going to pop. His head is going to catch fire, and then explode, in front of Heron, and she will probably have to use some ancient relic of terrible power to put him back together again. “No. What? She? She doesn’t, no, it’s not, she’s just. What? Why? What?!”

And then, when the sputtering stops,

“Um. What…makes you say that?”

Breathless Dead

Dolce enjoys a simple day at the beach. It’s a complicated technique.

Step one: Dig a hole.

Step two: Sit in the hole.

Step three: Enjoy the company.

It is a good vacation. Much-needed, for a body recently put back together. Gives the rest of him a chance to do the same.

“Almost.” The birds perched in his wool don’t so much as ruffle a feather as he speaks. This, too, is a complicated technique. For experts only. “The wording is the tricky part, yes? With all the stories of wishes gone wrong, and with all the time we’ve had, there’d be no excuse if we fumbled it here. There’s a few little details I have to iron out too. Prayers to make. Work to double-check. That sort of thing.”

Before them, the sea stretches to the horizon, stretches to meet fluffy clouds lazily drifting across the sky. Gentle waves lap at the shore, keeping silence at bay.

“Though, there’s a risk of making it too perfect, isn’t there? A temptation? You have the opportunity to ask something of a god, and it may not be hubris, because a god is doing it on your behalf. That’s an awful lot of power. An awful lot of things you could ask for. Things you could set right. It makes it…tricky, to see where the line is.”

Before him, infinite possibilities teem in the depths. Beyond him, the stars, the Skies.

Below him, a pair of kindly eyes and a curious tongue.

“Perhaps that’s why the gods don’t give out wishes very often.”

Dolce smiles with his whole face.

“Aren’t we lucky?”

Return to Thellamie

Oh. Keli Hugs. How could he miss you so badly, and not know it until he was wrapped up tight? Silliness, probably. Catastrophic goofballery. Terminal lack of thinkies. That sort of thing. “Oh Keli. It turns out running a ball for half of Thellamie is a little trickier than it sounds.” He hides a laugh behind a sigh and squeezes her back in gratitude.

(They. Um. They had never looked so. So. Um. Haaaa. Sharp? Sharp. Good, and sharp. He’ll get the adjective right when his heart quits fluttering against her.)

What does he make of the assembled company? Well…

For one, Heron.

For two, Heron.

For three, Heron.

For four, Heron!!!

For five, he now knows what it’s like to be an NPC watching the adventuring party go through one of those optional skits between missions. If it was anyone else, he would have serious questions as to whether or not this mission was a good idea. Instead, he only has mild to moderate questions.

For six, seriously, why didn’t they just mention this was for Heron?! Could’ve saved everyone a lot of trouble!

For seven, he’s pretty sure he got the curse off Rurik. As best as he can tell. He did feel a little tingle when he forgave him earlier. He hasn’t fallen asleep again since. That’s a good sign. Hopefully. Though maybe he should keep forgiving him in his head, just to be safe. Not for the first time, he wishes this amulet came with an instruction manual.

For eight, there’s an odd, familiar comfort, sitting in the midst of Foxgirl Fighting. Worlds better than being near the wrath of the Khatun. (Yuki really did get the angy voices exactly right.)

For eight, these are all folks that Heron relies on. He’s had one evening with them. She’s had more adventures than he could ever hope to count. Whatever questions he’s got, she wouldn’t have brought them along if she didn’t trust them.

For nine, Sayanastia?!?

Breathless Dead

Dyssia!

There is a stirring, deep in your coils.

“It’s okay. It helped me put my thoughts in order.”

Scales sensitive to heat, to pressure, to vibration, to moisture, all work in concert to paint you a picture of whatever little creature you’ve got wrapped up tight. He’s drawing full breaths now. His throat’s a bit scratchy. His face is dry. His arms are wrapped tight around a book, his copy of the ancient instructions, hugging it to his chest with what strength he’s got. All the rest of him is obediently limp.

“I wish I could stay here.”

All of him burns. Or has been burning. Or has burnt. It’s difficult to tell.

“I wish I’d found this place and these people sooner.”

He will not run. He cannot struggle. If released, he would stay where he fell. This is a creature run down to exhaustion. This is a creature who knows their place.

“All of this is for the sake of the prisoners here. All of it is for them. But they’re not supposed to stay here forever. They get to leave. It wouldn’t be right, otherwise.”

“Not everybody can leave, or run away to someplace better. Not everybody can build a home where they’ve been born. Please, if you can, could your wish account for those people too?”

He is remembering.

He is wishing.

He is burning.

The conclusion is so obvious, perhaps your tail is already at work. A coil or two around sheep and book to take the strain off his arms. Gentle squeezes all over, slowly working up and down. He must be kept here. He must be held tight. He must never think he is alone.

Return to Thellamie

The contract couldn’t possibly be enforceable. Nevermind that it was an agreement under duress, but it wasn’t even much of an contract. Technically speaking, it was a handmade sign that a random foxgirl in an oversized coat held up as he was passing. Yes, he did what the sign said, and yes, he received the promised magical relic, and yes, it was from the goddess of civilization, and yes, it did get him out of the situation(s) as promised, but still! Handmade sign! Random foxgirl! Passing hi-five! Obviously a silly fox being a silly fox. Up to shenanigans, schemes, and possibly some hijinks. And anyway the sign said terms were negotiable and every day he’s checked his DMs and every day there’s been nothing and so he’s in the clear.

This logic was theoretically sound. Ironclad. Unassailable. In practice?

…oh gosh, do Aestivali have their own debt collectors? It’d make sense, right? How else would Keli and Seli have hoped to get my wallet if I’d just refused back in Crevas? How would they get anything from anyone if their target could just call them out on a trick and leave? Or maybe it’s a curse? Ghostly foxes who come after you unless you skip town and change your name? No, Yuki would’ve told me about that. Unless…?

“Oh, yes, I do remember the debt. Haven’t forgotten, I just, didn’t have your contact information, and it’s been a bit of a busy few weeks, so I haven’t been able to get in touch with you.” Spiced cider, give him strength! “What sort of job is it, exactly? This isn’t a great time, I might not be able to help out right away, depending on the job. If I just vanished now, half of Thellamie would come chasing after me. Not very conducive to getting jobs done.”

“Oh! And, fair warning, you may want to be careful with that club. If you attack me, I’m pretty sure you’ll be wrapped up in chains, put to sleep, and/or otherwise cursed. Not really able to stop that right now,” he adds apologetically. See? He’s being reasonable! Helpful! There’s no need for aggressive negotiating tactics. Or foxgirl loan sharks. Or foxgirl loan ghosts.

Breathless Dead

Vasilia isn’t here, and that took some doing. By oratorical flourish, direct orders, and some bribery, she admitted that the care her husband deserved required her to take the occasional break. There are no shortage of volunteers to cover for her.

He sleeps well in Redana’s presence. He watches her rides through the viewports, following the fastest star in the sea. He watches her draw. He listens to the stories behind every sketch. He eats from her hand. He rests by her side.

He is quieter these days. Odd, isn’t it? That you could expect noise from Dolce, and stumble on the silence. But there it is. He is fine. He is well, considering the circumstances. He is not upset. He is not in pain. Just. Quiet.

“We could have never left.”

The observation comes unprompted. It has nothing to do with the intricacies of heroic tea parties. Maybe.

“The Starsong didn’t have to arrive when they did. Tellus didn’t have to have a ship you could commandeer. We wanted to go. We were blessed with the choice.”

His gaze stretches far. He sees the platforms. He sees the pipes. He sees the scraps, the only ones with orbits stable enough to remain. He sees the tiny sheds, tucked away in the tangle, where ancient tools still wait for their owners’ return. He sees a yellow dot, and he sees planets in the distance, so few of them left, and he sees, he sees, he sees. His mouth works, silently, as he struggles to put words together. His little chest heaves.

“That was my wish. Starting out. That everyone would have the same chance we did. Leave. Go. Find someplace, find people, get away. Get away, if they needed to. That was my wish. But I had to let it go, along the way.”

He finds Redana. It takes some doing.

“I don’t think it should get lost. I don’t know if somebody ought to find it. Don’t, don’t forget. Please. Don’t forget…”

Return to Thellamie

There’s a music sharing scene here? How? Oh, how does that even work? Tablets don’t have any sort of audio mixing abilities, so, no, hold on, how well could a tablet record the audio from another tablet? Has anyone tried that yet? Or is it all just people recording neat sounds and songs they make?

He’s never been a part of a scene before. Always thought it sounded like fun, a bunch of folks sharing art back and forth and everywhere, building, experimenting, sometimes making garbage but sometimes making good garbage. Never knew how someobdy joined one, though. They never seemed to be happening where he was, and nobody was writing down where they were or how to get in.

No. He doesn’t know. Who’s winning. Whether tonight succeeded in any way. How to salvage it. How to keep the next trial - because he can’t just declare a winner off tonight, he just can’t - from becoming a repeat of the first. What he could’ve done better. Where Yuki was. Where Juni was. Where Eclair was. Where Suli was. How to help Olesya. How to get into a scene. What he’ll tell Deo when he comes back in a few minutes, expecting him to know at least a few of those things.

Although. Well.

Hrm.

He does know. Where the door to the backways would be, if the new Chrysthanemum was anything like the old. Which rooms the highest guest of honor would be in. Who he has to thank for his brooch.

No, no, no, he doesn’t know if someone can just waltz up to a goddess and ask for advice. Well, no, not any goddess, but Civelia? Civelia. Civeliaaaaaaaaa. He did know of a story or three about average folks happening to chat with her, and walking away with some blessing or wisdom or shiny magical artifact that was just the thing they needed. Suli knew how deep a bow to make before a goddess, where someone ought to stand, what sorts of greetings would be appropriate, and he’d taken pretty careful notes. (Green notebook, maybe a third of the way through, starting from the bottom half of the page.) That’s not something you’d know if approaching Civelia for help was completely unheard of.

Him. Approaching Civelia. Him!!!

Of course, you know, it would be wildly irresponsible, and possibly panic-inducing, for the Golden Fawn to up and vanish into thin air on such an important and kidnap-happy night. Unthinkable. Couldn’t be done.

So he makes sure to write a short note to Deo, and then vanishes into thin air via the secret staff door.