TheAmishPirate

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-CLANG!-

A suggestion of a sword strikes a mountain. The impact carries down his arm. The note lingers in his ears, louder than her blade pounding the earth. The blow will land a step away from where she meant it to. Just as he will step, and untwist from the parry, and she will not have a hand free to stop him. She will fall. He will soar.

All flowing from that one, beautiful clang.

It will not be enough to end this. It cannot be enough to end this. The stab is full of joy, of thrill, of light, of hunger. The pounding heart that courses through her has yet to drink its fill. It cannot be enough to end this. She will still be awake.

She will hear his laugh.

“Another!”

The grin is full of teeth and triumph, breath and bite.

“Let’s have another dance, khan!”

The boy, the body, the blade, flickering, flicking, feverish

“Come on! The hunt’s still young!”

[Rolling to Entice the wolfgirl: 2 + 3 - 1 = 4, a foxy number]

Breathless Dead

On the run, Dolce scoops up a satchel off the ground. It’s ragged and patchwork, which means that it’s not standard issue. The strap is torn, which means it’s been dropped. It was laying in a hallway, which means the owner didn’t have a chance to come back for it. He has no idea what’s inside, but he can think of no more precious treasure to rescue from the burning palace.

Also he and Vasilia are wearing a pair of dashing hats. She may have scooped them up. They might be some of Cyanis’ spares, the ones she felt weren’t right for the moment. But how else is Nero to know that a pair of pirates are plundering her precious possessions?

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Give up? Toss his heartblade into the mud? Let her get those big, grizzled hands on his soft soft cheeks?

That’s a horrible idea! The worst idea! Shame on you Ma’am! You are not helping, not even a little bit. What’d he ever do to you, huh? To anyone? Ever? And yet this is how you treat a poor, imperiled foxboy, bravely putting both of his tails on the line for a noble cause. Shame! Shame on youuuuuuuuu!!!

Why is it such a bad idea I’m so glad you asked. Judges, deduct one Shame Point from the mystical fox lady’s account. So: If she catches him, then she’s not going to be distracted anymore. If she’s not distracted anymore, she might notice what’s going on inside the castle. If she notices what’s going on inside the castle, she might swing-swing-pound dodge cancel into thrust-thrust-backspin all over everybody, and - last he checked - nobody has flasks of any kind! Keli and Seli don’t look like they’ve invested much in Vigor at all! It’d be a disaster!

Hrm? What’s that?

Well. No, he’s not. Exactly thinking of all that while he yipfully dives away moments before he’s pounded flat. There’s an awful lot of heartblade here for one comparatively tiny foxboy. Lottttttta complex mathematics, working at that scale. And, you know, it takes so much thinking to manage two tails at once, so, there’s not really that much room in his noggin left for long-term planning, yah? Erm, yeah?

But! But! That doesn’t mean he’s not focused on the mission! He’s so focused on the mission! He’s been doing such a good job with the mission! Right from the start, when he emerged from the grass, tails shining, glittering void of a blade in hand, gazing over his shoulder at her. Inviting her. Enticing her. Asking her, with flutter and swish, are you satisfied just watching the hunt? Is he satisfied just watching the chase? Why must we be left wanting, hm~?

And! Eep! And he’s kept her attention ever since! All of it! Maybe there’s been less sneaking than intended, and the swishes have been more incidental, but you’d better believe there’s been plenty of scamper and sword! Even though he can’t close the distance. Even though he can’t outrun her. Even though his plain heartblade can do little more than clang uselessly against her giant slab of a weapon. He’s still got her attention! He’s still on his feet!

He!

Is not!

Dwaugh!!!

Easy!!!!!!!

[Rolling to Defy Disaster with Daring: 4 + 5 + 0 = 9. Hazel is risking his pride. The pride of a foxdeerboy who keeps hearing that he’s too silly, too naive, too weak to do anything right.]

Breathless Dead

Dolce doesn’t mean to eavesdrop. He never does. He’s not supposed to. He’s required to. Someone might want to know what their guests said under their roof. But, he, doesn’t mean to. He doesn’t mean to. He can’t not. He just hears. Always. And people rarely explicitly say when something’s not meant for you to hear. You have to pick it up by context clues. Then think as hard as you can about some little snatch of song you heard once, fill up all your mental bandwidth, so that hopefully none of it sticks in your memory, except everything sticks in your memory, but that doesn’t mean you have to make it easy for yourself-

Point being: He heard everything. Sorry Kat.

If it makes you feel any better, he also heard everything.

First, the slow breaths. In. Hold. Ouuuut. Then, countless bodies rise to their feet. Doors open. Voices rise. Not as many as you might think. Swords thunk against their pegs. Swords ring, just a little, out of their sheaths. Then clap back in. Many feet walk. They patter, uneven, steady, like rain kissing the ground. Here and there, tears fall. Here and there, hands clasp. Arms hold. Songs hum.

Foxgirls giggle.

They do not speak at all. They simply are.

No talk with a Supreme Leader could have made him understand; the whole thing was doomed from the start. The letter of apology won’t be nearly as long as he thought it would either. It wasn’t needed. Dolce breathes in the cocktail of biological dominance he was built for. Sees the world he was born for. Breathes out…

Vasilia catches him before his legs buckle and he hits the ground a second time. Scoops him up to her shoulders. Steadies him, hand in hand.

“Tell me what you see.” She begs.

Dolce tells her everything. Even as the helicopter takes them to the skies.

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Two cats, two foxes, and a shiny fox crawl up to a castle. Stop me if you’re heard this one.

Or don’t, they all have to stop here anyway. They’re close now. Close enough to make out with the final obstacle between them and all the other obstacles. If it weren’t for all eyes on the hunt, they’d have been spotted long ago. But, well, you don’t get to be a khan by not noticing the funny way the grass moves out the corner of your eye while the rest of your eye is watching a fox expertly hop circles around your hounds.

Someone’s got to do something. A brave someone. A competent someone. A someone who doesn’t need to be told the obvious, ever. Because they know a thing or two about a thing or two. And they are, reliable sources say, really pretty.

“I can distract her while the rest of you get inside.” No jokes. No show. A little bit of fun, yes, can’t forget that. But no jokes. “By the time we’ve drawn heartblades she’ll have called the huntresses back - probably with a horn or something - and then we’ll need someone to come rescue us. Highly embarrassing. Better one of us get her attention, and the rest of us deal with whatever surprises are waiting inside. Besides,” and you, dear Yuki, get a Fluffy Fox Smile, all for you. Don’t spend it all in one place. “Isn’t saving maidens and reuniting lovers a knight’s job?”

He knows what you’re thinking: Hazel, my sweet, how can one foxboy get an entire Khan to leave her post? Surely you’ll be caught in a flash, and then she’ll spot everyone else, and then it’s the horn and the capturing and the embarrassment? Why are you so confident that you, who’s never been a distraction before in his life, can pull this off?

Tsk, tsk tsk~

Easy: He’s not gonna get caught! He’s gonna scamper, and sneak, and swish, and sword, and she’s not gonna catch him! Bing bong so simple! She’s not gonna pounce and bear him to the ground! She’s not gonna pin him helpless beneath all those muscles! She’s not gonna trap both his little wrists in one very big hand and use the other very big hand to cup his very very little chin and breathily growl in his earsies as she interrogates and savors her delicious new boytophy! Trophy! Magical Prince Princess! So! You know! It’s totally fine!!! Not a problem at all, for anybody!!!

Breathless Dead

Dolce trips on the threshold, and falls hard to the ground.

A thousand thousand channels surge to bursting. A thousand thousand channels spill not a drop beyond their carved banks. The void has a name, and it is emptiness. The heavens open upon a Synnefo. Gift of the Empress. Prize in flesh and heart. Ears to hear. Eyes to see. Wool to touch. Softness to clutch. Faithful, ever faithful, to serve. To vanish. Never be seen. Never be minded. Never miss.

His hand breaks the soil and makes of it an anchor. He pushes. He heaves. The mud clings to his knees, the storm beats at his back, every breath drives command into his lungs, and still he rises. Knee. Hooves. Step. Step. Stepping. Stumbling. Running. After heroes, princesses, knights, and wife, eyes locked on the flickering future before them.

He offers neither prayer nor apology. All he has is a burning coal pressed deep, deep in his heart.

No. You. Don’t.

Not again.

Not ever again.

So comes Dolce of Beri, to the end of his journey.

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Well! He’ll have you know, his snout doesn’t un-hmmph that easily! You have done him a grave and terrible insult, Yuki. Your wickedness has wounded the heart of a precious, innocent, floofy foxy fellow, and it will take more than just sweet words to make this right!

Now, if could you just-yes, ohhhh, yes, nice and cozy and snug with that tail. And he’ll just, with a wiggle, and a scoot, get himself properly nestled on your lap. Tails go, yes, mmmmmmm, yes, you are the perfect size for a pair of soft, fluffy tails to wrap around. You may start brushing them at any time. Or maybe some scritchies? You know, not a single soul has ever scritchied him, ever?

What was he saying? Oh! Right! He is very cross with you, and can remain very cross with you, even when preening and proud and (really!!!) pretty and purring. Yeah, that’s right! Foxboys can purr! Just you watch! And also listen!

---

You ask Hazel?

You ask sweet, pure, innocent little Hazel?

“I surely don’t have any ideas.”

A glance is shared - shared most generously - between all foxes able to use their words.

“But I know someone who will~”

Why are we looking at you like that, Inara?

We are looking at you - precious Inara, beautiful Inara, captivating Inara - because of all the foxy boys and all the foxy girls and all the foxy folks in all the foxy lands, you are the most eye-catching, irresistible Fox of them all! Ever! Now, yes, he doesn’t know exactly who you are. Even with your dragon-tussle, it’s a little tricky to pin down beyond a VIF, who is also a VMF, and probably also a VFF. And yet! He can recognize just how brilliant and beautiful and skilled and maidenly you are! Such is your power! And we can’t forget that you already have proven experience making the biggest, baddest wolves chase their tails silly.

So. Inara. We don’t need to be asking us much of anything, no? You’ve got this alllllll well in hand, yes?

Go on, then. Tell us how you keep all those eyes on you. With both paws tied behind your back~

Breathless Dead

Redana is leaping, halting herself on one foot after Hades’ shove, springing forward with no plan other than to help. Dyssia is rising, hovering, coiling the length of her tail in a perimeter around the group, that no enemy could lay hands on them faster than she. Bella is staring, eyes widening, a truth dawning.

Dolce looks.

Hades, bleeding, lost. Persephone, armed, steady. Aphrodite. Aphrodite. Aphrodite. Cursing. Screaming. One-armed. Smokeless. Distracted.

Dolce.

Dolce looks.

Breathless Dead

When all of this is done - now, that is going to be tricky to figure out, huh? There’s an awful lot of all that needs done-ing. They’ll have to sort out what counts and what doesn’t. Which feels like cheating? But it’s just how it’s gotta be. Suppose it’s best to say that once everybody else has done all they will, and a sheep has done all he will, and he finally, finally has a chance to sit down with a nice cup of tea and nothing else to contend with, then we’ll call it all done. Okay? Okay. So when we do get there, he’s going to add a little letter-writing to his tea-sipping. He’s got some things to say to the Supreme Ruler, and given how their last meeting went, it’ll be a lot easier to herd those words in his own sheepy time. More questions, too. Maybe an invitation to another teatime, with less breakdowns and less letter-writing.

But that’s later. When it’s all done.

Right now, sheeps aren’t thinking about letters, Supreme Rulers, or evil space. No. Dolce finds enough spring in his step to tug Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits Esq. (card pending) towards the spot where Hera is. (Can she even see Hera? He is also not thinking about that.)

“Kat, I’d like to introduce you to someone very, very important to me-”

---

Dolce laughs.

It’s like he’s crying, at first. Or choking. Little flights of breath escaping through his nose, hardly making a noise, yet enough to shake his whole body. Then, deeper, much deeper. A sound that bounces about his chest, rumbling all the way up a goddess’ finger. She cannot stop the smile from breaking across his face. Soon, she cannot stop him at all. He cannot stop him at all, not even when he tucks his mouth behind his hands, but at least the giggles are a smidge more polite. Not that such things matter. Not here. Nor does it matter that his laughter is quiet, that it makes his voice crack, that a wheeze from a sheep sounds definitively bleatish.

It simply is.

“You know?” Someone so woolly ought to have an advantage in wiping teary eyes. They really ought to. “I thought it couldn’t be that simple? Because, surely, there’d been much brighter minds working at it, and if the answer was that obvious they’d had figured it out by now?”

Come. Come. Get over here, Hera. Here’s an adoring hug from a sheep who can cover far more with his tiny arms than words ever could. Hestia, it’s going to be a race to see who can get who the first, which is a little unfair with you being a goddess and all, and wouldn’t you consider letting him win? Just this once? Don’t worry, you’ll get a happy bonk of his floofy head regardless. Artemis, he is approaching you purposefully, stopping at a respectable distance, and offering a hearty handshake. You may take it if you like, use it to pull him in for a surprise hug, or give him a medium five, to keep him on his toes. There’s not thinking, and then there’s not thinking, you know?

“Those are a lot of big questions,” he says with a sniff. “It. Might be nice to. Take a little time? Before I answer?” And he will answer! That’s why he said so. Which might be against the spirit of things, but, well. Give him credit for not saying all that out loud.

It’s been a long road getting here.

---

Dolce looks. Curiously. From his seat in the truck bed.

There’s not a lot of room, but Dolce doesn’t take much room, so it all works out. Highly compressible, sheeps. They actually like that sort of thing, don’t you know. Squished snugly between wife and princess and knight, well! If there’s a better way to travel, he certainly doesn’t know it.

His tale is a little…basic. But it’s the one that comes to mind. It’s the one that’s top of his heart right now.

You see, far away, there is a world called Bitemark. It’s been known by a lot of other names, and almost known by many more, but to the people who lived there, it’s always been Bitemark. And on the coastline, there sat a patchwork little town called Beri, with a patchwork sort of people. They worked hard. They were worked hard. They felt the teeth of wolves. They hid in the shadow of Empire.

Would you like to know their names? Would you like to know their days?

Then listen. For a little chef in a medium kitchen met all sorts…

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Oh! Oh Yuki why didn’t you tell him this is what we were doing? You haven’t any trouble telling him the obvious, you could have slipped that little tidbit in too. He wouldn’t have minded! He doesn’t even mind now! He is a professional! No no, there’s no need to say it now. He reads you loud and clear.

No gasps when the Golden Fox grants your wish? No applause for a private, exclusive show? Blithe disregard for shining pearls of Fox Wisdom? Yes, he understands you perfectly.

Step one: Turn up his snout with a toss of his fluffy curls and a dignified hmph!

Step two: Stand up. Again.

Step three: Spin dress. Again.

Step four: Swish tails. Again.

Step five: Did you see the tails, Little Miss Yuki? Did you see them this time?

Step six: You see he’s not sure you’re looking properly.

Step seven: They’re so fluffy! And shiny! And two of them!

Step eight: Here; he’ll graciously sit on your silly little self. So you won’t miss a thing.

Step nine: “As I was saying: You’d tell me though, wouldn’t you, Deo-kun~?”

Step ten: Swish tails. Fox face. Again.