Toxic Love: The Exalt Oracle

[beleos]

NOTHING GOES OFF WITHOUT A HITCH

You feel it, the moment that the Exalt oracle opens its eyes, like something that rips through your body from head to toe, something that feel like fire, wild. It sears into your veins, like acid and fire, something that triggers something that makes you want to run, or perhaps turn and face something head on. Before you can find what sets you off – if you could find it. Bearers know what this sensation is, it is different but the same at its core. The emotions, the feelings it sparks are different – but in the end, you know it for what it is: An Oracle.

Kenos groans from the awakening, like a part of a whole sparks to life, and though you do not know what it is that they want yet, you understand and know their existence down to your core. That feeling to attack or defend, perhaps even flee, does not leave you, but instead it fills your veins, you feel it thrumming, pulsing, like the beat of a heart – if one has one. With the sense of awakening, bearers know the shape of what comes next, they will be asked to act, to do. You do not know how it will happen, or what the Exalt will ask of you, but the knowledge that it will happen is borne from experience, not from the Oracle itself.

As you begin to move, to… look, you are not long for this day, it clouds your mind, a hazy, drowsy feeling takes over, the encroaching dark that threatens to swarm, crowding from the sides, taking over your vision – until… it fully takes over, and Bearers are put into a deep slumber.

---

When bearers awaken, it’s difficult to make sense of what your sleepy eyes see. Structures begin to swim into view, and they like tall figures looking down upon you. It’s difficult to tell what they are at first, but as you wake up, you begin to see, they are not people, or creatures, but long spore-like stalks. Some have ribbed overgrowths that you can see, and some end in growths that ripple and hang over, but have no “cap”. They tower over the bearers, like towering spires and buildings, on all sides, as if they were trapped in a ring of them. As bearers look around them they will notice tall green spires around them as well, and it takes a moment for things to really settle in. Mushrooms. Blades of grass. The springy moss about them is almost as tall as they are, low to the ground. There are pebbles that appear as boulders, and the thunderous steps nearby indicate an insect or arachnid walking by, far larger than you. There is a stillness to this space, like a held breath, and as the bearers awake, and regard one another, and then to the center of the circle is – a small effigy in the center.

It is here, the Exalt Oracle, and you feel compelled to regard it, before you are given a pang down to your core. It compels you – pleads, asks, begs, and demands, all in one – for what it wishes for. Precious mementos and precious items that they are missing. They have been lost, and they are somewhere within the Liosachán. It beseeches the bearers to return its items, and begs they be returned here to the circle. There are no words, but there is a pleading sensation, a feeling that these items are treasured by this Oracle.

You feel at your sides, your pockets, and find one item on your person, a weapon, a companion, whatever it is you would bring with you to the conflict, shrunk down to a tiny size with you.

Stay steadfast, bearers, and capture the flag Oracle!

SURVIVAL OF THE SMALLEST ( DAYS 1 - 5 )

Unlike the still, stale apocalypse that had been the setting of the Iconoclast Oracle, the greenhouse is lush and vibrant with activity.

The Effigy present within yearns to be reunited with what belongs to it, fixated upon the five items lost within the greenhouse. The swell of its longing fills all Shardbearers, urging them to take action, claim the items and present all five to it to attain victory for that Faction.

Over a period of ten days, Shardbearers of both factions will have to navigate environmental dangers, and the normal procession of time, as the greenhouse is going about its daily routine. Workers plod around like towering goliaths, weeding and watering and pruning the greenhouse's contents. The Liosachán's native population of fae begin to take notice of the newcomers in their midst, emerging from grassy mounds hidden in the natural landscape to spy and pry about the newness surrounding them.

Naturally curious, and equally dangerous, the fae of the Liosachán are Highstorm natives. They range in cool coloration, from soft violet-greys to deep stormy blues, and wear clothes fashioned from of goods pilfered from the pockets of workers, dropped on the ground or handcrafted from the environment itself. Wielding bits of copper tightly wound into blades and spears, they are a ferocious and cunning little people who seek to trick, trap and toy with Shardbearers. Direct violence is anathema to them, but violence that happens as a result of falling to one of their ploys is a badge of honor.

DAY ONE - THREE. The Effigy initially urges Shardbearers to build bases of operation for defense and practicality, as surviving ten days without supporting one another is a surefire way to meet a grisly, tiny little end. Resources must be gathered: gather food and water, prepare shelter, establish unity and organization and prepare to set off into the wilds soon.

For Shardbearers demonstrating particular selflessness, favoring the protection and defense of another, the Effigy responds warmly from the third day onward — rewarding them with a sign of their dutiful nature towards others in the form of fairy wings, the form of which are unique to the Shardbearer themselves.

DAY FOUR. The sudden thunderous sound of a storm begins. No, not a storm, the tumble and crash of water pouring down upon the greenhouse — the workers of the Liosachán perform their routines faithfully, after all. In watering the garden, the danger of the environment threatens to overtake Shardbearers and their work alike. Drops of water fall, their size equal or larger than even the tallest of characters, and trickles of water muddy the ground in the form of raging rapids.

The security of Meridian and Zenith's camps is even called into question, because as simple as the act of watering a garden is, it is a nightmarish situation for such itty bitty Bearers to be in!

DAY FIVE. By day five, the fae of the Liosachán no longer lurk and linger in the corner of one's eye. They make themselves known, having prepared a banquet below one of the mushrooms, within sight of the Effigy. A table draped in spider-silk lace awaits any Bearer who comes near enough, the sagging piece of driftwood polished to a gleam with golden sap, leaving it waterproofed and pretty to behold. A handful of corks serve as seating, with most of the fae draping themselves across scraps of cotton as though they are simply at a picnic.

They invitingly wave to Shardbearers, chattering brightly in their foreign, lilting tongue, waving tiny sandwiches and little clay pots full of jams and honeys, brandishing sugared berries that they bite into with gusto, staining their arms and faces in swathes of blue and red. They clearly are welcoming to whomever comes upon them, urging them to avail themselves to the bounty they have prepared. Perhaps some characters know better than to eat the food of the fae, recalling legends and lore about the mystical properties and implicit bargains made in becoming a guest. Perhaps some have no idea, and are simply hungry enough to dig in!

UNWILLING TEN-ANTS ( DAYS SIX - EIGHT )

The scuttling, scrabbling feet of ants crawling over surfaces, winding their way through this grassy playground, has become normal. Their feet thunder as they go about their business, and it seems to be a normal cadence to life here in the underbrush, in the greenhouse. It is normal, and it is has become nothing to really concern oneself with. They are ants, after all, what do they do, but work? Endlessly, continuously.

That is, until the heavy, loud sounds of their feet draw closer to whatever place that the bearers have found to camp in. Whether solitary or as a group, these workers are no longer content to simply ignore the bearers, but they are a curiosity, perhaps even a bother. You have disrupted their lifestyle. The sleepy pattern of obtain food, return ot the hive, and back out again now has obstacles. Now there are not simply the fairies, who live their own lives and existences, a part of the ecosystem, but now there are these tiny bearers. Fighting, working together, arguing and disagreeing.

You are disruptive to their way of life.

The ants have come to collect on this due, and some bearers that are vulnerable, or perhaps merely caught, are taken away, your weight so light compared to the rest of their burdens that they carry. The strength of these ants is overwhelming, incredible at this size, and try as you might, if you are caught in their strong mandibles, you cannot escape. An ant, after all, carries 1000 times their weight with those powerful jaws. You, bearer, are nothing to them.

They squirrel away the bearers within their hill, a complicated network of tunnels, junctions, and large spaces. Down within, where the air becomes stifling, and stale. The ants guard their pray, and you get the distinct sense that they see you not as people, not even as enemies, but as prey. You will be food – perhaps to the eggs that are gathered within this room, where you can see the stirring of new life, just beneath the surface. You may not have very long to live, if these little larvae get their mouths on you.

Or perhaps, your friends will save you? Once it is discovered that bearers are missing, the trail of ant prints on the ground is apparent – they are not stealthy creatures – and the feet lead from the locations of several kidnapped bearers toward the grainy ant hill that lies not far away. The hill itself swarms with life, with worker ants all over the surface, scuttling about, looking for the next meal for te colony. Or perhaps for more bearers to bring back for their young.

It will be dangerous, bearers, to save your friends. Should you choose to do so, you will be kicking the anthill, and the ants will protect what is theirs. Even if they just took it. Those bearers belong to them, now! Rescuers will find not only your average worker ant, ready to defend, but winged male ants will attack from above, and deeper, within the nest, near where the bearers are kept, lies the strongest ant in the colony: The Queen. Staggeringly large, strong, and vicious, when her subjects begin dying. She will do everything in her power to protect her colony, and that includes killing bearers, if need be. Or trying, at least.

Good luck rescuing your friends, bearers!

IN SMALL PACKAGES ( DAYS NINE - TEN )

The day after the ant-pocalypse brings with it the brush of recognition — the Effigy has foreseen the likely victors, and calls to them to approach it once they have suitably recovered. It judges them the ones whom are most devoted to what binds them, loyal to memory and remembrance, and begins to clamor for them to restore to it what belongs rightfully. Thus begins a full day of resting, locating last-minute items, shoring up defenses and preparing for the sprint to the finish line.

Certainly your rivals will not allow you to simply walk to the Effigy unassailed and unchallenged.

Eat, rest, ensure your fellows are close and bolstered, for tomorrow begins the final rally.

On the morning of the tenth day, Meridian Shardbearers approach the Effigy with its five items in hand. In the midst of the mushroom ring, the Effigy stands as it had in the beginning — arms outstretched and back bowed skyward, gnarled fingers seeking contact with that which has been lost to it. It awaits, it strains, and even as it does, it requires one last test of ability. From the shadows of the towering mushrooms, the rasp of scale and soft hiss of a great beast descends upon the fae ring.

A gleaming garden snake, with glossy black and green stripes, blocks the way between approaching Shardbearers and the Effigy.

Between its bright eyes, pressed upon its brow is a scattering of brighter scales that appear to be in the shape of a delicate, three-leafed plant with spiraling patterns for leaves. It braces itself against the approach, and there is no doubt that to claim victory, the serpent must be subdued. Though Meridian approaches with victory in hand, they have not yet attained it — their rival faction and this beast remain in their way.

MISSING LINKS ( THROUGHOUT )

As the Effigy desires to be reunited with what belongs to it, the swell of its longing stirs something more within all present Shardbearers.

With that foreign longing arrives knowledge: beyond the five items prized by the Effigy itself, there are other lost things within the greenhouse. Like a compass, each Shardbearer's mind points them in direction after direction, urging them to seek and explore. Implicitly, the thrum of comprehension fills your mind: these are things that do not belong to you, per se, but seek to have your hands ferry them home.

Amidst tangled brush, hidden under doffed acorn cap, tucked away in the belly of a fae's glittering den, lost in the depths of a puddle of spilled water that seems an insurmountable lake now, folded secretly into the petals of a towering, skyscraper-like flower, there are three additional items hidden within the tumultuous landscape that each Shardbearer feels a draw towards. Things that belong to someone else, eager to be reunited with them, but subject to whim.

Upon locating and retrieving one, the Shardbearer is filled with a sense of information — they know who this item belongs to, and they will know that they have a choice. Bonds are fragile things after all, and they exist to be enforced or abused, in order to advance a goal or to deepen a connection. How will you treat someone's precious bond? How will they treat yours?

NOTES

Here are some prompts to set the scene and foundation of the Exalt Oracle! — The theme of this Oracle is a loose edition of capture the flag, where the Effigy's items can pass through multiple hands within the ten day allotment.

— For additional ideas and fun, it is known that several Shardbearers have concluded their efforts to fulfill the Greenwood Yards' sidequest request.

— All details of the Exalt Oracle can be found here, and questions for the mods can be submitted here.

CODING

Comments

[wolfish]

[ With his suggestion accepted and Byleth quickly making his way up to the flower, Yuri felt some relief. He hadn't followed — not yet — because there remained one thing for him to do.

Focusing his energy, Yuri gathered up one more wind spell as the spider came groping along the path they'd taken. He tossed the spell off in another direction and it rattled its way through other branches, kicking up soil in its wake.

The spider paused. Hesitated.

At last it pivoted, following the course the spell had taken with curious, inspecting limbs. Yuri eyed it, trying best to gauge when enough distance had been achieved, before he finally climbed up to the flower. His ascent was slow and cautious, as he paused frequently to see whether the spider was rounding back or not, but he eventually reached the flower.

Not a moment too soon, as the spider had turned back to resume its original course. Yuri hesitated upon seeing how confined the flower would actually be, but there wasn't the time. The longer he lingered, the more likely he was to draw the spider's attention, so he carefully joined Byleth in their little shelter without further delay. ]

[bakedapple]

Yes, please... there's no hurry.

[ But from the way Link straightens up and follows closely behind Dimitri, he's intensely eager to know what it is. He'd felt that innate pull towards lost items scattered around the greenhouse too, but this is the first of his own that are being returned to him. ]

[hauntedking]

We can take a few minutes for this.

[ Dimitri does want to say more - about how much Link does matter to him. About how he would like to keep being friends or - whatever it was they were. But for the moment he focuses on the task at hand. He steps over to the small pile of belongings he's been putting together - tools, knick-knacks, useful items. That kind of thing. And in it is a set of clothing that's definitely too small of him. He turns and holds it out to Link a bit reverentially, a smile on his face. ]

I'm afraid I don't recognize the outfit... but here you are. I think this is yours.

[hauntedking]

I don't think they're mutually exclusive... I'm simply not usually furry.

[ Dimitri sighs, but at least he's being good-natured about the whole thing. ]

Unless you count stubble, perhaps?

[wolfish]

[ He folds his arms with a thoughtful hum. ]

I have a hard time picturing you unshaven to start with, actually.

[ Has he ever seen that before? He doesn't think so. ]

So I can't say I'd look at you and think furry, except... [ He pauses, lifting his hands to tug at the high collar of his cloak. ] Unless you've got something like the big fluffy collar the king back home does. If we're counting apparel, anyway.

[wolfish]

[ With Hayame successfully relocated, Yuri's first inclination is to resume tending to her wounds. It comes as no surprise however when she immediately brings up the trail of blood in her wake, easy as it would be for anyone to follow that path straight to her. He frowns with a given unease, but he reluctantly nods, all but certain that she won't be able to relax if she's awaiting an ambush at any moment. ]

Worry not, it's something of a strong suit of mine.

[ The words are terribly casual, despite all that they might suggest. Yuri has long and involved experiences by virtue of so much wet work, and the earth here is much simpler to dispense with than pavement would be. He begins to turn, only to freeze in place, debate evident on his features.

Then slowly, so that she may track the progression of his hands, Yuri reaches over and rights her eyepatch. He remembers full well how, even in the mineral baths at the spa, Dimitri had kept his own right where it was on his face. Granted, Yuri knows his reasons have more to do with what lies beneath it than what does not, but surely Hayame would rather that socket were covered.

Then, he unclasps his cloak and bundles it up, placing it over the deepest wound he can see. ]

Press down on this if you're able. The one I got to earlier was worse, but this'll slow the bleeding until I return.

[ With that done, he turns to hurry out of the shelter, collecting a little bundle of twigs along the way. Between his wind spells and some well-placed sweeping, he could obscure both the blood and tracks that came with it. He'll just have to make quick work of it, so he can get back to the far more pressing matter of Hayame's injuries. ]

[bakedapple]

[ In the course of the long story, Link takes a seat on the ground. With his legs loosely folded in front of him, he opens the locket and studies the picture inside while he listens.

It's a sad story. Horribly tragic. Cid speaks of it like he's told the story many times before, but Link can hear the hurt still in his voice. A person doesn't shrug off all of that so easily, even if they're strong enough to bear the weight. ]

...so, with the methods available now, he could have been convinced. Is that right? And yet, if you could choose to bring him back to life... you wouldn't?

[ With a sigh, he holds the locket up for Cid to take back, but he is even more determined to push the other man than ever. ]

Your responsibility doesn't go away just because your world is gone, you know.

[bakedapple]

[ Link scoffs and shakes his head. His sword lifts again to it's ready position, an assertion of his confident dissent. ]

Unless it makes a difference in getting my world back... I don't care.

You Zenites might be happy languishing in this world, since you don't seem to care about going back to your own, but the rest of us have places to be. Important responsibilities to get back to.

[ As he speaks, he takes a step towards John, advancing on him in a way to make him step backwards, towards the outer boundaries of the Meridian camp. He'll be escorting you out now. ]

I don't want to have to hurt anyone to do it, but others will be angry to see you here. You need to go.

[youngprodigy]

...I have his shard with me. In death, he would have been purified of primal influence.

[It's said quietly, barely more than a whisper. Like some part of him wonders if even that is truly enough. If his soul can even emerge from its shard to begin with.]

I'm not a hero of my world; I'm not the Warrior of Light, or the Scions of Seventh Dawn. I'm an engineer, nothing more.

[sterngaze]

[The angular, alien look of Liem’s face in the garden’s shadows presents little of pity or comfort. It is a face that seems designed for sullenness and suspicion and hauteur, and indeed it had met Gen’s demands and entreaties both with equal coolness, unmoved by the desperate frenzy of his fear and rage.

But then, Gen had not needed any external pressure to make Liem the target of his anger, and he had not seemed to recall that any friendship might ever have existed between them. Under those circumstances, it had been easy to treat him with disdain.

Had Set committed some wrong against him, to have been used as the instrument of his greed and his impatience? Or had he simply been unlucky enough to have leverage against him fall into Gen’s hands? By the roiling within Set’s mind, it was closer to the latter. Even as the god settles heavily, threateningly atop him, condemnation makes a scowl pass over Liem’s face.]

Gen…

[That is too far, even for him. He had not known that such depths of mania and obsession existed within the boy, that he would set alight his own existing bonds rather than relinquish control over this one precious memory.

The arm clutching the bundle against his chest tightens… and the rest of Liem’s body goes limp. When he opens his mouth again, what comes out is — a word, foreign and incomprehensible, but perhaps familiar enough to be recognizable. After all, Set had had cause to hear it spoken before, beneath the castle in the Scorching Isles.]

The bag at my hip, Set. Reach within.

[He does not dare relinquish his grasp on the precious book between them, and he prefers not to return his dagger to its sheath when it is still wet with Set’s blood. But it does not matter. Now that the password has been spoken, the opening of the fist-sized leather pouch no-longer leads to a mundane little pocket.

Anyone can reach within to access the secret space — large enough for a man’s arm to disappear within past the elbow — and grope around the bottom to find… no, not that little travel journal, not those spare pens from Xanadu or the emergency coinpurse, but a shard, obvious in its crystalline solidity.]

[gravings]

[ This conversation is rapidly accelerating beyond Gray's capabilities, but she is slightly concerned that it's turning toward the topic of her being broken, which doesn't sound very pleasant. She raises her hand but just a little bit, no higher than her shoulders. ]

I don't plan on being broken, so...

[gravings]

[ Gray immediately drops the dildo unicorn horn out of surprise and a general disposition toward obedience. Her trust in Johnny kicks in afterward, and she turns toward him and Slow Dancer, blinking curiously. ]

Mr. Johnny! And, ah, hello, Slow Dancer. Is there something wrong?

[ He's acting like these items are cursed or something... ]

[bakedapple]

[ Link truly doesn't mind doing all the work. It doesn't even seem to occur to him that she isn't "helping." It's his job to do this kind of thing, and... well, it just sort of feels right to be doing this for Midna specifically. It's almost like he's with Zelda again, or how he remembers feeling back in the days he spent at Zelda's side, but for various reasons he decides not to dwell on that sense of deja vu for very long.

Holding his hand next to the teepee of sticks, a tiny flame bursts to life before his palm, and he holds it there until the kindling lights. With the fire lit, he holds the grub against the floor, and with a sharpened rock, pierces its soft body, killing it as casually as he'd cut an apple. ]

I don't think I'd mind that, really.

[ he looks up at her for a moment, a slight smile on his eyes, before returning to slicing up his catch. The first thing to take care of is all the unpleasant, bad tasting bits, of which he's memorized at this point. (By trial and error taste testing.) ]

Since I first arrived here, I've spent more time in Highstorm than you might think. Sometimes the odd jobs I accept require me to go there. And, you know, they're basically our enemies, so... [ it's important to try to know and learn about them. ]

...Kenos really can be wonderful sometimes. I wish I could have come here in different circumstances.

[helloween]

[ Is this what that means? To care? Dark had extended a wing to Midna the same way he had to Arshes Nei and to Kall-Su— his disciples when he'd found them left to die on the streets. He can't put a finger on whatever reason had compelled him to do so, though. Pity? Not quite. He'd have been indifferent if they'd refused. It'd be stupid for them to refuse. More than that, maybe it's— ]

I'm just bored, and you aren't bad to look at.

[ Because this is easier to understand than any human empathy he may have inherited from this round of reincarnation. ]

It's not like what I said was wrong now, was it?

[youngprodigy]

I suppose so.

[If they're moving it together, it won't take nearly as long as it did to move it by himself.]

What manner of object is this, anyway? I've never seen anything like it before.

[gravings]

[ Oh?? Gray catches the teddy bear. Well, it looks like she's just hugging this now. She doesn't say it out loud, but she does find it pretty cute. Dark being able to conjure a teddy bear out of nowhere sure is akin to sorcery, but she won't think too hard about that.

For the record her birthday was months ago, but she won't argue the point. She nods down at Mordred. ]

I promise I'll kick him if he ever tries anything strange.

[ She has to make these fair concessions if it helps her friends feel better about Dark. Sensitive to Mordred's mood, she gently slips out of Dark's hold so that she can stand between the two of them. ]

But I wanted to ask... what are all of these things for, Dark?

[ It's just weird that he would put weapons(?) with womens' outfits... ]

[gravings]

[ Gray isn't sure what Mordred is insinuating, so she doesn't attempt to get in the middle of things. While Rin deals with that, Gray thinks about how potent this "perfume" is. It's starting to make her a little warm and funny in the head, a bit like downing a glass of alcohol... but oddly, she still has no desire to step away. She absently loosens her cloak at the collar to try to get some air in, a flush beginning to creep to the surface of her skin. ]

[salvageable]

[ HE ISN'T THEIR KEEPER

Another swing of his sword lops off an ant head, but it still keeps trying to bite him? Dokja is mildly weirded out at this fact (everything I know about ants comes from the classic American masterpiece Antz (1998)) as he jumps out of the way to keep from being bitten. He's so preoccupied with not dying that he nearly misses the call coming from some distance away, and when he chances a look over his shoulder at what he thinks is the call of another human being, blatant shock crosses his face.

Slow Dancer?

Now there's an animal that's caused Dokja grief on multiple occasions. He'd always mouth shut in front of Gray, who had so painstakingly done all she could to keep the horse happy, but internally, he knew he would never come to like that beast.

And now here she is, kind of to his rescue? Though he'll attribute most of that to the man astride her. Dokja remembers meeting him once. Johnny, the name coming to the top of his head courtesy of Gray's occasional mentions of him in relation to Slow Dancer, but he's not prepared for what happens next. Suddenly, an ant not too far from him is torn through and Dokja is left staring dumbly at what Johnny had just done? With his finger?? Well, something to think about once this is dealt with because an ant ambushes Dokja from behind, tackling him to the ground. ]

[salvageable]

[ Once they're clear of the entrance, Dokja doesn't stop there! He's going to put as much distance between them and the ants as possible, only stopping when they're so far from the tunnels that he doesn't even know where the hell they even are anymore.

It's then that he finally sets little D back down on the ground, partly because he's exhausted, while another part wants to wipe the ant guts from his face and where some of it had gotten into the corners of his eyes. ]

... Gross.

[ There was probably a better way to do that. Anyway, blinks down at D. ]

How was that?

[warmare]

[Amos has a gun. Perhaps it had been lost, like her bow had once been, but now... it has been found, and would cause nothing but problems for them. She'd seen its work in the bowels of Aetos' laboratory when they had set out to rescue Vander, and resorting to a battle of the long-ranged against each other in a place like this with so many tents and such to hide behind... They didn't have the time for such things. Even as Hayame returns fire, her long arrows shrieking through the air aimed at the wings of the camp's defender...

She had spoken to Amos since coming to Kenos. She hadn't exchanged a single word with him before it. Despite those words... Amos had predictably left her crippled in the cup as he claimed the Bell. He and that shitty human brat had cloaked themselves in invisibility and stolen the Prism from her companion in front of her very eyes. And whether she was able to divorce their interactions on other days from their stances during the Oracle battles or not...

Hayame's remaining eye burns with the rage of the failures this man has forced on her. With the knowledge she had felt deep in her soul when theirs had intertwined to exchange the misplaced energies of their factions, that without a single doubt this man would hand over that Oracle to Yima and further potentially push her entire worl closer to a lasting doom. And that... that...]

Liem, get what we came for!

[Unlike her, Liem could blend into the shadows and moonlight, cloak himself in stealth far better than she was capable of. His smaller size could slip into tents and past other Zenites, but she- She would get this Oracle into Meridian's hands or she would dissipate trying. Even though she had promise to survive, promised Liem, promised Set, promised Claude... It isn't so easy to release the dedication she had been taught to feel for discarding her life for a cause.

So when Amos' flight falters in the wake of Liem's assault, when he dips slightly closer to the ground... Hayame calls out to her companion as she throws herself forward from a canter into a gallop and streaks past. Hooves churn up dirt before she leaps onto a pile of foraged building materials, scrambles on the ascent when the materials buckle under weight, kicks off of discarded toothpick lumber with her stunted, useless feathered wings flapping instinctively...

And leaps through the air at Amos in a collision course, arms outstretched to embrace him... and drag him down to earth.]

[salvageable]

[ It's a question that he's thought about a lot, but after careful consideration and late nights staying up after reading a particularly fun story, Dokja's already come to know what role he'd like to play. ]

No, I don't think so...

[ Not when he's like this, small and weak. He couldn't protect himself or his mother from his father, and he certainly can't do anything against the people still tormenting his life now. Sometimes he tries to imagine being the hero, being the protagonist of a favorite story, being loved and adored by the companions he's on quests with, but it's still a work in progress. For now, at least, he's content with a different part that he's dreamed up for himself. ]

I'd want to help the hero, though.

[hyperpotamous]

Oh, no. It's rather the opposite; I believe they're saving the best for last.

[ or for their young, at least. maybe he should feel honoured by that (he does not), but this thought brings only a horrible sense of dread. instead, john goes back to trying to work his hands free with a renewed urgency, reminded of the pressure to avoid that fate. ]

Tasting foul would be an advantage in this situation anyway. I imagine that's the case in most, honestly, so I'm not sure where you were going with that. Maybe you can tell them how much better you taste, and we can trade places.

[gravings]

[ This is getting more sus by the second... Gray watches her juggle the box around, slightly concerned about how all that rough handling might break one of the cheap plastic bits in the spray bottles. ]

May I?

[ Said in the tone of someone expecting not to may. She isn't begging here. But it would be nice. She liked that cleaning set, and Kenos isn't quite up to date on its chemical cleansers. ]

[epiprocta]

[ It's not like he really thinks magical girls are cool? They're a girl thing, after all, and he's a boy. He's not supposed to like girl things at all; his dad had told him that many times. But still ... surely, this doesn't count, right? She's a real magical girl, after all, so. Surely it's okay to think she's kinda cool right now.

So even if Gen reflexively mumbles a childishly petulant -- ]

It's not like I was suffering ... I would've been fine. I'm strong.

[ There's a notable lack of bite in his words. Not to mention, even as he trails close behind Rin, that thin, whippy tail of his is tracing little arcs behind him. He's undeniably happy to be in her company, in the company of a real-life magical girl. ]

Um, Rin-neechan -- [ that friendly honorific comes out with surprisingly little hesitation; evidently, he hadn't always been such a rude little shit. ] -- what other kinds of things can you do with those jewels? Can you like, um, transform and stuff?

[ Again, he tries to sound tough and aloof, like he's just asking out of idle curiosity? Not like he really cares? But like most children who'd lead a relatively normal life, he's not hard to read. ]

[epiprocta]

[ God, the temptation to call her something awful to her face is nigh-unbearable. Partly just to spite her, but mostly just to try and dirty whatever relationship it is that Hayame has with Liem. Because as much as Gen normally finds Hayame insufferable, in this moment, his lingering rage towards Liem outstrips that disdain ten times over. If he can make Hayame even slightly more ill of Liem, be forced to recall him calling her something truly rancid, it'd be worth it.

-- ugh. No. Not yet.

Hayame might have spotted the way "Liem's" expression had tightened just the slightest before falling back to a controlled neutral; Gen grips a hand into a fist at his side, digging his nails into his palm to remind himself that now isn't the time. He needs to focus for just a little longer, first. ]

Mm. You're right. [ Ugh. Swallow, breathe in, breathe out. Gen forces himself to give the sort of tight-lipped, stuffy smiles he recalls Liem making. ] I will after this, then. Thank you for your concern. -- then, if you'll excuse me.

[ He caps off that (grossly) polite farewell with a small nod before resuming his walk towards the supplies. Though -- he's being just a little too hasty. He fails to fully round the corner and out of Hayame's sigh before his posture grows wolfish, shoulders lowered and spine curled forth, and his hand slips into his pocket, fishing around for his lighter. ]