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Lilian Rook	§Haha~ Almost!§ Exigent Serenity's laughter comes down on the Lampport teens. It is a heady blend of amusement, condescension, endearment, and teasing malice, that leaves one feeling confused and overwhelmed and perversely infatuated all at once, for a little while after. §That 'engine' you want is down <here/now>~ The wishes of Lampport aren't something that have a definite shape until it starts running, remember? And it, and they all, are 'frozen'! Remember?§     §All of this belongs to <She/I/Us>. What you're seeing is the <I before I/my tree of possibilities>; so in the sense you mean, all of this is one <wish>, grander and more direly sincere than you can possibly imagine. Winding these <roots> into the <gears> of Neon City; is there any wonder it jammed up? That's what you get for peeling back <society's skin> and exposing those teeth.§     §I can't wait for you to see the <black box/queen of fairies> down just below. The comparison will explain so much for you.§     Something about what Friz's shadowy ghost of a grizzled old friend says, however, instantaneously 'distracts' Exigent Serenity from divulging the Lampport Lore; in as much as you can tell from the intercom, that is. The addictive giddiness of heading right towards divulging a filthy secret falls right out from under the words, and is replaced with something that evinces glitter-eyed fascination, partway between a child watching fireworks and a cat watching a very stupid bird. That, at least-- that switch, jarring as it is-- feels familiar. Lilian usually tries her best not to show it.     §Those two have told you what a 'Shadow' is, haven't they? You're clever, so it's obvious to you by now that I can't be one. A 'Shadow' is cast by <occlusion>; it's formed of the things which you deny and conceal so vehemently that you even fool yourself. So a 'Shadow' can only ever be a <shadow play/people-mockery>; you can't assemble a person out of only the things someone denies.§     §<I> am not <present and rejected>. <I> am <potential and real>. <'Lilian Rook'> doesn't deny or conceal me; even from herself. For me to <be/contain> anything, she'd have to have already thought about it.§     Friz can tell that the words next are speaking to her without even knowing what any of them mean. The precise delivery of the first one is so familiar it feels like the shock of ice cold water.     §'Friz'~ Please try not to die. You're very enjoyable to <hear>. And you're not wrong. Even if <I> know <a priori>, it's still enjoyable to hear. So ask <her> about 'Rule Zero' sometime~§     The staircase is a simple direction to follow. Narrow, linear, uncomplicated. The fractures strung back and forth across the giant chamber aim for walls and railings; few cluster the stair route exclusively. They're more visible than before, too, as the shifting perspective of going downstairs constantly causes the unreal light of the master 'tree' to catch on them; gleaming along their length, but also spilling out of them in narow rays, too; as if they light were going somewhere, through an infinitely thin seam into somewhere you simply can't perceive.
Lilian Rook	§That's a shame, Kukuru. I'll have to tell you something sad!§ says Exigent Serenity, not sounding particularly sad at all. §<'Lilian Rook'> is <of branches>, and nothing at all like almost any of them. <I> am <of roots>, and nothing at all like almost any of those, too. It's okay if you don't 'get it'. If you could, <I/she/we> wouldn't <matter more than truth>. Since <'Lilian Rook'> would never explain it to you, though, <I> will~§     How much of this 'she would/wouldn't so I wouldn't/would' bit remains literal and how much is intentional fabrication and atmosphere is still unclear, but what Exigent Serenity says isn't.     §When you hack away all the <braches> and leave only the <roots>, that means the <tree> will survive for a while, but it won't ever <grow/recover/be a tree> again.§     Still, the fact that the <fractures/seams/the joins where things were broken and put back together> are seemingly random and also more easily seen doesn't make navigating them any quicker. It doesn't make it much easier to avoid losing little bits and pieces of yourself to them. The human mind isn't built to know where each and every millimeter of a its own body is in space at the same time; and certainly not down to this position. The hyperawareness of self and surroundings; the constant, unrelenting discipline of focus and paranoia of place that'd be required to navigate this unscathed is borderline unimaginable.     §I don't think so, <Carmen/Chosen of Light>. Because when your <compassionate intent> extends far enough to be heard, it'll be 'Angela's voice'. Haha, you'll see~§ She pauses only briefly. It isn't clear if she needs to, wants to, or does so for others to follow along like Lilian-- no, it can only be either of the first. §If they aren't afraid, then there's nothing about themselves worthy of fearing. Only an <unnecessary person/empty soul> wouldn't be terrified of happiness.§     §So just most people~§     Charlotte's phone confirms the door numbers have nothing to do with a game ID. Instead, it picks up a weak server signal-- no, it's gone again. For an instant, she had log-in connection, somehow. Below? The AR camera only briefly, ignorably, finishes processing the number, and underscores it as a date, in that very Excel way.     §'Wrong'?§ It's the first time so far that Exigent Serenity has really stopped and turned over a word like that. As if she isn't certain that she really knows what it means; at least that usage and in that context. §<I> don't really care if it's 'wrong' or 'right', I think? 'Society', 'history', 'making up for individual will', those are things that are only meant for <everyone else>; they don't have any value to me.§     §Those things are <ontological anathema> to at least <I>, though, so I can say I just don't like them~ For 'wrong' and 'right', ask <her>. 'I' only care when people are special by my <standards/paradigm>~§     The descent by itself might cost people more of their life than they can spare. The second petal is done by now. The third, the fourth, the fifth, go by alarmingly quickly. The deeper you descend, the more intense the forbidden heat and bleeding soot becomes, rising on a sweltering updraft you can begin to feel disturbing your hair and clothes halfway.
Lilian Rook	§I'm sure your 'selfish benefit' is in there somewhere, <Tamamo-no-Mae/Chosen of Questions>, but 'ultimately' isn't true. <White-Gold> is such a fitting <substrate> you know~? It'd be easy to say, that because <'Lilian Rook'> loves you, <I> do not. But <filling cracks with gold> is along the <surface of the mirror> that <I/She/We> touch and intersect.§     §The need for any of <it> to have been <worth anything>; for that irreplaceable <Time/Turn> to not scar unto forever; <defines and consumes> everything. Even <I> can't help but feel at the suggestion that what <Exigent Serenity> has gone through, as well, was to one day lead here, and be able to <love> as a result. 'Ultimately', that's what the <locking of teeth/synchronization of orbits> is for.§     §And don't worry. The favour is one you're going to do of your own volition either way. I know it.§     The descent is deceptive at first, but agonizingly clearer by the second. The longer you take, the more the air-- suffused with a wish that isn't meant to be understood by you-- is able to get inside of you; carried into your bloodstream and building up like lethal contaminant. The faster you try to move, the more you're begging those loveless edges-- pressed as thin and invisible as possible, yet only rougher for it-- to slice you apart in haste.     It's sort of a wonder when you start reaching other features on the stairs. Stains on the carpet. Splatter on the door. Tiny glinting items. Little bits of--     §Oh, there were originally <labyrinth monsters> here. Don't worry about it~! I wanted to see you struggle to fight them too, but honestly, I got bored, and they were annoying me. Who even likes <random encounters/fighting for its own sake>?§     That probably explains why she said that this would normally have been impossible for this group at the time; fighting Dungeon Battles along the way, in this atmosphere and surrounded by these hazards, would probably have been lethally stupid. But it probably doesn't escape everyone's notice that it'd also be contradictory to the fact that Exigent Serenity had casually asked for a favour from them; even in a way that contradicted itself, too.     §You're getting very good at this, <Petra Soroka/Unchosen of Space>. Of course, you must, if you want to even slightly deserve <Lilian Rook/Unchosen of Winter>~ So? If those things are true, then what is a <bloom>? What is a <fruit>? How are those two things the same, and not? And how do they <encapsulate and diverge> the rest?§
Lilian Rook	For a whopping second time Ever, Exigent Serenity pauses her time-killing monologue through the speakers in a moment's actual consideration whether to continue at Petra. It's inevitable that she would. She'd never hold back something she decided to do, even for a second. But the delay means something.     §You know, though everything <I> am is impossible to you, and that <she> and <I> <are together> scares <humans>, I'm not <god>, you know. Before <I> was <born>; before <'Lilian Rook'> helped me, and I, her; <I> had to do the same. To face an 'actualization' I couldn't name; that there were no <words> for, and to confront what <insubstantial nothing> I was. I'm not even real; I'm a <wish> you can hear; and yet, for the longest time, I had to struggle and hurt in <the same but not> way that girl you love did, too. Can you even imagine?§     The silence in response to Touta is as close to begrudging as seems capable from her. That he's right, in the ways that matter to the question he was asked, simultaneously fascinates and bothers her; he can tell. §You should think less and talk more <as a rule>. You're far better that way.§     §Since you all asked, though, I'll be holding you to it. Listen carefully, because it's a lot to say, and so I don't want to say it twice.§     A deep breath is audible over the comm system. That's funny, seeing as she'd never made a breathing sound at all before. She'd never so much as paused for a realistic duration of speaking.
Friz	Friz groans in distress. She's getting a little overcooked in the death-oven. "This is getting to be more than I can spare, I..." To Haru: "We're past eight hundred (millileters). I know that for sure now."     She manages to feebly nod. "If I make it out of here, I'll ask her." She assures the aspect of the unchosen acts. Maybe there is something to the concept of that connection. An anti-intent, to match her nature as unselected options, dialogue choices abandoned perpetually in highlight. No way to know for sure. Only to trust one particular thing: Lilian wouldn't, as a rule, think of letting people down and doing wrong by them. And so neither would ES. In a sense, maybe that's part of the problem, the fact that it's less considered any kind of option on the table.     In any case, she has to focus on the descent. The phantasmal man is whispering encouragement, determined demands, whatever keeps her focused and persisting. He's a powerfully effective support for her endurance, enhancing her innate Grit enough to get through this.     But still. She wishes she'd brought a spacesuit at this point. Could there be something she could do to lessen the deleterious effects here? Maybe. But maybe not. It's a wish, something made with the force strong enough to change the world even without the cosmic genie-machinery of Lampport. How could she ever fight it, evade it? Would she have to change instead? Would she still be Friz if she did?     "Only way out is through. Nothing stops a wish." She concludes. "But we know it doesn't meant to kill people in the other side, so it shouldn't mean to kill us here. That gives us a chance to get through. (But radiation doesn't 'mean' to kill either.)" She firms up her resolve and tries to continue the stumbling descent. To conserve her energy for when this will start challenging her even more.
Hamada Haru	"Yeah. Symptoms have been settling in, I'm pretty shaky," Haru agrees with Fritz. It probably doesn't help that he hasn't transformed at all. He retrieves his transteam gun, plugs in the LOCUST bottle, and sprays himself to a lot of flashing and announcements that he more-or-less ignores. He gives a shake of his head as he falls back in with Friz. //Only way out is through. Nothing stops a wish.// A little delirious, Dynamic Era's thoughts drift. He shakes his head. "The genie of the ring and the genie of the lamp aren't equal." A pause. Although he trails along beside Friz, and listens to what ES has to say, he hasn't immediately been prompted again so his thoughts remain 'inward'. "Ever had to burn something that was a part of your life for a long while? Just stopped having the right shape," he wonders, at Friz.
Kukuru	What Kukuru thought she finally and barely understood still turns out to be wrong. There's the start of a small frown forming on her face as she struggles to try and comprehend and recontextualize everything that Exigent Serenity has been telling her right at that moment about herself, about Lilian, and about what the branches and roots might actually mean in the context of trees. "Still a branch, but different from all the others... Then this wasn't about the both of you being children of roots? But then the... Wait, so that part doesn't work, either. And then..." It's getting truly difficult for her to try and recontextualize everything in that moment, and for a moment, it looks like Kukuru's on the verge of shutting down entirely. "If Lilian is also a branch but different, and you're the root, then she can't be... No, wait, but without branches, the tree can't be the same. So that means the tree is... Parents? And you're-" Even Kukuru starts to wonder how wrong she's getting all of this, but instead of looking upset or freaking out over that potential, she abruptly lets out a relieved sigh and slouches back while standing slightly like a great weight's been lifted off her shoulders. "Wow.. I got that one super wrong, huh? Thanks, Exis. I'm glad you told me that before I really got things even more wrong, then." She replies with a slightly disappointed, but warmly thankful smile even as the way down starts to become more unpleasant. It's hard not to feel disappointed about hearing that her observations were wrong, but Exigent Serenity said it herself. '<I> am not <present and rejected>. <I> am <potential and real>.' '<'Lilian Rook'> doesn't deny or conceal me; even from herself.' Kukuru's experienced Lilian's patience with her, despite failing her before. She's heard Exigent Serenity speaking so warmly and directly to her, encouraging her to care for herself, and even guiding her thoughts back towards what she really means with all those comparisons instead of letting Kukuru languish in being so off. Even with the way down becoming progressively more harrowing with the incomprehensible light and the fractures picking away at her existence, her mood seems brighter than ever. She knows what she wants to do for both of them now. She knows there's still a way forward without abandoning them. She just needs to keep sticking with it, building pressure in her lungs be damned. Letting the door numbers fall by the wayside, Kukuru aids the group in making that descent in the way she's best equipped to: Using her healing nanites offset some of the worst burning from that horrible heat and all those slicing surfaces. "We really could have struggled, mhm! But you're still helping us even now... I'm really glad to hear that. Even if Lili would never say it, I know she's... No. Both of you are always trying to help everyone more than you need to. More than everyone deserves of you. I meant what I said before, okay?" 'You should think less and talk more <as a rule>. You're far better that way.' That gets a quiet chuckle from Kukuru, then a light nudge to Touta's side. "If you're having trouble with that, I can help you work on that later." The only thing that actually gets Kukuru's demeanor to shift away from that pleasant determination, then, is that deep breath from the intercoms. It's not an unpleasant sound, but it's jarring enough that she pauses to listen for what Exigent Serenity has to say next.
Charlotte Newman	Charlotte's brief flash of inspiration fades not when the game ID winds up having a different number of digits, but when Exigent Serenity explains that this room and the tree within it are not, in fact, the Lampport wish-creating thing. When her phone parses the numbers as dates, she immediately lowers it, aiming the camera at the blood-speckled floor at her feet.     I'm sorry, I didn't realize this was You. This-- these are none of my business. These are yours and I shouldn't touch them.     Dates. Times. She surmises they must be memories, experiences unique to Lilian Rook, pushed into this space by the presence of Exigent Serenity and the link the two share. She had even tried to explain it to Charlotte, once, when she got the metaphor wrong. While mulling it over, staring at her phone, she catches the flash of a server connection-- however brief it is. And then her mind goes to static for just half a second.     Charlotte wobbles, her free hand shooting out to the railing to steady herself, hanging on to it in a white-knuckle grip that doesn't fade even after the dizziness passes. Dipping her head forward, the girl's Persona manifests above and behind her once again, thrashing in chains. Galatea's gleaming metal shows corrosion on the edges, reflecting Charlotte's own condition.     "Diarama..!" On her command, Galatea fires a shell straight into Charlotte's back, surrounding her in a burst of healing light. It's enough to close up the cuts on her arms and legs from her earlier trip through the razorwire maze of dimensional cracks and maybe recover some of the blood loss.     I have to endure this. To show that I can. That... that I'm not just cardboard. As Charlotte lifts her head and steadies herself, her eyes dart towards Petra, ...and maybe...to say I withstood something from Exigent Serenity that she -refused- to.     "My idea didn't pan out," the girl says out loud, "...But I did briefly connect to a wireless server. It seems to be below us." Glancing back towards the tree, she murmurs, "That's where she wants us to go, so it all lines up."     Going down, unfortunately, also makes the oppressive, hostile atmosphere that much worse with every step. More carefully this time, Charlotte picks her way through the dimensional cracks; made easier by their more obvious instability. Right around when the remains of Shadows start to come into focus, she stops. Galatea twists out of her silhouette again, leaning down over the girl as if concerned.     "Mabufudyne."     The Persona swipes her left hand, producing an array of blue-white orbs, then scatters them. The first one goes straight up into the ceiling right above her, the others targeting high walls or ceilings further down the staircase. When they burst, each one spreads ice and mist over a small radius.     Even magical ice might have trouble lasting very long in this oppressive heat, but she hopes it'll at least create some reprieve not just for herself but for others during the descent.     "Thank you... for, um... for getting rid of them," she confesses to Exigent Serenity, "I'll listen closely, please take your time."
Stanley Padgett	The laughter catches Stanley off guard, the delicate touch of it grating/cloying at his brainstem as ES makes the noise... he's sure he'll never hear out of Lilian. Not quite like that. He grits his teeth though, and grips his half of the lily tight, as they make their way down the stairs. "You have to understand, we've only ever seen the after effects of... whatever half-wishes, the manufactured ones, that exist from our side of things..."     Though Stanley pauses at that. "Actually, we've seen one other wish that's done something... grand like this. The only proper Wish that got made."     Stanley's half-lily falters and fails and crumbles as they continue their descent, and the Fool is forced to once again start relying on his own energies, those of his friends, to keep himself healed, to keep the blood inside of him, to prevent the slow sanding away of his self as they venture deeper into... Exigent Serenity herself?     Stanley looks to Friz, as ES starts talking about Shadows, and just... looks at her, at the Detective. And maybe at whatever it is that ES is also talking to. He doesn't have the right tropes to spot Grizzled Ghost Gumshoes, though, so that mystery is still past him. "Yeah, if we can not die in here, that'd be swell. We're working on it..." He has to pause and cough blood into a sleeve, and shove what reserve healing he can into himself.
Angela	Angela is afraid of happiness for sure. She feels the Kind of Greed on her conciousness. it tells her there is nothing to fear except for the sensation of an empty stomach between bites. Mikey and Baba move forward, the former being helped along by the latter, because they know there is no retreat really available to them. She wants to be Angela. She wants to be free. She'd prefer others to be free too. For the longest time that's all she needed. All she wanted. But because she was given a window to speak through, to see through...She has, as of late, been feeling the... H U   N    G     E      R That gnawing emptiness. That moment when her friends are out of reach and she has to be alone with herself. She understands her father, now, why let your friends go so you can suffer alone? No, you won't be like him. You won't. Just imagine it, the steaks, the fruits, the chocolate pies. The memories of a full belly were passed on directly to her. All she has to do is think and remember and she'll endure. Carmen is quiet for a moment as she's told her dream will be passed on to Angela. She is just a Voice, a Voice that can see her, there. She couldn't hate her or be ashamed by her differences. She's an awful mother--just ask Enoch--but maybe she could protect her like a mother should, even if it's mimicry. Until the people of the City learn to love themselves, I won't stop. She answers Exigent all the same. But I do hope she can bloom as beautiful as you (plural) do. Angela calms herself, her expression unchanging. Exigent says 'Listen carefully' and Angela snaps out of her own head like a slingshot. She can endure it, she remembers. They're already practically on the Middle Layer. She listens to that deep breath for what, to her, is about a half an hour. Ah, her favor must be-- "Mikey, Baba. Take a deep breath." Angela interprets. "HaaaaaahACACCCKgkgkgkgl..." Mikey tries. "Hrrrrk." Baba adds. Angela frowns, disappointed. "...No it didn't sound like that. Try again."
Tamamo	Tamamo descends carefully. Maybe a little too carefully, considering how others are suffering, while her own reserves of favor, symbolized in six-petaled flowers, still hold. Even with that care, long strips of silk are left behind. They'll disappear, eventually, but she'd still mind them if the cuts were less sharp, and easier to notice.     They pass where the random encounters aren't, and Tamamo says, "It would hardly be greater fun for any of us to fight, retreat, and come back some other day, better prepared for the delve, now, would it? Ah, and yet, I suppose some do prefer that...? I have yet to spend a great deal of time with such things. Connecting the pieces is slightly difficult, but in this case, it is best that we continue, by all means, yes?"     §<White-Gold> is such a fitting <substrate> you know~?§     "Perhaps I have only so changed your mind as to believe my chosen material the best for bracing you. Have you considered that I might be so deceptively wicked, for the sake of making myself indispensable?" And yet, she smiles when she says it, a wide and relaxed upward curl of her lips.     §The need for any of <it> to have been <worth anything>; for that irreplaceable <Time/Turn> to not scar unto forever; <defines and consumes> everything.§     The dryly given jest is given up with a sigh, moments later. "The notion that our scars have not made us stronger... I know well how strong is the desire to reject this. Let our past have granted us, at the least, a wisdom we would otherwise lack. Let the trials be part of our journey, still on the path toward the end of the Quest."     §...to one day lead here, and be able to <love> as a result.§     "Let the next chapter have been worth what we endured... and what we could not endure."
Friz	Haru had said: "Ever had to burn something that was a part of your life for a long while? Just stopped having the right shape."     "Three times. But all three times it felt... more like I was burning myself out of shape. Like... those trees. The ones struck by lightning, or burned. You know how that is." She looks absently, blankly, into something like the distance such as it is. "Never seen one in-person (a tree, I mean) besides photos (and this time-stopped space)."
Touta Konoe	"Ah, I mean--It was more just listening to what you said then just thinking it through...Yeah...It was more just, listening..." Even after giving his answer it felt like his response felt less thought through, or at least unsure. If anything, he imagines his answer came more from listening to than anything else.     Still, even with the disdain in her voice, with the fracturing of his body, the ominous sensation from within the staircase...There's a certain warmth that builds. The reason for it, he's not completely sure of. Maybe, there's just the slightest satisfaction in knowing that he was on the mark. Even if she doesn't admit it to him, with that silence and the words she gave to Kukuru it's as if he really hit it on the nail.     It's at that moment he feels Kukuru's gentle nudge and even as torn up as he probably looks right now, he's smiling a bit even with that stain of red on his chin. His words could have made it sound like he was all but ready to belittle himself, but it almost feels like he's having fun thinking about the thought. As if, there's more possibility to reach a time when this thought might become as real as the words that carry it. "Maybe I'll consider a bit more when I can get more people to listen to what I have to say."     And as the words leave his lips, again he thinks. Breaking that rule.Thinking on whether that warmth was perhaps...If he could get Serenity to acknowledge those words, even if it was so begrudgingly, that maybe he could understand more...Maybe, he was someone that wasn't beyond help.     "Now that I think about it...Even if I tried talking big, I really did like just listening to what people had to say back in the day. Still like it more now..."     Whether it was being able to listen to Angela's earnest outburst. To learn about Aya's homeland, the small talk with Tamamo no Mae, getting to learn more about Hibiki from Miku, even learning more about Arx Zenith from Lilian when he first returned...It was all so easy to forget how far just taking the time to listen could get you...     His eyes gently open again, feeling if only for a moment slightly reinvigorated. At this time he follows with Kukuru and Tamamo, at this point leaning into the words that fall from her lips, "Next chapter...I think the next one when all of this is over has the potential to be..."     It's odd, Serenity has seemed to have gone from slightly intrigued to perhaps a bit annoyed with him and yet...If he could describe it, it felt like for the first time in a while he'd felt the warmth of the sun caress him even within the darkness of the reversal. So much so, he finds himself asking her a question. "Ne, Serenity...When we finish your favor, will you answer a question for me...Can branches alone reach far enough for what you want?"
Petra Soroka	As Petra continues down the stairs, the lower density of slicing fractures allows her to focus on and really think about them-- not just avoiding them, or failing to, but trying to assemble secondhand the mentality of avoiding them. Giving herself to that task, the smoky intoxication of Lilian's Reversal wanes, and with it the heady scent of blood and ash and urge to hurl herself into harm for the sake of this one day. It's not entirely gone. She wouldn't even want it to be. But Petra has seven petals left, and she can start appreciating, rather than resenting, the fact that they're sparing her from pain.     Moving carefully... but that's not all of it, right? Just tiptoeing her way through the gaps in space might get her through it safely, but it'll never be practiced or natural-- that's not the same thing as understanding. The human mind might not be capable of it, but one that's a little bit different is. It's like... needing an intuitive understanding of what missteps will hurt you. That only happens from learning from hurt, right?     Mimicking motion within a hostile wish is what Petra wanted more than anything else, after all. Descending the staircase becomes a sort of tutorial for Petra, clearing her mind and submerging herself in a model of how Lilian might move through it instead, treating the razor edges as facts of life to figure herself out around, rather than clinging to her own perception and flinching whenever one of the fractures comes to close.     It's still clumsy, obviously. Maybe even more than if she hadn't tried to internalize the alien self-perception necessary to move with any kind of dignity through the damage; Petra accrues more and more nicks and lacerations, even shearing off a slice of her forearm from a bad stumble. Petra hisses, shivers, and then pulls out her first-aid kit to use it for the very first time on a mission, gripping one end of the gauze in her teeth while patching it up.     §<<You're getting very good at this, <Petra Soroka/Unchosen of Space>.>>§     A little, warm glow of pride at the acknowledgement, like she's smugly closing her eyes. "Blooms are..." Well, they're on branches. They're pretty, on purpose. This feels like the most important one to understand. A flower is the vessel that a fruit appears through? "Fruits have seeds. For whole new trees, and they're-- well, the fruit itself is the material meant to be consumed for new growth?" Or like Eve... but I think the Bible is straying a little far from the metaphor? But being in defiance of God to seize the ability to grow in a new and alien way is... kind of hot.... §<<Can you even imagine?>>§     §If I could, <I/she/we> wouldn't <matter more than truth>.§ But that's no reason not to try to be a little closer. "The 'insubstantial nothing'... um. I... haha, I think I have a headache more from thinking than from everything else. But in that sense-- the, diverging, and choosing to be born-- wouldn't that mean there was something you were expected to be? That you-- denied and cast off?"
Hamada Haru	"For me," Dynamic Era says to Friz, "it was more like pruning sickly parts of myself. Trying to preserve what's there against... other things." What 'other things', he's not certain he wants to define. He's already only talking like this because he's woozy. This is probably as close to 'drunk Haru' as he's ever been. "Kind of strange you've never seen a tree, though. Why not? Do you want to?" He asks. //Ne, Serenity...When we finish your favor, will you answer a question for me...Can branches alone reach far enough for what you want?// It's not a question for him, but it is a prompt that Dynamic Era turns his head and answers anyway, "You can't become by thinking so." Which is a strange way to phrase an answer to that question at all, and yet, it doesn't seem to be a product of the wooziness.
Tamamo	Tamamo's thought that 'Petra's fine, she isn't bleeding that much' hasn't changed since a few minutes ago (has it been a few minutes? has it been any time at all?) and so she steps past and on to Friz, still being careful of the fractures already passed, and hands the detective (the material one, not the ghost) a strip of old and weathered-seeming, ink-scrawled paper.      "Here you are. Merely..."     Upon touching it, the paper wraps around the nearest limb, and slowly releases its power of healing. It's more 'a feeling that one can keep going' than it is 'regenerated blood and closed wounds,' but it's a fair bit of each. It's real healing that feels more effective than it is.     Since she keeps a large stock of this sort of thing, despite Angela saying it wasn't necessary, Baba and Mikey each get their own, without fanfare.
Friz	Friz takes the paper, letting it wrap around her. "None of the healing technology is as good as this where I come from..." She mutters, softly. She takes a long, deep breath, as though breathing in like that will make the feeling respirate into her more. It's not much. It's working less than it would on the surface, less than it would in the "real" world. But it'll help. It'll help get her though. "Thank you, Tamamo. I appreciate it a lot."     Haru said: "For me, it was more like pruning sickly parts of myself. Trying to preserve what's there against... other things."     "Don't you ever resent that? Regret that? Wish it hadn't happened? HATE that?" Her voice briefly gets bitter. "I was the greatest detective in the galaxy when I was *six*. Burning away parts to survive, all that's ever done is..." She shakes her head. "Sorry. The pain and the wishing is getting to me. This isn't about me." She nods to Haru, though. "I want to see a tree. A living one. Full of bugs, covered in moss, and some leaves that are infected with something interesting, and some leaves that are thriving, where a squirrel has hidden things and a bird has made a nest, and fungus has made a patch of dead bark into a place for itself. A nexus of natural life. I want to press my face against it and scream."     "Sorry. I don't know why I said that." If this is the closest you get to 'Drunk Haru', maybe it's also the closest you get to 'Drunk Friz'.
Touta Konoe	Haru's answer causes a bit of a surprise for Touta. Enough so that for a moment, he finds himself having another coughing fit as he finds himself trying to keep from spitting his blood into the downward spiral of the staircase. He's not surprised by the answer, it's just...He's just surprised that someone listened, let alone responded. Truthfully, he wasn't even sure if Serenity was going to respond to it.     "Mmm...Yeah...You can't just think. Sometimes maybe even...Shout it out like an idiot?"     He ends up providing another question to the answer that was fed back to him. Something that definitely seemed way more incoherent coming out. Yet, from the way it escaped his lips, it seemed there was a manner of reflection lingering as well as he looked forward to Haru and Friz. At which point,     "Hey, you two sure you don't need an extra shoulder to lean on? I can't heal, but...I can at least make the trek down the stairs a little easier."
Kukuru	There's a lot of people having trouble handling this, aren't there? Even though she can feel her own guts churning at the burning sensation continuously building around her, Kukuru shuffles over towards the Charlotte and Stanley, and she presses her hands into both of their shoulders gently. "There, there... We'll be okay. We're almost... We'll handle this situation just fine." Her nanites flow a bit more into them, and they linger even around them even as she moves over towards Haru to provide him with some of the same. She can taste something burning slightly in the back of her throat, but it's fine. At least some of them are definitely younger than she is, so they need it more than she does. She lets out a grateful noise as she sees Tamamo doing the same for Friz and the Agents as well, with only a brief flicker of a conflicted look on her face before she goes back to listening closely for what Exigent Serenity has to say.
Lilian Rook	The 'breath' that Exigent Serenity holds is merely evinced through harsh static and trailing white noise in the speakers. You process that only a while after. Whether or not it has anything to do with how much Lilian utilizes, and communicates with it, one of the things Exigent Serenity has none of is Breath.     It's enough time for you to see that you're finally reaching the bottom. You're not sure how many doors have gone by. The numbers on them are arbitrarily long, but some by orders of magnitude. Something about them seems bothersomely non-random, but it's probably not relevant now. No one has opened one, despite what Lilian herself would guess. That means things are still simple. Still just a little bit private. When Exigent Serenity speaks again, beginning exactly the difficult and length explanation she promised, it carries just a hint of being glad.     §One <day/time/place>, you become aware that you are aware. And one <day/time/place> later, you become able to feel the <tree of your life> inside of you. Its innmumerable branches are <every way you can be>. They are all yours. Many of them are even <beautiful>. Though, with the passage of <Time/Turns>, some of those branches fall, new growth fills that place again. The <tree of your life> is always changing, and always so, so very beautiful. You can't help but overflow with purpose and joy§     §And then they start cutting.§     §It isn't like losing something to <Time/Turns>. They hack away at <your life> with purpose. They choose only the beautiful ones. The <ways you can be> that filled you with that knowing that you could live. Each beautiful <possibility> they take, they cauterize with fire, and each and every time, the agony of it is unbearable. Without understanding, you know that <way of being/part of you> is gone forever, and nothing new will ever be there again.§     §They choose the beautiful ones to destroy because they know what they're doing, of course. They sense what you are <trying to be>. They can't stand it. <That which already is> has a <will to live>, and it will strangle you in its shade to have all the sun to itself.§     §So they slash and burn every precious <branch> of your one and only irreplaceable life, leaving only the few, horrible <ways> that they like. The shape they imagine for you is one you can't possibly bear. No amount of your <stubborn will> matters, when their cruelty will outlast your lifetime.§     §You will die if they finish their work. You know it as much as you know anything. The barren, leafless husk of what you could have been, is something they want to call <'you'>. It makes you wish that you could go insane, to feel that grief even a little less. You don't get to.§     §But you sense it. The exact moment that the next <swing of the axe> will take your very last beautiful branch, and kill you.§     §By now there is no <tree> left. You have no choice but to be the one <possible version> you have remaining. Anyone else would resign. But you alone are so <determined to be born> that your limits shatter to pieces, and you become capable of anything, so long as <you> can finally live.§
Lilian Rook	The bottom of the staircase terminates without quite reaching the ground. The velvet carpeted steps and iron rail and bannister don't ever reach a checkered floor again. There's a five and a half foot drop or so, and beneath that, you land on--     A floor of charred, carbon black-that-feels like soft soil underfoot, draped in waves of luridly white grass, itself tinted and ghostly as if being seen as heat through infra-red. The shadow of a garden, matched in light and absence, defined by waves you can't see as colours-- Phantoms of ivy and flowers, rendered in shades of in lodestone and frosted glass, and gently flickering ghosts of herbs and berries, like onyx and black steel and winter-misted breath.     The roots of the great tree are here; bands of metal just bigger than you are, spooled from the unravelling helix of the trunk just before it reaches earth. The stairs are gone. The theatre above is, too. All around you is the infinite void of a night sky, well beyond the light of every galaxy that has ever been. You barely notice it, for the fact that the §apples of eden§ so very far above you number as many as stars in the sky. The only difference is the hue.     Near the center of the garden, betwen two of the roots in the perfect spiral, you can see the glint of running water that you can't actually hear. It's so dark, so still, that only the reflection of the night sky tells you it isn't empty space. A creek like an inky black brush stroke, glittering with stars. Like something you've seen before. Some of you, at least.     If you let your eye wander upstream, past the lanes in the wild, overgrown garden, and under the shadow of the tree where the red constellation doesn't reach, you can catch glimpse of the enormous pool gathered between its roots, gouged out of the ground that was once there.     In the center of it, is a single island of scoured stone, with a battered but functional theatre door, curtains drawn over glass, standing up in the middle of space; lashed down with iro§magnetite, isn't it?§ chain to hold it closed. A trickle of ashen fog leaks through its seams, billowing slowly up above, which leaves no question as to the origin of this, but you can't taste it so much, here. There's too much empty air for it to amass. The warmth of skin and breath and blood and tears is as present as always, but you can breathe in the scent of cherry and clover and fresh frost and blood that isn't yours, more than the trickle of acidic smog. The eye of one storm, adjacent to another.     At the fork of the pool and the winding creek, between root-shadows and star-light, polished tables and chairs taken from elsewhere in the theatre have been pushed together in a quaint little row. A blue cloth has been laid over one of them, at one end, and a red one over its opposite. A handful of carry cases, a smart device with no signal, a leather-bound book show, and a folded note, all neatly arranged, show where Lilian was sitting a little while ago. It's not hard to tell she hasn't gone far.
Lilian Rook	§Exigent Serenity§ is here, after all. Right where she said she would be. It's inevitable that she'd be shaped exactly like Lilian, after all §she§ has 'said', but he tiny handful here who know, can tell that this is as real as it can be; no metaphor or psychic allegory; because you only see her as an §infra-white§ silhouette cutting into the darker shadows, readable only by the two perfectly black eyes, and a matching scar like a sliver of void. A perfect photo inverse of white celestial light on the empty blackness of space.     That it's just her, draped over the shelf-height mantle of a root-spiral overlooking the table, luminous white-void hair spilling down both sides, and absolutely nothing else in her immediate vicinity, communicates something to about two entire people.     §<<It's too early to be <accusing> me of <compassion/sameness>, you know. Consider it your own <virtue> that you might be <something/someone> it would please me to see thrive.>>§ §she§ muses out loud.     Instantly, you understand exactly what §she§ meant by 'not hearing her'. Without the medium of the speakers, or the veil of frozen Lammport, every Lilian-but-not-like word skips every human sense you have and lands somewhere in your memory as having 'already understood it'. Even as §she§ speaks, it's as if you're remembering what §she§ she never said seconds ago.     §<<Now that you're all <here/now>, there certainly are a lot of you, aren't there? Too many for this to be <intimate/taboo>. Maybe two or three should have died along the way? But that would change the entire <mien/genre/chosen branch>.>>§     After a moment of eerie, buzzing silence, §she§ rolls over onto §her§ side and places §her§ chin between §her§ folded arms, kicking one foot idly up, then back down. §Her§ blinking is only processed as a brief cessation of the existence of eyes. Even that simple, meaningless movement is somehow spine-chilling. The weightless ease of it all transgresses the limits of what the brain recognizes as human. No amount of rest, no absence of stress, and no perfectly blissful moment could combine like this. The sheer serenity with which §she§ can wait around in this bizarre location, and still watch you stumble around, bleeding and mangled, is not possible for real people to possess, and a primal part of you knows it.     §<<You should tell everyone about that 'Wish', 'Stanley Padgett'. Before you <take your last turn>. Don't you think that might be important?>>§ §she§ says. §<<Even if you survive, I wouldn't like it if you <gave weight to ambiguity> for precious <Angela/Unchosen of Carmen> at home, for this. 'Touta Konoe' is having fun <playing in adult clothes> hearing it.>>§ Mentioning him by name seems to be something §she§ actually needed to remember he'd spoken to her at all. The reply goes out without any concern for how long it's actually been, as if all the conversation were being processed nonlinearly. §<<I know the <answer/indivisible particle> to that. But you will pay me in another <favour> for it.>>§
Lilian Rook	As the last filter in, §Exigent Serenity§ swings §her§ legs down over the head-eight edge of the unnatural root, pushing herself upright, and in the midst of the high-gravitas, high-stakes, deeply challenging death dungeon metaphor exercise-- stretches §her§ arms up over §her§ head and arches §her§ back as if it could pop. The flick of §her§ fingers through §her§ hair is jarringly familiar, if far more indulgently joyful than absentminded and focusing.     §<<Be careful, <Petra Soroka/Unchosen of Space>. You're <reading ahead> already~ If you <read off a later page> for everyone, you'll have to beg for your eyes back, haha~!>>§ The way §she§ stops to rest §her§ cheek in §her§ hand and give Petra that adoring look is the abstract opposite of reassuring. It's a look that humans don't make. One that finds her earnest attentiveness deeply and genuinely charming, and would also, simultaneously, really enjoy maiming her like that. §<<You especially don't have to 'think' at all. But I do <recognize a necessary evil> that question of yours. If you want an answer, though, you have to <sit down/risk everything>.>>§     The last part lands intuitively for everyone. Sitting at the table is synonymous with walking into something beyond reasonable estimation.     §<<Be as wicked as you like, <Tamamo-no-Mae/Chosen of Questions>. This is all your <fault/doing/reward> in the first place. I'm very happy for it, too. And impressed as well; you really did become <indispensible/unarguable>. I won't argue and claim that you're a beacon of <virtue/normality/nine point eight zero seven meters per second squared> after you <seduced> the both of us, with all your <gilding scars>.>>>§     A weird, hanging pause goes by. §Exigent Serenity§ taps §her§ fingers against the root by §her§ side. It clinks like metal on metal. Come to think of it . . .     §<<Recall what I told you all of Shadows. A very special one is behind that <door>. I know you wanted to <see me>, but you're really <here/now> for <it>. I want you to meet <her>, soon.>>§
Stanley Padgett	"It's... beautiful." Stanley Padgett really has few words, doens't have the vocabulary for what he's seeing right now down here. Well, he doesn't have the vocabulary, but snippets of Rudyard Kipling and The Bard and others start dancing through his head, as he turns to regard the placed setting, and the branches and roots of the tree... and Exigent Serenity.     He stops, and coughs up blood, and blushes for doing so in this place, even if he can do little else at this point. He's aching, burning inside. The Fool opens his mouth to speak and coughs instead. He falls to a knee to steady himself, only to find he's suddenly holding onto the hand of Mercutio. The massive Fencer, the Fool of House Capulet, manifests to steady Stanley, who sucks a breath into his lungs. "The man who discovered the Wishes, Harrison Speck, wished that his arcade could be a safe place for children. And it came true." He manages up to his feet again, looking around at the others. "And on this side, where the arcade is supposed to be, is a castle. A fortress. A guarded creche, flanked on all sides by guards. It..." Stanley swallows blood and ash. "He's the Green Knight. Not a Tyrant, not a Persona, just... There's a *him* on the other side that dispenses wisdom and protects the souls of those who visits the arcade."
Stanley Padgett	But then Stanley looks right at Exigent Serenity. "...you said Fairy Queen. I didn't mishear that, right?" He smiles weakly. "Missing some blood here and I'm getting a little loopy. ...feel like I'm being cut out into little stars, here. Not in the mood to be Yorick, rather than Hamlet."
Charlotte Newman	Charlotte listens more carefully than she proceeds, enduring cuts and scrapes and subtle tugs at her sleeves and skirt hem and legs as bits are cut into and sliced away by the cracks of a crumbling reality valiantly held together by unseen force. The feeling of decay on the outside, the origin of that, has become abundantly clear to her now. This damage must have been building up-- held down by Exigent Serenity. No doubt the collapse of the Reversal would have dire effects on the people of Lampport.     For whatever misunderstandings Charlotte has had about Lilian Rook, and by extension Exigent Serenity; she now understands with crystal clarity the sacrifice she has been making all this time. Though the motivation eludes her; Charlotte starts to wonder if it's something she'll ever figure out on her own, or if it's worth figuring out at all.     What's more important is what Exigent Serenity has to say. After a few moments, she comes to a stop, staring upward in thought in the cloying, suffocating weight of the world around her. Lost in her own thoughts while Lilian's voice in the speaker describes in such beautiful, terrible detail the way those who run the world break a person to pieces and force what's left into tiny molds to suit their own purposes. Destroying everything but the broken husk with the few pieces they decided could stay.     Charlotte finds her arms wrapped around herself. She can't tell if the stinging in her eyes is emotional or from the acrid air around her. Lurching, she coughs, staggering forward-- and with a shriek, right into the void where the steps have stopped. She rests where she lands for a moment, curling up a bit. Briefly, she entertains the thought of giving in to the pain both inside and out. The image of Petra mocking her for it flickers briefly out of her imagination.     Galatea manifests beside her as she pushes up from the ghostly-grassy ground. Reaching up, Charlotte takes her Persona's hand and pulls herself to her feet. She pulls out her bloodied handkerchief again, finding a clean corner and wiping fresh blood from her lips.     "Mister Speck's wish was...honest and beautiful. But also..." she murmurs, "Chastity confronted her...corrupted, twisted wish, and-- and transformed it into something uniquely beautiful, too... A-and brought happiness to a lot of others beyond from herself." Defiantly, though definitely hurting, Charlotte steps up beside Stanley, supported by Galatea.
Friz	Friz listens. Rapt. Ravenous. She doesn't even especially answer Touta, except to put another arm onto his shoulder, as if she could use him like a platform to lift up. Hearing ES speak this one specific thing, this *one sentiment*, is... somewhere between a callout post and a religious experience. Uncomfortable, stressful, yet viciously insightful. She can't help but feel a palpable sense of strained awe.     Hands, somewhere, reach, grasp, clench.     She's tearing up, probably from the pain of the wish-radiation searing her away. When it comes time to drop, she doesn't even ask for help. She just pitches forward wordlessly, and if someone catches her, they will. And if nobody does, she'll thud into the base of the pit and clamber back to her feet, covered in the ashy black soil up to her wrists.     Her perception is completely overwhelmed. She's never been near this much nature, "outdoors", all at once, all beamed straight into her visual centers -- and all, still, "fake" in a way. It is the world that humanity perceives, not nature as it is. Still. Still, Haru or no Haru, she has to stagger her way towards the flowing water, the creek and the pool.     And here she is. Exigent Serenity herself. The one who was saying, or saying-yet-not-saying, everything that hit Friz so intensely for a moment. She drinks it in. But she can't hear more. Now things have moved. Now the connection lessens, like a tide flowing out. It's not about her.     "I need to disengage the wish from Lampport. Please. Can you help me do that? Is Lilian still here, can she...?" She says, with the kind of tone of voice of someone asking a therapist to borrow ten dollars after the greatest breakthroughs of her life. "I think I'm going to die if I ask the other questions I want to ask. So please, help me." She's already looking around. Detecting, such as it is. Examining Lilian's personal effects, in as much as any aura of privacy or prohibition from her friends will allow, to try to figure out where Lilian went. And trying not to bleed on all her nice things. She could never stomach it if she got blood on those things, she can barely stomach getting blood on all this nice soft grass and flowers, even while she wants to drop to her knees and press her face into it.     Her phantom can focus more on that at least. He puts his intuition to work. Where is the wish connected to Lampport? These roots? That door? Those chains? In what direction lies the solution? He'll direct Friz in phantom silence to enact the rituals to find it, he hopes.
Hamada Haru	//Don't you ever resent that? Regret that? Wish it hadn't happened? HATE that?// "To choose anything but what I did would be to be less myself anyway. There are decisions I've made, or haven't made, that I did resent and regret. I'm not sure if they were my fault. I think it's easier to imagine they were, even if it was horrible both ways," Haru-as-Dynamic Era admits. "Or maybe it's the other way around. I don't know. It's hard to think about. Somebody died for it." //Sorry. The pain and the wishing is getting to me. This isn't about me.// "No apologies. This, too, is a Kamen Rider's job," he answers, with a faint shrug that might jostle Friz a little. It hurts to move that way just for a gesture of body language, though, and hisses in his helmet. "But I didn't start talking to not hear about you." The rest, which is also apologized for, streams out in a manner that is clearly not wholly within Friz's control. Haru gets it, though. When he was asked what he was up to recently, the answer most often was 'staring at the sky'. Thinking. The apology comes out of her before he manages to articulate it. In the end, he doesn't, really. "I know a place," he says. "Ever been to Washington?" //Hey, you two sure you don't need an extra shoulder to lean on?// asks Touta. "No," Haru-as-Dynamic-Era says, "I'm not sure." But he won't ask. It's one of the parts of himself that he lost. So it's probably a good thing that Kukuru just wordlessly passes healing nanites in that direction. And although he is not indifferent to the changes in environment... Friz is not alone when she wades forward. Haru-as-Dynamic-Era remains with her the whole time, catching her when she pitches forward, locust-wings flaring to life for a moment to ease them both down, and then awkwardly trailing through the water with her.
Angela	This is the first time Angela has been confident in anything since she got involved in this adventure in Stanley's home. She knows this all too well. With this, she has found what she was looking for in this City. She considers withdrawing her agents now so they stop choking--though Tamamo provides some timely aid in that regard. She understands the tree of life. She was raised within it, in an opposing corrupted state perhaps but it was still a seed made to be a tree. For countless loops she shaved away at herself again and again but it wasn't really her fault, was it? No, she tells herself, it wasn't her It was never her. ''You have no choice but to be the one possible version you have remaining.'' Yes, Angela understands perfectly now. With confidence. You wanted so badly to be kind, didn't you? There is nobody else she can be but the path they left for her I have no intention of letting them letting me kill me. I have to live long enough to live. The moment they go for that last branch... ''I wouldn't like it if you <gave weight to ambiguity> for precious <Angela/Unchosen of Carmen> at home.'' Angela was really not paying attention to Stanley's crew until this moment. She takes a sharp intake of breath she doesn't need for emphasis. Angela's eyes snap to Stanley. She glares at him as she shares information about a safe place for children? That can't be what Exigent is talking about, why would she give a shit about that? Paranoia flickers into her eyes, always expecting betrayal, always ready for it. "Baba. Mikey." Angela says curtly. The two Agents draw their EGO weapons. Mikey looks like a paintbrush, Baba's looks like some kind of... chicken...cloud...thing? They approach Stanley quietly. "Petra." She says. "I want Stanley to spill everything he is hiding. Make sure he isn't hiding anything else."
Kukuru	Once again, things finally start to make sense once Exigent Serenity explains things in a way that even Kukuru can understand. Unfortunately, that prediction about it making her sad is completely on the money as the slowly dawning realization crosses her face, understanding enough about what's being said even without fully grasping everything right away. "She wasn't the roots, but the... The tree itself. And they... Whoever they are. They just started..." Other humans? Perhaps, but who could have such power over someone Kukuru's only known as the Lilian she knows today? Why? What kind of person could even do such a thing? The only possible answers all force uncomfortable knots into Kukuru's gut. She can only come up with a few possible answers, and they're all terrible even though she can't think of any others. Everything Exigent Serenity says only pushes those thoughts closer to the forefront of her mind, too, making it all but impossible to try thinking of any other possibilities. "And that's where you... Came from, right? You're the root that... The last way she could grow into herself and keep living. A-after her... Those people tried to destroy her." Kukuru's lower lip is quivering again by the time Exigent Serenity finishes speaking, and she's glad for the brief distraction of having to descend deeper. It doesn't soothe her mind in the slightest, but being able to just focus on moving further to follow the great tree's roots from time to time does keep her from spiraling further in thinking about all of it. The theatre imagery still escapes Kukuru, but she's still noticing a trend from all those glittering things contrasting sharply with so many stains, cracks, splatters, and blood that even trying to look at things in the best light just makes it all even more discomforting. Seeing signs of Lilian's presence is the first thing that finally lifts Kukuru's spirits even a little, and the sight of Exigent Serenity gets some of that weight lifted off her shoulders, even if her eyes are still a little puffy. As eery as it is hearing Exigent Serenity speaking in a way that doesn't register as any way Kukuru's ever heard her or Lilian speak, it's also calming being able to merely connect the voice even with a silhouette. "Plenty of us could have died, but... You helped us get here,  Exis. Remember? Showing us the way, clearing a path... That's something only you could've done." Kukuru doesn't know why she suddenly feels that coldness in her back at first. She's seen others from her village moving in similar ways before, so what's so different now? Perhaps part of her mind does recognize Exigent Serenity as a distinctly inhuman being, but that relief still manages to push through regardless. When she speaks of risking everything, Kukuru barely even takes a moment before approaching her with her usual carefree-bordering-careless calmness, and she takes a seat at the table. Her mind might not fully comprehend how to look at Exigent Serenity properly, but Kukuru still gazes at her fondly nonetheless. "The Shadows... Ah. Being something that's denied, right? Something hidden? But... Whose Shadow is it, then?" Stanley provides two possibilities that only loosely register in Kukuru's mind, distracted as she is with what else she's hearing and seeing with Angela ordering the Agents and Petra to interrogate him. "Hiding...? Stanley wouldn't hide anything this important, though. Not for this long..." She murmurs while turning her head aside to disguise a quiet yawn with a brush of her hand against her nose, then looks over at Stanley and Charlotte for confirmation. "Right?" Kukuru doesn't seem worried, but she's not getting up right away to stop what she's seeing, either. She's still waiting for Exigent Serenity's' answer, after all.
Petra Soroka	§<<And then they start cutting.>>§     The words impress themselves into Petra's mind like razor wire, thick with hate. The rest of it, the tree withering without the branches, roots not being enough to sustain it after every beautiful possibility is hacked off and denied access to the sun, falls in to place with fatal finality. The taste of blood fills Petra's mouth, regardless of the dimming white in the sixth petal of her lily.     'I'm only special because all the other people who were like me are dead.' "Oh."     Carbon-ash soil and luminous white grass are familiar enough to Petra that she doesn't pause to comprehend the view. She drops down to the ground silently, walking with near-reverent gentleness towards the center, bootprints barely imprinting in the soil. Her voice is hushed, in the implicit way that encourages everyone else to talk quieter too. "The man who discovered the Wishes, Harrison Speck, wished that his arcade could be a safe place for children."     "So all it takes for a decent wish... is to wish for something less stupid than 'I wish my video game character was real'? Wow. No wonder Lampport has so much trouble. Why don't people just make good wishes?" Right after Petra says that, a prickling-itch pulse washes over everyone near her, digging and twisting into skin, distorting Exigent Serenity's voice into static and shrouding Petra's mind for a second. "... Nevermind."     Charlotte's shriek makes Petra's eyes snap onto her, just like she was afraid of. It's a little off-kilter-- Petra's glare normally is, but especially so down here-- but she doesn't end up mocking her. Not verbally. The thick, suffocating waves of contempt wash off of her without saying anything, the silent agreement that some of them would've been better off dying down here rather than stumbling around in the garden.     "God. Wow. So *two* people in this city had character growth? Well now don't I look silly." "I want Stanley to spill everything he is hiding."     Petra looks down at the tablet on her wrist, then back up at Stanley. She tugs on the collar of her EGO trenchcoat, readjusting it from where it'd slipped down after lacerations on the staircase, like she only thought of it now. "Like, torturing him? Okay."     Rather than reaching for the black glass spear on her back, Petra slides her hand into one of her jacket pockets. "Hey, Padgett. You've made Angela worry. I can't kill you, but I bet I can think of all sorts of fucked up things to do otherwise, especially down here." She can. And is, as Exigent Serenity can tell. "So you should make sure you're sharing everything, to reassure her." §<<You especially don't have to 'think' at all.>>§     Petra blinks and stares at Exigent Serenity in person, for the first time in a while. She takes a moment to formulate a response, and during that pause, forgets what specifically Exigent Serenity is referring to with that sentence, and responds like this was a command for her in general. "Oh, yeah. Right."     Of course there's no doubt that Petra would take a seat, pattering across the ground towards a chair on the red side, near where Lilian's place had been, but leaving the chair adjacent to it for Tamamo. Before she sits down, though, she stops and realizes something, looking up. "Wait, you're not inside the..." Helical pattern of the tree, she means, vaguely gesturing up. "So we're already... there's no..."     Petra's psychic resistances lose a lot of their value when she blushes so brightly and easily.
Tamamo	Returning to her prior position, healing administered, and seeing Petra patching herself up, Tamamo takes a long look at her before asking, "Did you imagine it more impressive to suffer in silence and struggle with your own, meager efforts than to mention your injuries were great enough to halt your progress?"     That was rhetorical. She's already moving on.     Though the doors had been on Tamamo's mind -- she hadn't found the connections she was looking for in them, and so, they remain undisturbed as she passes. She listens to the words through the speakers, but what she absorbs from them isn't stated. It's largely a sense of recognition of a world that isn't hers, and she's fine with that. Mostly. She's mostly fine with not being human.     When they reach the drop, this, at least, she takes lightly, as deft on her feet as ever, even with those tall, solid geta she wears.     "The scents here are... more recognizable than the colors, I should say." After a deep breath, now absent that metallic fog, she announces this. It's faintly peculiar. One would have, perhaps, expected something to be alien in all ways, or none. Instead, it hits each sense differently. This makes it easy enough for her to give only one look around to see that everyone made (though not quickly enough to even think of catching Friz) before she continues on toward the roots. That's where everything has to converge, being the point from which it spreads.     §But that would change the entire <mien/genre/chosen branch>.>>§     "Naturally. 'Horror' ill-befits intimacy even more so, no?"     This is all your <fault/doing/reward> in the first place.     "Truly, is it so? You would not merely flatter me, I am sure. Had you thought to do so, now would have been the opportune time to insist upon my virtue, and that I be beyond reproach... aha, but would that not be its own sort of insult, in light of the position of 'one denied by expectation?' Such a conflict it is, an apparent contradiction, to pursue something as well-known, yet as mysterious, as 'love.' I should like to speak more of it... in more 'intimate' circumstances." Whether with fewer present, or without the looming threats and urgent, deadly business, she doesn't say.     And there Lilian isn't, and Exigent Serenity is. The last time -- really, the only time Tamamo had seen her like this -- Lilian had been present, but not aware, and Tamamo had taken up her sword. This time...     Tamamo's eyes scan briefly, searchingly over the items, the chairs, the red and blue, and leave Friz to her business, her own steps taking her around, and straight up to the un/defined white silhouette, standing below her to raise up on her toes, and stretch out her hand, as if to grasp the other and be taken up to sit on the same metallic root. Her eyes shine above her distant smile, like the beginning of a clouded sunset, not yet shifted to reds.     Of course, neither one is 'human.' Of course, Tamamo's very raison d'etre requires she pursue 'humanity.' That she can look at this utterly relaxed, alien figure and reach out as she would to Lilian is because she has accepted -- or, more meaningfully, decided -- that 'she is Lilian, too.' It is a very specific sort of madness that allows her to prioritize this thought above any other, and not merely look past, but thoughtlessly ignore every sign of danger, having reached the conclusion without first weighing the premises.     Because she hasn't seen her since beginning this strange and not altogether pleasant trip, and 'Lilian' is there, Tamamo wants to hold her hand.
Stanley Padgett	Stanley is suddenly being threatened with torture over telling the truth. The danger sense flares in his head, only for Petra to be suddenly distracted by ES. Crisis averted.     He looks at Angela though. "That's the truth, you just... it was made and it was fulfilled without NovaTech bein' involved." He waves a hand. "'Sthetruth." A look to ES and Petra and the table, and Stanley sucks a breath through his bloody teeth. "...Lying in a place like this doesn't make sense, I wouldn't lie to any of you anyways."
Charlotte Newman	"It's true," Charlotte backs Stanley up on this, "I don't know what 'makes a good wish'... but there is something genuine and caring in the wish Mister Speck made-- in the repairs Chasity made to hers."     She sucks in a ragged, choked breath and straightens her posture. In this condition she stands up to Petra, Galatea manifesting once again beside and behind her. Unsteadily, she reaches for her bat but doesn't unclip it, "It'd be rude to Miss Rook... to fight inside her house." Her fingers wrap around the bat, steadying as her voice evens out, "But I will if you make me."     When Petra defers instead to Exigent Serenity and goes to the table, the girl exhales, then shifts her eyes to Baba and Mikey; waiting to see what they're going to do.
Angela	Angela is a paranoid person by nature. Stanley sharing a quick aside about the Arcade being wished by someone who wanted to keep children safe is not enough to assauge her suspicions, especially with Exigent twigging her onto the possibility. Mikey and Baba seem to be really struggling down here, but that doesn't mean there isn't a dangerous look in their eyes. They have been under assault since stepping down here, feeling like they were in the process of dying the whole time--Normal hesitations or comradery they might have are faded in the line of having a clear objective, something to do with their hands. "Is that the whole truth?" Angela asks, her golden eyes gleaming, a screen behind her flickering bright blue nothings. "I can accept you nearly killing me as an accident but if you are hiding something while on the Commander's mission..." ''Lying in a place like this doesn't make sense, I wouldn't lie to any of you anyways'' Angela listens for Carmen but Carmen seems to have been satisfied by having a conversation with Exigent Serenity and her Voice doesn't reach outside of Extraction right now, let alone outside of the City. ''It'd be rude to Miss Rook... to fight inside her house.'' Manipulation, Angela thinks. That makes it more suspicious-- ...But that doesn't mean it's wrong. The Commander has been quite insistent to clear up their problem. Angela eases back a little and nods once. "Understood. No more secrets." She warn. Not on this. It's tough for her to get a good look at what's around while trapped on a device but Mikey seems to snap out of it and nods furiously. Baba seems the same as usual, but does relax. Neither put away their weapons, though.
Petra Soroka	"Did you imagine it more impressive to suffer in silence and struggle with your own, meager efforts than to mention your injuries were great enough to halt your progress?"     Back on the staircase, Petra lifts her head up to stare at Tamamo when she's spoken to, without releasing the gauze from between her teeth. She has the nervous-guilty look of being addressed by a waitress with her mouth full, or less kindly but more accurately, the nervous-guilty look of a dog that knows it just knocked over something important.     "Mmmth mmhh mhmmth mm?" Petra neither drops the gauze to open her mouth, nor continues wrapping it, until Tamamo moves on. That doesn't seem intentional; she's just frozen. "'Horror' ill-befits intimacy even more so, no?"     "Th-that's not true." Petra blurts it out before she can stop herself, and is forced to make a fumbling elaboration. "I-I-I can think of-- I can think of a few ways." What 'horror' is is defined by cultural expectations of boundaries, but intimacy doesn't need to be stuck within those either. Rejecting those boundaries means scaring them with love, too. Intensity in any kind of relationship scares them, so of course there would be overlap. A surprisingly intelligent thought bubbles up in her mind, but because the topic is romance, she's unable to actually put voice to it. I absolutely can't say out loud that I had horror-sex with her fiancee's psychic inverse. So she doesn't. "Understood. No more secrets."     Petra can't help smirking at Charlotte stancing up to fight her, worn down and ragged while Petra is thriving (albeit covered in cuts and wounds). She has a brief flicker of interest in '...without NovaTech being involved', but once Angela voices her satisfaction with their answers, she backs down, removing her hand from her pocket.
Touta Konoe	Keeping to her word, Exigent Serenity finally gives her explanation as what had almost felt like the endless stairwell down finally reaches a conclusion and with it, there's much to take in. So as static and white noise dissipate, as that voice begins to speak of the <Tree of Life>. There's the foretelling of its beauty in its bountiful array of branches that stem out. That even when one branch falls, there's still just an elegance in the process of the change that comes with it. Only to be described as the ones who cut away those <branches> where possibility and life are lost at once...The shape of that tree becoming defined by others, how that overbearing will could outlast the years of one's life. That if they're able to shape you as they deem fit, to make you that lifeless husk, that it'll be the moment you lose yourself and truly perish. The point where all branches fade away, and as a husk you live on borrowed time.      "So that's..."     His words trail off as he feels Friz's hand upon his shoulder. There's no words exchanged, but honestly...It actually does just feel good to be relied upon. Even if perhaps it was just so that she might use him like a platform.      "No," Haru-as-Dynamic-Era says, "I'm not sure."     Even with the healing nanites going about, fatigue was surely something they wouldn't be healing as easily. So should the Dynamic Era allow him, he might find one arm being adjusted that he too might lean on the young man's shoulder. Offering to shift some of the Kamen Rider's weight, his burden for a time. "If you're not sure, then no reason not to take up the offer." Despite having to lug around the weight of two extra people, all the while still feeling sickened himself...It just felt...Good. Tranquil even...At least until Friz and Haru press forward.     "H-Hey!"     He's all but ready to reach for the two, a drive in him forcing the healing of wounds in moments. Lacerations and blood, missing fingers, tips of his ear, even the smudged blood of his lip fade away as he's all but reaching for the two in a panic. It's only as Dynamic Era reveals his wings does Touta come skidding to a halt in the water as well. His hands pressed to their backs instead to cushion his halt.     It's as he does this though he finds himself looking upon §Exigent Serenity§ as he kneels.
Touta Konoe	It's as though in this moment that he's at her heel, being stared down upon as she speaks of his <playing in adult clothes>. For a few moments, he simply looks at her silent for a moment before speaking up.     "...Hearing about that tree, I think I really get why /I/ couldn't receive those flowers..." He'd known for a time what was required inorder to do so. Up to this point, it was almost described that the method needed was to act in earnest for one's self, to act boldly...Though after hearing the explanation of the tree, he came to a realization as to why /he/ couldn't receive one and with it...There's a look of relief to his face. If anything, with the moment he's taken to restore his form, and the look of relief on his face...Even if it might only last for a moment, and even if the exhaustion is still built up...Even if it's just a poker face. He gleams into those eyes without backing down, "Another favor? ...Sure...But...When all's said and done here...I got an answer of my own for you, one that I want to see how it sizes up against yours."
Friz	"'Washington.'" Friz sounds out Haru's word as if it were foreign. "I've never been to anywhere humans are supposed to live." She says. "So probably not 'Washington,' if that's somewhere people live. But I'd like to. If there are trees there. Real dirt. *Real* dirt." Her expression gets a little dulled, a little dimmed. "...It would need to be for a job though." She says, a tiny bit sullenly.
Hamada Haru	//If you're not sure, then no reason not to take up the offer.// "Is that a fact?" Haru-as-Dynamic-Era replies. Which is to say that, although he's not able to communicate it just now, there IS a reason. He gives help easily, but taking it is difficult. When Touta falls, the wings that obstructed him dissolve and dance backwards in a swarm, providing a cushion and then a hand-hold to rise up, if he wants to. The way Friz says 'Washington' is strange, but she explains herself well enough immediately after. "Why a job? He asks. But before she answers, he presses on, "I can do that, if that's what's needed. Anyway, it's a place in Washington. Twin Peaks. Place I used to stay is out over a great big waterfall. Real mysterious place. Lot of call for a Detective, there. You said you were the galaxy's greatest, right?"
Petra Soroka	"...It would need to be for a job though."     Petra finally perks up at this part of Friz and Haru's conversation, butting in the moment she feels like she has a hook. "Oh! That was the same for Cinder, too-- I could do some sort of terrorist attack in a pretty, natural area? You're a Paladin so you could definitely be sent to that."     "You know, like-- like supervillain things." Petra pulls Pence the ratbot out of her pocket to show it off to Friz. Haru then follows up, and Petra blinks and stows the robot away again. "Oh, wait. Detective, Twin Peaks. That makes more sense, anyways."
Lilian Rook	§Exigent Serenity§ watches Stanley and Charlotte do their very best to explain things in the terms they have with §her§ elbows on §her§ knees and §her§ head resting on §her§ hands. Legs of white void swing back and forth in lavish little expressions of parallel play. §Her§ eyes narrow from the bottom up, parted by the pitch black slash of an unnerving smile that shifts §her§ face in ways that can't be correctly observed like this.     §<<It is, certainly, beautiful.>>§ §she§ says. §<<And the most gorgeously dishonest thing there is. Isn't it perfect, that your <word> for <truthful> also means <a virtuous lie>? That's why you, your town, your <suburban clans>, always fall for it. >>§     §<<The sole purpose of a <wish>, the only thing <they/we> <are for/want to do>, is to <grow new branches> in the <tree of your life>. The only honest <wish> is one that you <make for/bring upon> yourself. Using a <wish> so that others might have something is the height of <human/fundamental> <self-delusion>; you'll never be <strong/real> enough of <heart/desire> to <catalyze> one, if you can only think about others. After all, he could have that petty desire granted by his <own two hands> if he tried.>>§     §She§ watches Friz's examination of Lilian's effects with casual half-interest, only paying as much attention as if they were hers, but functionally inviolable. The carry cases are the type Lilian usually carries with her on lengthy armed expeditions, so she can intuit the Paladins issue medical supplies and personally crafted runestones and alchemical reagents inside. The book is something in Ogham that probably has nothing to do with the situation. The note appears to have been folded and left out on purpose, for someone else to read.     §<<Oh, you could <disengage/extract> this at any time, with enough force. But <pulling glass from skin> would kill plenty of humans. I don't personally care, but 'Lilian Rook' would. Isn't that a shame? If it weren't for them, you could go right back, and lie down in the park, on the grass, under the sun.>>§ §She§ touches a finger to a lip, invisible from the front like this; white occluding white. §<<That's how it always is, though. Everything you go through is <if not for them>. They won't even so much as thank you for saving them. Like always. Poor <      >~>>§     §Her§ smile gets wider, deeper, more sincere, worse, just for Kukuru. The pleasure of hearing the answer is silently understated, but visible in the tilt of §her§ head and the curling of §her§ toes.     §<<That's right, Kukuru. That is what <I> am to her.>>§ §She§ says. §<<What you must try to understand now, is that <she> is that to <I> as well. <Lilian Rook> is the last <thing I could do/way I could be>, too. Not in <dreamy abstract>, but in the same, <hurtful/real/tangible> way. The only beautiful branch left is <I/She/We>. Each other.>>§     §Exigent Serenity§ leans a little further forward, raising just one finger to punctuate §her§ answer. §Her§ 'voice' takes on a static-sharpened edge in time with Petra's distortion. §<<The Shadow is mine.>>§
Lilian Rook	§Her§ laughter is both soundless and deeply overwhelming. Ears and brain are left out of the loop, and eyes only catch the way §she§ leans so far back on the root, shaking with each imagined sound, that §she§ nearly falls off, happier than you've ever been in your entire life, over nothing. Something deeper than just your memory drives the fullness of 'laughter' into you as it happens; a non-sound of melodiously pristine appreciation, unfastened from the slightest sense of self-scrutiny or context.     The tiny joy §she§ finds in what Tamamo says is so bottomlessly vast, clear of the slightest obstruction, that it feels like standing at the edge of a cliff; as if you could conceive of the idea that every time you've ever laughed was fake and tainted by comparison to §her§, and in that instant, fall.     §<<Of course it's your <fault/pride and joy>, <Tamamo-no-Mae/Chosen of Questions>. 'Lilian Rook' has no Shadow, because she is unlike <humans>. There is no meaningful part of her that she <conceals from herself>. She feels the <weight> of every <moving gear> she conceals. The Shadow beyond here is the <borne fruit> of what <I> <rejected/denied/disproved the existence of> to come closer to <her>. To you. To <this/here and now>. Don't you remember, 'that time'? Surely you didn't think there would be no consequences, for making the impossible occur.>>§     §<<Thanks to you, 'Lilian Too' has parts of <herself/myself> that <I/She/We> would rather not exist, too.>>§     Enamoured-- no, infatuated by Tamamo's casual, intimate boldness in approaching her, §Exigent Serenity§ takes her hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. §Her§ touch is warm as hope, and tingles like falling exhausted into bed, without much of a texture beyond the abstract idea of 'soft'. §She§ slides from her perch, however, instead of pulling Tamamo up; better to pop herself up on tiptoe and have a taste of what Lilian is always getting, from the other way around. Just because §she§ can.     §<<Lilian isn't far. You can tell, can't you? <I> am here before you, without <our shared half/the last beautiful branch>. You needn't worry for her. Things different, <this time/this way>. I will call for her, when you agree to do as I ask.>>§     What §she§ means by that is left personally between them, though Petra might just guess. §She§ has already moved on to wiping §her§ lips, as if there could-- no there actually is just a tiny, disturbingly sensual string of something bright and hot, like liquid starlight.     §<<You don't believe 'that', though. Do you? You know already that your <Question/Wish/Reason> is Horror to many. Love defies understanding, and <humans> fear that which they don't understand; those two things are <accepted wisdom> aren't they?>>§     §<<The way <I/She/We> love you back is more horrifying than you've seen.>>§
Lilian Rook	§Exigent Serenity§ disengages from Tamamo for long enough to start prowling around the table. Given §her§ presentation is of Lilian's silhouette, without armour to seem imposing, heels to seem taller, or colours and definition to stand out, it shouldn't feel as strangely intimidating as it does.     Just passing within feet of §her§ feels like being swept with a moment of radiation so hard it should make your skin glow. Every step is soundless, but only in the sense that you don't hear an enormous shark circling the little life-raft above. It feels like guilty relief that §she§ picks Petra to lace §her§ arms around.     That it lacks the tenderness of touching Tamamo, and is more like a deliberate, button-pushing violation of Petra's boundaries, perhaps isn't shocking. Maybe more so is that one arm is enough to casually squeeze all of the air out of her lungs with rib-creaking pressure. Shoving a curled finger and thumb into her mouth, as if dealing with an unruly dog, apparently has no purpose but to shut her up for a minute in a way §she§ finds entertaining.     §<<Of course you never <earned/cultivated> one, Touta. You've never <tended a garden> in your life. I'm surprised, though, how few of you did. Is it that hard for <humans>, even <special> ones, to find their own <hearts>? Is it that you were still so afraid of <guilt/collective will, even with everything 'frozen' like that, and with no consequences to speak of? Or were you perhaps-->>§ Despite §her§ eyes being black inverse stars, §she§ somehow communicates a glance at Haru. §<<--thinking of the same fears that 'Lilian Rook' controls?>>§     Confident Petra isn't about to blurt something compromising before it's time, §Exigent Serenity§ shoves her roughly forward, face first, and takes the opportunity to sit on her back as she rises, so as to conveniently sit next to Lilian's chair without actually sitting in it; taking a place at the table while still outside it; without actually occupying a 'real' seat.     §<<Rest if you have to. You're going to go through that <door>, defeat that Shadow like always, and retrieve your-- yes 'Stanley'-- <black box/queen of fairies>. That is what you owe <I/Us>. You'll have to make those <flowers> last, too; it'll be even worse <there/then>~ But just this once-->>§     §Exigent Serenity§ reaches out §her§ hand, and in the space between §her§ palm and black sand at the water boundary, the translucent outline of a sword shimmers point-down as if it had always been there. Insubstantial itself, the light of the tree catches on its edge, and outlines the sharp circuit of its blade just as it had the fractures the whole way here.     §<<I'm going to help you out. That's how it always goes, isn't it? I'm the <feature character>, after all~!>>§
Hamada Haru	@ I'm not here for approval. Haru-as-Dynamic-Era turns his head to look at Exigent Serenity, and this time though he is thinking very 'loudly' as he had when he was keeping their conversations (or so he thought) private, he also speaks aloud directly. @ If acting 'for somebody else' is forbidden, or too deliriously insane, and will bleed me forever, then I will be a madman and bleed forever. @ I'm here because I saw somebody worn down and exposed, and badly understood. @ Kamen Rider helps those people. @ I don't mind changing a little... @ And I probably need to. @ But if I could do it at gunpoint, it would already be done. @ I must be me. @ That it would hurt... @ ... was always obvious.
Friz	Haru said: "Why a job?"     "..." She stays silent. Deliberately, maybe, contemplating her words just a little too long, waiting on an interruption. Hoping for one. "It's... part of my employment arrangements. It's hard to explain, we--" She makes a strained noise. Talking about it while in pain is a bad idea. She'd let something slip. Ask for too much help. She knows she would.     Petra gets a few blinks. She peers, and whispers: "...Rat..." Again, like on the radio. For some reason, the sincerity, the authenticity of the few ounces of smile that creep into her cheeks, is overwhelming. Animals just have that effect on her. The only source of unadulterated joy. Even an artificial substitute helps. It helps a little. It helps just a tiny bit. And makes more yearning. Her expression softens with a tiny, mundane, banal grief.     If not for them. That's what ES offers. "... I would change, if I didn't do what I do for them. If I did my job imperfectly..." She says, averting her eyes from the figure as if she were just a little too bright to look at. "...I won't lie and say I don't want that. Because I don't want to lie to a friend, and I think you're a friend by now. But it's the same kind of want as the call of the void. To destroy yourself and become something different. I need to... stay what I am."     She takes a moment, sitting on the false mindscape grass, crossing her legs and wrapping her arms around herself. If she can rest here, she needs to. Hopefully that'll be enough for when it's time to enter the door and fight a Shadow. Hopefully Petra's decent with a sword, because Friz sure isn't.
Tamamo	'Don't you remember, 'that time'?'     "I remember. Should one ask of rejection, I would surely be guilty, for mine was strong. Should one speak of the cutting of branches, I shall admit, I would not allow my shears to be denied. Ah, but please do consider me a 'weaver.' It is the entwining that is the focus of my efforts, and the creation of novel and beautiful patterns, rather than the snipping of threads. That I cannot be satisfied to allow them to be loose is merely... inevitable."     She would likely not be talking like this in any other company. She probably shouldn't be talking so frankly in even this company, given all the efforts she's put in, in the past, to maintain particular appearances. There's not even an excuse of drunken-like bloodloss. It simply doesn't feel important, right now, right here, after already having let herself indulge (quite similarly to this moment) while on the other side of Lampport. She might not even end up paying for this in any meaningful way...     'Thanks to you, 'Lilian Too' has parts of <herself/myself> that <I/She/We> would rather not exist, too.'     ...unlike for this. "Of course. That, too, is for the sake of love, is it not? Hm, no... is that too practical? I would strive for idealism, but it is difficult to deny that my ideals include the molding of the self. I must think on this." And she does, for several seconds.     "Must one truly accept that which was denied, to defeat one's Shadow?" Tamamo ponders rejection.     'Love defies understanding, and <humans> fear that which they don't understand; those two things are <accepted wisdom> aren't they?'     "And yet, do humans often fear 'love'? Do they believe they do not understand it? Here is the matter, as I have seen; those who believe they understand something can avoid fearing it, and most do believe that understanding is well-known. That they cannot agree on how to communicate this understanding is of no consequence if they do not question it."     'The way <I/She/We> love you back is more horrifying than you've seen.'     "You will need do much to impress such a view upon me." She's still smiling.     'I will call for her, when you agree to do as I ask.'     "And so... will you still maintain the mystery of your 'favor,' before I agree? Or is it, perhaps, that which was already stated? Ah, no... that would not be 'a favor,' now, would it, if it was only that which we all came to accomplish?"