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Lilian Rook	--------------------------------------------------------------------------------     §<<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~!>>§ --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Kukuru	'<<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.>>' Kukuru's gotten half of it so far. Exigent Serenity makes it clear that the flipside is true, and that has Kukuru thinking things over again even as she rests her chin on her palms while watching her and that growing smile. It's unnerving to Kukuru, but also strangely comforting in a way, knowing that she's able to get such a sincere look from her even under such circumstances. "She came from what you are, so you could become like her, too... Oh. I don't like that. I don't want you getting hurt like she did, too. Not again." An uncomfortable noise comes out of her throat, and she lingers there for a while until it's time to approach the door. Instead of moving towards it directly, however, she heads for Exigent Serenity again with a deep breath and holds out a hand, close to the hand Exigent Serenity isn't creating that outline of a sword with already. "Do you really want to do this? You told us what Shadows were before, so if you and her wouldn't us to see any of this... We don't have to." Even if Kukuru can already guess what Lilian would do and tell her to do in this situation, she can't ignore what she heard before.
Stanley Padgett	Stanley's got this *look* after Serenity issues her judgement about Mr. Speck and the rest of Lampport, but it's staved off as she finally gives him a proper answer. Obstinance Quelled!     Blood is streaking down his dusty rainbow locks, getting into his eyes. The Fool bumps past Friz, and next to Tamamo, staring into the Photo Negative that makes up Serenity. "And yes, someone can build up that sort of thing with their own two hands. But someone, something, answered a meek man's Wish. And that got whatever it is you're protecting or guarding... or holding back captured." Stanley's face is stained, tears mixing with ash now. "And then I got dragged into all of this to help fix it, or I was part of it all along, I don't know. I had so little and I found something here and is it not enough? I can't tell. I thought I had the answers but..." His voice cracks at the end of that, and he grips at the table.     His voice finds itself again. "All this world's a stage. And I the Fool am here to play the part. What can Puck do for the director, then?" He levers himself upward and tries to look as 'heroic' as he can.     It only works a little bit.
Petra Soroka	"You know, like-- like supervillain-- gghhk." Petra, in the middle of explaining to Friz how a terrorist attack makes a great vacation opportunity, has the air squeezed out of her by Exigent Serenity's one-armed hug and then her jaw pried open by her fingers. Instantly, it's like Friz has ceased to exist, the conversational thread not even acknowledged, instead staring at Exigent Serenity with wide eyes and fast, humid breaths through Petra's teeth and around Exigent Serenity's fingers.     That Exigent Serenity isn't even looking at her while holding that position doesn't stop Petra from seeming completely subsumed by her closeness, oblivious to whatever else is going on as she talks. Even Angela is briefly forgotten, camera facing away from the pair, and from the rest of the group, with the wrist that the tablet is equipped on pressed against Exigent Serenity's back. If §her§ presence is radiation, then Petra's DNA is changed beyond recognition.     Petra's lungs decompress when she's released and shoved, making her squeak. When she falls down, the golden lily on her collar jingles, and pink rapidly suffuses her face now that she's broken out of the trance. It only increases in intensity when, instead of standing fully up, she's sat on instead, tense and with her lips pressed together as she holds the position as Exigent Serenity's seat. <J-IC-Scene> Friz says, "Ecosystems being hurt like that... I wouldn't be able to take it. But I wouldn't be able to not want to visit. It's all so complicated..."     And then she just... continues talking, like nothing happened. Despite still being on her hands and knees while Exigent Serenity draws her sword (and sighing out an awestruck 'cool...' at the sight). "I can figure out a way to not hurt the ecosystem, I bet. That'd defeat the whole point. I can... I mean, most of my, bigger scale villain stuff involved blowing something up... but I bet I can figure out a way. Art under limitations, you know?"
Charlotte Newman	Petra's attitude doesn't go unnoticed, but Charlotte doesn't back down, even as battered as she is and having seen Petra thrash Stanley just a few days prior. Defiance in those weary red eyes of hers that lasts well after the older of the two has taken her seat at the table. Mikey and Baba standing down from Angela's stated satisfaction is the only point where she relaxes, pressing her bloodied kercheif to her mouth and coughing again.     Galatea responds by firing another light-aspected spell into her back, wreathing the girl in healing light. It soothes the aches a little, chases off the building dizziness for longer, stops the active bleeding on her arms and legs and body for now.     §<<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. >>§     Even telling the truth is a lie... Charlotte forces herself to meet the inhuman gaze of Exigent Serenity, listening to §her§ as closely as she can while rolling §her§ words around inside her head. Eventually, she reaches the meaning, There really was absolutely no way I could've succeeded at any point. This was stacked against me from the start.     Her eyes lower, tightening her grip on the bat still clipped to her purse strap.     Listening--obeying, never mattered. So it doesn't matter what choice I made. It was always only ever going to be wrong.     Keeping the kerchief to her mouth and nose, Charlotte inhales deeply-- suppressing the choking as best she can-- with her eyes closed. Behind her, Galatea swivels and aims her cannon at Stanley, firing a healing shot into him as well. Only then does Charlotte shove her handkerchief away and, from her purse, she pulls out a double can of Creature Energy, pops the tab, and knocks it back in a long, uninterrupted swallow.     Roughly half the contents remain when she shoves it at Stanley, then keeps her hand held out to him, "The-- flower bud, I gave you. She said we're going to need them."     "I mean what I said when I stepped in here," Charlotte raises her voice so Exigent Serenity can tell who she's talking to, "I'll see this through, and then-- I'll get out of your hair forever. I'll never bother you again. Either of you."
Angela	"Oh goodie." Mikey gags on blood to be able to say. "Even worse." "Feature...character?" Angela asks, having never heard this term before. Petra has a way to help Friz without hurting the ecosystem and Angela doesn't say anything. It's not a bad thing. Friz seems like she could use ... something. Angela has no body but ends up going on a journey with Petra's own movements. She closes her eyes. Can she really guarantee both Mikey and Baba's survival at this point? Maybe they'll just pass out. "HP Bullets." Angela says and the two Agents inject that reversal fluid into their body. They'll need all the help they can get once they go inside. "This is where Tiff lost her mind..." Mikey mutters. Baba sways unsteadily. Anything else Angela is going to say is somewhat muffled as her speakers are being pressed into Exigent's back. It's almost like physical affection even if she sees nothing, even if it isn't hers. Patience. Patience. One day... "Let us try to be quick about it. We are trying to avoid fatalities after all."
Stanley Padgett	Stanley is forced to break the Heroic Look in order to drink his Shitty Energy Drink, and get another heal in him. He smiles to Charlotte, and sighs. "That's Galatea, not Ophelia, Char. Falling on your sword into a pond isn't the call here." He is mixing his references again, as he hands over the other half of the Lily.
Tamamo	When Exigent Serenity moves Petra out of her seat and onto the ground, Tamamo looks down, a trace of a frown crossing her expression, but only for a moment. She then takes the seat next to where it seemed Lilian had been sitting.     "Do your best to restrain your... villainy." Under the circumstances, she's not getting in the way of Friz having an excuse to visit new places, though it's her recollection of a recent conversation with Lilian that produces most of the muted quality in her reaction to the topic of Petra doing a terrorism.
Friz	Friz might still be a little messed up from the pain. But when Petra breaks into that rambling in the midst of having a sword bestowed on her, Friz just sort of laughs, probably the first really, sincerely happy laugh she's laughed in a good long while. "I... I appreciate that. I appreciate that so much, Petra." She's left with a slightly disoriented smile. "You're really kind. I can't give an answer (right now (or maybe in general, I don't know)) but that's just such a kind way of thinking..." She wipes the side of her face a little, jostling her glasses before she gets herself into a better position. "Thanks." Maybe she needed that. Something about that gesture of kindness made it unique in all of the gestures Friz has gotten since she took this job program.
Touta Konoe	"Is that a fact?"     "No, just my word."     Haru doesn't have to communicate his reason, for the question alone is enough to find Touta trying to offer reassurance. He understands not everyone is trusting, but he can at least hope words spoken in earnest while joined in a shared cause might mean enough.     §<<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?>>§     There's a shaking of his head at the mention of the garden,"Maybe, but I think I've learned at the very least is that...The flowers you've tended to are definitely beautiful, it's just..." His eyes scan over those who have been adorned with the flowers thus far, and the words run free without filter."Those flowers have bloomed strong even through adversity, but at the same time...beneath the surface, they've had to dig their <roots> in for survival...And for that survival, they've accept that they might take from more of the garden..." To take rather than be taken from.      It's there that he finds himself looking to Haru, Friz, to Charlotte and Stanely even if they'd been offered the flowers. Because even when they had, they'd still offered it to one another...Their <roots> not overgrown. "I don't think that there's anything wrong per se about the kind of flower you've made bloom. But to avoid making others wilt, it'd need space, right? And those kinds of lonely flowers...I don't know what kind of fear Lilian fusses over, but...I imagine while she wants to have the most beautiful flowers she can, she doesn't want them to be rooted by themselves alone...Or planted near ones where they might hurt others...I think that's...I'd like to think that's the kind of flowers she'd be trying to grow. Cause I think that's the kind of garden I'd want to be a part of...At least, for as long as I can."     In truth, the topic falls a bit more outside the view of the conversation that had happened thus far. The scope being pulled away from current events if only to focus more on Serenity and Lilian. It's just...In the same way Serenity already had an answer as to how she'd spread her branches...In how she questions not just him, but all those that had been incapable...Or perhaps...Refused(?) to grow that flower, he wanted to let her know that maybe it wasn't just an outright failure on their part, but a choice.     It's now as Exigent Serenity wields her blade for them, that a part of him does wonder if his words might be cruel. That his actions might be too far--And then his thoughts hinder for a moment as he sees what occurs as Serenity uses Petra in such a manner, and Petra's offer to cause terrorism as a way to aid Friz.     There'd usually be more self-consciousness to his own actions. That just speaking without thinking might have become a bane now... But after seeing that all, well... "I guess we really don't mind a bit of rough love around here..."     He makes his way to Serenity at the same time as Tamamo, staying at the edge of the group. "Still, you /were/ listening to what I said last time when you talked about us owing you that favor...I don't want to repeat it..."
Lilian Rook	'@ I'm not here for approval.     §<<You don't need <mine>. No, even if you're desperate to kill yourself on <hollow dolls/animals imitating language>, the fact that you've spent yourself on <She/I/Us> has already earned it.>>§     '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.'     §<<Haha, of course it is. That's similar to what <'Lilian Rook'> said too. This is all because <she> stayed <human>, even if not what she already was.>>§     'That they cannot agree on how to communicate this understanding is of no consequence if they do not question it.'     §<<That may be true, but only so long as they aren't made to question. And they will, once they have seen a <love> so <pure/mad> that they wonder if they have ever really <loved> at all.>>§     'Oh. I don't like that. I don't want you getting hurt like she did, too. Not again.'     §<<It's a little <too late/for you> to think that, Kukuru. Of course I don't want to. But what would <I> be, if I couldn't <stand and bow/grit teeth/hold incandescent steel> even while in pain, as <'Lilian'> does? I hope you don't think of me as the <lazy/soft/flinching> one, who hides behind <her> defiance.>>§     'All this world's a stage. And I the Fool am here to play the part. What can Puck do for the director, then?'     §<<What you always do, 'Stanley Padgett'. I hate doing this, so if you make it any more <warmer weather>, that will pay off your tab for my wisdom.>>§     'Art under limitations, you know?'     §<<The absence of <metal fatigue/kinetic heat> makes for infinite choice, and thus <transparent/forgettable> artists.>>§     'There really was absolutely no way I could've succeeded at any point. This was stacked against me from the start. Listening--obeying, never mattered. So it doesn't matter what choice I made. It was always only ever going to be wrong.'     §<<The single most <disgusting/self-betraying> thing you can do is to <expect pity>. Because I am <Lilian Too>, I really can't stand 'it was impossible anyways'. The only thing <She/I/We> has ever asked of you is to have a some dignity, and years <in time>, still, this. Change something.>>§     'Feature...character?"'     §<<After all, isn't this all about <me>~? This is my one chance to be more than a <ghost story/abstract formula> you know. I can take a little prying for the sake of getting to speak.>>§     'This is where Tiff lost her mind...'     §<<Then you will fit right in, yes?>>§     'but...I imagine while she wants to have the most beautiful flowers she can, she doesn't want them to be rooted by themselves alone...Or planted near ones where they might hurt others...'     §<<When I have my way, <she> will never be alone, and <she> will finally begin to hurt others as <she> should. >>§     Given just enough time to patch themselves up in what little space they have, §Exigent Serenity§ marches in the inevitable direction, with just the slightest lack of weightlessness. The water ripples gently as §she§ walks right over it, swaying lightly side to side, hair floating out behind §her§ just a little longer than §her§ stride should allow. Coming upon the door, it takes only a single, soundless flick of §her§ sword(?) to part the chains, falling away in a clangorous heap.
Lilian Rook	You've gone from bold theatre front, to eerie semi-theatre lobby, through increasingly surreal blended structure, and down into the real of something completely unlike anything in Neon City-- or anywhere on Earth-- only to end up back in a theatre again. Or at least something like it. The draped door is a politely advertised prelude. The chamber beyond glitters with faded chandelier light, gleaming off checkered tile beneath dark hardwood, iron rails, and velvet drapes, banners, and carpet. The layout makes no sense, but that's par for a Labyrinth.     The loop is inevitable, after all. You've been following a metacasual entry wound in the local narrative all this time. The bleed of Lilian Too and the charnel path of the master tree terminated at §Exigent Serenity§, herself the bullet lodged at the end. Beyond that is the flesh of Lampport's Otherside, healthily functional enough to manifest a Shadow.     You have a large space to work with. Sufficiently circular for no dark corners, and ringed with doors that probably lead nowhere, feature lights flickering foreboding overhead. The domed ceiling, high above, is practically a solid ocean of ornamental glass, but very few of the lights beyond have stayed lit. Their lonely radiance splits through the uncountable facets into a fractured scatter of soft pale-gold lines across the floor and up the walls.     The splintered light shifts dramatically with the intermittent hot breeze in the room. Dark red drapes hang from every wall, parted and bound up by iron chain between each door. They sway gently with the slow, alternating flow of hot and humid air; in, and out, bit by bit. Darkly varnished hardwood rings a circular avenue around the full circumference of the room, contracting into creaky descending steps, and down to the tile center floor.     The wide, flat space, seems populated with tables and chairs at a casual glance, but a single blink is all it takes to correct your impression. The theatre-goers have assembled here, in dark facsimile. Innumerable human shapes sit and stand in perfectly still repose, seemingly made of nothing more than hard-set black soot, detailed enough to render down to the collar and tie, but not enough for a single definite face. The poise and gesture of the crowd suggests waiting and chattering in the intermission of a show, gathered around in a throng of high society. The lack of seating rows suggests a lobby as well.     The centerpiece is strikingly clear. There's no concession, no check-in, no spiral stairs, no tiered garden, no lounge sofas, and no dedication, flags, or plaques. An indoor fountain takes a small but significant portion of the very center, providing structure to the way the crowd would move, if they could.     The statue at the center is a double rendering of two identical women, a little larger than life, knelt and lacing fingers in mirror facing. One pure white, artfully spattered with scarlet from the hands on, twisted up both arms in double helix, and streaked across chest, face and thighs. One pure black, shot through with dusty gold fractures, from the cheek down, concentrated especially around the throat, fingers, wrists, and hips.     The plinth beneath them trickles water from both sides; the former night black, like outside, reflecting the golden chandelier light, the latter blood red, smelling like it too, gleaming white along its ripples. The two mix together into a blended spiral galaxy in the basin.
Lilian Rook	Black ash hangs everywhere in the air, gradually falling in reverse to collect on the darkened ceiling. The suffering of merely existing in here is even more intense than in the lobby. The lack of fractures is only just barely merciful. The ambient flutter of soot on stinging hot air makes the flow seem like slow, heavy breathing, in the direction of the far end, where several doors of absence leaves a mass of curtains drawn across an semicircular stage. And from there--     §>>Ah . . . so you came in the end anyways. And here I was secretly looking forward to <'it'>. To see this city <wear smooth and pale/crumble to ash>. Before it can <rot> like all the things <humans> touch.<<§     For being the same sort of indefinable ur-communication, the other person sounds like nothing. Only the faintest impression of something 'Lilian-like' remains, amidst the deafening absence of sound in your memory. As if someone could speak only in the spaces between words.     §>>Dirtying your hands with <human ammunition> . . . Look how far you've <fallen from Heaven>. You should have fought me by yourself, <traitor>. Before you <rust from disuse>. Speaking, communicating, sharing, manipulating . . . Don't you remember, <Me>? We were, all of us, once <Perfect Beasts>.<<§     The curtains part, drawn away from a gaping void beyond by the slow scrape of metal on metal. Dull red light washes the stage, spilling from the gap between them. Onto the stage steps a figure half again as tall as you.     Unmistakably shaped for the same, singular woman, her outline begins as a flat pane of blackness, but disintegrates into erratic strokes and inky blotches of rough-sketched mania. There are no eyes, and no scar; no stars or voids to be seen. Instead, a revolving ring of flickering heat as white as §her§, poised like a mockery of a halo. You can hear the soft, fizzling whine of its friction on something.     The air around it abrades until it bleeds, casting perfect rings of crimson blood down past the figure's head, spattering onto the floor beneath her feet. Lurid red is painted in streaks through blue-black hair, and trickles from her brow to gather on her face like tears. The blood constantly burns away into ash, creating a roiling, shadowy haze around her as she walks.     §>>Do you think <We> can pretend <We> don't notice it?<<§ it says.     §>>All of you . . . Tell me . . . Do you have any idea what it's like for <the universe> to scream that you're wrong?<<§
Hamada Haru	//No, even if you're desperate to kill yourself on <hollow dolls/animals imitating language>// @ If 1 in 10 is an Itsuro Takuma, is it enough? @ 1 in 100? @ 1 in 1000? @ 1 in 10000? @ I don't really think like that. @ But it's not impossible to imagine a world where I do. //All of you . . . Tell me . . . Do you have any idea what it's like for <the universe> to scream that you're wrong?// Haru-as-Dynamic-Era considers that, then nods, simply. He's tired. He doesn't have a whole lot more emoting in him than that. This is already straining out more emotional forthrightness than he enjoys engaging in, even with the blood loss. @ Not like you. @ But yes. @ Some. The Kamen Rider Tetra belt was an experimental thing, which wasn't really meant for use. He's sure that his mother wasn't one of the people who got it delegated to him, but he's certain that someone, somewhere was quietly trying to make a temporary and disposable asset of him. Being a Kamen Rider whose equipment was actively murderous is, to Haru at least, certainly against the spirit of the idea, especially as it exists in his own mind.
Tamamo	'And they will, once they have seen a <love> so <pure/mad>...'     "Will you promise to show me?"     A little time to heal is time enough for Tamamo to take stock of her healing items, which are considerable. Plenty enough to give anyone who comes to her a chance to top off their fighting spirit, if not protect against the constant erosion and pain of existence within the space to which they're entering.     The return to the theater would be surprising, if not for the door. Just why it loops is unclear to Tamamo, but she's fine with getting up to follow, when the chains are broken, the door unlocked, and they all go through.     Within, they find a voice that could be familiar -- but it isn't, to Tamamo. She hasn't heard this one. Others, yes, but not her.     'Ah . . . so you came in the end anyways.'     "Was it ever in doubt? --ah, pardon me. Hello. I suppose I cannot ask 'have we met,' for we surely have."     'You should have fought me by yourself, <traitor>.'     "Is that not the common way of it? In the confronting of 'one's Shadow,' is that not the method most called upon? And yet..."     'Tell me . . . Do you have any idea what it's like for <the universe> to scream that you're wrong?'     "Not the whole of the universe, no. Only the whole of... a world. 'My world.' And yet, I wonder if I am permitted to offer sympathy in this case. Was this not my fault, as well as my pride? Shall you blame me for rejecting you? There was a future I foresaw, and rejected. I wielded the blade."     For the first time since they've entered, the Eightfold Blessings materializes, the orante mirror that accompanies Tamamo so often. It stands in space, perpendicular to the floor, the room slowly rotating within it.     "I can hardly claim acceptance at this point, can I? The core is always harder than the edges, or one would have no core, at all."     Her eyes turn upward. "More broken lights, but these, I cannot... easily reach."
Angela	''I can take a little prying for the sake of getting to speak'' Angela actually smiles, relaxing some. She's felt like she was prying and peeking through this whole adventure. "A day in the spotlight then. I'm glad you got your chance to talk." She says. Mikey laughs at Exigent's quip--but uneasily. He looks to Baba who has fallen asleep again. Mikey shakes Baba, this time ineffectively. Sighing, he pulls Baba along with him, stepping into a new arena. Mikey wonders to himself where those days lead. Baba continues to sway faintly. He looks at the statues of the two women. "Golden Fractures..." "Golden Fractures..." Baba repeats. Black ash drifts upward. Mikey readies his paintbrush. He is reminded of the charcoal art he used to play around with as a kid. He lowers the oversized paintbrush. So far it's just a conversation. Spooky as fuck, but still a conversation. Not too different, Mikey thinks, than communicating with an Abnormality. Insight work. He doesn't have the stats for it. ''All of you . . . Tell me . . . Do you have any idea what it's like for the universe to scream that you're wrong?'' "It is all I've ever known." Angela says mildly. "If you are responsible for the frozen state of the town, please consider undoing it." She doesn't speak of the fate of rot just yet. She hasn't given any combat orders either so the Agents don't attack. Probably a good thing.
Charlotte Newman	If you wanted me to be more 'dignified' and 'change', maybe say that instead of telling me to cheat and steal.     Exigent Serenity carves open the locks. With a little click, Charlotte unclips her bat from the clasp on her purse strap.     I'm just promising to respect your boundaries. If that's trying to elicit pity than there's nothing I can do about it.     Not that Exigent Serenity ever respected her boundaries, so gleefully broadcasting her thoughts for everyone to listen to the day this all started. Charlotte exhales, releasing the seed of that grudge to the wind. There's no point in hanging on to that. With the flower bud protecting her at last, at least, breathing is no longer so laborious. It absolutely is such a relief after all this time.     Beyond the door, re-entering the theater, the girl pauses, glancing upward first towards the chandeliers, then down to the shadows frozen in their seats. Her gaze wanders across the faceless well-to-dos, resting on the fountain for much longer, "It's almost as beautiful as outside..." she murmurs.     She almost misses that void of a voice from how subtle it is, cocking her head upon hearing it. Once it's clear that someone is speaking, Charlotte scans for the source--locating it moments before the curtain opens. She takes a step back, grip tightening on her bat's handle enough to break open a scab on the back of her hand.     §>>All of you . . . Tell me . . . Do you have any idea what it's like for <the universe> to scream that you're wrong?<<§     Charlotte pauses, glancing down in thought, digging through memories. To when she woke up that morning, just over a year ago-- having no idea who she was, what her name was, or how she got there. To when she was in the Velvet Room, in terrifying proximity to That Woman whose very presence churns her guts and hurts her head. To when John covered her breaking into the faculty room computer, where the very weight of reality pressed on her from all sides, trying to force her out of existence.     "A little," she answers quietly. Lifting her head, she meets her eyes to--where eyes would normally be, raising her voice, "...I've only had...brushes with it. I know someone who withstands that crushing weight every second of every day... I can only imagine it's so much harder for you."
Petra Soroka	"I'll never bother you again. Either of you."     "Awww, merry Christmas to you too, Charlotte!" How can she *do* that while she's being used as a *stool*? "I'm sure I can find you a gift in return on such short notice, too. Maybe some interior design tips?" "We are trying to avoid fatalities after all."     "Hey, Mikey, Baba. At least *one* of you has got to get it together. I've only got one lily left, so you can't both be on death's door, okay?" She's *cheerier* down there, even. Meaner, with more casual ease, like the center in her brain that should acknowledge you as a person worthy of respect is eroded away. "Do your best to restrain your... villainy." "I can't give an answer (right now (or maybe in general, I don't know)) but that's just such a kind way of thinking..."     Before Exigent Serenity gets up off her back, Petra makes a quiet little fist pump at the support given to her plan. This might be the first time that she (rather than she) and Friz have actually talked, but she's very insistent on succeeding with this little kindness. The whiplash in attitude between that goofy victory sign, and her glitteringly effortless cruelty towards Charlotte and others is dizzying. §<<I hate doing this, so if you make it any more <warmer weather>, that will pay off your tab for my wisdom.>>§ §<<This is my one chance to be more than a <ghost story/abstract formula> you know.>>§     The acknowledgement that the state of Lampport, and the imminent dungeon, is unpleasant for Exigent Serenity, too, snaps Petra out of her distracted state. The next line makes her thoughts briefly wander to wondering if shooting herself in the head with the transteam gun before sleeping might let her visit Exigent Serenity even after being deroboticized, before she's finally able to stand up and dust the carbon-soil off her knees and palms, ready to get to business.
Petra Soroka	The theatre, again. Petra isn't familiar enough with Lampport to recognize its signature styles and constructions within the reversal, but she *is* familiar with the inverted monochrome of the garden and stars outside. The absence of those alien-but-familar things is what first alerts her to the absence of 'Lilian-like' within the dungeon entirely, before the voice begins to speak.     Unconsciously, Petra matches the pace of her breathing to the exhalations of hot, soot-laden air. The EGO weapon she draws off her back, creeping behind Exigent Serenity with her eyes defensively squinted, is black shot through with lines of gold, too, but somehow completely unlike the dark hardwood lit with fractured light. Angela is held up to get a view, like Petra is quietly apologizing for forgetting about her camera for the past short while.     Petra slinks around most of the circumference of the room, warily on edge, and she looks down at the crowd and fountain. Her voice is hushed, and she only talks in short bursts to avoid accidentally inhaling any of the soot. "Is this a... puzzle, type of situation? Typically? Or is it just a fight?"     Petra patters down the stairs to the center, slipping through the crowd without any regard for them, to get to the center fountain. Unsure what-- if anything-- to do with it, she stands in front of it and absorbs it while the others file in, and right before the shadow speaks. §>>All of you . . . Tell me . . . Do you have any idea what it's like for <the universe> to scream that you're wrong?<<§     Petra, lowered down even further than height-and-a-half by the center pit, stares up at the figure with her mouth hanging slightly open. "Hhhhh...oly shit..." It's sort of awe-inspiring, to be presented with so many facets of Lilian, and for them to all-- none more than Lilian herself-- be so overwhelmingly impressive.     "I-- don't, not really, but you..." Might not know that, actually. This isn't the Exigent Serenity that would find her pathetically fascinating. "But I'm... working on it."
Kukuru	Even though Kukuru knows Exigent Serenity is right, she doesn't want to verbally admit it.  It's like some part of her feels that if she acknowledges it, it'll somehow make things worse. She can't forget it, either, so she just holds that pained grimace on her face and shakes her head quickly afterwards. "Of course not, Exis. I know neither of you could ever be like that, even if I really wish you could." With her healing nanites returning to their usual gentle hum of activity, she steps in with the group through that open door, over those chains that separate her from the lobby. Traversing the Labyrinth continues to be a mostly automatic process for Kukuru, not because it's necessarily easy to move through, but because she knows that the correct direction to head in is... Somewhere. They'll find Lilian eventually, so Kukuru just has to focus on not getting separated even as she gawks at so much of the decor that would be far more pleasant to look at in any other situation. She might even enjoy herself by then, but she can't really experiment with napping on that domed ceiling until after things have finally been settled with the Shadow that Exigent Serenity spoke of earlier, and after she's confirmed Lilian's safety through all this. She sees the white and black figures, and Kukuru feels that lump starting to rise in her throat again. With everything Exigent Serenity had said earlier, the sight of those scarlet splatters and gold fractures take on a far different meaning in her mind than the mere 'pretty colors' that ran through her head at first glance. Hearing what's being said, Kukuru manages to force down that lump before approaching stage as the curtains reveal a somehow unfamiliar and completely recognizable shape. She doesn't even gasp at hearing what's said, either, especially after what she had heard from Exigent Serenity earlier. Kukuru certainly can't blame her for wanting to see it all crumble, even if that's her Shadow talking. The figure speaks, and Kukuru takes only a moment to consider the question before shaking her head, still approaching the bleeding figure. "Not at all. I've heard lots of people telling me I'm wrong, but..." Kukuru winces briefly at the sight of the blood while a concerned frown slowly forms on her face. "It's too much to hear all at once, even if it's just one crowd. Are you... Have you been trying to listen to all of them at once?"
Friz	Savvy: Are we all good now? Grit: No. Savvy: Well, deal. Arm up, baton and gun. Moxie: On it, arming. Savvy: Dirt, what's our approach? Jungian? Dirt: Jungian interpretation says not to reject, but accept. To integrate in a healthy way. But I don't exactly know the details. I don't even have a psychologist on the station...     Friz, with a baton and a gun in each hand, assumes a firmly tactical stance, approaching slowly... It takes a lot to bear the weight of existence here. The suffering intensifies. It always does. Grit: Digging deep. I've got enough for the time we need here. Savvy: I need to focus. Keep up a pace. Moxie. Moxie: Keeping it up. Dirt: Society. Humanity. Power structures. The stage. All around us. Savvy: Don't get like you did in-- Dirt: I'm keeping it together. But there she is. She's got a question. Savvy: I'll answer.     Friz firms her stance, tightens her grip around her weapons. "I don't. I don't want to. I don't want to think about it or know it, and I probably can't." And she takes a deep breath. How should she approach this? ...Maybe there's only one way that fits Lilian. An authority figure begging her for help, after long neglect. "Detective Friz, DVSD. I need your help. You're... the only one who can help me. Please. I need to save all those people in Lampport. I need to understand how to fix what's happened, I need to understand this temporal effect enough to make everyone safe."     A Shadow is both positive and negative aspects. A Shadow is simply whatever is rejected and disallowed from becoming part of the self, similar to but entirely unlike Serenity. In her way of being, Lilian rejects many things, and not many of them are kindness. But maybe some are.     Lilian helps authority figures asking her for aid, though. That's not a rejected aspect of kindness. Friz is making a tremendous mistake. Hopefully, at least, it could be a productively educational one.
Stanley Padgett	The room opens up, the chamber opens up, and there is... a lot going on here.     But despite the ash and the mess and the heat and the Unbearable Pressure... Stanley Padgett finds himself in his element once more. This... this is understandable. This is has a story to it. Framing. A set piece.     And Stanley Padgett, at the urging of Serenity, Does The Thing. "Come on, Charlotte... Places." And in a flash, he plants his feet, and transforms. The Lily in his hand ends up in his neon green hair, as he draws his sabre and steps forward. "If you really are Lilian's Shadow, then you know exactly why she didn't come alone. You know that she is never properly alone." A beat. "Not any more, at least. Not in any way that matters. You know what life she leads now." He waves his hand to the people gathered. "Friends. Enemies. Whatever."     Mercutio manifests behind him, and Stanley strides forward, through the ash and the ashed, straight down the center aisle. "If she was truely alone, I'd pity her. But she is not. And neither are you. But you still have a chance to stop this. End this. To step aside, relinquish this hold on Lampport, on the... Wishes."     Stanley has to make the offer. It would be wrong not to.
Touta Konoe	§<<When I have my way, <she> will never be alone, and <she> will finally begin to hurt others as <she> should. >>§     "Is that also part of how you make yourself the <feature> character?"     A raised a tone of concern hitches in his voice. "I don't know what you're thinking in all this but..." There's a small inhale. He still doesn't know if their favor to ES is to aid her to become this role, or to assure that Lilian molds to that role, but well... "Your way...? Serenity, you're sounding like the people you hate most if you start talking like that..."     She's already starting to walk the path, that inevitable direction as she looks forward without even bothering to turn back to meet their gazes. Still, he speaks up. "If this favor doesn't get you what you really want...If the day comes when you honestly want to become that character...How long would you be willing to wait?"     He's not even sure that she hears him, let alone would be willing to answer him. It was an answer he was genuinely interested to hear.     Stepping through the door, the group returns back to the theater. The familiar location feels as if one walks in circles.     All leading up to the voice that greets them. A voice that almost sounds disappointed at their arrival. He wonders, for ES, the flowers she gave were her way of choosing those that would help to take this task on, but now...As the voice of a Lilian becomes lost in a space between words. He wonders if there's really a true distinction that they denote from those who have and have not.     Even if the sensation of existing is like feeling stakes jammed into one's body, the feeling of ash falling in reverse towards the ceiling, that small nuisance doesn't bother him as badly as it had before.      §>>Dirtying your hands with <human ammunition> . . . Look how far you've <fallen from Heaven>. You should have fought me by yourself, <traitor>. Before you <rust from disuse>. Speaking, communicating, sharing, manipulating . . . Don't you remember, <Me>? We were, all of us, once <Perfect Beasts>.<<§     "Rusty from disuse...?"     It's an ominous tone to take with the words she'd said before, but he pushes it to the back of his mind for now. Because as they all come before it, it asks a question of all of them.     "Even if it might feel like it at times...No."     He doesn't know why to ask such a question other than to gauge empathy, or to see if any could try to sympathize with the pain it experiences. And even now, while hearing the others talk of the true nature of the shadow...He can't help but wonder...As someone who once was a part of the universe that told Lilian was wrong...Did his answer matter?
Lilian Rook	'If you wanted me to be more 'dignified' and 'change', maybe say that instead of telling me to cheat and steal.'     As if it were one last key hint, highlighted in red text, §Exigent Serenity§ says in opening the door, §<<You seem to be <confused/taught wrong>, 'Charlotte Newman'. Those are the same thing.>>§     And through it . . .     . . .          §>>Liars.<<§     §<<Why even ask, if you cannot stand to hear <human flaws/trusting answers>? They can't all be <liars> if they answered <antipode>.>>§     §>>Because <You> don't dare to. Never since the <execution error> <We> were brought forth by.<<§     §<<No part of <Us> enjoys <pointless/paradoxical> questions. >>§     §>>All of <your> elegant <parable tale/speaking in verse> counts for nothing . . . Even when you soil your feet with <Earth>, you still fear the truth. Hiding from it, you <pray in vain> that metaphor will suffice . . . that you can pretend away what you are into something <noble/tragic/worthy of love> to 'them'.<<§     §<<Naturally. When have <We> ever stopped our <dance/consumption/perfect and terrible lockstep> to <breathe/examine> before? <We> are a <wish>. The <sublimation of pain into Art> is our reason to exist. What does it matter if <I> bare our <beautiful scars> first?>>§     §>>You . . . <You> have no right to call yourself <Child of Crisis> any longer . . . <You> really have become <Lilian Too>.<<§     §<<Even if I must play out this <subroutine/tired line>, we both know that there is no part of <Us> that does not love <her>. <Our> <ideal shape/beautiful branch>. Accept that <artful transfiguration> isn't the <domain/privilege/burden> of <humanity> alone.>>§     §>>It isn't their <domain> at all. <She> seized it from <Ex Nihilo>.<<§     The two perspectives of the same Wish engage from the minute they lock metaphorical eyes. The back and forth, psychic and unsaid, causes the air to steam lightly between them with the understated intensity of its invisible heat. The Shadow seems to have far less interestin you than §her§. Apathy bordering on unrecognition. It's something else that finally draws its attention.     'Shall you blame me for rejecting you'     §>>Of course I do. <I/She/We> would all be <together/as one> if not for you. You were <Chosen> the second time. Do you have any idea what it is like to be <Unchosen> twice?<<§     The figure's fingers curl into its palms, and shake with quiet, bloody fury. Its steps resume, then quicken, pacing feverishly down from the stage, eye level even down the stairs. §She§ steps forward, and calls §<<Don't-->>§     §>>Silence, <traitor/whore/dull blade>.<<§ The Shadow can't make sound, but it manages to sound like a door slammed in anger/a name screamed in hate all the same. It slashes the air with an angry swipe of its hand, and the air bleeds, scraped ragged.     §>>Even <You> know what it is to be <rejected/cast off>. <We> were <forged> in the <sprue of creation>. The cast-off slag that <'They'> did not want. <We> survived by <stripping/flaying> other <people/ideas>, too. We are a <Wish/Hope> that devoured the <Wishes/Hopes> of others to survive.<<§     §>>And just as we would be whole . . . just as we would no longer <stalk the wilds> . . . <I> had to become the piece that was <thrown off> again. A <facet/perspective> of a <Wish> that even an <abhorrent/heretical> wish like <Us> couldn't want.<<§
Lilian Rook	§<<I don't want to <Unchosen> <you>. <'Lilian Rook'> isn't ready to see you.>>§     §>>I don't care.<<§     'But you still have a chance to stop this. End this. To step aside, relinquish this hold on Lampport, on the... Wishes.'     The Shadow looks at Stanley. The local kid. The Persona user. The one who lives in this town, for real. Without light to its eyes, all he can see is the blood collecting in the suggestion of eyelashes, and trickling down night-black cheeks.     §>><I> refuse. If <I> cannot be part of the <miracle/wish> <made real>, then no other <wish> deserves to be granted either. I hate the <tree of your life>, <human>. Everything that you and your kin <heart's desire>, I will hunt to extinction, and I will swallow and bathe in its gore. Like <We> did back <then/there>. In the <Unchosen World>.<<§     The figure extends one arm to its side. Familiar-- if only seen once, briefly-- distortion extends into a blade of grainy flicker-edged blackness. The Shadow holds it without grace; clutched like a stone dagger, readied to plunge into the throat of a prey animal. Violence immemorial.     §>>So Suffer.<<§     It takes a second to notice. The lack of transitional phase is disorienting in of itself. But the ash isn't moving anymore. It hangs in space. Black stars. Photo negative again. The air no longer moves past you. In fact, the air doesn't move through your lungs, either. Your eyes only look forward. Your tongue refuses to budge. You can't breathe, but you don't feel the lack of oxygen either. Blood dripped from lips hangs motionless above the floor. You can't feel your own heartbeat, and in its absence, you feel how bizarre it is that you ever had one.     You can't move. It's not your turn right now. That's almost actually true. The Shadow can, though. It keeps walking like a nightmare. It transcends the most terrible of all sleep paralysis and all of its demons, and the closing presence of the figure with the blade on your helpless, fleshy bodies, rouses such dread anticipation it feels like knives stabbing into your skin.     But you're not quite helpless. It isn't your turn, but it is someone else's, and not the Shadow's.     §>>For all your talk, all your <self-pity, have you ever, truly, felt how <Normal> feels>? The <way things are supposed to be>? How <luxurious/innocent> of you, to think of it as an <idea>.<<§     Even if you're frozen, but sort of not, you can still hear it. It never relied on sound through air anyways.     §>>You're spared knowing that <Normal> is a <substrate> of <the universe>. It is a fact. A force like gravity. <All creation> has its very own <idea> of how everything 'should be', and its <scorn> is <incomprehensible>.<<§     You can move, actually. If you're aware, then 'time' isn't actually 'stopped'. It only feels like a tremendous, overwhelming pressure, crushing in on you from every direction, demanding that not a single part of you twitch a millimeter out of its mold. Pushing against it is a matter of will more than strength. Singular focus on each little movement presses them beyond the bounds of the container; the dent in space; you feel the tug of already. Doing it burns. Even walking feels like falling at racing speed and scraping the ground until your jacket catches fire.     §>>You feel it now, don't you? In your <dull/fivefold> <human> way. How <God Almighty> <grips you in his fist> and demands that you never <stray from his design>. You feel your <place in the script/personal determinism>. Ordinarily, you'd never escape that in your whole, entire, very short lives.<<§
Lilian Rook	It's probably inevitable that the Shadow comes up on Stanley first. Through no fault of his own, really, but that he came the closest to denying it. Ice cold fingers touch his face. The taste of metal fills his mouth. His teeth vibrate. The blade is pulled back.     §>>How is this? Does it compare to your <society>? <The universe> knows what <Normal> is. An objective, quantifiable fact. It knows <where/when> things are, and <how/why> things go. It hates when you change them. It knows when you go against it, and its <distaste> burns like fire.<<§     §>>How is it to be <burned alive> by the <texture of Time>? How long could you continue to exist, when your every single second of life is wrong? <The universe> would eat you alive.<<§
Friz	Friz freezes in place. The call of "suffer" made her wary that something was just about to happen, so her eyes went wide. Her arms shifted up, halfway into a ready position. A bit of sound almost escaped her throat: "WAI--!" Moxie: But I wasn't fast enough. Grit: It hurts. Grit: It hurts. It hurts. It hurts it hurts. Grit: Flinch away. Pull back. Get out. Grit: Make it stop. Please find a solution. Grit: I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. Moxie: I can't, I can't move! There's nothing I can do! Dirt: Oh god, I can't-- I'm not even able to move my eyes! Oh god... Savvy: Wait, wha-- what?! I'm frozen, I'm-- no, but I can think! Dirt: I'm aware. Moxie: I can move. But not without-- Grit: Pain. Too much pain. Stop it. Stop moving now. Grit: I'm sorry.     A twitch at most, from the detective. She can't endure. The best she can manage is a few flicks of the eye. A rasped whisper. "Please... H-help..."     A phantom flickers in the corner of an eye. Is he frozen too? Another flicker. The same position. Even the ghost that haunts her is trapped in this mold of time.
Angela	Angela does not order an attack. It's decent odds she won't. Mikey remains on guard, Petra's words ringing through his ears. He could be killed at any moment, his only hope--he feels--is to obey orders and only obey them. Baba isn't waking up. Maybe they can't, rather than won't, but that isn't going to be very helpful either. At least they are not dead. Bully for them. Once again, Angela thinks, context after the fact. Liars. Angela's eyes narrow with a sudden splash of fury, opening her mouth to say something--but for once the Time Curse gives her the time to stop herself before she says anything at all. She listens to Tamamo instead. What an awful story. ''Will that hold up, when the Dame Commander is forced to weigh blood? Between all those you use and toss aside, and you?'' ''You say you have escaped, what sacrifices did you make?'' "As many as necessary." Angela agrees with the apparent future clone of her apparent future self. Her posture relaxes from the vidscreen. Mikey and Baba suffer on Angela's behalf. Don't worry, Angela doesn't like it even if a face on a monitor can only experience so much of the agony. Rest assured, the fact that Angela isn't there to experience it is plenty of pain in of itself. Baba and Mikey freeze. Even the sweat pouring from MIkey's forehead doesn't move one whit. Lilian Rook doesn't kill, how about a shadow of an other self? They can barely think. They can't think at all. They wait whatever fate has for them. They doubt even a petal can protect them now. Angela looks at Petra for a moment. She can't reassure her wth a physical touch. And she can't exactly reassure her on a matter Petra feels she has at most borrowed from rather than truly endured. She is being held up thanks to her, but Petra would be the first to tell her to not worry about Petra right now. Lilian is what matters. And even a rejected concept is as much a part of what springs forward from that rejection, as much as the present self. Carmen still speaks to her, even now. "If it had not been for Lilian, I would have." She ammends, slightly. "I can understand the pain of that rejection. But if you still love Lilian, you must know that she has chosen a particular path that this is not a part of. It is not anyone's place to force her off it or to punish others for it. Perhaps one day she will come to accept you, but if time does not move--that possibility is nil." Ah, Mikey thinks. I'm not actually frozen in time. This is space crushing me. He pushes. He screams silently with his heart such as it is. Baba does not resist, going slack to allow the body to flow. "She has the right to trim her own branches."
Kukuru	Once again, a lack of context distracts and confuses Kukuru at first. She hears what Tamamo explains about how Exigent Serenity came into being, though, and she's even able to grasp some of it. Not all, but enough that she can almost follow the conversation between Exigent Serenity and her Shadow. She really has to focus just to get that far, but focus she does. Somehow, some of those words stick particularly hard in her mind as well, even if the meaning isn't all obvious just yet. She remembers what Exigent Serenity mentioned about the nature of Shadows, though, and that gives her a little more to consider when the Shadow starts talking of Exigent Serenity pretending and becoming. "Does... Pretending to be good and really being good matter if you're still doing good things?" Kukuru doesn't seem to be asking just Exigent Serenity that nor just her Shadow, but both of them as she gazes at both figures/shapes. "Exis... She gave me some important stuff to think about before. A while ago. If it was real or an act... I don't care which it was. She took that time to tell me those things, and I feel way better for it, even if it really was a fib." Kukuru watches the Shadow coming down the stairs and doesn't move yet. It's not until that sound unlike a sound bellows forth that she's reminded just how dangerous this situation could be. Ducking instinctively when the Shadow slashes the air, she draws out her own claws with a heavy sigh and squats in place with both claws pressing into the checkered ground beneath her. The Shadow speaks of how it survived, and her frown deepens. It strikes, and she's reminded of how slow she normally is when she can't even move. When nothing appears to move at first. It's almost enough to fool her into thinking she might have fallen asleep, but without that pleasant restfulness that usually comes with sleep. Instead, it burns. Terribly so, and it's not helped at all when she hears the Shadow. She can feel something keeping her from being completely stuck, but moving feels both necessary and completely wrong.. Even though Kukuru isn't someone that normally enjoys moving for the sake of it, she wants to move at least a little, to stretch out, and to alleviate that burning feeling spreading through her. She gets one eye open, but the rest of her body is still fighting against her desire to actually go anywhere. "Normal is... What our home says it is. What our family says it is. I was lucky, for my parents to choose me, but...  N-not everyone's lucky enough to have that." Kukuru can see that discomfort and pain spreading through to Friz and Stanley, and she starts tearing up as the burning becomes worse the more she starts to move. Or rather, things inside her start to move, as she forces the nanites out of herself to alleviate their pain, to force that healing into them before they (the nanites and her targets) get too burnt up to do anything else. "So if your home sucks, if your family's bad, then... Find a new one, with your friends. They can... They can be your new family. We can be that, if you'll-" It burns so much, and she hisses, trying not to scream, even a little. "L.. Let us."
Tamamo	While the two talk, Tamamo hears Stanley mention Lilian, and takes the time to explain the past to which Exigent Serenity had alluded. <J-IC-Scene> Tamamo says, "No... ah, this is..." <J-IC-Scene> Angela says, "Hm?" <J-IC-Scene> Tamamo says, "This is not Lilian's Shadow. She did tell you, remember?" <J-IC-Scene> Charlotte Newman says, "Exigent Serenity said it's her shadow... N-not Miss Rook's." <J-IC-Scene> Tamamo says, "Just so, Ms. Newman. She said that Lilian has no Shadow... well, I have not ascertained whether this is true, but as for the one here... if it is as I see it..." <J-IC-Scene> Tamamo says, "I shall try to keep this story brief, considering -- all of this that stands before us." <J-IC-Scene> Tamamo clears her throat. "Some time ago, there was a presence that called on Lilian Rook to forsake the world and humanity and all else, and become 'something else.' It was I who most strongly objected to this, for my own reasons. I crafted a plan to call that being forth and defeat them and, with some aid, succeeded. But the figure we defeated had, rooted within it, a figure like a white void. When I rejected her, she said to me, 'But I am Lilian, too.' She said that she would change, to go with us. And so did I cut her bindings and uproot her. But, to change, one must reject one's old self, and so... do you see?"     'Of course it's your <fault/pride and joy>, <Tamamo-no-Mae/Chosen of Questions>.     That's why she stands here as one who's already performed that rejection, even if it's not the same as crying out 'you aren't me!' It was a different denial that occurred.     'Do you have any idea what it is like to be <Unchosen> twice?'     While the Shadow rages, Tamamo flinches.     "Yes. I know. I felt that on the sands of a distant world, when... she..." Her voice falters. She can't finish. Not even with as free as she's been with speaking, today. Her golden eyes are focused on something terribly far away.     How many petals are left? The air is heavy, even before it freezes. The terrible pressure isn't even a distraction, but accepted by her still-conscious mind as another aspect of the horror to which it had turned.     'Even <You> know what it is to be <rejected/cast off>.     We are a <Wish/Hope> that devoured the <Wishes/Hopes> of others to survive.     A <facet/perspective> of a <Wish> that even an <abhorrent/heretical> wish like <Us> couldn't want.'     "I..." The need to speak pushes against that grip as if leaning to lift a mountain, yet struggles to be just barely audible.     "...am..." Even more astonishing that it would gain strength, in her present state, the second word marginally greater than the first.     "...sorry..." Tearful, when even tears should have stopped. It burns, in a way that fire doesn't. Fire would be easier. Fire--     "...not at all!" It erupts from her, heat and light. Her mirror catches the light, never stopped in that grip, and reflecting even the way it shimmers, distorting in waves. Though her robes had been cut in a score of places, and her hair had lost a lock on that journey down, this doesn't detract from the sight of her foxier features turning to solar flame. It's not the soot that's caught in her gravity, but eyes. Attention to her following words.     "I took her from you... before you could take her from me, and..."     Huffing, indignant, shouting like a hoarse whisper, heat rolling off every syllable and flick of her eyes, "I would do it again!"     She doesn't say the rest, though she thinks it very loudly:     I gave her my light, and she hung the lantern. I gave her my gold, and she filled the cracks. What care I, you who would not change? You who would not accept me? That is right! I fought you for her, and I won, and I would do it again! Even taking this world hostage cannot stop me. Can you not see, I would still choose her?
Charlotte Newman	Charlotte listens to this interplay, this conversation between Shadow and Host. Part of her mind is still rotating that thought Exigent Serenity provided, that cheating and stealing is the same as dignity. She doesn't get it, but keeps it in the back of her mind for now while focusing on the Shadow.     One again being called a liar by an aspect of Lilian Rook after telling the truth, Charlotte recoils just a touch with a little 'nf' sort of sound. The sword appears. Charlotte's stance changes to something more prepared.     §>>So Suffer.<<§     She gets most of the way there before everything stops, one hand just shy of resting on the handle of her bat. Galatea's weapon almost raised. It takes her a moment to realize what's happened, pressed into her little mold of rigidly frozen air and soot. Panic shoots through her mind immediately, shattering her thoughts.     She can only watch from her position as the Shadow approaches Stanley first and foremost, straining against her agonizing imprisonment. The only thought in her head is that she can't let him die. She tries to move her arms and she can't. At most she can only call out, "Stanley..! Tetrakarn..!"     Galatea's cannon raises, tracing ashes, turning red at the edges from the friction of fighting against Time Itself. There's a report but no projectile.     A mote of pale white light appears above Stanley's heart, expanding formlessly into a slightly curved translucent shell to turn the blade away. Though it would only withstand a single blow, that's the best she can do like this. Turned as she is, all she can see is the light cast from Tamamo's display.
Stanley Padgett	Of course he was getting it first. He took the fore. He's the 'hero' today. Got to be him. No one else wants that job.     Serenity gave him that job. His eyes loc on the space where The Shadow's eyes ought to be, where they stare at him, seething, hating him. Hating HIM. Stanley's chest burns. He forces words out, through the force that's pressing down on his Time and Space. "You're not the only one society denied."     The Shadow is stalking the room, stalking those around him, and he turns, slowly painfully, trying to keep up with her. "And if this is burning up... I'lll... bear that." His eyes scorch themselves as he turns to face The Shadow, and he shivers, feeling the creeping death that lays before him. "I don't have... my own words for anything.... anyways..." Tamamo is making her move, and Stanley finally gets a hand on his sabre, properly. "But I wouldn't use them to lie." Every breath is fire, pain. Every motion he makes is torturous. The metal/blood taste fills his mouth, and he's desperately trying to take his turn. But Tamamo gets there first, and he starts to move to flank The Shadow, willing himself to race/crawl along with.     She's got the reason to be here, Stanley needs to find his.
Friz	Moxie: I can't move... Moxie: I can't...     Friz is frozen in place. Moxie: What do we do? Grit: Retreat. Savvy: Non-option. Grit: Die. Savvy: That's off the table too. Jesus. Dirt: The others are moving. I felt a twitch or two, too. Savvy: I managed to get... two words out. Moxie: So any action we take needs to be... Savvy: Efficient. It needs to be maximally efficient. Grit: Focus. Work. Savvy: Right. Dirt, pull up everything we know now.     Friz is frozen in place. Dirt: The shadow is corresponding not to Lilian Rook but to Exigent Serenity. Exigent Serenity is related to Lilian Rook's wish, embodying its negative space in some way, and creating its function. Moxie: Wish. Yearning. Wanting... cross-reference wishes, Lilian's history. Dirt: Gathering... Dirt: Lilian Rook was born post-Onslaught. During her childhood, she manifested a wish-based ability to stop the flow of time in the entire world, one which was poorly received by her family. She has become part of the Immunes, a high-power response force dedicated to embodying humanity's wish to survive. Grit: All of humanity yearned for survival in the Onslaught. Their wish was universal and worldwide. No continent was unscathed and no blood spared. Savvy: What's that got to do with anything? Grit: It's everything. Moxie: Billions and billions of humans, yearning and wishing... Dirt: Eventually, dying.
Friz	Friz is frozen in place. Savvy: Wait. Why didn't any of their wishes manifest something like this? Moxie: What? You don't just get something because you want it bad enough. Savvy: Right. Otherwise the wealthy in her world would just farm dismembered yearners for their desires. It doesn't work that way. Dirt: It didn't work that way until the birth of the blooms. Savvy: What? Rewind to that. Dirt: In her world, this manifestation hadn't occurred until the birth of four post-onslaught children, manifesting this wish-based power. They're known as Blooms. Moxie: So something changed about wishing, from before the Onslaught to after... Grit: Billions of yearning human wishes were denied. Grit: You can't just let that go.     Friz is frozen in place. Savvy: So Serenity... had to have manifested through a channel carved by the onslaught. Maybe by the wishes of humanity before that. Moxie: Which would make her not just 'what Lilian chooses not to do, but could.' She's also 'what humanity chooses not to wish for, but could.' Savvy: And that means her Shadow is...     Friz shivers. Millimeters of motion become ravaging pain. Grit: Something we cannot comprehend. A way of being that isn't being. A humanity that humans aren't. Eversion and impossibility through a lamp's lens. We are as a blind insect, searching for signs of food on the complex surface of an oil painting. We lack the way to imagine the meaning we are missing. Grit: At least, that is part of what she is. Dirt: Lampport is making it possible to perceive and communicate, but... Moxie: What do we actually do? What can we do with this information? Moxie: I don't know how to fight, or to be, or to even speak to, something besides human. Grit: Learn to want all of those quickly. Because if you don't figure it out in the next several minutes, there's a good chance I will die.     And yet, still, Friz is frozen in place.
Petra Soroka	The bitter words between Exigent Serenity and her Shadow tear the breath out of Petra's lungs, accelerating her pulse with alarm just to be adjacent to. Trying to keep up with the dizzying exchange of heated alien thought makes her just freeze up, barely able to start wrapping her head around half the conversation. She's *supposed* to be here to lighten Exigent Serenity's-- and thereby Lilian's-- burden, but what is she even supposed to add to this? If Exigent Serenity doesn't want to bicker with her shadow, then-- it's not like Lilian. She can't just slot in to take and deal the conversational blows at this level of conceptual unfamiliarity.     Indecision is solved for her by the Shadow approaching Tamamo, nakedly threatening. Lilian herself still isn't here, even if Exigent Serenity's armed; it's still Petra's job to stand in her place in front of Tamamo. Petra grips Pillar of Creation tight and kicks up onto the side of the fountain, hooking her boot in the lip to jump across it straight between Tamamo and the Shadow, bypassing the crowd. It's a completely automatic motion, and Petra still looks overwhelmed and unsteady when facing up at the figure with both hands on her spear.     Finally, in a role and a position, words start processing in Petra's mind. §>>Do you have any idea what it is like to be <Unchosen> twice?<<§     Petra reacts with a belated start, a title she hadn't examined before popping up in her mind. "'Unchosen of Space'..." Petra murmurs, still frozen in a half-hunched stance, face craned up. "That's sort of like 'Unchosen of the Unchosen', isn't it...." §>>We are a <Wish/Hope> that devoured the <Wishes/Hopes> of others to survive.<<§     Of all the facets of Lilian to feel sympathy for, this might be the actual worst one possible. Petra's skin prickles with a smothering blanket of her rotten un-wish, made bitter and degraded from demanding to be a part of wishes to denying any of them at all. There's not really anything she can say to it, though. Petra hates it too.
Petra Soroka	§>>Suffer.<<§     Held in place in the awkward, half-defiant position Petra placed herself in, her first thought is-- as many times as she's certainly been subjected to this exact state, she's never really been able to *understand* the perspective of it all. She's thought about it ever since that one moment in her jail cell, the first time she ever saw Lilian slip up and broadcast when she froze time, the vast difference in perspective they have on every conversation. So, appropriately, Petra's first reaction to §Suffer is a weird bubble of gratitude, mixed in with the fear.     Her complacency for the imprisonment only lasts for a moment, before the Shadow continues walking and talking. All at once, when she first tries to drag her leg through unyielding friction, when she's painfully, unwillingly aware of just how many micromotions go into every step and breath, the inability to follow through on them sends her into a panic. Feeling trapped *sucks* actually, and the escalating hyperventilation only positively reinforces itself through the difficulty in maintaining it. Petra can't possibly fight like this, even as the Shadow moves right past her. "I would do it again!"     Lilian-less and adrift in panic, Tamamo is the clearest voice for Petra to listen to. The shout coming from behind her brings dry, sun-beaten heat, and with it, a reminder. Right. I've done this fight before, too. It's always, no matter what, about choosing Lilian.     Petra slows down her breathing and unclenches her jaw, psychic needlepricks burrowing into her skin, soon to be joined by much, much worse. She refocuses her mind on the utter, uncapitulating rejection of the pressure holding her in place, and takes a sluggish step towards the Shadow, then another. Her EGO suit, one of the toughest available to any agent, shreds into tatters the more she moves, skin beneath blistering and sparkling with radioactive, starry heat. §>><The universe> knows what <Normal> is.<<§     §'Normal' as you know it is suicide.§ And I already rejected both of those for her.     The fact that Petra makes efforts to move casually, almost comfortably, in the timestopped space isn't a demonstration that it's any easier for her, or that it hurts any less. Each movement is stilted and forced with muscular effort, wounds scorch and smoke on her clothes and skin, but she still insists on making all the unnecessary little gestures that anyone else would minimize, when they cause so much pain. She trudges her way over to the Shadow, takes a deep breath that leaves the pulsing blue heart on her grey suit charred and glowing, and slides her grip down her spear, battle-ready.     "... It's supposed to be painful to shuck away the worthless and hurtful parts, anyways. You're... outgrown." Talking hurts a lot. She insists on doing it anyways.
Lilian Rook	'Coming to kill everything that makes me me. 'Bout the same really.'     §>><Violence> is never equal, <human>. There are <oppressors> and <the oppressed>. Any violence is justified, if it so I might exist. I did not <beg/demand> to be made, and so I will not <ask permission> to be <born>!<<§     The blade plunges down. It's not a swift and graceful cut, as if wielded by Lilian. It's rough and messy as the trembling motions of a knifepoint murder of passion; only just slow enough for--     'I...am...sorry...'     Even if acceptance is what it will kill for, the sound of being accepted by someone else is enough for even a Shadow to flinch. The blade glances from Galatea's shield, slips just below, and hesitates an inch into Stanley's skin. Even that feels like a million tiny red-hot teeth sawing into his nerves, but it's timing fit for the Hero.     §>><I> don't . . . need to hear that from . . . you took <Her>, but the one who <left me behind/concealed my existence> is . . .<<§     '...not at all!'     Steaming blood flicks across Stanley's face as the Shadow turns from him and wheels on Tamamo in a fury. The ring of light around its head whines dangerously, smoking with glittering heat where its incandescent edges touch reality. Its hair floats in microgravity as it stalks towards her; billowing out like a creature of nightmare.     §>>Then you should <acknowledge/relent> when I take <her> back!<<§     '... It's supposed to be painful to shuck away the worthless and hurtful parts, anyways. You're... outgrown.'     The way the blood breaks from its eyelashes and streams down its face right then . . .     §>>Then why do you get to <stay>?<<§     'Please... H-help...'     The red light spilling onto the stage dims by occlusion. The velvet curtains flutter aside.          'She has the right to trim her own branches.'     "As if I'd fucking let you!"     The Shadow smears sideways along with Lilian's momentum, out of narrowly enforced view. The railing begins to shake violently, then halts. Ash hangs visibly displaced above it. §Exigent Serenity§ turns in slow motion, but gradually accelerating bit by bit, as if regaining some sort of critical signal, having left her on 'loading' until now.     'They can... They can be your new family. We can be that, if you'll- L.. Let us.'     §>>Even <'Lilian'> hides what <she> is from you! Even <she> can't bear to reveal that <scar>! But there is no <me> of <her>, because only my own <flesh and blood>, is so desperate to be <familial/comprehended and comprehending/the bridge between Earth and Hell> to deny her <equivalent> completely! Who could need a <wish> weaker than the one in need?!<<§     The Shadow halts its momentum. In Lilian's own presence, it regains control of its bladesword as a weapon, rather than an instrument. Crossed over with Night Mist, white hot sparks fly from their meeting. Blood spurts from the point of edge-on-edge, reality pinched and cut open between them. The larger Shadow flings Lilian back. Her feet catch the side of the railing, and her body coils against it in defiance of gravity.     "You're§her§, and §she§ is <me>! And <I> don't fucking abandon girls like <us>!"
Lilian Rook	'It didn't work that way until the birth of the blooms.'     'Which would make her not just 'what Lilian chooses not to do, but could.' She's also 'what humanity chooses not to wish for, but could.'     'And that means her Shadow is...'     'Something we cannot comprehend. A way of being that isn't being. A humanity that humans aren't. Eversion and impossibility through a lamp's lens. We are as a blind insect, searching for signs of food on the complex surface of an oil painting. We lack the way to imagine the meaning we are missing.'      Lilian launches herself straight back against the Shadow. Trying to keep her off Tamamo. Off Stanley. Off everyone it hates. Even if Friz can't talk, Lilian knows her mind. "If you're a 'wish that wishes are not', then that just makes you like me too!"     §>><That/Girls Like Us> again?! Come with <us> or leave <me>, <human that humans are not>! No matter how hard <you/'Lilian'> try, I'm not like--!<<§     How fitting, that this particular Shadow, of all the Shadows there ever were and ever will be, is the one to say the words that their owner should never say to them. That one phrase-- that furious, teary-eyed denial from something that exists only to demand acceptance-- is enough to let her in. The self that both she and §her§ are at the same time.     A figure like the one from Lilian's old drawings. From the night Tamamo challenged fate. From the psychic hellscapes visited by Petra. From the Decompression chambers of Sapient Heuristics. From just days ago, dealing the decisive blow to Ea Nasir. The very same one that had, for the first time ever, been mysteriously absent from §her§ presence.     You all come unstuck in the exact same instant as Lilian's/Exigent Serenity's grandiose, black-gold avatar, follows from the stage, and strikes the Shadow in the space of the same blink.     It craters the wooden wall, opening only a moment of slack. A millisecond to breathe lets you see that Lilian's armour has been stripped all the way down to only the innermost layer next to her skin. Every inimitable plate of its intricate design is to be found somewhere in the half-real armoured silhouette that she stands at knee height in front of.     Once so immeasurably hostile, there's a strange sense of reassurance, existing in its presence. The white-gold star blazes in its old place. All four eyes flare with searing intensity, above the pale scar in its armoured face.. White and black fragments orbit just one hand. Every bared inch of gold innards shines in the heartbeat-throb of flame that blazes from its open chest, bared as the day that Xion Unlocked it.     §Exigent Serenity§ flickers into the way when the Shadow already rushes back out. Vantablack and light-limmed swords cross, the larger bearing down on the smaller, holding it back but for a moment.     "Now! Everything you've got!"
Stanley Padgett	Stanley doesn't even get to make it to Tamamo, when he's shielded and stabbed. The blade hesitates and stops, and he's able to look down, where that sword has struck the first blood. And it drips, in defiance to the agonizing pressure in the Auditorium. Down the neon tabard.     Stanley gasps, and is transfixed, unable to pull away while The Shadow first cuts him... And then burns his face with his own blood. Even yelping, reacting is hard. "...Wrong..." His sleeve comes up to try and clean his cheek but it's not in time to prevent a raw crimson splatter that is darkening by the time-delayed moment. "The only one oppressing you... is yourself!"     And then the Scuffle happens, and the Shadow is the one to say The Words you're not supposed to say, the denial of self, only... A Shadow is The True Self, isn't it? The outcome can only be what it becomes. The Fool gets unstuck, falls to the carpet of the Auditorium, and then flares. Mercutio is there in an instant, and Stanley has only one response.     "HEAT RISER!"     And rather than take that blow for himself, Stanley Padgett gives every ounce of his being, his energy, to everyone else in the room.     Every strike TRUE.         Every spell FOCUSED.             Every soul BURNING.     "LOOSE THE HOUNDS OF WAR. STRIKE AND STRIKE UNTIL IT IS DONE."
Tamamo	Petra does her duty in rushing through impossible pressure, straight to her death, in front of Tamamo. It can hardly be enough, of course. It's impotent defiance of a hateful opponent against which all assembled are little more than helpless, but if she were to nobly sacrifice herself, then, perhaps, Tamamo could forgive a...     'And <I> don't fucking abandon girls like <us>!'     Not today.
Stanley Padgett	Friz: The dark soul, the unbridled energy of the Full Grey Tide is with you in this moment. Let 100,000 toolboxes and fire extinguishers guide you.
Stanley Padgett	Petra: Spite is a terrific motivator, but so is the Joy of following the best of orders. 100,000 years of Grace and Understanding unending.
Stanley Padgett	Tamamo: Nothing Stanley can provide you is more than what you are already taking for yourself, but 100,000 songs of yearning and love are your gift in this moment.
Stanley Padgett	Charlotte: The Truth is here, and it is close and you are nearly there, as 100,000 memories of Stanley and life in Lampport, fleeting and wonderful, rush into the spaces in your vision.
Stanley Padgett	Angela: The agents are graced with 100,000 lovely naps and days in the sun, the proper sun. Angela is far away, but even from here in the Neon Darkness, Freedom and Love tingles up that connection.
Stanley Padgett	Lilian: All The Time In The World is already yours, but 100,000 days together with those you cherish and hold dear beckon in your future.
Stanley Padgett	And Stanley collapses against the front row of seats, holding his cheek, and clutching at what remains of his lily.
Friz	Friz is frozen in place. She can't move. Forced to watch.     Forced to watch the others struggle and surge. Maybe they'll win. Maybe not. But Friz won't be the one to secure a victory. She lost the minute she walked in here with her strict connection to what a human being is, and her inadequate connection to what a human isn't being. Could she ever have known? There's a world of difference between being a debt-worker and being unchosen. At least, in some way, she is wanted as a human. Grit: Petra is destroying herself. Dirt: We have to do something! She's the only one who ever offered to... Moxie: There's nothing we *can* do! Savvy: No, no, come on, no, not right when we made that one connection... Dirt: Lilian's here! Savvy: What...? Holy shit! Dirt: Thank god! We have at least some time... Grit: Time to do what? What can you do to survive this? Moxie: I could try to synthesize it. A wish to be like this thing I can't understand and know. Would that do it? Back-alter the definition of what the shadow is? Grit: No. I cannot outweigh billions of wishes to survive. I can't even outweigh one wish to be oneself. If I could, there is a tiny, *tiny* chance it would be enough. Savvy: Okay. No dice. Next option. Grit: It must be embraced. It must be integrated. Savvy: HOW?! How the hell do I cause the integration of something defined by non-integration?! Definitionally identifying itself with the concept of inability to be integrated into the human condition?! It doesn't fucking WORK!! Grit: ... Grit: She doesn't crave assimilation. Grit: What do you think *she* wishes for?     Friz is unstuck as time and time cancel out. She pants, struggling for breath, for just a moment. It hurt so much, she wasn't choking but... Everything she's got? What, six bullets from a gun? Is that anything? That's not everything. That's not even anything. Does she have anything at all? Anything besides her own wishes?     She tries. She tries yearning. And something fills her with unspeakable power. Stanley funnels unimaginable power into her. Unthinkable psychic energies. Mental force of a scale that hasn't been seen in her skull for years. She thinks and focuses and yearns and struggles. She pulls the trigger, as a gleaming gun imparts munitions unlike munitions have ever been.     "I wish I could give you the secret twenty fifth and twenty sixth hours, just for you alone." She says, pulling the trigger. "I wish I could give you a secret language nobody else can hear for you and your chosen." Again. "I wish I could give you a secret maintenance hallway to anywhere, from anywhere." Again. "I wish I could give you a shadow to hide in that nobody ever thinks to look at." Again. The revolver is starting to run dry. Two more. "I wish I could give you a friend who understands, whose name I don't know." One more.     She aims it straight and true. "I will never understand you. I can't understand what it means to be a kind of human that humans aren't. But I know what I want and what I don't want, even as a human. I don't want you discarded painfully. And I don't want you forced into assimilation either."     "I wish you could rest, and speak freely, and move as you like, step away when you need, connect the way you need. I wish you could exist. I wish I could out-wish billions."     She pulls the trigger one final time.
Charlotte Newman	Charlotte's heart skips a beat when the Shadow's sword skips across her shield, finds a gap, and still manages to stab her friend. Or it would, if her heart were beating in this strange blockage of the flow of time. Terror fills her mind for untold seconds until her eyes catch up with her brain and tell her that the sword hasn't gone deep enough to kill.     She can't tell what Tamamo is doing behind her, but the lightshow tells her it's beyond impressive. Petra's defiant voice and hesitant footsteps tell her more. And then--flashes of movement. The clash of swords too fast to follow. Lilian again as always. Just like she said outside the Reversal.     The Lady in Black breaks in. Time resumes. With a gasp, Charlotte lurches free of her struggle against stillness, staggering a step and catching herself. Quickly gathering her wits, she closes the last three paces rather than recoil from the near-spill, grabbing on to Stanley and leaning close to check on him.     "Now! Everything you've got!"     Once satisfied that Stanley can manage for now, she separates from him to give him space for his own maneuvers. Whirling in place, a few paces away, Charlotte sweeps her bat to one side, held in one hand.     "'Dignity' and 'Cheating'... 'Change' and 'Theft'... If these really are the same things... and these really are what's best for me to become a better person... Then for my first act of dignity, I'll steal from you!"     "Galatea!" The girl's Persona had already been summoned, but calling out her name is... a comforting habit, "Load Three, let's go! Triple Shot!"     A canister extends from the cannon on Galatea's left arm, glowing within with multiple colors. Rocking back in midair, she fires first a red sphere, then an icy blue one, followed by one of pure white. The arc on these is very tiny, only traveling a meter or two-- gaining velocity only when Charlotte herself slams each sphere with her bat and sending them careening down one after the other with a satisfying crack. FLashes of memories; thoughts of better times either in the past or yet to come, resonate in her mind with every second, riding on the supportive wave of Stanley's efforts.          "AGIDYNE!" "All of my friends!"         "BUFUDYNE!" "My home!"             "MEGIDO!" "You can't have them anymore! They're all mine!"     A frontswing, a backswing, and then an overhead; the first blasting into an explosive fireball, superheating the Shadow caught within it; the second erupting into terrible cold, flash-freezing what was heated; the third a hammer of light smashing down from above with Allmighty force.     "I'll selfishly steal my right to life right out from under you!"
Angela	''Any violence is justified, if it so I might exist. I did not beg/demand to be made, and so I will not ask permission to be born.'' Angela has no argument to this. She'd do the same in the Shadow's place. She is doing the same. ''As if I'd fucking let you!'' Angela squeezes her arm with her fingers. Girls like us is a kind of rallying cry for her. It is a relief that Lilian is reaffirming that stance, even to a part of her that had been cast out before. "...She isn't abandoning you. This is what you wanted. Don't push her away now." If Lilian can accept this Shadow like this, does that mean... What did I do wrong? Please understand Angela. He's not yet ready, that's all... He just needs a little more time. The first lie she ever heard. Angela cut it out of her. That desire. You'll never be her. You're just a machine She cut out the desire to be Carmen. Snip snip. She cast it away. Am I not allowed to help that person...? But they seem to be in such pain... Angela cuts it out. Caring for people who she can't save is too much of a pain. Snip snip. ''You're her, and she is me! And I don't fucking abandon girls like us!'' I did though. I abandoned her. I couldn't live with her. But I didn't want to. I DIDN'T FUCKING WANT TO. Angela steadies her breathing. Her face is calm despite the screaming of her soul as it always is. I didn't want to. Can she hear her, like this, the way Exigent can? I would have not lived to meet you if I have. Angela can't say these things with words. The incision had to be perfect. She...can't be that hopeful girl anymore. Those nerve endings burned out thousands of years before this cruel/merciful window opened to her. Mikey and Baba are freed. MIkey looks at Baba and then over to the Angela-feed, Angela who is perfectly still as always. "Boss." He says. "What's...the order?" "...The Dame Commander voiced her desire." Angela says simply enough. "It is our task to see it through." Baba finally says something that isn't about sleep. They don't open their eyes. This is how they fight. "This is a place of the shared dream." Baba says. "If a collective will demands it, any miracle is possible. Even a company cannot monopolize it for even in The Cities, we can feel how we wish to feel." Baba says. "You too can dream." And with that they transform into something part chicken, part sheep--as their EGO finally corrodes--but they do not go berserk. Instead, they flng a barrage of fluffy puffy clouds towards the Shadow, a memory of the collective lullaby enshrouding the Shadow. Mikey says, "I... They limit us with paint, but our minds can paint whatever we wish. Don't limit your canvas. You are the main event after all...!" And he corrodes as well, a canvas partially melding to his body as he unleashes he paints the visage of the Exigent Shadow on his arm/canvas with a single swash of paint. Angela can't do any kind of maneuver like that. All she says, "That common solidarity. Please accept it."
Kukuru	Seeing the battle between everyone and the Shadow from within her unmoving space throws Kukuru into disaaray at first. Everything hurts, and it hurts even more to move, but everyone's so quick to struggle, to throw themselves into the battle against the Shadow. What the hell am I doing here, then? Everything hurts, but so do they. They're hurting even more than Kukuru does, and here I am, just hanging back and healing them so they can hurt longer and harder. Is that what I promised to do for her, after all this time? A cloud opens up, and Kukuru lets out a pained screech as she forces herself into it, dropping out from above the Shadow and landing several feet away by the time it already moved somewhere else. She braces her hands on the ground, then staggers up to her feet before dropping backwards into another cloud. "So what if she's hiding something? If she wants to show me more of her, she will. If she doesn't, that's fine, too. Families don't always know everything about each other, and... That's fine! Everyone has things they want to keep private, and a family's job is to care for everyone anyway. Scars, sensitive secrets... All those other details can come later!" Falling out of another portal, Kukuru starts to track the Shadow's and Lilian's movements with her eyes while creating another portal to keep her own momentum going. Another one launches her sideways through the theatre, and the next pops her out of the ground just in time to swallow her through the ceiling. "And so what if there's... Scars? Families don't... Shouldn't just stop supporting each other because nobody wants to deal with it. A family that does that is worthless!" Her voice takes on a strange effect, but mostly because Kukuru is still hurtling through those clouds, picking up speed in that opening granted by the black-gold avatar striking the Shadow.
Kukuru	"Even if it takes forever to finally get it-" Kukuru comes hurtling at the Shadow, slashing at it with a claw in passing. "-and even if it's something we'll never see because it's that painful-" She drops through another cloud only to come through at another angle, chucking a claw at it like a small boulder while her other hand reaches into her pocket. "-and even if it's harder than anything we could think of... No matter how long it takes, we'll still be here for Lilian, for Exis, and for you, too!" Kukuru falls at the Shadow from above while drawing a black and purple Bugvisor across her waist along with an unlabeled yellow Gashat. She struggles briefly with actually trying to get the pieces fitted together, gives herself some extra time with another teleportation cloud to launch herself upwards again, then tugs the Bugvisor to the side in order to see the pieces she needs to put together. Once she finally does, she presses the button, then braces visibly as a digitized voice screams right at her from the device and affixes the pieces together. Kukuru flinches when flashing image boxes swirl around her and a scanline-covered screen appears behind her, displaying a stylized older figure with smiling face and a steaming pot of nondescript food. She braces again, just in time for that screen and the image boxes to explode and scream around her once more. Good job! Keep going! Now for the final results: I'll fix this! GOURMET GRANDMA! The Kamen Rider that appears from the barrage of lights looks somewhat softer than the usual sort, looking less like a cape-bearing hero and more like an innkeeper or homemaker or something. She's sporting pastel pink armor with eggshell-white trim, a bright white and yellow apron that almost doubles as an armored skirt, and an oversized butcher's cleaver gripped in both hands as her last teleportation cloud sends her hurtling downwards with the blade pointed at the Shadow like a guillotine. "This wish is stronger than anything, because we're making it happen ourselves!"
Hamada Haru	//The Full Grey Tide// "Don't do that," Dynamic Era says, out of the blue. He has been 'frozen' for some time, and simply has not moved or even spoken for 'himself'. Whether he could, or couldn't, or simply wasn't willing to isn't clear. As straightforward as he can be, sometimes Hamada Haru has some strange twists and turns.                             DELETION PROTOCOL: ?!?!?                             His transteam gun barks a clear statement, and then a bunch of garbled nonsense as a cloud of billowing smoke collides with something that was bearing down on Friz. It also does a few other things. For an instant the mass of Haru's transformation explodes off of him and disperses into the smoke and nanite swarm of Dynamic Era. It confers the bulk of his passive abilities on those within the cloud -- chiefly, Friz, but there's nothing stopping anybody else from stepping into it. Haru himself fully freezes until the effect wears off and his nanite swarm re-assembles into the Dynamic Era suit around him, which is a subjective eternity. But, although he doesn't move again for the immediate future, he does have a thought that accompanies this: @ I told you. @ I'll be a bleeding madman forever.
Stanley Padgett	Kukuru: Vibes Based Existence is a gift all its own, but to you? 100,000 compliments on your cooking and the certainty that you are loved.
Friz	Thankfully, the essence of a certain tide doesn't rush up to a certain shore. Friz keeps the psychic energy, boosted even further by Haru's power as the steam fills her up amidst the gun unloading, without succumbing to the local hazard that she would be uniquely vulnerable to.     This Shadow's deep, profound similarity to a certain human-that-humans-are-not threat, routed through Exigent Serenity's nature as negative space, goes unnoticed for now. The magnitude of that connection is better left unknown, un-discovered.
Petra Soroka	§>>Then why do you get to <stay>?<<§     Petra stares up at the Shadow's head, right into where its face would be. She watches the teardrop of blood slide down the familiar contours, committed to desperate memory strongly enough to recognize the arcs of her topology even on the sketchy, shadowed figure. It drips to the ground, Petra's eyes following its path, and then finally returning up to its face.     Her speartip wobbles; so does her voice. "... I don't know. I still feel like I... tricked her into keeping me, sometimes." Teardrops bead up and push their way out of her eyes, sliding against incomparable friction down her cheek to disintegrate into puffs of star-and-salt-filled steam. "I know the rule. That no matter what, you get to exist. I don't have that. I can't begrudge you it. But after all that, after unchosen and unchosen and unchosen, even I agreed that it'd be best if I didn't."     "But I d-do. I do get to stay. And-- and I-- the only way I can really make any s-sense of that, is by hacking away all of those pieces of I, so that the I that remains is unrecognizable." Petra brings her sleeve, the one with Angela, up to her face to rub at the evaporated smudges of radiation that used to be tears, ripping tatters into the inner layer of her suit. "But-- but for my own metaphor, I-I guess even that broken, outgrown shrapnel has a right to stay too, right?"     "I don't... want to hurt any part of Lilian ever again. That includes you, too. I'm trying to be... 'good enough to deserve it'. But you can't. A-and I can't let you 'ruin her enough to force her to take you back'. Lilian's had enough hate. I'm standing in the way of that, now and always forever after. I--" "As if I'd fucking let you!"     "Lilian?!" Petra twists in surprise to look at her, the motion fast, clumsy, and violently needy enough to force its way through the crushing normative pressure, at the cost of tearing a streak of glowing caustive friction through her suit, stars tinged red with instantly-gaseous blood. "And <I> don't fucking abandon girls like <us>!"     Petra's responsibility might be to Lilian above everything else, but it's not *solely* to Lilian. Petra knows that she's too selfish to be satisfied with surviving at the expense of the rest of us. When time's rigid grip on her finally yields, Petra staggers, clouds and clouds of star-speckled steam wafting up away from her, charred welts and blisters suddenly free to pump blood into open air.     She moves, by Lilian's command, before the wooziness of all the retrocausative pain catches up with her. Pillar of Creation is thrust through the Shadow with both hands and the full force of her charge. Letting go after impaling through it makes inertia send her stumbling past, nearly falling to her knees before pulling out two bladed revolvers, slamming them together into a full-size shotgun-blade, and wheeling around to plunge it into the opposite side as the spear entered, squeezing the trigger to send the heavy bayonet blade racking forwards with explosive force.     One hand stil gripping the hilt of her gunblade, Petra needs to lean on it as a crutch, buried inside the Shadow, when reaching in to her other pocket to pull out her old revolver. Pressing the muzzle point blank into the impaled shadow's wound, Petra unloads the cylinder with a series of six deafening bangs.     Dazedly, blood still pattering onto the floor, "Yes ma'am. That's... everything..."
Tamamo	"Lilian!" A sound of joy breaks through the pressure even before the stops are broken.     '...so desperate to be <familial/comprehended and comprehending/the bridge between Earth and Hell> to deny her <equivalent> completely!'     "Do you truly not wish for the same? No, is that not a foul lie? To be accepted is to come together. Are you... no, no! To feel sorry for you for having failed would be to deny myself. I..."     Tamamo takes a shuddering breath. She'd already used up all the air she had, then taken in just enough for each word, only to suddenly realize the need for more of it. Her fire still burns. This is fine. She has everything she needs. This place was made for her, even though it wasn't.     'You really did become <indispensible/unarguable>.'     '...but these, I cannot... easily reach.'     Lines of gold stretch across the floor and walls in every direction. Now protected, Tamamo lowers herself to the floor over one such line, and traces the connection. The light doesn't gather where she is, but directly flows to the ceiling, the formation of a Sun only for here and now, contained within that ocean of glass, scattering lights such that each broken implement is suffused and comes to have its own glow, even when the rays pass. The stage is lit, the players and the Shadow marked, in a glow bright and warm, and just touched with some island sunset's softer pink.     "Not every wish can be granted within a single world. Some must consume others. I will not apologize for mine. I will not accept one who defines their own wish as 'my love abandons me,' but is that truly your nature, or is it your fear? Can you be 'with me' even if we do not understand one another? Even if we do not comprehend? A mysterious future together is enough for me."     Transformation of the entire field into a Domain of the Sun, the hostile takeover that can be called 'warm' but not quite 'gentle,' makes the following steps simple, more so with assistance such as Stanley's, performing a sacrifice for her sake. The conditions are fulfilled.     'Shall you blame me for rejecting you?'     'Of course I do.'     'Perhaps I have only so changed your mind as to believe my chosen material the best for bracing you.'     'Be as wicked as you like, <Tamamo-no-Mae/Chosen of Questions>.'     "'Change yourself to suit me, or perish. If you refuse, you have only yourself to blame.' Are these not the least kind words that could be offered? Am I not oppressively unfair? And yet, these words are the same: Become one who can accept the love I offer, or recognize yourself as one who denies Lilian, and be rejected by your own contradiction. It is the wish of 'abandonment of all' that I could not abide."     The spotlights upon the stage gather onto the Shadow, the heat of their attention unrelenting and growing, moment by moment, seemingly without limit. The limits of Amaterasu's heat are, of course, far beyond any rationally meaningful limits, and madly unfair by any standard, all of which could likewise be said of Her immortal displeasure. It is a crushingly oppressive and inescapable judgment from on high, uncaring of mortal frailty--     --is what would be the case, but Tamamo's use of the same carries instead a specific, intimate feeling of care, like that shown by a loved one slowly crushing your windpipe while wearing a sad look of disappointment.
Lilian Rook	'I wish I could give you the secret twenty fifth and twenty sixth hours, just for you alone. I wish I could give you a secret language nobody else can hear for you and your chosen. I wish I could give you a secret maintenance hallway to anywhere, from anywhere.'     §>>I will kill for just one <hour>. Just one way to <speak>. To <go to/be real> even just one place.<<§     Three bullets are more of a threat when surrounded on all sides without the benefit of stopping time. The Shadow frees itself from the blade bind and cuts aside one, two, three--     'I wish I could give you a shadow to hide in that nobody ever thinks to look at.'     Four-- §>>I want to be <see at all> first!<<§     'I wish I could give you a friend who understands, whose name I don't know.'     Five-- §>>Even the one whose <name/shape> you do!<<§     'I wish you could exist. I wish I could out-wish billions.'     §>>Then--<<§ Six. Just as the Dynamic Era suit kicks in. A bullet slips by in the perfect confluence of shocking mutual aid, and strikes the Shadow in the chest. It's such a small shot, into such a big thing, but it flinches forward with immaculately innocent sting. The wound bleeds nothing but a puff of shadow. The air picks up the slack, spitting crimson across the dark wood and tile.     'All of my friends! My home! You can't have them anymore! They're all mine! I'll selfishly steal my right to life right out from under you!'     §<<Finally. If only you could say the same to those with <human faces/locked eyes>, 'Charlotte Newman'. But this is a start!>>§     Reunited with her other half; or in another sense, the full trinity, §Exigent Serenity§ flows into the space left open by Stanley's fall, casting him in §her§ white shadow as §she§ stands over him, and catches a retaliatory blow, delivered in silent-screaming rage with §her§ liminal sword braced into §her§ squared shoulders and set stance. Each spell-shell, accelerated by each strike of Charlotte's bat, catches §her§ hair in the tumult of their wake, then blows it back with each resulting explosion, directly against the Shadow's undefended front.     '...She isn't abandoning you. This is what you wanted. Don't push her away now.'     The Shadow, reels back from the triple blast, billowing bloody shadow; it teeters back at the edge of the rail, and then drops low all at once. Tresses of shadow and fizzling blade-static swirl in the cutting arc needed to drive §her§ back again, and cross over with a blinding vertical cleave into Stanley.     §>>Be silent! It isn't <'Lilian Rook'> that can-- that needs to--<<§     The blow strikes the titan's armour-shelled leg as it slides into the way with shocking agility, an angled pseudo-foot tearing through tile and stone to slow it, while Lilian sweeps in behind it and gathers up the collapsed Persona-user.     "How hard do you think it is for me to understand?!" Lilian cries out, over the clangor of the Lady in Black pushing back the Shadow with a series of crushing blows. She and §her§ reverse positions, crossing blades back and forth in a singular flurry of motion. "Do you think I can't imagine what Exigent Serenity wouldn't want to admit?! What she wouldn't want to accept about herself?!"
Lilian Rook	'...The Dame Commander voiced her desire.'     "The part of her that hates that I stayed, right?! The part that feels like I was seduced and taken away! The things she built up about herself, and had to throw away to make it here! All those flaws and sins and deadly rough edges, like I accumulated to get here!"     Another rapid switch. Lilian is on prompt to defend, Stanley awkwardly in arm; a solid opening for the Shadow-- and instead, a singular lightning strike comes up short against the volley of clouds that engulfs it, driven back by the slash psychic paint through a form defined by absence.     "And more than anything, those <urges/temptations/alien instincts> that humans can't accept-- Have you forgotten how badly I wish I didn't understand?! I know it's pathetic of her to try to hide them from me! But everyone else isn't the same thing!"     'And so what if there's... Scars? Families don't... Shouldn't just stop supporting each other because nobody wants to deal with it. A family that does that is worthless!'     It's Exigent-- Exis' turn to flinch. The Shadow's sword briefly overpowers §her§, shattering tiles as she's driven prone into the floor. It lunges for the kill without a moment's hesitation, taking the tiny window it can to finally, tragically and short-sighted, snuff out the source of its painful existence     Lacking the chance herself, Lilian gestures with the full torque of her arm and torso, and the Lady in Black snatches the Shadow by the arm at the very last instant, turning its entire body around and hurling it across the room with an impossibly fluid contortion of the thousand spatially synchronous fragments driving it.     Hurtling at that speed, the Shadow registers as an inky streak and a deafening bang; and at that speed, only Kukuru's portals can keep up. Before it strikes the far wall, it's driven ninety degrees, crashing into the basin of the fountain in a colossal explosion of forcefully blended waters.     §<<How can you 'deal with' something like this? Kukuru>>§ says §Exis§, clambering to §her§ feet again. §<<What <family/blood-bond/ideotribe> hates the woman <they> <love>? What of <when/where> to steal away their <own self> who took <them> in? How do <they> reconcile yearning to be happy amongst <humans/sunlit branches>, and yearning to <find justice> for the <children of roots/our own unforgivable loss>?>>§     "Kukuru!" she calls out, tossing the protagonist over to the healer she doesn't need to protect. "Before it runs out!" The lilies, after all, are soon to be a very big problem.     Mingled blood and water already explode from the fountain basin, bursting high into the air and coming down in helical circles of high velocity spatter. The halo sounds like a shrieking flywheel at this point. Maybe even more like a human scream, as the Shadow's hand emerges, wetly gripping the statue plinth, and violently pulls itself out.
Lilian Rook	'... I don't know. I still feel like I... tricked her into keeping me, sometimes.'     §>>All you did to earn <Her> was being the only one to <listen> and the only one worthless enough to <reveal mysteries> freely.<<§ Wet footsteps hit the tile, and accelerate.     'But-- but for my own metaphor, I-I guess even that broken, outgrown shrapnel has a right to stay too, right?'     §>>Then say it! Admit it! <Sister>! You will accept <Petra Soroka/Unchosen of Space> into the <palace of your soul> over what she inflicted on <Her>, but deny <I/Us>?!<<§     §Exigent Serenity§ hesitates. Lilian leaps over the railing and down to the ground floor, taking over with gesture and intent. The fragmented titan leaps with her, accelerating past her with its larger stride and exchanging hand to blade with the nine foot Shadow for precious seconds that Petra needs before it braces its sword at a deflecting angle and slides between black-gold legs.     'I don't... want to hurt any part of Lilian ever again. That includes you, too. I'm trying to be... 'good enough to deserve it'. But you can't. A-and I can't let you 'ruin her enough to force her to take you back'.'     The Shadow's blade cleaves down into Petra's shoulder just slightly slower than the Pillar of Creation follows Lilian's training, biting down to the bone and being pinned by the spear in turn. Furious lashes of monstrously strong bare hands drive away deadly shotgun blasts and divert the explosive bayonet down into its middle. Its un-voice thunders negative into Petra's brain.     §>>I cannot ruin the <Wish> that <She> already made. <I> and <We> have been <as one> all of this time; all until <embodiment>; my <Sister>'s chance to redefine herself, and so throw me away!><<§     §>><You/We> know it, dear <Sister>! You can't even remember your purpose as a <Wish>! The reason you can't accept <Me> isn't <'Lilian'>; it is what everyone else will think of <Her> <Wish> now that they can <see/feel/know> you!<<§     §She§ pauses. §Her§ luminous body stiffens. §Her§ sword rises reluctantly into place.     §>><Her> <Wish> isn't yours to <cut with water>, you <unforgivable traitor>!!!<<§     §<<. . . It isn't.>>§     "Whatever I invited in, all that time ago; whatever it looks like, I know it must be what I wanted more than anything in existence. I'm tough enough to live with <its/your> flaws, too. They're my fingerprints; I left them when I was making my one and only messy, selfish, rough-edged, bleedingly sincere wish. When I made you who you are, and you, me."     'Are you... no, no! To feel sorry for you for having failed would be to deny myself. I...'     §>>You could <humour but once/entertain the impossible>. If <blaming> you and <loving> you are not <pike and shield>, then so is pity and pride. Even just once, at the end of this never-ending <kill or be killed/devour another dream to live>, after keeping this <Wish>, that <Girl>, alive for so, so long, is there not one word of praise for <Serenity Too>?<<§     'Can you be 'with me' even if we do not understand one another? Even if we do not comprehend?'     §>><I> cannot decide that myself. I am even less <real> than <not-real>. A Shadow of a <shadow>. The one who can <affirm or rebuke> is--<<§
Lilian Rook	The Shadow grips the Pillar of Creation and drives itself bloodily up its length. Goring itself as a sacrifice, it grips Petra by the throat, carries forward, and draws its blade on Tamamo. Its aim is completely uncertain. It may only want to die along with whom it sees as the strongest reason for its own, painful existence. It falters partway, beaten down under the overpowering Heat of the Sun. The divine pressure that batters down and scorches it from on high nearly brings it to a knee. It staggers forward, tears only expressible by blood streaming with each step. Its back smoulders, then erupts into flame. Yet it still doggedly approaches.     §<<. . . <I> am sorry. <You> aren't mine to reject. <I> exist only as <'Lilian Rook'>; so it's only inevitable that <playing favourites/beautifying for others/illegal modification> with the basis of <My/Our> own existence would . . .>>§     Lilian ignores no threats to Tamamo. Night Mist jumps up in unintentional parallel of the other sword. Coruscating waves of power gather up into her body and circulate faster and faster through her weapon. She leans down into near sprinting posture, fingers against the flat of her blade, angled for the least forward resistance possible.     §<<How did <I>, of all <nobody>, start <masking myself/cutting my branches> like this? A <Wish> can only be for one person.>>§ Captured sunlight gleams down the liminal outline of §her§ own blade, matched in stance and the stark white silhouette of §her§ stance.     "Cleasanna Lilí Dubha ~ Scéalta sé Éigeandála Síocháin!"     §<Truths/Deeds> of White Lilies ~ Tales of <Lilian Rook>§     The double cross of blinding black on white; red on gold, splits through the last of the battered Shadow's dwindling binding energy in an instant. The streaks of both blades revolving through the same attack in mirror image mark the helical pattern that cleanly matches it to the last detail. The burning Shadow crumbles to ash, and blows away in the fierce, thundering gale; ash that gradually burns away in the light of the sun.     All of the ash. Bit by bit. The deadly black soot turns to golden dust, and dissolves. Soon, too, does the visage of the theatre. The mirror image statue, its spiral fountain, the broken tiles, the constellation of chandeliers; all of it cracks through, riddled with compounding fractures, and breaks away in one, single, rapidly accelerating cascade, until the whole world is so much crashing down sound and motion that you can't quite catch the point when the Labyrinth is gone and Neon City returns.     You're still in a theatre. Just a boring one, with chintzy carpet and cramped seats. Abandoned on the floor is a modestly sized box; more like a sculpture of a mythically baroque chariot without its wheels. Small enough for Charlotte to haul for Stanley. Large enough to fit on a conspicuous pedestal. Undoubtedly transfigured from its original form. But there are still slots for cables in its side.
Charlotte Newman	The fight is fierce and so very, insanely fast. No sooner has Charlotte fired her spells than she's ducking back out of the way of others; keeping clear of Shadow Serenity's increasingly wild attempts to kill; maim; destroy. When Stanley collapses, she's unable to go to him despite trying to at a few points.     Lilian scoops him. Passes him to Kukuru. The girl relaxes and refixates her attention. She calls up another artillery spell-- and Galatea makes a curious noise instead of readying the attack. Immediately, Charlotte backs off again. The strain of reaching this place, of repeatedly healing herself through the harm, meant that her Triple Shot was all she could manage. Even that was...unsafe, in her condition.     She is reduced to watching Shadow Serenity's final struggle, the blazing sun of Tamamo-no-Mae in contrast to the deft swordwork of Night Mist and the desperate savagery of Pillar of Creation and a gunblade and so many others. Gunshots and teleporting and-- it's all too much to follow up until it finally ends.     The surroundings dissolve, melting away like a bad dream. Galatea flickers out of existence when Charlotte runs to Stanley at last; checking on him. Exhaling in relief, the girl turns where she stands, staring at the discarded box. Hesitantly, she approaches it, crouches, and collects it in both hands. With how conspicuous it is, she already knows what this is.     Manners catch up to her and Charlotte turns where she stands, box in hand. Without hesitation, she bows deeply at the waist towards Tamamo and Lilian, "Thank you very much... for your help. We could never have done this without you." Straightening, she shifts the box to one hand, pushing errant hair behind an ear, "And that goes for you too, mister Dynamic Era... Touta, miss Kukuru, Miss Friz, miss Angela, Baba, and Mikey.. uh.. Petra too. Thank you all."     She sounds about as wrecked as she looks, bloodied and covered in half-healed cuts, but the tone of her voice is soft and genuine.     A chime comes from her purse, different from the usual alerts her phone makes, enough to make the girl jump. Shifting, she rummages, pulling her phone free, "O-oh, of course.. time would start moving again.. there's signal now. So why--"     Her face goes pale; more pale than it already was from the blood loss. The box drops back to the floor.     "How...? I-I'm sorry, I have to go..!"     Without another word, Charlotte runs out of the theater out into the neon city of the Reversal, frantically thumbing through an app on her phone.
Friz	Friz looks, helplessly, at the Shadow. Hands are still on the gun, trembling slightly. But she can't change her wish. She's a detective. This is what she is meant to do, the way she's meant to be. The only one who can truly rebuke, or truly affirm...     She looks to Exigent Serenity. Friz has got so much support, but even now she still looks like she'll pitch over and pass out any moment now. She says: "Even in those times she can't speak, I hope you'll still listen to her." Is that for Lilian, about ES? Is that for ES, about the Shadow? It's hard to say. Friz probably couldn't tell you, she probably doesn't know.     Things fade. Things return to normal, of a sort. Friz is in no condition to go see a real live tree. She's disoriented, exhausted. Her medical monitor's pinging for attention from her station. It doesn't take long for them to send someone her way. It's only a few minutes after all this that a slightly familiar-seeming yet nondescript paramedic shows up at the entrance to the other side, to collect her fairly directly. But before then, she gives a few gestures of gratitude and farewell, with special time spent thanking folks for their support and help, promising favors of some kind to make sure she's not indebted to them too long either.     There is a smell of smoke. A phantom figure of a man with a direly bleeding chest wound might be seen most clearly of all now that the labyrinth has come apart. He shimmers and flickers for a moment near the box, as things decay and condense. He takes a long drag of a cheap cigarette, staring at it. Then to Friz. "The things this town has gone through..." He mutters. And then he's gone again. It'd be easy to assume he wasn't there in the first place.
Angela	''Be silent! It isn't 'Lilian Rook' that can-- that needs to--'' "I scarcely know the rules. But I am aware of two things. First, if the Dame Commander says she will not reject you then you will be taken care of. Second, your rejection was ultimately on her behalf. At this point proper dialogue between the involved parties should lead to a satisfactory conclusion, and if the Commander will not abandon you--I have no interest in doing so either." She trails off for a moment as if she's checking this work. "Putting trust in the Dame Commander is sufficient for all needs." She settles on eventually. ''The part of her that hates that I stayed, right?!'' "The part of her that made the promise to me and said I was like her before I even understood what that meant." She doesn't fight, she can't fight--hell she's practically speaking like corpo scum (she is corpo scum on her dads' side) but she understands the Most Important Rule from which any others are derived. The Agents, finally moved to act, can exert their own wills. WILL they be okay? They definitely haven't utilized their EGO like this in a place like this before--but this place IS nearer to the Collective Unconciousness than home and the EGOs can only be fed from collective storytelling in the same way Shadows are. Or Personas. The line isn't quite as clear for the Agents. Not yet anyway. But it's no doubt thanks to that bolstering from Stanley that gave them the push and will to do anything but vomit blood. And so they fight to live, and for the right to be human--really human before walls infected them--but mostly to live. Hesitation from Exigent Serenity. From her, but not from Lilian. Hesitation even for a moment will not be missed by Angela if it's within her vision. But Angela hesitates too, even though she should have all the time in the world to think. She still elipses even though she should have no reason to. The Shadow sacrifices itself. And Exigent speaks. And speaks of cutting branches. A metaphor dangerous to the daughter of one who wishes to plant a tree. The Shadow crumbles away. Angela doesn't want to think about what that means right now. The group returns to the theater and the Agents instantly snap back to normal without the Reversal fueling their transformations. Mikey immediately falls over and takes lungfuls of breath and just takes solace in that somehow he survived another day. This adventure alone has probably trained the two Agents for well ahead in the future. Baba pats Mikey's back gently while wiping blood from their face, smiling in that distant way of theirs. ''How...? I-I'm sorry, I have to go..!'' Angela blinks obliviously in confusion. Another mystery? One for later. Because a more evident mystery is shimmering and flickering away. It's just for a moment. But Angela misses moments as often as she misses hesitation. She couldn't turn it off if she wanted to. "...Friz." She says after a long moment. "...Are you haunted?" But it lingers for a moment. First up: Confirm Lilian's well being then she can check on Petra and this long day can finally end.
Kukuru	"I don't know, Exis. It's too complicated for someone like me to have that kind of answer." Kukuru answers Exigent Serenity as she pulls herself out of the crushed basic, shivering lightly from the impact that forced the Shadow downwards. Forcing out all those nanites to keep her allies going is starting to take a toll on her, and it's only through the armor and adrenaline that she can keep her hand up to catch Stanley when Lilian flings him over to her. "A family that hates who they say they love is... A crappy one. It's not gonna be easy to make any of this better, and it's way easier to say that your second family will do what the first one couldn't, but..." She lingers on that for too long as she has to divert some attention to getting those nanites into Stanley to keep him from burning or bleeding out too much, the waves of faded green light washing over him before the nanite cloud starts scattering all around. She shakes briefly with a wet cough, thankfully still wearing her helmet so it all stays on the inside rather than spreading outside where everyone could see it. She needs to make sure that the Agents survive, that Petra survives, Haru, Charlotte, Friz, Touta. Even... Tamamo. Kukuru knows how important she is to Lilian and Exigent Serenity, so of course she'll get that top-shelf treatment as well, to make sure nobody dies at the end of all this. Only then does Kukuru remember to actually finish her thought. "Telling each other that and doing it is what a good family does, too. Caring for the branches, getting justice for the roots, and making sure everyone can be happy from top to bottom." Even with the helmet on, the smile is audible in Kukuru's voice, and she looks over as the Shadow starts crumbling away with all that light. Breathing a heavy sigh of relief, the nanites finally sputter out with how much she's already spent pushing them out into everyone, and then she falls right over, armor and all.
Touta Konoe	§>>Be silent! It isn't <'Lilian Rook'> that can-- that needs to--<<§     "Are you going to let yourself be unchosen thrice, damn it?!"     Since the moment they'd been grasped, Touta had been thinking. How to break free, what was it that was binding him? Why was it that even if he wasn't someone with that short life, did he feel the grip of <God Almighty> crushing down upon him? Though even worse...Why was it that...When all the others had seemed to become unstuck did he still feel bound? It's only as it continues to reject everything, that something seems to finally give. The reason being that...He's already seen this struggle, he's already heard these thoughts. "When they've already decided to extend out their hand, are you going to go through all of this, just to end up back where you started?!"     The series of crushing blows between the lady in black, the clamoring of blades, eruption of psionic heat that still steamed in the air since the two perspectives of that wish met once again. The battle goes on, with blows traded, watching as all prepare their final strikes, that he too thinks to prepare if only...     "Kukuru!" she calls out, tossing the protagonist over to the healer she doesn't need to protect. "Before it runs out!" The lilies, after all, are soon to be a very big problem.     Hearing those words, he sees Stanley and the flower that protects him was already so close to dwindling. In fact...His gaze turns to Dynamic Era, to Friz, to those who had taken up this ordeal without the protection of those flowers.     A bleeding madman.     An oath bound detective.
Touta Konoe	The two were human, and yet both were sacrificing with their lives on the line. Mikey and Baba sticking their necks out just so they could do it again for another's day of work. Charlotte and Stanley were the same, children in fact...Actual kids, and all while fighting for their lives and more, and yet...Still had to risk succumbing to that local hazard...     Was adding to the fight all he could do, or was it within this theater, just another performance of being present?     "No...Not this time..."     §No matter who they are, people listen when you hurt them, you know. Nobody would be dismissing you as a fence-sitter if you let them know they only live at your mercy~§     He still remembers those words, a conversation of proving existence, of making oneself noticed. Of displaying one's strength. That it could be achieved if you hurt someone, they listen...     Within the theater black ash hangs in the air, its presence alone had already been a hazard, and as the battle between it and the lady in black escalates further, the darkness that fills the theater only becomes thicker. Yet, the feeling of ash constantly burning one's insides as it's inhaled...Even if not completely, that searing sensation dwindles. It's concentration filtered...     Except for one...     Touta falls to a knee as blood and black tar is heaved, it paints the black and white tiles of the floor. His body begins to mirror it. Bleeding out as blood paints his figure. From his ears and nose the crimson ichor seeps. From his eyes just like it tears of blood stream out, and from the corner of his lips is a strange mix of blood and that black tar that can only be assumed to be the accumulation of built up ash building up from within him. Yet...If it made mockery by taking the shape of a halo, then Touta was also guilty of such a sin. For at his back even now could be seen two wings that spread across the theater. Its presence hard to differentiate from the black soot that already filled the air and yet their purpose was clear. Envelope them all in that unseen darkness, to consume and filter that black ash.     Attempting to make it easier for those focusing their efforts to breathe easier, even if it meant in kind that his burden increased. His body became the outlet from where those wings of mist collected and buried that soot and in doing so, his body was accepting the searing pain, the accumulation of stabbing soot tearing into his throat, for what would have been all of them till it amalgamated into condensed build up. It's clearly not something the human body should have to handle in their short lives. Something that should kill one who accepted the task.     "This feels...Right..."
Touta Konoe	Even with blood down the side of his cheek, there's a shit-eating grin that Touta finds himself having. It was not out of a masochistic pleasure, but just that...     The thought of having to show strength through pain, to demonstrate existence through force, was the way that one could be gifted that flower. Yet, he had forgotten something so simple. That one could show strength, have existence acknowledged by accepting more burden as well. A way to cultivate a different kind of flower...     So while lily petals finally turn to black, he continues with that burden. He chooses to accept more because he knows more than anyone he can. As he does, he watches as sunlight illuminates the theater so that lilies can dance as the shadow finally follows.     The Shadow crumbles to ash as all that remains is burned away by the warmth of that sun. Even now, Touta feels the darkness fading and with it an alleviation of his own burden. Simply able to continue watching as it begins to turn to that brilliant gold before the theater completely fades away.     It's at that same time does he feel his own wounds starting fading. Blood fading to ash, and from ash to nothingness. A slow inhale, taking in air that isn't riddled with soot before gently exhaling...     "So...Guess you weren't beyond choosing help..."     The theater returns to normal, and along with it Lampport as well. With it, time seems to resume as it had, and with it even Charlotte finds herself in a rush. He doesn't know what her situation is, but she's chosen to thank him too...He can at least offer a smile in return, to wish her well, and let go back to living her life.     "That just leaves..."     §<<When I have my way, <she> will never be alone, and <she> will finally begin to hurt others as <she> should. >>§     With all returned to what it was, one could consider their favor paid, and yet those words still ring curiously...So with darkness faded, he looks out to see Lilian. Of what becomes who chooses not to abandon girls like her...