COMMUTATION 1.7

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Trespass is knowingly entering another owners’ property or land without permission, which encroaches on the owners’ privacy or property interests. Trespass may be lightly or severely punished depending on the difference in haemocaste between the trespasser and the owner of the property being trespassed on. Light punishment typically tends towards the loss of one or multiple limbs.

- Penal Code Section 187.A by the Decree of her Imperial Majesty the Empress, Conqueror of Stars, Beneviolent Tyrant of Trolls, etc etc etc, to be applied to the Homeworld.

======-> Be the cowgirl with a secret.

You feel like you're going to go insane. What is it with getting various instructions from different people with clues and hints as to where to find someone. You're not a video game character. Nevertheless, you've committed, and so you guess you have to make your way over to a clown mansion.

First, though... it's getting late.

You make your way back to your hive, taking a different line than you rode in on all the way out west, and then the scuttlebuggy back out past the subgrub into the middle of nowhere where you live. Zhanne living in the southwest of the city near Kiarig and Arsonn is nice, but the quest you got sent on for Dirack put you all the way in the southeast, the opposite side to where you live.

It leaves you a lot of time to think about things. You're not sure about [LA] yet, as she seems to be quite.. brusque. If you're not mistaken, Kiarig is getting more openly hostile to you the more often you visit, which isn't good. Zhanne is.. elsewhere. Moreso than when you first met her.

But hey, you've got something to do! Beats filling out job applications they don't want to hire you for considering you'll be headed off-planet soon, right? You relax into a contented slouch as the scuttlebuggy trundles on and the fields roll by. You hum along to your music.

The next day, you're up before noon. You're energised! You're doing this! You fist-pump the air a little, cheering yourself on for this stupendous feat. Then you realise your room is still a mess, and you set out to clean all of that off the power of an energy drink on an empty digestion sac.

Two hours later, you have several missed messages and shaky fronds from a caffeine crash. You finally sit down to eat something in your nice and clean environment at your desk, and catch up on your group chat. You'll check your DMs after.

=> #general - /HE SI/E OF PROGRESS IN DIRACKQUES/! [3 notifications!]

LG: @affableLapse SO WHEN WI// YOU BE HEADING OU/? at 9:06

...

LG: @affableLapse ARE YOU AWAKE YE/? at 10:17
SG: Somememe people sleep iiin, beloved.
LG: OH, YES, I FORGO/
LG: HOW IS WORK?
SG: Samememe as ever, darliiing.
LG: BE//ER /HAN /HE A//ERNA/IVE!
SG: That's true.

...

LG: SURE/Y YOU'RE UP BY NOW RIGH/? @affableLapse at 13:23
GL: i_ have to say_ she usually isn't up before 12_
GL: so_ don't hold your breath_
GA: that's so late, though?
LA: >being employed
LA: some of us are normal(lol) desu
SG: Hm? What does that mememean?

Ah, so it's turning into a difficult situation. You're right on time!

AL: good morning everyone!!!
AL: how is everyone doing?
AL: and don't worry @lividGarishness i will be moo-ving soon! hehe
AL: does anyone want to come with me?

You cast your net without delay, hoping to catch at least one volunteer. In your pusher you know that this won't grant you any results, but better to try and fail than to never try at all!

Predictably, though, everyone has reasons they're busy.

LG: I WOU/D IF NO/ FOR /HE FAC/ /HA/ A /EA/ SNIFFING AROUND WOU/D BE BAD FOR A SUB//E INVES/IGA/ION
LG: ANYONE E/SE?
GA: i'm busy with my job, unfortunately. :(
LG: OH, WHA/ WORK DO YOU DO?
LA: im not going to a fucking clown mansion
LA: are you insane desu
GA: oh, i'll tell you later, i have to go do something! i'll be back!
GL: i_ will have to decline_ for the same reason as LG_
GL: too_ high profile_

Kiarig is at work, so that rules her out even if she won't reply to you. The other recent member of the chat hasn't said anything at all yet, so you're wondering if maybe they've got some sort of important job that keeps them really busy? That's probably it.

Well.

You've stalled all you can, really.

You can do this Bonnie, you've got this. You're gonna do great.

You're spending a lot of time travelling. It's a lot of dead time, and you don't have data, so all that's left to you is listening to music you've already downloaded. Now that you're not listening to anything themed after the people you're visiting, you're playing your own music. To hype you up! So it's a full album of My Chemical Quadrants.

You don't really relate to the protagonist of THREE REPETITIVE SOUNDS OF ENCOURAGEMENT FOR MOTIVATING THE PURSUAL OF AND REVELRY IN RETALIATION, as you haven't lost anyone, but you sure are on a quest. You guess you've lost Dirack, sort of? But you didn't really lose them, that was others. You're still looking for them, though.

You play out the whole album, and then put it on again as you get off the third connection you've had to take all the way out here. The station is barren, and you now have to trek into the woods beyond the town, down the singular path. The mansion lies at the end, the only building permitted in this managed nature area that exists solely for the benefit of the high haemocaste.

The town it connects to is the wealthiest in the province. Perhaps on the planet, considering its proximity to the capital. This doesn't explain why it has the inane name of FLOWERVALE, but you guess not all names can be winners.

You check around you briefly to see if anyone's around, but it's the middle of a workday. Not a soul in sight. The gravel path was well-maintained, but now seems to be slowly losing its flawless state, as plants have grown up in and around it, not well-trodden enough to keep them down. Your moobeasttroll-style boots crunch the loose stone and flatten the occasional weed. It's the only sound other than your music, which you pause. There's not much to see here but trees, and the path winds, twists and turns deeper into the woods, but for some reason you feel like you should be alert.

Upon arrival, you walk up to the gate of the mansion, and decide on a whim to simply push it. Why not see if it's open? Sure enough, the rusty hinge creaks and groans but eventually allows the gate to swing wide open, as if grumbling about having to admit you. As you step onto the premises, your phone pings.

You've connected to... the internet?

Hey, maybe this means the building has lights too, when you go inside! It'd make your careful preparations of a flashlight, rations and other assorted items unnecessary, but you wouldn't complain.

You stare out at the grounds of the mansion. There wasn't a name on the gate, so you don't really know what to call it yet.

> ping!

You fish your phone out of your sylladex, breaking its associated bottle, and see you have:

> 1 notification from graveLecture [GL]! 3 notifications from lividGarishness [LG]!

You open up Zhanne's message first, and corpse is still in the middle of typing.

GL: bonnie_
GL: i'm_ sorry i can't come with you_
GL: but_ i did want to express my support_ for what you're doing_
GL: it's_ not something i would personally do_
GL: but someone has to_

You decide to surprise her by replying.

AL: boo!
GL: huh_
GL: wait_ what_
GL: didn't_ you not have internet_
AL: the standard abandoned clown mansion package includes an open wifi network! apparently
GL: huh_ well_ keep me updated_

And you decide that yeah, maybe you will. It'll be nice to have someone "with you", even if she can't be here. You upload a picture of the front of the mansion to her to see what she thinks.

> affableLapse [AL] has uploaded an image! img9405.jpeg

AL: so, is it haunted?
GL: immensely_
GL: i can see_ the spirits_ crawling through my screen_
GL: all the way_ from yours_ via the haunted internet_
GL: they're telling me_ in seven days_ your life is forfeit_

You mime a theatrical expression of shock, before realising she can't see you. You're not on call and she isn't here. It also doesn't work quite as well with the mask you have on, so maybe it's better no one saw that.

GL: on a more serious note_
GL: there_ really is no one visibly there_
GL: i can't see_ anything interesting_ from the outside_

Unfortunately for you, Zhanne points out the obvious for you, meaning you can't exactly waffle about outside for too much longer.

AL: doesn't seem that way!
AL: which kind of sucks
AL: i was hoping there'd be a visible clue?
GL: maybe_ if you go up to the door_

Corpse also very helpfully cuts to the chase of what you have to do. Well, with a smile unseen and a spring in your step, you will hesitantly make your way past the unmaintained gardens overrun with wild plants. These plants themselves are remarkably pristine, with none of them flattened or eaten by wildlife, which seems... kind of weird. But hey, what do you know. Maybe the fence keeps them out?

You gently approach the door. There's no graffiti on it, which does strike you as weird. Surely if Dirack's apartment had a giant purple face spraypainted onto it, this should as well, if it's related?

Your musing is interrupted by the front door swinging open.

You didn't touch it.

Well, it's clearly unlocked and maybe there's a draft? You guess the closing mechanism must have weakened or rusted or broken at some point. The lights obviously aren't on, and you noticed outside that some of the windows were boarded up, so it's pretty dark in there. You break the bottle containing your prepared flashlight and flick it on, casting a beam across the foyer. You looked up what the entrance would be called before coming here.

AL: well the door just opened!
AL: so i can see inside the foyer
AL: other doors are closed, though
GL: spooky_
AL: nothing notable really inside... no footprints or paint or anything?
GL: huh_
GL: if_ the door was unlocked_ surely you'd expect squatters_

Zhanne makes a great point. You did notice this, in the back of your mind. However, you are not going to think about that, and quickly mentally paper over any reminders of anything you don't need right now.

It's eerily quiet.

You step inside, hesitantly.

AL: no traps in the entryway!
GL: well_ i guess you had to figure out_ somehow_
AL: time to explore!

You make sure to flip the STRIFE MODE switch in your specibus to ON, double-checking you have enough pirated STRIFLY LARVAE available. You might get into a couple of fights with overeager furniture, as this thing is probably too sensitive, but it's better than being caught unaware. The trials you've had to go through to get these to the brink of maturity are their own pain, but it's worth it.

You enter the foyer fully, and half expect the door to slam shut behind you. No such thing happens, and you let out a sigh of relief.

AL: stepped inside and the door's still open!
GL: your offering_ pleases the gods_
GL: you are permitted_
AL: permitted to what?
GL: permitted_

You shake your head slightly at Zhanne's antics as you cast your flashlight from side to side. Nothing of note here, just a couple of closed doors to the north, east and west, a table dead centre with an empty vase on it, and another table to the west that bears a picture. You walk up to the table with the picture and decide you should inspect it like this is a key item.

You pick up a WEATHERED PORTRAIT.

It seems to depict two trolls of roughly equal height and masculine build, but one of the faces has been ripped out. The other has a half-face mask, and the part of their face you can see is smiling, while the mask is frowning. Their horns seem unwieldy.

They're both standing in front of a mansion - this mansion, you realise - and the greenery is better tended to. You think you even spy some roses off in the corner. Purple. Sure is a clown mansion.

As an experienced amateur sleuth, you snap a picture of the picture, adding it to your EVIDENCE DOCUMENTSHEATH on your palmhusk.

> affableLapse [AL] has uploaded an image to DIRACKQUES/ and graveLecture [GL]! evidence1.png

You post that to the group chat and then in Zhanne's messages, and go back to ignoring the group chat.

GL: seems interesting_
GL: do you think they_ owned the mansion?
AL: gotta be, right?
AL: they're in front of the door and everything
AL: looks like they had a falling out though
GL: good_ clown suffering_ is good suffering_

You put the portrait back on the dusty table. Out of curiosity, you squat down next to it, and try to see how thick the dust layer is.

Looks like this place hasn't been touched for quite a while.

You file that away in your mental EVIDENCE DOCUMENTSHEATH. Which is less reliable than the one on your palmhusk. It'll have to do, though.

Time to choose a door. They are all different colours, but all shut. You're severely confused as to why a purpleblood mansion would include an orange door here to the west, but you're going to choose it anyway. It matches you! You leave the green and purple doors to the north and east alone for now.

You enter into a hallway, and you seem to hear the masonry and wood and plaster and all the other materials grind into place around you as you step in. But nothing's moved.

Huh.

AL: mansion's got some odd noises going on!
GL: vermin?
AL: like the mansion is shifting
GL: well_ it is purple_
GL: lingering_ psionics?

Yeah. Probably just amplified anxiety.

You turn behind you just to double check this door didn't close behind you. But it hasn't. Something makes you hesitate to go back through it, though.

You gaze into the corridor ahead. Seems like there's an exit straight ahead of you, and one to your right - the north. You pull out a notepad and start drawing a map. Always prepared! Well, often. You map out the entrance with a little drawn door icon with an E, and put an open door where you went through, with doorways to the north and to the west. You also draw in the remaining doorways from the foyer.

There's furniture in this hallway, but it's underneath dust covers. Another table stands by the side, and it has a note on it, as well as a loose iron key. You pick that up and stuff it into your pocket before reading the note.

OPEN YOUR TATTERED MIND AND THERE IS ONLY GOD TO CRY TO

Huh. Well, you pocket that too, except this one goes into your sylladex, into a bottle. After taking a picture of it with your palmhusk, of course.

AL: how trustworthy do you think old notes written in clown cursive are?
GL: what_
AL: if you were to hypothetically find one lying around?
GL: o_o
GL: that's_ probably cursed_
GL: you probably cursed yourself_ picking that up_
GL: i will_ prepare_ for a closed casket funeral_
AL: no but really
GL: well_ it was probably meant_ for lowblood staff_
GL: so make of it_ what you will_

Dubious authenticity! Your favourite kind of authenticity.

Time to pick another door. These aren't colour coded anymore, so you don't have an easy choice to make. You do note that this hallway sure is orange, though, so maybe that has something to do with it?

You go through the westward door, and enter a cuperoom. It's purple. Well, of course it's purple, it's a cuperoom in a clown mansion. You don't hear that weird shifting noise when you step into this room, so that's probably a good sign. You just imagined it the first time. That's what you're deciding happened.

Unfortunately the cuperoom doesn't have any more portraits in it, although it does look really relaxing. It has a state-of-the-art cupe, albeit entirely empty and sparkling clean, and a... recreational platform.

The covers are quite soft.

You casually swipe a jewel that's present on one of the shelves.

Dead end, though, so you back right out and head to the north. This odd sequencing of interlocking corridors, cuperooms, and various others - there's an entire room dedicated to an indoor water area, which is very odd for anyone who isn't a fish - eventually starts wearing you down. You're just going through door after door after door. You stop paying proper attention.

One of the rooms you stumble into does eventually lock behind you, and when you try the doorhandle, the lights go out.

AL: zhanne?
AL: this room closed on its own..

No signal. You're still holding your flashlight, so you flick it back on. You thought you were still looking at the door, so you scare yourself witless when you see something, blind yourself, and then realise in one go that that's a mirror and that it's just you. Mask, horns, and all.

You spin around slowly, looking in all four directions, and realise that there does not seem to be a door. Just you, staring back at yourself, still blinding yourself a bit as the warped and tarnished silver breaks your visage into weird, distorted falsehoods.

You start your second revolution on your own axis, but are interrupted by a hand clapping you loudly on the shoulder.

??????: SAY, aren't YOU TRESPASSING?

A masked clown has found you, and is currently breaking down in a delighted fit of giggles.

You need to get the fuck out of here.

So you run.

You don't have a great idea which direction was the one you came in from, but it doesn't matter, as you pick the direction you're facing and run straight through the mirror blocking your way, shattering it and its reflection into dozens of shards.

??????: DON'T be LONG!
??????: SEE you SOON!

You're not sure if you're being followed, as the clown's voice bounces down the hall alongside you, echoing, occasionally sounding like it comes from your left, then your right, or from right behind you. Whenever you hear them cackling from a room you're about to enter, you change course, dashing through whatever door you can get to quickest.

You go through dining rooms and foyers and garages and indoor water features and several gardens.

The hardwood floor means you clatter loudly with every step you take, the hard soles of your boots attempting to drown out the laughter. The spurs on the back of them have probably scratched the wood.

You go through various different antechambers that don't lead into anything befitting their decorations.

You've knocked over several statues, vases, plants and their pots, and you've even obliterated an oil painting, but you don't have time to feel bad.

While scrambling through doorways you occasionally hit your hips, your elbows, your knees, everything on the frames, bruising you, but you don't ever fall.

You don't slow.

After a frenzied run that feels like it lasted both minutes and hours, you exit into the main foyer, the one that has the door that leads outside, and you burst into the remnants of the cool darkness outside. It'll be light soon.

Once on the grounds again, the laughter stops. It stopped the moment you stepped over the entryway, making the entire place eerily silent again. Gravel crunches under your boots as you make your way up to the gate at a jog.

It's shut. You don't have a key, it won't budge, and you can't climb over it or the remainder of the fencing, as it is producing a faint hum.

You turn back to the garden, and make sense of its trampled remains now that you've seen the interior of the mansion.

It looks like you're going to have to camp out until the following day.

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COMMUTATION 1.6

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A traditional violet senate consists of 150 members, each of which has an individual vote. They often form alliances, which has given rise to what is called the "oceanic model" of governance. Their power consists entirely of what is delegated to them by the Empress herself. On Alternia, however, this senate is a lot smaller, due to the smaller size of the violet population that is of an appropriate age. It's sometimes theorised that the planetbound senate exists solely to hamper the Heiress from exercising the full might of her power, although these theories are only spoken of in hushed corners, and never out loud.

- A Violet's Primer to Politics, a pamphlet handed to newly spacebound seadwellers.

======-> Be someone with a bit more class.

You're always stealing time from your future self. Dark shadows brood under your eyes, conspiratorially. As you pace the halls of your underwater mansion, you try determine if you can miss more sleep this week or if it'll lead to you physically collapsing. You've already trained yourself to work just fine on six hours, even at the detriment to your memory and skin. Both of those can be patched up with assistive tools and copious amounts of caffeine. More indexed notekeeping, more makeup, your trusty espresso machine.

It all falls within the purview of the skills your lineage teaches. The heels of your formal outfit tap rhythmically on the waterproof flooring as you head towards your ancestral library.

You approach the door and wait for the thumbprint scanner to do its work. Nearly every lock is biometric, although there's a haemocaste override, which in turn means there's a significant amount of fuchsia blood that gets drawn and vaporised in your hive. She does live here, after all. But she's not around, for once, while you're back to pick up documents that haven't been digitised yet. You're hoping for some minor historical event, recorded in your line's annals, tucked away in the library, that may provide you an all-important precedent in order to argue your case before the senate.

The loud hiss of pressure adjustments in the internal airlock - humidity control is essential, here - trigger a sharp headache above your left eye. The sudden shift from the scent of evaporated seawater to the musty, dry scent of old paper and leather does not help.

Cerato does have the right of it, after all. Similar things have been done before. Religious doctrine gets rewritten, the state attempts to put its grubby fronds into it, and you fight a political war in a different arena than usual. This time, though, it's less contested than it would be otherwise. A bargain with Cerato herself, in order to solidify your own foothold on your own battlefield.

You just need to see which things you might need to trade away for it. The precedent you're looking for thus helps you bargain for a lower price. Assuming, of course, that the price set in history was acceptable, or that it was recorded, and that you're not going on a wild three hour cross-referencing chase. You'd usually let an assistant handle this sort of thing - a cerulean paralegal with a focus in religious studies, perhaps, for this particular instance - but it's best to keep this hidden until the move is made. Both from your fellow senators, as intent on tripping you up as ever, as well as from your enemies.

Fortunately, recent unrest means that senate meetings are closed session again, meaning most of the threat is rival violet factions instead of needing to fear purple interference.

The problem is phrasing this bargain in a way that does not make it immediately plain you are making concessions to clowns, however specific those concessions are. While the church and the state always vie for dominance and thus have their ebb and flow of alliance and betrayal, unilateral loss like this is not something you can readily justify. Reinterpreting religious doctrine is not something that happens regularly. It'll look suspicious no matter what you do.

So you need to create pretext. An inquisition is tempting, but arguably too broad. Appointing Cerato would also be too suspicious. As charming as she is, it'll be difficult to guarantee she'll be chosen as its head - internal politics - and you cannot give other factions a foothold to clean house.

Pretext is the other thing you are hunting for.

History is full of beautiful precedents and pretexts, and all you have to do is spend several hours digging for them.

You briskly walk down to the kauri shelf you believe to be a good starting point for your first search, passing by one of the mahogany tables set out for reading. Sitting at said table to the left of the main walkway, kicking her feet idly underneath her rosewood chair while humming to herself, is someone you never thought you'd see here of all places. She looks up and smiles as she greets you.

LILITH: ~~/|~~ hey otokon! ~~
LILITH: ~~ fancy seeing you here :D ~/|~

The heiress herself, LILITH SPHYRA, sits in the centre of your ancestral collection, several books laid open in a scattershot circle, none of them seeming damaged. Her hair isn't tied back, so the tips of her asymmetric bob lightly brush the page as she's trying to read something very small.

She's tall, to contrast against your shorter height, but as she's currently sitting down, your head is at a level above hers. You immediately rectify this by kneeling on the blackwood floor to acknowledge her presence, as protocol dictates. The one breach you'll allow yourself is addressing her by name, instead of by title.

OTOKON: Lilith. What brings yo->u to-> my hive?
OTOKON: It's unusual to-> see yo->u here, in the library, to-> say the least.

Not that you're displeased - quite the opposite. It's a delight to see her finally deign to engage in activities befitting her station. You can barely keep your face schooled into something approximating neutral, and your happiness definitely bleeds through to your voice.

Better late than never. She's finally taking your advice to heart.

You do note that she hasn't dressed up in her regalia, though. Still wearing the same plain black top printed with her sign. Your eyes wander down a little. Shorts that don't cover her thighs, with an odd combination of chains and straps of fabric attached at various points that loop back to attach at others, and flipflops that don't quite match the rest of the outfit.

She laughs again, that same radiant smile beaming out, this time faintly tinged with a sadness and pain you've become so acquainted with. You're so familiar to its sound and sight that you could pinpoint it like finding a specific passage in this very archive.

LILITH: ~~/|~~ oh, i just wanted to do a bit of research! ~~
LILITH: ~~ there was something i needed to look for ~~
LILITH: ~~ and, you know, you're always telling me ~~
LILITH: My hive is yo->ur hive. Yo->u can use anything yo->u want.
LILITH: ~~ like that ~~
LILITH: ~~ so i figured it'd be helpful! ~/|~

You rise from your genuflection, having spent an appropriate amount of time kneeling on blackwood. As you rise, she gets up to match you, so she ends up being a head taller than you again. You're grateful for her unconscious observation of protocol, the habits she has formed.

The ones you've had to drill into her.

Shaking your head ever so slightly, you dispel this line of thought.

OTOKON: It's go->o->d to-> see yo->u engaging in activities that suit yo->u.
OTOKON: Ho->wever..

You decide to forgo any attempt at subtlety. It's not like it has helped you before. Being clear will only help the both of you.

OTOKON: Has... so->mething happened?

LILITH: ~/|~ just of my own accord! ~~
LILITH: ~~ i can do things of my own will, you know! ~/|~

She smiles at you and remains as evasive as ever. You'll have to contact the small office you've hired to keep tabs on her social media usage to see what took place this time. Who needs to be punished to be reminded of the sanctity of the institution of the Heiress.

It's always like this. Never simply allowing you to solve her issues for her. You have to go behind her back, run what she can't for her, take care of the duties she neglects. You'd resent her for it, if you were capable of such a thing. Instead, you curse each time you're reminded that she's been undercut at every turn, sabotaged, failed by her predecessors.

Somehow she isn't dead yet.

You can only take this to be an answer to the prayers you make every evening, before you go to sleep. To the future Empress you pray she will be.

OTOKON: O->f co->urse. Fo->rgive me fo->r my transgressio->n.

She smiles in a sad way again.

LILITH: ~/|~ you know i'd forgive you anything, right? ~~
LILITH: ~~ i can tell you only want what's best for me! ~~
LILITH: ~~ i'm stupid, otokon, but not blind ~/|~

OTOKON: O->f co->urse, Lilith.
OTOKON: Well, I can o->nly rejo->ice at yo->u pursuing so->mething befitting yo->u.
OTOKON: Do-> yo->u need my help in finding anything in particular?

And a part of you is pleading that she'll ask.

LILITH: ~/|~ actuallly, i think i've found what i wanted already! ~~
LILITH: ~~ it's a surprise though, so you'll find out later, okay? ~~

And is crushed, again. This you hide with a practiced ease, a suppression so reflexive it doesn't usually warrant notice. It's just that this time, you had reason to believe...

Never mind.

You know, rationally, that it's too late for anything to matter. So it doesn't matter if she's lying to you right now. The pursuit of her own enjoyment before her challenge is the only worthwhile pastime for her right now. There's no sense in anything but palliative care.

You would consider escape, if not for the fact that this time, the Empress is coming back personally, instead of having the Heiress travel out. You got this message about six months ago. You haven't let her know yet, but you'll have to soon. You would curse Lilith's awful luck, but you've learned to roll with the waves. It's just that this one is going to engulf both of you, and there's nothing you can do.

You realise that Lilith's speaking, and you got too caught up in your own thoughts to hear her, so you're catching the tail-end of what she was saying.

LILITH: ~~ so that should mean everything should work out! ~~
LILITH: ~~ i'll see you later, okay? and thank you ~/|~

The only course left to you is nodding as if you've heard everything. She hurries off with a genuine smile, flinches at the haemocaste override taking a drop of her blood, and then leaves with a slight skip in her step.

It's the first time in a while you've seen her happy.

Three hours later, you're idly scratching at your neck underneath the starched collar of your uniform, as the air in here is drying you out a bit. Perhaps that's why Lilith headed back out, to wherever she went. You've found something though, as you have a record from nearly one hundred sweeps ago laid open in front of you. It's one of the oldest books here, and personal to your line, which places a great emphasis on recordkeeping.

The Spacebound Extrajudicial Act of Reformation In Negotiated Grants, or SEARING, details the circumstances in which the Empress and thus also the acting Heiress can unilaterally declare special areas in which the Church can pursue reform for the purpose of tailoring the faith to the practical realities in which it has to operate.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat as your uniform chafes around your chest. You're not happy with the idea of expanding space legislature to affect the planet, but you have your legal precedent. You've ended up empty-finned for any pretexts, though, as the record of what preceded this act is not something written down, and seems to predate this record.

Nevertheless, it'll have to be enough for now. Finding a power the Heiress has means you don't even need to justify yourself to the Senate, making your job a lot easier. You can set up a draft for Lilith to post the moment it seems appropriate, and then the pretext is all that's left. You vacate the library, leaving its dry wooden interior behind for the slightly damp environs of your office. Your heels clack once more on the waterproof flooring as you make your walk back, and this time they sound much surer.

> selectLiaison [SL] has messaged the group chat with silveredAmbrosia [SA] and aberrantSpotlight [AS]!

SL: I have fo->und a do->cument detailing ho->w we can enact o->ur plan.

> selectLiaison [SL] has uploaded a file! SEARING.pdf

SL: Here is the digitised versio->n o->f the full Act.
SL: I kno->w bo->th o->f yo->u are to->o-> busy to-> immediately read the who->le thing, so-> I shall summarise.
SL: SEARING allo->ws fo->r the Heiress to-> unilaterally declare refo->rm areas fo->r the Church.
SL: Special zo->nes in which to-> trial changes to-> the faith.
SL: Because this is spacebo->und legislatio->n, we do-> still need sufficient pretext to-> adapt it to-> Alternia.
SL: I will be searching fo->r histo->rical precedent fo->r such a thing.
SL: But this is a very impo->rtant find, as it bypasses a lo->t o->f the o->bstacles we had envisio->ned.

You lay out the basics and wait for Cerato to respond. Lilith is probably busy, and all you need from her is to press the button, so it's not particularly relevant whether she understands what you're proposing or not. You're only left waiting for approximately 15 minutes before you get a notification.

> silveredAmbrosia [SA] is now online!

SA: Oh? What have we here?

A short minute later she messages again, presumably having read your messages and skimmed the act.

SA: Well, darling.
SA: If we need a pretext, *why not just create one*?

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COMMUTATION 1.5

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"follow in lowtaxs footsteps and finally finish something for the first time in your life you piece of shit"

- Comment on a 'drawthread' that broke out into a flame war about a character's sexuality, slurs omitted, anonymous.

All of that speaking has tired you out.

=====-> Be someone else.

How about this boy over here?

oh for fucks sake desu

=====-> BE NIAVIV GLOSNA

You roll out of your cupe, a special, low-to-the-ground model as one of the few things you've ever invested into in your life. Straight into the scattered, empty foils of microwave noodles littered all over your floor. They stick to the sopor coating you and insulate you against the incoming radiowaves of your alarm.

They don't do that, but you pretend they do. It's loud. Eventually you peel yourself off the floor to turn off the alarm. You're lucky your roommate isn't here today. He isn't really here most days. You have a working arrangement.

He works, and you don't.

Okay, okay. Okay. Off the floor (you laid back down after turning off your alarm, because you're terrible and a lost cause). Hup. What have we got on the menu today. On your way up you click on your hive tower, and the whirr of its fans between the combs blasts you directly in the face. More incentive, then.

You trudge into the ablution chamber and quickly rinse off so you don't get sopor (and empty ramen packets) over your chair (you put the ramen packets back on the floor, which doesn't help). The piles of various objects around your room are getting worse. Oh well.

Time to log on. Who are we going to be today?

> Welcome, languorousAggravation.

You navigate to your chat client, booting up five different instances, including one actually vanilla Discourse terminal. It's what you use to make screenshots. The other four are to incite Discourse. You mean discourse.

The only glow in the room is that of your monitors (four) and your eyes (green and purple). Both are fairly dim, these days.

You briefly think about getting a job again. You then put the thought out of your mind, because a new ping comes in on a chat terminal.

> GA has sent you a new message!

You let it sit there in order to entice you to clear out all your other notifications. There are a lot. Let's see.

Rukaka has blocked you again (no worries, you just need to make another new account), there's some sort of goldblood-only event going on, there's some more local vidya tournaments (that you stopped showing up to because you suck) that you're still in the server for and can't get yourself to leave, the usual handful of people just DMing you memes. Streamers having done some stupid shit. Streamers having done some inconsequential shit, but you're going to turn it into stupid shit. The Lilith-tracker is back up.

And that's just the stuff people tell you personally or you bother to actively track, before you even go to the boards! Life is good. Harassment stocks through the roof. To the moon etc. Gods, at least you're not stupid enough for that. |cc| is a stupid place. You'll have no part in it.

You wonder briefly if you could get Rukaka to buy memecoins for you to leave him alone, but decide it isn't worth it.

So, what then is this mystic message that you left for last? Well, you see, sometimes... sometimes you get contacted on purpose, specifically for your talents. Because justice can't do enough on its own to get the job done. You're a good person, really, helping out in these cases. This is a contact that uses you as a proxy to find some of the more consequential dirt on others. You're like a private detective! If a private detective hung out on websites named after weird fruit.

Your grin is wider than your monitor, at this point. You click on the message that came in on your unmodded open client.

GA: i have something for you!
GA: not the usual though

Well, there goes your fun.

LA: well what is it then
LA: worst kind of person (you currently) messages to ask a question without asking desu

GA: it does involve your usual information gathering!
GA: but it's not to deliver justice
GA: we currently need to get access to a computer
GA: you should be able to do that, right?

LA: i accessed your matesprit last night desu

GA: okay, yes. i probably deserve that for questioning you!
GA: but it's not something you can physically access
GA: someone else can
GA: but they can't plug anything in to it, it doesn't seem to have ports?
GA: it's very weird
GA: can you do that?

LA: i could access your matesprit any time
LA: anywhere
LA: using just the internet i could backdoor her in a minute desu

GA: i take it that's a yes
GA: you're upset at something, aren't you?

Fuck, maybe you've been in contact with her too long, if she's starting to pick up on your moods.

Fine, it should be a challenge, trying to access something that may or may not be airgapped. If it has internet access, though, it's just a matter of trying to brute force it over LAN.

Just takes a while.

LA: fine
LA: get me to the person who is closest to the thing desu

While you wait on her, you should get your mood up. Do something enjoyable. Something fun, something stimulating! This means prodding Atsune.

Unfortunately, he isn't online yet. This means you have to procrastinate.

The thing that comes to mind is tidying, which is a thought that disgusts you. Literally and figuratively. You think of all the ramen crumbs and soy sauce stains (you're too cheap for proper grubsauce and if the effects of soy are as theorised online it can't hurt) and shudder. But your stomach growls anyway. The last time you ate can be measured in days, and caffeine (one can already slammed back before this, so routine you forget to pay attention, second already open) does not sustain.

Does make your thoughts go down several tracks at once, blasting eurobeat.

Wandering into what passes for a kitchen you set the kettle to boil by flipping the switch psionically, opening the drawer hiding your stash with your fronds. Glorious, blessed, only moderately spicy instant noodles. You disdain the pourover cups for their price, but it's only because you can do the dishes without having to put your hands in the water.

You sit there and watch the kettle boil. You didn't bring your palmhusk into this room (and briefly wonder where it is before remembering you placed it on your desk) so you're just sitting there as time stretches out. Eventually the water boils and you make your instant noodles. You eat them straight out of the pot you used to cook them, like a heathen, scratching the bottom further in the process. You pass the mirror in the hall on the way back to your room.

Back to the comfortable green-purple glow reflecting off your monitors. Guess who's onliiineee~!

That's right, your favourite. With the grace and longstanding ease of a well-worn habit, you make a new account and show up in his directed messrages, or DMs for short. You've thought of so many different handles to fit your preferred two-letter initial combo. All the better for him to recognise you with.

> lavishlyAffectionate [LA] has started discoursing with latestSymphony [LS]!

You start to type out an introduction, but before you can say anything he quickfires his defence.

LS: I'm sorry for blocking you, Nia.
LS: I just..
LS: I just needed a bit of space. *Flinches a little.*

Oh, truly, like music to your ears. And he's all yours, too. No one else has direct access to him like this, he's too small to appear on the average lolmoobeastseeker's radar. It nearly gets you to make an inappropriate expression. You reign yourself in.

LA: oh atsune
LA: whatever will i do with you
LA: you already know you fucked up
LA: good
LA: so what sort of punishment should i give you desu

Room for interpretation is the most fun part. No way for him to leak this and not have everyone assume it's just some fucked up pitch thing, so he can't stop you. That is, if you had a solid enough digital presence to actually tie any accusations to in the first place.

LS: Well, I, would prefer no punishment...

LA: you dont think you can block me and face no consequences right
LA: youre stupid but not that stupid wwwww
LA: right
LA: are you stupid desu

LS: I'm not that stupid, yes. :(
LS: *She steels herself, drawing in a shuddering breath.*
LS: I just, don't have anything more to give you...
LS: I don't have any secrets left.

LA: oh so maybe you are stupid
LA: i see
LA: sou desu

LS: I promise! I promise
LS: I have more money but you don't even want that..

He's tried to pay you off a couple of times. You've used that when money's really tight, but you despise having to.

LA: thats right
LA: that isnt what im here for
LA: im your biggest fan atsune
LA: i just want to know all about you desu

LS: I don't think that's true..

LA: it is
LA: ive listened to everything youve ever made
LA: even all the unreleased stuff
LA: thats the definition of a superfan right desu

LS: Yes, true, but..

LA: so why are you on my ass about this
LA: do you want to lose your only fan
LA: is that it
LA: the only person thatll ever listen to all the trash you make
LA: i give feedback and help you improve
LA: im so nice to you desu

It is true. That you listen to everything. You have to be accurate enough that he actually has a reason to care about what you say. A rust sweetroot and frondrod approach. You can practically hear him starting to sniffle and sob behind the screen. Isn't this the best entertainment of all?

LS: You do help me with my music, yes, but
LS: I don't know if you need to be so aggressive about it..

LA: wow atsune are you tone policing a lowblood
LA: casteist of you really
LA: thats going in the callout post
LA: next to stuff like your appropriative name desu

LS: It's, not that, that's not what I meant.

LA: i mean i could always doxx you to |mu| lol
LA: do you want everyone to know youre a boy you fucking freak lmao
LA: the choice is always easy
LA: what would your lusus think hm
LA: i could make sure it reaches him
LA: does he know you dress up like a girl and jerk off into your panties
LA: you degenerate desu

> latestSymphony [LS] has blocked lavishlyAffectionate [LA]!

Oh, fuck. A little too hard, a little too fast. You'll have to be nicer next time, but you'll give him a couple of days to cool down, or you'll think of some way to give him a lighter punishment for blocking you. Can't actually alienate him.

He just kind of pisses you off sometimes, is the thing. Because he's a coward. Because he won't tell his lusus. Because he won't risk anything ever, because he always makes the safe decision. It just pisses you off.

And you've managed to put yourself in a sour mood again. You got another message from GA, though, so that'll take the edge off. You close this chat and consign it to damnation. You will never open it again, and never log into this account ever again.

GA: i've gotten you something better than a handle!
GA: invite link
GA: this way you can work with all of us to help out :)

She's the best. Most useful accomplice you could have ever asked for. You don't even bother asking for a primer on what's going on, or responding to her, you just immediately join the conversation...

> hope you brought pizza, languorousAggravation!

.. on your main. Fuck. Well, you can't back down anymore, you guess, so you're going to have to try minimise your losses. No one should recognise you, though, at the very least. You go back to GA's message to thank her, and while doing so you notice the invite link hasn't expired. You switch back to the group.

LA: so i heard there was a husktop you needed access to
LA: is it airgapped desu
GA: everyone, this is my friend LA, or lala for short!
GA: that's the nickname i've been using in my head at least
GA: she's a really talented computer wizard

She's the worst, and you need her to stop immediately. You're revealing more than you'd like, here, but if it's what you need to do to prevent that sticking, then so be it.

LA: you can call me nia
LA: now i heard you had a husktop
LA: can any of you plug it in desu
LG: BONNIE IS JUST CA/CHING HER BREA/H
LG: I CAN FI// YOU IN /HOUGH IF YOU WAN/
GL: the room is_ truly empty right?
GL: nothing else_ in there?
GL: just the sleeping platform_ the desk_ and the husktop?
SG: Bonniiiie was quiiite clear about that.
SG: Unless you want to bother her agaiiin and maybe delay gettiiing any useful answer?

So, you're stuck in a room with a bunch of fucking normie (redacted) dipshits. You'd better not think any slurs around them (they could smell it on you), let alone say any, so they don't pick up on the fact you're one of those, you know. You know. At least for now (lol).

LA: does it have a router
LA: should be one if there is a husktop (and the owner isn't some freak)
LA: look for a rectangular grub roughly the size of a book that is hooked into the wall at your frond height (either set of fronds)
LA: it will have anywhere from two to four different grubs biting it with their (not your) fronds pointing up desu
GL: i know what a router looks like_
GL: either way_
AL: okay i'm back!
GL: oh never mind_
AL: i do see a router!!!
AL: so what do i need to do for that?

You explain the way in which she can expose the router to the broader network, which mostly involves shoving something into its nervous system in just the right way to reset it, making it forget its key. Using the default password, you get her to log in via her palmhusk, and throw the whole thing open by changing a bunch of settings and downloading something onto it. This lets you wake the husktop on WLAN, shove a "critical update" its way, and tear a hole into its security.

You're in.

This whole process takes approximately an hour, not because of your perceived lack of skill, but because doing tech support across a distance is as hellish as it was the last time you had a job. You're glad the tower was already connected, because else you'd have to try and explain how to key a husktop's blood and pheromone keys into said router for a new connection (considering it lacks wires), and even on a default key that process is fucking annoying. Sparks intermittently leave your eyes as your frustration rises further, and you spend a good part of this time idly wondering how to best handle the situation with Rukaka in order to keep your thoughts calm.

You're also taking notes on the new people you've come into contact with as a result of GA's nonsense, scrolling up and checking previous logs, writing down names. You're a little shocked when you realise GL is the rustie that went viral for shutting down a drone by simply standing in front of it and shuffling about in a really odd way. You also now have her full legal name (and as a result her address) and her social media, and a bunch of stuff she thought she deleted off her social media but was still waybacked by some enterprising individual who is probably not unlike you.

You can't decide whether you want to praise her or curse her, standing up to the drones is hilarious either way and has caused a bunch of incredible footage of attempted copycats, but it also made them harder to fuck with as a pissblood now that they patched another exploit (however the fuck patching works, you aren't a puke-coloured freak). You'll decide later whether she gets special treatment.

The shitblood is a little interesting because it looks like she's a genuine goodie two-shoes, and wears a mask 24/7 despite the fact it fucks with her audio quality. You also silently take note of the fact she drinks a worse energy drink than you do. Other than trying to figure out if she has horrific facial scars to make fun of, she's kind of boring, though, unless you want to flame her political beliefs

You can't get a read on the other shade of puke in the rainbow yet because she just doesn't talk. Makes you want to needle her, though. Something about her feels like you've seen her before, but her handle shows no results. Similarly, the loud fuck is interesting but you know better than to fuck with potential oinkbeasts before verifying whether they're the -lacerating or the legis- kind of processed oink product. They seem like a set, and you can practically feel the tension between them, like they're waiting to flip pitch any time. Or worse than that, if you have your say. You make it a mission to find out what their chittr handles are because you swear you've read that annoying quirk in teal before on some screenshot.

Either way, you've lifted everything you can off this husktop (it's really fucking barebones, actually) and you have one actual lead, which is also hilarious. Mirthful, even. Time to see if bronzie can keep her pants clear of her colour.

LA: so youre not gonna like the one piece of usable information on here
LA: but there is an address in here(lol)
LA: how do you feel about a chateau
LA: wanna get fuckin spooked desu
AL: no?
AL: i would like to not have to deal with clowns ever again!
GL: hear_ hear_
AL: after getting jumpscared by a painted clown symbol i don't want to see clowns ever again
AL: did you know it moved? i didn't know they could do that with blood
LA: too bad(wwwww)
LA: youre going to clown hell desu

> latestSymphony [LS] is finally here!

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COMMUTATION 1.4

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"Forgive me, if my speech is unclear and absurd, but I really have no idea how to ask, even though the nature of my petition demands complete selfless humility. Just imagine I beg you on my knees! In any case, believe me, I feel that way."

- A snippet of dialogue from a poor translation of Troll Pathologic.

A troll girl of roughly ten sweeps dressed in a revealingly-cut leotard and an elaborate ruffle collar is standing in the middle of a moonlit podium. The pews in front of her are empty, save for one other troll dressed in ceremonial military lolita. Light shines on her through a beautiful stained glass window, depicting the Empress' rise to power and the attentions of several of her castes of loyal subjects. This prominently includes the jades, the purples and the violets, kneeling in supplication, all three bearing their own symbols. A matriorb for the jades, a golden club for the clowns, and a whalebone baton for the violets.

Of course, this being a church, the clowns take up the center of the triptych adorning the bottom half of the window. Amongst them is one that's dressed eerily similar to the girl on stage, down to the collar of pearls in all the colours of the haemospectrum. She paces across her podium, clearly working up to something, practicing her diction while she moves. Occasionally, she turns her back on the other troll and spreads her arms out over her head, staring in faked exultation at the window crafted to grant the impression of a halo, which settles upon her slender antenna-like horns. They bend up and sideways at a 45 degree angle before cascading down like ribbons fixed in place.

The visitor taps his foot impatiently, but nevertheless humours this private show being put on for him. His outfit isn't represented in this particular church's window.

The church itself is evidently over a hundred sweeps old from its exterior construction, but the interior's decoration is incredibly shiny, with none of the wear or tear expected from the length of time it has existed. The most ostentatious thing in the room is probably the stained glass window itself. The rest is relatively sober, although it does possess an organ, and the acoustics are excellent.

======-> Be the clown.

Excuse me?

======-> Be the clown*girl*, thank you very much.

You are now the CLOWNGIRL. You're standing in a BEATIFIC CHURCH in the CENTRE OF THE CITY. Relatively tucked away in a dead-end corner, you managed to LIBERATE IT from a more traditional clown-sect by virtue of YOUR ANCESTOR'S ACCOMPLISHMENTS. You now use this building to accomplish a VARIETY OF PERSONAL GOALS by performing POLITICAL SERMONS. You're also FOMENTING A SCHISM by letting in THE LOWBLOODS. The more traditionally-minded don't particularly like this.

Your name is CERATO HONING, and currently, you're giving a SPEECH.

CERATO: There is a wonderful school of thought that has been spreading amongst the lower and subsequently upper echelons of blueblood social scienstiffs lately.

CERATO: Or, rather, their debate has been going on for a while.

CERATO: I'm not sure you would be quite acquainted with it?

CERATO: It has been in vogue, as they say, although they probably in turn stole that expression, for them to pay attention to their lower status on the haemocaste. Lower, of course, compared to us.

CERATO: This school of thought is very concerned with social constructions. They argue the reason they're not appreciated more - their words - is because of the idea they are not appreciated more. That it is this very idea that is keeping them, and specifically them, down.

CERATO: This, too, is an idea they stole from somewhere else. Poorly, might I add.

CERATO: But, let us indulge their ideas a little. The social scienstiffs are trying to legitimise this idea in science, but not too broadly. Only applying to themselves.

CERATO: Constructionihilists, as they label themselves, argue that the methods imposed on them for science, their very own ideological doctrine, is nothing more than a blindfold to the actual truth: clowns - and it's always clowns, not fish! they can do something right after all - planted these ideas initially.

CERATO: That they're blinded by now dogmatic rules of science to the truth of the world. That all of it is made up by those atop the pile to keep them busy in their little laboratories. That their work has no meaning.

CERATO: It's funny how this does end up being a wonderful sniping against the more materially minded of their ilk. The ones actually working on important things, like, say, biochemistry and drone rearing. Or designing new biotechnology for the imperial war machine.

CERATO: From their self-inflated point of view, their science, the real game in town, is actually rhetoric.

You perform a little twirl and flourish to accompany the word, before you launch into your next sentence, voice projecting.

CERATO: A mere attempt at swaying a crowd of presumably lowbloods or even my and your own assorted peers - the only relevant actors, really - into the appropriate frenzy that all devolves into enough violence you become right. Or that science is when you civilly persuade them of your own superior point of view. Hah! Who am I kidding.

CERATO: We do all love a little bit of divinely ordained violence, do we not? Whatever form that violence might take.

CERATO: Rhetoric, rhetoric, rhetoric. I can dance a wonderful dance around most others of my caste rhetorically, but obviously this is not solely where the problem lies. I would be spinning my wheels.

CERATO: I could further twist the argument that science, and with it, power, is even less attached to any concrete truth and observable reality! That all knowledge is simply those power plays, the systemic bias against you and me a product of social relations, that what other clowns tell themselves as they shut the door on me and what your delightful associates in your little parliament whisper among themselves about your ideas is only *rhetoric*. Or, even beyond that, simply a story. All form, no content.

The deadpan you deliver this in should be enough to signal your disapproval. A wry lilt enters your voice.

CERATO: Then so much for those of us who would still like to talk about *reality* with more confidence than we allow the evengealists when they discuss their double death and being raptured out of the final destruction of the world.

CERATO: Obviously it can't just be rhetoric.

CERATO: These ways of knowing are embedded in quite material issues. The institutions themselves, in ways, live and breathe these ways of knowing. His Honorable Tyranny being a prime example.

CERATO: No, the problem lies in me not being afforded the opportunity to spin my opponents into metaphorical dizziness. The problem is systemic.

CERATO: Institutions that have decided certain people do not get to speak does not happen all on their own and it is not made entirely out of decisions in the here and now.

CERATO: Inherited status and wealth is a rather pernicious concern amongst my peers. Amongst yours, too, I am told.

CERATO: Aren't you glad we're on the lucky side of that dice roll?

CERATO: Of course, we're both on the unfortunate end of another. You and I are practically sisters in our circumstances, really. It's quite amusing how we're funhouse mirrors of each other.

You smile at him, before continuing

CERATO: To explain reality we have to come up with something different. Relying on the idea of an objective truth however gets us back into the thorn-dense thicket of those privileged positions claiming they belong nearer to objectivity than us.

CERATO: That certain qualities about us make us unfit for objectivity.

CERATO: So we can't simply claim the traditional ways of knowing what's objective and what isn't, lest we shoot ourselves prematurely in the frond by positioning ourselves in the category that is unable to be rational.

CERATO: Additionally, objectivity promises a sort of "god-trick", as heretical as that sounds.

CERATO: By creating knowledge and declaring that knowledge as objectively true, you position yourself outside the process. As if you have no bearing on what's being made.

CERATO: In that sense it's also not particularly in touch with reality, is it not?

CERATO: The knowledge that a seadweller would create - one in which the ability to breathe underwater is taken for granted - does in fact differ from my own experiences.

CERATO: Objectivity is therefore a scam. A losing proposition. But we can't abandon it either, because material issues afflict us like plagues.

CERATO: What's left, then? If we can't claim divine, arbitrary objectivity but we must still ground ourselves in material concerns? Dialectics? Oh, twin gods no. I'm not touching those.

You pantomime shuddering slightly, playing up your aversion.

CERATO: The debate. The debate about objectivity does of course matter. You can't simply give up the fight about defining things. They're actually on to something, for once. It's not like bluebloods are somehow ontologically incapable of grasping at any truth, as naive, shuttered and blinkered as their perspectives may be at times.

CERATO: The consequences of not being trained for big-picture thinking, I'm afraid.

CERATO: No, they do have a point. The debate about objectivity matters, who gets to create knowledge, who only gets to consume it. It's not actually solely academic.

CERATO: Immortality and omnipotence are not our goals. I'm not a heretic. Gods forbid.

CERATO: All I suggest is that we could use some enforceable, reliable accounts of things not reducible to power moves and agonistic, clownish games of rhetoric, or to traditional scienstiff blueblood positivistic arrogance.

CERATO: That is part of what I wish to introduce with the new doctrine I am writing.

CERATO: A certain subjectivity to it all, limited by place and time. Context-bound, to say that what is virtue in one church may become sin in another.

CERATO: My detractors might call it a get-out-of-heresy-free card.

CERATO: Rigid lot. They're the ones that have slipped so much they're losing their grip on the pulse of society. The rot has set in, there.

CERATO: Indulgences abound while they laze away, not noticing the social movement brewing right beneath their noses.

This is perhaps the most open you've been about your disdain for the established order of the Church. It's thrilling, to commit an offence they'd cull you over. You've slipped the noose already before, though, securing this place. They can't touch you yet.

CERATO: All I'm doing is re-interpreting things to grant myself a little more leniency.

CERATO: Slipping the bounds of the noose they've woven for themselves.

CERATO: So, this is why I'm inventing my own, new epistemology.

CERATO: Adapted to the context of each congregation.

CERATO: What's traditionally heresy may be permissible in context. That leniency has always been afforded to our religion off-planet.

CERATO: And these are exceptional times.

CERATO: I think they call for exceptional measures.

A short silence fills the air as you stand on the stage, facing the stained glass, perfectly posed in the light cascading in rays that coat you in a soft, circular glow.

OTOKON: Yo->u're perverting Harawy's theo->ry.

CERATO: Dearest Otokon, perversion is *what I do*.
CERATO: You should know that by now!

OTOKON: I kno->w what so->rt o->f bargain I made.
OTOKON: No->netheless, I kno->w o->bvio->us theft when I see it.
OTOKON: Yo->u're adapting it wro->ng. Yo->ur jump fro->m to->pic to-> to->pic is also-> slo->ppy.
OTOKON: Yo->ur ho->nest tho->ughts also-> started slipping o->ut near the end.
OTOKON: It's almo->st eno->ugh to-> make me believe yo->u didn't rehearse this.
OTOKON: Yo->u do->n't have to-> pretend to-> be wo->rse at what yo->u do-> to-> gain an advantage o->ver me.
OTOKON: I am also-> no->t pro->ne to-> fits o->f idealism that'll delude me into-> thinking yo->u're o->ur so->le so->lutio->n.
OTOKON: I refuse to-> under o->r o->verestimate yo->u as an asset.

During his little diatribe you've snuck up behind him and draped your arms around his neck. You have to tilt your head so your horns don't jut into his face, but you make the angle work. Them lightly brushing against his is the icing on the cake. A shiver runs up his spine, involuntarily.

CERATO: You're so cold, Otokon.
CERATO: I guess that is the natural consequence of being higher up the strata than I am, so truly, what did I expect?
CERATO: But it wouldn't hurt you to loosen up a little, you know?

OTOKON: I have a jo->b to-> do->.
OTOKON: That is all.

He shrugs you off as if trying to dissuade a bug from landing. You tut, walking a short distance away, and spin on your tall heels to face him again. Your eyes betray a certain mirth at making him uncomfortable. He turns up his nose and faces to the side as he continues.

OTOKON: O->n to-> what I'm here fo->r.
OTOKON: Have any jadeblo->o->ds sho->wn themselves in church?
OTOKON: Ho->w are things go->ing o-> the teal fro->nt?
OTOKON: I believe we are lo->sing the teals to-> the rest o->f the Church.

He pauses. You take the moment to admire his arrow-shaped horns, although one of them seems to be curling in on itself? Oh well. None of your concern. Your eyes drift down to the way his outfit accentuates the lines of his body. You wonder what would happen if you bit the frills along his ears..

CERATO: We're losing the teals, unfortunately. Overall, that is.
CERATO: There's a few individuals that show up to my sermons, but not many.
CERATO: A handful seem to recognise what we're doing, and they're the ones to watch out for.
CERATO: We can't have anyone get too wise to their entire way of life being fought over by fish and clowns.
CERATO: Probably this means a rise in terrorism.
CERATO: Or someone who is going to try provide a counterweight to me.

CERATO: As for the jades, none of them bit.
CERATO: That's what Harawy's theory is meant to help with.
CERATO: Not that you'd recognise that.

OTOKON: I reco->gnised Harawy.
OTOKON: I kno->w jade theo->ry.

CERATO: Sure you do.

He scoffs, and continues.

OTOKON: I have co->ntacted so->me o->ther peo->ple to->o->.
OTOKON: Maybe they will pro->ve more successful in jade o->utreach.

Despite your best attempts, you do feel something inside you lurch a little at the hint of his disapproval. You're probably within his margins or expectations, but the idea of someone else succeeding on your own turf won't do. You'll have to redouble your efforts. Before you manage to stop yourself your posture straightens, as if rearing up in threat display. He either doesn't notice, or pretends not to notice.

OTOKON: Additio->nally, we really need a name fo->r the traditional Church. No->w that yo->u're officially breaking with them.
OTOKON: So->mething to-> set yo->u two-> apart.
OTOKON: O->bviously yo->ur co->o->peratio->n with Lilith might pro->ve to-> yo->ur advantage there?
OTOKON: Yo->u co->uld theme yo->urself after her.

CERATO: I already had something planned, don't you worry.
CERATO: I've been snooping around your books, see. Learning your funny little formal fish language.
CERATO: As part of my activities while I spend time with my lovely moirail.

You can't resist sneaking in that barb as retaliation, and watching his brow furrow ever so slightly as he represses his response. You don't miss the slight change though, the sudden stillness.

CERATO: I think the word I've settled on for my little movement is Conscientiae.
CERATO: The conscience holding the old Church to account.

CERATO: Wouldn't it be nice to take them to task?

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COMMUTATION 1.3

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"Discourse was nearly named Kraken before someone told us that was insensitive because of the Heiress' lusus! Not too proud of that one."

- One of the many startup messages for the popular instant messaging and chat client app.

You're a bit taken aback.

BONNIE: uh
BONNIE: sure?
BONNIE: i don't know what you expect me to do really
BONNIE: but i can give it a try!
BONNIE: not like i have anything better to do

ARSONN: AS PER USUA/ YOU'RE A GREA/ HE/P
ARSONN: SOMEONE HAS /O FIND I/ AND I KNOW OF NO ONE BE//ER

BONNIE: so! uh
BONNIE: who is dirack

ARSONN: WE// YOU SEE
ARSONN: /HA/ IS SOR/ OF /HE RUB ISN'/ I/
ARSONN: I /HINK IF WE KNEW /HA/ WE WOU/DN'/ BE IN SO MUCH /ROUB/E GE//ING S/AR/ED
ARSONN: I'VE BEEN CAUGH/ UP IN
ARSONN: WE//
ARSONN: /HINGS
ARSONN: AND /IKE I SAID I CAN'/ EXAC//Y GO /OOKING
ARSONN: SO /HA/'S PROBAB/Y /HE PLACE /O S/AR/
ARSONN: YOU HAVE MY NUMBER BU/ DO YOU WAN/ MY CHA/ HAND/E AS WE//
ARSONN: YOU KNOW ON DISCOURSE

They proceed to give you not only their handle but also Kiarig's. Friends get(?)!

ARSONN: BU/ /HANK YOU FOR S/OPPING BY
ARSONN: AND HEY A/ /EAS/ WE HAVE MORE OF AN EXCUSE /O SEE EACH O/HER AGAIN
ARSONN: I WAS WORRIED /HIS WAS GOING /O BE I/
ARSONN: HANGING OU/ WI/H YOU IS FUN

She scratches the back of her head, embarrassed, in a rare moment of vulnerability for her. From what you know, it's not that she's ever particularly insincere or dishonest, but she does struggle with that. With vulnerability. So you're touched, and it kind of makes you tear up a little. Which kind of makes it unfortunate that Kiarig butts in.

KIARIG: Well, III hope you solve thiiis quiiickly.

And with that, you presume it is time to go. Arsonn apologetically shoos you out the door, and loudly tells you to message her for more information. Considering they gave you both their and Kiarig's handle, you figure it's time foooooooor... a server! Surely, this cannot go wrong.

Kiarig looms at the end of the entrance hallway, staring, as Arsonn leads you out.

> WELCOME TO YOUR NEW DISCOURSE SERVER! What will its name be?

Name: Bonniequest

Channels:

#general
#bots-and-management
#key-information

=> #general - for general discussions!

> affableLapse [AL] has joined the server! we hope you brought snacks!

Okay. All set up... now to invite the other two, and maybe Zhanne? Sounds like a plan! Let's see if they show-

> lividGarishness [LG] has accepted your friend request!
> lividGarishness [LG] has joined the party!

AL: hi!
LG: HE//O HOPE A// IS WE//
LG: GREA/ IDEA ON /HE SERVER I WI// MAKE KIARIG JOIN A/SO
LG: FRE/ NO/

> sereneGrace [SG] hopped into the server!

SG: III wiiill be keepiiing up wiiith updates, but don't expect mememe to contriiibute much yet.
SG: III diiidn't know Diiirack liiike Arsonn does.
AL: aw you two have, like, matching handles! that's cute!
LG: I/ WAS MY /OVE/Y MA/ESPRI/'S IDEA AND I/ IS IN FAC/ VERY CUTE
LG: ANYWAY
LG: IS I/ FINE IF I INVI/E SOMEONE I KNOW WHO MIGH/ BE AB/E /O HE/P ALSO
AL: yeah, sure! go ahead!
AL: i also have someone i want to add anyway, so don't worry!

> Yay you made it, graveLecture [GL]!

GL: what_ is this all about then_
GL: bonniequest?
GL: are you doing_ something strange again_
AL: oh, you know!
AL: my friend LG here asked me to try find someone!
AL: called dirack!
AL: and i figured you might know of it!
LG: YOU CAN SAY MY NAME IS ARSONN /HA/ IS FINE BU/ I APPRECIA/E YOUR ABI/I/Y /O NO/ GIVE AWAY UNNECESSARY INFORMA/ION BONNIE
AL: aw thanks!
GL: okay_ strange_
GL: are you sure you're_ doing something useful_
LG: DIRACK NEEDS /O BE FOUND
LG: ONE WAY OR ANO/HER
AL: yeah! and i really don't have anything better to do right now haha

You wince just a little bit. No sense in not being honest though. Also, wait, again?

GL: well_ your funeral_
GL: i don't think_ i can be that much help_ but i can put out the word_
LG: I HAVE MORE PEOP/E /HA/ CAN HE/P

> Yay you made it, guiltlessAddress [GA]!

AL: oh! hi!!!
AL: you made it!
GA: oh, wow. hi bonnie!
GA: and who are the rest of this illustrious company?
AL: we have a real motley crew here :D
AL: get it
AL: like the band
GL: i got it_
AL: THANK you
GL: you should_ make a channel describing what the point is_
GL: if you're going to_ add more people_
AL: no i think this is enough people!
AL: GL is my good friend who i've been helping lately and she makes me tea!
AL: LG and SG are a couple i've been also helping get settled in!
AL: everyone, GA is my friend from talking about the heiress' inaction online!
GL: that is a lot of exclamation marks_ are you okay_
AL: i'm just excited :D
GA: oh, she just gets like this.
LG: YES I CAN /E// /HIS ISN'/ AN UNUSUA/ OCCURRENCE
LG: DESPI/E NO/ KNOWING BONNIE /HA/ /ONG

You've been typecast. Or maybe cityflapbeastholed.

AL: so! the point is to find dirack
AL: i'll just use everyone's names actually since the group is so small
AL: cyntia, you're good at like, finding out information right?
AL: so i want you to start looking! but like privately
AL: no big posts yet!
GA: oh, so there's a missing person and we can't let anyone know?
AL: exactly!
AL: quick on the uptake :D
GL: i will_ keep an ear out_
AL: i also have its address! so that is where i should be going!

Okay, you have everyone in a group now. That's great! You've got a great thing going. People can become friends! You very swiftly recall that this sort of thing tends to immediately fucking die out if no one proactively stimulates conversation though, as the empty silence after your last message indicates. You wait a little bit, but when no one says anything for 10 minutes, you pull out your trick. The ultimate way to make everyone be friends! From the wonderful warmth and safety of this café you're stealing the internet of before you set out, you post:

AL: so, other than trying to find dirack it might be helpful for everyone to get to know each other!
AL: so why don't we do one of those little introduction games :D
AL: if you would post your name pronouns and maybe a little bit about yourself!
AL: i'll start
AL: my name is bonnie! bonnie belleh! and my pronouns are she/her
AL: in my spare time i like to help people and i also actually run a grubtube channel!
AL: the videos are just new though so no one really has seen them yet haha

The subsequent five minutes of silence hurt.

Fortunately, Zhanne comes to the rescue.

GL: zhanne_ you might know me from_ getting video'd doing something stupid_
GL: and then subsequently_ being given too much weight_ as a "thought leader"_
GL: my leading thought_ is that being appointed leader_ in a decentralised movement_ is stupid_
GL: also_ she/her_ corpse/corpse_

You exhale a sigh of relief and a faux prayer to your saviour, and start to walk out of the café. You switch back to your mobile plan, with the self-assured confidence of knowing the rest of the group is essentially peer pressured into also doing the introduction game!

As you try figure out the map, messages roll in, your eyes flicking to the top of your palmhusk so you can read them as they happen. These streets are a little confusing...

LG: ARSONN AND MY PRONOUNS ARE SHE /HEY
LG: /HA/ IS /HEY NO/ HEY I KNOW S/ASHES ARE USUA/ BU/ YOU SEE /HE ISSUE
LG: CURREN//Y I DO NO/ DO MUCH WI/H MYSE/F I AM A S/AY A/ HOME PAR/NER FOR KIARIG BU/ I AM GOING /O FIND A SERVICE INDUS/RY OR OFFICE JOB NOW /HA/ WE ARE MORE SE///ED IN AND NO /ONGER NEED /O UNPACK BOXES
LG: I WI// A/SO MAKE KIARIG DO /HIS ONE SECOND

Ladies and gentletrolls: we did it. Introduction game win! Kiarig next.. or Cyntia? Cyntia's probably busy arguing with someone on Chittr. Come to think of it, so is Kiarig, probably. You hope they're not arguing with each other. That would be bad.

GA: cyntia, you might know me off chittr. she/her, cis actually. i've had a couple of people assume due to my unwavering allyship that i'm "one of the girls", and i'm very flattered!
GA: but i think it's best to head off that sort of thing immediately.
GA: i'm a jade, as you might be able to tell, so i'm currently in the tertiary schoolfeeding assessment that all jades must go through to decide whether you get put into the caverns or oversee other important biotechnological processes!
GA: it's all very exciting.
GA: some of my classmates are very insane, though, there's this one girl called khidna, and she seems to, you know.
GA: be a real fan of the chemicals!
GA: but i can talk about that some other time, we have more important things to do. trolls to find! and introductions to do.

Wait, Khidna? Khidna Vigean? Didn't it leak those drone pheromone synthesis recipes? It's still in the class and hasn't been culled?

Also, you're lost. That's probably more important right now. Time to stroll around and try find free wifi so you don't have to reload the entire map on data...

You find a free network you throw a throwaway email into and huzzah! Bonnie's online!

AL: thank you everyone so far! that's really cool stuff there cyntia :D
AL: and i hope you find a job soon arsonn!
AL: zhanne i'll keep working on trying to figure out how i can help you!
AL: kiarig just message when you're ready!

Palmhusk in hand with directions to Dirack's, you make your way across the city, through Arsonn and Kiarig's area, and into a different area of just general poorness than yours or Zhanne's. You avoid the centre of the city this way, as the couple's area is to the south. Both of these areas are generally not kind to bronzebloods, but one is suffused with midbloods and the other is filled with purples and up. There's a clear winner here.

The city is sort of concentric, in a way. The poorer areas are located on the outside, most of them far from the river that bisects it. The centre is on the south side of that river, with the properties located right next to the water being reserved for seadwellers. Those on the other side of the river are industry that requires the water, or docking spaces for ships, which is why to the north of the river is poor - access to labour right next to the terrain they work on. You're mostly unfamiliar with that part of the city. You just don't get to that side often, especially as it requires going through the richer centre to cross the river, and you actually live outside the city proper, unlike the others. You could go all the way around, you guess, but then you still have to use a ferry downstream and make a long trek, as the public transport on the other side fucking sucks.

While you wander into the neighbourhood Dirack was last seen living in, you think about public transport a little more. It's odd how it still goes into the centre despite only higher strata living there... until you remember that rich trolls have servants. Ah. That and tourism, if the tourists can stand being around lowbloods. You're sure the ceruleans use first-class anyway.

Your musing is interrupted by finally receiving more notifications.

SG: You miiight already know mememe.
SG: Kiiiariiig. She/her.
SG: I liiike niiiche onliiine subcultures, and my matespriiit, Arsonn.

Ah. Well, you can't convince everyone to be open and friendly right off the bat. With a bit of time you're sure she'll come around!

You start typing out a message to reply so that you can invite her to be a bit more open, but you're interrupted by your palmhusk loudly telling you you've arrived at your destination.

You look up, and are faced with a huge hivestem, the size of which you're generally unaccustomed to. Must have been one of the structures built when there was a huge sudden influx of new workers. Time to go into the lift (sneaking past the ground floor's locked door by just following in behind someone else) and be unable to send your message because elevators mean you don't get cell reception. The lift dings, and you amble out onto the gallery, waiting for your husk to pick the reception back up. Dirack's place (number 8282) ends up being closer to the lift, though, so you don't get time to press send before you're met with a horrible sight.

The door is clad in dark purple paint, arranged in a sign commonly associated with the juggalo faith. A clownish visage stares you right in the eyes, surrounded by arcane symbols, paint dripping like blood, and you scream, just a bit.

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COMMUTATION 1.2

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"You're a furry? What are you, some sort of lususfucker? Disgusting, get away from me you freak!"

- Overheard between three 8-sweep-old teens.

So, Bonnie, who awaits you next? Why, it's those loveable scamps, and by loveable you mean a midblood pain in the butt. You're going to have to grit your teeth a bit and get through it, because it's for the cause. It's for the cause, Bonnie. You can do it.

The pair you're talking about are ARSONN DELETE, a recently chosen name after a change of heart and the decision to be better, and KIARIG GONDII, a name chosen far longer ago and nearing a level of infamy on the internet that approaches that of the heiress.

ARSONN is a good sort but definitely hasn't undone all of the propaganda associated with being a teal formerly in the legislacademy, and is a little too eager to do things like "blow up drones" and "firebomb the legislacadademy". Good sort, like you said, but she's just... a little too violent, you know? You're worried that if you were to fuck up, the person to commit the vigilante killing that would surely precede the drone strike would be them. You're not sure they wouldn't relish in it.

KIARIG... well. KIARIG is ARSONN's matesprit. They got together a while before ARSONN's change of heart, and she's surprisingly not been a menace about their newfound warm solidarity. As previously stated, KIARIG is approaching a level of notoriety on the internet that is only rivalled by the fish-in-waiting herself. This is in no small part due to the fact she is ceaselessly incapable of not picking a fight—you've never met a more combative oliveblood—but also because she's both openly a furry and works as a receptionist at Troll Lockheed-Martin. You've been trying to recommend she quits but she isn't listening so you've just sort of given up. A real "fuck you, got mine" kind of girl, she is.

Together, they're trouble. Kiarig picks fights, and Arsonn will white-knight about it, and then people will call Arsonn a cop and Kiarig a war criminal, and before you know it Chittr is distracted from Sphyra's failures and is dooming itself to argue about the worker in the least impactful position at Troll Lockheed-Martin instead of going after anyone who actually fucking matters.

So, as per usual, you knock on the door, after having walked a little ways from the poor part of the subgrub into the slightly nicer lower middle class part that mostly sells itself on "not being the poor part of town".

BONNIE: knock knock!
BONNIE: i've come to talk about your scuttlebuggy insurance
BONNIE: can i have a moment of your time?

The tealblood opens the door, trying her best to look unamused and failing. You can't really see past her into the living room, but presumably Ms. Gondii is in there waiting, or in the kitchen prepping tea and biscuits that somehow never seem to be for you.

Arsonn's got their punk jacket on, patches slowly accumulating over time, simple blue jeans and some Docs with teal laces. You spy a couple new additions to her "war jacket". Her straight, pointed, 45-degree angle horns are sharp as ever, so you make sure to keep a little bit of distance as she turns around. There's gouges in the walls of the hallway.

BONNIE: you've cut your hair recently?

ARSONN: I DECIDED I/ WAS /IME FOR A CHANGE
ARSONN: YOU KNOW HOW I/ IS

Ow. Loud.

BONNIE: haha yeah
BONNIE: looks good!

It does not.

BONNIE: did you cut it.. yourself?

ARSONN: HOW COU/D YOU /E//?

BONNIE: oh i just know from experience!
BONNIE: sometimes you can't afford a haircut haha, you know how it is

ARSONN: NO I DON'/

...

BONNIE: yeah
BONNIE: anyway!
BONNIE: uh, what, inspired you to choose this look?

You enter the living room. You can hear rummaging sounds from the kitchen, so you're spared the olive's attentions for now. Arsonn slicks a hand through the short top of her cut, and you're once again reminded that the texture of her buzzed sides would be oh so nice... but you don't like Arsonn enough to be tempted.

ARSONN: OH, YOU KNOW
ARSONN: JUS/ /IKED /HE S/Y/E

You have the sneaking suspicion that Arsonn chose it because she thought it looked "cool" and "punk" and then accidentally ended up looking like some posh violet. You're saved from trying to avoid relaying this revelation by the entrance of the other half of this riveting duo.

Kiarig enters, and the way she looks hasn't changed at all: pristine, shoulder length wavy hair, plain, short horns, impressively waxed and oiled, and pearl earrings. She wears secretary-style clothes even at home, and you wonder if that's because she likes it or because trying to maintain two different styles of fashion would somehow tear her identity apart. In her hands she carries a tray with tea (that you don't like, because she somehow always serves it lukewarm and with just sugar) and cookies (with coconut, which you also don't like).

She places this cookie tray on her side of the coffee table. With visible reluctance, she silently proffers a cup of tea, and you wordlessly reject the tea by waving your hands in front of you, with a smile you make sure reaches your eyes on account of your mask. This is the ritual you two have maintained ever since you choked down the first cup on the first visit, whereby she feigns that she's a polite troll and you feign that you could ever want that swill. She doesn't offer you a cookie.

BONNIE: kiarig!

KIARIG: Bonniiie.

BONNIE: nice to see you, how's it going?
BONNIE: has the latest thing died down a bit, are they leaving you alone?

ARSONN: NO /HEY HAVEN'/ REA//Y /E/ UP A/ A//

KIARIG: As my lovely matespriiite says, they've been rather iiintolerable.
KIARIG: Then agaiiin, III don't know what III expected.
KIARIG: IIIt's not liiike they are ever goiiing to leave mememe alone.

You internally wince a little and make a complicated face.

BONNIE: given any thought to locking yet?

KIARIG: Why should III lock when iiit's not mememe causiiing the problem?

Ah, well. It was a good attempt, Bonnie.

BONNIE: no, no, haha, you're right
BONNIE: unlucky that they're still on you though

ARSONN: I/'S VERY UNFOR/UNA/E
ARSONN: MY DAR/ING KIARIG DOESN'/ DESERVE /HIS

You think it's a very explicable series of events that is not unfortunate so much as it is predictable.

BONNIE: either way!
BONNIE: i take it both of you are all settled in now, right?
BONNIE: cozy as a pur-moobeast young!
BONNIE: all cozy in the hay and full of milk
BONNIE: right?

KIARIG: For the most part.
KIARIG: IIIn no small thanks to you, III must admiiit.
KIARIG: You've been very helpful iiin gettiiing us siiiituated after our move.
KIARIG: IIIt can be diiiffiiicult to make friiiends iiin a new ciiity.
KIARIG: III stiiill don't know how you do iiit.

BONNIE: oh, you know!
BONNIE: a combination of perseverance and being keyed into events!
BONNIE: showing up regularly to something is the core of friendship really
BONNIE: and you know me!
BONNIE: nothing but free time lately, haha
BONNIE: haha

Arsonn doesn't take the hint, and laughs heartily. Kiarig glares at them though and they shut up, chastised.

ARSONN: EI/HER WAY
ARSONN: YOU'VE DONE SOME/HING INCREDIB/E FOR US /WO
ARSONN: I WON'/ FORGE/ I/

She mulls over if she can do anything. Currently in a more stay-at-hive position, she can't bless you with any job-search nepotism, and you have the suspicion they don't actually know enough about you to suggest anything else. At least she has the awareness not to try recommend Kiarig gets you an in, which is a surprising development in her ability to be considerate.

ARSONN: I CAN'/ /HINK OF ANY/HING RIGH/ /HIS SECOND
ARSONN: BU/ ASSURE YOURSE/F /HA/ ARSONN DE/E/E IS ON /HE CASE
ARSONN: WA HA HA HA

She pauses, perhaps in consternation at her old vocabulary rearing its head. You know she's been struggling with that, trying to get rid of her bad habits...

ARSONN: SPEAKING OF CASES, BONNIE

KIARIG: Ugh, dear.
KIARIG: Can't you leave thiiis alone.

ARSONN: I AM /EAVING /HIS A/ONE
ARSONN: /HA/'S WHY I AM ASKING BONNIE
ARSONN: /HA/ WAY I KNOW I/'S IN GOOD HANDS
ARSONN: OR HOOVES AS /HE CASE MIGH/ BE!

Arsonn laughs again. Kiarig pinches the bridge of her nose, but acquiesces eventually after they huddle up to briefly discuss this, having decided that if it gets the issue out of her hair, she's all too happy to trouble you yet again, even at the potential cost of having to see you yet again. Rejoice! More Kiarig in your future!

ARSONN: /HIS IS NO /AUGHING MA//ER /HOUGH REA//Y
ARSONN: ONE OF /HE /ROLLS WE ME/ A/ ONE OF /HE QUEER GROUPS YOU IN/RODUCED
ARSONN: I/'S GONE MISSING
ARSONN: AND FROM /HE /HINGS O/HERS ARE SAYING
ARSONN: I/ MIGH/ BE /HE SOR/ OF /HING WHERE A /EA/ /OOKING ABOU/ MIGH/ NO/ BE APPRECIA/ED VERY MUCH
ARSONN: SOME SPECU/A/E /HERE'S CHURCH INVO/VEMEN/ /OO
ARSONN: /OCA/ ONE'S FINA//Y SHOWING I/'S CO/OURS HUH

This paints a surprising amount of visible anger on the ex-legislacerator-in-training's face. You didn't expect such a strong opinion on the matter of the brewing local schism, but scepticism about whether Honing's church will live up to its professed ideals has been a local hot topic. Well, you say 'local'. It's in the city proper and the nice part of it too, instead of the temperate-dominated subgrubs, positioning it on basically the other side of where you could reasonably hang out. Zhanne's the closest to you out of anyone you know, mostly because you're both poor as bones.

Arsonn mutters a little under her breath about "damned clowns" and other invectives, which shows she's at least heard of what the purples get up to doing to lower haemocastes, but finally finds it themself to continue. She composes herself, and with a genuine and apologetic look, one that pleads "I don't have another choice", she asks:

ARSONN: I'M REA//Y SORRY /O ASK YOU FOR YE/ ANO/HER FAVOUR BU/
ARSONN: COU/D YOU /RY FIND DIRACK VACUOO?

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