Active [On the Border of the See and Widersia, as Far South of Clockhaven as the River Goes] - The Devil's Favorite Holiday

[Mephisto]

"Once upon a time in Red Haven, another wing of the Phantasmagoria unfurls

So gather round and hear the frightening tales and thrilling songs

Beware that the Devil knows all the naughty boys and girls

He keeps a tally of their misgivings, misbehaviors, and especially their wrongs

When the chill of winter is in the air and all lights go out

That's when the Devil crawls from the depths of Hell

To punish the wicked little hearts full of doubt

And throw them into a pot to boil with a malicious spell

It's the Devil's Favorite Holiday, a celebration of ghastly mirth

Presents and magic and wonder as far as the eye can see

It's when all sorts of demons appear to test their worth

A screaming cavalcade of terror, howling with unholy glee

So grab your peppermints, your fruitcakes, and your gingersnaps

Fill your bellies with something sickeningly sweet

So that when the demons come they'll just collapse

Give them a festive, feverish holiday defeat

But don't forget that the city is alive, more than it already seems

Though this is a holiday, something amiss is upon the air

It's up to you to find out if this season is from a pleasant dream

Or if it was dredged from a horrid, dreadful nightmare"
​

---

​

---

The atmosphere of the shady nightclub Mephisto frequented always put a smile on his face. During the night, he often chose establishments at random to perform under the roof of for some simple coinage. His favorite by far was The Black Goat, famed for its eponymous colorless caprine cadaver lavishly sculpted and hung above the sign displaying its namesake. Lonely though it was for anything below the neck, the statuesque image of the beast crowned with curling, winding antlers and horns established itself as an effective beacon for wayward souls to wander under. Drink glasses clanked in the dimly-lit hub room, this larger area connected to the bar and showroom floor by trails of smoke between dozens of different brands and types of inhalants.

This is where Mephisto found himself on nights during the witching hours. Each and every dark corner and corridor creaked at his beck and call. The streets shuddered with a calamitous wailing and a cackled carried on the air. The clock struck 2300 and he appeared in a gasp of red smoke. Black shapes crawled along the floor and manifested behind him in a mirror image of his own making, his Long Shadow cradling his sharp shoulders as if anchored to his pinstripe suit.

He tapped the stage with the end of his cane.

The music stopped.

Every eye in the bar was upon him. Every ear opened towards him. The drunks - once boisterous - now fell into a hushed silence. His wide, pointed smile reached from ear to ear. His black fingers coiled into a loaded snap on one hand... and he fired it with a resounding click.

A one. A two. A one two three four!

Shapes suddenly slithered along the floorboards and merged with the band members and their shadows. Their limbs gave involuntary spasms and their lungs filled with unwarranted gulps of air. Their eyes filmed over with panic, but they couldn't do anything. The music grappled with their souls. The tempo rose in their blood. Mephisto raked them over the coals and the rhythm washed them out with the flood.

It was too late. He started to sing, his voice cascading like ribbons of red velvet.

"God made heaven and the lowest sea
He made earth and e'erything between
But Lord have mercy, it's just obscene
You're the sweetest damned thing that I've e'er seen

Eyes of blue and locks of gold
Tells the saddest story that's e'er been told
You loved me and sold your soul
Just to find a way out of the cold

Oh no, it ain't right
Oh no, it ain't right

You held out your hand and I felt your skin
Silky smooth, pale, soft, and thin
I looked you in the face and gave you a grin
I dug your grave and you walked right in

You thought this love was a game to play
But I'm the Devil and there's Hell to pay
Now sing along when you hear me say:
Swing, you sinner, and Happy Devil's Day!"
​

Mephisto threw his head back and laughed, swirling in a crimson blur across the edge of the stage. The band swelled with energy that wasn't theirs. The crowd followed along, intoxicated and dumb - puppets to his strings. His fangs clicked together like blades. Each time he set a foot down upon the floorboards, there was a curious absence of noise. If one were to look from above, his Long Shadow was matching him step for step in a mesmerizing mirrored dance from the other side of the lacquered wood.

"Oh no, it ain't right
Oh no, it ain't right

It's a city of wolves, that's just right for me
But a lamb like you was born to bleed
Cut from the chaff, unable to breathe
Lord have mercy you've gone too deep

Bloodshot eyes and broken bones
You've seen better days, I know I know
Just give me your hand to hold
It's not e'ery day the truth gets told

Oh no, ain't it right
Oh no, let's make it right

You gave me your hand and I read e'ery sin
Where you're from, where you're goin', and where you've been
I know your name let me say it again
You got no idea the trouble you're in,"​

The instrumentation began to bellow with the chorus, a thunderous pulsation of breath and flesh.

"You thought this love was a game to play
But I'm the Devil and there's Hell to pay
Now sing along when you hear me say:
Swing, you sinner, and Happy Devil's Day!"
​

He paused. The anticipation was tangible. The band behind him was silently screaming for mercy. He could feel their strained muscles and bodies through the strings he gave them. It was delightful, the limitations of a musician's body - all for the sake of quality entertainment. He pulled back. The song almost carried on, but something caught his attention. His words fumbled and his shadowy strings screeched to an abrupt halt. The noise of the crowd had concealed it for a moment, but not anymore. The festive atmosphere began to crumble. He heard hecklers in the back, and not the typical rancid drunk. Those would be easy to round back up into the tides of music. These were sober, intentionally invasive upstarts - five of them to be exact.

His eye twitched involuntarily. He tilted his head and have his fingers a snap, scattering the shadows that swirled around him and across the stage. The band members possessing such limitations as flesh and bone followed suit, melting into the crowd just to catch a break. His own dark doppelganger followed him with glee as he approached the naysayers by the Devil's Day tree.

"Let me get this straight... you saw fit to come to a music club and complain about the music?"

Mephisto's grin showed not an ounce of pity or curiosity. He seemed legitimately perturbed, as well as visibly annoyed.

"We came here to get away from all the noise outside. This city is nothing but one earache after another," one of the men protested. "Point us where we can actually find some peace and quiet, otherwise yeah - we will complain,"

Mephisto feigned a sharp intake of breath, laughing afterwards. Either these fools were tourists or they were well and truly delusional to want to stay in a city like Red Haven. He raised his cane as if preparing for a fight. A flame - no more than a candlelight - suddenly flickered from the head. He blew it out, and all the lights in the club were suddenly swept out like dust on Sunday morning. None could pinpoint what exactly he did in the resulting frenzy; but if the screams were any indication - it couldn't have been good.

When the lights clicked back on, he stood alone with the central perpetrator of this affront to music lovers everywhere. Where the other four went, none could say. Those closest to the commotion could just barely visualize the terrifying imagery of them being dragged to a place no one knew was real - a bubbling shadow, like cold boiling oil, sinking forever into the floor.

"Boo~" he spat, sending the last man standing into a sprint for his life.

But Mephisto's Long Shadow lunged out from under the fae creature's feet. It snatched the man's legs and pulled him kicking and screaming back inside. Mephisto emerged from the bar's small kitchen area brandishing a sharp knife. Without hesitation, he flipped the man over with a slight kick and plunged the blade into his chest. Though, when he went to stab him again he noticed something strange. He hadn't drawn blood at all, and instead produced a very dead wormlike creature impaled upon the knife itself.

"Oh... well hello there," he mumbled, standing up again rather stunned by the realization.

He looked back at the man who was snapping out of some sort of trance. He shook his head and took to his feet, patting himself down and looking at Mephisto with a newfound glimmer to his eyes.

"Th-Thank you! I don't know where that thing came from, but ever since it latched onto me - may he curse me - but I've hated Devil's Day! Now that it's gone, I remember that it's the most wonderful time of year! Oh, bless you mister!"

Mephisto peeled the worm off the knife and watched it splatter on the ground. He scratched his face with a single finger, still confused but basking in the afterglow of his apparent "saving" of this random man. The club exploded into cheers and joyful banter about how Mephisto - usually only a strange, entertaining visitor - now had something of a heroic streak to his name.

"Mmm... yes, I knew something was amiss," Mephisto lied, nudging the worm's deformed corpse with his shoe.

The man went to join the crowd and buy everyone a spiced rum hot chocolate in celebration. Mephisto wanted to inspect the parasite a bit more. His Long Shadow obliged and lifted it for him to see.

"This is a strange kind of magic. It's stealing emotions associated with happiness," he raised an eyebrow. "Along with festive cheer,"

His mutterings were interrupted by chanting. The crowd wanted an encore. He rolled his eyes slightly, unable to disappoint a captive audience. He snapped his fingers and the men from before were released from wherever he put them. He was about to randomly stab them as well looking for the parasites under their clothes when they started to pat themselves down and remove the wormlike corpses all on their own. He grumbled to himself. Having the parasites drown in his shadow magic certainly killed the potential fun of making these louses into pincushions.

Regardless, he took his place back on the stage and tapped his cane on the thick floorboards. A band of his own replaced the one that fled from him, tireless impish things that knew their instruments well and obeyed his every whim.

"Alright ladies and gentlemen, time for some holiday classics,"

Even as he sang again, this whole fiasco weighed on his mind. The results of an outbreak like this could range from mildly annoying to catastrophic.

 

[Irihi]

Miiya Aether

Miiya alighted in the narrow brick alleyway that held the frontage of her studio. Landing in the narrow confines was a trick, but she was a skilled and experienced flyer these days. A year of landing amidst the rigging and guylines of her Aunt’s ship had put paid to any uncertainty in her terminal descents, years ago. It was a good thing, too, because landing on Blackwing’s brig--difficult as it was--didn’t hold a candle to some of the hazardous approaches her courier job demanded, here in Red Haven. Miiya supposed that was why there were so few--none actually--other Aerial couriers in this gritty city on the bay.

Kicking off the narrow walls as she descended, Miiya grinned ruefully to herself. Skill issues resulting in a lack of competition; yes, that was her cup of tea. Tired as she was, she appreciated the practice the hazardous approach leant her--and the way her destination faithfully kept her purse nice and plump. Rent was cheap in the belowground broom closet of a back-alley tenement. The Aerial woman hit the ground, absorbing the impact in her quads, keeping her knee from grounding on the bricks that seemed to always have a thin sheen of some unknown slime--no matter the weather. A full-on bayou downpour couldn’t seem to wash any part of this city clean, though that didn’t keep mother nature from trying to scrub the blight from the swampy shore of the bay--much to Miiya’s chagrin. Flying in the rain wasn’t much fun, though you’d think it was like going to carnival, considering how often Miiya did it these days.

Like today, for instance. Bolting the door of her apartment behind her, Miiya kicked off her boots and stepped onto the chill tile floor, stripping off her socks and wiggling her toes which stuck damply to the surface. She unsnapped the shoulder rivets of her flight jacket and hung it over the rusty steam radiator as the device began to ping and tick with the stingy trickle of heat she could coax from the tenament’s boiler. The birdgirl sighed as she pulled off her blouse and unbuttoned her pants, these articles of clothing joining her jacket. With luck, if the other tenants didn’t rob all the steam throughout the night, they’d be dry--let’s be honest--less damp by morning. She’d flown in the rain twice today--the last thunderstorm hitting just after noon, so--by now--her underclothes were that level almost-dried-by-body-heat where it’s not quite worth changing them out. Besides; nobody’s gonna smell me; Viv doesn’t care, and the bar stinks worse than I will.

As you head to your next job. Miiya thought, ruefully. But first… The woman took a seat at the shabby still-kinda-painted-white vanity that was the chicest of her spartan furniture and bent her right wing forward. She winced, like always, as she unbuckled the straps that held Dauntless in place. Like always, she painfully unthreaded her flight primaries from the prosthetic wingtip. The mechanical turnlock clicked, just like always, as she detached the four-foot mechanical trim tab from herself.

Like always.
Like ever.

No--she’d been this way since--nevermind she was resilient. She loved flying. Dauntless was a part of her, and she was undaunted. She did not want to hurl the hideous prosthetic against the wall, stomp on it and scream out her despair until the tears and snot choked her and she curled on the floor, mourning Song’s amputated tip.

Been there, done that. Gonna think less about it today, even less tomorrow.

So the dark doesn’t grow and consume me.

Again.

Busy.

Too busy.

Too tired for that nonsense, Miiya lied to told herself.

The shroud over the vanity’s mirror helped her not look. She could just stretch her wings to full extension if she turned sideways a few feet off-center in the middle of her apartment, and was careful not to knock anything over in the kitchenette or where her bed was. It’s a sixteen foot room.

Sixteen
Not twenty.

Miiya stretched, and sighed, hearing her wing joints pop and crack. It had been a long day and it was going to be a long night.

But I love it. She thought as she lit her fire-hazard stove with a match and set a couple of pots full of leftovers over the flames. While her dinner warmed up, she rummaged through the pile of sorta-clean clothes on top of her bed. She had a gig later--the closing sets at The Stinking Rose--so she’d go to the workshop dressed for the performance after. Because, eventually Dauntless starter to hurt her physically, especially at night, Miiya didn’t have the power to cross the city as the crow flew, at night, and her schedule was too tight to fit everything in--so she wasn’t getting a wardrobe change.

Miiya cleaned and oiled Dauntless, pausing to stir the pot of stew and the other pot of congee. Eventually she spread the prosthetic out on some oil-stained newspaper and then tried not to look at it started wolfing down her half-warmed food.

…

Fed, clothed, shod, and ready for the night, Miiya stepped out into the Red Haven evening. She scanned the alleyway before carefully locking her door behind her. She was ground-bound now and had to be more careful about her surroundings. Especially since Barbie. She felt a twinge of annoyance that she had to think about him at all. Using the derogatory monicker she had come up with for him didn’t help dispel her bad mood.

“This sucks. Miiya whispered to herself as she pocketed her keys. Barbie was the first person to really bother her--probably because this was the first place she had stayed in one spot long enough to be bothered. But Barbie wasn’t here tonight--thank god--so she was going to try not to let him live rent-free in her head like he seemed to live outside her place, her work, and sometimes even her shows. Miiya’s boots made sharp short footfalls on the slimy bricks as she set off down the alley toward the night trolley stop.

Summary;
Miiya gets home from her day job as an Aerial courier.
She changes clothes, makes supper, and removes her prosthetic wingtip.
Then she leaves to moonlight at an inventor’s workshop.

 

[Irihi]

Miiya Aether

“Night, Viv!” Miiya chirped as she stood by the workshop’s door, collecting her guitar case and getting ready to head out.

Even though this was hour fourteen of work today, it didn’t feel like it. Miiya loved getting paid to fly for her day job, but she also loved working at night in Vivian’s workshop. The tall inventor was so full of enthusiasm for her inventions that Miiya found herself infected by it every night. Miiya had worked plenty of days in her life, but not since meeting Viv and getting her courier job.

Tonight they’d been milling metal, and the Aerial woman smelled like machine oil, stale sweat, and maybe a hint of the gumbo Vivian had treated her to when the inventor had returned from running out for an hour to get a custom-cast part from a nearby machine shop. Still, she was happy and invigorated by the challenging work. Building Vivian’s vision of a moving-picture machine was a serious engineering challenge--so much more engrossing--and practical--than the theoretical exercises from her college days. Miiya didn’t regret the time and money she’d spent on her incomplete formal education. She had gained enough background that she could hold her own with the Civil Engineers at that factory-construction job, understand the workings of the Widersea clockworks and steamworks that powered much of Red Haven, and make a meaningful contribution to Vivian’s inventions. However, she did not think she would ever go back to finish her degree. What use did she have for a piece of paper with printed qualifications that she already far-outstripped in real life practical applications?

“Non.” Miiya made a little pun of the French spoken in the creole quarters of the city, to herself, as she shrugged into her jacket. Sometimes she and her ostensible boss would work until well after midnight when they were on a roll, but not tonight. Miiya had a gig, and Vivian respected her assistant’s work-life balance, even if the inventor, herself, had none. “Sure yew don’t wanna come along, Viv? Free drinks!” Miiya was getting paid in drinks (and snacks, she hoped) and since she was ever a lightweight, she wasn’t going to be able to do justice to the bartender’s pours all by herself.

“Okay, next time then--I’m holding ya to it!” Miiya said cheerfully, when her friend declined to join her, before stepping out the door.

The old abandoned library, which Vivian had converted into her workshop, stood in a much more upscale district of Red Haven. It was close to the main entertainment drag, which was convenient for Miiya. She could walk to the Stinking Rose in short order, and the walk was along well-lit city streets still busy with the usual revelers, even at this late hour.

So Miiya’s guard was a down a bit when a voice behind her purred. “Heys, beautifuls.”

“FRETT!” Miiya’s wings snapped out in an involuntary flight reaction. He was standing close enough that she would have struck Marek with Song--if the wing were still all there. Miiya stopped cold, her fists tightening into balls clamped at her sides as she gritted her teeth and forced her feathers to settle. The Aerial woman folded her wings and tried not to hate that she hated that she had just put her deformity on full display when the man’s salutation had caused her to jump nearly out of her skin. She turned slowly around and glared at Marek Zvadro, the felinoid beastman whose ruggedly-handsome features were all-too-familiar to Miiya. “Marek, I told you--you can’t be here.”

“Free country, no? Marek is out for stroll.” The feline shrugged, his amber eyes glowing with the smoky light of reflected gas lamp flames. “Sorry this is Miiya’s part of town.” He said, sounding not the least bit sorry, but very pleased with himself. ”Cannot walk with Marek’s best girl?” He reached out to put a paw on Miiya’s arm.

The Aerial immediately shook him off and took a step back. “Don’t give me that shu, arfline!” She said hotly. “I’m not yer girl, and NO, yew can’t yfretting walk with me! Yew need to frett off before I call the cops!” She threatened.

”And yew tell them what? Marek walks here and this… frightens yew?” The felinoid’s fangs showed in a nasty grin as he backed off and spread his paws. “What about Marek frightens birdie? Maybe birdie scared that she likes being frightened?” His eyes narrowed and his tail twitched.

For a split-second, Miiya thought about making good on her threat. Actually, she thought about taking it a step farther and seeing how many of Maerk’s teeth she could liberate from his head. When he had first confronted her, Miiya’s hand had wormed its way into the knuckle-duster she carried in her pocket. Marek was bigger and stronger than her, but--for all her civil talents--Miiya was a vicious fighter, and the felinoid was not. Miiya knew she could break his face before he’d even know what hit him. But that was this time. What about next time, if she escalated now, what would her stalker do when he managed to surprise her again?

The Aerial woman had to fight down the urge to strike, and strike, and keep striking until she could be sure he would never threaten her again. But that didn’t work. The world didn’t work that way. She couldn’t murder this guy in cold blood just because her hindbrain was warning her that the way he looked at her, the way he spoke to her, the way he hung around her house, her office, and her favorite places, that--in the end--it was either submit or kill.

I hope not.

Miiya didn’t hate Marek; he was just a mistake. It should have been an innocent mistake; giving in to his constant weedling after she’d been friendly to him on that temp job. A couple of off-site lunches and one dinner date. Sure, she’d had misgivings, but--honestly--there were so many outright creeps in Red Haven that he had seemed safe, by comparison. She really hadn’t expected all that fur and his cheshire grin was hiding a more insidious kind of scary.

Don’t engage. He will give up some day. She lied to told herself, again, and bit back the “I’m not doing this with you again.” that she wanted to spit in his face.

Don’t engage any more than you already have, dumbass. She chastised herself and turned away from Marek, setting off quickly down the busy street.

Thank god the street is busy. She thought to herself and she trotted quickly along, hearing the soft pads of his footfalls dogging her, biting her tongue as he laughed and said: ”Ah, yes. Marek knows what you like.” The felinoid was not the least bit shy about jogging up to walk right behind Miiya, easily slipping around the light poles, cars, and other people that she tried to use to scrape him off.

It was getting worse, and her luck couldn’t hold forever. She could safely turn her back on him here. Probably. When he’d surprised her in the alley outside her place, she’d still been wearing Dauntless and had been able to fly away from his taunting catcalls.

Even though she hate-hate-hated to do so, she’d asked Vivian to chase him away from their workshop when he started hanging out right outside the door. Miiya still burned with shame at having brought her personal problems to the literal doorstep of her friend and employer. Vivian had understood, helped, and commiserated, of course, but Miiya was so embarrassed about it--especially since Viv had the sociability of a lump of coal and so had never experienced anything like what Marek was putting Miiya through.

”Marek likes how birdie walks. So nice to watch.” Miiya tried not to hunch her shoulders at the felinoid’s commentary on her physiology as he went on to describe just what it was about her that he found visually appealing.

After far too long she reached the Stinking Rose. Miiya was relieved beyond words to see the familiar face of Rocco, the Rose’s bouncer. In other circumstances she’d be elated by the line of patrons still waiting for a chance to go inside because--despite the lateness of the hour--she was going to be playing for a full house. However, the presence of Marek had sucked all the joy out of her night.

Miiya cut the line, meeting Rocco’s eyes with her own wide chestnut gaze. ”I’m with her.” Marek grinned as he crowded up right behind Miiya, bumping into her as she slowed before the doorman.

Rocco’s scarred eyebrow twitched up as he looked silently to Miiya, who gave a desperate little shake of her head.

“The Hammer”, getting all the confirmation he needed from Miiya that nothing between herself and her stalker had changed, stopped the feline. ”I don’t think so.” A meaty hand--that could curl into the hammer-like fist that gave Rocco his nickname--placed mid-chest, sent Marek sprawling into the gutter with just the slightest twitch of thick muscles of the massive bouncer's forearm. ”Get lost, gatta.” Rocco said, holding back the crowd and letting Miiya in, all without even shifting from his seat on the stool beside the door.

“Is okay, bay-bee. Marek sees you later tonight.” The felinoid called to the retreating Miiya.

If Miiya liked her job putting things together, Rocco liked his job taking people apart, even better. He wasn’t exactly friends with Miiya, but he and the feathered performer were friendly enough acquaintances that only his duty to hold back the line of entrants kept him from taking Marek apart. And only just barely. The beleaguered stool squeaked as Rocco stood up, his black gaze locked on the felinoid. His thick-fingered hands flexed, as if with the thoughts of tearing a certain gatta into kitty-kibble. He had told kitty to leave. Kitty had not left. So now no more kitty.

“Stay.” The Hammer transfixed the would-be patrons at the head of the line with a single word. Then he turned toward Marek, but the man had--wisely--made himself very scarce the instant Rocco had stood up. The bouncer resumed his precarious seat on the stool. “Go.” Said the man of few words, to a few more patrons as a couple of people left the bar.

…

“Thanks!” Miiya had said as she ducked past Rocco into The Rose. Immediately she was hit by a wave of sound, heat, and the smell of spilled drinks on worn wooden floors. The energy in the packed common room of the tavern was electric, and it immediately started lifting Miiya’s dour mood.

She wasn’t just safe here; here, she was a star!

Well, kinda an unknown star who just got jostled and had a drink spilled on her. “S’OKAY!” Miiya smiled and shouted over the hububb at the guy who had bumped her. He was saying something, but there was little chance of understanding what without him putting his mouth to her ear. She wasn’t feeling that at the moment, and her set was coming up soon, so mister sloshy would just have to whatever. “DON WORRY ABOUT IT!” Miiya shrugged amiably and pushed through the throng, leaving spiller behind.

It was a pickup line. She told herself, and grinned, heading to the cordoned-off corner near the bar’s small stage, and grabbing a couple of napkins to dry off her guitar case. Nice of him to hit the case rather than my wings. Boozy-smelling feathers were okay once or twice, but if she kept showing up to work that way, it might leave the right something impression. And yfrett me if I have time to clean them. Miiya thought to herself as she snapped open her guitar case.

…

It had been a trick to tune up in the hubbub of the place, but she’d managed a decent job of it by putting her ear right to the sounding board. This place, this gig, and the half of her pint she’d drank had washed the cares, tiredness, and grief of her day, week, year, and life away by the time the headliners were finishing up their set. They were good--a high energy band that kept the crowd moving, dancing, sweating out their drinks and ordering more. Miiya could follow that. She was feeling on, tonight, too.

As the band cleared the stage, their exhausted-looking guitarist bumped fists with Miiya. “Get it, girl!” He said.

“You know it!” Miiya grinned and took the stage.

The crowd was settling, but still in a good mood. The band, many had come to see, had put on a great show. Many of them were done for the night and started to close their tabs and head home. Still, though they’d been tired, the headliners had done Miiya a favor and ended on a high note, instead of a slow ballad. That left a good chunk of the crowd hungry for more, even after the double-encore.

“Hi!” Miiya stood center stage, her guitar hanging from the strap looped around her neck and between her wings. Sometime she would open with jokes or a brief routine from her busking days. That wasn’t appropriate for a hyped-up crowd. Miiya knew she ought to keep it simple and just get into her music, bringing the crowd with her. “I’m Miiya.” She said, and was about to name the first song of her set when she was interrupted.

”WOO!! I LOVE YOOOOOU!” Shouted an inebriated patron near the back, drawing a few chuckles.

Ah man, what a great setup, Miiya thought. “I ah… love you too, random stranger.” She replied with a little quiet stammer. Her delivery and uncertain-but-friendly expression were a real crowd-pleaser. They were designed to calm and quiet, and juxtaposed awesomely with her intro. Forget the song title; she was just going straight to it: “Now, um… lets HIT IT!!” Miiya used her huge lung capacity to power her equally-impressive pipes as she screamed a four-count and launched her set like a yfretting rocket.

Spoiler: Miiya rocks out

[*] Double-Threat C(B) - Performance [Lead Guitar] F(C) - Performance [Singing] F(C) - Action:2 - Cooldown: 0 - After sufficient warm-up (Activation), Miiya can play Lead guitar (Equipment) and sing lead (Concentration) in an amazing performance, when she’s on (Unpredictable 25% X 2), though there are those nights when she still blows it.

 

[Irihi]

Miiya was glowing as she finished her encore ballad and the bar’s lights came up. She had been yfretting fantastic, and she knew it. It was closing time, and the place was still packed. Patrons were chatting to each other, gesturing to her, and she knew they were asking each other just who she was. She had been SO on tonight; giving a world-class performance at this grotty little bar in a nondescript quarter of Red Haven. She lived for nights like this. She wasn’t always this good, and it was still fun then, but when the planets aligned like tonight, she felt like she was already a superstar.

“God, I’d love to--I really would.” Miiya put her hand on the musician’s arm--the lead guitarist from the headliners to show that she was serious. He was cute and talented. She would have been glad to hang with him until dawn, or even after that, talking shop, eating, or um, yeah, maybe that too. “But I gotta get to work in about… four hours.” She sighed. “I’m flying so I need to sleep for at least six of those. She joked.

Aw, he was sober too, because he laughed--catching the mismatched numbers. Miiya briefly contemplated calling in sick to her courier job. But, no, if she skipped work for every cute b handsome face in Red Haven, she’d be out of the jobs that actually payed in money. “I’d love to chat--on the way home--but it’s cool if yew don’t wanna go that far; I’m way over in the creole quarter.” And that’s all it’s gonna be; a chat. She hoped he was picking up on her signal. She wanted company to her place, not into her place.

Well, he’ll find out sooner or later if he doesn’t get it now. Miiya thought to herself even as she smiled with delight when Adrian said he’d love to escort her home.

…

Oh man, he was charming. Miiya had almost gone back on her resolution to get a handful of hours of sleep when they’d reached her apartment in the pitch-black morning hours. Especially when he stepped back to show he understood that a chat--mostly shop talk, with some useful tips to her--was all they would share.

“You can call me,” Miiya patted the chest pocket where she’d slipped her number after Adrian had asked for it. “Just, please--dear god--not in the next four hours.” She smiled and suggested a very narrow time window when she was sometimes home and also awake between courier and workshop jobs. “Goodnight, Adrian.”

Inside, after she turned the deadbolt, Miiya squeezed her fists and leaned back against the door. Vreet, what a night! She forced thoughts--of capping it off by opening her door again and calling after Adrian--from her mind, as she kicked off her footgear, left a trail of clothing from the door, and then collapsed facedown on the bed.

She was out like a light before she could even blanket herself with her wings.

 

[Spoiled Bread]

Meredy Cainbell

---

Resting the stock on her right shoulder, Meredy aimed the gun towards one of the moving duck. She had hit the two other and the furthest duck was the last one standing, This was her third attempt at playing on the shooting booth, and just as she expected, the game was rigged from the begining. She used the first attempt to identify where the owner had rig it, which was pretty easy, the last cardboard duck had extra clamp on its bottom right side. She then spent all of the shots on her second attempt to specifically target that last duck, testing for a way to topple it and weakening the clamp. At this point she expect the booth keeper to notice it and try to shoo her away. Yet he did nothing, it's like he was uninterested in everything going around him. A shame, she would like to see his devastated reaction when she finally defeat the game.

Finally, her third attempt, and her last shot. The girl carefully aimed at the clamp on the last duck and squeezed the trigger, pulling down the hook that had been suspending a rubber band which had been stretched across the toy gun and send forward a high-velocity wooden cork slamming into the clamp. A few people who had been watching her attempts erupted in joy when her shot sent the last duck onto the floor and thus winning her the game.

"Easy peasy~" Meredy blew the imaginary smoke away from the muzzle of the toy gun. She scanned the back of the booth for anything good. Honestly, for her all the prizes displayed looks like cheap knock off of the real quality goods that she could get in the shopping district. Yet a particular prize caught her attention, it was a large round red plushie with an angry expression and a pair of what was supposed to be horns on its head. A cute plushie of the devil the size of a chair, a perfect souvenir for tonight.

Upon choosing her reward, the booth keeper nodded lazily before he turned his back to retrieve the doll from the shelves. That's when Meredy noticed something wiggling on the booth keeper's neck. It looks like a... worm?

"Hey, mister. There's something gross on you." She tried to tell the man.

"If its another joke about the size of my mole then forge- ouch!!."

Without warning Meredy shoot another cork towards the worm, knocking it off the man's neck. She quickly reload another one and shoot the worm on the floor, crushing its head with a well aimed cork shot.

"Hmm? Oh... I feel, better." The booth keeper suddenly said as he rubbed the spot where the worm latched. "Where was I? Oh yeah. Congratulations for winning! Here's your chosen prize!"

With an unexpected vigor, the booth keeper loudly announced Meredy's victory while handing her the prize. He was like a completely different person from himself two minutes ago. He looks equally upset and impressed at a random girl winning the game but he used the opportunity to promote his booth and convince everyone watching that his game wasn't rigged.

Meredy took one last glance to the dead worm on the floor before she went to find the next festival game she could find. That was definitely a strange creature, but ultimately its also none of her concerns. At least for now. She's only in this city for a limited time so she took it as her mission to beat as many game booth as possible, rigged or not. She also had another mission which was to find the devil like the one described in the devil's day pamphlets, though she wouldn't be surprised if it was nothing more than a few fathers in costume trying to scare their kids into behaving.

Why looking for the devil? Let's just say... she's a big fan.​

 

[Irihi]

Miiya Aether

“Viv, what are you talking about?! This is fantastic!” Miiya gushed as her lanky friend fretted over the broken film reel. “This is an easy fix! I’m sure there’s some other reagent we can use that won’t weaken it--and besides, that was, like, a full ten seconds of life--projected on the wall! Yer a certified genius!” Miiya exclaimed. “Stop being such a negative Nancy, and let’s celebrate!

Eventually, as she always did, Miiya managed to coax a smile, and then an admission that--yeah--what they had done was nothing short of miraculous--from her tall purple boss. The pair celebrated the brief success of their moving-picture machine with a toast and then started cleaning up from the night's experimentation. The machine worked! Sure, it had some bugs and wasn’t good for anything practical, yet, but both women could see the incredible potential of being able to capture--and then display--moving scenes in light. Miiya might be a little more giddy about the selling potential of the device--once they managed to get it to run long enough to commercialize it--but the Terostoan’s quieter enthusiasm showed that she, too, knew tonight had been a big breakthrough.

“Oh shu! Is that the actual time!? At the sound of the nearby belltower, Miiya looked up from the table where she had been carefully preparing the feeder machinery for storage until they could repair the film.

A few moments later she was pulling on her jacket and dashing out the door to the reassurances from Vivian that she could finish closing up without Miiya. “Sorry! Thanks, Viv!” She called. “See you tomorrow!”

…

The Aerial woman wasn’t sure if she was relieved to spot Adrian when she gusted into the late-night lounge about an hour after their agreed-upon meeting time. Maybe it would have been easier if he just thought she had stood him up. It wasn’t that Miiya was not excited to be out on a date, but she felt crummy about being so incredibly late--especially since she knew she was going to have to cut things short; having to work early tomorrow.

At least he’s practical. Was her first thought as she took in the papers around the guitarist. He wasn’t just sitting around twiddling his thumbs. “Shu, Adrian, I am SO sorry! I got hung up at work, and just lost track of time!” She said, truthfully. ”Thanks for waiting! Lemme get the first round, okay?”

To Miiya’s relief, the man reassured her that he wasn’t bothered. ”Hey, if I didn’t know you were a busy girl after ringing you about twenty times, then that would be on me. Sure yeah, drinks--thanks! Hold on a sec…” He tapped his pencil against his cheek for a moment, then wrote down a few more notes while Miiya headed to the bar. By the time she returned, he’d cleared the papers from the table and chair, making room for her to sit next to him. ”So… what’s work?”

The pair chatted into the night, working their way through a couple of rounds--a little more than Miiya would typically drink, but gosh she hadn’t been on a social outing in--what seemed like--forever, she was still glowing from the success of Vivian’s first prototype, and Adrian was a real charmer.

“Hey, I wanna dance! Yeah? Miiya stood a little abruptly (and a little unsteadily), urging her date to his feet as well. It didn’t take much coaxing to get him out on the floor; they were both musicians and performers--neither one a shrinking violet, both knowing how much bands appreciated moving bodies, and knowing how enjoyable moving those bodies could be.

…

As the night wore on, the smiles, dancing, and flirting the guitarist elicited from Miiya became more mischievous and more suggestive. The Aerial was having a really great time with Adrian and was kinda sorta forgetting about the lateness of the hour, and maybe leaving some of her inhibitions at the bottom of her glass. The man could dance, and Miiya was enjoying being led, twirled, and promenaded even more than she enjoyed shaking her feathers by herself--and she enjoyed that quite a lot. She was also becoming more acutely aware of Adrian’s hands, especially when they pressed at the small of her back, or rested with gentle guiding pressure on her hip.

I like dancing. Miiya laughed aloud, leaning back in a spin and feeling herself supported by her dance partner.

“Oop! Sorry!” She giggled as she collided with another dancer.
No, not a dancer, a woman just standing there--stock-still in the middle of the dance floor with an angry expression on her face. “Yeah, yeah, excuse me.” Miiya smiled at her and copied the apology this dour wallflower was demanding. “Hey, ow!” The Aerial gasped as the woman caught her by the shoulder in a vise-like grip.

”Stop dancing.” The skwitch demanded.

Miiya’s expression faded into confusion as she easily detached from the grasp of the fun police. “What’s yer problem?” she asked, then backed up as the woman snarled at her--and other nearby dancers, repeating her exhortation to stop their revelry. Miiya wasn’t big on confrontation--no, that was a lie, she enjoyed punching maybe a little too much--but she wasn’t big on confrontation when she was a sheet or two to the wind and having a great time with Mister Nice Hands. She was just about to duck away and drag the bemused Adrian along with her to the far side of the dance floor--or somewhere else, when she spotted something strange. Fueled by a little liquid courage, she struck like a starling snatching up a worm, plucking a bizarre creature from where it nestled--half-hidden in the angry woman’s locks.

“EWW! HOLY SHU!! Miiya cried, realizing she had just grabbed some sort of large bug from the lady. Despite being a little boozy, her reactions were barely slowed and she flung the worm-thing across the room like a minor-league pitcher. The bird-girl wasn’t exactly sure where the weird creature had landed, but--from the screams--it sounded like somewhere gross.

”Wh--what was I saying…? The worm-woman seemed confused, but uninjured. That was good, because Miiya had decided not to stick around.

“C’mon! Let’s get out of here!” She said to Adrian, and dragged him through the milling throng and out of the lounge. Miiya kept running, pulling the guitarist along behind her, until they were both out-of-breath. Gasping with giggles, Miiya stopped, steadying herself on the bricks of the facade of a closed apothecary. ”Ohmigod! I can’t believe I did that!” A ripple ran through her feathers. ”Ohh! That thing was so GROSS!!” Miiya was a little grossed-out, but she was more delighted by the mayhem than anything. She rubbed her hands vigorously on her skirt as if to scrub off the memory of grabbing the wriggling creature. She looked up as Adrian asked if she was okay now. “Mm… dunno.” She said, trying not to crack a smile. Miiya put her teeth on her lower lip and looked up at the man. “Maybe… maybe we can go somewhere quieter… and you can check?”

Summary;
Miiya goes on a date after work.
She has an encounter with someone controlled by a joyless worm.

 

[Irihi]

Miiya Aether

What is that… light? Was Miiya’s first thought of the day, slowly followed-on with increasingly-coherent (and panicked) thoughts..
Is that… light?
Is it light?
Holy SHU it’s LIGHT already!!

There was a bang and a curse as Miiya fell out of the bed and knocked something over when her wings snapped out involuntarily. “Shu!” She hissed. Where’s the yfretting lights? It was light, but not that light, but light enough that she knew she was in serious trouble.

“Yfrett! Yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine! She tried not to sound annoyed as she reassured a bemused Adrian’s groggy inquiry. “I’m just… really late, dude.” Miiya pushed the hair out of her eyes and tried to peer through the gloom. “D’ya know where my… oh, there they are.” She hopped on one leg, hastily pulling on clothing and trying not to knock anything else over with her wings, fall, or bark her shins against anything.

Adrian was murmuring something that sounded really appealing. Even sleepy, he was still quite the charmer. I mean, that’s why I’m here. But there was just no way. Right? She paused at the foot of the bed. No, it’s the holiday season and I’m on probation. She’d be lucky if she didn’t get fired for showing up late smelling like booze and s--...smelling like booze. Not showing up at all was out of the question. “I can’t… I’d love to, but I can’t.” Plus I’m a little sore. Miiya didn’t remember everything that had happened last night, but she remembered enough to fill in the blanks. “How do I get to the C-line from here?” She asked as she did up blouse buttons in a hopefully-straight row.

“Nah, dude, I’m good. Thanks though. Yes, she wanted coffee, but there was no hope of waiting that long. Sure, she wanted Adrian to walk (run) with her to the trolly, or home or whatever, but he would only slow her down. Even as she declined his offers, she was shaking her head, thinking of how more screwed she was. Gotta get home, get dauntless, only then can I fly back to the dispatch office. She tried to straighten her stained clothing--stinking from the smoke of the club and hopelessly rumpled from spending a night wadded up on the floor of his place.

This was not going to be a fun morning. “I had a great time,” though. Miiya said. It had been a long dry spell, and breaking it had felt just yfretting fab-- She broke her head out of that space and flashed an already-tired, but genuine smile at Adrian. “Call me.” Miiya chirped as she ducked out the door.

…

Or don’t. God, I don’t have time for this!

Miiya chastised herself and tried not to notice the looks she was getting on the half-empty early tram. Where are we, Red Haven or Prudesville? She tried not to let the thought of flying-- sans breakfast, sans coffee, for hours making up late deliveries--after last night's exertions, plus the side-eyed glances, get her down. Half this yfretting town does the walk of shame every morning. She insisted, to herself, and tried not to glare back at the looky-loos. Instead, she tried to focus on the good stuff she could remember.

It was surprisingly difficult. Despite getting a little drunk, everything Miiya had done had been done with intent. She had hoped the night would break the way it had, that Adrian would turn out to be the gentleman--and sometimes not so gentle--that he was. Oh, he was a pretty pretty man. Miiya found her spirits buoyed by memory as she shifted, and a set of tiny pincers lost purchase on her feathers. The way he looked and smelled and felt. She tried to decide which part of him she liked best. Hands, I think. His shoulders and chest were a close second, but Miiya really liked the man’s hands.

I hope he calls. Not that I have time for anything more than a one-night-stand, but I still wouldn’t mind seeing him-- The thought dimmed, darkened as the worm regained its purchase on the flesh where her downy feathers rooted.

He won’t. And that will be better. The sun was just starting the peak down the sooty canyons of Red Haven as the trolly rolled along. This morning, it seemed particularly colorless; casting a gray light that only seemed to deepen the shadows. Better to be alone during the holidays. Too much work to do, for any of this frivolity.

God, I’m a mess. Suddenly, even though they were ignoring her now, Miiya was sure the other riders were silently judging her. I’m gonna starve all day. She felt the beginnings of a headache twinging behind her eyes. I’m going to slave away, just to get fired. We’re never going to fix Vivian’s stupid picture machine. I’m going to bomb my sets tonight--what am I even doing in this town…? The wave of unfamiliar depression swept over Miiya like an invisible tsunami. With a moan, the winged woman bent forward in her seat, cupping her hands behind her neck.

Wait.

What the yfrett is… this… “YEEEEK!!” What started as a depressive compulsive tic, changed into a full-blown crisis as Miiya picked at, then peeled away, and then realized she was holding a fist-sized worm that had attached itself at the base of her neck like a lamprey.

The Aerial girl leapt to her feet, smashing the worm to the floor of the trolley and then stomping repeatedly on it, driven by panicked horrified disgust. She cut loose with a string of colorful curses as the other riders stared at her in shock.

As hard as the depression had slammed her, the rebound bounced her into a world of color and light. “Oh! This is my stop!” She said cheerily, as the trolly brakeman looked back to see what all the commotion was about. Miiya alighted and scraped the remains of the worm from her boot. “Ecch! If she’d had two spare seconds to rub together, she might have connected the trolly worm to the joyless skwitch of the night before.

But Miiya didn’t have two seconds. She didn’t even have one as she set off for her apartment at a dead run.

Summary;
Miiya smashes a worm and some other stuff.

 

[Mephisto]

---

Don't You Worry Your Pretty Little Heads...​

---

| Spoiled Bread | Irihi |​

A musical maestro in the making, Mephisto meticulously meandered about his apartment... well, it wasn't actually his.

He spread his imps across the city for the express purpose of gathering ingredients. Of course he sent them with scraps of cash, gold, silver, and copper - he wasn't a monster. No, he wanted only the freshest and finest accoutrements for his meals. His growing skills as a chef meant that he could one day purchase his very own restaurant. He needed practice, however, and normal sources of meat were expectedly expensive. So, he had to settle for... something a bit more free-range.

His imps were simultaneously tasked with finding suitable non-factors to the well-being of the city. Red Haven had an infestation of bipedal manifestations of greed and avarice, lust and desire. Mephisto made it a mission to select the finest cuts from the cleanest parts of the metropolitan plague. The best part of all of this was he didn't have to pay a cent for what he gleaned from society's underbelly. It was practically a service to the fine folks at the RHPD. There could be no crime without criminals, and no criminals without evidence. For all they knew he was still a law-abiding citizen.

The only things that didn't make sense were the strange bones appearing in random places throughout and outside the city. Some were cracked open. Some were braised. Some were roasted. Some were boiled. Bones belonging to the same skeleton sometimes had different cooking methods practiced upon them. Nothing could be properly traced, however. They called it a "cannibal soirée".

And so Mephisto continued his hunt, finding the latest addition in the rancid aftermath of a brutal murder. He set down the bloodied knife. It couldn't possible have been him, after all... he was such a good man~

His Long Shadow swooped in from the corners of the room. The corpse shuffled into the void, bloodstains gently drained away as they were pulled into the pocket dimension along with their source. Mephisto remained behind to admire the art collected by the former occupant. It was a top-floor luxury apartment overlooking the vast majority of the Hearts District. Here, Mephisto could see the part of Red Haven famous for its casinos for all it was worth. Bright lights turned the streets into a neon promenade and smoke from countless restaurants filtered into the air.

Red Haven was divided into five main districts: Clubs, Diamonds, Hearts, Spades, and the Devil's Playground. Hearts and Diamonds occupied the Widersian east bank, while the Clubs and Spades sat opposite on the Fae west bank. In the middle was a large island jutting up from the center of the winding river. Bridges connected to it but were always locked down. No one knew what happened inside. This was the Devil's Playground. Mephisto eyed it greedily.

Perhaps one day...

But for now he sat easily in the lofty arrangements afforded to him by ridding Red Haven of yet another gambler who hit his last jackpot. His imps returned to him one after the other, over and over, almost like clockwork.

"Two of them... humans... one an Aerial..." he mumbled along with their incoherent babbling.

Some souls were becoming cognizant of the worms. Two in particular had already taken some in cold blood. Mephisto's omnipresent smile tightened. His long, sharp teeth clicked as his lips stretched.

"Excellent! Such... delightful guests," he cackled, standing and holding his arms from end to end.

He cast his eyes towards the Scarlet Moon hanging in the sky.

"What a lovely night~"

---

For now, something curious would happen near to where Meredy found herself following the incident at the marksmanship game. A humanoid creature of unknown origin would appear for an instant, lost amidst the crowd of people. She would catch sight of it easily enough. It wore the telltale red and white uniform of a certain icon of the season, thought it was extended beyond the legs and dragged behind the shape. The most obvious trait it possessed, however, was the true lack of a face.

A pair of curled horns jutted out from either side of its red cap. A long white beard flowed from what one could perceive as ears. But it concealed everything beyond its neck well enough for it to appear entirely headless if one stared for too long. Perhaps the shadows were too deep...

But as soon as Meredy would see it, the thing disappeared. Even her keen eye, honed through sniping through phony festival games and rigged carnival trials, would catch only a blur. It quickly occupied the lamplight framing an alleyway and then - nothing.

One of Mephisto's imps bounced down from the nearby overhang of a snowcapped canopy. It was small, inky black, with a pair of glowing yellow eyes that stared blankly at the woman. It tilted its head back and forth, trying to mentally process the network of information thrown into the kaleidoscopic blender shared by all of the other imps. Rather than stupid, they simply shared one brain cell with one thought between all of them.

Once it decided that Meredy was who it thought she was, it held out a stubby hand and pointed at her.

"Buh, buh," it mumbled without words.

A nearby streetlight flickered. Someone understood what it was saying. A man walked through the brick wall to her right - or, more accurately, peeled himself from between the mortar. Slippery remnants of tar-like shadows clung to his form, bubbling and dripping until he seemed to coalesce and... exist. His neck made a sickeningly wet pop as he turned towards Meredy. He had her in his sights. He smiled, leaning down towards her.

"Good evening~!" he chirped, extending his hand for hers to shake. "My name... is Mephisto~"

His name. She knew it before anything else about him. The red pinstripe suit clung to his lithe body like a death shroud. A pair of tattered coattails followed his every move.

"You seem like a busy woman, so I'll cut to the chase: did you kill a strange worm recently?"

The question hung in the air like a sheathed knife. Mephisto's expression became more rigid. He expected the truth while creating a world of lies. Then again, the truth could be whatever he wanted when it all depended on his deception.

---

 

[Irihi]

Miiya Aether

​

“H-hello? Vieux Carré Van!” Miiya called, naming the company for which she flew courier. “You called for an airmail pickup?” She peered into the darkened doorway, more than a little conscious of the narrow confines of the alleyway and the spider’s web of laundry lines overhead. She was going to have to walk out to the main drag in order to get enough clearance for a safe takeoff. Miiya didn’t like places like this, but there were a lot of them in Red Haven--narrow spaces with many tangling lines. Such environs brought back bad memories.

But she was just going to have to suck it up. Especially today. When she’d made it home, her phone had been ringing off the hook--her friend at Vieux Carré Van desperately calling her to come in before the boss found out she was late.

She’d almost made it; strapping Dauntless on in record time, managing a lightning change of outfit, and wiping most of the wreckage of last night’s makeup off in-flight. That had been a trick.

Miiya had beat the boss to the office--which was probably the reason she wasn’t fired. The stack of late air mail, however, had betrayed her, and she’d gotten a dressing-down from management. Luckily, they couldn’t really afford to lose their only air courier during the holidays, so Miiya had gotten a coffee and gotten yelled at with a warning that if she let her personal life interfere with her duties again, she would be gone.

Coulda done with just the coffee She thought, irreverently. Now, where is this yfretter? “Hello…?! I’m on a tight schedule here,” she called into the (weirdly-open) door. “If your delivery’s not ready, call the office to reschedule, okay?

“Oh, Chickadee, Marek’s delivery is ready for your tight… schedule.” An unwelcome voice purred as the felinoid beastman emerged from the shadows.

Oh, you’ve gotta be yfretting kidding me! Not today, of all days! Miiya turned, glaring at Marek. It was tough, but she tried to force her expression to something closer to neutral. Get out of here. Don’t engage. No emotion. She told herself.

Miiya couldn’t believe that this motherfretter just had to choose today to waste her time. She had been dreading the day her stalker would figure out her delivery job ever since he had seen her in uniform. Truth be told, though; she’d been so busy recently, it had somewhat slipped her mind. She’d certainly not given the beastman a single thought last night.

Miiya said nothing, her eyes flicking to potential escape routes. There weren’t many. Marek must have set it up this way--ensuring she wouldn’t be able to fly away or escape without getting close to him.

If she hadn’t been stressed, tired, and maybe not thinking all that clearly, Miiya probably would not have taken the risks she did. Marek wasn’t just creepy--he was dangerous. The level to which he was willing to take his cat-stalks-bird “roleplay” went past the borders of fantasy and delved deeply into obsession. With more rest, or a sharper mind, or if she hadn’t felt like she needed to walk on eggshells while on-the-job, she probably would have struck first or fled with enough forcefulness that Marek wouldn’t have been able to stop her.

As it was, though, Miiya felt like she had to stick to the pretense that this was simply a delivery gone awry. If she didn’t follow protocol, and Marek complained, he could get her fired. “If you don’t have a package for me, Vieux Carré Van will send you a late cancellation bill.” Miiya said, and then wished that the corporate language phrased that another way.

”Oh, Marek has a package for Chickadee.” He said the words playfully, but there was nothing playful in his attitude. The beastman did not intend to let Miiya escape this time.

“Go get it right now, or I’m leaving.” Miiya said, stupidly. Because she knew he didn’t have legitimate business. She just wanted--wished--he would go back inside so she could leave without having to deal with this shu.

“Why Chickadee so unfair to Marek?” There was an undertone of whining in the beastman’s voice as he approached Miiya. ”Marek helps her; makes her feel welcome; feeds her; even now; kind Marek pays for what she gives away.” The felinoid flashed a stack of bills--what he, apparently, thought of as Miiya’s delivery fee before snarling. “Marek smells it on his girl; smells a weak human.” He went on to give a few details about just why Miiya should be grateful to him and do as he said.

The Aerial woman couldn’t decide if she was more disgusted or angered by Marek’s words, by his presumptions and entitlement. Miiya’s hand had wormed into her pocket and her fingers threaded into her brass knuckles. I wanna yfretting kill this dude. She thought, and this time she found that she meant it.

Calm down.
Just go.

Miiya closed her eyes, wishing she could close her ears too, and tried to brush past Marek.

Closing her eyes was a mistake. For all his size, the beastman was fast and agile. He might not be as practiced a fighter as Miiya, but he had been prepared to pounce on her without restraint, while she had been fighting with herself not to throw hands.

Miiya had been hiding her weapon, but she’d touched it in her pocket often enough that Marek knew it was there. When she heard the beastman lunge at her, the Aerial woman got her hand out of her pocket, but before she could cock it back for a jab, Marek had caught her arm and twisted it. He pinned both Miiya’s arms behind her and used his weight to slam her face-first into the wall next to the open door. She saw stars and felt his hot breath on her neck as he growled something about cats, fangs, and songbirds.

Miiya wasn’t listening. She was already skeeved-out enough and not interested in feeding any more of kitty’s fantasies. She came from a race of people evolved to survive crash landings. Getting slammed into bricks wasn’t fun, but it didn’t put her out of action like it might another human or beastkin.

Miiya’s powerful wings snapped out, catching Marek’s elbows and breaking his grip on her. Before he could recoil, she jerked her head back, smashing his nose in with her skull. As he reeled back, Miiya pivoted on a heel, delivering a textbook right hook with her armored fist. Marek’s mouth was open and took the brunt of the blow with more than one of those fangs, of which he was so proud, being liberated from his mouth.

Kitty went down, and Miiya followed up with a running kick to his head, intending to rattle his brain enough that the concussion would keep him down and hopefully kill him. “DON’T TOUCH ME, YEW FRETT!! It was a little late for that, but Miiya was seeing literal red as the blood from the abrasion the bricks left on her brow started running into her eyes. The birdgirl stood over the fallen felinoid panting--not with the aftereffect of getting bodyslammed--but with the effort of holding back her murderous instinct. She wanted to stomp Marek’s windpipe flat, smash bone fragments from his broken nose into his brain.

NO! NO! NO! NO!! YOU’RE OKAY!! She screamed at herself, teeth clenched so that nothing came out but a snotty sob escaping from her bruised nose.

Rather than kill the man, Miiya horked that right back up into her streamlined Aerial nasal cavities, along with some blood and--yeah, maybe a little tears. “I’m a raptor, not yer goddamned songbird, kalmason!” She spat a nice solid loog on Marek’s face as she stalked off, not stopping, not looking back, only listening to make sure that he wasn’t getting up, before she reached the main road and launched straight up into the sky.

 

[Irihi]

Miiya didn’t realize she was crying until she found she wasn’t tasting the blood from the damage done by the bricks to her nose. She kept having to swallow, even though the bleeding had stopped. The worst of this was; she couldn’t even stop to pull herself together. She was on such shaky footing with this job, today, any delay--didn’t matter what the cause--and that was going to be it.

It’s so goddamn unfair, too! She couldn’t even report Marek. She could--of course--in theory. But she’d still get let go for bringing her personal problems into the job. So, yeah, no wonder I’m crying. She decided she was going to forgive herself a little self-indulgent pity.

“Is Zorin around?” Miiya asked as she alighted at the dispatch office. Sylvia was on duty, and--while they weren’t necessarily friends, she had a decent rapport with the dispatcher.

Nah, he’s out--Jesus wept! What happened to you?” Sylvia’s eyes widened with shock as she took in Miiya’s battered visage.

Miiya sniffed and accepted a handkerchief with which she dabbed at her abrasions. “Nothing good.”

”I can see that--you’d better make a report.” The woman suggested.

“I… can’t.” Miiya grimaced painfully, and considered whether she trusted Sylvia not to rat her out to the boss. Frett it. She decided she didn’t care. This job wasn’t worth getting sent into the lion’s den again, and she couldn’t bring herself to lie and say she’d crashed. Not for that motherfretter’s sake. “It’s... personal; I’m already on thin ice and Zorin will fire me if he finds out.” Miiya looked beseechingly at Sylvia. [color] “Sylvia… could you blacklist the number and address from my last delivery… without the report?” [/color]

The dispatcher sighed and looked the Aerial woman up and down. ”Okay.” She decided. “Just this once.” It was not a small ask--she could get in real trouble for banning people without Zorin’s approval, but--in reality--he never audited the black book. Plus, Miiya looked pretty banged-up and Sylvia was not without sympathy for the winged woman. Also, there were not a lot of Aerials around, and having Miiya owe her a favor seemed like a good idea.

Seeing Miiya tear up again at this small kindness further played upon the dispatcher’s sympathies. ”Oh, honey…” Sylvia heaved another sigh and wondered if she really wanted to get involved in this girl’s drama. Too late. she decided. ”Here’s the break room key; go get yourself cleaned up and let's take lunch. I’ll move some deliveries around and make sure you’re caught up by tonight.”

…

Miiya was just getting back in trim, thanks to her coworker’s sympathy--as well as the generous portions of the greasy spoon to which Sylvia had led her. Miiya ate like a starving inmate--knowing that she really couldn’t afford this downtime, so this was likely to be Meal for the day. Even so, she paused, mid-inhale, at Sylvia’s suggestion. “You mean, like go away for good?” Miiya looked shocked. “Sylvia, I… couldn’t hire someone to do that! She whispered. Miiya wondered if it made her evil that her first consideration was that she couldn’t afford an assassin to kill Marek, rather than that she wouldn’t.

“Look, I hate to break it to you, kid, but that’s how these things work in RH, especially in Spades.” Sylvia said flatly, referring to the district where Marek’s listed address was. ”I looked this fucker up; he’s not a nice man, Miiya, and he’s not going to just go away.” The woman pushed her leftovers to Miiya’s side of the table without asking or needing to ask. ”Don’t take this the wrong way, but you need to toughen up to survive this town, girl, especially on the bottom rungs. If you wanna climb any higher, you’re going to need at least one of three things; Sylvia ticked them off with her fingers. ”Money, power, or a patron who’s got both.”

 

[Irihi]

…

The rest of the day, Sylvia’s words would be running around Miiya’s head. It was fortunate that flying delivery was mostly mindless work. Usually, the winged woman used her time aloft to compose pieces in her head, practice singing, or just daydream about the evening meal.

Today, though, she used her flights to debate her very existence in this town. Was it really so dog-eat-dog? Sure, she’d only been in Red Haven a few months, but she’d thought she had the lay of the land. There were plenty of sketchy places and people, but also phenomenal wealth and fecundity.

Sure, Miiya could just frett off and go back to the simpler hardscrabble life offered in the medieval fiefdoms of the north. Justice ruled with an iron fist up there (except at home), and in the Empire as well, but those stagnant kingdoms came with their own perils. Monsters roamed the wilds, thieves could be killed on sight, nobles were untouchable, and the best peasants like her could hope for was a lifetime of labor that just barely staved off starvation--between famines at least.

Red Haven was a whole different world, and she’d thought it suited her. Before Marek, she’d even entertained a fantasy of making it big enough to buy out Ma’s indenture. Was she really going to let one wicked kalmason chase her away from her dreams?

“Yfrett no!” She whispered to the slipstream as she descended toward her next address. Sylvia was wrong; there had to be another way--and she was resolved to find it!

…

“I can’t carry that much cargo! Miiya insisted to the scowling Zorin.

“Nobody said it has to be delivered in one go; you’re a clever girl, you’ll figure it out.” Came the snide reply.

“What?! That’s going to take me all night--I… I can’t fly in the dark!” Miiya insisted, knowing she was pushing her luck, but she’d already told the manager it was too dangerous to fly after sunset, even in the more well-lit districts.

“Can’t make it to work on time, fucks up a simple pickup--” The manager was on the warpath, but found himself interrupted by Sylvia.

”That wasn’t her fault, Zorin, the customer--”

”You’d better mind your own house, Sylvia--you’re already in hot water for covering for her.” Zorin cut the dispatcher off before returning to his tirade against Miiya. ”--don’t think I didn’t see your light schedule, your long breaks--the burden you put on everyone else here; right at peak season!” Before Miiya could say anything in her defense, Zorin made a chopping motion. ”You know what? Maybe this job is too hard for you, so I’m going to lay it out in really simple terms; you get every single one of those packages delivered, tonight, or don’t bother coming back, tomorrow. Got it?!”

Any other day, that sort of ultimatum would have sparked Miiya’s anger. Getting talked down to always caused her feather’s to louver and her teeth to clench. But this evening, she didn’t have gas left in the tank to argue. Despite what Zorin said, her schedule hadn’t been light--she’d been flying double her usual runs; pushing herself to work through her backlog by closing time. The bruises from the morning were just a dull ache now, but Dauntless was starting to twinge when she had to make tight turns in close quarters.

Miiya’s wings drooped, she regarded the pile of parcels--they looked like Devil’s Day gifts for some spoiled arflines--she bet the recipients would get more mileage out of yelling at the delivery person than actually receiving the packages. She thought, briefly, about telling Zorin to take his job and shove it, but the manager was already stomping off. Given the exceptionally foul mood he was in today--again, just my luck--quitting probably wouldn’t be as satisfying as she imagined.

Miiya’s tired gaze fell upon Sylvia, who was giving her a commiserating grimace. Oh, yfrett yew, Sylvia. Miiya knew the woman felt like the Aerial should make the deliveries--mostly for her own sake. If Miiya quit or got fired now, Zorin’s shu-storm would roll a little uphill and land on her, instead. Before the woman could put in her two cents, Miiya reassured her; “Yeah, yeah. I’ll do it.”

Miiya didn’t really have a choice. This was her only paying job, and rent was due. She would call Vivian and let her know she wouldn’t be able to make it in tonight. Miiya sighed. The workshop gig was great, but Vivian’s little company was on the edge of bankruptcy, and Miiya couldn’t pay her landlord in the food, IOU’s, or wishful thinking, with which Vivian compensated her assistant.

…

Miiya was dead on her feet by the time the last parcel was delivered. She’d been flying over capacity, and Dauntless was really aching now. Still, at least the mansion in the Hearts district had wide and well-lit grounds. Takeoffs and landings hadn’t been as hazardous as she’d feared. “Yeah, okay.” She replied flatly as an officious butler gave her some lip about the delay in the delivery. Dude, I do not give a frett. She thought, as the servant turned up his nose and scoffed, muttering something under his breath about “service people these days.”

Miiya took a minute, sitting on a decorative marble bench arranged around the chiming fountain around which the crushed-shell drive of the mansion curled. She could see the butler, returning to the front door, eyeing her. Miiya was pretty sure nobody had ever sat on this bench before. She would have thought maybe a groundskeeper might have taken lunch on it at some point, but she bet that servants were banned from touching anything on the grounds that they were not actively cleaning, fixing, or painting.

From where she sat, Miiya had a view of the brilliantly-lit clocktower of Hearts. The hands were uncomfortably close to midnight, and she needed to get going. She had her performing outfit in her satchel. Tonight she was singing at The Black Goat, and she was supposed to have a backup band. It was a new venue to her, and she hadn’t had a chance to meet the musicians, but she had sung cold before. Any other night, she’d be a bundle of nerves this close to showtime, but, tonight, Miiya was just glad she didn’t have to fly her guitar there. The only way she would make it in time to change and warm-up was going to be on the wing, and she didn’t think she could carry much more than the little black dress she’d picked out for tonight’s performance.

She hoped the place had bad lighting. The dress was about as threadbare as she felt. The frayed hem and hand-repaired seams wouldn’t hold up under scrutiny and stage lighting, but this place was supposed to have a quieter lounge atmosphere on weekday nights--probably the reason her agent had been able to book it for her. If it was quiet, dark, and smokey, she ought to be fine--provided she could stay on her feet long enough to finish her set.

 

[Irihi]

Miiya Aether

​

At The Black Goat
As she stood before the mic listening to the soft murmur of the audience in the background, Miiya was reminded of just why she had fallen in love with this town. This day--one of the toughest in recent memory--was melting away. She’d slipped from the shapeless outfit of her delivery job into her little black number, blended her bruises into heavy smokey base, rouge, and eyeshadow. Then, she’d softened the edges of everything with a few sip of the whiskey rocks--served in a tumblr with a perfect sphere of ice--while she’d gotten to know her musicians, preparing for her set.

The house lights went a little lower, as did the tenor of the small crowd. It seemed like it wasn’t a big night at the Goat, but that was just fine with Miiya. "Alright, guys, can yew keep it smooth for me tonight? I’m gonna draw this one out a little, so just follow my lead, alright?" she said to the band.

Miiya smiled slightly and raised her hand, signaling the start. It’s all about the moment tonight, nothing too flashy. She told herself. I’m telling a story, not showing off. “Ready? And... let’s go."

 

[Irihi]

[ Lead Singer F(C E) - Performance [Singing] F(C E) - Action:1 - Cooldown: 0 - After sufficient warm-up (Activation), Miiya can sing well enough to lead a band--when she’s on. Don’t expect her to be able to do much else besides have stage presence, though (Concentration). There are always those off-nights, when she’s just fair (Unpredictable 25%). ]

Miiya launched into her set with a cover of a slow jazz ballad.

“In this town, the lights are cold,
The streets are tired, their stories old,


You try to smile, but it’s hard to find,
A reason to leave the dark behind.

The city hums, but it don’t sing,
It whispers dreams that never take wing,

But then you came, like a secret known,
Suddenly, I’m not alone.”
​

It wasn’t going well. Maybe she should have opened with a different song. She’d thought to translate her experiences today into something to deliver to an audience, tonight, but maybe the events of the day were too raw and too close.

Miiya’s singing was certainly heartfelt--but too much so. She faded and quavered where she should have set a steady tone. The smoke in the room--which she’d hoped would hide her patches and bruises--wasn’t helping her delivery. She even choked up at the stanza mentioning wings. Miiya was still wearing Dauntless, she’d been in such a hurry to prep for her set, she hadn’t removed the prosthesis. Now the soreness of her amputated trim tab, and the concentration it took to keep it covered up with her good wing, was pulling some of the life from her performance.

Where Miiya was had promised the owner an Éponine “On My Own”, she was presenting more as Cosette singing “Castle on a Cloud”.

In this town, where the rain falls hard,
Where the nights get long, and the days leave scars,

With you, baby, I see the sun,
The storm don’t matter, when we’re one.

In this town, it’s you and me,
You’re the reason my heart believes. ​

Miiya certainly didn’t sound convincing or convinced as she wrapped up the first song of her set. She knew it wasn’t great, and her impression was only distressingly reinforced by the bass player asking. “You okay to keep going?”

Miiya bit her lip and nodded, walking off stage for a moment to take another sip of her drink, hoping the fiery liquid would help banish the glisten from her eyes.

For the first time, she was glad to be playing to a quiet house. She wasn’t falling apart on stage, but her cracks were certainly showing. Just get through it. She told herself.

Anyone who had come to the Goat for the music, and stayed for Miiya’s late-night set, was going to be disappointed, tonight.

Well, they would be disappointed if they were looking for a sultry tigress to enflame their passions. If--on the other hand--they were a sharp-toothed scavenger, stalking the lost fawn in the dark woods, they might find a certain kind of appeal in Miiya’s wobbly, emotional, performance.

Summary;
Miiya kinda bombs her set.
Oh well, free drinks, amirite?