When Erythrite returned to the Rift, her gifts for Peisithoe were placed in a woven shoulderbag she had picked up at a craft show. She figured something small and cute would be a good way to present the things, and it was all in blues and purples - so she imagined Pei might like it, given her coloration.

She followed the path she had taken before, to the cave where the youma laired, and knocked on the outer wall. It was strange, to think of politeness and courtesy when dealing with a youma, but she still sort of thought of Pei as an oddly-appearing person, not a monster. There was a soft laugh from inside, and a beckoning, cheerful “come in!” She went, with no hesitation.

“I brought what you asked for,” she said, and she held up the bag. “Uhm, it’s inside.”

“Oooh!” Pei flitted over, light on her strange amphibic feet, lifting the bag out of Ery’s hand and opening it. She reached in and pulled out the framed pressed flowers, and made a squeal of delight. “Oh, these are so wonderful! And colorful - so many colors…” She spun, like an excited little girl, and placed it on the shelf-protrusion next to the hand-mirror. “What are those? Flowers, I know - but what kind? And how did you get them like that? Willt hey wilt?”

“They’re roses, in all different colors,” Ery explained. “It’s called pressing - you dry them out so they won’t wilt and retain their colors.”

“Oh that’s delightful - you humans are so clever, and it will be nice to have some color here that isn’t just...purple. Or black. Such a limited palette.” She let out a huff. Then, she reached in again, and pulled out the book.

“It’s poetry - Alfred, Lord Tennyson,” the Captain said, before her companion could ask.

“Ooooh,” Pei flipped through it, and paused on a page.

“'Forward, the Light Brigade! '
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blunder'd:
Their's not to make reply,
Their's not to reason why,
Their's but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.”The youma read, fingers tracing the page. “Fascinating - how can your poets make death so...pretty?”

“I don’t know,” Ery admitted, “but I’ve always liked Tennyson.”

“Mmmm, I can see why.” She set the book next to the pictures, and then reached in and pulled out the last gift. The MP3 player was already hooked to the speakers, and they came out as one. “What’s this?” She asked.

“It’s a music storage device, and speakers so you can listen to it,” Ery explained. Pei chirped delightedly, sounding almost like a very happy frog.

“How does it work?” She asked.

“First, flop the little switch on top of the speakers - the bigger part,” Ery explained. Pei fumbled a bit, but flipped it from “off” to “on.” “Then, press the button with the two lines and the triangle?”

She did, and the soft strains of The Swan filled the cave.

“Ohhhhhh,” Pei said, delighted, and then after a few moments she turned it off. “My, my, that will make my cave much less boring. You have done so much more than I asked,” the youma said. “But I want just...one more small thing, before I give this to you?” She picked up the mirror, holding it against her chest.

“I...alright, what is it?” Ery wanted to swear, but that would get her nowhere. Pei had played mostly fair, and unless she was going to ask for something impossible…

“I’d like to meet this girl. Machholz, you said her name was?” She said. “Just for a few minutes. She seems so very special to you, and she must be, for an officer to love a Senshi. I absolutely must meet her.”

“I can do that,” Erythrite said.

Now she just had to hope Machholz was willing to play along.