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Disappointing, months on, to have neither read in the reports, seen with her own eyes, or heard of much in the way of followup encounters with the rescued parties from the mission of January. Whether the targets were still laying low, it was more failing on the part of the Information Branch, or people simply weren't reporting in was more of the wax that stuck the flies of annoyance to the backs of her mind.

General Schörl still hunted them. She was interested in each and every one of their pretty faces; pretty, gentle friends with quiet mewls that she'd been so rudely deprived of by uninvited guests. There was still much to teach them of Life, that hideous thing, and from behinds of the known lurked, peering, daemoniacal truths to make each painful moment a millennium more oppressive. More hideous. She still held, in reserve, germinations unguessed to uncover the secrets and stretch the imagination of the too-human conception of Chaos. Metallia may have a body, or she may not. Even 'she' is a designation imposed by improper understanding. I would prefer to go further. There are things to Know. Wasteful contentment of all hours to just human conception when Perfect Horror lays not far from reach.

She paused on a church parapet. There was a feel and flare of an aura just woken. She leapt off in the direction of the aura, smile broadened in hopes that it might be some exciting quarry. A knight powers up. Not far away. Time to go a courting, a calling.

Here was luck. Here was some providence listening and answering complaint with one of the lost projects served up on cement. The owner came into quick focus mid-flip, wing-crested and clean as any bright day. Clean on the outside without mar or mark readily apparent of his trials. The open night might never suspect his broken screams.

A quick turn and ricochet jump landed the General on the sidewalk that led to his little alley. "This human invention, set up to terrify, monopolize power, profit, and enslave mankind...shall offer you Sanctuary, Knight? A fine, tactical wall to put your back against. You cannot claim right of sanctuary for years, and churches of so many denominations, temples of many faiths, lock their doors up like every other business. "

Will you scream? Will you rage now, pretty one? Will you try to hold it all in, bottle it tight and kept to the shelf. I have seen it. I have sipped it. Ferment it more. Schörl walked slowly down the alley, cane clicking clear on the pave. "You place yourself between Scylla and Charybdis."

Wasn't that a telling question- though the general suspected that Valhalla meant a more immediate motivation instead in answer to her motivations behind life, the universe, and everything. "You answer yourself, in a way. The two things are bound. I want Obedience. "

"You don't want to fight. So...obey. " Her gaze followed and noted his hands, curious what talisman he'd found at his waist. What sort of weapon or fetish did he hope to summon up to stand against the dark for a handful of seconds? A minute? "I'll take you from here. You'll be cured. "

I don't expect you will, but wouldn't that be peachy. Wouldn't that be prime. A quick sup with Laurelite and all your worries washed away, some memory, but that pretty face put to better use in Infiltration. Pretty muscles swathed in black. I wonder if you'd keep your wings. How it would clip Ganymede's... Schörl stopped at conversational distance so that they didn't have to yell, then paced slowly at a horizontal, keeping the space between them at a constant. "If you refuse, of course, you fulfill your own fear and spite your own protest. "

"I didn't say you were afraid of frighting. You're not paying attention." Schörl's eyebrow lifted to accentuate tone. "Rehashing conversation with some other agent?"

"Come, Valhalla. Use your rabbit trick, unless that's an intense game of pocket-pull you've got going on. " She started walking towards him, focus girded to teleport at need. "You might even be able to kill me. One-"

"-two, buckle my shoe."

It was too regular, too predictable, of a point that most officers used their teleportation to appear behind their enemies. It meant that falling forward or just continuing to run was a viable solution to avoiding the followup blow, whether it was aimed at the back or not. General Schörl did not materialize in the small, opened space between the knight's lunge and the wall. It still risked proximity to a knight of equal standing and Power as herself. Tactically still sound, but no guarantees in battle.

She appeared on his left flank, and her dragon cane was in motion. Not at his head, chest, armored shins or face- a swing to try and bring a bleeding welt across the fore of his thighs. I don't want you to run. We'll have you back, pretty. Have you back and keep you. But what is this bird...large, and fine taloned. 'Kyrie'? What is this creature, I wonder. Is it like our Youma? Details, details-

"Three, four, Lay down lower-"

Her cane was in motion already when his kick came, defending against the blow from coming down in rapid succession to the first. It failed to disarm, however. Years piled on years of martial training meant Schörl's grip was relaxed enough for mobility, but rigid enough to maintain control against disarmament. Defending against raw energy in the form of electricity was never a matter of training- it wasn't possible in this instance. In an alley with one man on the ground the tallest, easiest path down to the ground was the standing general. Red lines, capillaries beneath the skin rupturing, grew rapidly and spread fern-fronds along her cheek and down her neck into the unseen beyond below cravat and jacket. They were faint kisses that promised, like hickies, to deepen in the passing hours.

Schörl stutter-stepped back from the assault, the world having whited-out from vision and only barely coming back as nerves started to readjust processing information. She could still hear the bird, the knight shuffling. Retinas don't conduct electricity well. That was lightening.

The world felt too hot on some skin, burning cold suddenly on other sections. The world was blurry patches. " Five, six, still have my stick-"

"Better run quick." She tore the starseed from her cravat and crushed it in a jester's smile.

The quickening of a starseed was like the receiving of a sacrament- energy raced as electric along the Lichtenberg figures, melting the damage away like no more than vapor made of rain. Everything was sharp, balanced, tensile and flexible. Schörl pressed forward again, rapid, closing the small breadth of space that had opened between them as he was fumbling with his objects- thinks upon him that could be for show or for use- a weapon? a magical fetish? What did he hope to bring to bear now?

The general lunged a hand out to close on a his wrist and try to send him into a throw- but his hand settled on ..what? Looked like an oversized gyroscope sold as a shelf piece from the combined efforts of museum replicas limited and the city science center. With his seizing ended the arc of hers a breath away, it wheeled backwards like reaching behind herself with as much violence. And where she intended in that moment to watch it's incorrect trajectory as though to will with eyes what unknown source uncommanded from her mind, her eyes went instead to looking down at the pavement on her other side. Even the mid stride of her feet faltered and became a confused, stilted backstep and cease altogether. What interesting trick is this? Is it the gyroscope's effect? Is it magic? How long does it last?

Trying to track back to looking at him, his hand, the gyroscope, failed and had her looking behind herself down the easement. She didn't venture more than a clipped word, testing the magic's effects, if any, on jaw, tongue and spoken intention- "Clever."

Can you run far enough on those legs. Is the enchantment on me for a set time? Or is it an effect of proximity? Will you free me by running, Valhalla, hall of the brave?

Impatience was pushed, squelched down beneath the heel of the need for efficiency. The need for Answers. I try to look forward at him, I look backward. I look at my hand, I look the other way at the ground. Let's intend, then, to look here at the ground-

And she was suddenly turning her face and neck, shoulders, to look at the retreat of her enemy. She almost began to look away again, intents diverging from the plan only a whisper before firmly reclaiming 'behind myself' as direction and leaving the results to a peripheral flow of time and space. She meant to move her right leg a step back, her left took one forward. All backwards. Requires back thinking, flipped over and opposite through the mirror like a studio of forms. There's an interesting challenge. I can't do it yet, not quickly enough.

She took another step, arms coming relaxed to her sides, and it was correctly forward towards him. Step, by step, not fast enough to pursue, to catch him as he made space wide-upon-wider, but fast enough to practice. Fast enough to let him know she could someday. She would someday. Even their next meeting. She might not have access to his magic again and again, but she did have mirrors to practice against. She had her own mind that she could practice believing six impossible things before her morning coffee and then she would catch him and his pretty bird.

" Fly away home. Your house is on fire; Your children all roam. "