Chapter Text
They say there's nothing like an afternoon on a place called the Blue Boardwalk. It's a place everyone knows, you know. Right next to a rich, upper-class neighbourhood, on a rich, upper-class island. It's stable here. They put a lot of money into making sure this island doesn't shake like some of the others. They say even the crows need an invitation to perch on these rooftops, and they better look their best.
The Blue Boardwalk's named that for the view, see, which in any other place would be far too obvious. Ocean's blue near every boardwalk. But this is one of the few whose sturdy planks lie suspended over open sky, the clouds below, or sometimes, hills. Other cities. The ocean, too. Those're good days, when you can grab a coffee, and lean over the railings, drink it... Hope like hell nobody bumps into you.
There's also the bad days.
Beetle's staff connects with the skull of some upper-class brand of ruffian, a young man whose parents gave him money and taught him how to use a sword, skills he's currently abusing. Beetle grips her staff defensively as he whips back, a string of blood following his head, and almost trips over the unconscious sack-like form of a fallen 'comrade.' He brandishes a knife; his sword having already gone over the railing, and holds it close to his chest, backing off for an alleyway. Beetle's stride is strong, and the night-black of her cloak glittering in the sunlight, and what's under it; carapace shining armour without even a scratch, tells our fine ruffian that his little knife's as good as a pebble. Maybe if he gets her in the eye-
Beetle lurches fowards, and with the crack of his skull against her perfect staff, he goes down. His pale suit doesn't look so impressive when it's crumpled along with the rest of him on the ground.
"Ooh. Not your day. And you even wore your Sunday best. Shame." She grins, folding her staff and concealing it beneath her cloak.
The slow, light footsteps and tapping cane on the boards behind her are familiar to Beetle. She whips around and gives the Warden a short bow, a strange gesture, when the Beetle is so tall, and the Warden of shorter stature. She waves dismissively at Beetle's bow, leaning against the railing for support and eyeing the groaning forms of Beetle's uppity adversaries.
"I'm sure you're wondering what's going on, Beetle." Her voice is low and almost weak, but commands such respect in Beetle that she stands perfectly straight. It's not who she is, or how she looks, but what she means to Beetle. A commander. A mentor. An inspiration.
A hero of old.
Beetle nods slowly. "Yes, it's rare to see the rich-boy rabblerouser types brave enough to charge the unbeatable beetle with a letter opener. You can't exactly pay these types to be so violent, so..."
"The Count," Says the Warden, tapping her cane for effect.
"The Count. What is it now? I thought she'd finally left the city for good."
The Warden shakes her head. She always has intel. Always. "No. She's been attending and hosting parties under a pseudonym, but everyone knows it's her. She's stolen half the jewels in Saint Pierre with the help of a gang of idiot rich children who attend her parties to impress their peers, get in fights, and sleep with other young, rich idiots who they think can fulfil the growing void in their hearts." She sighs, tipping her hat to keep the sun from her eyes. "Apparently, the Count is one such young woman. She's put together a sort of... Harem."
Beetle nods along. "I would almost be envious. It sounds like quite the adventure for her!"
"Almost," Says the Warden.
"Almost, yes. Because we are here to stop her."
The Warden cracks a small smile, glancing towards the horizon, the setting sun reflected off her glasses. "She's currently making her escape down Rue de Marc-Pierre, towards the docks. I believe she's having an airship meet her there. Dragonfly is dealing with the airship, you deal with the Count. You've fought her before, I'm certain the only new tricks she's learned are how to charm idiots who can swing swords. Dragonfly will meet you once she's done convincing the captain she's paid off to turn back to Canada."
One of the poor rich idiots groans as she pulls her burly form off of the ground, reaching for a small pistol between the cracks in the boards. Beetle's eyes shoot to her, and she slams her staff to the ground. The boards creak, and the world grows so, so heavy; and our unfortunate ruffian is pushed back to the floorboards.
The Warden's brow twitches. She adjusts her hat. She's told Beetle before that stronger gravity is bad for her back.
~*~
Elsewhere, minutes away from the city, a twisted hulk of black metal around a great, round balloon pushes itself, miraculously, through the air with propellers that have seen many decades of service, judging by the sound they're making, which is something more like a thousand dying eagles than what any respectable propeller should sound like.
Thankfully, it won't be in the air for long. The Eternal Dragonfly is faster than this hulk of metal, of course, and more graceful than it could be in millennia of the finest artisans refurbishing its rusted exterior. She is strong enough to take the ship for herself, and more than that, smart enough to know how to tear it apart in moments. Fate itself waits to see her plan unfold.
It's almost laughable how quickly Dragonfly is able to get close to the ship, she hasn't even hit her top speed! As she scans the deck, her mind is already creating an appropriate course of action for her to take.
On one hand, she could simply find the captain and convince them to turn the ship around, but on the other, any fool stupid enough to listen to the Count doesn't deserve an airship.
The Warden had said to deal with it quickly...
Her mind made up, Dragonfly changes course. No longer coasting alongside the hull as she zips upwards and dips in close to the balloon itself, carefully maintaining the same speed as the airship for a few moments as she pulls out her cane and unsheathes its hidden sword. She drives the sword into the thick canvas of the balloon and cements her grip with both hands. This is going to suck. Though she's sure Beetle will appreciate the style in which she's taking the airship down.
Sword firmly embedded in the canvas, and even more firmly in her dual-handed grip, Dragonfly puts on the breaks. The canvas rips, her sword slicing through it and the rigging like a hot knife through butter. She nearly loses her grip as her arms are just about yanked out of their sockets.
She's sent spinning as she hits the end of the balloon, there's yelling from the deck below that just sounds incomprehensible as she gets herself back under control. Who knew ripping a massive hole in an airship's balloon would send you spinning wildly out into the aether? (Well, she did know, but didn't realise how much it sucked.)
With a soft snikt she sheathes her sword, and briefly squeezes it until it pops into a shower of silver sparkles. She rolls her shoulders, wincing. She's going to feel that tomorrow. Returning her gaze to the airship, she can see they've made it safely to the dock, the balloon still leaking air. Satisfied the Count's escape route is cut off, Dragonfly takes a moment to adjust her flight goggles.
She sets off again, though this time her intercept course is far smaller than an airship.
~*~
Beetle's footsteps echo as she steps into the Saint Pierre docks. Light streams in through skylights far above her, and a hundred airships, trading vessels and leisure ships, hang suspended above her, in drydock. Chained beasts, in her mind.
The Count stands, flanked by five of her gang of charmed rich idiots, amidst the golden rays cast through one of those distant skylights. The air grows humid around her as she sees Beetle, something between malice and joy in her eyes, shadowed by her wide-brimmed hat. The sunlight catches on the sequins of her long, blue dress.
Onlookers, dockworkers, watch from over railings with raised eyebrows. They know how these fights go, and they know when to run. Beetle's outnumbered. The Count's in the spotlight. Still, they're betting on Beetle.
"Your exit could use some work, Count. Being fashionably late is one thing, but I believe your escape could be better timed." The Beetle slams her staff on the ground, and dust rises around her, an electric magnetism in the air.
"It'll be here. Besides, Beetle, I wouldn't dream of leaving you or Dragonfly behind without one last dance," She extends her hand, as if an invitation, and her arm is coated in water, jewel blue. It bubbles like champagne. Or like it's boiling. "Where is she, by the by? Still struggling into that... Lovely suit of hers?"
The Count's gang walk in lockstep with her, brandishing their weapons. Daggers, and sharp family heirlooms, now shamefully misused. Already bloodied. Beetle readies her staff towards the Count.
"Oh! I really should've mentioned, it's a funny coincidence, really," Says Beetle, now circling the Count like a shark. The peanut gallery watches, relishing the tension in the air. "I believe she's busy visiting your friend, the airship captain. The two of them are becoming very good friends, you see."
The Count grins. The water clinging to her arm shivers with anticipation. "Really, now? And you're sure those pretty little wings of hers won't get caught in the propellers, dear? I've seen it happen to plenty of poor, pretty little birds."
"I'd worry more about your captain, Count. The Dragonfly is in a foul mood today." Beetle draws in closer, slowly, her eyes on the Count's gang. Their inexperienced stances. Their... Breakable kneecaps.
Both Beetle, the Count, and her gang stop in their tracks, barely 10 feet apart. The Beetle's grip on her staff is tight enough to make a screw envious. The Count bares her teeth.
"We're done playing games, aren't we, Beetle?"
The Beetle nods.
The Beetle launches herself forwards to the Count and her gang, sweeping her staff through the air in one followthrough motion; no time for them to react. Dust rises from the ground, and the Rich Idiots are lifted off their feet, eyes wide. Gravity abandons them. Sneering, the Count launches herself into the air, wrapping water around a distant support beam and swinging. She knows Beetle's tricks.
Beetle's staff meets two rich idiots in quick succession, and soon they're weightless, floating, no longer struggling. Before she can attend to the rest, the Count drops into the anti-gravity bubble from above, cracking a jewel-uncrusted cane on her head, carried by only momentum. Shining shards of sapphire scatter through the bubble.
The Beetle only flinches, lurching her staff down and bringing gravity with her, giving the rich goons no time to recover. She takes a deep breath, and breathes it rough, swinging her staff to the Count. She connects with the Count's jaw, and a splash of fresh blood splatters her cheek. Something shiny to her right; a rich idiot swinging his sword at Beetle. Trying to catch her unaware. That won't work. She puts her heel in his kneecap, and there's a satisfying crunch. He goes down.
The distraction worked, though. Hot, pressurised water hits her in the chest, almost knocking Beetle down, the Count's arms outstretched. It burns- But she can't afford to get distracted again. The Count readies for another blast, and Beetle knows the Count's warmed up now. She slams her staff into the ground, and gravity lurches downwards, taking the Count's with it, and someone behind her. Metal hits the ground. Someone was trying to stab her in the back. Beetle gives them a good kick in the head for their trouble.
The Count barely manages to pull herself off the ground, blood trickling from her mouth. "You can't hold this for long, Beetle. We both know it."
Beetle's bones struggle to keep up with her, but still, she puts her staff down into the back of the Count's skull. Time's up. She twirls her staff, and gravity's as it should be. The Count flips to her feet, drawing a long dagger, the kind that'd just love to bury itself into your abdomen, pulling a backflip to put distance between herself and Beetle.
A dull buzzing breaks the momentary silence, or as much one can call 'silence' with a crowd occasionally yelling 'advice'. A sound Beetle is intimately familiar with. Though it's not completely clear what direction it's coming from, other than up.
The glass of a skylight shatters as the Dragonfly drops through it, sending sparkling shards raining down over the Count and her cronies. There's a brief moment of quiet as shock ripples through the drydock and Dragonfly continues to fall, almost too fast for the eye to see as she draws her sword in a bright flash of white.
The Count's gang, the few not moaning in pain flat on their backs, are staring up at the descending bullet of a woman, frozen. All except the Count herself, as she brings up her dagger the split second before Dragonfly collides. Metal screeches as the dagger slides along Dragonfly's sword as she forces the Count back up against the wall, her wings buzzing furiously.
The Count pushes back, her strength matched well with Dragonfly's. Her eyes are full with a sort of zealous, joyful rage, and her teeth gritted, so they might be ground to dust.
Beetle sweeps the scene, putting her boot to the skulls of those of the rich fools who try to stand up, making certain the scene is under control. She grinds her staff into the ground, tightening gravity just enough to keep the four of them...
Wait. Four?
The tense silence in the drydock is broken by a loud metal screeching, and a CLUNK. A small airship, fleet and manoeuvrable, by the looks of it, is released from its mooring. Chains swing down from far above, and its propellers, angry god-damn mosquitoes, by the sound of them, are primed.
Dragonfly sees the Count's expression snap. A smile. The first mistake she's seen the Dragonfly make. Her body melts into clear water and lassos itself to the airship before the Dragonfly can react- She can do that?- And the ship is already on its way, darting out of the drydock. The way it moves, it makes her feel like she's watching an angered wasp.
"Fuck." Dragonfly snarls as she pops her sword out of existence, her eyes locked on the airship. She kicks off the wall to send herself zipping towards it. If she can catch it before it hits open sky, she should be able to delay it- Maybe even stop it entirely. In the very least it'll allow time for Beetle to catch up, though she still has to catch it first.
By the time Dragonfly finishes that thought, it's already out of the drydock. Modified, certainly. Definitely the Count's. How didn't she notice it before? It's bright blue. This must've been what she was planning all along, or...
Dragonfly realises that she's been hovering, watching the airship grow more distant, for some time now. Beetle hangs in the air beside her, the change in gravity, perhaps, being the only thing to break Dragonfly's train of thought. Beetle stares blankly at the airship, which is almost far away enough that the propellers aren't even audible.
"She can do that?" Beetle whines. Turning into water is certainly an ace up the Count's sleeve she hadn't expected, she thinks. She wishes she could turn into water.
Dragonfly lets out a growl, low and inhuman. She wants to break something she's so frustrated. How could she have missed it? She didn't even account for this- A second airship? It reminds her how infuriating the Count is to deal with, how she should've looked at everything instead of assuming she'd already cut off any chance at escape.
A lesson she really shouldn't have to keep learning.
"I'm going to throw her off the goddamn edge I swear." Dragonfly says, a growl still tinging her words. But as frustrated as she is, she still needs to think clearly. She takes a deep breath and lets it out slow, her eyes drifting to the rapidly shrinking airship. Only one thing for it now, if she wants to turn this around.
On Dragonfly's hip in the same silver as the rest of her suit, but still seeming out of place, is the holster to a one-chambered revolver. It is not called in and out of existence as Dragonfly's cane is. It sits on her hip from transformation, a solid weight, a reminder that no matter how bad a battle gets she still has an ace up her sleeve- One that everyone underestimates. Always.
She draws the gun now, as she returns to the walkway of the drydock. She's never had much luck shooting it whilst in flight, this needs the best possible shot after all. You can't aim a bullet through time itself while distracted about wind currents.
Beetle watches with silent, rapt curiosity. She's going to do the thing. She's going to do the thing.
Dragonfly settles, unusually still as she stares off at something only she can see. She's dipping herself fully into the timestreams, each running parallel until they inevitably branch off with some minute, tiny difference. But there are always others to take its place.
It's exhausting. It's exhilarating.
Usually she barely scrapes the surface, monitoring nearby alternate timelines for anything useful, following them briefly to see if they lead anywhere good. But now as she concentrates, submersing herself fully, she looks. Dives deep, combing through timeline after timeline for one that goes right, one that ends in the Count's capture.
It takes an age. It takes only moments. She finds what she's looking for, finds the point she can change to make it a reality. A single bullet has the ability to cause an incredible amount of destruction, if you hit the right spot. And Dragonfly has the right spot, the right moment, the right second in time.
She's not even sure how she functioned before, without this safety net.
She's falling through the skylight again, her blade not yet drawn but her gun is in hand. Wind whipping past and the ground accelerating at an alarming rate. She takes the shot
It's not about taking the right shot, it's about seeing all the wrong ones. Perhaps she can only keep track of five, seven, ten timelines on a good day, but simply knowing the trajectory of a bullet, and the damage it could cause... She can know thousands.
Her bullet rips fair and true through the light exterior hull around the ship's starboard propellers. On its path, it removes a very important screw, punctures a fuel line, and, most importantly, wreaks havoc on the ship's structural integrity. The starboard propellers bend and buckle, falling limp like wilted corn. When it hits the ground, it's nothing but scrap metal. The ship sits lopsidedly in its moorings, with one terrified rich fool within.
The Count stops in her tracks, watching the Dragonfly land gracefully on the ground, having very effectively burned to a crisp the ace up her sleeve, so to speak. Dragonfly glimmers in the sunlight, now, and the colour has drained from the Count's face as she simply stares...
And collapses to the ground with one crack of Beetle's staff to her lower spine, which bends much like her airship's propeller just did, and one to the base of her skull, for good measure. She groans on the ground, almost harmonising with the creaking moorings.
Beetle nods her head to Dragonfly, her staff disappearing into void black energy. "Your entrance could not have been better timed, my Eternal Dragonfly, and your aim could not have been more true. I presume that's the second airship you've reduced to piecemeal today?"
"With the first one I ripped hole alongside the entire balloon." Dragonfly says with a nod, holstering her revolver, its job now done. She eyes the Count distastefully, taking a moment to let things settle in the aftermath.
It'll be a delight to see all the rich entitled idiots who followed the Count get nothing more than a slap on the wrist by constabulary, but perhaps getting their asses so soundly beat will mean they won't try it again.
"How are you faring?" She asks, taking flight once more to slowly circle Beetle. Even with how much flight she's done today, she'd still prefer it over having two feet squarely on the ground.
"I am well," She says, performing a small curtsy with a flourish of her cloak, "This battle was not difficult, though the Count fought well. She simply failed to account for you, Dragonfly."
Beetle clocks one of the rich fools over his head for trying to pull himself back up to his feet. "I hope the press will be here soon, they do so love the Count's exploits, and a jewel heist spree... Very sexy. Perhaps I will ask the authorities if we may keep a few of the gems for our efforts, hm?"
"Not the press." Dragonfly scrunched up her face, disgruntled. If she had to deal with the press today, she was going to let herself fall off the edge of the drydock, manners be damned.
"We could, for once, leave before they get close? I would much like to relax on our usual rooftop."
She observes the crowd above, the telltale flashes of cameras wink back at her. It'll be a few more minutes before anyone gets bold enough to get close, even with the situation dealt with. They're waiting, just like Beetle and herself.
"I'm afraid not," Says the voice of the Warden, stepping out from... Nowhere in particular, as far as anyone can tell. She's got a way of doing that. "The press likes Beetle, and they like knowing what's happened when a super-powered fight breaks out in the streets."
"Yes, Warden, I understand. I will meet you there, Dragonfly." She gives the Dragonfly a brief, professional nod. She must look good in front of the Warden.
The Warden places a strange pair of manacles; glimmering like glass, black as void, and shaped in a sort of figure 8, around the Count's wrists. With a click of her fingers, the Count melts away to a black void, one she's quite familiar with.
"That's that, then. Dragonfly, please collect the Count's stolen gems, and, no, Beetle, you may not keep any of them. If there's anything valuable in that airship that we're not sure of the origin of, give it to me, and if I can't find the owner, half goes to you two, and the other half goes to my repair fund."
Ah, the repair fund. The Warden, as far as Beetle and Dragonfly are aware, earns most of what she has off of Beetle and Dragonfly merchandise... And uses most of those earnings on cleaning up after any battles the duo fights which are somewhat heavier on collateral damage.
"Ah, lastly," Says the Warden, almost turning to leave, "Don't forget that I'll be checking up on both of you tomorrow. You know where to meet me. And... Good job today. No deaths, no property damage, and you made it look... Pretty good."
~*~
A woman sits on a park bench, her yellow trenchcoat tucked between the slats. She seems tense, her form hunched forwards and leaning on her knees as her eyes scan the park from behind round glasses.
There's not much to see, the park is mostly empty during the early morning. There's no screaming children on the nearby playground, just the sound of a breeze through the leaves of the trees and hedges dotted about. Though it's clear she's not looking at the scenery as her attention flits between the other pedestrians of the park, yet none seem to be what she's looking for.
Even with her eyes elsewhere, her hands are busy tapping a pen against a small notebook whose pages are covered in various kinds of squares. All neat and uniform, clearly not just random scribblings.
Eventually as the minutes pass, she leans back- but not enough to touch the bench- as she flicks through her notebook's pages. Almost every single one is covered in square symbols, a few have drawings, flipping by too fast to make out. The woman quickly finds the page she's been looking for and writes down some kind of note in the square code with a huff.
"Why can't anything be easy." She mutters as she closes her notebook with a snap, tucking both it and the pen into her coat. She stands and proceeds to stretch, the stiffness of her movements a clear indicator she's been sitting on the bench for a while.
The woman now satisfied in her stretching, strides off down the path, with such purpose she can only have a destination in mind.
Her path takes her out of the park and into the city, delving into deep winding, twisting alleyways. Until after what only can be fifteen minutes, she enters an alleyway unlike the others.
There's a sign hanging above an unassuming door, reading 'La Cantine Agrumes' in faded yellow letters. Her destination.
For tourists, most will never find this place. A hole-in-the-wall restaurant with dark paneled wood walls with what must have once been bright yellow but was now faded wallpaper. It feels almost homely to those who know it well, yet somehow a touch refined. It being tucked far enough down a back alley the only way to find it is by word of mouth. The kind of place that can keep its mouth shut.
There's no hesitancy as the woman pushes open the door of the restaurant, her eyes flit over the almost fully empty tables before settling on an archway leading to a side hall. The private rooms, the kind you need a reservation for. She's clearly not a stranger as she gives a small wave to the staff as she passes through to the reservation room marked with the number one. She doesn't knock.
The room's not large, though cozy, with a window view to the street outside, though the blinds are drawn right now, leaving just a couple rays of sunlight filtering into the room.
Accenting how dim it is is the smoke hanging lazily in the air, from the woman sitting on the other side of the table in here, who's smoking a pipe, the wood it's made of stained black and engraved in gold. Where her fingers lie, she's worn a groove into the wood, and stripped the gold from the engravings. Her eyes are set on the woman who just entered the room, behind round glasses, which would, perhaps, make her look endearingly cute, if it weren't for the stern expression on her face.
"Amelie. Take a seat." She takes a lovely porcelain teapot from the table and pours the two of them tea. Chrysanthemum. Amelie's favourite, though she's never been quite sure how the other woman knew that. She likes to keep it that way.
She finishes pouring the tea, and pushes the cup slightly in Amelie's direction. "How's the agency. Any new cases...? Ones that aren't Winona, I mean." There's a hint of wryness on her face as she says that, though her voice is flat and remarkably calm, a persona she holds which Amelie has never seen break.
Amelie accepts the tea as she sits, taking a moment to savour its scent. Her expression turns somewhat frustrated as she considers the question. She's got quite the annoying case she's currently tackling, annoying in a distinctly un-Winona way.
"I have been asked to investigate some suspicious persons that from what my client has seen, repeatedly and extensively go over the same areas. Sometimes with tools, but always the same... People? She's rather certain there's more than one." She sighs, taking a slow sip of her tea.
"When this happens it isn't as regular, but it is usually early morning. This is the fifth day in a row nothing has happened, and I am exhausted. I live off of coffee, it is now my lifeblood Mami. It's just coffee." She brings her cup up to her face and holds it there, just letting the steam warm her nose and fog her glasses.
Mami nods, tapping her fingers on the table. "I'll tell you if I hear anything. And... get some rest. With your occupation, if you don't sleep, you're dead. Coffee isn't a suitable replacement, either."
She stands up, leaning on her cane, and faces the window, putting her thumb to the curtains and pulling it open just a crack. "I thought I'd let you know..." Mami pauses. "...That the Count escaped from her cell. And I told them to assign unimpressionable guards..." She thinks out loud.
"She's fled the city, or hid, but the jewels she tried to steal are safe, so no harm done. It's not as if nobody saw this coming. Now that you've had some time to process- Any notes about that fight...? Theories about her next moves...? She's getting bolder."
Amelie angrily drinks her tea, expression all scrunched up as she processes this. She's not exactly surprised, it's expected at this point. The constabulary are fucking useless, which is why her help and abilities are in high demand for both of her jobs.
"She is able to liquefy herself, turn into water- Or a substance like it. She originally used it to escape before I fixed it." She says, putting her teacup down with a gentle clink.
"She may just leave, we have thwarted her at every turn and it is easier to steal in cities without heroes with abilities like mine." Amelie isn't certain there is anyone like her, the kind of manipulation she can do is rare- Rare enough she's never seen mention of it anywhere else. Though if there were others, it would be safe to assume they keep it quiet to keep the advantage, much like she does.
Though, despite Amelie's secrecy regarding her temporal sharpshooting, like with most things, Mami somehow just knew. Amelie needed to explain, of course; but Mami knew since the day they met that she saw time in ways others couldn't.
Mami nods. "You may be right. It'd be smart for her to leave. On the other hand, I'm getting a sense of Deja Vu..."
She's right. They've thought that the count would finally leave town many times before, but they've been wrong, every time. Mami's starting to think that the woman enjoys fighting Beetle and Dragonfly.
"But, yes," Mami continues, "We can only hope. So- Onto the formalities. Are you well...? Tell me if you're experiencing any aches and pains, or acute wounds."
"The only aches I have is muscle strain in my shoulders and arms, it is not that painful as it was the immediately after so it is healing well." Amelie experimentally rolls her shoulder. Ow. Still sore, she's not sure why she thought there might be a chance of anything else.
"Otherwise I am in perfect health, as I have not been in the thick of things all that much recently."
Mami nods, noting this internally. "Good. Do you have any suspicion, no matter how small, that someone might know of the secret we share?"
"No, as far as I am aware no one has a clue."
Another nod. The usual. "Mhm. Final question. Have you been keeping up with your training & workout regimen...?"
"Yes, though Cookie has expressed interest in joining me... I am running out of valid reasons to decline." Amelie looks slightly troubled, she wishes she could just simply accept the offer.
Mami grimaces, slightly. "No, I wouldn't recommend this regimen for... Most normal people. Even you find it intense, as I understand, though... You still are somewhat behind your... Compatriot. Speaking of which, she'll be here in a couple of hours, and I need to make preparations for a project she and I have been working on."
She goes quiet for a bit, looking Amelie dead in the eyes.
"That means you can leave. Finish your tea, if you want."
"Right, yes." Amelie finishes the last few mouthfuls of tea and stands, tucking her chair back under the table. She takes a moment to fix how her coat sits along her back, and turns to leave. Yet she pauses, hand on the doorknob, and turns back to Mami for a moment.
"There is something I am concerned about, as I mentioned last time the scales are continuing to grow steadily- I am worried they'll be visible above my shirt's collar soon."
"There's not much to be done about that. Take makeup lessons. Invest in scarves. I can provide you with the costume makeup I use if things get dire. It holds up in a rough spot."
Amelie's eyes are drawn to the lizard tail visible, coming out from Mami's skirt, which she usually makes an effort to hide, the hint of grey scales covering her hands, claws where her nails once were…
Amelie drags her eyes away and nods, just once, and slips out the door. She knows she'll reach a similar point some day, her scales have only just started creeping down her arms, slowly spreading from her back like some kind of disease. She can't help but think of it as such, in her darkest moments. She knows it won't take all of her, that's not the point, it's a kind of protection. But the knowledge they're supposed to help doesn't change how she feels when she sees the iridescent silver catch in the light, in the rare times she's not fully clothed.
A reminder she's not exactly human anymore.
None of them are.
Amelie tries to drag her thoughts elsewhere, lighten the mood so to speak. She doesn't need such dour thoughts right now, on her way out of La Cantine Agrumes and on a path home.
As she opens the door out of Mami's meeting room, standing before her is the tallest woman she knows. She's about 7 foot, maybe more, with long, shiny black hair (maybe dyed, she notes), stained casual clothes, and a friendly smile on her face right below a deadly look in her eyes. She flinches away from Amelie as if she almost stepped on a mouse, clearly not expecting her.
"Yo, you scared me. I didn't notice you comin' in..." Hellinis stretches, groaning. She smells like La Cantine Agrumes' kitchen, and the fact she's probably been cooking for hours straight explains why she's trying to stretch out half the muscles in her body. "Hey... Hope you don't mind me saying, but you look real tired, friend. More than Mami does, n' that's something. Want a snack? 'N' I picked up this new coffee blend..."
She trails off, leaning over Amelie, a tree seemingly about to collapse onto her. It's a wonder she keeps herself upright, when she holds herself so loosely.
"Mm... Perhaps?" Amelie says hesitantly, her neck craned back to look up enough to have her eyes on Hellinis' face. "I was simply planning on heading home and taking some well-deserved rest. A snack is tempting though...."
She carefully skirts around Hellinis and shuts the door behind her, leaving Mami to her own devices for however long until Beetle's meeting was.
This is worse. Now, Amelie's between Hellinis and the end of the hallway, and though Hellinis with her tired puppy-eyes and soft smile doesn't intend it, the way she leans over Amelie, long scars showing from beneath her shirt's collar, certainly puts a knot in her stomach.
"What d'ya want? I was'na take a smoke break, but I'll whip somethin' up for a friend of Mami's, for sure..." Hellinis drawls. The air around her smells dangerous. And like cooking oil.
"Well I- I wouldn't want to impose?" Amelie clasps her hands together, squeezing her fingers tightly. She gives Hellinis a smile, or tries to at least.
"As you were planning on taking a break and such..." She trails off, hunting for words that could get her somewhere else. Out of this conversation, perhaps.
"'S not a bother, Amelie. Besides, you really need more protein in your diet..." She's already walking towards the kitchen, grabbing an apron from a hook on the wall. "What d'you want?"
"Well, if you say I need more protein... What would you suggest?" Amelie sighs softly, careful to not let Hellinis hear as she resigns herself to her fate. She follows Hellinis to the kitchen, pausing on the threshold- She'd just get in the way if she went any further.
Hellinis lights the stove, setting down a cast iron pan- Her cast iron pan- On the grate. A splash of olive oil. While it heats up, she thinks, staring at the ceiling. "I'... got some salmon cut up already. Crack a few eggs, we've got you an omelette. You like omelettes, Amelie?"
She swings around and retrieves two eggs, cracking them into a bowl and mixing. Somehow, with the other hand, she's already thrown some chopped chilli in the pan.
"I do." Amelie nods. It's impressive to watch Hellinis cook, she's clearly in her element here. Though her 'element' seems to be a lot of things, cooking being only one of them.
"Good," She growls, with some strange excitement, now throwing the salmon in the pan to cook for a few seconds before adding the egg mixture. She cooks quick. "Don't be afraid t'come by when you're hungry, now. We got a..."
She pauses, considering her next words, and with a wink shot Amelie's way, says, "Friends 'n' family' discount."