Games with Tea and Rabbits

[Malkavia]

The next task was clean-up. Other performers needed the stage. Tables would be wheeled out, props concealed on dollies, cards tucked into hidden pockets...without revealing the magnets to snooping fans. Thank God for Greg Karagi. Turned out the AV technician, met during her Goleador match, was a gift from the universe—the kind of boy who’d help with any mess for a good parking spot, a smile, and a thank you kindly. If life was kind, she’d see him shortly.

Music pulsing, Shimmer glided to the glass-top table. Jesus, she thought as she picked up, collapsed, and folded the turntable. When she'd wielded that bubble-blowing mallet...It really had looked like she was fixing to smash the glass. That would have been an expensive mess. But... She stacked her surviving tea cups in a tower on a tray beside the shattered remains of her kettle. The Marauder knew her boundaries.

But that thought required mental muscle to believe, and as soon as Angelina mentioned one more cool thing, Shimmer’s stomach twisted. Instincts didn't stop her from catching the tube. Dense, black, oily fog blasted her face, violent enough to whip her hair. The smoke tasted bitter, like burnt plastic. Her eyes watered. She choked.

What’s gonna get hit—me? The props? Is this a bomb? Should I throw it? But Charlotte’s legs moved faster than the Feychild’s brain and, dropping the smokebomb, she dove through the smog towards the opposite end of the table. In case of fire... Her eyes watered from the airborne irritants, her chest burned as she huffed in God knows what, soot formed a smudged layer over her clothes and skin and hair, but fuck it all—she was out to wrap Thistledown in her arms and use her body to cover his wee face.

[Monsy]

From the assholes to the fairy pixies, sweethearts and perverts, there was a system and conventions. They played their roles, cheated, invented new rules, stretched and discarded them. Some swore by them. This house welcomed all of that to its dinner table -- and everyone knew the tradition now. The promo was over, so now they wait for a body to fly or a safe depart. Its final note.

But what better twist than a departing magic trick. At least, that's what the audience believed at first. A lifting tar cloud, rushing and blinding and spreading like a plague. No one said anything. They felt almost spoiled. Perhaps it was planned. Meanwhile, Angelina locked eyes on Thistledown at the other end of Shimmer. She was racing on the inside. A punching heart-rate. They were closer. Her feet skipped to a march, jog and then dash, breaking through the smoke.

It spread into a violent storm cloud, obscuring them to a large swath of the audience. It became lighter further out, able to see, and Angelina had eyes flicked a glance at the someone who would pose an obstacle. Her attention continued on the prize, tunnel-vision till her hands sniped to cup the rabbit underneath its front armpits and back…

[Malkavia]

Shimmerlace thought she was pounding at her limit, but then she saw the pirate, or her outline—a black diagonal line arcing through the smoke, a hawk diving through the mist. But not towards Shimmerlace.

Snake.

(Whip, slam. If she always moved that fast, she might not be down 5 and 0.)

Shimmerlace sprang the last distance. As she slammed into glass, a cobweb fissure split the tabletop with a tectonic crack, but she got him. His fur pressed into her palms, his ears brushed her arms as they clung (scared, so fuckin’ scared) against his back, and his heart shivered under her fingers as Angelina Tarrant’s hands slid over Shimmerlace's.

Filthy, shit-winding snake.

Shimmerlace met the Marauder’s eyes and flinched. There were scripts, and there were plans, and there were conventions. Fairy and Marauder, victim and abuser, weak and strong. Had Shimmerlace really believed she could dunk on a giant?

If Thistledown...the snow-white rabbit and viceroy of the Teaset Coterie...could talk...what kind of voice would he have?...

Thistle’s eyes were glassy, heart-attack still, dull and confused in forest-fire smoke. In the predator’s talons all his body said was

help
help help
help help HELP
HELP HELP HELP HELP
HELP ME, HELP ME
HELP ME CHARLOTTE

”Get. Off.”

The Marauder’s eyes burned like coals, fixated, an Olympian chasing her torch. Charlotte thrust at them with two rose-painted fingernails.

[Monsy]

Sweet fairy o’ fuckin’ fairy, you caused this.
Angelina was seeing gold. She saw money and a mountain top. A race right to the top.
She honed to her prize, no need for a broadside, and hooked her fingers onto the gold bar, with diamonds for eyes, filled to the brim with glimmer and purity. Not a nick or scratch, purer than first snow. It was just so wide open. Her spine would have ripped from her body if she didn’t take the leap.

But when she looked at its keeper, her eyes gaped for a moment. Just think-.

Look at this little helpless bitch.
Bark and no bite.
Hardly any bark.
You don’t deserve treasure, cuntstick.

“I. Can’t.”

Voiced with a growl. She looked empty, dull and expressionless. Soon she found the rose-steel swords that could gouge her eyes. She bit them, rabid, teeth to the second knuckle that pinched and stabbed against its adversary. One arm ceded, but she kept close, reached for the wooden ballet at the end of her arm’s length, gripped its handle, arched the arm back and swung for the bridge of the nose. If one didn’t do it, she’d pull back and hammer again, and again, each strike building up that smile to a grin, that sparkle in her eye. The world became gold once again.

“I won’t!”

[Malkavia]

Help!

It was harder to hear Thistledown when her knuckle was on fire, blood running out over Angelina’s teeth. She wanted to scream—someone had to help—Greg, security, the blonde boy with the fuckin’ king of diamonds—

You don’t need fuckin’ Greg. You need to bite back.

What could she do? Couldn’t drop her grip (not for a second), couldn’t spray Gloaming Sap (what if it got in Thistle’s eyes?), couldn’t stand or roll or leap, (not if she wanted to keep her hold)—

Angelina swung with her mallet.

CRACK!

Hot and wet and salty gushed from Charlotte’s snout.

CRACK!

Charlotte’s clutch loosened. She gasped. Stars glittered at the edge of her vision, comets in a dream if she’d just drift.

Like fuck you will—sink your fangs in and rip this cunt in two!

Shimmerlace tightened her vice. She had her path—she’d crawl. Inch by inch. Shield her gift, Madeleine’s gift. Bleed. Whimper. It would be a long crawl, but then she’d have her turn. Then she’d sink in her own teeth, draw her own blood, peel the snake’s thumb like a rotten rind off her rabbit.

[Monsy]

Fuckin’ idiot.

First taste of this chick’s ability was as bitter and flavourless as first expected. The only tinge of something worth chewing was what Angelina fought for. They didn’t throw a fist back, bite or even lunge. This was just -- survival. That was fine, it just made the gold shine brighter. She couldn’t see Thistle’s diamond eyes, and her nose curled, giving another swing.

Crawling as all this bitch had?
Crawling, REALLY?

She was about done.
Wasting time beating this chick up wasn’t going to soothe any itch.
So, what would it be? A grab and violent headbutt? Maybe a moonkick to smash her face into the brittle glass, clinging by its paper-nails. One on the jaw could do. Tch.

Angelina leaned in, so close her shoulder pressed into theirs, her arm folded in closer for an added leverage. She took her wooden mallet, lifted it high then whipped it down to the centre of the glass, charged to send the keeper through the glass, timed with a yank to pull the gold free.

[Malkavia]

Just keep your arse moving!

When all else is a smoke-stained miasma, your girl can drag herself. The glass is slick, it’s got her blood, so not even friction could be claimed as excuse. She froze when Angie towered up, cast her chill. When the hammer struck the glass, Charlotte couldn’t meet Angelina’s eyes because they were fixed on her rabbit’s neck.

Three things hit Charlotte like a triple mallet to the spine: Angelina sat on the verge of an almighty yank, Shimmerlace was about to topple, and the Marauder would rather take home half a rabbit than no rabbit.

Charlotte let Thistle go before glass had even been struck.

6 and 0.

Shimmerlace’s back slammed against the metal turntable platform, then she rolled on the floor among the glass, shattered porcelain, dented cage, and spilled cards. Some stray shard of something had nicked her arm. Already drops of red stained the front of her dress.

Angelina held Thistledown in both arms. Curtains of smoke curled, ready to swallow them up.

Poof.

”They don’t eat carrots, and they don’t live in cages.” Charlotte's voice wobbled; she rushed the words out. A hundred aches and pains cut into Shimmerlace, but the most acute was in her throat. ”Rabbits aren’t everything you expect. They need space. They need exercise.”

Shimmer lifted herself from lying to sitting, glass shards falling off her clothes, off her skin. Tink, tink. ”Do your bloody fuckin’ research and take care of ‘em, and he better be in one piece when I come for ‘em!”

[Monsy]

Glass shattered into droplets and ice chunks. She tucked the gold into her stomach at first, turning to keep any splatter from scratching her prize. The rush was better than any kiss on the neck. Her smile was bubbling more than a jolly drunkard. Poor bitch, though. I bet they’re sweet. But, all things are undeserved if you can't take and defend. Sympathy was such a grime word when they just: lost.

Angelina turned again once the crash seemed to settle, stepping closer to the frame. The gold was kept close, her second arm sealed around it to support the spine as she dropped the mallet. She can feel it shaking. Frightened little prize. A real nose for a bad day. But, that was temporary.

The smoke device puttered out. Black clouds began to disperse and the clouds finally got glimpses of the great twenty-second mystery. Lord knows production was going to have some unrefined words for this surprise stunt. Listening to the lecture was something to do a victory hum to. It was the closest she got to calming down, just a tad. But - this feeling - like someone had given up. Did they? Oh, sweet. Now there was really blood in the water between them. Angelina, her gold’s shivery little head, pursed her lip, then broke into cackles out of her control. She snorted, put a finger under her nose and leaned forward for a moment, holding the gold tighter.

“D’aw. I guess ya will have to catch me and find out.”

Then she ran, blitzed as though the boogeyman was hot on her heels. She whipped past Shimmer’s ol’ assistant, the Greg Man, giving a knee to his groin for his troubles and whisking away into the halls beyond. Smell ya later, Snugglebutts.

DONEZO!