Standing on the corner of a busy Sol City street that connects the Market District and the docks stands a young elven woman in a long black trench coat and a black felt hat with large, mirrored lenses covering her eyes. She looks very conspicuous and a few people give her quick confused glances as they pass but she doesn’t react. She’s on a mission.

It's about lunchtime and across the street, a trail of wagons lines the alleyway around a popular-looking café. Near-constant strings of people enter and leave, from seemingly all walks of life, and she watches them with interest.

“That’s our target.” Cirice says, looking behind her at the elven man dressed in a matching outfit. He follows her gaze to the little café and nods. “We need to get in after it’s closed, no one gets hurt unless absolutely necessary. You ready to scope it out?”

“This is a really important mission, my informant tells me the owner doesn’t get home until pretty late. We have to get in and set up before she can get back. Let’s do this Cyran!” She gives him a wide, excited smile.

The long, black coats that the two elves were dressed in could not possibly be more conspicuous.

It was obvious to the locals that were bustling about their day to day business, most on their lunch break, that they did not belong in this delicate clockwork act of movement and activity. For one, neither looked especially at ease with their surroundings, a guardedness to their movements that spoke of their inexperience with the city’s streets. For another, the sweltering heat made their thick jackets stand out like sore thumbs. None of this seemed to matter to the young woman, who was watching the cafe on the other side of the street. She’d been studying the establishment for a number of minutes, gauging how popular it was to get a feel for its clientèle. Not that they had to wait for long. All things considered, Blixt^TM Cafe was rather busy, with a steady stream of customers shuffling in and out in search of drinks and baked goods.

The taller male perked up when addressed, folding up the copy of the Sol City Gazette that had previously been covering his face to reveal an identical pair of shaded spectacles to the ones resting on his companion’s face. Whether he actually looked in the direction of the cafe when prompted was impossible to tell - his movements were subtle enough that the glasses did a proper job of concealing his expression, or any thoughts that might have been brewing behind the rounded, blackened glass. His lips were pursed, giving a stern expression to any passerby whose gazes lingered a little too long.

It had the intended effect - though not for reasons one might think.

Gods, Cyran thought as he tugged at his collar before his hands returned to rest at his sides once more, unmoving. I look ridiculous.

The clothes had been Cirice’s idea. Really, this entire reconnaissance mission was of her own design, one that Cyran had played little part in. He had been… surprised, to say the least, when Cirice approached him and requested his presence on a top-secret operation of the upmost importance. Cyran had been worried to say the least, but Cirice was so earnest, and when she informed him that she had done all the planning, he couldn’t find it in himself to say no.

… He never could when it came to Cirice, really.

Right now, though, the assassin was simply content to sit back and watch Cirice work, only to step in if she encountered any real danger. He wasn’t sure what Cirice was here to do, but she had assured him that it wouldn’t be life-threatening - she hoped - but she seemed to have put a lot of careful thought and planning into everything. Despite the fact that he was currently sweating through his overshirt and feeling quite embarrassed at the number of stares he’d been on the receiving end that day, he was endlessly proud of what she’d already accomplished.

“We should go inside and get a map of the layout. Good idea, Miss Baker.” Cyran replied, a gentle nudge to remind her to use the pseudonyms she’d picked out rather than their real names. “… Remember - my magic doesn’t seem to be working quite right today. I’m counting on you to sneak us around, okay?”

That was a blatant lie. Cyran’s command over the shadows was as fine-tuned as ever, even on a sunny day like this. He merely wanted to see what his moonbeam would accomplish when given complete control… and step in if necessary.

“Shall we go?” He asked with a nod, still as stoic as ever behind those shades, before picking himself off the wall and breezing across the street with his hands tucked in the pockets of his coat.

Their mission: Break into the Blixt^TM Cafe in the middle of the night to confront one of Cirice’s friends. A lofty task for a young woman who had only begun her fledgling career of vigilante thievery and mischief… but this time, she was not alone.

But first, they had to accomplish step one: case the joint without drawing much suspicion towards themselves.

... Easier said than done in their current getup.

“Right, Mr. Butcher. Thank you. I’ll treat you to some Blixt^TM. For our big business meeting.” Cirice says seriously, “I’ve got a plan.” She follows him across the road and into the double doors.

Inside is a very inviting atmosphere, with smiling barista serving various colorful drinks and lots of people enjoying reasonably priced food with smiles. A large counter with a queue waiting beside it dominates the main room and there are many small tables dotted comfortably around. A swinging hinged door appears to separate the kitchen from the rest of the cafe as waitresses head in and out rhythmically delivering meals to tables.

Cirice leads them over to a booth in the back corner nearest the kitchen, a perfect place to see and count how much staff is employed within and get a look at the famed “takeout window.” From this vantage point they can get quick glances of the kitchen and Cirice picks up a menu, unfolding it and holding it up in front of her face to hide her not-so-subtle scoping out of the kitchen and counter areas.

“Oh look, they have paninis! Seems like… Two presses at least. To keep up with demand…” She comments, subtly trying to let Cyran know how many cooking constructs she can see within the kitchen. “It would be a nice place to host a party I think, enough staff for at least seven people.” She continues, counting the staff carefully.

“I’m going to look for the lavatory.” She says, standing up. She heads down a small hallway and looks to see if anyone is about before she starts snooping around. She rounds a small, well-hidden corner and she finds it, a set of stairs leading up! Jackpot! She looks around for any traps or mechanisms that might serve as an alarm of sorts and is surprised that she doesn’t find any. Perhaps she just doesn’t notice them…

Unwilling to venture upstairs with so many people around she returns to the main room and joins the queue. After a few minutes of waiting she orders a couple Blixt^TM for herself and Cyran and returns to her seat.

“It’s really a lovely place…” She sighs as she sits back down. “Here you are.” She hands him a Blixt^TM Pirate’s Rum and takes a swig of her Blixt^TM Dark Roast. “Oh this is… Interesting.”

"The barista was really nice. She mentioned they close about four and they're usually done cleaning up around twilight. I think she thought I was asking her on a date though..."

She sips her drink, trying to think of the best way to approach the situation later that evening. It didn't seem like there were any of the more combat-suited constructs around and that made her a little more at ease. This might not be as hard as she thought.

“Of course. Our business meeting. About business and numbers and such.” Was that what their covers were supposed to be? Cyran wasn’t clear on what their identities were supposed to be, nor did he really understand what their codenames were supposed to mean - for instance, why was he the Butcher? It was not entirely inaccurate, for reasons Cirice would not understand, but regardless of how uncomfortably close to his true identity she’d gotten with the moniker, the Butcher and the Baker weren’t the most discrete of names in the least. The only discreteness they offered was that people would be so confused by the obviously fake names that they wouldn’t bother asking for the real names of the two suspicious figures that were obviously up to no good.

… But he did appreciate that Cirice had the foresight to select the fake names and even a cover story for them to conceal their real identities. As silly as the names were, that was another positive!

Even inside the cafe, the two were about as stealthy as a bull in a china shop, considering how many customers were giving them wary looks. In a funny twist of irony, the staff themselves, the baristas running around and delivering drinks to full tables, didn’t even bat an eye at the two criminals that had just entered their establishment and taken a seat in the shadiest booth in a darkened corner. Or perhaps that was more a testament to how little they were paid that they didn’t really give a shit about the shady dealings going on right under their noses.

Or, the third option, which was that Cirice and Cyran were so obviously not a threat that it didn’t even matter. Cyran took a seat, drumming his fingers against the table while Cirice’s glasses-covered eyes peered over her menu, scoping out the area. In his mind he’d already created an approximate map of the area, enough to get a rough sense of how everything was laid out. Front room, kitchen, hallway in the back with a set of stairs just out of sight. He could send Yeux out to get a better look, but Cyran wanted to see how much Cirice could find on her own. She’d already managed to get a peak at the automated staff inside the kitchen - more constructs - and was already getting up to look around. He had to suppress a bout of laughter as she declared her intentions loud enough for any potential eavesdroppers, making it entirely obvious that she had no intention of actually going to the bathroom at all.

Cyran was content to sit and wait while Cirice scoped out the area, more interested in watching the workers. It seemed that Blixt^TM cafe did employ some humans, in addition to the artificial staff. Unlike the constructs currently cooking in the kitchen, though, Cyran imagined that they went home after closing hours. Which meant they would only have to deal with the bots when they came back at night, should it come to it. They didn’t look like combatants, so Cyran would not have a difficult time taking them out if he needed to…

Speaking of, what were they here to accomplish in the first place? Cirice had been rather vague about the details. He hoped this wasn’t a genuine assassination attempt. He was happy to teach her all the stealth he knew, but there were some things Cyran would not impart on his loved ones. Could not.

“What do you mean, you don’t serve Blixt^TM Kandy Korn? It is a quintessential secret menu item!”

The sudden shout grabbed Cyran’s attention before his thoughts could turn too morose. He turned his attention to a tall man in black robes, holding a staff topped with a myriad of animal skulls that rattled and clinked together with his emphatic gestures. The barista he was speaking to looked utterly nonplussed, speaking with all the weariness of someone who had not gotten enough sleep do deal with this nonsense.

“I’m sorry, sir, but due to an uprise in dark rituals, we no longer carry that product.”

“Dark rituals?” the obvious necromancer demanded. “How dare you insinuate that I would ever be using such a delicious and flavorful beverage to raise an army of the dead with which to destroy Capitol Landing? I merely desire to experience the cool, refreshing taste of sweet candy corn…”

That would serve as a good enough distraction to take the attention off of Cyran - and Cirice, who was still obviously poking her head around the stairwell - long enough for Cyran to conduct some investigation of his own. He stood, ducking past a passerby long enough that only those who were paying close enough attention to the oddly-dressed man would notice that he had all but disappeared, replaced with a young, perky-looking barista who smoothly moved to scoop up some dirty dishes from an empty table and bring them to the kitchen.^[1]

Inside, she managed to get a better look at the kitchen. Cirice’s estimation of the number of staff had been correct, but what was more interesting was the back door in the kitchen reserved for deliveries. It did, however, confirm her suspicions that there were only two entrances to this place. But which one would Cirice want to choose? The back entrance would be easier to sneak through, but it would mean dealing with the bots. The waitress hummed, tapping her chin in thought before someone called out to her to deliver another order, and she skipped back out into the front room.

By the time Cirice was done poking around, Cyran had already returned to his seat, as if he’d never been gone in the first place.

“Thank you.” He took a hesitant sip of the… Blixt^TM Pirate’s Rum? What was with these flavors? The taste was odd, but there was no surprise that they were popular when they offered a boost of caffeine. He hoped it wouldn’t make Cirice too energetic. He set the drink down, listening to what she’d gathered.

“So we have our meeting after dusk then.” He confirmed. “Should we expect a visit from…” What was this mysterious target’s codename, again? “Miss Candlestick Maker…” Gods, these were so silly, “While we’re here?”

---

1. One With the Cosmos (Astral Soul I)

“Oh yes, we have to prepare everything for Miss Candlestick Maker’s arrival. She’s the main business prospect. Everything must be perfect before she arrives.” Cirice takes a gulp of her Blixt^TM, completely forgetting what happened last time she drank one¹. “Oh man this is a very strange flavor… Its… dark. Like dark chocolate. I should buy more of these…” Cirice’s eyes dilate a little as she drinks the Blixt^TM. “You know Mr. Baker, the last time I had this stuff it made me feel weird…”

She trails off, contemplating the bottle in her hands and then opens her mouth and starts jabbering on, but strangely no sound comes out. She doesn’t seem to notice though and continues chattering away, no sound coming from her side of the table at all. She takes out a stack of letters and shows them to Cyran proudly, but unfortunately without any context with sounds.

She looks at him expectantly for just a moment and continues in her litany of nonsense soundlessly.

---

1 Potion of Shadows

So they were here in anticipation of meeting Cirice’s mysterious friend? But then why bother with sneaking in during the dead of night if they were just here to pay this woman a visit? Cyran was beginning to have more questions than answers, inquiries he didn’t want to ask in the middle of a crowded area where anyone could be eavesdropping. He just had to… trust Cirice. He had promised he would let her take control and do what she needed, with the intention of only intervening in the case of an emergency. Whatever Cirice was here to do, he would be here to assist her.

“Then we will just have to make the necessary preparations beforehand.” He agreed, though he was still thoroughly confused as to exactly what Cirice was referring to. What preparations? What needed to be perfect?

… Were they breaking in to throw some sort of surprise party?

He nearly dismissed the idea, but that was something Cirice would do - stage an elaborate break in for the ones that she loved just to make them happy. He drank another sip of the Blixt^TM Pirate’s Rum, grimacing at the strong flavor. To be honest, he would have simply preferred a black coffee to… what he was fairly certain was just straight alcohol. He took a proper look into the cup, and yes, he was pretty sure that this was just actual rum. At the same time, Cirice’s voice was growing softer, until he could no longer hear her speaking at all. Alarmed, Cyran looked up, wondering what could have possibly caused her to fall silent, but much to his surprise, she was still prattling on with her usual enthusiasm, even pulling out a handful of letters and gesturing to them as if she fully expected Cyran to understand what she was saying.

But she was as silent as the grave.

“Um, I can’t understand what you’re saying, dear…” Cyran was so concerned that he broke character for a moment, snapping his fingers in front of his ear to double-check. He could hear the rest of the ambient noises in the cafe just fine - only Cirice had fallen silent, a fact that the young lady herself didn’t even seem to be aware of, as she moved forward with her explanation while glancing at Cyran every once in a while as if she expected him to answer or chime in with his own input.

When she received no response, she simply continued talking with such a wide smile on her face while she lovingly showed him her stack of letters that Cyran mourned that he couldn’t hear her recounting of the story. Eyes narrowed underneath his shaded glasses, Cyran reached for her drink, inspecting the cup. She’d said it had made her feel weird - if it contained any kind of poison, then the barista that had prepared this wouldn’t live a second longer to regret it. But when he turned the cup around, he noticed the label on the back…

“Warning: blixt^TM Darq causes one’s movements to become completely silent.”

What the hell?

Cyran grabbed his own drink, unsurprised to find a similar label on the back of the cup. “Blixt™ Co. does not condone the use of Blixt™ Pirate's Rum, or any other Blixt™ product, as a weapon, incendiary or otherwise.”

… Hmm.

Was that supposed to be the gimmick of this place? That each and every drink had a different effect, some more explosive than others? That seemed an incredibly volatile and irresponsible business practice, considering practically anyone could just walk in off the street and order whatever they wanted? What if some assassin with malicious intent walked in here and ordered a Blixt^TM Pirate’s Rum, giving them unregulated access to explosives?

The irony of that statement was not lost on him.

Cyran sighed, setting his drink down on the table. All of a sudden he felt rather put off from trying any of the products in this strange place.

“You’re going to have to repeat all of this again when this potion wears off, dear.” He said as he disposed both of Cirice’s and his own drinks in a nearby trash can. That was enough Blixt^TM for the both of them. “I can’t hear anything you’re saying.”

Cirice watches dejectedly as Cyran throws away their drinks. She’d enjoyed hers and would have had a bit more. But apparently it made her silent and he couldn’t hear her, which was not ideal considering their mission. She sighs, no sound coming out, and puts her letters and things away. Perhaps they should just leave and wait for nightfall, they’ve gotten what they needed from the inside anyway. She mimes towards the two of them and then towards the door and stands, ready to leave. As they head out she takes another look around the cafe, one final glance before the heist.

Cirice leads Cyran back to her wagon, tucked away into an unused alley a few streets away from the cafe. She heads inside and finds paper and starts drawing the crudest map of the cafe and labeling it in her very careful calligraphy. As she finishes the potion finally starts to wear off and she can talk once more.

“Okay! Yay you can hear me now, right? Perfect. So I think we wait out here until dark then we sneak in via the kitchen and take out the bots if we need to and head upstairs. I didn’t see any traps or warning devices on the stairs so we should be in the clear once we’re inside. For a backup plan I’ll have Hitia land on the roof for us to escape on. Any questions???” She gives Cyran an earnest and excited look, obviously looking for praise.

The plan seemed sound, and Cyran was even surprised to hear she’d come up with a secondary escape plan in the event of an emergency. They didn’t have a clear picture of what the upstairs looked like, but Cyran was genuinely impressed by the amount of thought and care Cirice had put into this plan. He pat her on the head, a look of sincere pride on his face. It wasn’t that he necessarily wished for her to pick up habits and skills that facilitated a life of crime, but knowing that she knew how to get in - and out - of a situation made him more relieved than he could express. “No questions. I’ll deactivate the bots if need be - I can dispatch them before they raise any alarms. You’ve done wonderfully, Miss Baker.”

Her eyes shine with joy at the head pat and the compliment. With that supreme boost of her confidence she peels off her terrible disguise and hands Cyran a wide purple ribbon that matches her gloves with two holes cut carefully out for eyes to peek through. “Tie this on for me, please?”

Cyran looks at the ribbon then back at her. It isn’t a practical disguise either, but her genuine effort to try and be the best burglar she can be is adorable and he gladly agrees to tie on her mask for her. She turns around with glee and tries to be as still as possible so he can get it nice and tight. Being the loving and diligent father he is he braids the ends of the mask into her hair for her, making sure it won’t fall off.

With her disguise in place its only a matter of waiting for the sun to set and the operation to commence.

---

As twilight falls the pair of elves watch from the shadows around the corner from the cafe as the humanoid staff leave and lock up for the day¹. They until full dark and sneak through the shadowed streets together, approaching the building with care and stealth. Cirice leads them around to the takeout window on the side of the building. She stands on her tiptoes and looks in, making sure the coast was clear.



“Okay. Here’s our in.” She whispers. A simple hook and eye latch is all that holds the window closed and with a flick of her wrist and a glow of the runes on her arms Cirice summons Ur on the inside of the window and he opens the latch². With a great hop and a small exclamation Cirice jumps up and grabs the window frame, pulling herself up and shimming inside with great effort. She knocks over a small table next to the window for orders to wait upon, sending it clattering to the ground loudly. “Shit.” She curses under her breath. “I’m okay! Come on in!” She calls back to Cyran.

As she gets her bearings and bends down to right the table a metallic voice calls from the darkness as two pairs of red lenses flare to life and focus on her.



"Unknown intruder, reprimand: using the takeout window as a means of forced entry goes against our policy. Command: leave immediately."



“Oh, heeeeeey bot friends…. It’s okay, we’re not here to steal anything. Please don’t attack or anything juuuuust…” She creeps up and puts her hands on each of them, the lights of ther lenses dimming considerably before going back to normal³. “Forget we were eeeeever here.”

---

1 Cloak of Shadows 
2 Summon Minor Minion Ur
3 Fade from Memory

They’d scoped out as much of the area as they could. Cyran and Cirice retreated back to their hiding place for now - Cirice’s wagon, parked just a couple of blocks away from the cafe - to review the plan. Cirice’s voice, much to Cyran’s relief, started to come back right as she finished sketching out a rather clumsy, but mostly accurate, looking map of the premises. Her happiness as Cyran pat her head and assured her that she’d done well was enough to remind him that this was all worth it if it made Cirice happy and confident in her abilities, too.

They immediately got to work ditching the costumes Cirice had picked for them and changing back into their regular clothes… with a single modification. Cyran stared at the eyepatch in his hands that Cirice had provided him in lieu of a burglar’s mask, laughing to himself. This wouldn’t do anything more to conceal his identity than Cirice’s own mask would, but she’d looked so damn excited when she showed him the matching facial coverings that he couldn’t find it in him to deny her this, either.

He angled himself as he removed the tinted shades, careful not to let Cirice see his right eye. It was functional, but there was no need to subject Cirice to the gruesome physical reminder of what no healer had been able to properly fix. He only turned back around when he had the purple fabric firmly secured over his eye, surprised to find Cirice staring at him, holding her ribbon out for him to take.

“Of course.” He replied, motioning for Cirice to turn around and sit on a nearby surface. The disguise was ineffective, but her passion - her tendency to throw herself into everything she did with joy and excitement - was evident even in her clumsy but well-meant attempts to learn, and grow better. Cyran’s heart felt like it was going to burst.

“Sit still. This will take me a moment.” He instructed, securing the mask over her eyes. With deft, experienced hands that had performed these movements countless times before, Cyran went through the motions of tying the two ends of the ribbon into a tight braid in Cirice’s hair, ensuring that it would not fall out. When he was finished, he secured the final ends of the ribbon in a neat little bow. “Braids are a tradition in Eclipse City.” They were a status symbol, of sorts. Or, perhaps it was more apt to say that the hair itself was the symbol, where neat braids represented one’s ability to take care of themselves and their home. The head of the home would be the one to put braids in their children’s hair, decorate it with elaborate leaves and beads. But Lormundel Fenastra was not a caring man - he believed in independence over coddling. Cyran had done his own braids ever since his hands were capable of tying knots.

He’d always taken care of this for Marlow. He’d gotten to braid Iryla’s hair once before, too - and now, he got to continue this small, silly act with Cirice, too. He wasn’t sure any of them understood the significance of the act, and he wasn’t sure if he could bring himself to tell them. But it was one he carried out with pride.

“I’m happy to share one of my customs with you, for once.” Cyran’s voice was heavy with an unidentifiable emotion as he stood, readying himself for their heist.

Dusk hung around them, providing a cloak as thief and thief-in-training made their way around to the back of Blixt^TM Cafe. The shadows simply cling to Cyran, concealing his own approach as he followed behind Cirice at an unhurried pace. He kept a hand resting on the hilt of his dagger, ready to move at a moment’s notice, but they were alone. No human workers from the cafe had lingered after closing, it seemed. He came to a stop at the small, latched window that Cirice was currently peeking through. “Erm, I’m not sure I can fit through that…” He murmured, watching Cirice struggle to shimmy through, eventually crashing on the other side with enough noise to rouse any human who might have still been lingering around. The commotion was far from his first concern, though.

“Are you alright?” He waited until he heard a sound of affirmative, and an all-clear sign before she ventured further inside, breezing past the bots with a pep in her step, trusting that Cyran would be right behind her.

He stared at the window.

… This isn’t happening.

He waited until her back was turned before running his finger along the wall, tracing a small door in the wall that he stepped through and immediately dissipated.^[1] He was greeted with the same warning message from the bots, only to brush his hand against the cool metal surface as he passed, wordlessly removing any trace of himself from their mind.^[2] Once they were both out of sight, he turned to Cirice.

“That was a tight fit, but I managed it, somehow.” He lied. “So… what now? I’m following your lead.” He had no idea what she had in mind here, so all he could do was follow her wherever she went.

---

1. Create Door
2. Fade from Memory

Once Cyran was inside and they both have successfully made it past the chefbots Cirice gives him an excited double thumbs up. “Now we go upstairs and set up!”

Opening the swinging door to the kitchen ever so slowly, the tattoos on her face glowing softly lavender¹, she gives the dining room a long, careful visual sweep. Its all dark and quiet, not a hint of movement or light at all outside of the scant streetlight outside streaming in through the windows. She slinks out into the main room and carefully picks her way through the clean tables and stacked chairs towards the stairs. Arriving at the bottom of the stairs she once again looks for traps or warnings.

Nothing catches her eye and she climbs the stairs two at a time. At the top of the stairs she pops her head in and looks around the empty studio apartment. Surprisingly… There aren’t any blixtbots to be seen.

“All clear!” She calls back to Cyran. “Looks like we’re good.”

She heads into the little apartment and takes a look around. Its nice, open and airy and… quaint considering the owner. She expected Veliky’s home to be very automated and full of machines and tinkering stuff but it seems more like a place to just crash for short bursts between working. The whole place has a very tidy but abandoned feel. Like its not really home, more like a hotel room.

“She really doesn’t spend much time here… Huh?” Cirice sees a small ball rolling towards her at great speed. She scoops down and picks it up, turning it over in her hands and looking at it. Its a strange little thing, a metal ball constructed of little moving plates and as she inspects it the ball unfolds into a little construct with spindly arms that it begins waving at her angrily. “Oh hello. I’m not going to hurt you, please don’t sound an alarm.”

The ball construct offers no words in return, just waving its arms around and gesturing them towards the door. Cirice sets him down carefully and he starts trying to push her back towards the stairs. “Hey hey no. We’ve got a job to do!” But the little bot keeps trying, doing its best to hinder her from moving further into the apartment. “Look little guy I don’t want to hurt you, but you can’t stop us.” She scoops him up again and he struggles in her grasp. Not sure what else to do she shoves him into the little grey, embroidered Platinum Corp bag on her hip. “I’ll let you out later.”

She steps into the kitchenette and sets her bag on the counter, looking over the assorted appliances and accoutremants. Banging around in cabinets and getting out bowls and turning the oven on she preps her work station. Out of her bag she pulls ingredients, flour and fruit and all kinds of things.

“Okay." She looks at Cyran with deadly seriousness. "Operation Love Muffin, MUFFIN TIME!”

---

1 Night sight

Cyran followed Cirice up the stairs, stopping when she paused to give the second floor a once-over. Sharp eyes scanned the shadows for any hidden figures that might have been laying in wait, but everything felt… still. Untouched, really. He stopped in the middle of what looked like it was meant to be a living room, running his finger along the surface of a wooden table. A smidgen of dust came loose with the motion - the layer was not thick enough to call this home properly abandoned, but he didn’t think he could say it was well-lived in, either.

This was a dollhouse, dressed up and furnished but only occupied when its owner felt like playing.

Or perhaps it would be more apt to call this home a front. If this place was ever used, Cyran could see no sign of it as he investigated the open floor. Everything was kept neat and tidy, with only a few personal touches here and there. Cyran drifted over to the bedroom, the space that looked like it had seen the most use in this empty place - sure enough, there were clothes in the closet, though the owner’s fashion sense left much to be desired. He wasn’t one to judge. He closed the door, peering around the bedroom and finding nothing else of note.

“Cirice? Does your friend even… live here?” He asked, brows furrowed. She hadn’t been tricked, had she? But Cirice seemed utterly nonplussed by the state of the house. He would have said more had he not spotted movement out of the corner of his eye, where Cirice had scooped down to pick up a small, metallic ball with spindly limbs that was currently waving them at her with all its might. The little creature was kind of… cute, if he were being honest. She set the ball down after warning it to leave them be, but the little construct that could was determined to get rid of the intruders any way it could in a rather ineffective but endearing way. Cyran hid a snicker behind his hand as Cirice scooped up the bot and placed it in a bag on her belt. The bag looked so small that Cyran wasn’t sure the construct would fit, but it appeared to have an enchantment of sorts that allowed it to hold more than it should rightfully be able to.

“Good job neutralizing the threat.” Cyran praised, though whether the little bot constituted as a threat was debatable. Perhaps to mice and other small animals. But he thought it was important Cirice knew she was responding well to any risk to the mission. Once she was satisfied that the room was empty, Cirice skipped into the kitchen, searching through kitchen counters and cabinets. What in the world was she looking for? Cyran followed her to the kitchen, eye widening as she began pulling out ingredients from that enchanted pouch of hers. Flour, sugar, milk, eggs…

“Oh.” He murmured, the realization finally hitting him as to exactly why Cirice had staged this entire mission. She’d planned an elaborate breaking and entering into one of the most popular cafes in Sol City to… bake her friend muffins.

Cyran pulled Cirice into a quick hug. “Oh, Cirice. Never change.”

When he pulled back, he gave the ingredients another once-over. He didn’t know much about baking, and had never made muffins before… hopefully Cirice knew what she was doing at least. Did she know how to make muffins, or had Cyran just invited fire and disaster into some poor woman’s kitchen?

“… Considering this is an incredibly important task, I think the honor of baking should fall to you.” He said, tone as serious as her own. “I’ll watch your back and keep an eye out for any sign of trouble.” He nudged his cloak, rousing Yeux from his slumber. The bat let out an indignant, sleepy squeak, peeking his head out from his nest of comfortable fabric and hair. Cyran muttered an instruction to him in hushed elvish, sending the bat to keep an eye on the stairwell, just in case.

An extra layer of security.

“This is indeed her apartment. Without a doubt. Just like the intel said.” Cirice assured Cyran, looking over her ingredients to make sure she has everything and looking through to see what Veliky has in her cupboards to get an idea for what flavors she might like. On the counter theres a jar of what appears to be… Marshmallows? If they’re sitting out that likely means they’re something her friend enjoys so one batch she decides will be marshmallow muffins.

Cyran comes over and hugs her and she gives him a confused smile, “Never change? Why would I? I like who I am!” She giggles. “I’ll let you have tastes then. I love muffins. I hope Miss Candlestick Maker does too…”

She smiles as Yeux goes to be lookout and then cracks her knuckles and gets down to the serious business of baking. She makes a triple batch, enough for lots of leftovers, and divides them out for flavoring. One dozen is starberry, her favorite, one pumpkin for Cyran, his favorite she covertly found out from Zarius, and the last she adds chocolate chips and grabs the marshmallow jar to turn it into smores muffins.

Opening the jar of marshmallows and starting to pour them into the batter, she’s startled when they start hanging from the jar with little arms and waving at her. A couple that fell into the batter start playing in it like a little puddle and she gasps. “Oh goddess they’re alive!”

Quickly she scoops them out and sets them on the counter where they leave cute little muffin batter footprints as they wander around. Cirice watches them in fascination, pouring the rest out and poking their squishy bodies. They’re so precious. “Cyran look at these little guys!”

Spirits uplifted and smorelings spared from the oven she finishes up the tins of muffins and gets them all started baking. While she had her back turned the some of the little squishy guys hopped off the counter and started inspecting Cyran curiously. Their little movements are so small and bouncy they look like they’re dancing around his feet.

“Look at them! They’re so lively and cute! They’re dancing with you Cyran!” She laughs, dusting her hands off on her skirt. She comes over and takes his hands in hers. “I want a dance too!”

She twirls them around, careful not to step on the smorelings as they dance along as well and she begins singing.

“Moon river, wider than a mile
I'm crossing you in style some day…
Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker
Wherever you're goin', I'm goin' your way
Two drifters, off to see the world
There's such a lot of world to see
We're after the same rainbow's end
Waitin' 'round the bend
My huckleberry friend
Moon river and me….”

As they dance the smell of the baking muffins fills the room and helps lift the mood even more. Its a fun, innocent moment: the two elves enjoying each other’s company lovingly without a care in the world.

Cyran crossed his arms, watching Cirice out of the corner of his eye while he leaned against the counter. His posture looked relaxed, not betraying his readiness while he watched Cirice’s back. She was dancing around as she gathered the necessary ingredients… starberries, chocolate, and pumpkin. It seemed an awful lot of flavors in one baked good, but the longer he watched, he realized that she was making several batches. That was funny. How had she guessed his favorite muffin? Cyran couldn’t remember it ever coming up in conversation. But the batter looked delicious, and reminded him of days spent wandering Eclipse City and visiting as many bakeries as he could. While Cirice was preoccupied with a jar of s’mores she’d found on the counter, Cyran reached over and snuck a taste of the pumpkin batter. He flinched when Cirice let out a sudden squeal of delight, peering into the chocolate chip batter.

“What are those things?” He followed the squishy, living marshmallows as they plodded along the table, making a mess everywhere. If he thought the constructs were strange, these… smorelings were a different creature entirely. He was mesmerized, unable to bring himself to look away while Cirice finished the muffins and set them to bake. Some of the smorelings had hopped off the table, standing at his feet and blinking up at him with curious, red eyes. Cyran felt like he was going to melt through the floor.

“Erm, hello little ones.” He waved at the little creatures.

Spurned on by his voice, the smorelings began wiggling and jumping around his feet… almost as if they were dancing.

“Yes, they’re rather sweet little things, aren’t they?” He commented, so mesmerized by their movements that he almost missed Cirice’s request.

He bit his lip. One of them really should be watching the door, but with Cirice watching him expectantly, and the remnants of her song lingering in the air, he couldn’t deny her request.

“Alright.”

She grabbed his hands, twirling the two of them around, taking care not to step on the smorelings that were scampering around them. One brave smoreling scampered up his pant leg, coming to perch up his shoulder. The creature clung to his hair, getting muffin batter everywhere. The sight was probably enough to make Cirice giggle, until Cyran plucked the smoreling from his shoulder and placed it on the top of Cirice’s head, smearing batter all over her own white hair. The two moved slowly, not in any particular hurry - merely enjoying shuffling around the kitchen to Cirice’s humming.

It was unfortunate for him that Cirice’s invitation to dance had weakened his resolve just enough to pull his attention away from the stairwell. Surely, everything would have been okay, he rationalized - just for a moment. Yeux was watching the stairwell, and he would alert Cyran to anyone entering the apartment. He hadn’t yet noticed that keeping watch had made Yeux drowsy, and the little bat had curled up on the banister for a small nap. In that moment, anyone could have slipped by, and Cyran would have been none the wiser.

"..."

It's a strange sight, isn't it? The thought of someone breaking into your house is a frightening one. Suddenly, a space associated with safety and comfort becomes so unfamiliar in its dread. But if those same breaking-and-enteringers were to commandeer your kitchen to create delightful baked goods? Well, it wouldn't be any more legal, but it may be slightly less threatening and quite a bit more confusing.

But Veliky isn't there yet. She hasn't seen Cyran and Cirice dancing about her apartment with a miniature army of sentient marshmallows. She hasn't climbed the stairs to see a bat groggily hanging by the banister. She hasn't even entered the building. And yet still she finds herself speechless, confronted by a question that no mortal should ever have to ask themselves.

'Why is there a demonic reindeer on my roof?'

This question comes to her with less of the perplexity that one might experience upon witnessing such a thing, and moreso a defined exasperation. You see, Veliky is a busy woman, so busy that she considers it a light work-day if she gets to sleep at all. In theory, this should qualify, as it's a rare day that she actually has the opportunity to crash at her own apartment; but the day that led up to this fateful question was so bogged by business meetings, livid clients, tax rewrites, quitting employees, understaffed events, and lawsuits regarding Blixt™ Pirate's Rum that she can't even muster the energy to be properly concerned about the apparent incursion of extraplanar influence upon her crib.

She lets out a sigh, and almost drifts off in the brief moment that she closes her eyes. The longer she stays awake, the more tempting it seems to her to just flop down on the street and pass out, and probably freeze to death. Such a prospect is far more attractive when you haven't slept for two days. She just wanted some damned rest. But, like another stack of paperwork just two minutes before she was supposed to leave, this hellish reindeer poses a final obstacle before she can get any peace and quiet.

...Well, the reindeer itself might not. But the shadows she can see dancing in her own window might hint at something dire.

"Kienaaa..." she groans, rubbing her face with a gloved hand. With the other, she reaches to a little device^[1] on her belt, and raises it to her ear. It bears the peculiar image of a miniaturized Blixtbot's™ head. And into it, she speaks. "You there, Bishop? Come in."

...

There's a moment's silence. She almost tries again, but is stopped as a familiarly monotonous voice crackles out of the device's 'mouth.' Though it's too faint for anyone nearby to properly understand. Only she can, at this moment.

"We have a situation at the cafe..." Her voice trails off into a sigh that carries half a week's weariness. "Bring Gambit. Plus a Stalker and a BF and... fuck it, put the bell on a Silent Night and bring it too."

Another bit of unintelligible noise is emitted by the device, but she hardly listens. She's already placing it back on her belt and taking a resigned step forward.

---

This is not what she was expecting. What *was* she expecting? Well, it seemed too obvious to be assassins, too blatant to be spies and too bizarre to be burglars. If she's being honest, she half-expected to find Kamille and her lackeys lounging about in her apartment; she's never known Kamille to own a demonic reindeer - nor a vampire bat, which Veliky saw snoozing on her way up the stairs - but she wouldn't be surprised to learn that the witch owns such creatures. Would anyone be?

Well, that question isn't relevant at the moment, because what she *does* see happening in her kitchen is about a hundred times more perplexing - so much so that, for once in her life, she doesn't know how to approach this. What tactics, military or diplomatic, does one employ when they see that their kitchen's been commandeered by a pair of elves that are now dancing about with the smorelings that were apparently released from their containment cell? The little marshmallow-things are waddling around, trailing some sort of batter all around the apartment and-

'Oh fuck, they've seen me.'

They pause. They look. And then they charge as a swarm - nay, a wave of fluffy white and flailing arms. She steps back, but has woefully little time to brace herself before she's overtaken, pushed to the ground by what must be dozens of the devilish confections. As she lands with an "Oof!" and falls prone, they swarm over her; flopping on top of her, bouncing on her tummy and - perhaps worst of all - hugging her. It's a nightmare, even before she realizes that they're getting muffin batter all over her once-tidied clothes.

Needless to say, this is not a joyous occasion for Veliky, whose face can just barely be seen in gaps amidst the marshmallow mayhem. She wears a scowl like a fashion statement, and directs it at the two people - one of whom she knows - that have broken into her apartment.

"So." she quietly says as the smorelings scurry about her. "Want to start explaining?"

---

1. Talking Heads

Bringing Minions
Bishop-12 (Warlord)
Knight-04 (Warlord)
Rook-13 (Warlord)

Bringing Pets
BF-03 (The Goodest Boy)
Silent Night-01 (Snow Owl) {Sleigh Bell}
Stalker-03 (Prismatic Spider)

“Oh my!” Cirice is startled from where she and Cyran are dancing by the fluffy army moving as a wave and knocking a small figure to the ground. She freezes and watches the cute scene, giggling, “You’re home! Sorry about the little guys they were just so sweet and cute! Look at how much they love you! Its like you’re inside a marshmallow cloud!”

Delighted, she comes over and shoos the little mallows off Veliky’s prone form, trying to give her a hand in getting up. “Sorry about the mess, we’ll clean it up.”

But the tiny woman, who is known by Cirice but not vice-versa, does not accept Cirice's hand. She only narrows her icy eyes as the the mallow-entities scurry away. It should be an intimidating glare, but its menace is diminished by two things: Veliky's utter diminution, and the muffin batter that now covers her face in splotches.

"Do I know you?" It's a question that strikes somewhat close to the truth, but her tone says 'No I don't, don't touch me.'

“Not exaaaaaaaactly….” Cirice says bashfully, completely oblivious to the venom in the quarterling’s tone. She reaches into her pocket and offers Veliky her handcerhief to wipe away the batter, leaning as if she would help but thinking better of it.. “We’ve met once. But not exactly face to face. I wanted to change that. That’s why we’re here. Surprise!” She gives the little woman the most warm and innocent of smiles.

“Wow you’re even cuter than I remember! How have you been, Veliky? Working late as usual and not getting enough sleep?”

It was his own mistake that had gotten them caught. Cyran knew he should never have let his guard down, even as Cirice insisted that there was no danger, that they were merely paying a visit to her friend. He had been blindsided by the truth in her words, lulled into a false sense of security that there would be no danger in their attempted breaking and entering. How could there be, when there was nothing to be found but the remnants of happiness and peace lingering in the air along with the warm smell of still-baking muffins?

He had just given Cirice another spin, laughter bubbling on his lips, when all of a sudden the smorelings spotted something, and they all skittered away from the two dancing elves, swarming a small figure at the stairwell. Cyran stilled, his grip tightening where he was still holding Cirice’s hand for a brief moment. They’d been compromised. By a familiar face, nonetheless, one that made cold dread seep into his bones, face turning a deadly shade of pale that made him resemble the ghost his title took after. 

What was she doing here?

And how had she gotten past Yeux…? Cyran’s gaze drifted to the banister, where his faithful guard animal had fallen asleep. Exasperation welled in the pit of his stomach. What was the point of keeping such a companion if they did not perform their duties? No, it truly had been Cyran’s fault. He’d been far too distracted by the confusing little creatures that were currently swarming Miss Veliky, making her resemble more a pillow than a human. “Yeux. Be’inway. [Wake up.]” His voice was low, but in the silence of the apartment in the wake of Miss Veliky’s appearance, it seemed to echo.

At the hushed order, the bat roused himself from his slumber, blinking the sleep out of his eyes - he let out a belated squeal at the sight of the small, blonde intruder seated amidst the pile of smorelings, alerting Cyran to her presence before flying up to settle on his shoulder.

Cyran sighed. “You’re a little late with that warning.”

Cirice broke the silence first, moving to hep the small business mogul up to her feet, and not particularly offended at Miss Veliky’s rebuttal. Internally, Cyran’s turmoil was brewing, thinking of his and Veliky’s most recent meeting, a stilled blade, and secrets neither of them ought to rightfully know. In that encounter, he’d had the upper hand. Cyran could have destroyed her empire of steel and Blixt^TM, but he’d strayed his hand. Now, Veliky had the means and every reason to destroy him in turn.

All she had to do was open her mouth.

“This is who you brought us to visit…?” Really, he thought with a touch of bitterness, he should have known. Who else would employ such constructs in the safety of their own home? And how did Veliky not know who Cirice was, if they were friends? He did not wield any daggers, not right now, but every muscle in his body was tense, ready to flee at a moment’s notice as he looked between Cirice and Miss Veliky, trying to piece together their history through Cirice’s words alone. She was clearly well familiar with Veliky, a sentiment that was not shared.

Cyran took a step forward, closer to Cirice, ready to grab her and flee at a moment’s notice. To Miss Veliky on the other hand, he offered a stiff bow at the waist in apology. “I am sorry to disturb you… had I known who we were coming to visit, well.” He grimaced. “I assure you, our intentions are not nefarious.”

It was at that moment the timer that Cirice had set for the oven dinged.

Cyran’s only visible eye twitched.