Outside the safety of the Heathers' underground barracks evidence of the ongoing riots slapped Tesla across the face. The cloud layers were low, thick, and heavy; a heady mix of naturally-born snow clouds, relentless columns of smoke from the burning city, and greasy ash born from the deaths of Diatom's Ember population. Days had passed since Tesla last saw the sun, but the clouds somehow reflected back the shifting reds and oranges of the fires and lit every corner in a shadowy, flickering light. With that light came an unnatural level of feverish warmth that actually made one wish for the return of winter's grip, a cloying heat born from the city's self-cannibalism.
Overhead the ashes of the dead mixed with that of the burning timbers and falling snow, resulting in a slushy gray mess that clung to everything and reeked like a funeral pyre. Just a few minutes underneath the falling filth was all it took to turn someone into a soot-streaked, disheveled jumble. In the distance, Lonely Mountain stood backlit by the reflected glow from the clouds, giving the king's home a kind of horrific majesty normally reserved for erupting volcanoes. Tesla could easily picture the violence and depravity being committed beneath that dirty aura; truly, the riots must be a scene straight out of hell.
The noise didn't hurt that analogy in the slightest. Normally Diatom held an upbeat murmur of industrious citizens working hard to make their daily lives easier, and the crazy acoustics of a haphazardly-built city with that level of mass would cause bits and pieces of that daily life to pop into a listener's ears with great clarity. That was no longer the case. Instead, an angry howling filled the air; a mixture of roaring flames, collapsing buildings, crashing weapons, and screams. The screwy acoustics made it worse; hearing a sobbing woman as she was raped, the death rattle of some unknown soldier, or the frightened crying of a child resounding from out of nowhere filled Tesla with an impotent rage.
The distant scenes of burning, the omnipresent filth, and ocean-surf sounds of suffering beat down on everyone's morale. Especially the servants: Those among the Solitaires and Trinzet's retinue who couldn't lift a sword to defend themselves quaked in their boots every time they came above ground. Tesla turned back to the barracks as those men and women fearfully forced themselves out into the open and steeled their spines to run back to the main house. It was the only way to return to the subterranean servants' quarters, after all. He thought it shameful that the Skywalkers designed the barracks to be separated from everything else in the Heathers' underground, but likewise thought that now certainly wasn't the time to be contemplating renovations.
Old Man Palmer turned white in the face, but otherwise kept his cool. Then again, he was an elderly man who probably thought it would be no loss if he died by that point, so maybe his self-preservation instincts were lacking. Of course, he also stuck close to the guards assigned to escort the attendants back, so maybe Tesla was just overthinking. Esperia covered her delicate little "ear" horns and grimaced, but did nothing else. That wasn't surprising; she was clearly someone used to clawing her way out of hard circumstances. The degree of the situation may be novel to her, but the situation itself probably wasn't.
When Holly stepped out she nearly collapsed; a pair of female guards had to sweep her up and carry her with the rest of the group. Tesla felt a pang of regret over that; the girl was horrified by the current circumstances of the city and begged to be near him at all times, as she perceived his presence to be the safest place in the entire world, but she was also a non-combatant with no place on any potential battlefield. Even Esperia had better chances than Holly; at least she could breathe fire, and had a sliver of steel in her personality. Holly, however, was all marshmallow. In a world crafted like an anime, where every young woman was designed like a hentai protagonist, Holly Stein was the kind of girl jerkwad authors unleashed the most destructively abusive acts against.
Mental purity, coupled with a body that could resurrect the dead; that was Tesla's favored milk maid. Her only physical match was Trinzet Diatom, but there was certainly no naivete' in that woman's mind. The Lioness of Rodannes was an aggressor, not a victim. That is, when she wasn't sulking like a three-year-old.
Janek Hess leaned against the main entrance of the Heathers' hunting lodge in an ill-fitting jacket of studded leather, the only piece of armor that could actually cover the dwarf's broad frame, and nodded companionably to Tesla as the ryujin hove into view. "Before ye ask, there's been no change."
"Damn." Tesla pulled up short in front of the dwarf and crossed his arms. "I don't have time for her to pout over this any more than she already has." In yet another amazing about-face of personality, Trinzet went from a hyper-possessive, grasping, and greedy woman to a depressed shut-in. "I save her life and she tries to kill me. I try to leave her alone and she refuses to let me go. I follow her to Lonely Mountain and she tries to kill me again. I kick her ass and she decides she owns me. I take your advice on another woman... and now she hides under her bed sheets? How random can one woman be?"
"Clearly, pretty damn random." Janek shook his head. "She's not lettin' anybody in; there's no tellin' when she's goin' to cool off."
"Shit. I need Trinzet's bunch to help my own guards in protecting the Heathers, but I don't want to have to control the princess' forces by beating the crap out of every officer that tries to gain-say me when I give an order!" Needless to say, the first fool that tried turned out to be Marx Krull; that idiot was finally awake and his prognosis looked pretty good. Tesla paced back and forth in front of Janek, paused, then grabbed both horns atop his head. "Arrrgh! Fine! I'm going in."
"Yeah, well, good luck and all that."
The interior of the lodge was about the same as it always was, though there were considerably fewer people making the rounds within. This was partially due to the riots causing a loss of contact with the city guardsmen stationed around Diatom... and partially because no one wanted to be anywhere near Trinzet on the off chance she suddenly snapped and went on a rampage. A handful of the heartier maids assigned to her retinue were willing to stay on with Trinzet until she overcame her mental funk, but Tesla forbade it and replaced them with a couple of the princess' soldiers.
She'll be in her room. The silver-steel ryujin climbed the stairs to the lodge's second floor and worked his way to the northern wing. Trinzet's room was easy to spot; he only had to look for the one door that was surrounded by empty, crumb-ridden dinnerware and discarded piles of clothing. Tesla sighed at the mess. From a spartan war hero to a lovelorn slob in just three easy steps! Dial now! Our techs are standing by! He reached up and knocked firmly on the door. "Trinzet, it's me. Open up. We've got work to do."
Naturally, the door didn't open. "...Go away." That was a reaction, though, so he decided to hesitantly mark her down in the "positive" column.
"Nope. It's time to put on the big girl panties and face the world. In case you haven't noticed, the city's in crisis."
"...Did you just call me fat?" Something slapped against the door from the other side. It was heavy, but made a fluttering sound as it fell to the floor; Tesla assumed it to be a book. "That's why you picked her, didn't you?! Mine are just as big as hers, but she's all milk while I'm all fat! I knew it!"
A vein throbbed on Tesla's forehead. So much for the positive column... "What are you, four? That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard! Face reality, Trinzet: I'm not your damn property, and I never was! Holly-"
"Don't say that name!"
"-Beat you to the "goal" because, unlike either you or Esperia, she didn't begin the race a thousand miles behind the starting line! As crazy as it sounds, even a girl that shows up at the last minute can take the prize when her rivals can't figure out the name of the game!" Tesla smacked a fist against the door with a snarl. "Open this door. Every able-bodied soldier is needed to preserve all our lives; the Lioness of Rodannes, Warlord of the Eastern Front, more than qualifies."
