On an abandoned field somewhere in the far outskirts of the Capital, a team of engineering graduates was readying a model dirigible. 'Model' was a relative term - the 1:6 scale thing was still rather enormous. A small spectator podium had been set up about 50 meters to the side. Currently, it held an assortment of the team's friends, family, and miscellaneous gawkers. Most of them looked rather miserable, in the steadily-intensifying rain.
The team's professor translocated back onto the podium, bearing a large roll of tarp between their left arms. With a well-aimed throw and four 'shots' from their lower-right arm's integrated autohammer, they deftly gave the podium an improvised roof.
transplenishing autotacks: 16/16 ✓
Hardly acknowledging the murmur of gratitude from the stands, they took off again. They'd long since enchanted their scarf to be waterproof, so they cared little for the rain. After a few seconds of magical upwards momentum, they nullified their weight, continuing to hang in the air. Up there, it was easy for the thought to creep in that entirely non-magical flight was a rather pointless endeavor. Still, it's an essential part of optimizing magitech hybrid methods. Perhaps next semester I'll organize a friendly competition between engineers and wizards...
!! aberrant leyline pulse [sub-km] !!
City's sake! Again?! They thought, momentarily freezing up. Unexplained magical events without any evident cause or immediately visible effect had seemingly been following them for the past year. The frequency had increased over time, from 'once a month' to 'basically whenever they left the Spire'. There must be a pattern! Init pulse analysis (t - 1y). Surely, this incident will reveal a pattern...
re-analysis returns random geodistribution [99.6% confidence] | alternate explanation available
It was never good when their better half deigned to announce information instead of just giving it to them. The implication was always: this is bad for me to know. Am I truly sure I want to internalize it?
The Architect assumed an aerial position directly above the model. Query alternate? They had an excellent view from here, and any adverse reaction they might have to the information would be easy to conceal from the ant-like figures milling about on the ground.
hypothesis: centered on [subject:Architect]
The paranoia of the past years returned to them threefold, taking physical form in their arcane reactor, radiating outwards like heat. As heat. Suddenly, everything fit together: their Spire's barely-significant, but still worrying uptick in unexplained proximity alerts. These pulses, evidence of unverifiable magic use nearby.
firing contingency 0...
Someone or something was tracking them; circling them like a bird of prey. Ready to make them pay for how woefully unprepared they were, having spent the past two hours outside of their Spire. What have I done?! I can't die here! Who will--
Countermeasures are available. You cannot become the attrition-victim of a self-imposed siege. You are more than prepared. Do not consign yourself to failure. Remain calm, remain aware, remain present. The City is proximate.
Calm. Aware. Present. They echoed themself. A reassuring green overlay augmented their vision, highlighting points of interest. The podium. The pulse (or its direction, at least). The aircraft. All threat vectors were contained below them, but their exocortex was keeping an eye out in the other directions just in case.
A paramilitary mage was watching them from the stands. 'Guarded'. Relatively new, esoteric paramilitary. Unknown quantity; known threat vector. The pulse-direction was still empty. Unknown quantity. Magical - accounted for by countermeasures. The City is proximate. A magpie was landing on the aircraft. Hm? I don't have time to worry about a bird stealing whatever loose screws--
!! conditions mismatch !!
The rain! It was too intense, by now, for all but the most confused or desperate of birds to hazard such a seemingly pointless flight. More importantly, perhaps, the droplets weren't quite hitting the bird like they should be impacting feathers. The 'magpie' began a new trajectory.
Straight for one of the grad students. For 0.4 seconds, the Architect waited.
trajectory confirmed
After 1.3 seconds, the Architect had translocated themself between the bird and the student. Within 1.6 seconds, they were holding it by the neck. Looking it in its beady little eyes. For a delirious moment, they still feared they'd let their paranoia get the better of them.
"Fffffffsquawk?!" It hissed, without opening its beak. The illusion broke, and they finally saw it for what it truly was: a decidedly non-avian (perhaps non-animal), but nonetheless exactly bird-shaped... creature?
Suddenly, it flowed from their grasp like fine sand. As this was not something they knew the average bird to be capable of, it had the element of surprise on its side. In an instant, it had flowed completely and entirely underneath the model dirigible's basket.
"Um." One of the engineers nervously spoke up. "Professor... did you just liquefy a bird?"
"The fuck kind of bird hisses?" His colleague, whom it had been flying towards, retorted. "Sounded like a deflating balloon. Made of, like, mineral fiber."
"Let's evacuate from the bird-entity in an orderly fashion." The Architect tersely proposed. "Retreat to the podium. I will remain between you and the project." Their exorig began sigiling, readying a spell to attempt to contain the 'bird-entity'.
The engineers glanced at each other, hesitating for a moment. A third one, jumping down from a scaffold, began to ask: "But professor, what if--"
"If it explodes your project, you'll get full credit!" They snapped, eye-apertures fixating the offender in disbelief. "Get out of here!"
The wide-eyed students finally complied, taking off towards the podium just below a full sprint.
!! aberrant leyline pulse [sub-10m] !!
Well, shit. It's probably gone, then. Never mind... for optics and safety both, I'll proceed like it's still there. Init analysis [subject:bird-entity]. As they continued, a grey fog seemed to form and intensify around the model dirigible.
Behind themself, the Architect sensed the Guarded mage approaching. A spectator. Great...
"Paladin Cortez, Guarded." Sie calmly announced hirself, seeming to care as little about the rain as the automaton did. "What happened here? The other eyewitnesses gave, hm, conflicting reports."
preliminary result: subject = shadowfiend [7X% confidence] | assessing motives...
The automaton shifted to the more stilted, mechanical tone of voice they employed when dealing with people they didn't know. "I noticed that bird - rather, bird-shaped entity - behaving unusually. I moved to intercept it, and it shape-shifted to elude me. I am currently attempting to confine it to the local geometry, in so far as it has not yet fled entirely."
Fortuna squinted at the blimp. It was getting quite difficult to see. "Hm. Your methods are as unusual as I've heard." Sie closed hir eyes, bidding hir guardian to divine their synthetic body. It soon whispered the result back at her: Nothing. It was as if it hadn't reached them at all.
div attempt logged 3:96:16 | metareal entity [non-Shade; channeled]
"Please refrain from attempting to divine me. Your entity may interfere with my attempts to track what could very well have been a shadowfiend." The Architect said, careful to keep their voice level. For their part, they had switched to scanning the area around the model. It was beginning to look like they had been correct to associate the leyline pulse with the bird-entity.
"My guardian angel should be easy to distinguish from a base shadowfiend for an accomplished..." Sie paused for a moment to find a better descriptor than the entirely-generic 'mage' for the automaton, settling on: "...arcanist such as yourself."
motive [subject:Cortez]? | frame: casual inquiry
"If you say so." The Architect non-commitally agreed. "I've seen you around the College, paladin Cortez... usually keeping an eye on students of magic, no? What brings you to this engineering demonstration?"
"I'm here as part of an investigation." Sie answered, quickly correcting hirself: "That is, I'm not at liberty to say."
preliminary hypothesis: investigating leyline pulses and/or [subject:Architect]
And/or?! So they... they really have been occurring exclusively around me? They thought, momentarily relapsing into a state of fear. The grey area in front of them distorted imperceptibly. Calm. Eternity is near. Aware. Query social?
mention pulses | frame: mild (!) concern
Present. "I see. I... have noticed an increasing frequency of unusual leyline activity near my person, as of late." The Architect said, intently watching for any reaction from Cortez.
"Noted." Sie simply said. Insinuating they've nothing to do with it? Noted, indeed. Fortuna blinked.
div-image [location:model] returns 0 abnormalities
When sie opened hir eyes again, the grey phenomenon around the blimp was gone. Sie opened them wider. Something is off about this entire city, and the Architect is always at the epicenter of it.
Nothing... how unsatisfying. They thought, of both the paladin's (lack of) reaction and the result of their divinations. A tiny puff of coolant mist sprayed out of the Architect's exorig as its arms returned to their side. "Regardless, the entity I spotted here is no longer present."
"Hm. My angel concurs. I'll tell your students." Fortuna nodded, turning around.
"No need." The Architect hastily said, striding ahead of the paladin with their stilt-like legs. "I'm putting this demonstration on hold, for now, considering both the unfortunate weather and this... occurrence."
It was another grey morning in the Capital. The sun had only appeared a few minutes ago, and Fortuna stood before the Vigil's offices. Waiting. Hard to believe this used to be the governor's residence. Might as well have been a keep. It's definitely the Vigil's, now...
Fargrave rounded the corner, idly chatting to one of the Vigil's administrative staff on his way to work. "...not unusual for the time of year, considering the smog. But - you've read the report, I'm sure - inside that building, it was absolutely pitch--"
"Captain." Fortuna said, giving him a curt nod. Sie had been slightly too far away to start speaking, ordinarily, but didn't want to give the impression sie'd been eavesdropping.
The Vigilant motioned for his colleague to go on ahead and unlock the building. "Ah, paladin Cortez." He took a step back to look at the chronometer on the building's façade. "You've a bad habit of making me feel like I'm late. Go ahead and wait in the foyer; I'll be with you for our meeting in, hm, 20 minutes. As we'd scheduled."
Sie didn't move out of his way. "Do you really need to spend the next pentième shuffling papers around? We've important matters to discuss."
Hmph. Easy to say when your paramilitary consists of a couple dozen mages whose minds are always halfway in some... 'higher' realm. Then again, that frown of hirs is about to create another glacier in front of our office. Maybe it is important? Fargrave mused. With a sigh, he finally conceded: "Very well then, let's have it. 'Shuffle' along after me..."
Sie followed behind him, wordlessly, each steel-toed footfall resonating through the old building's floorboards. As the two of them neared the Captain's office, sie asked: "Is your office warded against divinations?"
He rolled his eyes at the key as he unlocked and opened his door. "Yes, of course. All of our buildings are. And this one in particular."
"Methodology?" Sie insisted, following him through. An open window. Typical! At least the leaded blinds are drawn... Hir guardian angel began its own process of divining the room.
"Confidential." He replied, equally concise. Following hir gaze, he reluctantly pushed the heavy window shut. What's sie worried about? Sie knows we've got lead, locks, ciphers, our obfuscation protocols, and most importantly--
Fortuna cut his thoughts short with a determined slam of the door. "You rely too much on your pet lich's unsightly lightning rod."
Fargrave was used to people from other cities voicing such suspicions by now; especially if they were fellow soldiers. It was a good habit: the Architect was only trustworthy with the ultimately rather meaningless qualifier 'for a lich'. But these Guarded really give me migraines like nobody else can. I thought it was just because they cycled through postings so frequently, but Cortez takes the cake. Sie's been here for years, and still...
He slowly shook his head. "You're an idealist at best if you still think we could, let alone should, simply kick their door down and force their compliance. For better or for worse, the Architect has entwined themself with this city - its roads, its College, its telephone connections. Like--"
"Like a cancer." Fortuna interrupted. Sie noticed how heavy and stale the air in the office felt, already. I suppose I see the merits of the window. I can tell this building wasn't originally made to accommodate living beings...
"Not really. More like a parasitic vine." Fargrave said, shrugging. "But we're a few centuries late to uproot them - they're a load-bearing parasitic vine, now. With a vested interest in keeping their host alive."
"Your Vigil has grown bloated and confused after years of armistice, Captain." Sie coldly stated. Sie'd been about to continue to hir point when Fargrave snapped.
"Your Guarded, on the other hand, are determined as ever to be useful to no one at all!" He began, then bit his tongue. "Listen. Listen! We're doing what we can, but recruitment here in the Capital hasn't been very fruitful. Disillusioned working folk looking for a free coat, gun, and name change, without even the misdirected enthusiasm for putting undead to the pyre you get in rural areas. You've attended the Assembly before, no?"
Fortuna nodded. Sie kept her thoughts on it to hirself, for now.
"A bunch of veterans, old before their time and afraid that history is passing them by, punching down at whatever shadow of a shadow of undead reaction they imagine is alive among the 'civilistes'." He swallowed. "Good people who ended up in precisely the wrong place. Good people who have strived all their lives to be irreplaceable."
"Of course." Sie replied, mostly genuine. Where is he going with this? Perhaps he's just fatigued.
"Just something to keep in mind." He heaved a massive, bitter sigh. "I'm sorry. I'm just not used to open criticism, anymore. I'm sure you'd been just about to say something constructive..."
"Indeed." Sie said. "All I was getting at is that the Vigil has painted itself a rosy picture of the Architect, based on nothing but the lich's own disclosures and a few ducal-era documents of uncertain providence, at best."
"With all due respect: what else is there to know?" Fargrave asked, still somewhat testily. As soon as sie's gone, I'm opening the window back up. "They've got a transfiguration engine and a bunch of other experimental magitech stuff. Lots of it, judging by the growing interference."
"There are lines of investigation we've yet to explore... so much we don't yet know." Sie answered. "For instance: their army of servitors and its ill-defined set of duties."
"Maintenance. That's what those things do, in a word." Fargrave realized he was still leaning on his desk instead of sitting behind it. He grabbed a folder he'd readied for the good paladin yesterday, handing it to hir before taking his seat. "I figured this would ultimately be about the Architect. Here's all we know about them... minus a scant few redactions."
"How... forthcoming." Sie said, leafing through the dossier. "This will save us some time. As for my most burning question: what do their servitors do with the deceased?"
For a moment, he considered joking that they must be raising an army of the undead in their basement, but considering his audience, he thought better of it. "Fertilizer." He finally answered, nonchalantly. "Unless expressly requested otherwise. A... utilitarian holdover of aviticratic policy for 'unclaimed' corpses, but it's... no worse than other forms of burial, I suppose."
Fortuna gave the dossier a skeptical look. "And you believe them?"
"Again: kicking their door down isn't an option." He said. "I understand your concerns all too well - most of my comrades share them, too. And if the Architect was selling us pork sausages, I'd be suspicious, too. But as it stands... The farms surrounding the Capital get a steady supply of free fertilizer, delivered in strange, compostable grey canisters." He shrugged. "For whatever that's worth."
Sie rubbed hir temples for a moment, then stood up to leave. "I suppose that'll have to do. Thank you, Captain, for being so forthcoming."
"No problem." He lied, likewise getting out of the chair he'd just sat down in again. "If you've got any more questions regarding our dossier, well, you've got the office's telephone key."
Already in the door, Fortuna stopped. Sie had one more question. "How... how do you cope, having such an enigma at the heart of your city?"
He smiled at her through his headache, opening the window wide. This side of town, past the Collegiate district, was un-smoggy enough that he considered the gust that came in 'fresh air'. "The Architect? They're not an enigma. I grew up here, and they've always struck me as a hermit at heart - albeit one who seems to have given themself the unfortunate mission of maintaining and improving a metropolis."
"You're projecting." Cortez objected. "They're an unliving, unfeeling machine."
A gentle breeze came in through the window, rustling some papers. Fargrave put his hand over them. "Unliving, sure, but unfeeling? That's always struck me as a façade." He fidgeted with the papers a bit. "Not sure what's going on in their... whatever they have instead of a brain. But it's not all blueprints and sigils, I'll tell you that. Can't be."
Sie raised an eyebrow. "How would you know? Not even my guardian angel could divine any of their inner workings."
Cast first, ask questions later. Sie's more like the Architect than sie'd like to believe. He shook his head. "Well, have you ever talked to them?"
Sie hesitated. "In... passing."
"Then you shouldn't need magic to know." He answered. "If you'd just been a bit more vigilant, that is. If you see them again: watch their eyes."
Sie rolled hir own eyes at the Vigilant's joke. "I find those glowing apertures of theirs uncanny, but... I'll try, I suppose. Thanks again." Fortuna briefly waved over hir shoulder as sie left.
Fargrave audibly exhaled as soon as the door closed behind hir. Knowing you're being watched by some metareal entity doesn't feel great. Not even if it's a so-called 'guardian angel'. But I suppose if it was on our side during Renewal...
Something ocurred to him. Something which made him feel significantly less comfortable about having given Fortuna access to a dossier from the Vigil's archives. I don't think I actually ever fought alongside any Guarded. Not that I knew of, anyway...
The tack-tack-tack of a somewhat older, hand-cranked sewing machine filled the air. A familiar thought popped into Destra's head as they worked: Man, why doesn't everyone give themselves a third arm? At least every ghoul. Guess it's a bit pricey for most of us...
They stopped cranking the refurbished machine and examined their work so far. Sheesh. I'm doing my best, but... No wonder Rax is so angry all the time, if she's been wearing the same worn-down arming clothes for centuries!
The only remotely intact part of the threadbare padded under-armor - before they'd started mending it - had been the interconnected chrome bands dispersed throughout the whole thing. Awful to work around, that 'exoskeleton' of hers. Weird metal. What would've been wrong with leather?
Getting the Reaper out of her armor in the first place had been like pulling teeth from a starving shark. Destra had only managed it by trading favors with some quiet firewysp: a wardrobe full of fireproof clothes for a bathroom full of enchanted plumbing. Rachise's mansion-fortress was now proudly the only place in town with warm, running water.
Town? Yeah, I guess it is, isn't it? Destra thought, with a touch of pride. They'd done all they could, in the past few years, to make the new demesne a more interesting place, keeping their feelers out for anyone who seemed like they could keep their head down and earn their keep. Some of the people who'd moved in were vaguely familiar faces from the last one, but it turned out there were actually quite a lot of Verroise undead who'd wanted to stay in the area without submitting to mortal rule. Not to mention all the deserters and other outcasts.
It had become a lively little place. Most importantly, having so many people acknowledging it as her demesne was accelerating Rachise's recovery a great deal. She probably wasn't quite as powerful as she used to be, but she was (un)alive and... Destra hesitated to think of her as 'well'. To them, it seemed like she'd never really bounced back from losing her old demesne.
Depression aside, she was starting to get bored, too. And boredom, Destra well knew, made their friend behave ten times more erratically than usual. Sending poor little Shadetail to spy on the most paranoid wizard this side of... Shit, I don't know. Might as well be all of Reality! Nothing good'll come of it. Destra finished up the pants, tossing them in the little basket of clothes she'd bring to her friend's place later. They stretched out all their arms. Ah, but who am I compared to the great and powerful Reaper of Reality? Just a simple little seamstress-hairdresser-physician-electrician.
A booming voice intruded upon their thoughts. Are you done with those clothes yet? Bring them to
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They concentrated on not perceiving most of the content of her telepathic message, so as to not fall prey to the magical suggestions embedded within. Yeah, I'm done, but - for the last time! - learn a different fucking telepathy spell, Rax! You know I don't have any defenses against your stupid magic, save 'just don't listen'.
Never! She answered, thinking of a way to phrase her request without explicitly including a command. But fine. I'd appreciate if you could come over soon.
Hey, that's the closest thing to 'please' I've ever heard you say! Maybe this spell isn't so bad, after all. They thought back, smiling to themself as they stuffed a few towels in the basket and got ready to leave.
Tch! Why don't you go and
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Resolving to not listen to Rachise anymore until they could physically hear her, Destra went to the front of their workshop, flipping the sign under 'THE DOCTOR/TAILOR/WHATEVER IS:' from 'IN' to 'OUT'. Shame the old mannequins in this place disintegrated the moment I touched them. It's really hard to dispel the aura of shabbiness from your shop when you've got to diplay your stuff on filed-down meathooks...
It wasn't a long way to the Reaper's place. Not in terms of distance, anyway. They began meandering their way up the little hill in the middle of the demesne, occassionally stopping to chat with an acquaintance.
Ophelia found them at a little butchery, sampling a small pile of offal. The nekophidia pawed at their skirt, momentarily getting distracted by the surprisingly heavy ripples she'd sent through the long, leathery garment. "Diz! Hey."
Destra looked down. Though the little familiar had grown quite long, she still barely reached up to their thigh even while standing up on her coils. They reached down to give her a scritch. "Aw, hey 'Phelia. What's up?"
She puffed up her downy chest and cleared her throat. "Ekh-hem. My pactbinder would cordially like to inform you that: 'Tell Dessstra to hurry the fuck up the water is getting really cold also I could use help getting out I'm afraid if I try autotelekinesis again I'll get water literally everywhere don't say that last part out loud especially not in public.'"
Destra and the butcher (a fellow ghoul) both chuckled. "See, that's what happens when you're always acting like everything's super urgent: no one takes you seriously when something actually needs to get done quickly." They licked the claws on their offal-covered hand, telling the butcher: "I'll take a jar or three once you've jellied this batch, yeah. Leave it on my porch whenever."
He gave them a thumbs-up and got back to mincing... something.
Gesturing between the meat and Ophelia, they asked: "You want some too?"
Her feliform face scrunched up into what had to be the most disgusted expression they'd ever seen on man or beast. "Ewww! The only thing I like raw is eggs."
"Sheesh! How'd you get so spoiled?" Destra shook her head as she began walking again with renewed purpose.
"Hey, you-- Wait!" Ophelia shouted, quickly slithering into their path. Wet eyes widening dramatically, she asked: "Um, could you carry me back? Pleaaase? I'm sssooo tired..."
"I guess that answers my question. Oh, fine, you little snake." They held their clothes-filled basket out for the familiar to jump onto. She purred into their chest, tongue flitting about happily.
Destra winced. "You're not as light as you used to be, you know? Time to go scarf mode, you fluffed up wet sack of rice."
Ophelia complied, draping herself over the ghoul's shoulders. The two of them made their way up the hill, talking a bit about what they'd like to do in the near future ('become a powerful sorceress like Rachissse' and 'get electricity into this dump', respectively).
A few minutes later, Destra pushed the front door open and took the stairs up to the landing, then headed right towards the bathroom. They knocked.
"Finally! Come in." Rachise shouted. As much as it pained her to rely on anyone, it was a small indignity compared to that of failing to exit a bathtub.
As they entered, Destra saw there was a decent bit of water already splashed all around the old claw-footed tub. She must've tried on her own. Figures. They handed Ophelia a towel. "You're on mop duty. Hey, don't look at me like that! Unless you think you'd do a better job than me of lifting your venerable pactbinder."
The nekophidia gave a deflated hiss and began doing her best to dry off the floor. One day! One day I'll be big enough...
"Don't you sarcastically call me venerable! I'm 110% dignified 99% of the time." Rachise protested, carefully turning her back on her friend to allow them to stabilize her exit out of the water.
Destra rolled their eyes, dropping another towel on top of the wet vampire's head. "Yeah, yeah. C'mon, Miss Rubber Bones; let's get you back into your exoskeleton."
She sighed, limply moving the towel out of her face and onto her neck. "Couldn't you have picked 'blacksmith' as your next thing instead of fucking... 'electrician'? It'd be really convenient to have an actual exoskeleton instead of just the few rings and splints in my arming clothes."
"Nope, sorry. Call of the wires. You know how it is." They replied, shrugging. They carefully took hold of Rachise underneath her wings. One of them hit the ghoul in the face. "Hey! I'm going to lift you without a countdown, now."
With a mighty heave, they got Rachise into a standing position, despite the fact that she'd slapped them with her tail on the way up for good measure. Due to her hooves and horns, she wasn't that much less tall than the lanky ghoul - and she was easily twice as wide.
She put an arm around her friend and very, very carefully exited the tub. Her malleable, Shade-warped internals made moving around without either her armor or her full, magical concentration a horrid ordeal. I feel like a squid with too few legs. Eurgh...
Wet as she was, her smooth, purplish-grey skin made her look a bit molluscoid, too. With a thought and a cautious (but still floppy) sigil, she formed the air around herself into a gust, which blew most of the excess moisture off of her.
Aside from a few bits of keratin and cartilage (and Destra, of course) her muscles were the only thing keeping her upright right now. That's one perk of undeath, I suppose. Imagine how much a mortal would have to exercise, after lying in a coffin for... Martyr's blood, the better part of a decade!
Still, undead or no, she shuddered to think what would happen to her body if she had to move demesnes again any time soon. As much as she loathed her current location, it was the only thing keeping her from being completely reliant on her armor. The cold war between the R.A. and the Coalition seemed poised to reignite at any moment, however. Even if her demesne were to go undiscovered during a proper siege on Verredam - which was one hell of an if - victory for either side could be disastrous for her.
"--chise. Rax!" Destra's voice snapped her out of her gloom. "You've been sitting on the edge of that tub, staring like your brain slipped back out into the water. You good?"
"What? I-- Tch. Whatever!" She waved their comment away. "Just help me stand." Rachise managed to get dressed, eventually, with just a bit more help from the smirking ghoul. Her movements already felt much surer in her newly-mended arming clothes. She stretched mightily, like a very large, mostly hairless cat. Ophelia happily mimicked her.
Afterwards, she levitated her armor over to herself, bit by bit, and began fastening it. It looked automatic, the way each piece of her panoply, right down to the snake-like arming cords, embraced her body. In reality, despite how rarely she actually took off her armor, it was simply one of her most practiced spells.
"Well? How do you feel?" Destra asked, amicably slapping a pauldron.
For all the movement this induced in the Reaper, they might as well have slapped a rock. "Hm. Still terrible, compared to ten years ago." She flexed her gauntleted fingers, glad that they were once again incapable of bending backwards. "But compared to when we first arrived at this accursed place? Pretty damn good."
She looked at Destra. It was another blessing of undeath, she thought, that her eyes didn't water easily. "You've done so much for me. For this place..."
"All out of pure self-interest, of course." They replied with a wink. "It'd be awfully boring around here, without you. Might've had to move to Verredam, too, after what happened with my, uh, last employer..."
She crossed her arms. "I'm not your 'employer'. And it wasn't your fault! You're not a formally trained chirurgeon; of course brain surgery on some aviticrat's mortal bastard wasn't going to go well."
"Yeah! I'm sure even the best chhhirurgeon gets a little hungry during an operation, sometimes." Ophelia chimed in, nodding vigorously.
"Oof. You're raising one sarcastic familiar, Rax." Destra said, biting their tongue to stop themself from cracking up.
She hand-waved their comment. "She gets it from you, you know! You've taken care of her more than me."
They broke out into a wide, toothy grin. "Oh, yeah."
After a moment of indecision, Rachise awkwardly moved to hug them.
Destra took a step back, putting all three of their hands between the two of them. "Woah there, pal. Your jagged-ass plates into this genuine silk blouse? Not on my watch." Before Rachise could look too disappointed, they lunged down into their basket one more time, pulling out a long, heavy leather coat. "Here, put this on over your armor."
"But--" She began.
"No 'but'! I know you think your armor..." They pitched up their raspy voice into a fairly bad Rachise impression. "...'could hardly be improved upon by a deity, let alone a lesser being', but at least see how it looks, eh? A lot of good leather went in there."
"Oh, fine. For your sake." She said, vehemently snatching the coat. Though she'd expected to struggly slightly to get it on, it fit over her armor surprisingly well. So that's why they wanted my armor's measurements. Still sceptical, she conjured an illusory not-mirror in front of her (another oft-practiced spell).
The coat went halfway down her legs, elegantly continuing the line made by the hip-plates of her cuirass. Its sleeves ended snugly at the vambraces, and its high collar similarly formed a well-thought out whole with her armor's bevor, regardless of what height she raised it to. Perhaps most importantly, the weighty coat felt like an added layer of protection, while leaving the most ornate parts of her armor on display.
"Well? What do you think?" They asked, expectantly. I guess if she doesn't like it, I can still pull the threads out and cut it up into jerky. Black dye's one of the more agreeable ones...
She quickly dispelled the not-mirror. A single tear rolled down her cheek - safely out of Destra's sight - and she turned around quickly, pressing her face into their gaunt cheek. Rachise wasn't short, by any means, but that was still about as far as she could make it, even with the extra decimeter her sabatons gave her.
Very faintly, under layers of cloth, leather and steel, she felt their arms wrap around her, in turn.
"Nyawww!" Ophelia cooed, coiling up her pactbinder's leg and under her new jacket. "I'm really glad you're still friends..."
Destra snickered into Rachise's wet hair. "Yeah, else you'd have to lift your dear, boneless pactbinder up out the tub yours-- Ow!"