"You don't really need to find out what's goin' on.
You don't really wanna know just how far it's gone."

(Arc 1 "Dirty Laundry", Chapter 1/3)

Everyone has to pay the bills somehow.

"My name is Valleri Crowes. Um, hi. I'm the prime suspect in an international triple-murder case. Oh, not guilty, by the way."

With her insane bail paid off, Valleri was freed from the White Palace, no longer confined to its monochrome walls. And by that, she meant she got kicked out. After all the chaos and stress of those past few days, Valleri was back to square one: trying to find a place to sleep.

No matter what cloaks or disguises she used, Valleri could feel the eyes of the street guards on her at every corner. Sometimes, she could've sworn she saw raindrops sliding down windows the wrong way, or heard splashes from within empty storm drains. The whole kingdom was watching her every move, wary that she might decide to go on another killing spree or something.

So obviously, her usual "pickpocketing to keep herself from dying" strategy wasn't going to work anymore. She was basically on probation for right now. If she wanted to live long enough to see her own court date, Valleri needed a new, legitimate way of making bank.

Well, "legitimate" is questionable. But she had to admit, it felt nice to be self-employed.

Right now, Valleri was sitting in the back room of a small club, empty save for her and one other person that sat across from her. The warm lights and muffled music from the other room felt numb to her as she stared out of the window, watching raindrops train down the glass in the City of Tears. She swirled her drink in front of her, some fancy non-alcoholic punch. She wasn't sure what flavor. It was green.

On the table, a newspaper (made of a smooth, taut parchment that was suspiciously difficult to tear - something about spider silk?) was folded up neatly, the headline facing up. She still couldn't read Hallownestian very well, but she already knew what it said.

MADMAN ROBS BROTHEL, CRIME BOSS TARGETED. Oh, good times.

The scribbling of a quill on parchment across from her pulled Valleri out of her distracted daydreams. Oh, right, she was here for a reason. The reporter across from her had actually invited her here as repayment for a favor.

It didn't feel like a favor; she was actually dreading this conversation. But… she needed to get her story out. Even if nobody understood. (Not to mention that publicity, good or bad, was important for any business to survive.)

Emilita, the reporter-turned-noblewoman, jotted down some notes. "...Not… Guilty…" she mouthed the words as she wrote them. Smiling, she looked back up to Valleri. "So! Do you mind if I open by asking you a few questions?"

"Uh, can I ask one first?" Valleri said. Feeling her mouth dry up, she took a sip from her drink. Some weird blend between sour blueberries and butterscotch; this wasn't alcoholic, right? This ensuing conversation wasn't really the type to have over booze. "Why are we here, again?"

"Well, we needed somewhere quiet, so we aren't interrupted," Emilita explained. "Besides, this is a fancy club, usually reserved for the upper echelons of society. I thought I should treat you to something nice, as thanks for your help!"

Your help.

She may have chosen to walk this path of her own free will, but she still found herself dreading those words. You see, people didn't go to her when they needed someone to watch their grubs or to unclog their drain pipes.

Valleri had a specialty.

"So!" Emilita explained, much too happy about this. "What should I put down for your title? Something eye-catching. 'Suspect' doesn't paint a good image of you."

Valleri took another sip of her drink, letting a cool exhale escape her lips that fogged up the glass window.

"Valleri Crowes… Bounty Hunter."

Three days earlier…

It was probably the first time Valleri had been requested to do something by the White Palace. Requested, not demanded like usual.

Queen Herrah had already paid off her five million jail bond (God, she'd never be able to pay her back. Even taking care of Hornet didn't seem like enough), so she wasn't getting pushed around as a prisoner anymore. But after she was let go, the first thing she felt was disoriented, with no idea where to go or what to do.

Being released was the only good part about going to jail, but there was nobody waiting to pick her up, no possessions to return, nowhere to go home to.

She loitered awkwardly outside of the Palace for a few hours, just far enough away that nobody could justifiably shoo her out. She felt stupid, just sitting around and watching people come and go like an idiot. Eventually, some semblance of nighttime would arrive, the foot traffic would thin out into nothing, and Valleri would be homeless again.

(It occurred to her - did Herrah think about this at all? Did she mistakenly think that she could stay in the Palace after being released? How was she supposed to babysit Hornet while she was living on the streets?)

When one of the guards approached her, she thought she was finally getting kicked out of the Palace grounds. Sent back to sleep on the streets.

Instead, she was asked for by name.

Perhaps he ought to give it a once-over.

Lateralus sat at his desk, closing his eyes with a sigh. He'd taken a keen interest in Valleri's weapon, however, he had not gotten the chance to examine it for himself until now. He'd been swamped with the Kingsday preparations (and reparations, after Valleri's… episode), but now he had a quick moment of free time to Focus.

The Pale King of Hallownest opened his eyes, and let them gaze at the so-called "gun" on his table. He reached out, picking it up and feeling its weight. It was surprisingly heavy, for being a relatively small weapon.

He furrowed his brow. As soon as his claws grazed over its cool metal, he understood that it was a .375 Magnum Colt Python revolver. It was manufactured in Hartford, Connecticut in 1979, and was previously distributed to an ex-military man at a gun show in Carson City, Nevada in 1981. That man later died to his own gun.

The Pale King wasn't a firearm expert, of course. He'd never seen anything like this before in his eons-long life. It was just a part of his Wyrm heritage, was all.

He concentrated a bit harder. The gun had been fired only a handful of times since it fell into the hands of its previous owner. Carefully opening the cylinder, he let his claws run along every brass shell, feeling every little groove in the metal.

A bright city crosswalk… an alleyway in the City of Tears… inside of a church… inside of an attic. The last two were unfired. Damn; the bullet casings must've been replaced with newer ones. There was nothing to glean here regarding Valleri's case.

Valleri. He set the gun down, rubbing his temples as he felt a headache come on just at the thought of her. Right about now, she was pacing aimlessly outside of his castle grounds, her expression conflicted. Lateralus could see her pick up a small stone and toss it at a wall, even though there were several stories of rock between her and the Pale King.

He could feel a retainer would be walking into his office in 17.8 seconds, so he stood up, placed the gun inside of a small case, securing it for transport.

Speaking of Valleri, the one thing about her episode on Kingsday that he hadn't been able to wrap his head around was Princess Hornet's apparent kidnapper. The fact that one of his own royal retainers had betrayed him to commit such a deplorable act infuriated him to no end. But why? And what did Lady Isma's reports of an "orange bloated monster" actually mean?

Was it… No, it couldn't be. He'd dealt with that long, long ago.

As the retainer walked into his office, startled to see him expecting them by the door, he shook his head free of these thoughts and handed them the case. "Please see this delivered to the Teacher's Archives among the other artifacts," he said.

And as an afterthought, "And see Valleri escorted there as well."

"Uhh… That's a TV."

So this was what they wanted her for.

"And that's a… rusty old hub cap."

Did she really have time for this shit?

"Is that… That's some kind of car part. A muffler? I dunno. No, it's broken."

One of the Archive scholars held the rusty piece of junk closer to her face, as if she'd be able to fucking smell out what it was for. She was basically a wild animal to these people. "But what does it do?" he asked.

Valleri held her hands up, stepping back. This had been going on for hours now. "I don't even know what it's- Look, can we take a break? I'm getting a headache from all the questions."

She'd been escorted by armed guards to a drugged-up wonderland with flying fucking jellyfish and giant bubbles. Now she was in a giant library, filled with acid, identifying a bunch of old human junk. She'd had a long day.

Apparently, a ton of human crap (herself included, she thought cynically) was winding up in Hallownest for some reason, and so far, none of the bug scholars could make heads or tails of it. They called them "artifacts". But now that they had an actual human here, they didn't have to do any more studies or break any more shit apart, 'cause they could just ask the local expert.

At least, that was the plan. They didn't count on Valleri not knowing every little goddamn detail of human society.

One of the older scholars scoffed. "She does not even understand the makings of her own people? Bah, learning anything from this child is futile."

Valleri scowled. "Hey! I'm not a 'child', you old prick!" She reflexively raised a fist, but it was caught at the last second by someone standing behind her.

Valleri tensed up, turning to face the Teacher's Assistant with a guilty look on her face. The blue pillbug gave her a stern, yet pleading expression, before he silently let go of her wrist, tugging her along as he pulled on his hood.

"P-Perhaps it's nigh time for that break," he said.

Valleri sighed, pissed at everyone in the room, including herself for not watching her damn temper, and excluding Quirrel for watching it for her. (How the hell was anyone gonna believe she wasn't guilty when the slightest provocation would make her throw fists? God, she was hopeless.) That crowd of old scholars just didn't understand; at the end of the day, humanity was a chaotic mess. Not all good, not all bad, but so unbelievably diverse and complicated that you couldn't hope to pluck some rando off of the streets and expect them to be a walking fucking encyclopedia.

God, and she didn't even pass high school! Most of what she knew came either from experience or from reading random books and articles that she found scattered around or in libraries. She supposed libraries were usually pretty cool, giving out something to help pass the time for free, maybe learning something along the way. Maybe books went against her whole "rebellious punk" look, but she didn't give a shit.

Point is, she had thought that maybe a magical library from another world filled with acid and giant bugs would be cool; cooler than it had turned out to be. Half of the bugs were assholes.

She snapped out of her thoughts, realizing Quirrel had pulled her out of the main room and into a side hallway. It was quieter here, she could relax a little. Even if those old scholars were still talking shit about her in the other room, she didn't have to care about them.

"Uh, thanks," she stumbled over her words. "For, uh, getting me outta there."

Quirrel looked back at her for a moment, as if not expecting any praise, before he smiled. "A-Anytime!" He blinked, "Oh, actually, I'd wanted to show you something! Could you wait here for a few moments?"

And he ran off, leaving her in the hallway. Nobody else was around and she'd get lost if she tried leaving. What did he want to show her, anyway? More human trash? She pursed her lips, leaning up on a wall (after checking to make sure it wasn't another tank of acid) as she waited.

...Fuck, she was getting anxious now! She tapped her foot, biting her lip. She was never good at waiting like this; her time in the White Palace jails was a nightmare for her. She always felt like someone else was just wasting her time.

She looked to her side; on a small decorative table was a potted plant, deep green leaves growing off of it. It was probably just to look nice. There was a newspaper on the table as well, likely left behind by a forgetful scholar. Valleri grabbed it, looking at the headline.

She furrowed her brow in frustration when she couldn't read it. Crap, did she need to learn the whole language, too? Surviving in Hallownest was gonna be a nightmare.

That thought only made her more nervous. Looking around, she grabbed some of the leaves off of the plant and discreetly slid them into her mouth, chewing away. They tasted like some kind of tangy peppermint.

...Look, it was a dumb habit that she got when she was a kid! It was just something she did when she got nervous. Chewing on things appeased some primal instinct in her that probably originated from the cavemen, helping ease her tension.

"M-Miss Valleri?!"

She startled at Quirrel, who had reappeared with a horrified expression on his face. Valleri stopped chewing, some of the leaves half-sticking out of her mouth. He ran up to her, looking like he wanted to rip the leaves right out of her mouth but was too nervous to do so.

"T-T-That's Swanroot!" Quirrel cried. "Oh, Wyrm, you're probably feeling the symptoms already! Q-Quick, sit down here, I'll go call the medics-"

Valleri spat out the leaves, "Q-Quirrel, what?! I feel fine!"

The Teacher's Apprentice paused, looking up at her in confusion. "...I-I'm sorry?"

"What the hell is 'Swanroot'? I've been chewing on this stuff for about five minutes and I don't feel a thing!"

Quirrel stared at her for a beat, uncomprehending, before he looked almost baffled at her words. "S-Swanroot is the most powerful natural sedative known to Hallownest! Y-You should've fallen asleep within seconds!"

Valleri blinked. Seconds? "I… still feel fine, though?" She didn't feel sleepy at all. If anything, she was still a bundle of nervous energy from all the waiting Quirrel made her do, plus how she briefly panicked at his panic.

He furrowed his brow. "W-Well… maybe Swanroot doesn't have the same effect on humans…?"

So Swanroot was a powerful sedative to bugs, but didn't really do anything to her? Huh… Interesting.

Valleri shook her head, stuffing the leaves into her pocket while Quirrel was deep in thought. "Look, forget about it. I'm fine, alright? Now what was it you wanted to show me?" She tried to make her voice stern without coming off as rude or violent, hoping it would startle him into just doing what she asked without pressing the issue of the sedatives any further.

Quirrel perked up, nodding hastily and leading her along the hallways. Maybe she did need to see a doctor and her impatience was making her irresponsible, but what did it matter to her, anyway?

"Stop for just a moment," Emilita interjected. "You ate Swanroot at the Teacher's Archives? And you simply… walked it off?!" She fumbled over her own words for a moment, startled by this one odd detail.

"I just… chewed on it a little," Valleri mumbled, embarrassment flushing in her cheeks. Nervous habits were nervous habits, she couldn't control them! At least with the Swanroot, it had worked out pretty good for her in the end. "Look, I wouldn't be tellin' you this if it weren't important. It comes back later, trust me."

Emilita looked conflicted, as if she weren't sure if she could trust Valleri's account anymore. She huffed, either having decided to trust her, or having concluded that even a load of bullcrap would still make for an entertaining story. Maybe if Valleri poured out her heart and soul here, she might get a small section in the paper between an article about a serial animal abuser, and one about a crazy old hag still praying to some superstitious moth goddess or some stupid shit like that.

"Alright," Emilta sighed, resigning herself to seeing this through. She was a character in this story too, so she'd get to twist it up however she liked in the editing room anyway. "Any other fun tidbits you want to tell me about before we continue?"

Tell her about the vampire.

"Uh, not really," Valleri shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Okay, back where we left off…"

Holy fucking mother of shit, they actually fixed it?!

Quirrel was standing next to the motorcycle Valleri had sped through the City streets on just the other day, gesturing with flashy jazz hands as though he were a magician. "Ta-da!" he exclaimed, also like a magician.

Valleri ran her hands over the bike's faux-leather seat, genuinely shocked. She wasn't an engineer, but she was almost certain that getting a motor vehicle dunked in water was something you didn't come back from. Sure, it looked more like some kind of off-road motorcycle than anything fancy, so maybe it was made to be a bit more rugged. But still, it didn't seem to have even a scratch out of place, like she'd never gone on her frantic joyride at all.

She shook her head, afraid that blinking would make it disappear. She thumbed the rubber grip on the throttle, tempted to give it a whirl. "How'd you…?"

"We were quite anxious to test it out to understand its properties, but thanks to your… ahem," Quirrel coughed into his fist awkwardly, skipping that bit. "Thanks to you, we've managed to hazard a few guesses to its inner workings. We managed to cleanse its inner pipes of the canal water, thanks to Lady Isma's help."

Isma? Valleri almost blurted out. What does shehave to do with this? Wouldn't she want this thing gone?

A voice behind her seemed to read her thoughts, and considering who it was, she probably could. "Despite Artifact C-0086's involvement in such a major criminal case, it is still an artifact and must be preserved for the sake of science. Lady Isma understands that."

Valleri turned around, and stumbled over, falling on her ass. Towering above her in a massive tank of green acid was the titanic masked jellyfish known as Teacher Monomon.

There was something majestic in how she flowed, her tentacles and cloak (impossibly not dissolving in the acid) waving lazily as though in the wind. Even confined to a massive aquarium filled with burning acid, she still looked free, as though the glass wasn't even there. An environment as controlled as a giant test tube still looked like it had its own tides, the waves ebbing and flowing, the Teacher of the Archives flowing right alongside it in an easy dance.

"U-Uh, are you always in that big tank, or…?" Valleri was still having a hard time wrapping her head around… whatever the fuck Monomon was supposed to be.

"Oh, I can come out quite easily whenever I please," Monomon said. It occurred to Valleri that she wasn't exactly 'speaking' in the normal sense through the acid and glass; she could hear words in her head. "Given enough time to adjust to the air pressure, of course. I simply find it more comfortable in here, is all."

"R-Right…"

Monomon swirled in her tank, her pale mask eying the bike with keen interest. "Regardless, experimentation with this artifact has been limited in the past day or so, but so far, we are researching alternative acceptable fuels for it to use. As fascinating as the combustible fluid within is, it is apparent that it cannot be replicated by means available to Hallownest."

Valleri blinked, standing up as she eyed the bike like it might explode at any second because some clueless researchers filled it with some shit like bug napalm. "What, like, magic gas?"

"Gas? No, no, it was a liquid," Monomon said. "Though Soul energy does show the most promise as an alternative fuel, yes."

A Soul-powered motorcycle.

Valleri didn't know jack about Soul, but it was basically magic, which sounded badass. But after a moment of manic glee, she frowned. Well, it would be badass, if they ever let her drive the thing again…

Monomon leaned down in her tank, her massive form startling Valleri to see her mask so close to her own face. "Actually, Valleri, I'm quite curious about you as well."

Valleri blinked, backing up. "M-Me?!"

"Yes! You are clearly no bug, but nor are you beast, and I do not feel the aura of any kind of god rolling off of you…" (The way the analytical Teacher so casually mentioned 'god' like it was a fact of life unnerved her.) "Why, you are in a class of your own among Hallownest's species! You bear no chitin, your skin is soft and fleshy like a maggot's, but more of a pale-pinkish color than white. You wear no mask, bear no fangs nor claws… why, I don't know where to begin with you!"

Valleri felt like she was under a magnifying glass. The scientific analysis of her own body made her shuffle uncomfortably in place; she half expected the Teacher to ask her to strip on the spot. "Yeah? Well, is there anything about me you do understand?"

"Hm. Well, your hair, for one."

The fuck? Valleri ran a hand through her hair, cringing at the knots that tugged on her scalp. (Sleeping in the rain didn't count as a shower.) But of all the parts of her body, her hair was the last thing she expected to be recognized.

The Teacher chuckled, her soft laughter like electricity pulsing directly through Valleri's brain. "Surprised? Very few other bugs possess a full head of hair such as yours. It is very rare, but not unheard of in Hallownest, usually only seen on butterflies."

(Butterflies with hair? It was like Hallownest couldn't decide if it was a hellhole or Wonderland. She remembered Lady Godiva, the butterfly in the Soul Sanctum with electric blue hair; for all she knew, that was its natural color.)

Monomon continued. "It's something the Archive has studied in the past. In fact, a young celebrity visited us just a while ago, asking about the subject."

A celebrity? Valleri didn't realize medieval kingdoms had their own form of pop culture. It occurred to her that this was a very strange path for this conversation to be going, but she figured even the dumbest connections were still something she could use. "And who might that be?"

"Why, you're holding a paper about her right now, Miss Valleri!" Quirrel perked up, pointing to the newspaper that Valleri had kept clutched in her fist this whole time without thinking. It was the one she stole from the table with the Swanroot.

Unfolding it, she gave it a second glance. "I… still can't read this."

(It wasn't until much later that she found out what the headline was: SONGSTRESS MARISSA: DARK SECRETS?)

Monomon shifted in her tank. "Oh, are you unfamiliar with Hallownest Common?" At Valleri's blank stare, Monomon laughed. "I'll not let a soul leave these Archives without learning something new. If you wish for lessons, we would be glad to receive you at any time."

Valleri startled at the offer, blinking. "T-Thank you," she stammered. Even if the other scholars here were grouches, Teacher Monomon seemed too kind for her own good. "Uh, so who…?"

…

"You've never heard of Songstress Marissa?!"

"You hadn't heard of Songstress Marissa?!"

Valleri raised her hands placatingly as Emilita slammed the table hard enough to shake her drink. "Look, I'm an alien, alright? I had other priorities than looking up the latest fashion!"

Emilita seemed to consider this, before relaxing in her seat again. "That's… fair, I suppose. But most people would kill for the chance to be owed a favor from a wealthy celebrity like Marissa."

Valleri averted Emilita's gaze. She knew what was coming.

"If you were ignorant of her influence, then why did you still choose to help her? Even putting yourself in harm's way for a stranger?"

Valleri sighed, throwing her head back as she shrugged listlessly.

"I dunno. You, I guess."

Now, it was Emilita's turn to shy away, guilt creasing her brow.

The first thing Valleri noticed about Songstress Marissa was how drop-dead gorgeous she was. The second thing was the resigned scorn on her face.

"Oh. They mentioned you were coming."

Valleri stood awkwardly outside the door leading into Marissa's penthouse - a fucking penthouse in a kingdom like Hallownest! - holding a formal invitation with Teacher Monomon's signature on it. She felt like a grade schooler having to hand a tardy slip to a stern teacher.

"Um… hi."

The Songstress was nothing like how Quirrel's adoring ravings made her sound - she wasn't the image of perfect grace that Valleri was picturing. She was beautiful, sure, but she seemed bitter. Like her mom signed her up for choir without her knowledge, and things kept working out even though she hated her job. Her face was scrunched up, either in frustration or stress, and she looked like she didn't sleep last night.

Marissa looked Valleri up and down, probably looking for more reasons to hate her than were already apparent. Valleri didn't take it personally; she was used to being sized up at this point. Looking satisfied, she turned away wordlessly, marching into the main hall.

"I trust my servants took good care of your belongings?"

"Uh... I don't… have any belongings."

"Oh."

She whispered something to a butler standing in the corner, eyeing her all the while. Probably telling them to make sure she didn't steal anything. Valleri pursed her lips, deciding not to say anything.

As she walked in, she looked around; Marrisa's home was as beautiful as her. It almost looked like a modern human penthouse, though the architecture was unmistakably Hallownestian, with lots of unnecessary spirals and cool blues, the walls adorned in masterful engravings. Two of the walls were massive windows, looking out over the City of Tears from high above, an endless stream of rain sliding down the glass.

Valleri felt so out of place, it made her sick. Marissa herself probably wanted her gone just as much as she wanted to bolt out the door and return to the grime and shadows of the streets. She didn't want to insult Monomon's kindness, though, so she wiped off her shoes on the welcome mat and stepped inside.

"I had forgotten about my request to Teacher Monomon," Marissa spoke, raising her silky-smooth voice enough so she could be heard from anywhere in the penthouse. She settled into a luxurious, velvet chair near the window, eyeing Valleri the whole time. "'I would like any research regarding hair beautification to be forwarded to me.' That's what I told her. I must say, this is not what I expected."

"I'm… as surprised as you," said Valleri, walking into the room slowly, both to take it all in and to put off having to sit down as long as possible.

(She got an in to Marissa's place because they both had fucking HAIR?! She needed to talk with Monomon after this, 'cause this was just STUPID-)

"Well? Have a seat," Marissa gestured to a plush chair that Valleri was standing next to. "You did come here to discuss hair, did you not?"

"Look, can we like, skip this bit? It's just boring and awkward. All we talked about were hair products and shit. It felt like one rude slip-up would get me thrown out of that giant window."

Emilita laughed. "It would be quite remarkable to see some poor soul thrown out of Marissa's penthouse."

"L-Look, yeah, none of the stuff we talked about was important to the story anyway. What happened was…"

Marissa ran her hands through Valleri's raven-black hair, being gentle yet thorough with her investigation. "Hm. Clearly, you haven't washed it properly in quite a while."

"Haven't had the chance to, y'know?"

She stopped, her chitinous hands withdrawing from Valleri's scalp. "I understand," she said, circling back around to her seat. She relaxed, her pink wings fluttering behind her as she crossed her legs, staring down Valleri from the other side of the room.

(She could tell where this was going. It was stupid that it hadn't gotten to this point already, but sooner or later…)

"I think it's nigh time we address the obvious, Valleri. Your recent "activities" are just about common knowledge by now, especially after your stunt on Kingsday."

Valleri tensed up, the familiar churning feeling in her gut coming back. She wanted to say something, anything, but couldn't move her lips.

Marissa reached over, pulling up a newspaper. Thanks to some very brief preliminary lessons with Quirrel and Monomon, she could barely make out a few words, but Marissa did it for her.

"KINGSDAY MANIAC ON TRIAL FOR TRIPLE-MURDER. Published yesterday."

...For once, it wasn't an incorrect headline, but definitely misleading. She didn't kill people at the parade; hell, she wasn't a murderer at all! She was trying to save someone! It was a false accusation! And what kind of unbiased journalist would use the word "maniac"?! Didn't she have rights to privacy?!

"Look, none of that's true!" Valleri only technically lied. "I was trying to help someone at that parade! And I'm not a murderer!"

"What reason do I have to believe you? It's the word of the entire kingdom against yours. The entire city is a witness to the chaos you have wrought throughout the last few days; who would put murder beyond a "maniac" like you?

Valleri clenched her fists, her chest growing tight. She had to keep her cool. "Do you know what it feels like to be called a murderer everywhere you go? I get it, I'm no upstanding citizen, but don't call me a killer!"

"You're talking in circles. You can't actually prove your innocence, can you?"

Valleri wanted to die.

(Why did she need to prove her innocence first? Why didn't anyone else have to prove her guilt?)

Marissa huffed. "I thought not. I'm sorry, Valleri, but I believe our conversation ends here. Letting a wanted criminal walk into my home, tch! Teacher Monomon insults me. The servants will show you the way out-"

A knock came on the door.

Songstress Marissa was cut off mid-sentence. She stared in the direction of the door, her eyes glazing over. The contempt and scorn on her expression was gone, replaced with a heartstopping fear.

"...Hide."

Valleri blinked. Marissa shot up from her chair, gesturing wildly at her to find a hiding place. When Valleri only stared blankly at her, Marissa grabbed the collar of Valleri's jacket and pulled her out of her seat.

"H-Hey, what the hell?! Let me go!"

She was stuffed behind the silky red drapes of her windows. "Don't move," Marissa hissed, throwing the curtain around her so Valleri couldn't be seen. Valleri normally would've walked out and probably smacked her upside the head, but the sheer animosity in her voice kept her paralyzed.

Marissa walked away. Valleri could only hear now.

The door swung open.

"Well, pardon my intrusion! I was simply passing by, and thought I would stop in and say hello!"

Valleri tensed. This new voice was so richly cocky, it attracted stock market billionaires looking for a trophy wife as easily as it did people wanting to punch her teeth out. At least the Songstress had the decency to be direct with her spite.

Marissa's voice. "As if. What do you want from me?"

Whatever resentment the Songstress held for Valleri was tenfold for this new character. Valleri didn't dare peek outside the curtains, but against the reflection of the glass window, she could barely make out a blurry image of the scene.

"Oh, there's no need to use that tone! I only wanted to see how you were doing, truly, I did!" Her light, performative voice turned to a low chuckle. "And I see you're living as lavishly as always. Of course."

Marissa didn't respond, looking away. The new figure walked off behind a wall, and the Songstress ran to follow her, trying to get her to leave. Both of them were preoccupied with their battle to see who could clutch more pearls while feigning effeminate fragility, when really, either of them could probably order a hit if they wanted to.

They were out of sight. Valleri made her move.

She ducked out of the curtains, looking around for anything suspicious, or any other hiding places she could squeeze into so she could better listen in. She heard more voices from the other room.

"Emilita, why are you doing this?! Aren't you wealthy enough on your own now? Why do you insist on… on extorting me like this!?"

"Oh, hush now. It's not like any of this stuff is yours, anyway."

...Both of these statements hit Valleri like consecutive blows to the gut. She paused, crouching in the middle of the hallway, sitting duck. Before she could even think about whatever the hell she just heard, she looked around frantically, searching for a place to hide.

She threw open nearby closet doors. Inside was a shelf with a few opened envelopes on it, the message within still sticking out.

She grabbed them, scanning the contents. She was still mostly illiterate in Hallownestian, but they didn't call Monomon the Teacher for nothing. The two Disney villain wine-moms-to-be were still scoffing at each other in the other room, so she had some time.

"Big… fan… gift… Seven? No, seven… hundred…" Valleri balked. "Seven million?!"

"I do adore this lamp! It uses Soul energy rather than Lumaflies, so it is active in your waking hours and dark in your resting ones. Not only that, I see it is elaborately crafted from gold and Pale Steel, the light refracting beautifully from the raw crystals mined from Hallownest's Crown…" A mocking chuckle. "I think I'll take it home with me!"

"Y-You cannot just-!"

"And why not? This was never yours. You and I both know it. Though, I wouldn't mind letting a few others in on our little secret…"

A silence that twisted like a knife in her chest.

"...Fine. It's yours."

Emilita's smug laughter echoed through the walls of Marissa's penthouse. It filled the air, her voice dominating the atmosphere and letting all who walked its halls know who really owned this place. It made Valleri sick.

"Why, thank you for your generosity, dearest Marissa! I'll be attending your show tomorrow, as usual. Don't disappoint me~!"

Pearl. Clutching. Bitch.

And with that, the door slammed. A horrible silence followed. The gold lining felt cheap, the light seemed blinding, and the exorbitant luxury of the Songstress's home was suddenly much more shallow than it was before.

Marissa stormed towards the curtains. "I think you've long overstayed your welcome," she huffed, fury rolling off of her in waves. "Now, if you would so kindly-"

She threw the curtains aside. Nobody was there.

Marissa looked left and right, confused, until she turned around to see a fistfull of paper suddenly shoved in her face. She froze like a deer in headlights.

"You've been taking gifts," Valleri said, her voice flat. "You've been accepting money and gifts from someone much richer than you. That's how you can afford this place."

Songstress Marissa seemed to shrink into her pink wings. She looked ready to break down.

"And that woman knew. And she's blackmailing you over it."

She was shaking now, her whole body looking ready to burst. She spoke in a slow drawl, "...This is none of your concern. I've far overextended my hospitality to your likes. Now, I must ask you to leave this instant."

"I'm not just gonna let this shit sit like you are!"

Songstress Marissa's award-winning, sing-song voice had exploded to a sharp shriek. "I HAVE HAD ENOUGHOF YOUR ATTITUDE! LEAVE ME BEFORE I AM FORCED TO THROW YOU OUT OF THAT WINDOW MYSELF-"

Valleri smacked Marissa across the face with the paper.

She was stunned silent.

"Pushing away your problems isn't gonna solve jack shit!" Valleri shouted. "I don't know who that woman was or what the fuck she wanted, but she's gonna keep coming back! You're not just gonna let her walk all over you, are you?!"

Marissa held a hand against her cheek. She was still shaking.

"I…"

"Look, maybe you can afford to keep throwing money at her, I dunno!" Valleri jammed a firm finger into Marissa's chest, getting in her face. "But it pisses me off to watch someone get fucking used like this! Aren't you gonna do anything?!"

Marissa's hands were held tightly to her chest, tears welling up in her eyes. "I… I do not even know how she found out. I-I can't control who gives me things, a-and they're all anonymous, so I can't return them either…"

Valleri's rebellious expression softened. Wordlessly, she guided Marissa to a chair and sat her down. Valleri sat on the coffee table right in front of her.

"So how much of your stuff comes from this guy?"

Marissa sniffled, tears running down her masked, porcelain face. "M-More than you would like to know. I've been receiving these gifts for a long while; I would say most of my success is owed to this strange money. I-I have reason to believe it's all from the same person, though I couldn't guess who."

Jesus, so she got more rich from some stranger than from being a singer? Who the hell has the kind of cash to make a superstar out of thin air like that?

"And that woman, Emilita, what's her deal?"

"She's… She was, is, something of a journalist. Infamous for always sensationalizing everything, trying to create drama where there is none, just so she can be seen. But her family recently ascended to nobility… at least in part because of me."

"So she's been using the fact that you're getting strange gifts, to blackmail you out of those gifts…"

None of this makes any sense. There's something fishy going on here, something neither her nor I can see yet.

Marissa took out a small handkerchief and wiped her tears away. "I-It's all so stressful, I can't even think about it between shows…" She hiccuped.

"How often do you perform, anyway?"

"U-Up to several times a day… it used to be an occasional gig, but thanks to her, I'm running ragged…"

Valleri's breath hitched. "Don't tell me… taking your stuff is just part of it, isn't it? She's using her blackmail to force you to perform as often as possible."

Marissa choked up, probably confused at herself for pouring her heart out to someone she just called a murderer minutes ago. "A-And then she takes most of the revenue I make… I-I can't stop these horrible gifts, I can't get her to leave me alone! I-I can't escape!"

Marissa was trapped. Trapped, and exploited until everything she was worth was wrung out of her like a wet towel, and discarded once she was used up.

Marissa wasn't some spoiled brat with rich parents. She wasn't some gifted trust fund kid who was handed everything on a silver platter. She didn't want any of this. She had a few talents that were enough to get her dragged into the affairs of the wealthy, letting her exist in a fancy dollhouse while she was treated as the scum of society.

Valleri's fists clenched. She ground her teeth. She knew this feeling.

She shot up from the coffee table, shaking some of the fragile decorations on it. Marissa startled.

"There is no fucking way I can walk away from this now."

Emilita's quill had stopped moving. She looked sick.

"That's just how I remember it, anyway…" Valleri recounted. She looked up from her drink, now half-empty. "Hey, are you alright?"

"...The guilt of my actions leaves me feeling ill," Emilita confessed. "How could I have been so cruel…?" She looked like she was tearing up, pushing away her unfinished notes before they were splotched with teardrops.

"Hey hey, you fucked up, sure, but she said she forgave you, right? That's gotta mean something."

Emilita wasn't convinced, but she choked back a sob. "V-Valleri... Again, I don't think I could ever thank you enough for what you did for Marissa. For us."

"D-Don't get used to it."

They sat for a few minutes in silence, collecting themselves. Wiping her face on her sleeve, Emilita picked up her notepad again. "So… I don't know the details of what you did next. I'm not sure how much I want to put into the story, but…"

"Yeah, I get it. It'd be reputation suicide for you to publish everything." Valleri sighed. "But at the same time, don't you just wanna put it all to rest? Quit with the secrets and backstabbing?"

Emilita averted her gaze. "I'll… talk to Marissa about it," she mumbled.

Valleri huffed; she supposed this was between them, and not her. "Well, moving on," she tried to change the subject. "At the time, the situation seemed pretty clear-cut. Marissa was waist-deep in some shady money, and you used that info to take your piece of the pie. You were the clear bad guy in my head."

Valleri took a long swig from her drink.

"But it turned out to be a lot more messy than that. I mean, I didn't even realize a ten million Geo bounty was involved."

Chapter name and summary are a reference to Dirty Laundry by Don Henry.

So I should explain how this works.

All the chapters of MR leading up to this one have been part of a "prologue" meant to set up a foundation for the rest of the story, but most of MR is going to be a bunch of short "sub-arcs" that last only a few chapters. This was the start of the first subarc, which'll last another chapter or two.

The subarcs aren't in any particular order unless otherwise stated (this one takes place almost immediately after the last chapter), and usually aren't super impactful to the main overarching plot. There will be major arcs that'll last somewhat longer and will be significant, but most smaller arcs, like this one, are more for worldbuilding and setup than the actual events that happen.

This is what I meant by Midnight Rider being more "episodic". Just think of each subarc as an episode of a TV show. Still trying to figure out how to arrange all of this but I'll figure it out as I go!

Please leave a comment, and thanks for reading!