Twenty-Three || Starlight

"So it was just like this when you found him this morning?" Mint asked. "You don't remember anything weird, maybe?"

Klaus shook his head. "Not that I'd know what to look for," he added. "We spoke last night until he said he was tired, and it seemed like a good time to call it a night. So–"

"How late was that?"

Klaus thought about it for a few seconds. "Late," he said, and Mint decided there was no need to ask further. She looked back to the Prima Doll.

It was lying on the bed, ostensibly asleep, although on closer examination it was easier to mistake for dead. The doll didn't need to breathe and didn't need to simulate as such, and all vital signs she would have normally looked for on a person were simply not there: no pulse, no body heat, no muscular twitch or eye jitter. That had been a bit unnerving at first, but when she remembered the Prima Doll didn't actually exhibit signs of life, she felt... well, not much better, but a little.

"Maybe it's just hibernating?" she said, clearly unconvinced by her own suggestion. She looked over to Klaus and frowned slightly. "You look like you didn't sleep much, either."

He shook his head. "Quite late when I went to bed," he said, "and I admit I didn't sleep well." He smiled, although worry still creased the edges of his eyes. "This is all just... exciting. And he's fascinating. He bore witness to Grand Magician Elroy, you know."

"Elroy did kind of make him," Mint said.

"Well, yes, but do you understand the historical implications? We can't learn too much, unfortunately, Elroy didn't keep him awake for very long, but–"

"Aaaand you've lost me," Mint said.

Klaus laughed. "Apologies."

Mint had been kneeling next to the mattress, examining the doll, but she couldn't think of anything else she could do or look for or contribute. She knew magic, but she hadn't bothered to look into the Prima Doll beforehand, and looking at him now didn't reveal much to her except that the magic binding him together felt sluggish and weak compared to how it usually moved in living creatures. But the Prima Doll was artificial. That might have been normal.

"My best guess, just off the top of my head, is maybe he needs to sleep, too. Just... way more thoroughly than us." She shoved the Prima Doll's shoulder. It responded automatically, correcting itself back to where it had been, but there was no indication of actual life. "I wouldn't worry too much."

Klaus frowned slightly, but nodded. "That... might be sensible." He sighed through his teeth. "I'll check back later, I guess. Thank you for coming to take a look, Mint."

"It's my ticket to world domination," she said mildly, standing back up. "I've got some stake in this, too."

But she didn't leave, at least not right away. She didn't have anything to do until Rue came back with the phantomite or they got word he'd been incinerated, and leaving at that moment just seemed unnecessary. She looked back over to the Prima Doll, studied it, and then knelt back down and pressed her hand against its chest.

Behind her, she heard Klaus reposition himself, his cane scraping the floorboards. "Did you see something?" he asked, his voice slightly pinched.

"I gotta check," she said, and closed her eyes. She concentrated on the Prima Doll, willing herself to see the magic flowing through it, and watched for several seconds. Lines of energy twisted through its body; bits and pieces binding its limbs, holding its fine cloth skin, layering elaborate protections from the elements that even she could barely make sense of. It was fine magic, brilliantly arranged and laid out in ways she had never been taught, intended to keep the Prima Doll safe from decay.

If Elroy had been so good at constructing the Prima Doll, then, why was the magic dedicated to actually animating it so torpid?

She followed the energy back to its source, a tangled core of power that radiated from its chest, roughly where the heart would be in a human body. She focused on that, and experimentally redirected her own magical energy, providing a brief surge to the Prima Doll's core.

Something happened; not substantial, not enough, but she felt it move under her fingers, shuddering faintly before relaxing again. Like a muscular twitch; when she had directed power to the core, it had taken what she had and fed it out into the magic thread. She had seen it quicken, just briefly, but only a few seconds after she stopped feeding it her own power the core went dark again, almost still, weakly dribbling energy out through the rest of the Prima Doll's body.

Her muscled tightened. She bit her lip.

"This... this might be a thing," she said finally. "I mean, I dunno how it's supposed to work, but it looks like it's not getting any energy. Or it can't process it, or something."

Klaus leaned over, trying to get a better look. "Do you think you can do anything about it?"

"Not a damn thing." She hauled herself back to her feet. "The spellwork here is ancient– and really cool. But I don't know how to even start with it, let alone... um... finish... with it." She scratched the back of her neck. "And honestly I've never been that good with dedicated spellcraft like this..."

"Oh," Klaus said. "That... presents a problem."

"Yeah it does." She turned away and paced, hands clasped behind her back, her eyes on the floor.

"You don't think it's a lack of something?" Klaus asked. "If phantomite catalyzes magic..."

"I don't think so," she said. "Phantomite responds when magic is channeled through it, it doesn't just make magic stronger. You could put the Prima Doll in a giant phantomite box and nothing would happen because his innate magic is too weak to even keep him awake." She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to think. "I mean, maybe I'm wrong and it just needs to rest and recover, but..."

"But if that's not the case, there's nothing you can do for it," Klaus said.

"Right."

There was silence for a moment, punctuated only by the dull thump of Mint's boots on the floor as she continued to slowly pace her way back and forth, trying to think. Klaus stood by, his eyes trailing her but plainly looking through her, his face drawn in thought.

"If somebody knew how the spell was woven," Klaus began slowly, "do you think they might be able to fix it?"

"They'd at least be able to figure it out," Mint said. She stopped walking and turned her attention to him. "You got an idea?"

"I do," Klaus said. "Although I'm not sure if you'll like it."

As it turned out, she did not.

. .

Mint shortly found herself standing in the middle of the forest path, where the dirt turned sugary and the grass faded from deep green to pale pink She glowered meaningfully at the scene and found herself wishing that she had traded places for the dragon fighting instead. She had already dealt with Mel and her peculiar taste enough.

But however much she chafed at the idea, Klaus had a point. Mel had been the one to determine how the box opened, and how to draw out the Prima Doll's power once it was. She must have had at least some understanding of the magic behind it, which meant she would have unique insight into the possible problems.

Even barring that, Klaus had passed on some interesting information: Mel was old. And not just old like most old people were old, either; she was a very powerful witch, and it was well known that adept magic users had long since found ways to extend their lives and their youth. Her exact wasn't known – although rumors put her anywhere from a hundred to a thousand years old – but Klaus had a feeling it was at least to the middle of that spectrum, if not further back, and even if she didn't know the specifics of the Prima Doll she would know the architecture of magic at the time of its creation. She could provide them with theories, if not solutions, based on that.

Mint wasn't sure how much of that she bought, though. Wizards tended toward the eccentric, true enough, but Mel's candyfloss nightmare atelier did not exactly scream 'ancient wisdom'. Then again, it didn't really scream anything but that the owner was about six years old.

She drew in a deep breath, exhaled, and started up the path. When she crested the little hill, she focused immediately on the absurd structure sitting at the end of the path and marched straight for it, tuning out anything around her. She did a pretty good job of it for a few minutes, but eventually a tiny, grating voice pierced her veil.

"Stop walking!" it called. "Need to talk!"

And Mint stopped walking, but only because she needed to take a few seconds to regain her composure. She turned to face the source of the voice and found one of the Poppul Purrels running up to her. She gritted her teeth, clenched her fists, and then tried to relax herself. Probably not the best idea to snap at Mel's weird little helpers.

"Yes?" she asked thinly, drawing out the 's' for a couple of seconds.

The Poppul Purrel slowed down, stopped, studied her. "You are... friend of Rue's," he said finally. "Yes? Terence say Rue friends with red-haired girl. Fortney say so, too."

Mint was a bit taken aback, but nodded all the same. "Yeah, I'm with him. I mean, not now, but... we're partners, yeah." She squinted at the Poppul Purrel. "What's your name?" Probably Roderick or something equally absurd...

"Marion," the Poppul Purrel said, nodding to her.

Yes. Equally absurd.

But Mint held her tongue. "What's up?" she asked.

"You look for Mel?" Mario asked. When Mint nodded, the Poppul Purrel snapped its staff to the side, pointing out into the field. "Outside. I take you to her?"

If it got her out of this pastel hellscape a little faster, Mint would take it.

Marion led her through across the lawn and out past the house, circling around to the back. Sure enough, a ways away, there was Fancy Mel, the orange coils of her hair bouncing as she paced up and down the lawn. In front of her was a fairly large collection of short trees, all whimsically colored for maximum retinal damage. It was a fairly large area – possibly some kind of orchard, as the trees were intermittently marked by little blazes of natural, if tropical, color – and Mel was not directly involving herself in the affairs. As Mint watched, one of the bizarre purple imp-like creatures swung out from the branches of the tree, plucked one of the taller fruits, and disappeared back into the boughs.

"What am I looking at," Mint said flatly.

Mel perked up at her voice and looked over her shoulder. "Oh! Mint. This is a bit of a surprise." She turned fully to face her. "What brings you here?"

Mint knew she needed to get to the point to get out of there faster, but curiosity already had her caught. "Are you... harvesting?"

"Overseeing," Mel said.

Mint looked at them for a few more seconds, then asked; "Are the leaves supposed to be electric purple, or...?"

Mel laughed. "It's just aesthetic magic," she said. "They make fruit same as anything else. Oranges." She smiled. "Orange and purple are complementary colors, you know. They look nice together."

If that didn't prove Mel was color blind, nothing would.

"But you're not here to talk about my citrus," Mel said. "At least, I assume not. Although if you are..."

"Not in the least," Mint said quickly.

Mel laughed. "All right. Walk with me, we'll talk." She looked down to the Poppul Purrel that had led Mint to her. "Marion, sweetie? Can you watch over the imps while I'm away? They know what they're doing and I shouldn't be long."

Marion nodded enthusiastically, and Mel broke away from her position and fell in step with Mint, both of them heading in the general direction of her atelier.

"So," Mel said, "to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"We've got a problem," Mint said.

Mel sighed. "Well, yes, I'd assumed as much. I didn't think you'd be visiting me for my company. What problem would that be?"

"It's the Prima Doll," Mint said. "It's not responding."

"Not responding?"

Mint clarified the situation as best she could, and when she had finished, Mel responded with a low grumble and pressed her chin in her hand, lost in thought. Mint gave her a few seconds – several seconds – nearly a minute of contemplation before she finally had to cut in.

"You got anything?" she asked. "I mean, it doesn't have the tiara or phantomite, or maybe it's missing something else..."

"It's not," Mel said. "And neither the tiara nor phantomite will help with this. I'd prefer to have an actual look at it, but it sounds to me like it's not properly processing energy. You said you tried to infuse it with magic?"

"Yeah. It didn't take."

"Hm."

"Is there something we can do? We, um, kinda need it for that whole seal-opening thing."

"I'm not sure if there's much you can do," Mel admitted. "The magic entanglements are delicate. East Heaven royalty is known for their magical ability, but I don't think they've been teaching real finesse for a couple of centuries. Nobody focus on the artistry of magic anymore."

"Because the tutors are idiots," Mint snorted.

Then she realized what Mel had actually said.

"Wait, woah, what are you–"

"Sorry, was that a secret?" Mel said, her voice all feigned innocence. She dropped it almost immediately. "If it was, you're keeping it very poorly. You could at least make up a surname. Most people have those, it's very conspicuous when you introduce yourself without one."

"I don't remember you giving me a last name."

"First name Fancy, last name Mel."

"I'm not even sure how to respond to that."

"Then don't. Not everything needs your biting wit."

Mint frowned and tried to ignore it. "All right," she said. "You caught me. Good job. Applause all around." She clapped. "How did you know?"

Mel laughed lightly. "I may live on an island, Your Highness, but I'm aware of important news. Rumors have been whispered for years that the elder princess of East Heaven Kingdom disappeared. I'm familiar enough with the bloodline that I can recognize their scion. Coupled with your magic potential, it seemed rather obvious to me."

Mint grinned and half-bowed. "Why thank you."

"So is it true that you were thrown out of the line of succession because you were greedy, self-centered, and obnoxious?"

Mint's grin immediately disappeared.

"They say," Mel went on, criminally oblivious to Mint's rising fury, "that their erstwhile princess was a spoiled brat, who ignored the law as benefitted her and refused to take part in traditional ceremony. She did as she pleased, moved as she pleased– ate only the things that she liked. That was a strangely specific complaint."

"The head chef insisted on adding pumpkins to every meal," she growled. "He knows I hate pumpkin."

"The king is fond of them."

"Yeah, well, I'm not."

"So he prepared dishes the king would like, flying in the face of your predilections." Mel shook her head. "What a wretched man."

"I feel you aren't being entirely sincere."

Now it was Mel's turn to offer a polite round of applause. Mint gritted her teeth.

"Whatever," she growled. "They couldn't handle somebody who knew what she wanted. They threw me out."

"The rumors all said you ran away."

"They as good as threw me out."

"Of course."

"They say the council voted on it," Mint continued. "Decided to take away my claim and give that dear little snake Maya the right of succession."

"She seems to be doing a good job. The people adore her."

"She isn't doing squat," Mint spat. "She never has. She went to all her lessons and listened to all her teachers and always had the advisor's ear and he was the one who would tell her what to do. Never bothered to learn how to think for herself."

"Whereas you are a prime example of independence."

"Damn right I am."

Mel nodded. "It's hard to argue with that." She looked at Mint sideways. "Is that what you're planning on doing with the Relic, then? Going back and reclaiming the throne?"

"That's just the first step. I'll take back East Heaven. Then I'll take all the surroundings nations." She flashed a grin. "Then it's world domination time!"

Mel made a sound somewhere between a snort and a laugh. Mint glared at her.

"Sorry," Mel said. "I just... wasn't quite expecting that escalation."

"Don't think I can do it?"

"I said nothing of the sort."

They were quiet for a moment, Mint quickly running through the conversation in her head again. Then, with almost a growl, she added; "She tried to crush me with pumpkins."

Mel took a few seconds to react. "She– come again?"

"I was in the dining hall when told me what the council did," Mint said. "Said they had decided unanimously that I was unfit to rule, and Maya had first right to the throne. Maya, Doll Master, even Gramps– they all ganged up on me. And just to rub it in my face–" Mint actually winced at the memory, her anger briefly blotting out her words. "Just to prove it, they gave her the Book of Cosmos!"

She needed a few seconds to cool down.

"The Book?" Mel asked. The easy amusement she had been speaking with so far suddenly drained from her voice, and genuine confusion came in. "That's an Aeon Relic. They... gave it to her?"

"It's an... heirloom... thing," Mint said. "The heir apparent turns seventeen and there's a huge ceremony of passing the torch and all that junk and they gave it to her. Just– just handed it to her to shove it in my face! She was twelve! Twelve. And they just gave her the Book."

The injustice of it crackled under her skin as she remembered the moment. It wasn't just shifting the right of succession, it was out-and-out humiliation. She had tried to fight Maya for it – challenged her to a duel, the way things were done properly – but all at once her little sister was holding out the book, all smiles. "Now you're ready to do things the right way?" she had asked. "Too late for that!" And then there was magic, and living jack-o-lanterns, and Mint had been forced to flee the hall – and then the castle – and that was that.

Ousted by magical animate jack-o-lanterns.

The whole thing was just degrading.

"That... that is unusual," Mel admitted.

"And that's why I need a Relic," Mint said. "Not gonna lie, Maya's a chump and if I fought her fair, she'd be paste. But that stupid book..."

She abruptly brought herself back to the present.

"So," she said, her voice settling back to its normal timbre. "The Prima Doll."

Mel gave her a sidelong glance. "You just told me you plan to use the Relic to take over the world," she said. "And you think I'm still going to help you?" Mint blanched, understanding Mel's threat, but the witch quickly shot her a smile. "Don't worry," she said. "You've already got everything you need to open the seal. You'd figure it out eventually, and my being difficult won't help anything."

Mint relaxed.

"Unfortunately, I'm not sure how much more help I can be," she added. "I might be able to disentangle any corrupted enchantments, but by what you told me it may need a significant burst of magic to get started again. And my forte is in spell weaving, not... violent magical explosions."

"Why not? Those are easy."

"Because I'm sure the Adlers will appreciate you annihilating half their house if you miscalculate," Mel said. "Fortunately for you, I happen to know somebody who can help. Although..."

She trailed off, slowed down, came to a stop. Mint was a few seconds behind her in doing the same, and cast Mel a confused look when she did. She almost asked what was going on, but caught herself when she saw that Mel was plainly staring at something up ahead. Slowly, Mint turned her attention to where Mel's gaze fell, and found herself staring at a large, yellow star.

This unto itself was not unusual; bright shapes of varying sizes and colors were strewn about Mel's atelier, and they had passed a few such samples on their walk already. At first glance, this one was only noteworthy because of its size – from its legs to its point, the star was easily six feet tall – and the fact that it was actually a somewhat duller color than the rest of the seizure-inducing landscape.

But a second look, and Mint found herself cocking an eyebrow. Involuntarily, her head tilted to the side, and she looked at the star askance, utterly baffled by what she was seeing.

The rest of the shapes were rigid geometry, like wooden toys made for toddlers but blown up to comical proportions. This one was far more organic in appearance, and, even as she stared at it, she could almost swear it was moving.

Scratch that; it was moving.

"Friend of yours?" Mel asked.

"That's not one of your decorations?"

"Definitely not."

Mint broke away from where she was standing and walked up to the bizarre star. When she got closer, she saw that it was very much softer than any of the others nearby, and though it was trying hard to keep still she saw it twitch and adjust to remain solidly upright. She moved around it, to the other side, and realized that what she was looking at was cloth and stuffing; dark, heavy stitching bisected the thing down the middle, and– yes, that was a zipper.

She stood in front of the star, stared for a few more seconds, and slapped her forehead.

"I'm not seeing this."

There was a little hole cut into this side of the costume, and resting in it was Duke's face.

His eyes were closed; he seemed almost to be meditating. Mint stared for a few more seconds, perplexed and confused and deeply embarrassed on his behalf, before she reached forward and shoved him right in the chest.

Duke teetered back. His eyes snapped open, wide and surprised, and he waggled his arms desperately to regain balance. With a jolt forward, he righted himself back on his feet and balanced again, shaking off the attack. He looked around – he had to pivot the entire upper half of the costume to move his head – before he finally settled on Mint.

"What was that for?" he asked indignantly.

"What the hell are you doing?" Mint snapped.

"Doing?" Duke sniffed. "I'm not doing anything. I don't need to do anything. My purpose is to shine in the darkness, bringing joy and hope to those who gaze upon me!"

"No. No, Duke, what–"

"Speak not my name!" Duke cried, his words taking on a grandiose, almost theatrical sound. "I am no simple mortal. I–"

"No," Mint said quickly. "No, you're definitely a simple mortal."

"–am a star," Duke finished, ignoring her.

Mint watched him for a moment. She assumed he was posing, but the costume clearly had limited mobility so whatever he was trying to do just looked like he was just standing there, trying – and failing – to look important.

Finally, Mint found the words she needed.

"This is the stupidest thing I have ever seen in my life."

Mel tilted her head and studied him for a moment. "Actually, I like the aesthetic."

"You're kidding."

Mel shrugged. Mint turned her attention back to Duke.

"Right, okay, you're nuts. Got it. What are you doing here?" She blinked. "Wait, were you trying to blend in? Are you trying to spy on me in that... whatever that is?" She snorted. "That's a terrible idea."

"You didn't see him," Mel said placidly. "Seems to be working."

"Thank you," Duke said.

Mint massaged her temples.

Everybody, she thought. Everybody here is insane.

"Right. Well." She looked around Duke. "Mel, what were you saying?"

"Hm? Sorry. I was taking you to see Gorotan."

"Lead the way." Mint tossed a glance at Duke. "I'm pretty sure he can't follow us in that ridiculous getup."

"Don't be so sure," Duke said. "I am a star."

He said it with such certainty that Mint had to stop, waiting for him to carry on. Duke, however, promptly fell silent. She waited a few more seconds, but when he staunchly refused to speak again, she leaned a little closer.

"And the... relevance... of that?"

He laughed. "My dear," he said, "haven't you ever seen a shooting star?"

And suddenly Mint was flat on her back on the ground, the wind blown completely from her lungs, gasping and wheezing to try and get her breath back. Her whole torso was a throbbing pain, and Duke was standing above her, setting a dazzling silhouette against the hot sky, his ludicrous star stance positively reeking of triumph.

She pitched to the side and rolled onto her stomach, but was a few more seconds in getting back to her feet. She replayed the moment a few times in her head again, trying to make sense of what on earth had just happened.

Entirely her fault. He was acting too stupid to be a threat. She should have long since learned that idiots were still dangerous; she just didn't think on that level.

"I've actually come on behalf of milady," Duke said. Mint continued to haul herself slowly to her feet. "You and your friend have been digging up some interesting treasure. Milady thinks you're dealing with something else, and while she's off taking care of other business I thought maybe I could come and talk to you. And maybe throttle you, if I need to. So." He twitched, adjusting himself inside the suite. "What are you up to, and would you mind giving us what you've found?"

"You're being... awfully polite about it."

"I could just crush you," Duke said cheerfully. "Would you prefer that?"

"Yeah, probably."

And with a soft wump, Duke tipped himself forward and did literally that.

Mint suddenly found herself face-down in the grass, and found herself grateful that Mel had done whatever she had done to it; the grass was a soft pink, but also soft in addition to being pink, and it helped mitigate the hurt somewhat. It didn't mitigate the humiliation, though.

"Mel!" Mint yelled. "You wanna help out?"

She couldn't see Mel, although by her voice it was clear the witch had moved a fair way down the path and was projecting back to her. "No, I think you can handle this."

Mint grunted and tried to push upward, but Duke – more specifically, the costume – was surprisingly heavy, and while she managed to wriggle slightly out from under him she was not having much luck for it.

"Get off me," she growled.

"Only when you're ready to talk."

"I'm talking. We're talking right now. Get off."

She caught a rush of breeze, twisted its energy, and yanked it down to her, smashing the funnel of wind up against Duke. It caught him and the costume, and he yelped in surprise as the blast of wind flipped him up and over, sending him crashing down on his back. Mint scrambled to her feet and wheeled, snapping the Dual Halos into her hands and turning to face him, ready for his counterattack.

Duke lay still for a few seconds, then twitched, then lay still again. Mint felt some of her aggression ease off, and her stance shifted as her anticipation gave way to bemusement.

"Oh my god," she said. "You can't get up."

Duke responded with an irate grunt, but to Mint's surprise he managed to pitch himself back to his feet, hauling himself upright and staggering a few paces before he had his balance completely back. She was loathe to admit it, but she was somewhat impressed.

And doubtful he could do it again.

She hurled one of her rings at his torso, aiming to topple him before he had completely recovered, but the ring slapped against the padding of the costume and fell useless and limp against the ground. She dragged it back to her hand with a cord of magic, and once it was back to her redirected the energy into a ball of knotted light in her hands. She hurled it at Duke, but just as the ring before it, it struck the costume with a useless thump and fizzled out.

She gritted her teeth. "Oh come on," she snarled.

"If you insist," Duke said.

He tipped to the side and started to cartwheel, and Mint began to suspect that his entire fighting style was predicated on his ability to weird his opponent's right the hell out.

And probably that was part of it. She stared, fascinated and confused, as he tilted to his side and rolled– hand to hand, back to his feet, over his hands, and suddenly his momentum skyrocketed and like an oversized, gaudy shuriken he spun out and slammed right into her, sending her tumbling back to the ground. She managed to control her roll enough to land on her stomach, not quite winded this time, and looked up to see Duke yank himself to an abrupt stop, teetering on one foot before he balanced again.

She leapt back to her feet.

"Are you seriously not gonna help?" she called out.

"Why should I?" Mel asked, her voice much further away. "This is funny!"

Mint snapped her attention to where she seemed to be calling from. "Hey, where'd you–"

A flash of yellow caught the corner of her eye, and she scrambled out of the way as Duke launched himself at her again, springing up into the air and crashing down where she had been standing a moment before. He rolled to the side and pitched himself back to his feet, and pivoted to face Mint again, visibly grinning.

"I can do this all day," Duke said. "Just gimme whatever you found."

Mint sucked a deep breath through her teeth and shook her head. "Not likely," she growled. Although she couldn't deny his statement; for all the bizarre pitching and rolling that had just taken place, Duke still looked in fine spirits, and utterly untouched. Mint, meanwhile, had already been blind-sided a couple of times and was starting to feel it.

She brought the rings to bear and reached out around her. The atelier grounds were suffused with raw magical energy, and no small amount of it. She dragged it to herself, charged it to the rings, and set them alight with unadulterated energy. Then, with a shout, she hurled herself at Duke and brought the ignited Dual Halos against the costume. Duke braced himself. Mint slammed the rings into his chest.

And was summarily thrown back, the magic diffusing on contact. She staggered, caught herself, and stared at him, her breath coming in sharp bursts.

"You're- you're using magic dampeners?" she breathed.

"No," Duke said. "I'm just really good at sewing!"

He launched again, and Mint ducked to the side. Duke hit the ground on his shoulder and used that momentum to roll, neatly leaping back to his feet. Mint gulped down her breath and brought the Dual Halos back in front of her, defensively this time. She was tired; the last attack had taken too much out of her. In normal circumstances it also would have floored Duke, but she had clearly not accounted for the power of his cross-stitching.

Duke could clearly see she was flagging.

"Are you ready for my ultimate Starlight Technique?" he asked.

Mint had no idea how to respond to that.

"Prepare yourself!" he cried, and he sprang up into the air. The man must have had some magical training, she realized; she had already seen him teleport, and perform that bizarre shadow-clone technique, and some of the movement he had made even here and now had been well beyond human physical strength. It didn't really strike her properly, however, until Duke managed to throw himself what must have been dozens of feet into the air.

And he was still speaking. She couldn't quite make it out, but by context she was almost certain – scratch that, utterly certain – that he was shouting his attack names. She was about to be violently crushed by a man shouting attack names.

This was getting embarrassing.

She looked up, watching as his dark silhouette reached its apex and tilted. Duke fell back toward her, diving straight down at her spot, the name of his finishing move snapped up by the air so she could not even appreciate what it was that was about to hit her. He had such a flair for showmanship. Too bad.

She stepped out of the way.

Duke slammed headlong into the ground and skidded, digging a shallow furrow into the dirt behind him. The grass was soft, but it wasn't soft enough to absorb his fall. He came to a stop several feet away, and lay face-down on the ground, quite still. Mint watched, panting, her rings slowly falling to her sides...

And he got up.

"No!" she shouted. "No, no, no, you're supposed to stay down!"

He ignored her protests and dragged himself to his feet, but when he was upright she could see, even despite the costume, that he was flagging. He turned to face her, his expression cross and his face bloody.

She actually winced. "Oh, geez, that looks like it hurt."

He brought one star-arm as close to his face as possible – which was still several inches away – and frowned. "I tink," he began, and coughed, sniffled, and shook his head. When he tried speaking again, his voice was still terribly nasal. "I tink I broke by dose."

Mint found that she had nothing to say to that.

"You, uh..." She paused, thinking for a moment. "You okay?"

Suddenly they were both interrupted by the sound of clapping– or at least the rhythm of it. The sound itself was duller than she would have expected, but also louder, like somebody clapping very powerfully but trying to do so through a folded towel. She turned to the source of the noise and, even knowing that she was in Mel's domain, found herself speechless again.

Mel was there, walking softly up to them– no, not to them, specifically to Duke.

Behind her was a massive, mulberry-colored cat.

She looked it over again, just to be sure, and yes, that was exactly what she was seeing. It had the build of a house cat, stood about ten feet tall, and was covered in dark, purple-red fur, accented at the extremities with golden brown fur. Although on second glance she did notice something new; emerging from its back were two proportionally small bat wings, beating in steady rhythm to help the massive feline balance on its hind legs. It was balancing on its hind legs because it was using its forepaws to clap.

Mint opened her mouth to speak, found that she had no words, and simply pressed her fingers to her temples.

"That was entertaining, thank you," Mel said, sweeping past her and up to Duke. "Looks like you bashed yourself up pretty good, though."

Duke leaned away, flailing with his arm to keep Mel back, but he had no chance of evading her. She reached out and caught his shoulder with one arm, keeping him still, and studied his face.

"Not broken," she said, "but the ground really did a number on you. Let me get you healed up."

"I dun' need yur help."

"Too bad," Mel said. She reached into one of the pockets of her dress and drew out a handkerchief, daubing at his face. Duke drew back, not in protest but in pain, wincing visibly. "I'm not going to let you bleed out all over my lawn."

Duke made a little high-pitched sound, but now that Mel had him, she felt free to not respond. Instead, she pressed the cloth against his nose, tilted his head slightly forward, and held it there while she turned her attention to Mint.

"Mint," she said, nodding to the cat, "I'd like you to meet Gorotan."

Mint looked at the cat again. "I'm... not sure what I'm looking at."

"He's the elder brother of my little helpers," she said, and Mint shot him another glance, focusing on those insufficient little bat wings and remembering the similarly bat-like little creatures that had stolen the cube when she had last been at the atelier. She almost questioned it, but the thought of doing so just made her tired. "And quite proficient with magic. He might need your assistance if the spell's gotten tangled, but he should be able to charge the Prima Doll up."

The cat leaned forward and settled on his forelegs, closing his eyes. He tilted forward in a movement resembling a bow, and then looked up, his luminous amber eyes settling on her. "Mint, yes?" he asked. "A pleasure."

"He can talk," Mint said. She didn't have the energy to phrase it as a question.

"I can!" Gorotan said. "I hadn't noticed before! My compliments to your powers of observation."

"He has a sarcastic streak," Mel added.

"Yeah," Mint said. "Yeah, I, uh, I noticed."

"Behave yourself, Gorotan," Mel said.

"Always, Melina."

"Of course." She turned her attention back to Duke. "Come along, then." She didn't wait for him to respond, verbally or otherwise; she started to walk him toward the atelier, carefully and slowly lest he trip over his star costume.

When they were halfway to the atelier, Mint turned back to Gorotan. "So," she said. "You're... gonna help us, then...?"

"You doubt me?" Gorotan said. "I'm hurt." He flicked his tail. "Although unsurprised. Shall we return to town?"

"Ah... sure. Yeah. That's a plan."

He flashed her a broad grin. "Humans are adorable when they're confused," he said. "Here, I'll make it easy on you."

Suddenly he was gone, consumed in a burst of brilliant light. Cool energy erupted from where he had been standing, and Mint had to raise her hands over her eyes to try and keep from being blinded. When the chill in the air was gone, she looked up again, and where Gorotan, the massive cat, had been sitting was now Gorotan, the small little bat-winged fuzzball. Even in this form he was larger than the other ones, his pale furred tipped purplish.

He flapped his wings and sped over to Mint, lighting gently on her shoulder.

"Carry on," he said.

Protesting was simply not worth it anymore.