#bluethread

[chateau-bluerose]

A Reign of Blades

@strugglingstellarstorm

It's been a few months, and a whirlwind of them. Activity around Local 1 has gotten so frenetic, new faces, new problems, strays and principals and kidnappings and rendezvouses. She's pretty certain she found actual proof of intelligent alien life in this universe and that's not even her biggest concern right now. Oona Bluerose has had a lot on her mind.

And lately a name popped up, a reminder of the touch of someone she misses. A girl difficult to define, to the head maid. Not quite a principal, no, that'd be her rather soft hearted alter. No, Dame Nihilis is something else entirely.

Every time she comes by, she seems to end up entangled with Oona. Not that they're either the worse for it. Oona wishes she knew what makes her want to come back.

Maybe Nihilis is just a bad habit.

And you still texted her, didn't you.

Aye, she sure did. Come by sometime this week. Lots to talk about.

The head maid leans against the pillar on the stoop of the entrance of the manor, behind the walls of the keep, waiting for her guest. A small flask of scotch keeps her company in the meantime.

[chateau-bluerose]

"Contact."

The burst of Morello's silenced rifle kicks up, smooth and controlled in the brunette's hands. Pakpakpak, impacts plunging into the doormaid's chest and shoulder, knocking the wind out of her. The pistol drops out of her hand, the voice choked out as she fails to warn her team. Though she doesn't have much time to react, as Morello's quick feet bring her collapsing the poor guard against the wall, banging her head against it and crumpling her to the floor unconscious. "Little loud," the master sergeant mutters. "Bravo, how's the roof."

"Quiet, Alpha. Lock on the stairwell was easy. Coming down to sweep."

"Delta, overwatch, tell me what you see."

"Movement on second story, checking you out." A window shatters, muffled by the floor above. "Not anymore. Not for long though. Two more moved into cover, no clean mark, be ready."

The master sergeant moves, and nods, pulling down the hallway toward the elevators and stairwell in the dark building, power killed and sweeping with her flashlight as she moves with silence uncanny. 'Charlie', 'Echo', and 'Foxtrot' behind her in tight formation, keeping a 360 eye around as they reposition, with Bravo above descending.

And from her position, her eyes widen.

"Alpha, we have a situation."

"Kind of busy."

"Someone's home."

The sergeant freezes, boot almost against the door to the stairwell. "The fuck. Who."

"Penthouse suite."

CKRRRUNCH. The door flies open. "Fuck's sake, fuck." P-p-p-pak, the report of Charlie's suppressed AR and the impacts filtering up the stairwell as well as the stun rounds strike the incoming guard's gut and chest, followed by another burst from Morello's other shoulder, laying fire on the next guard as well. They know.

"Actual, someone's fucking Here. VIP sounds like. Ayre."

"Shite. I'll drop in. Tell Vileda ty secure."

From the inside of the apartment, the sound of thumps from the stairwell is distant, but when everything else in here is dark and silent, well. That sound ain't terribly welcoming.

@cool-ghoul

[chateau-bluerose]

Dark, isn't it?

This part of the castle.

The purrincess isn't so unused to the parts of her domain, walking about as she does. But isn't it a little quieter than usual?

She hasn't even heard any maids making fun of her flat chest or slapping her soft jiggly juicy ass in the last 10 minutes, and something about that just feels wrong.

Dark, isn't it.

One could swear there were lights in here. There should be. It shouldn't be this dark in this hallway, the purrincess is sure of it.

The floor's wet, too. Huh.

She'll have to talk to one of the maids about this one. Ah, well.

@nekomimidusteon

[chateau-bluerose]

Can I take my time with you?

Mm.

Fwsh, fwsh, fwsh. Skkrp. Skrp. Shff. Into the dustbin the pan's emptied. A sleeve wipes clean her brow, and the blue haired maid leans against her broom, all those solid particulates left behind, this and that. Condom wrappers, snacks, discarded receipts, crumbs. Yeah, there's vacuums, roombas, even.

But something comforts Private Lily Lapis about pushing a broom. Yeah, real original. But being a maid means something to some of the people in this castle.

She sets to work on the kitchen end of the common room, the last of the filth covered surfaces, wiping down the counters and stove, dumping out the leavings on the tiled floor for later. Humming along to the music in her earbuds as she stares, looking through the supplies, the groceries, the spare snacks, the beers, the liquor, cup noodles.

Having a kitchen to yourself is kind of nice, right?

Right?

@verygoodprincesshelper

[chateau-bluerose]

"She's so pathetic, Fae," Oona sputters, quietly, covering her mouth to suppress her guffaw as she reaches for the bowl of pretzels her beloved is so desperately courting between them.

"She's the parfect woman. Soft an sweet an so incapable an she's gonna get Momo so good far sure." Her cheeks split wide open, smiling and feeling her flesh burn bright about it as she duels the duelist's fingers offhand for access to her treats.

Something quiet. For once. This rare taste of Faolain's Titan. Not after anything at all. With no commands or strictures or duties or chores. The leave has done a lot for her. Even bigger than she began. In so many ways. Her smile. Her eyes. Her biceps. Her warmth.

"Just needs a maid unifarm, and..."

@maidoftheblackrose

[chateau-bluerose]

It has often been described as an anchor.

Something deployed from the hull that drags along the ground to arrest the movement of the ship.

But that would be unfair to the anchor, a noble device meant to keep a ship and her crew from being lost in a dark, terrible world where those who breathe air do not belong but as visitors.

It's not quite a bleeding wound, either. It isn't going to kill you. It isn't an emergent threat that brings adrenaline to your blood and your body rushes to respond to to conserve your life.

No.

Guilt is a poison sold as reason.

It courses through her veins, wretched and cold.

Staring at the broken figure of the hen, recovering yet again from the consequences of her beastly appetites. A thing she made no promise to suppress.

And yet, Oona Bluerose, you signed off on it.

Letting her free, unsupervised, because you thought you were being kind.

She sits with the egg, beside her hen, quietly, pressing it against her unconscious body. She hasn't woken the layer, she wouldn't dare. Not as she is. Trembling as she is. She can't have her seeing her like this. Face wet. Body close to the thing it made, her child. It's why she's tried so desperately not to have these loose ends. All her damn life.

Because she knew she'd love them, in spite of everything.

@feralharpygirl

[chateau-bluerose]

The office of Dr. Maimuna Almiraj is newly opened as of a few weeks past. And the better for it. Whether the girls understood they needed a bit of help sometimes or not, the good doctor has been working diligently. Most clients tend not to be convinced it'll help when they start. She's used to that.

The office smells pleasant, a cool and somewhat salty scented candle easing the mood, with a grandfather clock quietly tick-tocking and swinging tall on the wall generously behind her desk. Round rimmed glasses on, the coffee colored face of the cat matches her milk tea brew as she sips on it, expecting a client.

This one's fun.

Grumpy, always, she thinks to herself. Probably fucks like a mule. Haven't tried that one yet. It'd be interesting. Maybe some sex would do her a lot of good. The Cat giggles to herself quietly, tapping her pen idly on her notebook. A little bit of trickery wouldn't do her much harm.

The door opens.

The cat sits up, tails delicately swishing back and forth in her chair, eyes blinking slowly. She leans forward on her elbow with chin in hand, looking up at her tall patient in the doorway with those devastatingly sharp golden eyes.

"Percy," she calls off to the side.

Snap.

"82 Syrah and two glasses." Her assistant scuttles off, a short little wisp of a maid, flat as a board with short pink hair and a little draconic tail bobbing behind her, shuffles off out a side door.

The cat elegantly reclines on her luxurious office chair, swinging oblique to the door. Maid as she is there is a certain austerity to her full length uniform, but it does little to hide her lovely arms and the way the light hugs her breast down to the lithe tummy and able waist signature to her cat-like figure. She gestures to the equally opulent recliner in front of the desk, complete with a swing out mini table.

"Welcome back, chief. Didn't drink your fill of me?"

@maidoftheblackrose

[chateau-bluerose]

She'd been so patient. Peeled off of you still panting in the restaurant to pay and make yourselves sparse, a stop at the liquor store, wandering hands and lips in the truck, a miracle you made it through the lobby still clothed.

And as soon as the two elevator doors begin to close behind her, her hands are on you, cherishing you, sporting the physical incarnation of all that passion on the hand pinning you by the hip against the back wall of the lift car, her left hand strong and pressing her fingers into your firm supple flesh. That gaze is done looking anywhere else, anywhere but into you, where the rose brachiates and fills you, binding the sweet desperate need to every fiber of you.

And the other, with the gift she had meant for you, pulling taut the buckle around the collar on your neck, perfectly fitted, silken and strong, spackled with lightning and the night sky and sealed with a little bow, and your doll tag delicately dangling from the ring.

A breath washes over your face, tilted up to look at her with her right hand fingers on your chin, gripping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. Her lips brush over the helix of your ear. A whisper like a blade passing over still water.

"Mine."

@maidoftheblackrose