Golden

Midday was giving way to dusk as Agatha and Kirk walked the road back to Greencrest, the woman easily keeping pace with his horse. She'd had plenty of sunlight today, and felt energized and content. As long as she got at least four hours of direct light, she didn't have to eat for the day, and would only need four or so hours of sleep in the night before waiting for sunrise. Being more than half plant had come with a few perks she didn't quite mind.

They both stopped and looked over; from behind hilltops, they could see tents and streamers, hear excited and happy people, smell food being fried and prepared. Kirk looked overjoyed as he waved at the spectacle.

"It's a Fair! Lucky us, eh? Here I'd thought it would be all business this trip." He laughed, leading the way. He turned around after a few steps, looking confused at Agatha, who was standing and uncomfortably still looking over.

"...Sorry, I'd rather not. Why don't we keep going? We'll be halfway back before setting camp for the night." She said anxiously.

"What? You'd really rather sleep in a field instead of a bed?" Kirk asked her.

"Yes. Absolutely." She said without hesitation. Kirk kept looking at her like she was speaking another language before she sighed.

"...They'll see me, and it won't be their day anymore. They'll cheer, and joke, and offer us free food and drink, and I'll be introduced to more than a few first-born sons. They'll toast me and ask for stories and... And it's not right. They'll put me over themselves as though I'm a saint, or better than them, like I'm some sort of hero."

"Aren't you some sort of hero?" Kirk asked, nonplussed.

"No, not at all! I'm still a nobody, just one who can lift a cow over her head. I don't do this for fame or for the common good, I do this because someone has to, and I've yet to be enough. To be good enough. I don't deserve praise and I certainly don't deserve adulation for just happening to exist and doing a mediocre job."

"...She really did a number on you, didn't she?" Kirk asked quietly, and Agatha looked away, going red from being caught out. "They cheer and all that because they like you, Agatha. It isn't about putting you on a pedestal- it's that when people need help, or need saving or defended, you're always there. You're a hero whether you want to be or not."

"You've that right." She admitted, still wavering.

"Just once, imagine having fun without those sorts of worries-"

"I have fun!"

"Name one fun thing you've done in the last two weeks."

Agatha paused and looked askance, before opening her mouth and raising a finger to point-

"Other than gardening."

Agatha lowered her finger and closed her mouth before slowly nodding. "You may... be right on this matter. Oh, alright- we'll, we'll have a day at the Fair. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you just were hoping for a lion's share of the free food." She smiled.

"Well, you can't eat meat anyway. It may as well not go to waste!"

When they got there, it was much as Agatha had foreseen- a lot of people and animals milling around in a field, food being made, games being played and a few rides still set up, and once they'd realized who she was, it was again much as she'd guessed. People were overjoyed to see her, and she did her best to pass words with them in return. The crops were growing well, ready for harvest, the wolf pack she'd driven away hadn't come back, had she fought a troll, had she ever fought a griffin, if she needed anything-

Doing her best to keep her feet, she eventually put her arm over Kirk's horse and squeezed the more anxiety she felt, until it turned and gave her a haughty, affronted look. Once they made their way to the food and sat, she was encircled, everyone talking and passing plates and fare around. She took the middling vegetables for her meal, while Kirk stuffed three plates full and clanked a tankard of beer with another man. Agatha quietly nibbled on a corncob and jerked in surprise when someone touched the flower in her back.

It was a nice evening, one she hadn't expected. The wooden Ferris wheel was a little small, and some of the pigs reared up and stampeded Kirk in their pen, but otherwise she enjoyed herself. Looking around after the torches had been lit at all the people together and at peace, she felt a tiny spark of satisfaction and didn't let herself extenguish it.

Sunrise

"...Do you see them?"

"No, sorry, not yet."

Agatha and Kirk stood on another piece of dirt road miles away from Greencrest, the Knight restless, the woman staring directly into the sun like she'd been doing for almost ten minutes. It didn't hurt or blind her; the light and the heat felt good across her skin, like a large furry robe hung near a fire before being put on. She couldn't see her surroundings, instead scrying through the woods with it's help. Too high and all she could see was treetops, but too low and she'd never find the needles in the haystack she sought.

The people of Oldstone had stayed behind locked doors until they'd seen her, at which point they had become more welcoming. Agatha was hard to mistake for anyone else, and she'd fought off an ogre in the town square not four months ago.

The first evidence she had were donkey tracks in the dirt, leading away towards the bend of a river, and following along with them had at last shown her the camp. Kirk must have overestimated the numbers; there were fifteen men ambling around the fire, some working, some sharpening blades, some eating. They looked bitter and hard, like most mercenaries tended to.

"Found them. Two miles east and a little north, I think, upright. They don't quite look settled in... I thought you said there were thirty or so? I count half that." She said in aside to him, slowly turning her vision around the camp and frowning at a bear-like man when he spit in the river.

"That was what I was told. Could be they split to cover ground or guard pillage." Kirk shrugged. "Is that near enough for you to...?"

Almost. I'll need to get a little closer, I think." She sighed and blinked, finally looking away from the sun and towards the forest wall on the side of the road. "I've never liked this part... Join me when you can?" She asked, turning and walking in. Kirk sighed and nodded, leading his horse in after her.

Agatha kept walking, her white hemline getting caught on sticks and brambles, but she let it tear loose and made her way in. It wasn't meant to look nice all the time, just distract the eye and confuse her shape when she moved. She had a closet full of them. Once within range she raised her head and kept the image of the camp in her mind, willing herself to move and be free-

Her body turned to sunlight and was gone like dandelion on the wind; Kirk kicked a root and looked around before he sighed again and headed to meet her afterward. She reappeared 180 feet away, next to the river all at once, out of thin air; before they'd done more than jump she'd shoved the man she'd spotted into the water before looking around and planting her sword in front of her. The blade was bigger than she was and it gleamed like a mirror.

"...Hello." She started, stilted. "I know who you are and I know what you've done. The dead you've left in your wake cry out, and they're owed justice at the least." She continued, looking around with readiness in the set of her shoulders and grip.

"What have we done?" Asked one, eight around drawing bows and knocking arrows. The others had their weapons in their hands, but were waiting to maul her to death.

"I had friends in Bluestone, and in Fox's Quarry. You killed them like dogs in the street for sport. If you were just bandits and brigands I'd have let you live, but you're a plague, and-" she went on, bracing her sword in time for the bows to loose. Her eyes widened as her form once again became something like rolling motes of sunlight. She didn't waste any time, racing over in a flash before she became physical again, her blade already swinging out-

She'd set herself in place, and she turned as she swung, her sword long and heavy enough to carve two men in half. They weren't prepared, and she didn't blame them. If she wasn't as strong as she was, she would've dragged the thing in the dirt behind her and struggled to poke people with the pommel. Instead she hefted it back up and spun before swinging low and chopping off a man at the knees. When she arose, four arrows hit her in the upper back, two of them punching through and going into her lung. She hissed before whipping around and charging the archers down, or at least trying to before she hit the swords and axes of her enemies.

The arrows had hurt, but they didn't anymore. Her blood was like sap, and it didn't much run. After breaking a guard and then cleaving another enemy in half she'd raised her sword to strike before it lit up, bright like a sunrise, burning with sudden heat. She accidentally set a tent on fire from contact with straw, but otherwise was able to keep killing her way through them. As long as she was attacking, she was unstoppable; her defense was hit or miss, and in the case of a few axes, it was a hit. The swords had more trouble with her armor, but by dint of it's nature she took chops in her sides and arms as a matter of course.

Agatha didn't smile because she didn't enjoy this, or so she told herself. This was for her dead friends. She knew those families to speak to. She'd been in their houses. If she slipped up and they knew she was nearby instead of there she usually was allowed a bed for the night. And they'd died for nothing.

The last one was holding his sword and his shield up, she met his eyes and briefly hesitated before he ran at her and she ran him through. It was messy, but she'd gotten good enough at to make it work.
Sliding her glowing blade from the wounds with a hiss of smoke, she extinguished it before looking around and then down at the dead man.

When Kirk arrived she'd dragged the bodies in a row and healed her wounds after cleaning her sword off. Her white was mostly head to toe red, and she glumly waved at his silent stare. He dismounted and she rose before shrugging and looking over at something, pursing her lips.

"...Could you put out that campfire? Sorry, I'd really rather not go near it." She said apologetically. He blinked and then laughed before looking for canteens to empty, while she smiled modestly.

No place like home

Agatha looked up and wiped imaginary sweat off her brow, finally able to see the results of her work.

Greencrest was her hometown, but the house she'd grown up in looked the same as ever; clapboards leaning drunkedly, a washed out gray-brown color planted in the corner of a weedy glade. Her earliest memories were of picking flowers in the field and catching frogs in the river to the south, but the sight of home itself made her frown, small and guarded. She shrugged off the plow's harness, raised her arms, and stretched with a yawn.

Their old horse had died years and years ago; although the field had grown fallow and she'd found other places to cultivate, in the last few years she'd made an effort to do something about it when she could. In the time they'd let it lay, stones had grown more numerous than plants. She'd almost broken the blade twice, and her shoulders hurt, but she had pushed on. It hadn't been easy, although plowing the field hadn't been nearly as hard as she'd thought it would be. Once she'd started moving she'd been able to keep moving as long as she didn't stop.

Agatha put her hands on her hips and smiled at the broken dirt around her, quietly pleased with herself. She knelt down and brushed off a thistle before popping it into her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. It was too late in the season for flowering plants, but if she planted a few tubers-

The yell made her stand and immediately look back at the house, frightened, but there was no sound from it. She went to draw her sword before remembering where she'd left it and her armor, instead lifting the plow with both hands and holding it's edge up. She lowered it back to earth a few moments later when a rider came into view, waving and grinning. Her heart slowed down by degrees.

"About time I found you! Don't you get mail here in the sticks?" He laughed, riding up and dismounting. The man wearing plated armor had an open sort of face, one used to smiling more than anything else. He glanced over her shoulder and she grimaced.

"No, the postmaster wouldn't accept barter, only payment. Now they hold my letters in town. I didn't want them delivered here... It's good to see you, Kirk. When was the last time...?"

"Few months or so. 'S why I'm here, matter of fact. The order needs it's figurehead to sort something out. You heard about the war?"

"Which one?" She asked, and he laughed. It hadn't been a joke.

"There's a mercenary company operating behind the lines, in your territory. Thirty men or so, killing and torching and raping their way across the greenbelt. The Rose can't spare any companies to take care of it, but..." He trailed off, waving his hands at her. She nodded, thinking it over.

"They won't draft me afterwards, will they?" She asked warily. Part of the agreement for her training, gear, and membership was that technically she wasn't a knight, and held no titles or degrees of nobility herself. Defending her hearth and home was all she wanted to do, not fight battles for the gains of petty despots. She was nothing more than a mascot, something for people to swap stories about.

"No, the agreement stands! Just, it's a Rose problem. Best have you handle it." He said guilelessly. "You know where Oldstone is? It's not on my map..."

"I know where it is. It's to small to bother writing in, but the people there are good hearted. I'm sorry, I'll be just a moment, let me gather my things." She said, hurrying across her field and picking her way between furrows.

When she neared the house she slowed and began to creep, trying to make as little noise as possible. The creak of her door almost made her hiss nervously, but she kept it in and made her silent way to the room that had always been hers. It was very small, now, and she didn't fit her old bed, but she'd kept it as it was before she'd left. Her rack of bottles and leaves, shoots, and stems sat at weary attention.

Agatha ripped off the patched green tunic and hurriedly slipped her thin armor on, the ironwood light but strong as steel. Metal gear made her uncomfortable, and left the large rose growing out of the small of her back exposed or crushed. She eyed it in her dirty mirror, the flower a little bigger than a basketball and deep, arterial red. No one knew what it was, or where it had come from, but once it had bloomed everything had changed...

Listening one last time for noise or movement like a rabbit in it's den, Agatha took a deep breath and once again snuck out of her house, mentally cursing the door before she was free. She hoisted her massive blade up so the sun glared off it and smiled at Kirk, who smiled back before glancing over her shoulder again.

"Why don't you just-"

"Because. That's all. Are we racing there?" She asked challengingly, hoping to shift the subject.

"I don't think so. Hate to put the poor beast through that." He said, mounting up and patting his horse's head. Agatha gathered herself and set off alongside, sword on her shoulder. She tried her hardest not to look back, but she did anyway.

It's a living.

It was another busy night at the Blue Lagoon mall.

Neo Death was at her place in the Meh Burger in the food court, the expediter at the end of the line. One person cooked the meat and started the food, another built the sandwiches and orders, and her job was to wrap them and send them out to the customers in bags or on trays. She wore her normal small smile as she quickly put two combo meals in a bag and handed them to a family waiting; they thanked her and she dipped her head. Other than not being able to run a register, she was proficient enough at the job.

The Neo Elementals had stayed behind after the Clashkin and the Alternates had gone back to Solis; in the wake of the offseason, they'd realized they would need to get jobs if they wanted to keep their room at the hotel. Death didn't eat or sleep, herself, but she had wanted to do her part to keep her two sisters safe and happy. She knew she was lucky; two people had walked off the job right before she'd applied, or otherwise they likely wouldn't have hired a mute with no background to speak of.

"Fries down!"

Death adjusted her hat and poured the frozen fries into a basket before dropping them into the fryer and setting the timer, briefly sighing before wiping her apron off and going back to making food. She spotted her War sitting at a table, but her cheery wave went unseen.

Black axe sitting next to her, the War grumpily moved her hair out of her face and bit into a steak sub like it was the throat of an enemy. With her appearance and the weapon chained to her, it had seemed like slim pickings for her own employment, until she'd spotted people in uniforms moving almost unseen, sweeping the floors and taking trash bags to big carts. She'd applied and been hired as a janitor, but the work was grinding in her. There were always so many things to clean up from careless and clumsy people, and it was hard to keep her frustrations to herself. Two months ago every human in here would have been afraid of her; now they joked about her weird look and threw their trash on the floors like she wanted to pick it up for them.

Putting down her sandwich, she went back to her book, highlighting a part about improper fractions. Extreme Book Club had shown her what she needed to do; even if it was only a Good Enough Degree, a GED would at least let her move up and do something more. For now, she stewed in her frustrations and counted down the minutes until her break was over.

Out of the three, Lexi had had the most luck; she was working in an Abercrombie, and had finally gotten comfortable enough that she didn't skulk on pins and needles through the store. After getting used to wearing clothes instead of just the minimum and her armor, she actually kind of liked working. Other than sneezing her first day and rotting a blouse into rags, she'd been doing well, although her manager kept stumbling and somehow touching her breasts. She didn't know exactly why, since they were accidents, but it made her very uncomfortable. Even knowing she could've torn his arm from his body like a drumstick, she needed this job...

"I don't know which one to get... What do you think?" Asked the girl she was helping, holding three different blouses. Lexi considered them before putting her hands on her hips and smiling.

"Somebody really smart told me you have to follow your heart with this kind of thing- Fashion doesn't have to be just one way, what matters is what you like! What you're happiest with will always look the best on you. We have changing rooms if you want to try them on." She offered, before leading the way.

Opening the door for her, Lexi looked around and then furtively opened up her flip phone. Technically it belonged to all three of them, but she used it the most, primarily to text Shimmer like she was doing now. Her eyes would always be a little fishlike, but the deadness in them was lessening every day. She jumped and guiltily put it away when the door opened.

"Oh, yeah- I like that one! It really goes with your hair and stuff." She encouraged, the other girl smiling at her.

President Evil

It had been a eventful few hours, and the day wasn't half done.

In her combination office and throne room, Euryale brooded behind steepled fingers and watched two of her administrators argue and snipe at each other over where a small surplus of gold would be going, after she'd once again refused to have a statue of her built in one of her cities square. It wasn't out of modesty; she knew perfectly well what she looked like, and a statue couldn't have come close. It would have been a waste of resources and money to prop up her own vanity, and without that, it would have just been a waste.

Between shouts and recrimations, she rubbed her temples and finally stood, looking between them.

"At this juncture, our standing forces would not benefit from this small of a sum. I've already granted as many of our resources as can be spared to their ends. Crime continues to be a problem... Have either of you heard the theory of Broken Windows? No? No matter. Our law enforcement offices are overwhelmed. The coin will go to their continued upkeep and training." She decided. One man frowned and then angrily bowed, while the other did so with a small smile. It made her smile in turn.

"That will be all for now... Davidson. Stay behind. There is another matter." She said, the winner of the dispute pausing and then closing her door. She leaned over her desk and narrowed her slit eyes at him.

"Have you come any closer to discovering who is stealing from the coffers?"

"Yes, yes I have, your grace. Calmin of the front office is the culprit. He's been laundering it through another party to divest it from the Greed and from you and make it his own. If we act now, we may be able to find the-"

"Oh, I have found him." She said sweetly, coming from behind the desk. "My consort drew much the same conclusion before interrogating Calmin. He told us everything and was able to prove it as well."

Davidson turned pale as a corpse.

"...You thought me a fool." She said in that same sweet voice. If not for her bunched shoulders or the glowing eyes, they might have been sharing a joke. "You stole food from my subject's mouths and played me like a violin. Did you think I would be forever blind to the rat within my walls?"

Pacing in front of him, she let the silence stretch out.

"I need your expertise more than I need a corpse. Understand you are not forgiven- you will pay it back, every single cent, with ten percent interest compounded daily." She said flatly. Circe had told her what terms to use. "This is your only and final chance. If you betray me or mine again, I will kill you and strew your pieces in the streets that dogs may worry at your bones. That is not a threat or a promise- it is cause and effect. Do we understand each other?"

He nodded-

"Say it."

"Y-yes, yes we do, your lordship."

"Then get out of my sight and count yourself fortunate. Luck like this comes once and never again."

After he'd left, she looked out to the deserted hallway before locking the doors and slumping with her head in her hands. Only Hrol really knew how much her day to day responsibilities weighed on her; otherwise she kept up a brave face, but she felt like she was drowning by degrees. It was a constant battle of second-guessing and brittle hope- her decisions affected many, many lives, and a single wrong one could spell disaster.

Walking over to a mirror, she met her own eyes and swallowed before gripping it's sides tightly.

"You are Hell's Pride. You are Hell's Pride. You are Hell's Pride..." She told herself, hating the weakness she could hear, hating how shiny with repressed fear and weariness her eyes were.

A late morning

She had to check each and every lock, doors and windows, all throughout the dark mansion. The ceilings were cathedral-like and wreathed in shadows, looming high above her. Candlelight could never really banish the darkness that ruled this part of Hell, but the flickering gloom suited her fine. Circe didn't need light to see by anyway. She undid the catch on a window and closed it again, putting her hand in it and staring silently before walking a few feet to the next one to repeat the process, until she'd satisfied herself that everything was secure. If she didn't check, the results would be vague yet certainly catastrophic.

She could've paid someone to do this, but she was used to her own quirks at this point. Every day after waking up and every night before sinking into sleep she had to make sure. It was an obsession and a compulsion, but considering how hard she'd had to work and scrimp and save over the years, it was perhaps understandable. Passing by an oil painting depicting tigers playing cards and having tea, she undid another lock and redid the catch.

The walls were a deep, rich wine color, and there were other paintings and pieces of deals gone right all around. None of the vases or triptychs or phylacteries or chests or statues or other art had cost her anything; they were all either gifts or part of a bundled package. The idea of actually spending her money on anything, including buying more than seven pairs of black clothes or basic needs like food made her break out in a cold sweat and feel faint. Walking by the McDonald's next to her kitchen, she paused at the counter and looked up at the massive slab of bones, spikes, and aggression.

"Good evening, Vizikier. I'd like an iced coffee, extra sprinkles, please."

The other Devil nodded and made her the drink, tipping it's hat to her before it went back to wiping the counter. Circe smiled and flounced away, sipping contentedly and going back and checking her locks. Nearing the last of them, she looked around before clicking her fingers together and clearing her throat.

"Vivian?"

A human girl appeared from the gloom, rubbing her eyes and double-checking her clipboard. Like most all of Circe's servants, she was pale from a lack of sunlight. As her enterprise had grown, Circe had made deals and contracts with all manner of beings to keep it functionally running; Vivian had had a disease that was incurable in 1920. Circe had bought ownership of her soul for pennies on the dollar and since then kept her on as her assistant

"What does my schedule seem to be today?" Circe asked, stirring her coffee. Vivian flipped around the papers on her clipboard.

"Well... Archfiend Kalzak has the two hundred pounds of Hellram wool you'd wanted, and sought a meeting. The pirate king of the fire sea was interested in that shipment of AK-47's we'd acquired... Oh. Belphagor, nemesis of the innocent and despoiler of hope wished to book one of the petting zoos for his daughter's seventh birthday." She said quietly. Circe smiled before throwing her empty cup away and locking the very last window in her daily check.

"Good, good. Well, we'd best get started!... Oh, and make a note, please. We've been out of M&M's for Mcflurry's for three days, and I simply won't have that." She said primly, walking along with her hands clasped behind her back. Vivian kept two steps behind her and wrote down what she'd said. "How are my Kuwahawi franchises coming along?"

"We've acquired another Popeye's chicken and a Starbucks... And an Old Navy."

"To us, isn't it a New Navy?" Circe joked. Vivan's expression didn't change, but she penciled that in as well as Circe headed toward her office, the siren song of business and profit calling to her like heroin with a voice.

Clashplot, looking back.

I hear you guys like these sort of things? Well buckle up and get ready for a bunch of words about it!

So, the Genesis of Clash was like most of my jerks; I saw her picture and realized I liked it a lot and could use her as a character. Something I'd learned in 2015 was that a 3rd shift schedule fucking suuuuucks for getting to plots, much less attending them. Originally Clash was going to be a silent weirdo who'd show up possibly in the middle of fights and then disappear as soon as the problem was solved. The earliest power set for her I played with would later be repurposed wholesale for Beth.

The War Elemental thing came about for two reasons; the first being a Magic card called, well, War Elemental, a red creature that can only be played after damaging an opponent and grows stronger the more damage dealt to an opponent while it's alive. I'd never managed to get one, but I really liked the idea of the card and it's art. The idea of an intangible concept like War being embodied was cool to me, although I will say that when Gooper started mentioning Nostalgia Elementals I felt like a jackass for copying him, even unintentionally.

However, I realized having a character only for battles and plots with no personality or motivations to speak of would not only be uninteresting, but pretty lame. The blogpost with Clash that I typed up the night before the season started was spur of the moment, but it left me a lot of room to develop her and, you know, actually have fun with the character.

A lot of the first Clashplot was spur of the moment too, which was something I felt I was alright enough at doing to hammer something together. If Clash were a living weapon made by magic, it was inevitable there would be others, and not necessarily the exact same as her. I'm glad no one called me on having a four horseman motif coming from a world that couldn't possibly have a bible, and I even had Clash mention it at least once.

Anywho, Famine was my attempt to compare and contrast Clash with someone still active in their original role. While Clash was a physical powerhouse who was ignorant of the wider world, Famine was weak and sickly but intelligent. The choppy, emotionless way she spoke was a part of separating her and Clash further. I wanted to show that the system Clash had escaped was like most systems of slavery; circular, unending, and powered by blood.

Conquest and Pestilence were a little different, due to the fact that Famine would get stomped in a physical fight by anyone even slightly competent. Conquest's art came from another magic card; Akroma, Angel of Wrath. I played when she was first released, and managed to get her card; flat out, Akroma at the time was a beast, the kind of creature that could easily win a game on her lonesome. I wanted to capture the idea of a powerful face-smashing Angel without having her be an out and out angel.

Pestilence came about after I cancelled Clashplot; At the time, I thought other people's plots that had HAD build-up, that had HAD other people get invested deserved schedule days much more than my lame bullshit, and at a certain point I realized it just wasn't going to happen. Me personally, I hate half-assing things, and I didn't want to run a boring five or six hour long fight club that was attended just out of politeness. I knew I'd have to finish what I started, and introducing Pestilence off-world was my way of saying "Hey, I know that was a big ol' letdown wet fart, but it's not over yet!"

Jumpropeman commented once that the Alternates were a way to salvage the plot after making the Elementals too relatable, and honestly, he wasn't wrong. I like making my Villians as close to actual people as possible, and sometimes it works, while other times it doesn't.

For the most part, I was trying to have your character's actions influence the plot; if you'd all wanted to kill the Elementals/Alternates/Neos, I would have written it out like that. I kind of didn't expect you guys to save everybody, but hell, it worked for me. Railroading is generally a garbage thing to do, and I wanted to try and avoid doing it as much as I could. If nothing else, I hope you all had fun with the plot; I still don't know if it was satisfying, but at least we got it done.

Divine Wind

It was tiny patch of land, all things considered. A square that was one mile by one mile, buried on the main island of Kuwahawi like a tie rack drowning in an overstuffed closest. The ground was flat but for a single hill, a very thin river ran through it, and it had been clear cut down to the grass on the ground. There was nothing valuable on it, nothing worth taking and nothing worth stealing, but it belonged to her all the same. For now the General dug out her potatoes, stabbing at the dirt with a spade and ripping the spuds out.

No one knew where she'd come from or who she was, least of all her; She'd walked out of the waves one day a few years ago, all her red clothes soaked, her hat overflowing with water before she'd drawn her sword, marched up the beach, and declared war on the island.

It had been a relatively short engagement. After bathing a city block in gunfire and sending artillery barrages at a SWAT team, someone had the bright idea to negotiate for peace before she razed everything. It had stopped her in her tracks, head down, thinking it over before the weaponry that followed her switched to parade rest and she sheathed her blade. The battle was vital, the war was life, but it was also only a means to an end. The square of scrubland was territory conquered, even if it was small and unimportant.

Ever since then she'd lived quietly, for the most part, building and sleeping in a one room shack with a dirt floor she'd hammered together out of pallets, growing her garden, and following the terms of the treaty that had been drawn up. The other islands weren't all that great anyway. There was only one of her, and at some point, her reach would've exceeded her grasp. Better a bird in hand than gambling on two or three roosting in the bushes.

Quiet voices made her snap her head up and stand, throwing her large red coat back across her shoulders as she marched around her hill, eyes steely and mouth in an irritated crescent. She knew she'd come around and see a few idiot tourists without even spotting them or listening hard. The locals knew about her and knew her two simple requests; not to step foot on her land, and to never, ever pick anything out of her garden. In return she kept out of their lives and away from their own property.

What she didn't know was that certain locals, after being held up like fascinating kitschy specimens or having their culture treated like a zoo by those same tourists would every now and then send the idiots to her. The General had special a way with people.

When she spotted the two teenagers, she was able to approach within twenty feet by the time they spotted her, and her hand crept to her sword before eight older single-shot rifles floated behind her in a half wheel like wings. She adjusted her hat as all three of them looked at each other.

"Uh... Hi. Are you the-"

"You shit for brains not see the barbed wire? Or the signs?" She snapped, almost drawing her blade. Four of the guns behind her went off as she stared to the other one. "Get out now."

"...This isn't a, uh, Hemp farm?" Asked the other timidly. The General's glare deepened.

"I don't grow weeds. Go away." She said seriously, the other four guns discharging to prove her point. She waited until they were almost at the edge of the trees before she called out "Wait!" General Oda knelt down and picked up a fist-sized rock before tossing it over her shoulder, eyes still locked on both the trespassers. It thumped the ground and rolled away, something in the ground clicking-

The land mine exploded, hurling dirt, grass, and fire upward and outward, blowing the tapers of her coat in front of her. Both the tourist's eyes widened like saucers before they were crashing brought the undergrowth. She threw her head back and laughed heartily, arms crossed over her chest.