Over the next few weeks there was rapid progress in their relationship, encouraged along by Mia, from kisses to making out to attempts at sex. The naming of their relationship had acted as a pressure valve for all prior affection that should have been released, to where for a while they barely learned anything new of each other or had much conversation without their tongues down each other's throats.

  Sex was difficult for Aimee, however, and again there was the inherent damnation she felt; she could not be else but what she was, a lesbian who had sexual desires and needs, yet the impingement of Hell weighed upon her mind. Yet, as she had developed ways to deal with this over the years, so too did she begin making herself Mia's object of desire rather than an agent of her own; she showed off to Mia, made herself sexually available, pliable in Mia's grip; for it was only in the expression of agency from which the guilt of sin could fount.

  This was not to say her consent was ever coerced. It was rather that Aimee was struggling with the expression of desire; it had been easier when Mia was but a fantasy, yet the reality of the romanticism she felt had ruptured these parts of herself that she had formerly complacently lived alongside, the mantle of her unconsciousness forced to crest into the conscious. She could not do much more now but to vaguely and actively iterate upon herself, until there, not here, in some thawed figure could she again stand.

  But this melded well with Mia, who was active and dominant, teasing and desirous. The safety of the frequent love she showed for Aimee allowed her to grow adept at recognizing the subtler motions Aimee made of consent; no desire needed to exit Aimee's lips directly for Mia to understand that her fingers should enter them.

  As for non-romantic matters, the dreadnought's loom over December 20th meant that Mia would need to train much for her final fight in a few weeks. She no longer saw any husks; he had understood no further motivation was needed, as the narrative he had constructed for her was to soon wither in the revelation of its reason.

  Mia and Marisa fought hosts as often as they could, and at the end of one Sunday, Marisa scanned and got a notification her protege had hit rank #50 & two-star. Mia knew already that this entitled her to doubled pay, her own two-star home, a costume, a hero name & a custom weapon.

  Marisa led her to a door in the second-year building, beside which there was a plaque reading: 'GRAND COUTURIER', and a smaller plaque that read 'and assistant'. Marisa knocked and stepped inside.

  The couturier, itself a volunteer position, was Nuiko Harime, who was typically dressed in her costumes: all based on Japanese Lolita fashion, her high heels shrinking or swelling as needed, as did her twin blonde pigtails. She was seated at a corner table and cutting fabric, her right eye covered by a mechanical eyepatch. How she had lost it and why it did not heal is a later discussion. She had been #2 in kills for last year and narrowly missed out on presidency, and though Aimee had offered vice-presidency, she had declined it primarily because she saw it as a consolation prize.

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  What this had also allowed was for Nuiko to critique Aimee's decisions as if she could not have chosen to place herself in a position of input. Thus she was able to compare the realer compromises Aimee made to her imagined version of events, ignorant to that the reef of reality would wreck such conceptions. This affliction of thought is common among those who do not work in the arena of human cooperation.

  As they came closer, Mia realized Nuiko was not using scissors; her nails were Revenantly long & sharp.

  "Hey, Nuiko." said Marisa.

  Nuiko looked up; she recognized Mia as Aimee's girlfriend. A bit of resentment pulled at Nuiko's brow, but rescinded. "Hi. Does Mia need a costume?"

  "Yeah. Is your assistant in today?"

  "No, she's in another coma." As Nuiko spoke, pieces of herself - patches of her skin or her remaining eye or lips - would swell and pulsate before shrinking into normality, a mixture of pink Lolita dress and tumorous horror. "Mia, just to let you know, if you want it specially textured, you'll have to wait until she's back. Otherwise I can only give you store-stolen fabrics. Do you have something in mind?"

  Mia handed her a folded note so as to keep it a surprise from Marisa. Nuiko opened it, tapped her eye and made it swell until it was hanging out of its socket as she read it, then shrank it back to normal. "That should work. At least your handwriting is good. Everyone else's looks like they're writing with broken glass."

  ===

  Urasaria's blacksmith typically wore samurai garb, but he was not in today (nor will be for the entirety of this novel). Instead Mia dealt with his first-year blue-haired lab-coated assistant Yuruko, who generally hated when students came in minutes before she was about to leave, hated when students came in an hour before she was about to leave, hated when students came in a few hours before she was about to leave, and hated when students came in.

  "Hi, Yuruko. How are you?"

  "Fine."

  Mia nodded, waited for Yuruko to ask it back, who did not, then felt a little awkward. "Did Nuiko tell you about my request?"

  "Yeah." Yuruko had never given a shit about social situations, nor did her being a host give her much reason to. Occasionally she would interrupt others or speak too loudly to them. The reason for this was never ascertained specifically by Mia, but it would become known by Mia's later protege, who would grow close to Yuruko. "She knows I like repetition."

  "That's good, at least."

  "No, it isn't. She's a bitch and offloads shit onto me on purpose, especially if she thinks it'll hurt. That's why she doesn't have any friends. But it's fine. I'll do it anyway."

  Mia nervously nodded and placed one of her scarabs down. "Er, they explode on death, but I'm figuring out a way to keep them after that. Maybe-"

  "Just give them to Nuiko. It's fine. She'll give them to me." Yuruko scrunched her hands. "Do you have any other requests?"

  "No, I don't."

  Mia felt she had already overstayed her welcome here, so excused herself.