"Shaddup. We don't need to hear.. whatever you were gonna say."

Before Percy could process in the thoughts of how a bottle of turps was left for him at the bar counter, it began to gracefully rise into the air; a movement of magic and awe until one's own attention was drawn to the female hand who was gently pinching hold of the cap itself. With a twist of the wrist and a now firm grip, the poison was repositioned in a way which allowed the cunning individual to drink straight from the source itself.

"Keep downing it 'ike dat and you'll fucking 'nd up maggot'd." Clearly a pot calling the kettle black situation as Tahlia downed the alcohol in both an effort to steal Percy's hard-earned drink, but also to continue on her amazing journey to become the next champion of Smith's Rest's Most Drunk. Leaning down and resting her chin on Percy's shoulder, Tahlia wrapped her free arm around his collar, slapping her hand lightly against his chest. She clawed lightly at his body with her fingers as she bought the bottle round and placed it to his lips, tiping it so that he was forced the drink; to take an unwanted gulp at the cost of an unintentional spill down his shirt.

"Ha! Fucking weak!" the Australian snorted as she teased the man for his poor efforts.

Tahlia proceeded to position her lips close to his ear as she went on to whisper sweet temptations into his fragile soul. "So what was it you were saying about getting down to your socks? You know... I'd be willing to take that further, if that's what you want?"

"Tahlia! Stop it."

The eyes shifted around to gaze at the source of the incoming demand, a sight of Tahlia's previous drinking partner who decided to interupt the duo from the table behind Percy.

"What the fuck Mads? You even said yourself that y'old freckles here needs some cheering up, and well fuck... a sympathy root never hurt no one."

Tahlia pulled back from Percy, giving him a shove before slamming the bottle into his open lap. "Besides... I don't fuck pilots who cry in their cockpits." A cigarette pack was pulled out of the pocket and pursed up to Tahlia's lips. As she drew her hand away a single, lone stick remained of the pack's original presence, awaiting to be lit by the former commander herself. She leaned up against the bar and muttered the rest of her words through her occupied mouth, "You're not that screwed up? Ain't'ya mate?"

Standing up from her seat and walking over in a sombre way to Percy, Madison hooked her arm through the man's elbow and lightly tugged him off the stool, "Come on Freckles. It's time to go and see how Ana is doing."

Without even asking, and simply from the look on Madison's face, Tahlia could see that this time she perhaps crossed the line; an impression that she simply shrugged off as little importance.

“Oh no,” Vera mumbled, as she watched Percy’s drunken show from the counter. She wasn’t alone, his antics garnered attention from most of the handful of patrons there were, including–most attentively, it seemed–the pumpkin-haired girl beside her. Ryn watched with unbroken fascination, wearing the sort of smile Vera had come to associate with cartoonish villains.

Madison came along at last, and showed herself to be a rather surprising voice of reason. Not that Percy was in much of a state to be reached by reason, as he stumbled along, guided by the smaller pilot. They were speaking, but she could really make out much, and what she could came more from Percy’s own drunkenly-escalated voice. She thought, ‘Poor Madi. She’s had a rough enough day.’

Eventually Percy broke away again. “Uh oh,” the barkeep grumbled. He sighed, and started collecting empty glasses from the counter. “I warned him.”

“Sorry about this,” Vera offered.

“No need to be sorry until he breaks or throws up on something.”

She tried to laugh, but it came out more awkward and nervous than sincere, so she returned to the sight. Percy had veered off-course, if he’d even had one, and landed squarely if painfully at the table with Alan and, 'Oh, there’s Lizzy.'

In any other circumstance, Vera would have rejoiced to see her sister surrounded by her fellow pilots. However, given how strung-up everyone was, and how well Lizzy had taken Percy’s last outburst in the facility, she worried. Though she still could only understand–and even then hardly–Percy, she watched her sister’s response closely. Lizzy looked him up and down like she’d check a document for spelling errors, listened quietly, then nodded and mouthed a few words back, probably just returning the greeting. No flash of anger, no anxiety in her eyes or nervous fidgeting, her sister was calm and collected.

Ryn was giggling, quietly, held-back, but they were beside each other and it was hard to mistake. At first she, guiltily, felt a bit indignant; was this really the time for laughing, while their friend was making a scene? Vera glanced back to Percy and the others, and wondered if she was perhaps taking things a little seriously. Maybe Ryn had the right idea, maybe it was funny, but something told her the other girl was finding humor in it for all the wrong reasons. After all, it wasn’t exactly a secret that she and Percy didn’t get along.

“Oof, kinda hard to watch,” Vera said, and it was–for her. She liked Percy, she wanted him to be okay. No one seemed to like him much, and she hoped someday he’d prove them all wrong. But it certainly didn’t seem like it was going to be today.

Hopping off of the stool, she zipped up her coat. “Think I’m gonna go for another walk, try and kill some time before they let Graham go. Been feelin’ kinda homesick anyway.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie, she was feeling homesick and she did want to kill time. She just also didn’t want to do so watching Percy make a fool of himself, and worse, see people tear at him for it, however well-deserved it might be. So, adjusting her ushanka, she made for the door–careful to give Percy and her sister’s table a wide berth–and prepared for the cold.

It was still cold, Vera wasn’t sure what she’d expected. She wasn’t so flustered as to try and dunk her head into the fluff again, but a nervous boiling had begun to bubble up back in the bar, and she was thankful for the little twists and drifts of icy air that wormed their way between the fabrics of her coat. Of course, as soon as they led to shivers, their presence would no longer be as welcomed. So, to stave that off for as long as possible, she stuffed her hands into her pockets and trotted off at a leisurely pace.

Soon enough that too was interrupted.

“Stop. I’d like a word with you.”

Vera jumped and swiveled around, surprised to see how quickly a woman she hadn’t so much as heard had snuck up on her. She didn’t look particularly official–then again few people besides her mother did–and she didn’t have a badge or anything of the like, but there was something else. Something in the woman’s face, her expression, how everything seemed to be off to her like she was coping with a bout of vertigo, it made Vera afraid, deeply. They were hard eyes staring back at her. Disciplined eyes. Eyes of authority.

“Oh gosh, are you in with the convention?” she stumbled over every word. It couldn’t be that their first day back in town they’d already gotten into trouble, it just couldn’t be. “Is it the noise? You guys probably heard us from the canteen. I’m so sorry, I think–really just one of my friends, a pilot, I think he’s just had a little too much to drink, you know? We’re not trying to make a racket, I promise.”

“This isn’t about them.”

“Oh," Vera said, relieved though now just as much confused. “Well uh, what's up? Everything alright?"

Before Vera had a chance to react she found her shoulder grabbed by the cold hands of her pursuer. She saw it coming, Graham’s training had conditioned her just the same but between the surgeries and being disoriented it caught her off guard. It didn’t help the woman was stronger and faster, not unlike a soldier. Without much of a struggle, she was quickly backed into the adjacent wall.

“Don’t. Trust. Ingram. Kalfox.”

Vera stared at the woman like she had headlights for eyes. One hand had, on freshly-forged instinct, come up and grabbed the invading arm by the wrist, but she was small, pinned. Her other hand covered her face, expecting some kind of blow, but nothing came. Nothing but the unnaturally cold warning.

“Wh-huh? What? What do you mean?" she asked, more sputtered, actually. She tried to press herself away, feet up trying to bar the woman's legs from shoving her further, but she kept an iron grip on the sleeve.

“Ingram Kalfox is not your friend. He is not your ally. He is not a saint. Do not trust him.” She spoke again in the same militant tone. Her cold, faded green eyes invoked a sense of seriousness and rage.

Then she let go of Vera’s shoulder, as if affirming that she was not here to hurt her but something entirely different. Nonetheless Vera quaked, and for a few moments kept hanging onto the sleeve. When she realized of course, she let go, but couldn't take her eyes away. Didn't. She yielded gaze, but watched the woman's face. It was strong but weathered, and anger seeped through its cracks, almost desperate. She didn't know this woman, but she knew that look, faces like it, she'd seen it almost every day in Lizzy, sometimes even in mom.

“Okay," Vera said, nodding gently, putting her hands up, as if she even needed to surrender against someone like her. “Something's wrong, I get it, and it's stressing you out. But try and sit in my shoes, this is weird, right? I'm not saying I don't trust you I'm saying this is weird. I'm not gonna call for anyone, okay? You could explain it to me, help me and I'll help you."

“I can’t explain it, Vera. It’s probably better that I don’t. Ingram Kalfox will seek to ruin you and if you let him, he will. Everyone who has ever known him knows this. If you are alone with him, your childhood will be over. Just like Ana’s.” She paused, as if the woman realized something and didn’t like it. Before Vera could speak out with any more questions a gloved hand covered her mouth. “Don’t ignore what I am saying. Always have a gun in your pocket.”

As Vera reached for the woman’s hand for a second time she released her grip and turned as she began to hear footsteps and took off in the opposite direction. Vera wanted to shout 'wait!' or 'stop!' or anything, but when she tried, she coughed, and by then the woman was gone. Still, she scrambled after for a few feet, trying to spy her among the people walking this way and that, but it was hopeless. A few passersby shot her odd looks, but otherwise, it was all as if nothing had happened.

But that wasn't true, something had happened. A stranger had just warned her at force about Stein's dad, and Ana, and she found herself reeling. What had happened to Ana? Was she in trouble? Stein had never mentioned much about her dad, but everyone seemed to get on well enough with him. Everyone except Percy, anyway.

“Oh god," she said, spooking herself. What if Ana was in trouble? She didn't have the clear head or the time to try and work out how, or why, but if there was even "if", then she was wasting time. Wildly, she oriented herself back towards the canteen, and sprinted off to find Percy.

"PERCY!!!"

The cutesy name that Madison gave to the red headed wore off as the girl's quivering voice made an attempt to scold him for his unwanted actions. She felt violated, it was as though she had become a sex prop to someone's unhealthy relationship. The way he spoke to her, the way he told her she was a cute puppy and that he couldn't bring himself to fuck. Did he really believe that she was leading him away so she could satisfy his lustful desires?

"How can you view me like that?" The girl's voice ran hot as it filled with a mixture of high emotions and the faint sparkles of tears; an expression of distress that came to the harsh conclusion of a facial slap. It was the right hand that she had chosen to attack her companion with, following through with an earth shattering crack as the artificial backhand landed on his gummy cheek flesh.

"I'm not a whore!" Madison yelled loudly at the drunk and disorderly while he laid on the table between Eli and Alan. It was enough to draw the attention of even those who managed to ignore the intoxicated man's actions. "And you know I don't have an interest in guys, so why would you say stuff like that?"

She stood over him, sniffling and flabbergasted to what he was saying. If alcohol was a substance that would bring out the most deepest of desires, was sleeping around with random women one of those? "I just cannot believe you!" She began as she schooled the man on what it was that got her all riled up. "I was in a coma for months—I'm trying to get better—and here's you, someone who is much like a father to me and all you seem to be interested in is sticking your dick into whatever slut comes your way."

By this point in time Madison was filled a mixture of betrayal and anger: the betrayal that Percy would ignore his friend's legitimate concerns, and the anger of his self centred attitude. Her fist were clenched hard as her mind went through a thousand phrases that she could say right now.

What about Ana?
What about me?
Percy, you're so selfish sometimes.

She wanted to yell at him, punch him in the face, and make him take back what he said about her, but none of these warranted a vocal outburst considering the drunk would probably forget it all in the morning. Instead she turned to leave the cafeteria in search of a washroom to escape from the shit world that she had been reborn into those many months ago. She stomped forth, every step landing with that all-so-familiar boom for which she was known for. She was on her way when Miss Cole passed by the Australian who she had held a conversation with previously.

Madison stopped, turned her head to Tahlia knowing this was all really her fault, and through water filled eyes screamed at the top of her lungs.

"SLUT!!!!"

The Australian raised an eyebrow as she drew a breath through the freshly lit cigarette, choosing to not reply with anything while she surveyed the young girl's movements to the doorway. She had her opinions on the Percy/Madison fiasco but at this point in time she was keen on holding her cards close to the chest.

Mornings for Celina had always started early. She awoke, often before the sun, and strived to be out of the door by first light. Since the election her routine had grown only more vigorous; she now ate at the office, or if the welcome-workload was abnormally high, made due with coffee—she was a tower, but a narrow one. This didn’t save her any great amount of time, but it did get her out of the house faster. Since the girls had gone, she found that she preferred being elsewhere, curiously.

The walk to work was considerable, and brisk, but Celina had always been a durable woman. She was Alaskan-born, she’d suffered through unyielding winters on little more than brittle shelter and willpower. The breeze would not shake her. Relocation had been offered as a result of her new office, but she’d refused. To say turning down a suite in the higher, sturdier buildings closer to the centre was purely for humility’s sake would have been a lie. She knew it looked better for her to remain living amongst the civilians. It served her more to remain firmly in the lay-land where her roots were than to watch her growing city from the comfort of a penthouse, just as it served New Anchorage to have a leader who didn’t put herself above them. There was no small satisfaction in the fact that she’d secured a rather unanimous approval within the settlement. But her home, Smith’s Rest as it would forever be, was not the only settlement she needed to be concerned with.

“Good morning, Chief Minister!” Her attendant, an eager if somewhat scattered young woman named Naomi, greeted her outside of her office. She was partway through her twenties and quite apparently pregnant, but despite this she always managed to meet Celina on-time, with a cup of coffee and a daily schedule ready.

“Good morning,” she returned, and entered the office. Naomi followed.

The room was nothing special, bigger in reputation than actual size. A desk with its back to a window that saw the centre from two-stories up. Cabinets lined one wall, a long couch the other with a table bearing water for guests. She’d have preferred something with a few of the distant facility, but she also held a certain fondness for the grit of the settlement’s middle.

Naomi laid out an over-stuffed folder as Celina took her seat. Falcon’s Reach. Most of the papers she’d already read over the past few weeks. They detailed mainly the nature of the expedition Graham was sending out to them, which concerned her little. What Falcon’s Reach wanted from them mattered significantly less than the fact that they’d asked for help. Smith’s Rest had doubtlessly grown into the strongest of the independent Alaskan settlements, but they were still a far cry from being a true presence. If New Anchorage was going to become a truly independent entity, they needed more than one up-jumped settlement. Much more. Others might have employed more direct methods, since it wasn’t exactly difficult to force subjugation on others with a fleet of NC’s behind you. The Megacity demonstrated this clearly.

But it was not her goal to herald in a Megacity. At least not as they were understood now.

Their methods were effective, but flawed in inconsistent, yet nuanced and exploitable ways. Fairbanks had a history of ignoring their outlier settlements, Red Star prized machine over pilot, and Volkov—as much as they were owed for New Anchorage’s survival—was no stranger to unrest at even the most trusted levels. Already these flaws had netted her star-players from across the world. Tahlia Styles, daughter of Jin Styles and renowned commander from Broken Hill. Anastasia Kalfox, Volkov prodigy. Fouren and Drahdt, whose dossiers may have been less decorated, were certainly no less promising. Even out of the pilot seat she had in her fold a storied commander from Denver-Vegas, and the Ingram Kalfox.

It would have been easy to glance at New Anchorage and see nothing more than a sprawling tower of ice-crusted iron. And it would be a mistake.

“So, Falcon’s Reach is ready and expecting our team. They’re holding off on the ‘thanks’ for now but I’ll bet that comes in spades once this is all taken care of,” Naomi said, sifting through a few of the papers.

Celina expected as much. Smith’s Rest and Falcon’s Reach had never been much more than neighbors, it was right for them to be skeptical, which only meant their appreciation would be more sincere. The payment for this little mission wasn’t stellar, in fact it was markedly less than they should have expected, even from a waster plot like theirs. That was the point. The payment was more of a formality, coverage for the labor and some of the supplies they’d use, little else. What she truly wanted from this was conversation, and favor. She had no problems helping Falcon’s Reach establish itself, she only wanted to be a part of their reconstruction—and she wanted them to know that. What mattered here was unity. If they could bring Falcon’s Reach into the fold, then suddenly their territory, their eyes and their eyes, reached much farther.

“When it is, I’d like you to invite them to send a delegation to our next town hall. Tell them to come with a list of their most pressing issues.”

“Yes ma’am. And your meeting with the builders’ guild is still on for two-o’-clock. Here’s the rest of the schedule, no major last-minute changes but some shuffling. Anything else?”

Celina shook her head no, and Naomi left the room. She had barely enough time to look through the rest of the schedule before her data-tool hummed an incoming call. Her daughter. She tapped to receive it, and went back to arranging her papers.

“Good morning, mother.”

“Good morning, Elizabeth. I trust everything is moving along there.”

“Yes ma’am. Kalfox, Fouren and Moore will be preparing to leave soon.”

“Moore. Right, yes, I’d almost forgotten. Good, he could use the opportunity to better his standing with the public. In the worst case, he still has Kalfox and Fouren with him.”

“Of course.”

Elizabeth’s tone was flat, it always was when they spoke, but Celina had an ear for divining meaning from it. It was obvious to her that she was not content with Graham’s selection, that perhaps she doubted Moore’s capabilities, or Fouren’s reliability. It was obvious to her that Elizabeth felt wasted with her feet on the ground, because that was how Celina had raised her.

“Your sister’s recovery should be coming along nicely.” Celina said. Changing the topic was easy when it came to Vera, moreover it was almost impossible for Elizabeth to remain stony then.

She spoke hopefully. “It is. She’s started physical training, and should be fit for simulations. There’s been no discussion yet as to her NC, but I believe they’ll likely repurpose Sky’s for her.”

“Good. New Anchorage has a keen eye on the children. I doubt they’ll get much out of miss Drahdt outside of the missions, so it’s important Vera maintains a good public appearance.”

“Of course.”

Silence then. Elizabeth had been more prone to that recently.

“Well. If you don’t have anything else to report, that will be all. Once the expedition returns, I’ll want the unofficial details. I’m sure Moore and Fouren will be willing enough to talk. Goodbye, Elizabeth.”

“Goodbye.”

Celina hung up and sat back in her chair. Turning to the window, she wished again for a view of the facility, or past that the vast Alaskan wastes beyond New Anchorage’s walls. Once that sight had been nothing but a bleak reminder of their meaningless existence, but nowadays she often took the opportunity to look upon it. Now it was more than just frozen soil and snow. Now, every inch of that pale horizon was potential. It was New Anchorage.

“I shut my eyes and turned them on my heart,
As a man calls for wine before he fights,
I asked one draught of earlier, happier sights,
Ere fitly I could hope to play my part.”

It had been a rough morning for Vera. She’d woken up sore, having rolled over in her sleep and disturbed the skin still healing around her plug. Lofgren had made it very clear the thing was anchored to her, but she still worried it might somehow get displaced. Then she’d found Lizzy showering in her clothes, entirely absent—evidently it had been a rough morning for her as well. She wasn’t around now, but it was early, she was probably talking to mom.

On top of everything else, there was a mission going on. Stein, Percy and Alan were all gonna be off doing who knew what in Falcon’s Reach, for who knew how long. She was worried, less for Stein and Alan than Percy, but she worried about them too. Ana probably didn’t even know her dad was going off, or maybe Percy had gotten word to Zach. Either way, him being gone, especially with what had happened at the convention, made her nervous.

Suddenly reminded, she looked around for Stein’s father. Mr. Kalfox was supposed to have been her first order of business, but between the poor sleep and Lizzy, she’d forgotten. He wasn’t about now, or at least she couldn’t spot him if he was, and she resigned to go by his office after breakfast instead.

Someone else was around though. They greeted her from behind while she waited her turn for food, and she struggled for only a moment through the morning fog to pull a name from her memory.

“Josh!” she greeted, cheerily. “Hey, yeah, no this stuff? It’s great. I mean, it’s alright. Honestly you should have seen what my mom used to make, I’m happy enough this food is hot.”

As if on cue, the man behind the counter dropped a bowl of steaming oatmeal onto her tray. She smiled thankfully to him, and scooched down.

“So how’re you doing?”