Redana!

No one has ever boarded the Eater of Worlds and lived to tell the tale. As a result, artistic depictions of Odoacer's legendary victory have been fueled by guesswork. Portraits of black-armoured Ceronians standing in moist and dripping tunnels, veins and intestines, attacked by ferocious insectoid horrors are common. Shining hoplites wading through seas of bio-muck, all the more glorious for their contrast with the horror of Poseidon. So you clutch your Plover's sword closer as you enter through the atmospheric bubble, prepared for the worst nightmares of the void to be made manifest. Who knows what evil had survived in this rotting carcass?

You were not expecting blinding, brilliant, radiant sunlight.

The brain of the Eater of Worlds is vast and crystalline and aquatic - and it is shattered by the adamant prow of the Lupincas that runs right through its centre. But its broken wreckage still hangs suspended from the midst of the ceiling-sky, shining with a thousand dazzling lights. In the centre of this immense crystal chandelier is an incomparable light bracketed by lines of black metal. It takes a long moment before you recognize that prince of engines, the heart of the Lupincas removed from its original mount and carried down here into the dead brain of the leviathan and freed from its containment. The bare engine heart shines and fills this interior world with crystalline sunlight.

From the broken brain pours water - clear, but with an edge of cobalt blue. It cascades through the ruptures in the crystal mind, falling down from the sky in a vast and eternal rainstorm-waterfall. With the artificial sun so close to this storm, light already wild by its refraction through the crystal, you're looking at possibly greatest rainbow in the galaxy.

Seas of blue. Seas of teal. Seas of green. Your eyes adjust. Immense fields of mangroves spread in all directions, thick and tangled roots weaving together to form an almost-surface, broken here and there to reveal glimpses of deep cerulean blue. The air is tropical; hot and wet, unlike anything you've ever experienced in the air-conditioned perfection of Tellus. On and on you go, witness to this most unlikely of jungles, this alien paradise.

And there, ahead, almost at the centre - a hilltop island rising above the flat. Red tiled rooftops and gentle white houses and the unmistakable shape of a temple in white marble. Fields of rice, and wheat, and barley girt by elegant bronze stone walls. No experience other than fairy-tale depictions of castle towns could prepare you to identify what this is. A town. A town, here, in the belly of the beast.

Vasilia!

The engine has come to life.

You have power.

You have your target, blissfully unaware of the threat you pose.

Take us through space.

Dolce!

"Idiot!" snapped the Hermetician. "The engine is already running! Imprecise statements mutilate the mind! What you want is forward thrust, which the divine teachings of Hermes direct to be done through the calibration of the stellar compressor and release of sequential plasma valves. However I notice that the compressor is stuck in a maximum output forward position and some sort of emergency handbrake has been jury-rigged by a syphilitic caveman out of spare adamant plates in the valves. Simply repairing the damage caused by these 'repairs' should be enough to take us into all-ahead full."

Redana's repairs aren't that bad for someone with no formal training, he's just being mean. With the Hermetician irritably snapping at you whenever you do anything incorrect, operating them is within your grasp.

"There is a shipmind here but it's suffered worse than anything," snarled the Hermetician. That's a surprise - shipminds are artificial geniuses and sages and you couldn't wish for a better navigator. "If I could restore it finding the Raving Direction from here would be trivial. Parts! I've got less than half of what I need, I need another calculating machine. Where can one be found in this region? The Empress has had them stripped from all Imperial warships to limit their mobility. The old capitol, perhaps?"

The longer you spend watching the Hermetician rant and fume, the more you become aware that the greatest danger he presents is his temper. This is not, to put it mildly, someone who has any consideration for your request to speak quietly. Even when he's being helpful he's loud and aggressive and sometimes points terrifying guns at you when you're about to make a mistake.

This isn't a trait of Hermeticians generally - they're also rude, greedy, and deceitful, sure, but this reminds you more of Azura warbands you've met while with the Starsong Privateers. There's no faster way for negotiations to break down than to try and engage them calmly, rationally and collaboratively, and it's foolish to expect an agreement to hold unchanged. But...

He's not shipjacking you. He's helping you. He's just doing it in such an aggressive, prideful way that it can be mistaken easily for him being a menace. You think that Vasilia might have actually succeeded in negotiating a temporary alliance with him, and the biggest danger right now is misreading his compliance as hostility.

He will also inevitably rebel at some point. Challenging authority is, too, Ares' way. The only thing to do there is to be ready for it.

Alexa!

Someone is standing beside you and listening, but it is not Athena. The rustle of robes is too soft, too natural, and the feeling of feathers brush your neck like the hands of a musician. As Hera touches you in your most vulnerable place your voice falls gentler than you could have given it credit for, and the warrior's heart shifts.

Galnius touches her icon of Apollo reflexively, and that itself tells a story. She's a devotee of virtue and that is something to be deeply wary of. You're dealing with someone who believes virtue takes precedence over other considerations, even loyalty, even pride. She might not be enlightened herself but she expects that from her leaders, and she has demonstrated that she will betray even a king if she believes them unjust. Most dangerous of all, though, is that her ideal of virtue is closely aligned with the Empire's own - you do not see the imagination there to consider a better world.

"Zelok will live," Ganius said gruffly. "Faron... he was right with the gods. Not his own doing, greedy prick, didn't want to offer anything half the time. Had to keep an eye on him or he'd down his entire cup before making a libation. But I wouldn't have any of that in my unit, and even if he must have skipped some sacrifices, at the very least I made sure he was right with Hades. Seemed like the thing to do in this place, and it means he'll at least have a spot in Elysium. Anyway. No grudges," that last was half directed at his own squad. "Anything that happens in Athena's domain is Athena's to decide."

She doesn't say it, but you can tell from the way the soldiers are maintaining absolutely perfect parade-ground decorum in this situation that the reason they're putting up with all this is because they've wordlessly understood what the prize here is. If they are involved in the rescue of Princess Redana they stand to gain honour and promotion from the Empress, perhaps even assignment as the princess' personal honour guard. That's a huge incentive for all of them, but without the princess it's meaningless. What they want you to do more than anything is for you to introduce them to Redana and make sure that their names won't be forgotten when rewards are being handed out.

Bella!

Mynx stares up at you, incomprehensible mind turning over and over as you lie on that spotless floor together. Her eyes flicker left and right, observing one eye and then the other, and they go still when an unasked for spot of wetness touches her cheek. The squirrel shape melts away to reveal her sleek crimson scales, her slender frame, her hands rough and burned from the painful process of learning all of chemistry's ways to hurt.

Then she leans up directly into that snarl and there's a pinprick pain in your ear as a single fang punctures your skin. Antivenom exchanges for blood, and as the shapeshifter pulls back there's just a tiny spot of red on her teeth for a moment.

"Yikes, Bella, I don't think even I could brew a chill pill strong enough for you right now," she said. "Obviously I wasn't planning on leaving you behind," she lies(?), "I just wanted to hear you squirm a bit. No need to be such a drama queen about everything."

The Plover squats, boxy and solid, far below. Its sword is driven deep into the roots, and it kneels there like a hoplite deep in prayer before battle. It’s not just possible but probable that when her pursuers enter in after her, they will prepare an ambush[1].

Good.

If they stop to prepare an ambush, it means they won’t try to have a Plover battle. If they fought here, Plover to Plover, they would level trees and score them with fire; they would burn clearings with explosives and tear apart the sounds of the jungle: the strange chittering calls of things more bat and wasp than bird, the creaking of the mangroves in the wind, the sound of rain striking the boughs forever, a ceaseless drumming that shines in all the colors of Hades’ vaults.

No. Leave the Plover behind. Don’t let them draw her in to a fight. Preserve the jungle, as much as she can.

Sweat and rain drip down her skin; her clothes thin, reacting to the high temperatures, becoming light and billowing-cool. She twists a button on her wrist three times and instead of black and gold, she is wearing dappled, pale green and brown, blending in among the mangroves. A biting insect alights on the back of her neck, thrusts its proboscis underneath her skin, and promptly combusts from the inside out; Redana fails to notice, and the itching welt never forms. She sees a raptor lurking underneath a particularly thick knot of leaves, and coos over its sleekness, the way it cleans its webbed wings, the lashing of its tail.

It takes her some time to ascend, but perhaps less time than one might think: she is, after all, an Olympian athlete, very capable of lifting her whole body by her fingertips and of making daring leaps over gaps, and laughing merrily while she does it. Her heart is a bird, soaring and free, as she approaches the settlement, bedraggled and delighted in equal measure, her golden curls gleaming in the sunlight.

This! This is what she was dreaming of back home, though she never knew. How could Mother close off a universe that had sights like these? How could she tell her daughter to be ambitious, then refuse to let her explore the vast universe worthy of that ambition? How could she shut humanity in a box and refuse to let them see this? How could she let everyone on Tellus think food depots and televised entertainment and insular, bellicose fashion subcultures were the peak of human experience?

“I won’t stop until the skies are open again,” she says to herself. “You can’t stop me, Mother.”

***

[1]: it is possible they might try to crack it open, but Redana has the key, and she is at her most vulnerable approaching it again. It is very unlikely that they destroy it, for not only would that remove the one place they know the princess will return to, it would be a waste of ammunition. It is, however, likely that they will burn out the batteries again. No sense in letting their bait actually remain useful to their quarry[2].

[2]: Redana has not yet realized that her pursuers might just ride their Plovers up to the settlement and demand cooperation from the locals.

The snarl burns hot on Bella's face. The harder she pushes, the hotter she burns, until she thinks she must be suffering from some new poison of Mynx's, too. One that makes her arms stop shaking. One that tricks her legs into feeling strong again. One that makes her ears tingle with warmth and her cheeks flush hot and her heart flutter strangely as she stares deep into those lizard eyes and the svelte features of the shapeshifter's true(?) form.

...She is blushing. She realizes it too late. Bella hisses and pushes herself back off the ground with comical haste, looking disdainfully at the ground with a sour expression on her face that does less than nothing to hide her embarrassment.

"I am not being a..!"

She stops herself mid sentence; the giggling is only making things worse. Bella busies herself with straightening her entire outfit again, tugging her sleeves back into place with a pair of little chimes that themselves somehow manage to seem off kilter and flustered. She smooths out the wrinkles in her blouse and vest, and carefully tucks the shirt back into the waistline of her skirt before plucking a tiny amount of the fabric back up as is proper. She smooths the fur on her shoulders and tosses her hair behind her with a careless flick her her hands. She pats away the dirt that isn't there, and her tail snaps with irritation as she takes a deep breath.

It's only after all of this that she offers her hand down to the trickster still sprawled out and staring at her from the ground. She keeps her head very carefully turned away the entire time.

"Look, we're wasting time, ok? Every second they spend chasing after the Princess is another second she can use to disappear forever. You don't understand how good she is at that. S-so let's just... take this stupid ship already. We can play catch-up and twenty poisons after we're underway."

She's still got a Codexia to dispose of, somehow. She still needs to slip off of the Rex in the Admiral's own shuttle and get to Redana before the rest of the fleet can. And now she's got to do it with a scumbag faker at her heels, smiling and waiting to betray her the whole time. So why? Why does her chest feel so much lighter, all of a sudden? Why does her face feel so warm? Why does Aphrodite delight in torturing her so?

That’s...disappointing.

For all the Hermetician was dedicated to their work, for all the skill they showed, they didn’t look like they were enjoying themselves much. Much the opposite, they just looked angry and upset all the time. This was just like that time with the Azura, only there he’d been able to help matters with a carefully-timed stew. Hermeticians weren’t known for their conventional appetites. If they still ate at all anymore.

Still, that did explain the bullet holes and he was helping. (Was Vasilia alright? She sounded unhurt on the pipes. He would have to check on her when he got back to the bridge.) Dolce dutifully followed the shouted directions, taking great care not to repeat any mistakes.

****************************************************

She did not feel the ship move.

This was not the ruthless jerk of a Boarpedo, nor the dizzying dance of a Plover. The debris around them simply started floating backwards, as if caught in a gentle breeze. The retreating star before them stopped shrinking as Jas’o himself fought against the headwind. But it was useless. Only the Plousios was still. Only the Plousios was immune. The breeze became a gust, the gust became a squall, the squall became a gale, the wreckage of World-Eater’s fall scattered and dashed itself on their prow, and the light! The light! The light of the Vesterok drew ever-closer, filling every viewport, brighter and brighter until the star shields cried out in searing agony.

And she was unmoved.

“Ladies and gentlemen; do brace for impact.”

Plosuios, faithful Plosuios, carried her to the star’s heart.

[Rolling to Finish a gosh-danged warship: 3 + 4 + 1 = 8]

"They will be remembered," she intones, and offers a shaky smile to the deity behind her. Unspoken is the promise that just as Zelok and Faron will be remembered, so too will the four of them be remembered to Redana when the time comes.

Of course, that promise is, in itself, a ticking time bomb. If she cannot convince them that Redana's cause is virtuous--dubious, both for their hidebound attitudes and for her own doubt in the truthfulness of that fact--then when they retrieve her ward, they'll have two mutinies on their hands instead of just one.

Which is why Alexa is glad of the hard work of the engines. The redirection of flow and stoking of fire leaves little room for conversation and even less for thought. Just good, hard effort where she doesn't need to worry about--

“Ladies and gentlemen; do brace for impact.”

She needs to worry quite a bit, apparently, and a quick glance at the hoplites tells her she's not alone. Galnius' death glare makes it very clear that they signed up for glory, and despite all the evidence to the contrary littering the battlefield, dying by ramming an enemy larger than you is probably not what they had in mind.

Alexa gives a brittle smile and says, "Starsong. They did inform you who you were dealing with, I assume."

She does not waste time rushing to the speaking tubes and blurting out demands. Already she has brought shame to the Captain, and to further question her orders risks the already-fragile bargain for forgiveness she has brokered. Instead, she simply feeds more power to the engines, and does as commanded.

Redana!

You walk along a path of soft soil.

The Eater of Worlds cracked planets with its beak, drinking in the molten core and processing the ores within into the constantly expanding armour plating of its shell. The thin upper crust of dirt and soil was useless to the beast and so remained in its mouth, piling up around the massive structures of its mouth like plaque, contaminated with whatever seeds and improperly chewed organic life happened to survive within. The lands around the hill town are thus not only rich with grown food plants made from the ship's stores but with all manner of strange plant life. Alien flowers, wild grasses, exotic dandelions that blow their seeds out to follow the strange air currents of this interior space.

You follow the curve of that soft clay wall - less fragile than it appears due to the reinforcing strands of hypertensile materials harvested from the Lupincas and running crudely through its structure, but by no means durable. What it does seem to have been optimized for is slipperiness - you watch as a confused frog tries multiple times to jump onto the gentle angle of the wall's lower surface and slide smoothly down to the ground each time, suction caps useless against the frictionless surface.

You hear the voices before you see them - aged and weathered like sea biscuits. "I'm telling you, I saw it! There was a fire in the sky, Leon!"
"You old coot, you just probably just saw the sun in a crystal again."
"Whatever happened to, 'I love you, Leon! I'll trust you with my life, Leon'!"
"That was before you called me to arrest your own shadow -"

You round the last corner and before you are two of the legendary warriors of Ceron.

The Ceronians are a servitor breed, but of all the servitors they are the most prestigious - wolf-aspected, phalanx instinct woven into their genetics. There has never been a more uniform and cohesive fighting force in the galaxy, fearless soldiers with almost telepathic understanding of each others awareness. One of the contingency plans drilled into you by your tutors is the secret location of Ceron - in the event of you escaping a coup against your reign, you are to go to Ceron and muster an army there that might be capable of defending you against the Armada itself.

But these aren't the vital, ferocious wolf-warriors of legend and battle plans. These are two old soldiers sitting under hand-woven yellow-and-pink umbrellas by the gate, intensely staring with fading eyes at the game of marbles laid out between them.

Vasilia!

Ramming is a natural part of void warfare. Ramming directly into a warship's plasma engines...

It's not really the done thing.

There are better ways to do it, normally. It's rare for a slower ship to turn tail on a faster one. It's rare for an ambush to strike for the narrow engines rather than the large and vulnerable sides. It's rare that a captain wants to see what happens if they put the nose of their ship into a constant flow of stellar plasma for a prolonged period of time...

With a hundred thousand viewscreens angled in this direction, this is a learning experience for the entire Armada.

The crunching, cracking enormity of impact runs through the Plousios. The temperature starts to steadily rise as the point-blank plasma furnace of the Veterosk crashes over your prow like the storm itself. The forces are impossible to control, but Poseidon's hand is here and he guides you relentlessly towards your destination. As fires start to erupt around you and your viewport glows red-hot you can see the shapes of salvation pods, plovers, and shuttles burst from the Veterosk in all directions.

And then you order full stop.

With the added, wild, uncontrolled momentum the Veterosk slams into the Lupincas like a javelin.

The Engine Deck!

The Hermetician is the only one who is okay with this. There's a strange, serene calm about him as he goes through his work, tripod legs reflexively bracing against every tug and pull and shipquake. As the world falls into chaos, only those marked by Ares can keep their feet.

The rest of you? You are not right with the War God.

Laughter fills the room and smouldering coal-eyes gleam in the dark places. Ares emerges into the desaturated light of the engines, ruddy and bare chest illuminated by emergency lights, wooden war mask upon his grinning face. With a whoop and a howl he rips a pipe open, sending a spray of azure plasma fire in Dolce's direction. Then he snatches up a loose polywrench in either hand and rushes towards Alexa, blows cascading over each other in the brutal, uncaring rhythm of the mad.

Both of you, roll to Overcome.

Bella!

"Of course, you're right," said Princess Redana, as you pull her up so that she almost falls into your arms. "I don't understand anything about mistress Redana."

It's the voice that's always so weird. It is Redana's voice, but saying things that Redana would never say, in ways Redana would never say them. And then she's stepped away, hair changing with a flick from blonde to black-grey, face falling and sharpening and -

"I," said Admiral Odoacer with profound menace infusing every word, "will need you to do my hair."

If you had to study the Admiral then so did Mynx - if there was ever a role she'd have to play other than Redana's, it would have had to be the Admiral's. But Mynx's shapeshifting didn't come with free hairstyling, which was perhaps why the Admiral kept her hair in such an elaborate and severe bun.

"And we can play twenty poisons while you do it!" said the shapeshifter, bubbly normal voice incongruously coming from the Admiral's mouth as she seized your arm girlishly. "First question! Empress Nero - fuck, marry, kill?"

“Oh my stars.” The words slip out before she can catch them. But it’s no use! Here! The warriors of Ceron! In her mind’s eye, they would have been tall and shirtless and carrying bronze shields as large as themselves, and might even have insisted on carrying her to their alpha. Be like the Ceronians, princess! Do you think they would give up before beating this record? Would they be satisfied losing to this Marvelous Mechanical Man in wrestling? Surely not! Surely, surely not!

Redana does not have a lot of experience talking with the elderly. It’s a little distracting, trying to look at them and not focus on the wrinkles, the sagging jowls, the pot bellies in those hand-dyed shirts... that’s so rude, Redana, focus! Be a princess! Be their princess!

“Hail, champions,” she pivots smoothly into. Look at the marbles, that’s less distracting. She strikes her fist against her shoulder in salute. “Princess Redana Claudius of Tellus salutes you[1]. Praise to Pallas Athena, who crowns you in glory, who tempers the shield and steadies the spear. I invoke your protection—“

She stops. Looks at the village again, considers the words that just sprang out of her lips, drilled into her: these are the words that will protect you. “No, I— I counter-invoke. It doesn’t count. I just need to know if you know of someone named Epistia. Hades sent me here to help her. And I’m glad he did, because your home is beautiful. I wish I wasn’t here on a quest; Dolce would love it here. You’ve been here all this time, haven’t you?”

So that they don’t have to get up, she takes a seat with them. That will help the counter-invocation, probably. Nobody making serious proclamations ever sits down criss-cross-apple-sauce to watch a game of marbles with two old men. And, really, when you look closer, they have been keeping up with their fitness; you could bounce a marble off that firm arm.

***

[1]: Bella, if she were here, would wince and hide her face in her hands. Really, Dany? You’re the most wanted woman in the galaxy and you immediately introduce yourself by your title? But what Bella would not be taking into account is that these are the Ceronians. Of course you can trust them, Bella! Don’t be silly!

***

[Redana’s doing her best to Speak Softly here, and she hammered out a 13. So, with that in mind, in a conversation over marbles, hopefully with some lemonade served in an old mason jar...

• What can they tell her about Epistia?
• What do they want, and how could she help them get it?
• What would they have her do next?

If Bella blushed any harder, she would probably faint. The air was hot and full of steam such that it had soaked through her fur even though she'd had the good sense not to dip herself in the water any more than she could help it. The heat permeated her entire body, right up to the tips of her ears, but truthfully it had very little to do with the temperature in the bath house. Bella's slender fingers clutched at the sponge like it was a gift from the gods, the only thing keeping her alive right now.

Her arms move rhythmically up and down, following the contours of her canvas. She wore the same look of grim awe she saw plastered across the face of every painter and sculptor she'd ever snuck a glance at while they were working, so the metaphor really held up in her opinion. Up and down. Up and down. Only a trace layer of soap in between her eyes and the most flawless skin she'd ever seen. Up and down. Up and down. She tries very hard not to stare, but it's impossible to do her work with her gaze stuck in the pool. Up and down. Up and down. And round and... out. It had been one thing to wash the back, but no part of her training could have prepared her to face Nero, Empress of all humanity, front-on.

Her heart hammered. Her arms shook. She kept tossing glances Redana's way, looking for comfort, but she was as naked as her mother, which was somehow even worse? Her only solace was that the both of them were deep into their wine, and a conversation about Imperial court etiquette that was so lofty Bella had no choice but to tune it out. It was easiest to look them in the eyes. They both had such beautiful eyes... one emerald, one sapphire. The Empress' were sharper and more dangerous by miles, but even she had that same... spark, maybe, that made Redana feel so...

"You there! Servitor!" There was a snapping of fingers, "Bella!"

She was so startled she nearly fell into the bath. That was her name! Her name! But that wasn't Redana's voice! She shot a foot into the air and landed in full curtsy, her ears pressed as flat against her skull as she could get them. She flinched sharply as the soaking wet hand reached up and patted her like a favored pet.

"Mm! Well answered, little one! My daughter is training you well!" The Empress flashed a proud smile more dazzling than even her body, and nodded to herself, "I require your mind! I have heard it said that sheer fabrics are unbecoming as the basis for a pattern on the front of a ballgown! But if you were to behold such a garment, would you..."

Bella's hand abruptly digs into the "Admiral's" hair and yanks it back as hard as she dares. She can't help but smirk at the brief wince of pain that breaks Mynx's composure. She glares down at the shapeshifter's upside down face for a moment before answering with a derisive snort. It's even more gratifying than she would have imagined to flick Grand Admiral Odoacer's nose. If only.

"Off limits, you creep. And by the way, while you're sitting here with your back to me, maybe you should stop and think for once in your life about how easy it would be for me to do this stupid bun wrong enough to let you get caught. It's kind of like your life is in my hands! So maybe you should try showing Her Imperial Highness some respect and quit looking for my buttons for thirty seconds so I can work!"

She smiles, flashing sharp teeth before snapping Mynx's head back in place and smoothing out the fresh tangles in the Admiral's ultra-fine hair.

Bella's fingers were made for this kind of work. They're long and clever, and when she's careful even her claws can manage to be gentle. Even soothing. It's the kind of work that mellows her out without her even realizing it. She's dressed the Princess for a thousand parties and public appearances, maybe even more, and has long since developed the kind of talent for it that lets her navigate almost any style you could name without the need for tools. Combs are a crutch, and Odoacer favored a bun that was less than half as intricate as it needed to be to fend off somebody like her. Especially since she doesn't need to fight Redana's stupid hair to do any of it. Unbelievable, how hard she made this job sometimes. How anyone could shower and still manage to come back stuck so full of clumps and knots was beyond comprehension. She wrinkles her nose at the memory, and scowls.

"...Next question." she adds, after a moment of silence.

[[9] on Overcome. Paying one use of Indomitable Shell to get the 10+]

Fuck!

There's no defense against the God of Madness. At his shout, formations fall to pieces. Units fight amongst themselves in his noise and confusion. In the milling of ships, the flaring of stars, the stutter of smoke and cannon, Ares laughs.

And Alexa falls back. She flees! The engine room is chaos and shouting and pushing and shoving and climbing the walls and pain and--

There's no thought of defeat, no plan, no defense, only Ares and get away, over and over again. There's no formation. No unit, no comrades, nothing but panic. There's no pattern to figure out, no style of combat suited to counter the blows that rain down, nothing but running and enduring and the crackling of stone under clubs. All she can do is roll with the blows, and run as well as she's able, and hope that the pain stops soon.

Ares brings both arms around in a double-overhead chop, and the Aegis shatters under the blow. As she reels back, she catches a glimpse of the delightful chef, and a different kind of panic sets in. What is he doing here?

It would be an immature amatuer who laughed at a time like this. The Lupincas - immovable, invincible - cracked in two, split by the largest javelin ever thrown, guided true by technicolor waves of stardust, and she was to, what; throw back her head and cackle like a wild animal at the thrill of it all? Really now, she had more composure than that. Besides, Jas’o wasn’t even here to hear it.

Captain Vasilia doffed her hat, swept out her coattails, and dipped low in an immaculate bow. “Fare thee well, oh great king. A pity we could not provide an opponent of your caliber.” She straightened, and smirked, and...sniffed, catching the undeniable odor of an entire room burning.

Right. Yes. Not a good time to catch fire too. Best take care of that.

****************************************************

This wasn’t that different from the kitchens.

You see, that plasma fire? That was just like a flambe gone a little wrong. The screaming pressure valves, those were just like when you’re in the middle of chopping vegetables, and your water starts boiling, and your rolls only have seconds left in the oven. And the shaking deck, well, if you had to mop up a nasty spill, then sometimes that left the floor quite slippery, and you had to be careful where you stepped. Oh. The falling pipes. Those were...it didn’t happen often, but your rack of pots and pans could come loose, right as you were focused on your stew, and you had to get out of the way in a hurry. The giant gear that just sprang loose from its housing and nearly ran them all over, you see, that one…

He’d have to think about that one. But when he did, he was certain that it would be almost exactly like working in the kitchens. Thus, all he had to do here was what he did there when things got out of hand; run, vault, leap, swing, man the dials, fix the pipes, don’t linger anywhere, he’s forgotten his oven mitts, everything’s burning, don’t you dare lose your count, get to the oven on time, and eventually. Eventually! He’ll run out of fires to put out!

“Attention, crew!” Vasilia called out from the pipes, and what was that hissing noise in the background? Was that a hose? “I am so very pleased to report that the Veterosk has been completely disabled, and Jas’o’s forces scattered. Once you’ve put yourselves back together, report to the hangar; we still have a Princess to save.”

A frazzled bleat escaped his lips. Eventually...

[Rolling to Overcome with Daring Devils: 6 + 3 + 1 = 10.]

Redana!

"Oh, thank you so much for the compliment young lady," said the Ceronian with a kind civility that almost makes you wonder if you're somehow incognito. "Sit! Zeus bids us to always be glad at guests, and we are honoured to respect the laws of mighty Hades' sister. Have some lime soda!"
"Hold up a moment Sands," said Leon. "Do Zeus' laws still apply here?"
"Oh, that is a fascinating point," said Sands. "We've not had a guest before... we should check!"

The two of them turn away from you, back to their game of marbles. "Hades, brilliant lord, you who reign over this, the Kingdom of Elysium and to whom we honour above all others. Do the laws of Zeus apply in your kingdom?" Sands flicked a marble and both rheumy old eyes watch intently as they click-clacked against each other.

Hades knelt down, staring at the game with intense fascination. He reached his fingers out to adjust the course of a marble ever so slightly.

"Ah - they do!" said Leon. "Praise be, lord Hades, and respect to your regal sister of Olyumpus. In your name, and hers, we welcome you to Elysium. It must have been a glorious death indeed to bring you here with us."
"She doesn't look dead," said Sands.
"Neither do you!"
"Oh, what a lovely compliment~" said Sands, who was old enough to appear at least dead-adjacent. "But she's on a mission from Hades, she must be dead."
"Didn't you hear her mention Athena? That's a god for the living."
"Oh, just think about how long it took you to get out of that habit."

The lime soda is a thick and deep flavour. Its creation was unskilled; there is too much bitterness, not enough of the refinedly sweet perfection of the Imperial kitchens. Just an ordinary person doing their best, but enough to refresh on a hot afternoon as the old warriors bicker. You might notice a shaking of the sun, the shadows crazed for a tiny second, but the distances are so vast that whatever violence caused it is distant from here.

"Oh! Where are my manners. I'm Leon, this is Sands. As you know, we were warriors of Ceron before we were gathered here in Elysium after death by Lord Hades," said Leon brightly.

Hades, sitting across the game of marbles, makes casual eye contact with you and gives a gentle shrug. He's giving no opinion on this, even though your auspex seems to clearly think that these two are very much alive.

"Princess Epistia is the daughter of Queen Hatchan," Leon went on. "We all dote on her of course but she's always so moody, just like her father," he laughed. Hades' cheeks turned a soft shade of pink and he gave another idle shrug, this one a little more forced. "She doesn't understand just how valuable peace is! She's always wanting to go off and fight like we used to. I told her, princess! This is the kind of place you fight for! But then, I never listened to my grandfather either."

"The queen wants her to settle down," said Sands. "And it makes sense she does. This place is favoured by Hades because she's here. He covers the fields in flowers, makes exotic crops bloom, brings forth diamonds and gems from beneath the earth to cheer her - and even if she doesn't appreciate them it's good luck to have someone like that around."

"And now Hades has even brought you here!" laughed Leon. "Someone the same age! And a princess too! Why, I think that you two would make a gorgeous couple!"

Vasilia!

Don't celebrate your triumph too soon - a lot of escape vessels got off the Veterosk before it broke, and you can see even now most of them drifting towards the Eater of Worlds. The King may have lost his ship but his military is still about - though widely scattered and deeply disorganized amidst all the chaos. Your ship has ridden through it better than any other.

But you can hear the muttering of Poseidon's voice as he draws lines in the air with malformed hands. Great sweeping lines trace winds and waves and the storm darkens between here and the Armada. It would require great courage or great callousness to order ships through that tempest.

Which means that the Admiral will still be coming, of course. But you at least have a little time.

Alexa!

Ares finally lowers his tools, eyes alight, his molten-metal body rippling and cooling into grey slate. He gives an intoxicated grin and a lazy salute - and then he runs cold. His skin stops steaming. His eyes cloud over. Twenty fingers run through his wild hair, and then scissors cut it neatly short again. Red burns away to blue and Athena smooths out her uniform with a single gesture. It never happened, of course. She is the victor, she would never lose control like that.

Between Dolce's quick actions and your endurance the chaos has calmed rapidly. There are no dead, there is no battle, and Athena steps away for there is nothing for her to do here. You've got a moment to brush yourselves and each other down as you head for the launch bay.

Bella!

"Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow - I'm just trying to help, Bella," said Mynx. "It is the mark of an expert actress to be able to talk about the most dirty and provocative subjects without letting one's true feelings slip. Why, if I was less of a creep my skills would atrophy and we'd both be - ow! Bella!"

She huffs and folds her arms, an incongruously childish and petulant look on a face so old and severe.

"But - hm! Fine. Another question then. If you were to pick up a beautiful woman, how would you like to do it? Sweeping off their feet into a princess carry? The squealing humiliation of hefting them over one shoulder? The dark and smouldering one-handed grip to the throat while you hold them aloft?"

The Ceronians believe that they are dead. The angry Auspex believes that they are alive. Yes, Redana can see the green health crosses next to them. Thank you, Auspex. Hades is here, but is giving no indication as to whether they are all dead and the Auspex has been deceived by the veil of life draped over the town as Hades’ kindness, or whether he has merely allowed them to believe they are dead because it is a salve to their pride, or whether their state of life is connected to their belief in their life or its absence. Maybe this is Elysium. Maybe she is squatting down next to two decayed, brittle skeletons. Or maybe this paradise merely overwhelms them, make them feel that in life they could not ever deserve this, that they would have to take up arms and continue on to the next battle.

In short, it’s all Philosophy, and the easiest way to handle Philosophy is to just wait until it makes sense in the end.

Or to make an assertion of your own.

“She’ll never be happy here until she’s had the chance to leave,” Redana says, with all the conviction of an Empress-to-be. “If she is allowed to leave... she’s more likely to come back than if you lock her up to keep her safe, and tell her that the Empire depends on her, and if anything happened to Queen Hatchan, it would be her responsibility to continue everything that Hatchan did before her, and that she can never, ever leave. Not until the work is done. But it will never be done, and the stars are calling her name: Epistia, Epistia, we are beautiful and forever and we have treasures you never would have dreamed about, like leviathans of the void drifting in storms of sapphires...”

She slings her ponytail over her shoulder and rubs the sapphire beads woven into them by Hades’ clever fingers. “I’m going to make her smile. And I’m going to offer her the stars. And even if this place is dimmed, there will still be that beautiful sun, and the forever rain, and mangroves growing, and Elysium here, forever. So please, Leon, Sands, take me to meet Epistia. I don’t know whether she’ll stay or go, but all I know is that I will make her smile. I have promised no less than her father to bring one to her.”

And her eyes are bright, and her hair gleams underneath the light of that roaring star, and for a moment she is like her mother must once have been, fervent and bold and burdened with an overflowing heart.

But just for a moment.

[Talk Sense with Grace: 6.]

Yes, yes, time is of the essence, is it not?

After all, you can only borrow so much.

With the fires out, and her uniform back to presentable, Captain Vasilia took the long, lonely march to the hangar at a fast walk.

****************************************************

From the depths of settling chaos, Dolce emerged.

His vest was horribly rumpled, and would no doubt take a good ironing to get back to its former glory. Not to mention a few washes to rid it of that smokey flavor. He stepped lightly, wary of any more of Ares’ surprises, and dutifully ignoring the litany of scrapes, bumps, and burns that covered him from head to toe.

Then, he spotted Alexa amid the wreckage, and dashed over without a second to lose.

“Oh! Your shield.” All splintered and wrecked! And hardly enough time to put it right. Oh dear, oh dear. “The next time we stop, it will be someplace we can fix it.” He assured her, patting her arm with a warm smile.

Bella's fingers work quickly as they glide through Mynx's hair. For a moment, her only answer is the soothing gesture of the gathering of lock after lock and skillfully weaving them into each other. She winds them tighter and tighter around the back of the head so that they spiral into the Admiral's signature bun. She can't keep the quiet rumble from building in her throat as she reaches into her vest and pulls out a hairpin.

She pauses for a moment to admire her handiwork. Yes, this is a match. She couldn't forget this stupid look if she tried. Her hands brush themselves along the length of Mynx's head and down her neck, just barely brushing the tips of her claws along the surface of the skin. When they find the shoulders, they squeeze tighter. Sensual and possessive at the same time.

"Well obviously," she purrs, "It depends on what I'm after."

Bella squeezes Mynx's shoulders tight enough to press her claws into them and spins her around with a careless twist of her arms. She's never actually stood this close to the Admiral before. She'd never notice how much taller she was than Odoacer. Bella's tongue glides over her lips while the tip of her tail twitches suggestively behind her. She plucks Mynx off her feet and sweeps her around in a circle, leaning her down so that her head almost brushes the floor while Bella presses herself tight against her old rival.

"Maybe she's a romantic who spends her days reading trashy adventure novels. Then I should be dazzling, shouldn't I? If I want her. Or maybe..."

She grins with a mouth full of sharp, predatory teeth as she stands up in one quick motion, plucking Mynx off her feet entirely and grabbing her up into a perfect princess carry. She might as well be feathers in Bella's arms.

"She wants to play the damsel waiting for her brave warrior to carry her away. I mean, a good lover makes her partner's wishes come true, right? But, you know, I think..."

Finally, Bella's leer falls away. Her eyes betray her disgust for the face that she's been flirting with, just before she lets Mynx fall to the ground with a squawk and a thud. She's on top of her in an instant, pinning her to the floor, entire body tense and lifted like a great cat. Her hand squeezes Mynx's mouth shut, letting up only just enough to avoid leaving a mark. Her face is wild with a deep hunger that she's never once sated. And how could she? Her entire life, it's been women like the Admiral who have made sure Bella had no measure of her own strength.

"She's probably just a cold-hearted skank anyway. Maybe she's really my enemy. Maybe I should just take what I want, then leave her. I just need to break her in a little first~"

Bella snarls. She lifts her free hand to strike, before she can be struck. How she's waited for this moment. For years. And now!

She pats Mynx on the cheek. Her expression breaks into genuine mirth, and she laughs girlishly as she stands up and offers her hand down to pull the shapeshifter back off the ground again.

"The look on your face! Who can't act again, hm?" she snorts and stretches her neck, "That's what you get for poisoning me. Now come on, quit wasting time. We've got a ship to steal."

Alexa watches in helpless silence as Athena examines her work--perfect, as always--before vanishing as suddenly as Ares arrived.

How do you even begin to approach that subject? What words could possibly be right enough to express, "you occasionally go insane and destroy things?" What augury could be invented to find out whether Athena knows, and if not, what possible offering could make up for the mortal offense of bringing it up?

And so, all that's left is to pick up the pieces, lick wounds, brace for the next time it happens. It's not ideal, but it's workable. Endure. She's... She's good at that. She can survive it.

“Oh! Your shield.” All splintered and wrecked! And hardly enough time to put it right. Oh dear, oh dear. “The next time we stop, it will be someplace we can fix it.” He assured her, patting her arm with a warm smile.

And suddenly, it's all she can do to keep herself steady, and her gaze darts to the various entry points of the room. What if Redana came through those doors right now and saw them? What if the Empress saw them? Don't you understand, you delightful little sheep, how dangerous it is to get so close to her?

And he's the living proof of it, she's dismayed to note. For the high crime of being close to her, his coat is ruined, dotted with singed fur and the stink of plasma.

"It shall return in time, fear not." she states dully, withdrawing from the contact as tactfully as she is able.

There, see? No friendship. Nothing to come between Alexa and Redana. No distractions. No need to hurt the sheep. She's being good, she promises! And she fixes Galnius with a stare that dares her to disagree. You saw nothing.

"I and my shield will be fine, I promise. More is the shame for losing your jacket, Dolce."

Redana!

The two old soldiers exchanged a Deep Look, and then turned their attention to their marbles. Hades' sky-blue eyes glittered with every roll and curl of the marbles across the rough dirt surface. Click, click, click - and now there were three colours on the field - an invading, encircling red, a static, defensive black, and a single pearl of white in the centre of it all.

"Far be it from me to contradict royalty," said Sands, taking the role of red and breaking black's formation. "But the promise of a safe return is not something even a princess can offer, least of all to one marked by Athena."
"After all, our princess doesn't seek simple adventure," said Leon, clacking a marble back into one of the chinks caused in the scattered armour. "She seeks war as we once did. She's practiced since she was a child to fight, and who could stop her? Violence is in the blood of Ceron."
"A child of Hades," murmured Sands, pressing the attack, cutting a line through the formation of black and bisecting it. "Favoured of Athena. War and death. Does that sound like someone destined for safe returns and a life of peace?"
"Her mother doesn't think so," said Leon, sacrificing the broken part of his formation to scatter several of red's threatening marbles, limiting the vectors red can attack from. "Her mother gave all of our lives in service to the Empire. Her mother rammed the Lupincas into the brow of the World Eater, and when we awoke in Elysium she had us forswear the Lady Athena."
"We had done our duty, she said," said Sands, making a last doomed attack on the still-too-solid formation. "Athena and Empire can ask no more from us, we who slew the leviathan with our dying breaths."
"She will not react kindly to Athena's attempt to snatch her daughter away to perish in the endless war of stars," said Leon, perfectly striking away the last few feints of red and ending the battle with the precious white sphere intact and immaculate.

Hades looks you in the eye - and as he does you can see Athena's frustrated hand pulling away from Sands' red - and a victorious Aphrodite smiling a scowl in black. It is Aphrodite who has been invoked by Queen Hatchan as her daughter's gaoler. It is Aphrodite who will work against you with all his viciousness if you try to rescue her.

(And by the same token... you might not be Athena's only piece on the board)

Alexa, Dolce, Vasilia!

The shuttle flies into the Leviathan's interior. The splendor of the crystal sun ignites the world; the impossible mangroves and cascading waterfalls alight for you as they did for Redana - but your vision is not as pure as hers. Imperial shuttlecraft are here too - huge and brutal, rectangular shapes that speak of uncompromising strength, defiant of concepts like wind resistance. They maneuver like shopping trolleys but bristle with solid projectile cannons that open fire even though they are out of effective range. Shells fall short, shattering trees and sending explosions and gouts of blinding, poisonous gases into the air.

The make and aesthetic of the Plousios shuttlecraft isn't Imperial - it's stranger, sleeker, older, a device that somehow speaks to the ocean as much as it does to the void. You can guess where Redana has gone but there is a lot of distance between you and there, especially if you want to delay King Jas'o's landers from settling there and deploying their phalanxes.

Bella!

It's only through your hand, so close to Mynx's jugular vein that you feel the dizzying pounding of her heart. She almost keeps it off her face entirely but when she tries to speak it's from a dry mouth and it comes out as an inarticulate squeak. When you pull her up she stumbles trying to keep her unfamiliar legs underneath her. It's not often you get to leave the shapeshifter totally speechless, totally defenseless, but you've done it here. Payback for the poisoning indeed.

"I don't know why -" she starts, and then stops, and swallows. Didn't even have the courage to finish that one this time around. She tries humming a few bars of the Admiral's theme song as you walk across the hangar bay to help focus her head a bit.

Then the Codexia almost cartwheels out, pointing her spear at you, perfect smile gleaming so white it's a bit like looking at an engine wash. Codexia make a... sound when they move, like a '!' sound, like an action hero in a cheap drama might make when appearing on a scene unexpectedly. "Halt!" she said, cupping her chin with an L-shaped hand to further emphasize the gleam of her smile. "Admiral!" she said. "Catgirl!" she continued. "Death priest!" Ivory Smile gave a nervous little wave from the background.

"Codexia," said Mynx, hand half straying up to touch her mouth.

"Admiral!" the Codexia repeated.

"Codexia...?" Mynx said a little more firmly.

"Thoth, Admiral!" said the Codexia.

"Codexia Thoth," said Mynx.

"Admiral Odoacer!" said Codexia Thoth.

"Go away," said Mynx.

"Okay!" said Codexia Thoth, saluting and stepping away.

Across the hall you can see Athena storming towards the Codexia with fury in her grey eyes - and then you see her stumble, trip, and fall to one knee as her legs entangle in red ribbons. She turns her spear upon them in a fury - and Aphrodite by your side mutters, "Go. Now."

When the gods stand against you, there are but three paths you may walk: the path of harmony, the path of renunciation, or the path of wisdom.
- Kyllos, The Dialogues

***

Aphrodite! Of course Redana knows better than to disrespect any of the gods, but her education focused mostly on “how to invoke Aphrodite for blessings in political marriages” and “the proper ceremonies to request the love of one’s subjects.” If she had read more of the right sort of books, she would be a lot more scared than she is now; she would be more likely to consider, even if only for a moment, the path of wisdom[1].

But Aphrodite is toothless, she thinks. He is almost silly, a crooning singer who touches hearts and lifts spirits, patron of the cosmetologist and the cosmetic surgical kit, and of course she does not want to offend him, but it should be simple enough to walk in harmony, present herself as a suitor, and delight him enough so that he lets her walk away with Epistia. What could go wrong?

“Thank you, both of you,” Redana says, clapping her hands together twice and bowing her head. “May you be wreathed in honor, as befits your dignity. I will heed your wisdom as I court the hand of the princess.” There! Are you not pleased, Aphrodite? We shall put on a show[2]! Redana will walk your labyrinth until she comes to its center[3].

Far-off mortar fire and the toppling of trees catches her attention: the pursuit is here. She flinches, guilty, pained. Knowing that it is her fault that violence has come here is a knife in her heart, and further proof that she cannot escalate the godly conflict. Every distant crash of splintered timber twists in her.

“There is no time to lose,” she adds, fervently. “I’m very sorry to ask, but can one of you please take me to her? The sooner I win her, the less hurt my enemies can cause this wonderful place.”

***

[1]: give up on your plans and walk away.

[2]: to renounce Aphrodite is to be heartless; is to steel yourself and let no kindness or sympathy sway you. To walk under Athena’s shield in such matters is to take what is yours by cold stratagem, the mathematics of battery fire, overwhelming force and spoil. It is to Redana’s credit that she does not even consider this.

[3]: Redana has not thought this far ahead yet.

“I had a poor first impression of your former king, and now I find him possessed by a burning need to outdo his own foolishness.” Vasilia remarked to Galnius. ”If they’re so bored that the only way they can entertain themselves is wasting ammunition, perhaps they ought to save us all the trouble and blast each other to smithereens. It’d be a more worthwhile target.” She sniffed indignantly; a touch so subtle, everyone in the room could hear it.

“They’re not trying to hit anything.” Beside her, Dolce cut through the quiet like an icy scalpel. “They’re shooting just to shoot.”

With every blast, he drew a little calmer. Stood a little more still. Beneath his snow-white coat[1] she could see the tension building. How each mark on this miraculous land tore at his heart. How his gaze pierced the shuttles ahead, straining to see how they could do such a thing? How could they be so cruel? How could they not see the wonder of this place? How? How? How?!

She rested a hand on his shoulder, and squeezed. Carefully, quietly, that no one but he and Aphrodite could tell, she pressed into his wrinkled vest and massaged gently. Soothing the aches of his heart. Pulling him back to the moment. Back to her. Do not fall into that abyss, my love. You will find only grief there. “And we will make them pay for their indiscretion,” she affirmed, and gave him one last, loving squeeze. “Now then; we have little time, and high odds. Galnius, if you have any insight into King Jas’o, now would be the time to share it.”

[Rolling to Look Closely: 5 + 4 + 1 = 10
-Tell me about the shuttles. How could they hurt me? How could they help me?
-Tell me about Jas’o. What are they doing? What will they do next?
-What will happen if we separate Jas’o from his soldiers? (Clarification: I know that Jas’o can’t be harmed or distracted when he’s surrounded by his soldiers, so I’m mainly looking at this from the other angle, getting the soldiers distracted, harmed, or otherwise out of the picture.)]

***

[1] How Dolce found the time and opportunity to clean his wool between the engine room and the hangar is a mystery best left to the scholars.

Her first step is deliberate and confident. Bella saunters, perfectly at ease being here under Admiral Odoacer's orders. She walks toward the shuttle without so much as a backward glance. By her fourth step, her pace starts to quicken. Her feet pull closer together and her arms draw in around her stomach. She does not dare to look back, but her ears pivot behind her and strain for sounds of a Codexia who's figured out what game is actually being played right now.

By the twelfth step, she's running. Just seven long strides that set her bells to singing, and she's inside the door. Her legs swing smoothly beside each other in a form that her father, if he knew she existed in the first place, would be proud of. Even inside, she hardly slows down at all, but vaults over a plush couch and lands on all fours as she lunges through the passenger section toward the controls.

This is how she pays homage to Aphrodite and Athena both.

Her hands hesitate in front of the flight stick. The charitable would call this mercy, or "giving her companions a chance to catch up and slam the door before she dashes off into space". The truth pounds against her chest with a rush of pure adrenaline. Her fingers tremble as she fumbles with unfamiliar switches and dials.

She snarls and shivers at the same time, as all the prayers at her lips fall forgotten to the floor. Click. Click click. There's a pressure on the top of her hand as if someone was squeezing it. She resists the urge to turn her head; she needs her eyes right now. But she can't keep the rising blush off her cheeks as the pressure becomes a light shove that brings her fingers curling around the flight stick. She yanks it hard to her right.

The air fills with the tortured sound of screaming metal. Odacer's personal cruiser tears itself away from the scaffolding like a falcon slicing through the glove of an unworthy handler. The catwalk falls to pieces and crushes the bar Mynx had been working just minutes ago. The shuttle swerves hard and then shudders as a stray beam that had been holding it in place smashes against the side where it gouges the sleek paint horribly and knocks several feathers out of the wings carved into one side.

The scene descends into the kind of chaos that would call to mind the name of a particular god only the impious or truly foolish would dare name out loud, here least of all. Bella flies the way she runs, and is not the least bit shy about putting what armor the cruiser does have through its paces. Chandeliers go smashing down onto the ground where they explode with loud pops and the crack crack crack of shattering crystals. Walkways and wall paneling peel away from their fastenings and bounce against each other in a chain reaction of destruction. Whatever 'accident' befell the main hangar, she puts it to shame here.

Now comes the hard part. Bella sniffles involuntarily in her seat as the cold unwelcome sight of space expands to fill her vision. In her wake lies a scene of destruction so thorough that nobody in their right mind will believe she didn't cause it on purpose.

Alexa traces a shell's trajectory, and winces as it tears apart a small orchard.

How can they stand to be so callous in the presence of peace? Here stands a village, untouched since time immemmorial, an atoll of prosperity. Even from here, it's like the village is formed entirely of love and contentment, and there's part of her that wonders whether they'd have room for one more. No need to fight, no need to worry. Just an isolated town, tucked away from the war, unburdened by princesses or humans or imperium.

At least, until she came and ruined everything.

She turns decisively, and kneels before the captain. "If it please thee, send me. They have yet to form phalanxes. If allowed to entrench, it becomes infinitely more difficult to remove them."

Simple mathematics. Prevent the phalanx from forming, and minimize the damage they can do. This is a place of peace, and she'll be damned if she lets that change.