CRACK.

Redana's head is white noise. Underneath the bright white of that kerchief (and the darker white where it has already been absorbent) her cheeks are so flushed a hypothetical observer could see them from the other side of the room. She is staring at nothing in particular, her Auspex giving her garbage data about the room that might as well be a jammed transmission for all the sense it's making, and her shirt is threatening to make its escape, hiking up around her shivering shoulders.

Mynx just hit her. Mynx just hit her. And she can't raise her forearms to block off another blow and watch for an opening for a jab, throw the shapeshifter off balance. Mynx just hit her and she can't do anything about it. There's nothing for her to do, no way that she can figure out what to do, no way to escalate into wrestling where she'll win no matter what Mynx tries to turn into, they've tested that one out time and time again, all she can do is be. Be slapped. Be gagged. Be quiet.

CRACK.

Redana bends her knees and tries instinctively to bring them up defensively. There's little give, and that's because she's pulling Bella's shins up with her. It's a miracle she's able to raise them even an inch without leverage. But she can't stop Mynx from doing that again. Her writhing fingers hook onto Bella's and tug with frantic, panicked energy, like the blind giants of Nessus VII.

For a moment, a terrible sequence unfolds in front of her. If something goes wrong, if her gift fails her, if she waited too long and Mynx knocks her out with one of her venoms...

Gold to match her hair. An ornate collar and an outfit like the ones in the holonovels that Bella always 'accidentally cleared away' when she found them while cleaning Redana's quarters. Pouring the King a glass of wine, eyes downcast. Because if she looked up, she'd see everyone looking at her, and then she'd melt right through the floor. And then the King would put one arm around her waist and pull her in for a

for a

he'd kiss

ptah.

The spittle hits her cheek just below her eye and trickles down, cool against her burning skin. Every time she breathes in she can smell Bella. Bella's fur. Bella's mouth. She's burning up. She's becoming a sun. She's going to ignite and become another star, right here and now. The pressure inside her is intolerable. All her muscles are seizing up, and the gag over her lips, pushed up against her nose, is wet, and her cheek is wet, and the world is hot and wet and she squeezes Bella's fingers hard, hard, and her knees won't come up to protect her. She's defenseless.

She's making noise. It's, it's the muffling, the layering, that makes it sound desperate. She can't lift her eyes. Go, her nerves sing, go go go, run so you can be chased. Her every nerve demands that she run, wounded leg or no. And she can already imagine Mynx bringing her down, pouncing, with claws and purring--

CRACK.

Bella's good. Ha, funny, because Bella's been naaaaughty! But Mynx is calling her good. In that voice. Would it be such a bad thing if she held Redana's chin and said it? Good. Good prisoner. Good girl. Haha! Funny! It'd just be like Bella calling her a good student, a good athlete, her voice so alive and high and smiling.

But Bella never meant it, did she? She was another guard the whole time. She never meant it. So what does it matter if Mynx says it too? Maybe she wants Mynx to say it! And then after she hears it she can escape, she really can escape, she really truly will and she's taking everyone with her, she really can stand up to her Bella and her Mynx, and--

SLAM.

Mynx's attention isn't on her now. Mynx is distracted. And someone else is in the room and oh it's you it's the statue it's Alexa and she's not thinking again, she's just got to prove that she was lulling Mynx into a false sense of security and buying time the whole time until Alexa her awesome teammate showed up, she definitely does not need Alexa to sit on her and refuse to let her go anywhere exciting again, so it is time yes absolutely time to get! out! of! this!!

[Redana, Useless Lesbian, has rolled a 4 on Get Away.]

"Are you fucking serious right now?" she does not say.

Except... it's echoing around the room. And with rising bile and horror, she realizes that she's the only other one here. And Mynx is looking at her. And oh fuck, she actually said that out loud, didn't she?

Well, she's dead. Just a matter of waiting until Redana has a large enough jackhammer and a sizable enough group of witnesses. And that's assuming she wants to make it personal, wants to make it last, instead of just, you know, strapping her to an industrial press and hitting the switch. Unless she wants to make it last even longer, and straps her to the prow of the ship just before the jump through the wine-dark depths of Poseidon's realm? Alexa doesn't think Vasilia would allow that, but it's not like there's a real dearth of ships available.

Gods, they're still staring. Alexa grits her teeth. She's dead anyway. Might as well get some things off her chest.

"Look at this! Odoacer and her fleet outside! Jas'o inside, destroying the city!" Although, come to think of it, the thunder of bolt has long been swallowed in the thunder of the storm... "Zeus, doing her level best to destroy this titan and all within it! Ceronians prowling at any second to swallow us in their net! You have been taught history! The like of tyrants who fiddled while their cities burned were to be models of what not to do! And you, you! You, Mistress, are enjoying a"--quite enjoyable-seeming, admittedly--"bit of the old pinch and--"

Something short-circuits in her mind. "And... And. Mistress, what is Bella doing here? Did you not leave her on Tellus when you kidnapped me?"

Dammit. She'd built up a head of steam, and suddenly it had all vanished away like so much hot air. She shakes her head angrily. "Either way. Bella, it is a pleasure to see you and I am sorry you, too, got caught up in our Mistress's schemes. Mynx. It is. I am. Erm. Mynx. No, Mynx. For now, we must find a way to escape the Armada if any of us wish to survive."

Endure. For just a little longer, endure. Look at Mynx. Right in the eyes. Watch the way the scales shudder like a wave across her arm. She's about to crack. She's going to break first. Imagine the sweetness of that moment, that comes from being patient. Just a little longer. She'll pack up the show and move to the important bit. Endure. As long as it's just the three of them, endure. The world is Mynx and the world is Bella. The world is their princess. So endure. Endure. En--

Bella startles at the clumsy, unsubtle clomping of heavy feet into the chamber. Unfamiliar. New. Soldiers. And more. And more! The air fills with new smells, new sweats: there's a bit of salt lagging somewhere in the back, barely noticeable over the much stronger punch of bronze that must mean the Princess' new toy has found them, and coming from... ghk. The world is expanding, filling with eyes and ears and the heat of Redana's body wriggling against and the sounds that are escaping from her mouth! How is she supposed to focus over these garbled, wet moans? This lustful, longing noise that's lancing through her brain? Mynx is brushing her ear. Just touching it really, just for comfort, but she can feel it stirring inside her, there's a purr sneaking into her throat, and no no no, fuck, no. NO!

It's Hera's hands that touch the cuffs locking Mistress and Servant in place. It's her blessing and her desire that rules this moment. So it's Bella's hands that spring free, and in another instant she's twisted up, twisted free, twisted away, and twisted her tail around Redana's wrist just long enough to get her tangled in the sudden excess of chain as the servitor jumps to her feet at the expense of her owner.

It's too late. Redana's fire has already caught her fur. She's bristling with the sheer heat and indignity of it all. Her breath is ragged and shallow, sucking air greedily through the leather gag. Her knees buckle with fresh weakness, but her claws are free at last. They tense and scrabble desperately at the band stuffed inside her lips, tearing through it as easily as if it were paper. Her shallow gasps turn into a deep, heaving gasp. It does nothing for the blush that dominates her cheeks.

Against all instinct, she closes her eyes. She lifts her hands, talons gleaming in the light of the room, and lifts her deadly weapons to her head. With utmost care and precision, she smooths her long blue-black hair back into perfection. She gingerly adjusts her jacket, her sleeves with their merrily chiming bells, her delicate and still soaking skirts. She bends down and deftly plucks her princess off the floor and back into her arms. Where she should have been this whole time. At no point do her fingers go near Redana's dual gag. She turns and faces Alexa, while her tail flicks with equal parts annoyance and embarrassment.

"Don't let it bother you," she says with a wan smile, "Her Highness simply can't help herself sometimes. It's why she's so constantly in over her head. If anything, I should apologize to you for failing to stop her from dragging you into this... little adventure. But don't worry! I can take it from here. It won't be necessary for you to serve her anymore."

Dolce gently nuzzled at the curious tentacle, as if to encourage the others to draw closer. See? It’s okay! Soft things were meant to be held, or else how would their softness be complete? Stay a little longer. Don’t run. Please, don’t run.

“That’s a very tough question.” Dolce agreed thoughtfully, pulling himself into as comfortable a ball as he could. “Can you tell me about your old job? What was it like to manage the fear of a leviathan?” Perhaps it was difficult to see the faint sparkle in his eyes. But who could miss the note of wonder in his voice? An impossibly huge creature, home to and living through a city’s worth of bureauctopi; who could ever imagine such a thing?

Alexa!

"Yeah!" said Mynx, standing behind Bella like a school bully's backup. She looks flushed and embarrassed at having been called out so directly, and folds her arms across her chest. "We know what we're doing and we don't need you butting in! You'll only cause problems for us, so just... find your own way back, okay!?"

Dolce!

"Oh, it was quite the experience," said the Assistant Secretary nostalgically. "I got to contemplate such marvelous things! Black holes, the will of the gods, planetary defense networks..." it sighed. "I even got to contemplate the Great Sundering and the possibilities of crossing it! It was such a unique position - there were not many things grand enough to threaten the Eater of Worlds, and I got to spend my days in contemplation of them and their dangers. Staring into the stars and wondering what other horrors Grandfather Poseidon had left there! Why, there might even be others like the Eater! We might be the smallest amongst them, or not understand the social rules and cues of their society and commit some sort of terrible faux pas."

Its eye was going dreamy as it remembered. "Such a grand adventure. There was so much to fear in the void of space, and I got to catalogue it all."

She really shouldn't be making faces. She bears the form of the bright-eyed. The bright-eyed does not make faces that translate roughly to "you are not worthy of my focus." Or at least, not in as friendly a way.

Still. At least one person here is sensible, right Bella?

"That depends entirely on how securely that gag remains affixed," Alexa deadpans. "Trust me, I would love nothing more than to return to my post."

It was actually quite a nice job, after all. Nobody coming to steal ships, nothing to fight over, just long nights on the quad staring at nothing. Plenty of time to think.

Although... There's a twinge as she thinks of the tea she'd miss, the faces the Captain would not pull with no drinks served.

"But I trust she informed you of the seal that binds me to her. Any order spoken by her must be followed. And the same allows her to bring me to her side in the twinkle of an eye."

Oh by all the gods, earplugs. She's an idiot. Gags and earplugs, the magic combination.

"As such, until we find a way to remove said seal, I am afraid we must be unlikely comrades."

“STTPH TKKNGG BGHHT MHHPH! Mmm rghhh hhrrrr!!”

Redana squirms in the chains wrapped around her, trying to work free, and Bella effortlessly shifts her in her arms and presses her tighter against her chest[1]. Claws dig ungently into her shoulder, saying: stay down, Princess. When did Bella get so strong? She always used to go so red in the face just thinking about helping with Olympic training. Oh, no, Dany, I can’t get sweaaatttyyy! Noooo, Dany, don’t put me in a headlock!! Noooooo, Dany, I don’t want to race even if I take off my high heels!!! How did she get this strong?

She glares helplessly over her shoulder (and Bella’s firm, flexed arm) at Alexa. Bella doesn’t believe in her. Mynx doesn’t believe in her. And not even Alexa, the brave and beautiful statue, believes in her. Instead, they all think she’s a silly little girl. Keep her quiet, talk over her muffled protests, ignore every time she’s told them all about her hope for mankind...

She can feel the hot, treacherous pressure in her eyes. Stop! Stop it! She’s not a naughty child getting lectured for sneaking out into the city, she is an adult who knows exactly what she’s getting herself into! Stop, no, stop crying, stop it, stop it...

***

”Mistress?”

Redana awkwardly shuffles deeper into the closet and takes a deep, sniffly breath through her nose. There’s nothing Bella can say that would make it any better. She hurts inside like Professor Mekhan took a hammer to her chest. Stupid, stupid, stupid! She’s so stupid! The names of battles and dominions and scientists boiled under her stylus, and now here she is. In the dark, where she can hurt as long as she wants.

Bella headbutts her shoulder with a shuffle of laces on all fours, gently purring. Redana helplessly wraps an arm around her and pulls her in close. Bella is hot and soft and the sound of her purring fills the world, louder than the unbecoming sniffles and gasps of her princess.

“When I’m sad, I know just what to do,” Bella sings, and it’s so pretty. Dany closes her throbbing eyes to listen to that famous soldiers’ song. “I take all of my pride and tell it to stand true! I set my feet and don’t retreat and make my heart stand strong; against me break the feeble waves...”

“...of that inconstant throng,” Redana finishes, her voice scratchy and not pretty at all. Not like Bella’s. Bella rubs her cheek against her Dany’s shoulder and purrs even louder.

“You can do anything,” Bella says, placing one hand on Dany’s. They’re both so hot, burning up together. “Just gather all your spirit in your chest and let it be your strength.”

“You’ve got more room for the spirit,” Redana weakly jokes, and starts giggling at Bella’s flustered sputter. Bella’s an early bloomer, but one day, Dany’s going to be just as impressive as her mother, she just knows it...

***

Redana closes her wet eyes and gathers up all of her spirit in her chest. She compresses it, makes it as hard and steady as stone. Against her break the waves of doubt and disbelief; she believes in herself, and that’s all that matters. “Y’rrr nghht,” she says proudly and incomprehensibly. “W’rrrr gnnnph tmmph ffffnnn’ Ghhhh fffhhhhrrr huuuuh lkkkkttt hhrrr nnnn’!”

She pushes herself back up, and Bella pulls her right back down, and she defiantly kicks her legs in the air. She’s not giving up! She is never giving up, Bella! And if you want to learn who taught her that, go look in a mirror!!

***

[1]: Oh blessed Muse, give me leave to one day retire to that sweet-scented valley, that cleft in the blessed mountains; there I will let my heart rest from its torments and lay down my wearied bones.
— Noa Nox, Sibyl-Poetess of Dramatta.

What adventure! What a life! Dolce gasped in delight just to hear of it. Black holes, distant worlds, the unknown wonders of space, viewed from a safe distance! What’s more, there’d been a whole crew of beuroctopi along for the journey, all of them bustling about happily at their posts. Together.

What a life indeed.

“I think you are lucky.” Dolce sighed, a wan smile crinkling his nose. “You loved your job dearly, and you were good at it. That's more than many people can say. But is your place really gone? The Eater of Worlds is dead, but there’s still so much life here. Yourself, your fellows, the Ceronians...” Probably more life than either of them knew. Than either of them could hope to know. “This is still your home, and there are still fears that could threaten it. Your office is still here, and you were so happy there. Why not stay?”

[Rolling to Talk Sense with Wisdom: 6 + 1 + 1 = 8]

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

The song in the night does not go unanswered. Even when it is sung silently.

Vasilia strode out from behind Alexa, and you could be forgiven for failing to recognize her. Gone was the dashing captain, bravely meeting the golden shuttle. Her sword was drawn, and pistol free; instruments of violence, ready for the work. Her attention fell on each, taking their measure in turn, but her ink-laden eyes never strayed from the cat. Every ghost-ravaged step was an effort. Every step was sure.

Struggle with your squirming bundle, handmaiden. Show off your freshly-ravished uniform. Collect the shattered remnants of your composure.

You’re trying your best, and that’s all we can ask.

“Has anyone ever told you,” she mused, looking down at her. “You sound just like Jas’o.”

There is nothing of softness in Bella's face. There is no hint of joy. The thought that she might purr comfort or sing as sweetly as the muses is to be banished from the mind forever. Bella is rigid. Her jaw is clenched so tightly that it might shatter soon, and her lips are pressed thin against one another as she chances a glance down at her squirming, struggling, suddenly very noisy ward. Her eyes are sharp and hard, and no less determined than Redana's. She has not come here to fail.

But there's an instant before everything breaks, where her fingers find the softest bed of gold in the entire universe and move themselves faster than the speed of thought to smooth those mussy locks. Her thumb tastes wetness; a tiny flicker of motion that reaches across time and finds them both safely home and whole. Redana's tear beads against Bella's thumb. The heat of it is unbearable; she flicks it away and with this new motion rips them back from Tellus to exist again in the crumbling landscape of the World Eater.

She opens her mouth with a loud and deliberate breath to speak to Alexa, and in this moment she's interrupted. Her ear flicks with irritation. Bella lifts her head and pulls her princess tighter against her. Her claws press more insistently as she squeezes tight. Possessive. She wrinkles her nose and flicks her tail from left, to right, and left again in a gesture of supreme irritation.

The scoff burns a path up her throat as it forces its way into the world. Her face melts slowly into a vicious sneer, muscle by muscle bubbling and rippling and reshaping itself to convey the sheer depths of her scorn. Her fangs flash brilliant white against the redness of her lips. Bella straightens her spine a little sharper and pushes out her chest, inexorably drawing the princess deeper into its prison. Her eyes flicker briefly and shrink themselves to slits before she suddenly stirs and noiselessly stretches her neck.

"...What the fuck is that supposed to mean? This what you deal with all the time, Alexa? Gods, no wonder you're eager to hitch a ride out. Right then, somebody please tell the circus reject to fuck off. I know it's hard to understand, but I actually don't want to be here any longer than I have to."

Vasilia’s response was a single, raised eyebrow. “Charming. You share his wit, too.” She did not stretch herself out. She did not puff herself up. Today, what you saw was what you got, and if you were uncomfortable to be in her presence, then that was entirely your own problem.

...one of your own problems, as the case may be.

“Just listen to yourself; the two of you read from the same script. ‘So sorry her highness involved you in her stupid misadventure. Her highness needs to be tied and gagged for her own safety. Her highness is a silly little girl who doesn’t know what’s best for her.’” The high-pitched imitation voice wasn’t strictly necessary, but it was polite to make clear when you were quoting someone. “What, pray tell, is best for her? Only the Admiral, only the Empress, only the people more important than you know that. And both of you will run yourselves ragged to make it so. Loyal dogs, sent to fetch your princess.”

She sniffed, profoundly disgusted. “She has a name, you know. And Redana can make her own decisions.”

Bella!

A roar from outside - audible even over the storm. Mynx's Ceronians are landing your shuttle outside. A risky and dangerous deed in this weather but they've managed it. What a relief - you have mere meters to walk before you're back on the ship, not miles through rain and mud and alien peril.

Mynx hears it too, and hesitates - her hand was reaching for a pocket as she sized up Vasilia with reptilian eyes, but then she freezes and mutters something under her breath. "Fine, yeah. Alexa, do as Bella says and shut this idiot up and maybe I'll arrange for you to come back with us. I'll be right back, make sure this is resolved by the time I'm back."

She flicks her head, shifting in an instant back into the form of the Admiral and ducks out the front door so that she can address her waiting soldiers.

Dolce!

"Oh, but there's not," sighed the Assistant Secretary, deflating into a gently-waving blob. "It no doubt seems so very marvelous to you but to me, there's just all that it used to be. I could go back up to my office but I'd be boiled from the heat of that reactor set up in the middle of it. I tried working for the Ceronians but they kept me in a cage and only spoke to me when they needed something done. This place is, I am sad to say, really the domain of Hades."

One of the tentacles had an idea - it sparked with life and wrapped around your head excitedly. It took a moment for the thought to run back up the neural system and you can watch in real time as each tendril explodes with excited waving. "Wait, of course! I should have seen it before - the crest on your jacket, you're a Starsong Privateer! Oh, let me come with you! Take me on your ship - a new bureaucracy to administer! A whole new set of terrible problems to experience! Oh, how my threat-assessment matrixes will change when I have to account for operating on that scale. Take me with you and I'll move the Eater of Worlds, I swear it!"

"Redana..."

Stop talking about me!

Her voice cuts off like it's been guillotined, and she's left mouthing like a fish. She tries! Oh, believe her, she tries. But the words that are so stridently clear in her head refuse to come out. Redana can make her own decisions, yes! Of course she can! But only when they're decisions that are only Redana's! When she's acting as princess and heir, her decisions affect more than just herself! It's not as simple as 'let Redana decide how she wants to dress' when she's dragging people behind her! Let Redana decide, but let her decide as well! Redana knows what's best for Redana, but shouldn't everybody else get a say if what's best for Redana is not what's best for them?

All of this, she does not say. And she does not say it while leveling a hurt look at her princess. Of course Redana wouldn't allow her to speak, not after Alexa criticized her in front of subordinates. That's normal. That's what she was taught by Molech. Seen and not heard, the perfect idol, the perfect background and unspoken threat for any who dare approach the Warsage.

So why does it sting so more right now?

"Fine, yeah. Alexa, do as Bella says and shut this idiot up and maybe I'll arrange for you to come back with us. I'll be right back, make sure this is resolved by the time I'm back."

Naturally, it's Mynx who breaks the spell and leaves Alexa gaping between the two cats. Can. Can she do that? For a panicked second she imagines it.

It'd be painfully easy, wouldn't it? Vasilia is unorthodox, certainly, and Alexa wouldn't care to bet on just how many tricks she has up her sleeve, but Vasilia isn't expecting it from her. One stone fist to the back of the head. Bam! Instant nap attack. She'd be fine, and they'd be gone before anybody ever came for them.

Galnius would probably even back her play. Could you imagine the glory to be had? One of six to recruit the Ceronians and rescue the Princess? How many legends could that spawn, how many songs and sagas? The Empress would probably grant a hyperpalace for each of them!

Yes, it'd be eminently possible, even easy!

So why does the thought fill her with revulsion? Of thoughts of an empty canteen, with no cat captain gleefully tossing back Sherman's old paint stripper formula? Of calm nights bereft of the old, precious china set and small cabinet of dried leaves? Of calm, peaceful walks around the dockyard with nobody beside her? Of...

She's not going to say "of being a thing," because what else would she be? She's a creation. A designed product. It's her destiny to be what somebody else tells her to be.

And so, when the order comes to step up, to fight on command, she shrinks. She flinches. She takes a step back.

It's not much. But it's clear immediately that if it's fight or flight, she's not fighting.

Bella's boot squeaks on the hard surface of the palace floor. Her ears strain and twitch toward every little sound that slips under the roaring of the engines settling outside in the storm that thunders as furiously as ever. She flinches; there are so many. Another step backwards, toward the door, toward freedom, toward her life, and the squeak is so loud that it's deafening. The ship is just a holo her messy princess left on before she passed out. The storm could fit inside a tea kettle. They don't measure up to the squeak squeak squeak of her boots, inching backwards.

The wet and incomprehensible moans of her Mistress as she strains as heroically as she used to in wrestling practice against her bonds, like the only thought inside her head is to wriggle free enough to crack her face open on the floor. The grinding of Bella's teeth joins the horrible chorus trying to drag her to her knees right now. Her bells chime angrily as she pulls her arms even tighter around her princess. Do they mean nothing to you, Princess?

There's a scraping grind of bronze settling into place that draws Bella's eyes away from her Mistress and across the room to Alexa. Her gaze slides down the length of that form, this love song to Athena, down her legs to lock on to where her feet are planted. Bella's face twitches. Surprise. Betrayal. And for a single moment, a hurt that she can't keep off of her features. Squeak, squeak, squeak go the boots. She backpedals faster. She'll be at the door before long, and...

Bella drinks deeply of the storm-soaked air. Her ears flatten against her skull to drown out the noises, leaving her inside the world of scents instead. In and out, in and out. Her muscles relax as she picks up the whiff of the Princess' favorite perfume peaking out from beneath the tang of her sweat, fear pheremones, and the strange musk of sickness that's plaguing her poor broken body right now. She squeezes tight again, hard enough to steal breath this time. No. No! Leave that one behind. That is not for you, Bella. Find it again, the speck of warm cinnamon cloaked in roses and violets that swim in a sea of...

Her nose wrinkles. She sniffs again. Again. Again! She spits violently. That disgusting reek of pure laser. Bella's ears perk up just in time to catch a single sound more terrible than any other in all the vast universe of sound trapped inside this room.

"Redana."

She trembles. Her lips curl upward, showing sharp, dazzling teeth. Her golden eyes are burning, open wide as they can go and filled with the bitterest of hatred. Hatred for her stupid scent that she wears like a barbarian clown. Hatred for her tacky captain's uniform that no sane person would do anything less than burn, and yet, and yet... that scoff. That stupid, sleepy drawl. Confidence stolen from some dark crevice where no one else would even think to sniff for it. The tail, swishing so lazily behind her. Her ears, her nose, her, her, her..!

"Redana..."

Bella isn't stepping backwards anymore. Another twenty paces at the most and she'd be free. Her mouth opens, but the only sound that comes out is a low hiss. Her every motion is slow and deliberate. Even rippling with tension and aggression as she is, she stoops down to set Red-- her Mistress on the ground with a gentleness that's immediately swallowed up by the way she shoots back to full height, and the deliberate stride with which she steps over her body.

Bella's tail is raised high behind her, fully bushing in a display of naked hatred more ancient even than the lost empires that sowed the seeds of her homeland. The fur on her arms and legs bristles right alongside it. Her left leg slides in front of her and strains more rigidly than steel with readiness and with need to explode forward and pounce in the only sort of motion that could satisfy her right now. Her arms hang in front of her as she curls and uncurls her fingers, stretching her deadly and still dull-red claws and the glistening talon-rings on her index and middle fingers. The shattered half of her collar's chain slumps around the front of her and clatters against the floor. Her back hunches forward until her fingers are low enough to dig grooves into the marble.

Her every breath is a hiss. Every sound her throat makes is choked with flecks of spittle. Every muscle coils like springs and tenses with pure, animal lust for revenge.

"...say her name..." the words sneak out in strained and barely audible chirps in between her growls.

"Don't..." her chest heaves with the effort of pulling in enough air to calm herself, to bring everything back under control.

It's too late. It's much too late for that. How dare she. How dare she do it so easily. How dare she, how dare she, how dare she?

"DON'T YOU EVER SAY HER NAME AGAIN! Stupid bitch, I'll tear it right off your lips!"

And breathe.

Redana rolls on the cheaply tiled palace floor, taking desperate gulps of air through her nose. Breathing was difficult for a moment there, because there was fur in her nose. Sweaty, matted, drooly fur. And Bella’s hand was iron-firm, and really didn’t want her lifting her head to take a breath that wasn’t All Bella All The Time, and Bella herself was, was the opposite of iron-firm, because she was soft and yielding and enveloping like Poseidon’s waves, that must be what drowning felt like, soft and sweet and insistent, feeling each breath, in and out like the lapping tides, like the lapping tides.

Redana burns. Her nostrils flare. She strains sloppily against the chains, the ones that betrayed her and set Bella free, simply to strain and not lie there uselessly. She grinds against the leather set between her teeth and growls like a Servitor. Her shirt is falling to pieces, and the air is hot and wet on her skin, slick with sweat.

She’s failing them. She’s failing everyone. Bella and Vasilia and Epistia. She made promises! Let her keep them, please! Let her throw herself between the cats, take the blows she’s always been strong enough to take, because she can’t bear to see her captain and her (former) best friend fighting!

Zeus! Father! Why have you looked away? Is it because she let Bella tear out Jas’o’s throat, let her run wild off the leash? Is it because she failed some test? Or does your wife, her stepmother, hold you back by the wrist, by the throat? Do you struggle to breathe in her grasp, too? Does she envelop you like the sea so that your eyes are blind and your ears are deaf and your tongue is a cry of Hera, Hera, Hera?

Is your heart a wounded thing yearning for destruction, too?

As if that was even a question! “The Starsong Privateers welcome anyone with a song in their hearts, sir.” Dolce shook a tentacle in his hand and grinned. “Welcome aboard.”

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

Finally. She was beginning to think that she’d never put her down. Do you know how hard it is to graze a link in a chain when somebody won’t stop jerking it around? Now if she could just...a little lower now, and-no, no! Lower that hip at once, do you hear her?! Stop-Ugh. Still couldn’t get a clean shot. Why did everything have to come hard today?

Vasilia marched a slow, easy arc around the room. Never getting closer, no. That would be just too satisfying for the poor dear, wouldn’t it? Not an inch closer. If she wanted to continue this tantrum, she’d just have to move herself. “Oh? Don’t fancy me saying Redana? That’s quite alright, we can talk about someone else, Bella.”

A light, lazy smile stretched across her face. “It is you, isn’t it? Don’t look so surprised, we know alllllllll about you. You should have heard the things Redana said about you. She couldn’t talk about Tellus without bringing you up. Her beloved maid. Her faithful servant. Her best and only friend. Never in so many words, of course, but why else would she have gone to you that night?” As if there was any other night she could be speaking of. “Out of everyone in the palace, all those people at her beck and call, she chose you to share in her plans. She trusted you.”

“And you betrayed her.”

Alexa? Anytime now? There’s a wonderful distraction here for you to take advantage of, whenever you’re ready?!

“Did you ever think about what that night meant to her?” She covered her mouth, and yet somehow, the laughter still bubbled out. “What am I saying, of course you didn’t; all you had to do was be there for her, and you couldn’t even manage that. Gods forbid you should have to think.” Her footfalls rang out in the empty throne room. Over the sound of engines, they sang, they echoed! Fool! Traitor! Brat! “Allow me to pick up your slack.”

“It’s simple, really. Redana must be a stupid child. Redana must not know what’s best for her. How else can you feel good about yourself when you tear her heart out? You get to pretend that what’s best for Bella is what’s right, and if anything tries to soil your comfortable, selfish life? It certainly won't be your fault.”

She bared her fangs, and from the vitriolic depths of her stomach, she growled like the coming thunder.

“Wake up and smell the ashes, darling; you’ve already lost her.”

Betrayed. Betrayed. Betrayed.

Bella is soaked with adrenaline. Every nerve is lightning, arcing backwards from the tips of her fingers and her toes across the length of her limbs, deep into her core until her heart pounds and sends them to explode inside her brain. She chokes on her words with great, heaving gasps. Her retort is lost inside her growl. Her wit is something she slashes into the floor beneath her hands.

Betrayed. Betrayal. Traitor.

Her heartbeat quickens. It rushes like a river until the pulsing of her blood is the only noise inside her desperately straining ears. And even still, the word echoes inside her. It bounces. It leaps, like a dancer by the fireside, gleefully adding more wood and fanning the roaring bonfire without regard to the dry brush all around it. Her body burns, white hot. She shakes with the effort of keeping it inside of her.

Traitor. Traitor! Betrayed! She!

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT! UP!"

Bella explodes, faster and more terrifying than any Thunderbolt seen this day. She tears gashes in the floor as she bounds on all fours at the start, unaware of every sensation except that of moving forward. Her legs shatter the marble tiles as she leaves them. Her feet touch the ground once, and scream lightning at her body.

She flies. Her golden eyes are trembling, ugly, filled with hate and wet in spite of everything else. She flies, and her spine curves to support the bend in her elbow. Her claws sing like scythes through the air as she hurtles toward Vasilia. The weapon that felled both Queen and King now turns itself on a Captain.

Bella swings, with the full force of her body. Her hand slashes in a wide arc travelling diagonally from face to foot with a furious rush and a pressure that seems to tear gashes through the air itself. Wild power, without restraint or care for it, lacking any precision or intent except to see the other cat fall messily in half right in front of her. There's so much raw strength in her swing that it sticks her claws into the ground like spears where it finishes. She follows the momentum without a hitch and spins in a full circle that carries a crushing heel straight at the pistol taking aim at her.

Bella wrenches herself free. She rolls her neck from side to side without a single pop or crack, and starts hunching low for another pounce. There's a terrible laugh that won't stop bubbling out of her lips. She grins, a sick thing that drips with slobbering malice instead of mirth.

"Redana is mine," she trills, as her eyes flicker dangerously, "I won't let you steal her from me, you backwater slut."

[Vasilia, damage your Grace]

“BLL’HH!! Wssssh uurrr nnnnggghhhfff!”

Where did she learn to talk like that? Was it the servants? Or was she always like this behind her mistress’s back? Sneering once Dany’s back was turned, calling her a sl— a very inappropriate name once her back was turned?

Redana inches along on her good leg like a crawling worm. She flops over and scrabbles blindly in broken tiles. Her fingers slip and she hisses into the wet leather. Healing doesn’t come. Are all of her little soldiers under siege within her torn leg, fighting off invaders that want to burn her up from within? Or are they being somehow suppressed? Has she lost her father’s favor for her failure to be the leader that Bella needed?

There. Her wet fingers curl around a sturdy enough shard with a blunt enough handhold. She inserts it within the chain and twists, hard. The chains tighten agonizingly around her, but she keeps twisting.

They’ll give way before she does—

She fumbles it. She bleats something pathetic and frustrated as it slips out of her bloodied fingers, knocked ever so slightly askew by the touch of Hera.

She looks up into the face of the goddess she could never, ever please, no matter what she offered, beaten and helpless. What does she see there?

The Assistant Secretary of Fear And Doubt

There are protocols for this kind of thing.

One doesn't just address the gods using whatever words come into one's mind. The gods are more important than that. A prayer is more than a request, and many a foolish king has discovered that the pantheon is not satiated by simple bribery. The forms and paperwork and ritual and hats that the Administration had developed for interacting with Father Poseidon were all well and good, but the Assistant Secretary had always maintained that when interacting with the Darkening Rainbow the most important ingredient to a prayer was fear.

The well was overflowing. The storm had flooded drainage systems not designed to handle weather, and one of the ways that manifested was in a well that was a lazy fat geyser of brackish water. The Assistant Secretary lifted itself over the side and dove in, dove deep, dove deep and dark. In the dark it did not speak its request to Grandfather Poseidon. Instead it simply took the augury. Mind-altering chemical stimulants were released from glands below its eye and rushed through the central brain, neutralizing its decision making processes. The tentacles, each as intelligent as the centre body, were left to their own uncontrolled devices and began to slash and squirm independently. Colour rushed along the Secretary's skin, its camouflage patterns - never once used to disguise its location but to proclaim it - ran riot with the fires of the Earthshaker. The Assistant Secretary of Fear and Doubt asked Father Poseidon what it was it should fear, and Grandfather Poseidon showed it.

Diamonds in blue and red and the dance of artillery.

An ark that carried the death of time.

Extinction in the form of ten thousand perfect gardens.

A tear in the universe stitched open with castles of white stone.

Intellect so mighty that the gods would regard it as hubris.

A planet freed by mad artifice from the tyranny of distance.

Markets of flesh and metal, warriors leashed and arcane.

The creaking voice of Aphrodite, that last terrible mutilated titan.

Agony and ecstasy to lie in the mouth of Poseidon Polychromatic like this. In this moment the Assistant Secretary was one with its god. In this moment it was the trueborn son of the Sea God, of it and with it and amidst it. And when it desired to see these terrors with its own eyes that was what Poseidon desired too.

So the storm changed.

*

Admiral Odoacer!

Perhaps there had been a way to cross this distance without spending so many lives. She would regret it if there were. The hungry graveyard had descended on her fleet, the hurled corpses of those lives she'd spent before, accusatory with their burned-out hollow shells. The hulks hurled at her as though bitter they had died for her glory.

With a gesture - a raised and outstretched hand in a sweeping motion - the order was given. Shouts went up from all around the bridge, and teams of sweating slaves hauled the massive cannons into position. Gunners ran the calculations with slide rules and mechanical abacuses and enginseers stepped back as the vast stellar furnaces they tended to burned too hot for even their transhuman skin. She watched as the void burned gold and then red. The galaxy was carved up by the fiery breath of a hundred thousand warships as they ate the ungrateful dead.

Still the corpses came, hurled about by Poseidon's winds. Impacts and collisions shattered all over the fleet, and with another gesture loyal commanders were sent forwards to break the iron winds. The carved, sharp beaks of the ships did much to shatter the hurricane, but there were cross-drafts that needed to be tended to. The politically suspect took care of those. After all, Poseidon was not her enemy here; she could not wage war against the sea. She was waging war against those who would deny her Imperial destiny.

She'd regret not finding a way to preserve her soldiers, yes. Their deaths, she thought as her fleet blew away the corpse-ships, would reflect badly on her. But then, she could hardly be expected to give her full attention to every skirmish. She was just human. She had off days. If she applied her full energy and effort every time a few thousand lives were on the line she'd never have time to relax.

And it was precisely her relaxation that enabled her to notice exactly when the wind changed. The great storm of Poseidon changed direction, no longer blowing the shipwrecks towards her but away. Towards the Eater of Worlds. And... it was moving too.

"Concentrate fire," said Admiral Odoacer. "Cut the Eater of Worlds open. Do not let it escape."

*

Bella!

You are fire. You are wroth. The world will do you this kindness, but only this one: It will burn to match.

The great esoteric weapons of the Armada strike the Eater of Worlds once again. Great fusion blasts tear into the mighty beak and skin, causing the earth to boil hot and red. Fires erupt in the mangroves and the ocean evaporates massive gouts of steam. The howling winds tear the roof from the palace and the building begins to fall apart all around you.

Above you, in the sky, looms a massive black silhouette shape. The razor sharp assassin cruiser Anemoi gifted to you by the Empress, larger than this entire city. Captain Lorventi, renowned for her boldness and aggression, has not only caught up with the Eater of Worlds but taken shelter inside its mouth. Yours. Your ship. Your sky.

Black smoke impacts against it - a solid projectile round. Another ship is in here. Redana's ship, the skeletal, ocean-rusted Plousios - it has taken shelter here against the storm. Even as the Armada's fury batters against the walls, the two cruisers circle and fire ragged volleys at each other above.

Redana!

Those eyes are made for softness; this coldness does not come naturally to them. It does come to the peacock eyes that surround them, though. Hera stands there, drab in leathers and resplendent in feathers. "Just like your father," she said. "You don't get to keep things you don't value. You don't get to own things you don't appreciate. You broke her, you lost her, and you will never get to have her back -"

Blood splashes your face.

Hera looks down in shock. There's a spear run through her breast - right through her very heart. She turns about and there in the doorway lit by the fires of Ragnarok is the wolf grin of Ares.

"Hello, mother," he snarled in his male-female voice, as he half-carried the blood-soaked Princess Epistia forwards. "May I ask what the fuck you think you're doing in my domain?"

The Queen of the Gods tried to speak, but blood drowned her voice. She stepped back once, twice... and then she was gone, leaving the taste of ambrosia and iron upon your lips.

Princess Epistia staggered forwards, Ares alternating between supporting her and roughly shoving her forwards. She stumbles and collapses in front of you, Thunderbolt still lodged agonizingly in her shoulder, crackling with lightning every time Ares gives a friendly shoulder-pat of encouragement. Soft hands and a sharp knife part silk and leather that holds your voice.

"Princess. You," she hesitates in saying it, but despite everything you are still somehow in worse shape than her, "okay?"

Alexa will never admit to this, but there's a part of her that even now--even after the gods have spoken, have rendered judgement, have censured and destroyed--even now, still agrees with Molech. Battles, in a perfect world, should be orderly things. Consider how much simpler things would be if formations moved as directed, if every contingency could be planned for and counteracted, if everything could be paid attention to and noticed and figured out and wasn't being blasted at her from all directions.

It never gets easier. There's never enough time to pay attention to everything, to figure out why or how the ship is here or what's going on and why the Armada's hellbent on turning them to powder because right now, Bella's claws are still tracing an arc of blood through the air and Alexa has to figure out exactly everything she remembers about the cat. Did their paths cross? Did she ever happen to be present when Bella was training? What does she know, how does she move, how does she keep this from turning further into a bloodbath?

The claws are the key, she realizes, halfway through the first step. It's the same principle that was drilled into her over and over again. It doesn't matter what weapon you're using, what matters is keeping out of their weapon's range and keeping them in yours. If she can just get close enough--dodge enough swipes, keep Bella from thinking of her as a threat, don't get any closer to Redana if she values her life, she's not here, Vasilia forgive her but keep attacking her, that's right, she's the one you need to worry abo--Now!

She is painfully aware that, were this not a fight, this might look sweet. Just gals being pals, one big spoon with her arms squeezed as tight as possible around the small spoon. She's even known some people where the white-hot grip around the wrists, the heaving breaths, and the frothing, rabid flecks might not be unusual.

(She misses those days, sometimes.)

Alexa swallows. This is important. Ignore the squirming, ignore the lashing tail, tune out the bombardment of SP on shell. Right now, there's nothing but her and Bella. And so is this conversation. Soft. Quiet. Among... Friends is probably strong. Acquaintances? Closer than complete strangers, anyway.

"I am," she hesitates, "not good at speaking. Not when it's just me, on my own. With my own thoughts. Forgive me."

And don't eviscerate me. That's important too.

"Bella. We are not close. Not close enough for me to give you straight advice, as a friend. I know you have your own reasons for choosing as you did. And I wish I had that.

"I do not have that choice. When"--and the word "Redana" again sticks in her throat, chokes her until she revises--"I am given an order by someone carrying my seal, I cannot disobey. Cannot tell them that forcing me to join them in a suicidal charge against the greatest seat of power in recent memory would be most unkind.

"I cannot even fault you, on being asked to be the second in command of this death march, for refusing. I certainly cannot fault you for being angry that, on refusal to join, you were robbed of that choice. You were betrayed even more thoroughly than I, for while I have never been able to refuse an order, your choice was ignored in favor of abandonment.

"At the same time, there is one of us"--oh thank goodness, that works--"who cannot stop talking of you. Who misses you dearly. Who tells story after story of her best friend. And although you will never hear the words out of her mouth, she misses you. Wishes that you were there with us. She is hurt that you are not there."

Alexa sighs. "I cannot be the one to tell you what is right. I do not know it, and cannot be trusted to tell it. But..." And for once, she smiles. It's a good look. "I have made more friends in that ship in a few months than in all my years with Nero. Who can tell but what you may find there?

"I am going to let go. Please do not hurt us. I would not have you as an enemy."

[Bookkeeping:
7 on Keep Them Busy. Bella will retaliate once time is up.
9 on Speak Softly.
-What can they tell us about how they feel about Redana's betrayal?
-What do they want, and how could we help them get it?
-What were they doing, and what are they going to do next?]

"Guh! Ahhh, AHHH! Let! Me! Hffff, aaahhhh, nnnrrrrrgh! Go! Traitor! TRAITOR! Useless, guhhhaaah! Statue!"

Bella screams like she's dying. Like the touch of stone and bronze on her skin and fur that's holding her in place is tearing the life from her body. Her thrashing would send lesser soldiers tumbling to the ground in disarray. She should be free. She howls. She should be turning to pounce, to tear with her claws until not even the miracles of modern medicine could save the idiot who dared to grab her. When she kicks her legs, her flexibility is almost as surprising as the shock of the impacts they cause.

She is a whirlwind of death. She is a storm. She is a prayer to the chaos and fury of Ares. And she is held fast by the statue of Athena. Who else could contain her right now? All at once, Bella's body falls slack in defeat. Did you know? There are few things in the universe heavier or more awkward than an unsupported body. Only her tail maintains its furious assault; the rest of her is an awkward anchor seeking the ground. This too would be the death of almost any Hoplite. Be proud, Alexa.

"...You're so pathetic."

The words are choking her. Has she run out of breath? Is her froth cutting off her speech? Or is she... has she started crying? No, that's impossible. Her body bursts from slack to fighting in an instant as she tries again to kick her way into a clawing position. Her furious hiss is unmistakable, though unsteady. Another failure; she droops a second time.

"What would you know about friendship, anyway? Did the Princess tell you to make nice with every filthy rat and piece of scrap that's snuck on board that filthy piece of shit you call a ship? Ha, sounds just like her. All those stories she used to read instead of studying... she's so stupid."

Bella's ears flicker up and down, bending just slightly behind her before they droop as slack as the rest of her body. Her head lowers, and she burbles with wet laughter. Up, then down. Sharp, then sick. The kind of sound a person makes because the alternative is falling to ruin. Because she can't control anything else. She's held and she's helpless and the tension that keeps rippling through her body before it collapses again says in a loud voice that this is not ok.

"She doesn't need you, Alexa. The second you don't live up to her idea of you, you're gone. The snooty harem bitch, too. Gone. She's probably thinking about it even now, hahaha. None of you useless bastards did a fucking thing to save her from Jas'o. You weren't there to keep the Ceronians from tearing her to pieces! I was! Me! I'm the only one! The only one who's good enough for her! I, haha, I'm all she needs!"

This as far as the conversation goes. There's nothing left in her throat but these words, whispered over and over like a prayer. A spell she's cast to shield her heart. She is calm. Still. Perfect. Her feet touch the ground, and her tail flicks appreciatively. Her head tilts up and she eyes Alexa coolly. And she smirks.

"I'm all she needs."

She leaps back just before a sharp crack fills the room again, and the loudest explosion anyone has heard all day finally knocks over the walls. She's leaping, riding the massive chunks of crumbling architecture like a surfer riding a wave, because somehow she felt this coming. But what about you, Alexa?