It begins with fusion cuisine. Slate's idea, naturally. When in a multicultural hub, why not take advantage of the unique fruits? Besides, 'sandwiches' sounded fun and exotic. Roasted waterfowl on wild, herbaceous grasses with a mildly salty sauce and a... nut of some description that neither of them could identify. Served, rather ostentatiously, between a pair of crispy 'breads' which represented one of the heights of Consortium cookery. Along with chocolate, of course, but that was toxic to them in the way that TC prepared it, and the Hybrasil adaption was perhaps a little...

Anyway. Interesting. Crunchy, sweet, salty, a satisfying puzzle. Good recharge food. Mirror initially left half her plate untouched, too absorbed in conversation to consider bringing it to her mouth, but in the end she simply couldn't help herself. But there was so very much to talk about, after all. Repair plans and countermeasures, sabotage speculation, the performance of Nine Drive the level of engineering miracle it would take to develop new capabilities for the Tail conduits within the span of the tournament. 

The tournament. In the end it's what pushed her away from the hangar. Every question about The Gods-Smiting Whip begged a question about the match, and that demanded answers that couldn't be found chipping out the damage on burned out armor plates. And even though the team could handle the work that needed doing just fine on their own, they'd handle it much better with Slate's hands and head around to help them. And Slate wouldn't stop begging to be sent back to work before 'the jokes built up to lethal levels'. 

Akar II it was, then. Mirror knew little enough about these little outpost planets to be able to pick one hunting ground from another beyond what they printed in the brochures, but as it happened the brochures were enough to tell her that if she wanted a technical question answered about the construction of mecha hangars then that was the place to go. And any place was as good as any other place if she wanted to hear speculation about her match statistics and outcome. Perhaps if Mayze... no. It would cause more problems than it solves to let her be seen directly. She'd have to put together a disguise as an intermediary, instead. Perhaps electronically was best? Uncertain. Regardless. Akar II. Multitasking always felt good. Information more soothing than food. Even... well. She should probably eat a second time. A restaurant would mark a good chance to collate her information, once she had it.

And so it was she missed those flowers. Later, she would come back and learn about them from her team. She would even feel guilty about it. Like her choice to pursue her own tactical enrichment was actually a failure on her part. Like the reasonable move would have been to anticipate Valentina's level of understanding and bend her habits and decision making to match, for long enough at least to reciprocate the gesture. It must have been quite a night, she'll suppose. Surprising. Nevertheless, guilt. Enough of it to send her engineer on an adventure to deliver another handwritten note:

'The Star's Breath is toxic to me. The small purple one. No, that's not right. Allergy. That's the word you use for it. Not lethal. Simply an irritant. Rash under fur on contact. But, the gesture is appreciated. Sincerely. Your recreation of my dress was impressive. I am touched. Mayze's dress, technically. But I wore it. You saw me wear it. As an apology for disappointing you, I will let you see me without it.'

But just now, she has no idea how she'll feel or what she'll wind up inviting Valentina de Alcard to do. Just now she's on a shuttle, heading to Akar II. Plans had failed her time and again today, so this time she was simply winging it. Reach the planet, follow instinct, let it carry her where and to what it would. If that failed, she'd stop and sit and listen, and bend her brain while she bent her ears. To simple a plan to be sabotaged, this time. Even sabotage would be it's own form of information, in this context. 

This is the first time. The first time since she learned Solarel would be her opponent, the first time since she learned Solarel had chosen such an inferior machine as the [i]Bezorel[/i] to be her god's shell for their reunion... the first time since all of it that she's found herself just sitting. Waiting. Breathing. 

Immediately, she reaches into a carry bag and plucks out a datapad. This would be the first time her mind was focused enough to check the account of Mayze Szerpaws, too. Might as well see what the orders looked like. And who was asking.