Through an endless plain of thick grass stretching to the heavens even as it dances for their pleasure, a river flows. Boundless, wide, and yawning; the shores so far apart they seem almost like a lake. The currents swift and sure even as they are full of deception. They betray nothing about their rapids by anything so crass as the breaking of the waters. The river bubbles with the melody of a goddess, it has no need to roar to show its power.

In the dark, lips meet. They press together, gentle. Forceful. Hungry. Guided. A white flash of sharp teeth brought to heel by the delicate ministrations of a soft pink tongue. Eyes, squeezed shut tight against the world. Together. A pair of hands guides two lovers together. There is no need for them to see. 

At the end of the river, a dam. Pouring through the dam, a waterfall. Only in restraint is the true power of the river possible to understand. Hidden depths become roaring froth tumbling endlessly down, down, down, down where they splash into the bottom of a crater and pool to form a lake. Bluest of blues, glittering and pristine. The angry churning rolls away into gentler tides and from there, into perfect, serene stillness. Fish wriggle about in the shallows. Their scales glisten in the sun.

Hands clasp, fingers entwine in those same shallows. They tense. The implication of an arching of a back, the lapping of the waters meets lapping of a different sort. Cool and hot, tender and passionate, powerful yet weak, helpless and desperate. Tails splash and make little ripples in the lake, and fish dart close to see what is to be found at the source of all that motion.

A crack in the dam. The river cares not.

Hand snatches at the water. Seizes fish. Ripping, tearing, gnawing hunger. Teeth. Teeth. Teeth. Teeth. Teeth against the stomach of a shivering woman. Teeth that nourish. Teeth that destroy. Teeth that satiate. Every kind of hunger. Every kind. Intimate. Close. Insistent. And. In. The. End. Soft. Soft. Soft. Warm and sharp. And soft.

Crack widens. Stone crumbles. Steel snaps. Chunks of construction (obstruction) tumble down with the water. Splash. Splash. Giant plumes of water kick up where they strike. The river races on, unabated. Wrath unleashed at last. No change in perceivable current, until suddenly all is waterfall. 

Flood. Surge. The grasslands are swallowed up by the ravenous waters. Nothing remains. Pounding. Pounding. Pouring. Pulling. Pushing. Tugging. Filling. Roaring. Sighing. Moaning. Singing.

Power. Power. Power. Power. Power. Power. Power. Power. Power.
Desire. Desire. Desire. Desire. Desire. Desire. Desire. Desire. Desire.
Lust. Lust. Lust. Lust. Lust. Lust. Lust. Lust. Lust.
Control. Control. Control. Control. Control. Control. Control. Control. Control.

Images and emotions flow like water, down the connection of the synthweave to pile haphazardly into Smokeless Jade Fires. They do not all fit into Mirror anymore, they cannot be contained. But the goddess is no more fit to stem the tide than her mercenary pilot, and the stream continues downhill through her into Dolly as well.

These three, now connected with a single goddess as a conduit and the Whispered Promise as a source. She is no longer whispering. Her fingers are pressed deep into Jade's hair, those clipped claws held firmly against her skull. When she squeezes it is pressure, and then a release that leaves the entire body feeling limp and weak and soothed.

"You. Will. Not. Move. Patience. Obedience. You shall. Have your. Prize."

Mirror's voice is husky and a little bit breathy as she chirps out her orders. She punctuates it all with soft, fluttering, only the barest levels of squeezing strokes of Jade's neck. She is unleashed. She does not hold back. But she is also tender in a way that invites trust. These are hands that were meant for holding things. They can carry so much. They promise pleasure, without any thought for the cost to themselves.

And with a final dramatic flutter of her dress, she slips free from the confines of the temple and her simulated control panel, and dives back into the cool kiss of the physical world. Mirror breathes deep, and shivers at the release. It has been. A very, very long time. Since she tasted the air of a station like this. The memories of it surge freshly down the chain, and pull an amused frown across her face. She should not share herself like this so much.

She does not care.

There are no pirates to fight her way through to reach her destination, so it does not take her long. She greets compliments with a crack of her tail and threats with a slash of her crackling, now barely-contained control spike. She wields it like a dagger, flipped around so that the 'blade' guards her curved wrist. The promise of a claw. A much sharper one than Hybrasilians can grow for themselves. More than a knife, less than a sword. But barely. 

And perhaps, not at all?

She steps smoothly through the door into Valynia's chambers, though she doesn't know them by that name. The Red Band is known to her, but the specifics of their command are a distant concern. No reason to assume the involvement (or control) of any particular member. She is here with purpose. In this particular moment, losing is impossible. Defeat would mean a failure to fulfil the terms of her contract, which in turn would mean a denial of payment. Unacceptable, and therefore unthinkable. She would simply overcome whatever she must for as long as she must to come through.

Her Fisher's dress is alive with the motion of her body. Her watery eyes flicker around the room, from the paperwork to the pirate still quite calmly working at it, to the bound and squirming priestess trying to free herself via the innovative technique of burning so hot and flustered that she ignites her bonds and collapses into a trembling, emancipated heap on the ground.

There is so much paper in here. Pirates, tch. Mirror sniffs. 

She does not speak. Merely watches quietly for a moment before carving an elaborate glyph into the floor in front of her. The spiraling symbol loops in on itself so that the pieces do not form a concept, but a poem. And yet, contained within a single word. Whoever wrote the signal for this place, they inspired her.

[i]A spear thrown at the heavens may only strike the earth. A thief may challenge the stars as a fish challenges a waterfall. Triumph is temporary. The cost is swift and steep. But through a waterfall, a daring hand may pluck a full thousand shards of sunlight in the manner of flower petals. What, then, is most beautiful?[/i]

Mirror's stance is neutral, implying no expectation of combat or need to hurry. But she brandishes her weapon with a flourish, and she waits.

[Mirror is at Feelings 4. She lets the mask fall, and gives Jade, Dolly, and Valynia all a string, taking one from each in turn]