What the hell kind of question is that? How good is she? How good is she? Utter nonsense. Smokeless Jade Fires is not in this moment a goddess. There is nothing particularly powerful or overwhelming about her, with her presence so specifically directed at a single topic like this. She is a mewling, needy, besotted maiden.

And you are asking if Mira of the Fisher Clan, Whose Star Name is Whispered Promise is at all adept at pleasuring a girl and piloting a mech at the same time. It's never been so easy in her entire life: for once they are the same thing. Accomplished by the exact same mechanism. Every now and again she needs to stop what she's doing to pinch or slap or spank her operating system into fresh submission, but this hardly counts as a distraction.

A single external weapon. No moving parts outside of basic limb articulation. A full arm's worth of motion completely missing from the range of available inputs. No targets, as of yet, to even need to dodge and weave around. Frankly this would be harder without the leg drumming, squealing, muffled brat behind her fighting so hard to cling to whichever scrap of dignity she still thinks she has left. Frankly she needs the extra actions to keep her hands busy. APM is a sacred art, you know. Without it, one's reaction speed plummets into the realm of mere mortals.

She has been here before. She is... practiced. She can make a girl moan, make her squeal, make her drip and shiver and beg. All while ignoring the physical sensations that get pushed back onto her. Mirror requires no reciprocation. The terms of the contract do not allow for it. This is, after all, not about her. It never is.

Maybe, if the goddess mumbled her name. But alas, she is in love. She is so drenched in love that she is less than a puppet, and so desperate that her higher thoughts have fled her prodigious electronic mind completely. Alas. And yet, there is beauty in the obsession. In this vision so tunneled she doesn't even attempt to make the comment about Mirror's bizarre control scheme or the particularities of her request. Smokeless Jade Fires doesn't even wonder what kind of payment it will take to finally satisfy the Whispered Promise. She simply lusts. She simply grinds. She simply reaches out toward the stars with a hand that is not her own, and will not obey her commands.

But it is thrilling, nevertheless. Mirror's heart pounds joy through her body with a rush of pleasure so total it approaches pain. She could lose herself in this, if she chose to. She has never piloted a mecha with such a powerful Crystal Fire Drive before. Even her precious Nine Drive System does not compare. The sensation of forward momentum is so powerful it slashes through the synthweave and pushes her backwards through the cockpit.

"Yes yes, you poor pathetic thing. We're on our way to take back your precious Seven Quetzal. I wonder what that adorable little saint will have to say when she sees you like this? Excited, no doubt. She must thrill to see her Goddess so... exposed. At last, honesty~"

Mirror draws the energy blade and twirls it through the void space in front of her as she guides Smokeless Jade Fires in the direction of the unintelligible signal and the immanent battle waiting on the other side of it. Truthfully she has never felt so in control or powerful as she does right this second.

Ah, Little Goddess. Do you think that this is bliss? Just wait until she guides you through a battle. Your holy blessings will drench the cockpit so thoroughly your little priestess will not be able to use this place for weeks without needing a shower just to clear her head.

Solarel

When you confirm that Lareth can speak to you, her whole body language lights up. She’d clearly been worried that she had the whole thing wrong but didn’t. When you get to telling her that it talks with battles, she’s almost reverent, and you can see her hand fiddle almost like she’s imagining writing that in her head.

“Of course, rather than try and force a more engaged interface, make the drones more autonomous. Trust the Kathresis.” She shakes her head.

“You know I ought to know that lesson. I’ve got a son about your age on Zathar. Not a grand pilot or anything, he makes clay things, a lot of pots for storage and art sometimes. You probably wouldn’t have seen his sort much, with all that running about for the empress, and the…banishment.” She shifts awkwardly, cutting off her story for a moment and half bends to pick up her drone again. But she decides she’s not yet up for hefting it with a bit of a sigh.

“So…anyway, when he’s bored and has nothing to do with his hands, he gets pretty irritable. We always had to find him something to be doing when he was younger till he decided he liked something. But when he gets going on a project, he’s a whole different person. Doesn’t want to be bothered by anything, but also not bothered by anything going on around him. It’s really something, he gets so intense, especially when he’s doing something he really finds beautiful and not just a quick job for someone else. He’s even got a piece in Halak Rasra’s new hold on Zathar’ak.”

She beams with pride. You wouldn't know the name she’s referencing. It’s an a general title for a new hold expanded from Zathar, probably into the system between Zathar and Styx based on the fact that their contingent is here. That system hadn’t been named when you were banished, so this would be a very recent establishment, with all its inhabitants being Zathar transplants.

***

Isabelle

For a few moments, there are no words. Asil hears yours, but her mouth is busy and her tongue has better things to do. She works her way down slowly, first the upper chest and then around to the back, savoring every second. Your skin goosebumps when the air suddenly touches it, and then she’s over that, heat and warmth running through you like electricity if electricity were also feather soft as it touched you. Each nip sends a jolt running through you and oh Asil is enjoying herself and never wants this moment to end.

It doesn’t have to end for a good while. But it does eventually, as your body adjusts and she starts to run out of new spaces to make you tremble. And she needs to breathe besides. She’s behind you now, hands around your waist, her chin resting on your shoulder. No marks where anybody could see them. At least as long as they don’t walk in on you in the shower.

“You really had me going there, princess. The high and mighty routine and how long you put me off. But I’m glad that we had this…business meeting.” She smiles and pulls your outfit up over your shoulder. One of you has been watching the time and it really wouldn’t do for someone to come looking for you because you went over your time block, would it?

Any final words for her? And where are you going after this? Where can you go after all that?

[Roll an entice for Asil]

***

Mirror and Jade

As you approach the asteroid field, three mechas launch from the nearby station where Jade’s neural link has been guiding you. They are Hybrasilian designs painted in reds and oranges, but not the newest models. There’s nothing like the tails of the Nine Drive System, nor anything like the sleek and powerful figure of Jade’s mecha or the stone fist of Dishai that Erys Bander had been piloting. These are what you’d call standard Hybrasilian design: small and sleek coming in below ten meters in height, shaped to match the average Hybrasilian pilot for ease of movement, with basic cloaking and a choice of weapons systems as well as a generation-old crystal fire drive.

One of them begins laser fire at you, weaving shots in between asteroid debris or simply shattering the smaller rocks to obscure vision. One draws a broad, two-handed spear and rushes you, using the pattern of laser fire and asteroid debris to shield its advance. A series of EMP net grenades are visible on its waist as well. The final one goes into cloak immediately to hide its armaments, though it’s an older cloak and imperfect at hiding its location as it advances.

It seems that you’ve encountered a pirate den in earnest, if a small one.

***

Dolly

Jade is close! You can feel her enter the area where the station is housed. On her own? No, that’s not the impression you’re getting through the bond. She’s got a pilot! Around you a warning klaxon is sounding, but you’re so deep in sensory overload that the sound barely registers. Valynia has gotten up and consulted with a few of the pirates, who raced out. She’s still here though.

She returns and runs a hand along your stuffed cheeks. “Seems your goddess has come to join you. Good girl. Try to make sure she doesn’t break too much on the way in, okay sweetie?”

She literally had no idea how to respond. Something so mundane and domestic was a trillion miles away from her thoughts of duels that shattered the sky and romance that could lift the stars. Solarel did mechs, did girls and did galactic warfare and this all felt more alien to her than first contact with Hybrasil. Clay pots. Incredible.

"How can you do that?" she asks. "I mean... talk. So easily. About someone so important to you? Or in general?" Wasn't that impossible? "May I ask... what does language mean to you?"

"You must be insulted, little goddess. Is this all they think of you?"

It is not the numbers that draw her comment. No Hybrasilian can be blamed for thinking they alone are enough for a hunt. It is not the nature of their mecha either. Inferior models, certainly. But they come with numbers, they come from ambush, they come with superior knowledge of the terrain, they come against an opponent they must doubtless suspect has been severely weakened. No, their force was adequate. Arrogance to try and claim that it wasn't.

But their tactics. Insulting. Stock standard hunting formation, zero deviation. The long-range distraction, using light and noise and just enough threat of physical harm to corral the prey into a small space. The onrushing threat charging directly into the trap box to take advantage of the prey's anticipated acceleration shift. Both technically lethal, but both in essence a distraction. The third hides behind imperfect camouflage made invincible by the chaos created by their two partners, and strikes the prey from a vulnerable angle while reacts on an instinctual level to the threats directly in front of it.

Time tested. High success rate. Utter, clownish buffoonery. Insulting.

Mirror has not used her travel time idly. On the contrary, her fingers have been hard at work inside of Smokeless Jade Fires, learning all the intricacies of her body and how to pluck her strings until bent and twisted and turned herself from an instrument into a puppet. It was, again, an absolute necessity just to avoid falling asleep at the wheel of such a stripped down mecha. It takes thirteen inputs to move the left leg just so. Twenty seven to pivot using the torso as a fulcrum. Three to make the neck crane left, but four to go right. So on and so on, down every inch of the idol's body until the Goddess Smokeless Jade Fires was a shivering mess.

And now she gets her reward. Mirror does not take the bait and dodge the laser fire into the prepared zone. She dodges instead with miniature thruster bursts and tiny shifts in the idol's articulation points, letting sprays of asteroid splash against the armor like the teasing cracks of a whip to give her slightly more maneuvering room to weave between the more problematic shots woven in between them. They pass close enough to warm the paint. And this, O Goddess, is the candle wax dripped lovingly across your perfect body. The kiss of heat against your breasts, your back, your stomach. How does it feel?

"You see? They want to make you dance, little goddess. They think this is all it takes to make you their slave. Foolish. You cannot be tamed by the likes of these cretins. You came with me. This is our date, and you shall dance only for me. Who else could try. Only the Whispered Promise, my darling."

The charger halts her momentum in a sudden back vent and veers off at a new, slightly awkward angle to realign with her rudely uncooperative target. At the speed she's traveling it won't be but a spare second or two at maximum, but that's enough for Jade's sensor sweep to pick Ms. Cloak and Dagger out along her trajectory in time to respond. Preemptively, of course.

A classic trap for pirates to fall into. They get so used to preying on Mainlanders awkwardly hopping from system to system that they forget sometimes they're not the only ones who live out here as a rule. Perhaps they think Smokeless Jade Fires can operate without a pilot. Perhaps they think she would only turn to someone in her cult. Perhaps they did not expect her to offer unlimited sanction to the One Day Defender, of all the creatures on Akar she might have turned to.

But she did. And Whispered Promise did not earn her title under gravity's yoke.

"Target takes back. Feint. Intended angle of assault is... got you! Below!"

The body-mounted cannons at the idol's shoulders whir to life, soundless in this environment. Her target is the spear wielder. Her aim is in essence not especially different from this foolish trio's to begin with. Distract, redirect, destroy. But with nobody to play allies with, her target selection is... by necessity. Superior. Guns like this are generally ineffective for chewing through even second-gen models' armor, being primarily an anti-missile defense for the poor, the lazy, and the unlucky without imaginative engineers. So that is what she uses them for. One-point-five second burst, center of mass targeting. Her bullets trigger several EMP grenades at once. Cat's Cradle. Amusing.

But only part one. Sustained gunfire without counter-thrusters pushes Smokeless Jade Fires backwards into the void of space. The momentum is... limited, but it throws off the Sneak's aim. There will be no grand reveal of her capabilities today. She streaks up and her systems are already screaming at her to shift her attack over, over, over there you idiot, now! But momentum is so easily adjusted in space.

Jade, you are a dancer. You are a marionette. You feel your leg pulled by the chains, and you sail upwards, back into the new field of laser fire to be kissed anew by the re-established zoning shots. Your arm. Your 'good' arm, if you must, thrusts down in the same motion. You spin like a top. Your sword gleams against the darkness of space. And it plunges, ruthlessly, through the center of the cloaked mecha.

Total system shutdown. It slumps like a drunken date against you, as Mirror leans into the acceleration and pivots the both of you around to face the third and final would-be usurper. And you find you are no longer wielding a sword but a shield, fashioned on the fly from a fallen enemy. Those shots are no longer gentle kisses, but lethal stings. Flying directly into them as you are, you could easily lose your idol's other arm. A leg. Piloted like this, you are a whisker's breath away from being dragged down in chains to serve as some dullard's fantasy alongside your precious Dolly. Not that your pilot understands any of what's going through your head.

But you're safe, aren't you? Mirror doesn't let anything touch you at all now. The arm shifts, and the fallen mecha shudders as it loses chunks of ablative armor off its back. You see what might have happened. You are allowed to imagine what it might have felt like. But you, little goddess, are protected. This wander-eyed usurper of a pilot is keeping you safe. This may even be what it feels like to be held.

And inside your cockpit, Mirror, the Whispered Promise dances. Her fingers dance across the strange buttons and dials she's cajoled you into conjuring for her. Her fancy Fisher's dress swirls and delights your eyes, drawing them up to her tail and to the spots across her back. She swings easily to and from her console to drape herself atop you as she wills it, whenever it is necessary to keep you quiet, whenever she wants to hear you moan.

Her teeth are on your neck. Her hands are at the impossible strings that pull straight on your heart. She bids you stop, and you do. No further attacks are necessary. Your leg kicks up of its own accord and suddenly your shield is a sword again, and nobody is shooting you at all, because two foolish mecha pilots are too busy careening into one another for anything else to matter. You disappear among the asteroids, and when you move again it is to rain your wrath upon the trio, or something rather enough like it. To hurtle stars from the sky onto their paths. Theatrical, no?

What a shame it wasn't your idea.

"Three targets confirmed neutralized. Mmmmm, such a good girl you're being for me, my precious little goddess. But you must try a little harder to listen, if you want my kisses instead of my claws. You mustn't think you've reached the level of my Gods-Smiting Whip just with this. Mhm, say, why do you think I named it that, anyway~?"

Dolly!

”Stop fighting me, Angela Victoria Miera Antonius!” Heat, speed, outraged grunts almost at the edge of hearing. “I will not let anyone stand between me and my Bride— not even you!”

She is vast, writhing, a thing of eyes and teeth emerging from the dark, sudden motion and jaws around the throat, a goddess terrible in her wrath, swirling around her newest temple dancer. Tails lash against the floor like whips as Angela strains, grunts, fights Jade because she thinks she knows better, because she would! Each moment is a frenetic gamble as they weave between a dozen pirates, heat licking at Angela’s smooth and lovely skin to represent each shot that kisses the paint of their shared idol.

And there is nothing that the silly little prize of the Pirate Queen, Valynia Bander, can do to help them except to strain and send all her hope, all her reverence, all her desire, to her goddess, who owns her, who loves her, who has a plan, who tames aliens and Hybrasilians alike, who will be more than a match for a reeking, possessive pirate. Pray, Dolly, pray! Burble your belief! Believe in Smokeless Jade Fires and in Angela Victoria Miera Antonius, who have come to save you, who must save you, who will save you!

You’re not going to be a bad girl, are you, Seven Quetzal? You’re not going to secretly hope that Angela gets captured and strung up next to you, so close that you can rub your branded shoulder against hers? You’re not going to envision being used as a hostage to force Jade to surrender, are you? If you think about it, it will happen. Everything going on depends on the purity of your heart, despite the kidnapping, despite the marking and claiming, despite every breath you take being full of the smell of excited pirates, despite the hand rubbing your cheek.

And you can’t even stop yourself from nuzzling that hand, you weak, silly thing. It just feels so good. It smells, it tastes, it is overwhelming in the ways that your goddess cannot give you even though she tries so, so hard to bring your dreams to life, to tell you how much she loves you, to be there for you, to choose you…

Dolly lifts her head and tries. She tries to smoulder. She tries as hard as she can. Like she’s got the upper hand. Like this is exactly where she needs to be for Jade’s plans, and isn’t that mysterious and enticing? Aren’t you intrigued, Valynia? She’s even wiggling, trying to show off, trying to distract you.

Pay attention to the priestess. Reveal your scheme. Admit how much you would give if only to have her for… a while. This was Jade’s plan all along, wasn’t it? To undo the Red Band from the inside out?

Huffing pirate musk, drooling into thick stuffing, dangling from the ceiling, absolutely helpless and condescended to, Dolly flutters her eyes and perks up her ears and tries to look smug, like she’s already won.

[Dolly attempts to Defy Disaster and do one last-ditch, epic attempt to make Valynia fall for her and be compromised in the middle of the rescue mission, giving Jade and her mystery pilot some sort of opening or advantage.

She has rolled a 6, but is burning her string on Valynia to bump it up to a 7. Dolly is the goodest girl who always does her best! There will definitely be no consequences!]

---

Jade!

”Hhy won’hh givvuhfh!”

The pirates and their gods leer at the beautiful priestess tied to the pole in the middle of their canteen, her arms stretched above her head, her fashion clothing all but torn off of her. She is so scared, her heart racing, the ropes biting into her, but she remains irrepressible, defiant, even as brats and brutes paw at her and make her squirm, fists clenching, heart fluttering, unable to take a free breath without gargling pirate stench.

“All you need to do,” the leopardess purrs, pressing one condescending hand against her innocent cheek, “is devote yourself to one of our gods. One who is ancient, powerful, and capable of taking care of you in ways that runt of a goddess never could.”

“NNHH!” The beautiful priestess strains, shaking her body back and forth, her helpless limbs unable to tear her restraints apart and fall upon the pirate queen in a fury. Her fists clench and she stares at the smug pirate through narrowed eyes. “Nffffr!! J’dd hff mhh unn… mmhh mrrr uhvv~!”

“Your true love?” The pirate empress admiral scoffs. “Even now, she has been defeated by a devotee of Irtana. She is humiliated, tormented, helpless to save you. You must choose between being the plaything of my entire fleet, lowest of the low, or protected by our superior divinities!”

“Ffhee’d dhhnffngh hhyu’vvvh mmh!!” The priestess tosses her beautifully bouncy hair and smoulders, defiantly, as lecherous and impious pirates crowd around…

This indignity is for the sake of Dolly. Cling onto that, Smokeless Jade Fires. You’d do anything to save her. That means that you are letting Whispered Promise use her admittedly impressive piloting skills on your behalf. She is a mercenary and you are choosing to allow her to have her fun.

The hopping from foot to foot as asteroids spatter against her front? All part of the payment. The drooling, frantic squeals and frantic squirming as, for a moment, you thought you— your idol— was going to be shot apart and left to drift, salvage of war? Acting. Definitely acting. You will choose to remember it as acting, which you learned from Dolly, and are… using… sympathetically. To ensure her rescue. By acting as she would act.

(But Dolly would not stick out her rump like this. She would descend into a low, deep, sultry purr, inviting the worst treatment that her precious heart can imagine, not this high-pitched yelping and nasal whining. She would not stamp her foot, because she is better at submission than you are. For all that relief floods you when she handles you impossibly well, for all that she is making you feel things you felt impossible, for all that you could almost close your eyes and imagine that Whispered Promise is going to perform a miracle of her very own, you are afraid. You are scared that you will turn your head, having surrendered, and see her staring at you with those watery eyes, and such a mocking smile, and know yourself so small and pathetic that Dolly will dive into her arms and refuse to come out. Something so small that it can be contained like this, inside of an idol.)

(Then your foot curls and you sway on one foot, and Whispered Promise guides you, won’t let you go, helps you unclench the foot, adjusts your headings with buttons that replace instincts, and something inside you that was clenching up again releases, slumps, buries your face in its hands, is relaxed in a way that you have not ever been in your life. Whispered Promise is piloting you. She won’t let you fall. She’ll save Dolly. She is the underworld-striding hero who plucks the skull from the tree. She is the hope that even a goddess can reach for. She bears the God-Smiting Whip, and you yield to its instruction so well.)

(But you cannot take her on forever. She is strong, and does not need you, does not need this. It is a game to her; it is everything for Dolly. You must get her back. You must.)

[Smokeless Jade Fires is Smitten with Whispered Promise. Take the String.]

"I ..." starts Isabelle.

What does she say? What can she say? Her mind is a haze of static and warm buzzing. The flight suit suddenly feels too tight, the wall and floor she's leaning against too cold. Where is the warmth that had been there a minute ago? The fire, the sparks. When can they come back?

"... I'll ..."

Where can she go right now? Certainly not back to training - not yet at any rate. She needs time to process everything that just happened. How that one brief crack - letting herself speak some words that had been burning at her all morning to speak - had led to ... had led to this.

Is this what happens when you swear at your girlfriend?

Are we girlfriends? Or just objects of mutual lust?

Does that depend on what we want?

Want.

Want. Want. Want.

So much want, unlocked by such a small crack. A giving in to temptation, the tug, the pull. Just letting herself fall over that edge once brought her so much that she wants it again. And again. And more besides. She wants walks on the beaches of Murzon, she wants candlelit dinners and evenings spent reading books together on the couch or in the lab. She wants hands held and arms entwined. She wants time just spent talking and being together. Discussing drone algorithms, the lifting capacity of industrial hydraulics or just what her life was like before she appeared at that fashion show. She wants dates. She wants flowers and chocolates and trips to cheesy carnival rides. She wants shopping trips where they don't buy anything. She wants to share a milkshake and to then wipe the foam off her lips. She wants to be thrown down on the bed, hands tied, and made to feel. She wants to talk about table settings and wall decorations and whether they should buy a pet.

[Isabelle is, needless to say, smitten with Asil.]

She wants to ignore how her mother might feel. How her family, or the press would conspire to hide those brown eyes away. How they might try to push them apart. She wants to ignore how she might do it herself, if things got bad and it was the only way to keep her safe. She wants to run from the problems and bathe in the brighter possibilities, until their warmth melts away the last vestiges of fear.

She wants so. Much.

She has to keep her breath under control as she shakily responds.

"... I'll get a copy of the contract sent to you ..."

[Isabelle rolls for Entice - 0 + 1 + 2 = 3]

Solarel

“What does…language mean to me?” Lareth says its back out loud, changing the tone and inflection to muse. “It’s the uh, the words you say, I guess? I’m not sure, I only ever think about it when it’s a machine problem, like getting these drones to talk to the Kathresis.” She taps the drone with her foot, though looks like she’s decided better than lifting it with limited remaining energy. “I don’t really know how to answer that. I just like making friends, I think. Kind of feels like my son’s here when I’m talking to you, too. Older you get, the more you don’t see much difference between the signals and the hard metal in front of you. And anyway, talking like this has gotten me this far, so I figure I’ll just keep doing it. Need a good reason to learn something new at this age, once you’ve been through a few cycles, raised a kid, done the same work for so long, you go with what works unless you really get stuck I guess.”

She offers a shrug. “I don’t feel like that really answered your question. I guess…maybe it’s a time thing? You spend twenty or thirty years with someone you love, you get to know them so well they become your idea for sorts of big vague things, even how you think I guess. Does that help?”

***

Mirror and Jade and Dolly connected by synthweave

There’s a rush, after the combat. The mixed feeling of euphoria and of relaxation. A reward for adrenaline used quickly, or a reward for technical protocols fulfilled effectively in concert with an expert pilot, or a…blessing for correct behavior in line with the rules and role of priestess and goddess.

This close, with three parties linked together, these things blur into emotions, your own, others. Existing in a world that went from sudden motion to silence and slow rotation. There is no air in space, but there is force and wind, and the movement of asteroid dust that refuses to follow a single planar line as you make your way to the research station that is a pirate station.

The code that it’s broadcasting for itself is solar flare observation post, but also [cave behind the waterfall whose treasure may be solid or may be the light of the sun in a thousand shards] and in this there is the hand of someone poetic who enjoys laughing to herself at her own creativity.

The hangar is not large. It only had births for four mecha and a couple shuttles. One of the mecha was clearly away. Perhaps it could return later. The other three are now floating among the asteroids, their pilots bailing out for the slow spacewalk back to the station. The shuttle is still here. The interior is a light steel, almost silver, lit gently with a yellow tinge and not so harshly as the Terenians sometimes prefer.

The side of the hangar is equipment storage, munitions, looted cargo, possibly even some actual solar observation equipment and chemical analysis machinery. Ahead, there is a luxurious hallway, its sides lined with woven Hybrasilian tapestry. Based on its size, it could probably house at most thirty pirates snugly although based on the reception and craft here, as well as Dolly’s impressions, you know it’s more like twenty. Now minus three.

It’s not clear if anyone other than Valynia would intervene though. You’ve arrived in a powerful mecha that could wreck the station if it wanted, even with one arm, and has already defeated the defenders. The Red Band, isn’t going to go all in on comradery and unit cohesion to protect one of its members. Not at the cost of losing its only remaining transport out and being stranded in a ruined station out of revenge or frustration. It’s going to let you go for the kidnapper, claim your prize, and leave. Only Valynia herself is likely to offer opposition. The others will even point you toward the right door and offer compliments on the fight. One enterprising lioness shouts an offer of joining them. Of course, if you lose after the show on the way in, you can expect extensive taunting from the entire station.

***

Just Dolly

A pirate runs in to tell Valynia that the defenders have lost and the goddess mecha is coming into the hangar untouched. There’s a brief moment where Valynia’s tail swishes and you see her let out a stressed single crack of a laugh. Then it turns into a real laugh and she sighs and relaxes her shoulders, settling into her chair. She slides backwards, coming to rest leaning against you and stroking your face.

“Ha, a perfect plan ruined because I didn’t wait until the Stone of Dishai was repaired and your little goddess turned out to be too much for three huntresses. Where was that piloting skill against Erys, huh? Was she really that thrown by copying your outfit? No no, shhh, don’t try to speak, it’s a rhetorical question sweetie. I guess I’m going to have to give you up so she doesn’t wreck the whole station. But then, she’s a goddess, right? I’ll have to let her come to me. Or at least summon me. It would be rude to intrude on her, don’t you think?” She rubs your face affectionately. “Ah well, it’s been fun. And I’m sure I’ll see you around, Dolly~”

She gives you a big grin, and makes absolutely no efforts to loosen your bonds as she waits for Jade’s arrival.

***

Isabelle

Asil snorts a short sharp laugh. “We’re gonna have to work on your witty one-liners princess. Especially since the contract’s on the table already, you can do better.” She zips up your shirt for you, checking you over to make sure there’s no visible marks. “You go about your day, go take a walk maybe, do some studies. Let me handle this part. Here’s one for you, you couldn’t be in charge of a relationship even if you were hooked between 220 and ground.” She gives you a light little kiss on the cheek, barely more than a brush, leaving no sign. “I’ll make it simple. I will find you, and whatever you are doing, you will let me in if I ask. Even with that Zaldarian you kidnapped. Nice and easy, I think even you could handle it without getting confused. Now go, get outta here before someone catches us. Leave me to clean up the paperwork. Take the coffee, it will help get your mind straight.”

She puts your cup into your hand, makes sure you’re gripping it strongly enough, and gives you a little shove to get you moving out the door.

And then you’re out and you’re going to have to go…somewhere. Can’t just stop walking in the middle of a hallway, people will gossip.

"Machine problem," said Solarel. "Signals and metal identical."

An answer.

"Everything I am doing is because I can't fight Mirror directly. She's too fast. My patterns too predictable. The Whip too unique," said Solarel. "I've needed sideways attacks. Evading rather than fighting. Sniping rather than confronting. Hiding rather than engaging. Not enough. Not sustainable. Mind-Impulse link as much a shackle as power."

Her fingers run up along the back of her own neck, touching the cybernetic link point. They trace back along her jaw, down her neck, along her throat.

"Battle is language," she said. "Can't speak outside it. Can't say enough inside it. There's too much separation. Battle should be my language. Not implicit. Literal."

Her eyes were shining as she looked up. "I need to modify the MIU. Not connected to my motor functions. To my language centers. I need to pilot by speaking. By singing. No difference between signal and metal."

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.

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?

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]

Dolly!

Not Angela.

Shivering, squirming, toes curling, trying to arch, head full of sloshing water seeping into her spine, soaking into her gag, trickling out her pores. That’s not Angela. Impossible to be Angela. Not a heart like that, all hunger and need, barely restrained, teeth at the back of her neck.

The realization makes her heart rattle loose and bounce around inside of her. Jade has been captured. That was the heart of a pirate! Soft, certainly, but… appreciating softness. Like, say. Her softness.

What if I never get to pilot Jade again? What if I’m Valynia’s pet priestess now? What if she doesn’t let me see Angela and Ksharta again? What if she stuffs me in a box or a cage or a flight locker? What if I’m her hostage to make Jade obey? What if she seduces Jade through ME? What would Angela think, what would Ksharta think, what would my big sister think? What if she dresses me up and takes me to fancy dinners and then makes me ride back in the shuttle luggage bin all stuffed with everything else they’re bringing back??? What if they don’t let me pilot her again, if I never get to feel her hands on me, if I never get to be her good girl? Valynia, please, let me— mmnngh, what if she makes me beg, and mlem, and humiliate myself before she lets me, or, whether or not she’s going to, and she just lets me think she’s going to, and she touches this mark on my shoulder when she tells me, because she’s in control, and please, even if it’s hot, this is important, Jade, please, Jade—

But all she can feel from her goddess is moaning and imprisonment and— envy? I want to be her. Oh. Oh! Well. Dolly flushes, the heat spreading through her. She wasn’t even thinking about Jade’s feelings. Maybe… maybe that was better? If her goddess found someone who was better? If she really loved Jade, shouldn’t she…?

Power. Desire. Lust. Control.

Desire. Desire. Desire. Desire.

What do you want most of all, Dolly?

Dolly lifts her head, the heaviest thing in the world, and stares at the door with all of the dignity she can muster. On one end of the scale are all the delicious, embarrassing, confusing delights and humiliations that Valynia can inflict on her, things which she’d never ever be brave enough to admit to Jade, or even things that Jade just can’t do… but on the other side is Smokeless Jade Fires.

She’ll break. She knows it. Once Valynia starts squeezing and rubbing and burying her underneath the musk of her own desire. But that doesn’t mean this little hare doesn’t have the heart of an earthshaker, doesn’t have enough strength to make one more demand to be reunited with the goddess she lo—

WHISPERED PROMISE????

The defiant, gargled demand for her goddess never leaves her swaddled lips. It’s more of a ridiculous horking drooly bray, much more audible than she was expecting, and she can’t even hide, or cover up, or, or, and gosh, that’s— that’s her— she was— and the look she gives Dolly, all tangled up and dangling, is as calm and, and controlled, and she’s all of that underneath??? There’s no way— she could be thinking anything— behind those river-lake-sea eyes and that, that dress, that is not how, piloting, you see, look, except she’s trying to find anywhere else to look, but it’s no use, Mirror and that gorgeous jaw-dropping dress and those unique spots underneath, which she doesn’t want to stare at in case, you know, it’s rude, but would Mirror say anything, because she’s in control but underneath she’s so, she’s so, she’s so…

So hungry.

And the thing about her calm, her mask, her unblinking neutral expression as she looks over Dolly’s disarray is that Dolly has no idea, no clue, where that hunger’s pointed, but that definitely was an appreciation for softness and her softness is on display and the thought of Mirror squeezing her, in control, finding all the buttons—

Buttons?

BUTTONS.

…”what does this do,” she’d murmur, so soft, so calm, as Dolly’s eyes bulged and fluttered in turn, learning her like only Jade had, plundering her deep vaults and carrying out treasure, controlling her white fire engine perfectly, and what would it be like to be her? To be loved by her?

Her eyes dart between the pirate and the terror, between the dread-desired and the enigma-with-teeth, and they’re— going— to fight— over her???

Oh oh oh Jade!!

And for a moment

Dolly can feel

A wet cheek pressed against her own

Dolly can hear

her name, drooled

Dolly can know

she is wanted

Getting confused?

Getting confused??

Isabelle's walk had stuttered to a halt after only a few dozen corridors. The nerve! After what she'd ... they'd shared. To go ahead and make
assumptions like that? That Isabelle was somehow completely useless in a relationship and would have had no idea what to do next? Absurd!

She takes a slow sip of the coffee.

Completely absurd.

And the audacity! The sheer, ten-foot-tall-and-throwing-thuderbolts audacity! To demand entrance whenever she simply turned up and asked? No matter what Isabelle was doing or who she was speaking to?? She'd never .... well, okay, she would have let Asil in simply because she couldn't say no to the woman right now ... but that's besides the point! She didn't need to rub it in! After all, Isabelle knew that management playbook already, her mother practically wrote it! The really annoying one where you give orders that you knew that the employee was going to do anyway - simply so they get accustomed to doing what you tell them.

She paused, took a sip, and shuddered. Mentally fencing off any thoughts of her mother from what had just happened.

She'd have to have a proper talk with the engineer when they next met, assuming the other woman let her speak and didn't just pin her to a wall again, silencing her mouth with that tongue and let'snotgetintothinkingaboutthatrightnow .

She chugs the rest of the cup and then looks for a rubbish bin.

Anyway! It was time to get back to work. Training was due to restart soon, but the path to her next exercises took her past the repair bays. It was time to check in with Chief Tomas about what was keeping Emberlight out of action.

Solarel

“Singing?” Lareth tilts her head to the side in the classic stance of a quizzical Zaldarian. “I am not sure I really understand what you’re saying. But…I know what it looks like when someone’s got a problem that they just can’t let go. My son…you know.” She chuckles. “Like I said, that’s just how I think I guess. He’s a lot like you, just in a different field. And I know a little about love, at any rate.”

She nods to herself, and you can see her slowing down a bit. She glances down to the drone she put down, no movement to even try and pick it up. “I’ll think about the interface while I meditate. You’ve been hooked to the Kathresis a lot, I gather. So you’ll need to think about it too. It’s cold, a colder god than anything I’ve ever met, and more than a little disdainful. Wherever you got it from, you’ll need to think about what kind of song you’re going to sing to it to make it listen.”

She nods to herself, leaving the drone ignored at your feet. “I’ll need to rest and meditate soon, I’m not as young as I once was, can’t do long shifts. I’ll leave the drone with you if that’s alright. What should I take into my meditations? I’ll need something to reflect on for your song.”

***

Mirror, Jade, and Dolly

Valynia looks up from her papers when Mirror enters. She doesn’t stand. She allows the entrance to happen, straightening the documents and clipping them into a large binder she keeps at her desk.

But when you draw the glyph, a poem answering to the station’s beacon, her eyes widen and she blushes, a hand unconsciously coming to her mouth.

For a moment, silence hangs in the air, the only sound the faint, smothered murmurs coming from Dolly as she continues her heroic effort to melt through her bonds.

At last, Valynia takes a breath. “You are…beautiful” she says, smiling. “You are the mercenary, the One-Day Defender, Mira of the Fisher Clan whose star name is Whispered Promise.” She goes through each name in turn. “And…you are piloting the wrong mecha.”

She stands, walks over to Dolly. She runs the back of her hand, fur still smelling of her scent, along Dolly’s face, past her nose as she looks only at Dolly. “I actually quite like you, you know. That one over there, she’s out of my league, but you’re something special priestess. I hope I’ll get to see you again~”

Then she turns to Mirror. “I never expected this. I can’t imagine how the goddess could even contact you, of all people. I know the smart thing to do would be to hand her over without a fight. But…”

She gestures to your poem, and says aloud

“A thousand shards of light are a thousand names. Each one its own story of struggle and triumph. A sunlight treasure is most beautiful which is most beautifully earned. The keeping of a whispered promise.”

Her claws flash as she steps forward, and you can see that she wishes for a beautiful fight to remember this day.

[Valynia will spend her string immediately: Take an XP if you give her a beautiful fight to earn Dolly’s rescue.]

***

Isabelle

Chief Tomas is keeping himself in good shape. You can see he’s been up there with the crews working on the physical repairs. He’s got the thick, worked arms that tell you he’s been lifting heavy chunks of metal and working a wrench, and he wears the tight shirt with his mechanics jacket hung nearby that tells you knows it too.

When he sees you come in, he doesn’t put the jacket on, just finishes his chat with one of the mechanics and then walks over to greet you. “Ms. Lozano, a pleasure as always.” He doffs his head, tipping his helmet your way. Never one to allow head injuries in his repair bay, though he’s had to fight for that point a few times when the family has tried to cut costs with longer shifts. Are you familiar with those fights, or were they all handled by your parents?

Regardless, he’s surprised when you ask after the Emberlight. “Oh, did you want it back? The orders I’ve got are to retrofit it for long-term service protecting the mining interests in Nadir. They’re from you, said you were switching to the Novasurge full time because you didn’t like piloting a mecha once it had lost a match. We’re nearly done, it should be ready to ship out in a day or two guarding a delivery convoy to Terenius Prime and then on from there.”

It’s still in the hangar, but substantially retrofitted, focusing on moderate power laser weaponry for long-term service, a loadout that assumes it won’t be fighting anything particularly sophisticated. Of course, you never sent those orders. But you can guess who did.

[If this is as big a deal as I think it might be, you can mark your betrayal destiny line and reset it.]

You are beautiful.
You are the mercenary.
You are the One-Day Defender.
You are Mira of the Fisher Clan.
You are Whispered Promise.

She lets each accusation wash over her like the tides. Her watery eyes render her expression unreadable. Ears held effortlessly neutral, tail confidently aloft but with a crook at the tip that implies zero aggression. Her dress shifts enough just from the motion of her smooth and steady breathing that it obscures the absolute stillness of her body. Is she predator, prey, a lure? Posture: straight, but not rigid. Pheromones, either calm or smothered in floral smelling chemicals. She is in every language of Hybrasil completely silent. And into that absolute neutrality steps Valynia of the Red Band, at last to learn why this creature is called Mirror. The one name she forgot to lay at her feet.

"I am." she answers every charge at once with a polite tilt of her head. Her eyes flicker in something like pupil dilation, but the effect is... muted.

She offers a bow, and waits with all the patience of an apex predator while the pirate speaks her wistful farewells to her captive. It is only when she turns around and offers another snatch of verse and a flash of her claws that Mirror smiles.

"Mistakes."

She holds up two fingers on her offhand and wiggles them with deliberate playfulness. In the same motion she lists the number of errors she believes Valynia has made and shows off the clipped, completely smooth claw tips that top the fingers on her hands. A mistake? An admission of a disadvantage? Perhaps raw arrogance. The language of cats is to try and say everything at once, which so often makes it feel as if they are saying nothing at all. Of course greatness and tragedy are written with the same marks. Of course they are.

"I stand before you. Might have stood next to you. A mercenary is for hire, O Pen of the Red Band. You did not... consider me. Hirable. Failure of imagination, cutie."

She lowers a finger and steps back into something more resembling a dueling posture in the same motion, though it's weird. Half of her seems ready to pounce and the other half ready to back away. She does not bare teeth or show claw, keeps her tail carefully tucked around her instead of letting it thrash, does not curl her back in a display of force. She holds her control spike the way a Terenian would one of their rapiers. This, then, is something special. She lets the second finger drop.

"[i]The treasure and the sunlight have the same mother, and sing the same song with different voices. She nourishes the songs who begs to hear them heard and longs inside her heart to hear a promise whispered in reply. The fish is not wrong to swim, nor the bird to fly. To devour them is an act of love."

Mirror spares the smallest of moments to turn her head toward Dolly and offer her a warm smile. That same moment starts the fight. Two cats rush headlong at each other with the towering aggression that denotes true huntresses to the stars, with none there to witness them.

She fights from the back foot, or so it seems. Mirror does not attack with her control spike, her makeshift sword, but neither does she discard it. It stays in her hand and keeps her from using both of her arms, and so the only one here with a real weapon is the one who gets to dictate the pace. For several breathless seconds, only Valynia makes any kind of assault. Even if Mirror dodges (and only just enough to get the Bander's hands to brush past her dress instead of through her skin), she has forfeited all power to dictate the terms of the engagement.

And then she moves. She moves in a real way. Not as a reflection, but with a force directed so far beyond this place that only one pair of eyes can even see the target. And in an instant the built up illusions shatter. It is not Mirror who lacks weapons. Valynia is the one who comes unarmed.

Mirror's dress is a weapon. When she dodges, it dances, in ways that catch the eyes no matter how desperately they need to focus elsewhere. When she spins it whips against Valynia, and her skirts tangle in her legs when they cross back and forth between one another. She catches a slash with her wrapped up arm, and this synthweave bracelet too becomes a weapon. Contact with her becomes contact with a goddess. A flash of images: starlight, fire, chains writhing through chains rattling against more chains, a serpent that eats the stars themselves. Desperation. Longing. Power. Power. Enough to steal away a breath.

Her super-hot spike of a maintenance tool turned blade is, it turns out, an incredibly dangerous weapon. She never swings it, but she imposes it between herself and Valynia wherever the other manages to take a decent flank. It sits there, impossibly threatening, but only ever in potential. The threat of it turns unavoidable blows into meeker things that are easily turned aside, or not even worth the effort of doing so. All without every committing it in a way that might expose her.

Every fresh advantage is its own weapon, and as they build up she unleashes her body in ways that reveal her to be the most terrifying, beautiful weapon of all. Low sweeps and flourishing high kicks, a brutal elbow to Valynia's side that pushes all the air from her lungs. Tail wrapped like a leash around her neck, a sudden lift and it's replaced by a leg that's the promise of death and a glimpse into paradise at the same time. This, too, is a weapon.

Control. Control. Control. Absolute, smothering control. But it isn't control born out of caution or trickery, or barely even out of subtlety, but from terrifying and borderline suicidal aggression. Mirror controls every move of the fight because she is the fight. And within that framework she reveals nothing that is not a crushing hit to one thing or another. When she reveals something, it is to show that something new has slipped beneath it.

Always, a layer of defense. But never more than one. That is her rule and the blade that lifts Valynia's chin at the end of their long dance. She does not hold back in any way that counts, because doing so would ruin the beauty of the moment, and this brave poet deserves to be given beautiful things in compensation for the loss of her prize. The bruises she leaves behind are as plentiful as they are painful. But come the night, the warm waters of a bath would kiss them as a lover might, and oils would seep into her fur and leech away the pain, and when they did Valynia Bander would sigh and shudder with a release so blissful she might as well be allowed to claim she slept with the Whispered Promise instead of dueling her.

This is what it means to be overmatched. This is what it means to be food for Mirror of the Fisher Clan. Her eyes look far beyond this duel to one that only she can see. But it is not the same as looking past the duel she's in, as crass as taking it for granted. She is undefeatable in this moment because she is already fighting that battle, and to disgrace herself now puts her on the backfoot twelve steps into the future.

One day, she will be more than a defender.

But today, she offers her arm to Valynia, to help her exhausted body off the ground.

"The Goddess. Smokeless Jade Fires is... incautious. Magnanimous. One might say. Another client might have specified I crush you. But She asked only. For her treasure back. And so you. Are left to me. So I will say this. You are..."

The obvious next line is 'wasted on this provincial band of pirates.' Or some other mewling, fate praise that's really just damnation by some other name. An insult to the life she's chosen and the freedom she's earned by implying that all of it was a mistake just because she was not the literal greatest warrior in the galaxy. By definition there could be only one of those, and her name was already Solarel.

"...Exactly where you belong. I would make you. One of my treasures. But. I like you. As you are. You may seek. Glory. Redemption. Revenge. Or pleasure. As you see fit. I will have. Work for you. If your life ever changes course. Now, you~"

She turns to Dolly, and slashes away at the restraints in a single clean motion. But not actually to free her, only to drop her from her hanging place, where she could dangle from Mirror's arms instead.

"Your Goddess. Neglected. To set terms for your release as well. So I? I will bring you to her thus. It will be. Nicer. For all of us this way. Squeal if you agree. Good girl."

(Mirror takes the XP and Defies Disaster with Daring and a 10. She may or may not discover new information, gain an opportunity, or take a string at Annie's discretion)

Once, when she'd been younger, she'd built herself a diorama of the known galaxy. Small glass balls for the planets, connected by plastic sprues to represent the known hyperlanes. The nebulae had been made out of cotton floss and strung with miniaturised light filaments. She'd spend hours, tweaking the arrangements, adding new lanes as they became known, imagining herself exploring the far reaches and mapping them out.

Of course, the model had not survived. As a teenager with three siblings, it was only a matter of time before she came back to her room and found it in pieces. Carm had always insisted it was just to get Isabelle out of her study more often - but that had been cold comfort when she'd seen that beautiful galaxy with a scoop torn out of it.

She'd complained to her mother, but the response had simply been to chide her for not better protecting her things.

Staring up at Emberlight, Isabelle could feel the beginnings of those old tears welling in her eyes. No, not again. What had they done to her?

"Ta- take her back to my - my private hanger." she replies, not looking Tomas in the face. She couldn't, not right now. "Until I say otherwise, if any orders come down regarding Emberlight, you are to physically check with me before enacting them. I don't care who they're from, is that clear?"

"I - yes?" replies Tomas, deflating somewhat. "Are you not happy with the work the team has done?"

Isabelle closes her eyes, hands fisting. She can't. Why did you have to. Deep breath - but it hitches halfway. No. Not now. Not in front of him.

"NO!" she snaps, spinning on her heel as she becomes acutely aware of every hair on her arms. Of how hard it is to swallow. "I mean, yes. I ... look I don't care! Just get her back to my hangar now!"

"Ma'am? Are you oka-"

She doesn't wait for him to finish the question, swiftly exiting before any more cracks can show.

---====---

The bathrooms in the hangar complex are spotless - as befits the heart of a Lozano compound. Freshly cleaned, fully restocked, no stains, everything smelling vaguely of flowers - everything gleams. It's a good (if slightly cliché) place to hide from the world.

The shaking has subsided, and her fingers finally relax on her scalp. Everything aches. The model. Emberlight. A child's small painting. Toys. Serving staff who had befriended her. Books deemed "unsuitable". Games. Emberlight.

She knew who had given that order. She knew why. It had been a warning, but also a test. Don't fail again. And protect your things. Because they can and will be taken from you if you are too weak.

Too weak. Too useless. Too much of a failure. The fact her mother had not given the order herself showed that she wasn't yet at the point of outright taking Emberlight away, but it was a reminder that nothing is safe. Nothing and ...

... no-one.

How much did her mother know? She knew the staff passed her reports. She knew she had access to the building's security. But was she watching right now? It must be her imagination, but she can feel that all seeing eye hovering behind her. She could feel the prickling on her neck. The tension in her shoulders. Watched. Waiting. Slip up too much?

Well, she'd slipped up plenty today. With Asil - with Tomas - and now with hiding in a bathroom when she was meant to be at training. So many opportunities, so many justifications her mother might use. What could she do to defend against them?

The sad truth was ... nothing. There was no defence for her. No shield, no protector. Asil would be cast aside in an instant and she had no other friends amongst the staff in the building. No allies.

All she could do is go on. Do what her mother asked. Do it well. So there could be no further charge of laziness. She'd say she was correcting an error in the mech's repair work - that much was true - her mother would know what it meant. Maybe, if she did well enough, she'd be allowed to keep Asil in her life for a while.

Straightening, she calmly washes her hands before checking her face in the mirror. It looks ... bored ... tired.

She dries herself off before heading for the next training lesson. She'd have to be ready for the next fights, the next challenges. No matter what gets in her way.

[It was indeed a big deal and Isabelle staggers from the threat. Ticking off Betrayal, she resets her destiny track and makes progress towards her destiny]

It.

It wasn't a good squeal.

Because, because it was too breathy, too wet, too earnest, too awed.

She's very sorry, Whispered Promise, you deserved a good squeal! You really did! That was, it was the best fight she's ever seen! That's how characters fight, in stories, but you're the actual thing! How could Jade, even Jade, ever--

(an indignant thrashing, drool-wetted fur, fists clenching)

...mmmmaybe Jade could. No, of course Jade would! It's just that Dolly is silly, and doesn't, can't, doesn't see how... but Dolly's not the fighter, so that's all right! That's all right?

(a chin lifted, a huff that leaves an imagined plume of hot breath, a lip pulled back from sharp teeth)

Please, Jade, she's not the fighter. That's you, Dolly thinks as hard as she can (but she gets all mixed up with that dress swirling, and, and the brand) (the brand???) oh, um, she visualized that brand too hard, didn't she, and Jade can, she's definitely feeling how Dolly's clenching her legs and, and, and Dolly is a silly little kitten trying to tuck her tail between her legs and think beggy thoughts at her incredible and powerful and temporarily inconvenienced goddess--

Whispered Promise chooses this moment to cradle Dolly in her arms, pressing that gag-buried face into her shoulder, fingers playing with the outline of the brand as if she can tell exactly what Dolly was thinking about, and her other arm's in the crook of Dolly's bound knees, and Dolly's, well, her ass is dangling without support, but that both makes her feel oh-so-helpless and thinking about it being... touched. (squeezed; hands clenching, desiring, wrists straining against chains with the NEED of it) The look that Whispered Promise gives her is impossible to read, but it makes Dolly's ears go back in mortification. Her eyes dart everywhere, trying to find somewhere safe to land, but there's absolutely nowhere, and, well...

How would it make Jade feel if she rescued someone and that someone tried to hide how they felt? If she hid her feelings (like she's sitting on the entire box of feelings about mean rude bullying possessive pirates and that's going to be a talk later)... if she hid her feelings, wouldn't that be ungrateful? Wouldn't that be unworthy of the goddess she serves and loves and is going to be reunited with, and it's Whispered Promise and her incredible swordplay to thank?

She heroically forces herself to look Whispered Promise in those watery pools (that river, that dam, that bursting, that hunger, and her toes curl and she almost looks away like a coward unable to meet the gaze of a goddess when they first met) and she mumblewhines her thanks, ears submissively low, taking deep breaths through her pirate-stinking gag, aware of how every step Whispered Promise takes vibrates through her, aware of how those teeth would feel, aware of how wet the outer layers of her gag are, aware of how even Jade was (tricked? blackmailed? defeated? for her, for her, *for her*) bound by this mercenary, this creature-of-contracts, this Whispered Promise, and names really do have power, don't they?

Thank you, she says through moans and shudders. For bringing me back to her. My Jade, my goddess, who would do anything for me. (a huff, a lifting of the chin higher, but the tip of a tail wagging, wagging, wagging) I'm helpless. But doesn't that make you want to take pity on me? (pirate-ruined clothing torn apart, peeled off, a very NAUGHTY high priestess left on full display all the way back!) Doesn't that make you want to take PITY on me, and, and my goddess, who is, is sending a lot of sensations and wants, through our connection, and that's adding to the squirming, because, being naked in someone else's arms would be a lot, Jade, and just because-- pirates-- see-- if they'd-- if they'd-- maybe Valynia, definitely maybe Valynia, and walked her around the station on a leash, and...

(the absolute damned certainty of naked torments for VERY NAUGHTY HIGH PRIESTESSES)

[Oh, Mirror, even while Insecure, Dolly's offering you a 7 on Entice. If you want. If blushy submissive kittens trying to thank you incoherently but oh-so-earnestly is your sort of thing.]

"The TC have an instrument, the piano," said Solarel. "It has a sound like bells. Each key press makes a sound that rings out and hangs in the air. I'm thinking about it a lot... how to say?"

A thought turned over in her head for months and months and months. No one to say it to. Something absorbed into mental infrastructure as a truth but now having to be converted into a fact.

"There's a space in between the notes," she said. "It can go fast, but a single key press can hang in the air for two or even three seconds. When it plays fast it feels like its drawing a cape of music behind it, notes overlapping. When it plays slow each note rings out as both a sound and as space around the sound. Motions that linger, stillness and open spaces. And so they use it for the sounds of the arctic, of the cold, especially in their games."

She reaches down to pick up the drone without quite knowing why, and holds it uncertainly and firmly. "Good... let me know if you need anything."

Mirror, Jade, Dolly

“Can I have your autograph?” one of the bolder pirates asks as you make your way back to the hangar. She’s the only one to step forward, a mixed-breed with some lioness based on the splashes of tan fur that’s distinctive of the subspecies.

Valynia offered no further resistance as she departed. She didn’t exactly look defeated though. Oh, physically she was, without a doubt, there were no hidden reserves there. But the look in her eyes was sparkling, star-struck. It’s an odd thing though. You didn’t get the sense, Mirror, that Valynia wanted to chase you. It was more like she was going to go over every detail of that fight in her mind over and over until she had lived it, absorbed it, made it a part of her forever.

Dolly needed to worry though. Not now, not for a while yet, but it was clear that this branch of the Red Band meant to see her again. They’d approach it differently the next time, now that they’d seen the lengths Jade would go to in getting her back. But there would be another route they’d take. In fact, Dolly, from the way Valynia’s hand twitches and the face she’s making as you exit, you think she might already have a plan going. But there’s no way that she could get you without Jade reacting the same way. Which means…well, we’ll save that for the future.

Jade, the triumphant mercenary is bringing your priestess in the flesh squirming and bouncing into the small hangar. How do you receive them?

And for that matter how are you all getting back? Does Dolly get to see Jade piloted in Mirror’s style?

***

Isabelle

There’s one more surprise for you today. Good and bad you might say. When you finally do get to the training area, there’s a delivery boy who looks very nervous. Probably because you weren’t where you were “supposed” to be and he’s been waiting for you. You don’t recognize him, he’s not on staff, but neither does he look out of place and you suspect this is the sort of thing that your mother wouldn’t remark on. Just people coming and going from the service industries.

Which is why it’s a bit surprising when he bumps you as you come in and he runs out of the room. It’s only after you feel the little drive in your hand, concealing a small bit of memory weave, that you realize this was slipped to you secretly.

You can touch it now and see, or wait a little, but here’s what this one says. Or feels, rather.

Adriana Teresio is looking in a mirror, seeing herself. She runs a finger through her long black hair, the touch of it conjuring a fast flurry of memories of having it styled, washed, done it, the feel of it whipping in the wind all briefly passing as her attention ceases to focus on it. She’s just watched the match with Quar, the way you spared her and then carried her off the battlefield. The way you didn’t take her baited attack. She liked that. She almost smiles. She straightens her lips though, and applies the last layer of lipstick, bright red. She’s going to contact you, but secretly she thinks, not in a way to get your family’s hopes up. Yes, she thinks she wants to see the real Isabelle Lozano, no leaks~

The whole thing is a flurry of thoughts in barely five seconds. But there it is and now it’s in your head. Congratulations, Ms. Lozano. You got the attention you were looking for, but not at all how you thought you were going to get it.

Close out your day for us, especially what happens to Quar while all this is going on. How do you calm down after everything, just everything?

***

Solarel

You are dreaming within the mind of the Kathresis. Being aware of this does not make the experience any less real. The dream prevents you from seeing how you got into it, though if you care to, you can logically work your way back from the drone to when you reconnected to the Kathresis. You’ve been maintaining your link to it so much.

In the dream, the Kathresis does not like the Arena where it finds itself. It is back in the tundra, where you fought Angela. The tundra is full of ghosts, brought by the Zaldarians to animate their nanobots, to change the terrain, the buildings, the sky. The Kathresis does not like the energy ghosts. To it, they are all hungry, all waiting. If its armor is ever breached, they will manifest and they will devour its heart. The Kathresis comes from a place where one spirit was in charge and all geists were controlled, labeled, and properly arranged. It comes from a background that prefers the cold. So cold that even the atomic particles cannot move, that even hungry ghosts are frozen in place. This would be good.

There are Trak’tho in the tundra in the dream. They look somewhat akin to a cross between Zaldarians and Terenians. They are not as tall as you are and this makes several of them instinctively shrink away from you as you approach them. One of them, a larger one whose size and wings make him appear similar to you in stature, approaches and asks, “servant, why have you not put down the ghosts that haunt us?”

”Autograph? I should demand your head from your shoulders, you impudent, impious whelp!” Smokeless Jade Fires, victorious, clutches her high priestess closer to her powerful body, and rests the tip of her thunderbolt lance beneath the chin of this pirate rogue. One nail taps on the shaft as she considers venting her wrath, before she instead slips the tip past the pirate’s neck, forcing her down onto her knees.

“In fact, I think you must be shown humility. At length. You will come with us and you will take up the duties of a handmaiden for the lustrous high priestess you dared to defile with your lusty, greedy paws. You and your former tyrant queen, who I have only not destroyed in my fury because my beloved, my bride, my treasure has convinced me she is better as a dumb pack iguanadon.” The overawed pirates crane their heads past the goddess to see that pathetic little minx, hobbled and groaning under the weight of her ill-gotten goods: necklaces heaped around her neck, bags full of gold straining on her shoulders, a ruby the size of an egg strapped between her lips.

“I’m sorry for everything I have ever done to offend you and your bride,” the half-lioness cries, groveling on the floor. “Thank you for your mercy, O Strider Between The Earth And Stars!”

“Mercy? It is not my mercy,” Smokeless Jade Fires sneers, “but that of my priestess, whose kindness is as bountiful as her breasts and whose generosity overflows like her wet mouth into these unworthy rags you have crammed between her plump, mewling lips!” Dolly squeals, blushing, heart racing, kicking her bare bound feet in total flusterment. “Know that she has my permission to ravish you as thoroughly as you have molested her, that I will carry out her every desire, and that only by satisfying her can you ever hope for freedom, for I will give you no mercy but by her pleading! Now, before we embark, remove your mangy uniform. Yes, in front of your compatriots! It is time for you to learn what it is like to be humiliated, helpless, and drooled over, you wicked little slut!”

---

It would have been much better if she was the one down there, not this, this enigmatic, teasing, restrained mercenary, this hero-pilot who refused to unsheathe her claws, who is just letting these audacious and irreverent kittens prance away without a care in the world! Not even their leader, who is clearly the one pulling the strings. The brute they’d faced together? Clearly some brute of a lieutenant, meant to soften them up for a carefully masterminded plot— and now she’s free to begin scheming again!

Jade fumes, and rattles her chains, and growls under her breath. Her body (her body) throbs like Dolly’s usually does. She aches, impossibly. Her jaw strains! It has never once strained in her entire existence! Only her vast pool of experiences from Dolly reassures her that this is… natural. For someone tied up. Like she is.

Of all the ways to feel like she had a body! A thousand dooms on your head, Whispered Promise! Only to be rescinded after Dolly intercedes (at length) on your behalf!

(What would it be like, for this to be natural, to have a body? Not the awe-inspiring idol, but one that could, could feel without calculation, could release various chemicals from its pores, could hold Dolly and be held?)

Ngh. Ten thousand dooms, Whispered Promise. Half of them onerously tactile and odoriferous. And another one for each pirate you let go.

---

Whispered Promise stands at the hatch and snaps her fingers, almost smiling, and with a furious groan, Smokeless Jade Fires opens her cockpit like a good girl. She accepts them both into the space, both of them bearing her fabric, her mark of initiation into her mysteries, into the temple that Whispered Promise molded into shape. She hangs, helpless, unable to cover herself up, unable to look Dolly in the eye, fuming and seething and—

Dolly wriggles out of Whispered Promise’s arms, onto her feet. Before the hungry, lustful mercenary can catch her, she’s hopping like only someone with lots of practice can. “JDDH!!!”

And Dolly flings herself at her goddess, bouncing up as close as she can, pressing herself against Jade’s almost-body, which can’t snake around her, which can’t yield or firm on command, which can’t run simulated fingers through her fur, which has to just accept…

The feeling of Dolly pressing her soft chest up against her wiry frame. The warmth of her body, felt through the link. The strong, almost-and-should-be unpleasant smell of the lusty, sweaty pirates, the kind that she can’t properly give Dolly, not like this. The sensation of their bindings and their gags, melding together as Dolly rubs her gag-swaddled cheeks across her goddess’s face, purring, insistent, headbutting her gently, leaking muffled drooly giggles, and over their connection, Jade feels and knows:

Jade Jade Jade Jade you came for me I missed you I knew you would come Jade Jade Jade Jade pirates hot and sexy and stink horny but you you you LOVE YOU you did this for me you let her tie you up for ME because you wanted me back I’m safe I’m here I’m back I’m yours I want my scent on you I want this musk on you I want to fuck you I love you I need you Jade Jade Jade Jade Jade!!!!

And Smokeless Jade Fires, who doesn’t understand why she’s crying, rubs her cheeks on Dolly’s gag, and presses her body up against her bri— her wif— her— her Dolly, and strains against the chains and wills them to break so she can wrap herself around Dolly a hundred times— no, if it means she can have a body for her Dolly, she’ll do it the once.

But the chains don’t break, and they keep her like this. Solid. Almost real. Wet. Needy. Taking breaths of Valynia, who I couldn’t seduce for you, I tried so hard, but maybe she’ll do it again and I can practice with you, you can show me what to do, maybe she wants an exotic dancer to entertain her crew? and Milk Tooth, that’s her nickname, she’s the one who was squeezing and bouncing my breasts and left handprints all over and The One Who Looks Like A Fox whose name I don’t know but who was the one who shoved my face down her top and The One Who Kept Pinching Me And Telling Me How Sexy And Breedable Thicc(?) Girls Are and Jimmy Rat, I don’t know why that was her name(?), maybe because she smelled so strong much.

…dooms rescinded, Whispered Promise. If you take them back home. Even if you pull Dolly into your lap and make her watch the piloting. She’ll whine and beg for you to be nice, you know that, don’t you? She’ll volunteer breathlessly, wordlessly, to accept “punishment” in her goddess’s place. She’s the bravest one in the room.

Why yes, of course you may have an autograph. Would anyone else like one, before she goes? There is time. Always a pleasure to meet a fan. Let us duel again sometime, and properly. Gather more and better mecha, repair the Grasp of Dishal, and test them if you care to against the Gods-Smiting Whip. Ah, this one is for your little sister, is it? What's her name? I'll sign this one with a star, just for her.

Mirror has her fun. It is not the attention from the pirates that drives her to play things up so sharply. Though their attitude is both amusing and nostalgic in the way that organizational goals crumble so quickly in the face of playtime and a chance to learn things they did not know. It is very soothing to be around Spacers again, the only cats crazy enough to have the kind of confidence that permits excitement after total defeat. They need to be, to survive living the way they do.

But they are not what brought her here, so they do not hold her attention for long after each of them passes from sight. It's Dolly who stays in her vision, and Dolly that settles inside her mind. This girl, this very soft and earnest girl, with her writhing and squealing through her sodden gags, with the way her entire body flushes with warmth when she catches this or that's pirate's eye and how even while she wriggles enough to slip free from almost any net in the galaxy she somehow keeps herself nestled safely inside of Mirror's own arms.

Dala Hunters Seven Quetzal is a jewel among jewels. She burns as hot as a campfire but is easier to carry than a sleeping kitten. Her heart is even more on display than her body, and her body is... mmm. Well. It is no wonder this little thing went and got herself kidnapped, is it? It is similarly little wonder that Smokeless Jade Fires was so desperate to have her back.

Or at least, she thought she understood this. Her fingers snap. The party ends. She steps back into the Temple-Cockpit, fully prepared to dump Dolly at the altar and slip away. Contract fulfilled, payment to be rendered later. Good luck getting home, you two. She was even excited to work out a thing or two with Valynia by way of charting her own ride home to the family that by now had noticed she'd done more than take a walk to clear her head, or even more than simply managing a better than average dinner date.

And then she watches these two, Smokeless Jade Fires and her Seven Quetzal, reunite. She feels the pulse of their hearts tugging at the connection she's wrapped around her arm. And she feels her plans disintegrate to ashes all around her. It's not a gasp, the sound she makes. Her face doesn't even twitch. As to the feelings that she leaks back into the pair? Irrelevant. She gives them nothing but water. The calmness of the river restored. Only a single sharp sniff gives her away.

Mirror steps inside the cockpit, and waves the door closed behind her. One and two and three and four. That's all the steps she needs to close space again, and each of those small and precise. The inside of Smokeless Jade's idol is not nearly so large that it can permit the freedom of more than one pilot at a time. But that is fine. It does not need to. She stoops low to scoop Dolly back into her arms, and with two fingers lifts her pretty chin to stare at the dangling body of her goddess.

"Do you see that?" she chirps, "Seven Quetzal. This. Is. The shape. Of. True. Love. These are the lengths. Your goddess will take. Just to be with you. It is not just. That I am here. She has. Suborned herself. To me. She has. Followed every command. Faultlessly. Token struggle. Just to hear. Your voice. Just to see. Your face. Just to touch. Your body."

And at this moment, Mirror touches Dolly. Long strokes through her hair, unknotting muscles that had long since clenched from the way the ropes she was wrapped up in had obligated her to stand. Or dangle, as the case may be. Her touch is soothing and medicinal. But it is familiar and possessive. She works away the ropes and she works away the ruined clothes of a sullied priestess to let her beautiful fur breathe the warm, fresh air of this safe space. No, Dolly. You do not need this. Or this. Or this. Not even these. Your goddess paid a lot for you, you realize? Let her bask in the full beauty of her treasure.

Every naked inch of you.

She holds you close. Her arm is wrapped around you as a lover's ought to be. The one with the synthweave wrapped around it. She does not use her fingers for anything more indecent than massaging at your worn out muscles. She is chaste, the Whispered Promise. But she is careful to hold the weave close to you and let your goddess have every last little brush of fur burned into her memory, and to allow her to strain and caress you in turn, if only in this desperate and straining way.

Her fingers find the brand at your neck. She clicks her tongue and brushes her thumb across it.

"I can. Fix this." she says it casually, even in spite of the clipped bursts of words that she uses to cut through the fog of overwhelming emotions when they threaten to devour her like this, "For a price. I know. The technique. But, later. Later. I have... never. Seen love like yours. And I must. Show you. Mine. In turn. Sit here. Like this. Good girl.

"Now watch. Do not blink. Dala of the Hunter Clan. Little Seven Quetzal. Beloved. Bride. Of Smokeless Jade Fires. You are. The first mortal creature. To bear witness. To my piloting technique. Burn it. Into your mind. This. Is. The power. Your goddess bought. Just to have you again. This is. What. She paid. More than. She owns. To use. The power. That will carry you. Safely. Home."

Her fingers dance across the simulated keyboard, manipulating it with ease. Commands sent, orders obeyed. Just like that. Screech your indignities into your gag, Smokeless Jade Fires, but bear them just the same. It is a gift that the Whispered Promise is giving your Bride. The three of you rocket away from the station and fly away on wings of crystal fire. She pilots you in grand spirals and plots showy courses through the asteroids, this time not so much as brushing any of them despite how recklessly close she rushes into them.

It's a gift for you, too. The trust to expose this much of her potential to the both of you. Because what you have touched her untouchable heart. She is mad with longing for something like what she's seen. But this is all the more she's capable of doing to find it.

And we shall call you Tactics, as that is all you are good for.

The ground beneath her feet is frozen. The temperatures are as close to zero as can be managed. Shifting chemical reactions, freeze and contract and freeze, occur in predictable cycles in a knowable global weather pattern. Understandable, controllable. Accounted for.

Imagine, then, the horror.

Beneath her feet she can feel the planet writhe. Even amidst the crystalline beauty of the snowflakes animate matter moves and twists and finds ways to multiply. Even through the blizzard contaminated water packets accumulate carbon, iron and various trace elements and propel themselves under their own power. And beneath the ice, in the water, the planet positively seethes with a riot of impure groupings. Even this frozen wasteland is so, so far from perfect.

Stillness is not a method. It is a policy objective.

There is more than holy duty to the sweep of the Zero-Entropy Device. Its motion represents the condensation of variables as surely as its firing does. The Kathresis converts the chaos of the crystal-fire reaction into its antithesis; the broken spilling energy turned in on itself until it inverts. Tactics converts the chaos of organic life itself into its antithesis; the broken spilling emotions overwhelmed with feeling until they invert. Love so deep it turns into prediction, calculation - aim. It knows you like it knows itself. It knows where to place the shot. If it guessed right - well, that is love. All the chaos of your life and self expression reduced to a known quantity, processed, and resolved. Catalogued in place in the hierarchy of all things and left with no energy to stray.

Love is not a policy objective. It is a targeting system.

In the dream, she is Tactics. She is the filter through which the chaos of the world becomes knowable. A broken spirit world of eight trillion divines - gods, ancestors, spirits, ghosts ever on. Eight trillion who have forgotten that they are one. Eight trillion demons. She will love them all in the way they are supposed to be loved, and no other. She will love them as she loves the One who will answer to the policy objectives set by the legitimate authority. In this dream of ice, she knows her function at last.