It's the event of the season, retinues and representatives from all corners of the Galaxy! Prime socialising opportunities, and network building to boot.

Yet, for all that, Isabelle can only find her thoughts focusing on the dance floor and the woman's hand by her side. She leads the other woman out, where a small ensemble is currently playing Alazairs Concerto no. 8.

She stands opposite Asil, smiling slightly at the other woman and raises a hand. Asil's out of her element, but can recognise a signal easily enough and places her own against it. They step slowly, giving each other time to acclimatise to the movements, to the beat. Swaying back and forth amongst the other dancers as the whole station seems to fade away into the background.

Eventually Asil gets more comfortable. Isabelle can tell, in the way her shoulders untense. In the way that she starts to lead the movements, despite not knowing the proper steps. She raises an arm and Isabelle twirls beneath it. She comes forward, challenging, and Isabelle steps around her, behind her. Coming up to her side. The dance changes into a game - Asil trying to direct her, Isabelle follows, but at the same time guides. Yes, you can pull me in - but I will step this way, so that we don't collide. Yes, you can send me away, but only till our fingers' last joints - lest I lose you. The two of them feel their way through the set, dancing in harmony while also learning more about one another.

All too soon, the dance will be over. Whether from Almira reminding her duties in socialising. Or maybe Adriana will give her a signal (she hasn't completely forgotten that the woman wanted to speak with her). Or maybe, just maybe, the galaxy can be put on hold for a while and she can just enjoy herself for a few more moments.

"Thanks for coming" she says, as they come together, palms up.

"I know this is not your normal element, but I'm glad I don't have to face it alone."

Mira shivers to be touched. To be held. To be guided. To be seen. To be spoken to. To be loved. Words ring in her ears and they pull breaths from her mouth in little panting gasps for want of other language. Her fur is sleek, her tongue is just visible, her posture is languid, her ears are pivoted, her tail is curled tightly. She speaks, and speaks, and speaks, and speaks, but nothing comes from the one direction she wanted to.

"Whole." she manages at last.

Solarel is using the word in a different way than the scholars intended. Not incorrectly, if it is at least on purpose. But still. Different. It pulls her short. Mira's heart is a bird locked inside her ribs, fluttering desperately and trying to escape. Her tongue is dry. She hears velcro; it makes her twitch. Retch, even.

She tilts her head in question. And then she takes one hand and softly strokes Matty under the chin with it.

"Whole." she says again.

Her hand passes by the energetic young hybrid, over to Kirala. She puts it atop a shoulder and squeezes, with a nod.

"Whole." that word again, sharper this time. More of the richness of her voice creeps into it.

She moves again, to Slate this time. She wraps both arms around her oldest partner, and drapes herself overtop of the mechanic's protective body to stare at Solarel.

"Whole." every time she says it, the word grows. What had been a tremulous whisper at the start has lifted itself into a full purr: pleasure, safety, vulnerability, reflex.

She detaches from her retinue and crosses the distance as though walking a tightrope, her arms stretched to either side. She brings them forward, brings them up. She takes Solarel by both sides of her face, and pulls their foreheads together.

"Whole," she whispers, and the word is more intimate than it's ever been.

Whole, Mira's hands slide down the scales of Solarel's neck. Whole, caress the shoulders. Whole, over the breasts, just the barest brush. Whole, holding her hips. Whole, whole, whole, whole, the embrace is hotter and brighter than any light show, any mecha, any goddess, any star.

She lets go. Two steps backward, both measured. Her eyes fall to the floor again.

"Fractured," she tries this time, "Necessary to be whole."

She spins, and her hand gestures to everyone around her.

"Cannot. Give. Oneself. Without. Having. Pieces. To. Offer. I am. I am. I am. I am..."

Whole. She doesn't say it this time. Her entire body is shaking with the effort of standing here. She ignores the worried looks from her family, ignores the fluttering of her ribbons against the motion of her weakness, ignores the toxic smell of the flowers on her head.

"...Ready. To give you the gift. I have been preparing. Since we parted. I. Understand. Now. Do not lose. Solarel. We must... fight. One more time."

Mirror and Solarel

There is a stillness that hangs in the air, but it is not the absence of movement. A silence that is not the absence of sound.

Around you and above you there is the movement of peoples, the clink of glasses and the clatter of food. Music spins faintly from other rooms as dancers strike up. The murmur of chatter rumbles through the air, and from the hangar comes the occasional creaks and groans that are convergent with the fundamental nature of great edifices of dormant metal.

Matty purrs, and Kirala makes a sort of hmmm noise as she considers, while Slate is perfectly quiet. But none of them pierce this moment. No eager conversationalists dare interrupt this intimacy, nor any grand games of politics demand your attention.

Not here, not yet. This moment is for you.

Though, whenever you do get deeper into the temple, there’s some very…vivid…politics happening between the current and former empress of Zaldaria deeper inside.

***

Jade, Dolly, and entourage

You’re at the center of some interspecies politics. This is not your fault! Probably! There might be some debates about whether you were supposed to be reigning in Angela given her outfit. But mostly it’s not your fault!

You see, Angela made her way past the Hybrasilian delegation, who had quickly spread out for food and conversation anyway, especially to mingle with Terenians from the nearest planets. But Angela, boldly had gone up to talk with the current empress of the Zaldarians. She didn’t entirely know their sign language, but they’d been standing by themselves and so she had singled them out for conversation. A soft kindness to a people who found it particularly hard, with their religion, to effectively mingle with aliens.

However, her conversation, which had dragged over a few hangers on as well, attracted the attention of Voctine, the former Empress. Though she had ensconced herself deep within the spiral, that gave her a front row seat to look down on the current empress, Nialkai. And that meant that Voctine saw her hated rival not only not coming to her, but mingling in obvious violation of the Zaldarian tenets.

Thus, you find yourself about at the center of the party, and next to you are two Zaldarians and their entourages, all gesturing wildly and beginning to shout at one another in language you can understand.

Actually, it’s pretty easy to understand: “Usurping bitch!” and “Fallen Queen” echo out from each other, and their retinues are milling uneasily. In fact, it looks for all the world like they’re going to start a fight here in the middle of the party and the fact that you’re all in the middle of them is being entirely ignored as Voctine flourishes her cape and Nialkai hikes up her wide dress menacingly!

***

Isabelle

She comes to you. Falls into your arms in fact. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” It’s hard to tell who was talking, as the same phrase comes from Adriana, Marcina Villajero, and Asil at the same time. The latter because she assumed she was the one who bumped into Adriana, even though you had a front row seat that Asil Did Nothing Wrong.

But Adriana had managed to extract herself from Marcina’s supporting arms while the latter got a drink, only to swoon directly into you and bump Asil out of the way, the latter assuming that she’d simply been too clumsy of a dancer for even you to save from herself. The troubles of being a fish out of water.

It’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever heard of. Everything you’ve ever read about Adriana is that she’s a woman with complete physical control. She was the first Arena champion! Known for her extravagant flourishes and her talent as a dancer when not in a mecha. It’s utterly inconceivable that she’d be like this. She must be sick. Or terribly, terribly drunk in a way that implies the drinking had to have started long before arriving here. Though she doesn’t smell drunk. She smells like roses, her whole dress is covered with them, and the scent is heady and makes you want to swoon yourself as she draws near.

“Isabelle Lozano!” she says, voice slurred and eyes misty, and if this is an act, she’s also the universe’s best dramatist and the entire Terenian movie industry will need to cry itself to sleep that she’s usually too busy with politics and business to appear in their works. “You know, I can’t make heads or tails of you, and I’ve half a mind to stop trying and give up on you entirely.”

There’s a sharpness to her words. It doesn’t change anything about the whole drunken stupor though. It’s more like, the intellect is just really deep in there and what you’re getting is the analysis without the filter about what might be polite to say or not.

“I mean really, you’re a prodigy when it comes to the piloting, but you’ve got basically zero mental game. I thought maybe when you took that Quar, that Zaldarian knight, prisoner you had something, but I’ve got my sources and you basically let that go. You’ve done almost nothing with her! I mean come on, you’ve got a whole alien prisoner who’s choosing to be there out of a sense of honor and you, what, mostly stick to your daily routine like nothing’s changed and sneak a few meals with her? Give me a break, girl!”

She starts dancing with you, leaning her head against your shoulder for support. Marcina shrugs helplessly like, what’s she going to do, cut into your dance? She goes over to reassure Asil instead and they start up a nice slow easy dance a little away from you.

“And then your other matches. The one against Smith, and the ‘win’ you had against Ksharta Talonna. (Oh and learn their names, too goddamn many Terenians who refuse to treat the other species like they’re actual people). Absolute despair on both sides of that one, don’t think I missed it! You’ve got no read on people. And let me tell you, if you want to reach the top, you need two things and it’s not the bullshit the climbers think it is. One…” She raises a finger, ticking it off against the side of your cheek. “...you’ve got to do something special. Not the same crap as everyone else who wants the job. The frauds are the ones who all try to fit in because they have no VISION. That will never get you ahead of the pack.

“Two…” and here she taps those fingers against your cheek a little harshly “you can’t make the kind of enemies who will do anything to stop you. Even self-sacrifice. If everyone you meet decides that keeping you down is more important than even their own benefit, you’ll get nowhere. The whole world will turn against you. Damn fool girl. If you waste the talents of one of the Terenius Consortium’s greatest pilots in the elimination round because you can’t see the idiocy past your own nose, you’ll have me as an enemy. And I’m usually a much better dancer than this.”

So saying, she sways and almost topples the both of you over, relying on you to manage her weight.

Through the buzz of her mind, through the radiating warm energy that was filling her, Solarel felt the underlying structure of her thoughts shift. A mind tilted diagonally and a vast edifice of thoughts sliding away down the hill. A new idea had begun to form. Debris from stagnant thought processes swept away freeing up what felt like a frenzied new energy. Even the sophomoric effects of the equations seemed to sweep away into the background as her purpose became fully crystal clear.

For the first time tonight she looked away from Mirror.

She looked at Matty. A gaze of endless, contemplative ice. Stars in her eyes, the weight of danger absolute. A predator suddenly and absolutely aware of her presence, soaking in every part of her with the same deadly intensity that she had only showed Mirror.

[Entice: 12+1 13]

Her gaze then turns to Kirala. Her claws tighten possessively on Mirror's back but there's no mistake that in that moment Kirala was the centre of Solarel's world. When her muscles tensed and squeezed they were in Solarel's mind adjusting to the different size, the different weight, the different tolerances. How to hold her like she needed to be held. How to hold her like she was the only thing that mattered. The fierceness of that embrace and how tightly that would fit, how tempting it would be to step into it...

[Entice: 10+1 11]

Then her eyes fixate on Slate. Her gaze bores through the mechanic's eyes into her mind. She sees there the wires, the circuits, the designs. She sees the things she couldn't predict and account for. The speed of Mirror's reboot, the redundancies and efficiencies, the way she guarded the pilot champion with such love. The beautiful body and mind, the dedication that made the God-Smiting Whip what it was. There was hunger there, a hunger to have her work on Solarel's bodies with the same dedication as she worked on Mirrors'.

[Entice: 11+1 12]

Solarel understood now. She understood how she could have Mirror helpless before her and still lose. She was only one piece - and not the whole. She saw each of her other parts now, saw them with a hungry, tactical intensity. These were the girls she needed to corner. Seduce. Burn holes through with the force of her stare, to tempt into mistakes, to reprogram with tangled loyalties. She saw them as individuals now and she wanted to unpick and solve each of them. To hold the shivering whole in her hands.

"Not one more time," she said, taking in the whole of her enemy. "The first time. With who you are now."

Impossible not to follow the eyes. Impossible not to notice where they turn. Impossible not to catch the spark. Impossible not to feel the fear. Impossible. Impossible. Impossible. Impossible.

Mira's whiskers twitch. Her shoulders stiffen. Her tail flicks at a subtly different rhythm than it had before. Her hand makes the tiniest of motions toward Matty, but that is for her kitten's benefit alone. She makes no attempt to stop what is happening. She makes no attempt to understand it. Understanding is impossible. Impossible. Impossible. Impossible.

Easy to want something. Easy to dream of it. Easy to long for it every night in the safety of the dark and the quiet. Easy to believe her heart and its needs were something other than what they were. Other than ugly. Other than selfish. Other than greedy, grasping, possessive, dominating. That her heart would not flinch when she got exactly what she told reflection that she wished for. But the wince is inevitable. To not is impossible. Impossible. Impossible. Impossible.

She is frozen in place. Caught between desires and Desire. She is tumbling into an abyss and cannot say whether she wants someone to catch her. Whether she needs someone to catch her. Whether it is safe for her heart to race this fast outside of her cockpit. Whether her fingers should be moving this much or this fast without a control panel to burn the inputs on. Whether she should be doing more. Or less. Whether she is a disappointment or a revelation.

She slips her gaze through Solarel's, into Slate's eyes. They share a long look, the three of them, without ever looking at each other. Mira frowns, and Slate sniffs. Her offer to Kiriala is a shrug, unconcerned. Think what you want, do what you want, it will not break your promises. She watches Matty with her arm out just far enough to allow the smaller cat to seek shelter there if she needs it, without implying that she should.

No one is told what to do. No one is told what to think. Something is happening here, now, the ground is shifting underneath her feet. She cannot sleep again if she does not let it happen. If she cannot absorb this moment then the only thing left for her to do would be to quietly leave the party and destroy the Gods-Smiting Whip before anybody could clock her location. But doing that would kill her. Doing that would be impossible. Impossible. Impossible. Impossible.

So she lets them make their choices. So she wraps a hand around Solarel's waist and gives her another squeeze before letting go without a look. So she shrugs, and opens her mouth, and closes it, and opens it, and closes it, and opens it again but only breathes until her breath becomes the words ringing inside her ears finally escape.

"First time. Eighth time. Thousandth time. Doesn't. Make a difference. There will. Never be. Another. That is. Your hint. That is. Your warning. That is. A promise."

Because if she cannot win this time, there is no point in trying again. It would be. Impossible.

Isabelle's world wobbles - Asil's hand is no longer there to anchor her. Instead, it's reality - in the form of a very forward, and drunk Adriana, who is literally pushing her way into her attention.

And yes, alot of this feels weird. Not just that she's now dancing with the most powerful woman in the Consortium (who also seems drunk off her feet). But also that it's happening in the Crystal Gala, in front of three star systems' worth of dignitaries, whilst dressed in a kimono that is trailing snowflakes.

It would be safe to say that nobody, nowhere has ever been in a situation like this one.

... so then why does it feel so familiar?

-=====-

She steps into the boardroom, the first time in front of the directors since her appointment. Their faces turn towards her, frowns at the unfamiliar waif now approaching them. Not sure what to make of her.

One man stands up at her arrival, moving around the table at a speed that is faster than his size would suggest. He is big, easily a head taller than Isabelle, shoulders wider than you'd expect from a lifelong businessman - more suited to a weightlifter or someone who spends alot of times in gyms.

"Isabelle Lozano!" he growls, shoving a hand forward and grabbing her own as he gets uncomfortably close. She's forced to tilt her head back, just to be able to see him. The handshake is strong, firm, dominating. Another message. A message?

"I hope you're up to the task of turning this company around. Profits are down, retention is falling. Our major suppliers are deserting us and it's all thanks to your predecessor that our last flagship investment is not earning the returns it should have." he speaks, hard and fast, giving no opportunity for Isabelle to interject. "I had petitioned your mother to appoint someone with extensive industry experience, but she was adamant on giving you this chance. Given your lack of a track record in mining, I don't know what she's expecting, but I want you to be on notice that the Board will be watching you very closely."

Isabelle frowns. Stopping herself from taking the reflexive step backwards. Overriding instincts that scream at her to dissassemble, to stammer or run from the onslaught.

"Good." she interjects, her own voice hardening. Her own hand tightening on his.

"This company is in a poor position, but it will not stay there for long. I have already worked out three potential strategies to restore Akkanis to profitability, and I hope that today I can make the Board see the value in each." she replies, matching his energy with her own.

"What's more, I have also read up on the profiles of key personnel in preparation for today." she continues, and is pleased when the man's eyes shift slightly. Just a hint of a widening, but well hidden - a valuable talent for someone in his role.

"You can inform my mother that her test has been met." she continues, and by the sudden slackening of his handshake she can tell she hit home with that. "And a credit to your firm for your performance today. Was it Interstellar Motion, or Parascape Pictures? In either case, you nearly tricked me - as you are close enough in appearance to pass for the description I was given of Director Perez. But he's not due back for another week."

The whole room is quiet for a handful of seconds before a single clap echoes from behind her.

"Well done, Isabelle." says her Mother, who dismisses the actor with a glance before gesturing towards the remaining Board members.

"Now, show these gentlemen your ideas."

-===-

It's a bull rush. Aimed to get her off balance with momentum, compliments and insults in just the right amounts. Strikes high and low, but with words rather than a sword. Even the "drunkedness" was an element in the attack - one on social norms and decency that Isabelle was known to hold herself to.

Her eyes narrow, as she steps around - managing Adriana's weight before swinging her upright and giving her the option to step quickly or lose her balance.

"Full of contradictions." she says, helping as much as guiding Adriana through the next moves.

"You claim you can't make head or tails of me, but everything you're doing here - interrupting my dance, insulting me and complimenting me with the same breath, even knowing what I have or haven't been doing with Quar, shows you've been watching me closely for a while. And more than that, you've been analysing me enough to know exactly how to annoy me."

She watches the other woman's face, her arms and body held in hers, for the same tells as the paid actor all those years ago.

"If it's special you want, you can just keep watching - I'll deliver on any challenge you set me, any hurdle that you or anyone else puts in my way." she continues, her voice hard. "And as for your advice on enemies - well, I only make the ones I have to."

Behind that hard mask, she stamps on the flash of pain that the match with Ksharta brings up - she'd had to do it. To protect the things important to her. To protect Asil.

"What I can't understand, is why you care enough to give me advice, but in a way that you know that I'd instinctively want to reject it." she continues.

[Rolling to figure out a person: 3 + 2 + 2: 7 - what do you hope to get from this? What are your feelings towards me? Adriana can ask one.]

The lights are snuffed out with the clicking of a jaw.

Zaldarians are faint outlines in the dark, light highlighting the edges of scales, the faintest touch of luminosity. That means the eye is drawn to them, at first, before Jade breathes, and it is the wet breath of a predator in the dark. (Hearts beating in time. Ksharta Talonna's irises widening as she tries to drink in the light. A hand on the back of Dolly's neck.)

Smokeless Jade Fires opens her eyes in the middle of her presence, looking down at the petulant royals who threaten her priestesses. She does not stop opening them. Like the Terenian peacock, they flare out behind her, like wings, like her tail stretching off into infinity, and then she opens, for a moment, several of her mouths, her fangs limned like Zaldarian scales.

Then she flicks the lights back on, trains the spotlights on the usurper and the usurped and her, standing between them, seemingly small. "This is not how we behave," she says, and for a moment she lets a third eye blink, flesh like oil. A calculated reminder of what she is. "Is it?" She drags her gaze up the legs of the usurped, lifts a lip lasciviously, then turns her attention to the illuminated chest of the usurper. "Not in here. Behave. If you want to fight, there is an entire arena designed for it, entire bodies made for it, drones so everyone can watch, all within casual flight distance. And if you want to fuck, there are discreet rooms for that. So go ahead and pick one, and keep your claws in at a party."

Then she strides forward, curls a finger. The yank surprises Angela Victoria Miera Antonius by surprise, and she staggers forward. She straightens up quickly, certainly, but the gesture is unmistakable. "Of course I find you in the middle of trouble," the goddess says, sweetly, pityingly. "What do you have to say for yourself~?"

"Are you going to scold me, little god, or are you going to stop those pirates from walking off with your pilot?"

The absolute, inhuman stillness is its own tell.

"We're not pirates," Valynia adds, over her shoulder, as she ushers Dolly into the ballroom next door. "Pirates don't get invites to big parties! We're just a group of enthusiastic pilots~!"

"You're going to get it," Jade whispers, just loudly enough for the empresses to hear. The sound systems here are only so good, after all.

"If you want a rematch, there's an arena designed for it, I hear," she retorts. "Any time you want, little goddess. Now keep your claws in and go save your blushing bride all weak at the knees. I'm not afraid of a couple of royals having a spat." And I'm not afraid of you, either, she thinks, almost loudly enough to hear. She scoops up a wine glass and stares down Dolly's girlfriend, waiting for either a temper tantrum or a huff.

Jade works her jaw, huffs, and then says: "Behave." And she turns and flickers and is out of the room.

Angela Victoria Miera Antonius takes a long sip from her wine glass and smiles the smile of someone tied into Dolly's fluster and Ksharta's awe, aimed towards her of all people. "Good luck, goddess," she murmurs, and then turns to the Empress of the Zaldarians. "Now, where were we?"

Solarel

Solarel, the intensity of your gaze burns where it lands. It’s impossible for anyone to endure it unmoved.

Matty can’t handle it on her own. She’s soft and gentle and very shy, and when you look at her like a predator, she doesn’t feel safe. She clings to Mirror unconsciously, taking the offered arm without even being aware she’s doing it. Her eyes never leave yours so long as you have her attention. You’re like a cobra that has hypnotized her, every instinct in her body says she dare not turn her attention away lest she react a millisecond too slowly in the moment you strike. When she is held, and safe, this turns to a fascination. You can see it in her, that she’ll be going back over that gaze in her mind, tumbling it around from every possible angle, trying to understand everything that happened until she’s forced to turn her brain off entirely from the overload.

Kiriala, well we’ll get back to her in a second.

Slate stares back. She’s an engineer of a different stripe from Matty and you can see in her gaze the determination that could support someone like Mirror for a long time. She stares and bores into you, and someday maybe there’s a new battle of wills to be had there. It’s one that couldn’t be had in a mecha because Slate can never match you in that. But perhaps this is the first time it might have occurred to you that someone could match your will without matching your power.

Back to Kiriala though. When you gave her your gaze, she didn’t move. She wasn’t scared or frozen in place, but she averted her eyes, blushed, made it seem like you’d complimented her. So you turned your attention to Slate. And it’s only then that you see Kiriala come up to you and steal a kiss in the only way one possibly could from you. No request for consent and no hesitation. She took your gaze for an invitation, right or wrong, and she walked up and now she brushes her fangs across your cheek with the lightest pressure. “You’re everything she said and more” she whispers before turning away.

And then, at last, the external world forces its way in and breaks the silence. At first, it’s hard to pinpoint exactly. The murmuring of a crowd that’s different than the regular murmur, the vague feeling of a group all reacting to something specific. Then the lights cut for a moment, and as the movement surges closer to you, you hear the sound of shrieks that can only be the former and current empresses of Zaldaria having it out with each other. The crowd is gathering around them and its inexorably going to pull you in as well.

***

Mirror

You find yourself holding a very distracted Matty as everyone’s attention starts to shift away from the entrance at last and the spell of Solarel’s eyes is broken. And indeed there is the matter of the two empresses.

But you may also see another thing of interest. Adriana, intoxicated by your flower dress, deeply engaged with Isabelle, that unusual troubled pilot, who seems indeed to be manhandling your beautiful sacrifice’s dress to her own disadvantage. They’re dancing above you, visible through crystal spirals, and it would be little trouble for a Hybrasilian to slip through the Empresses crowd to reach them.

***

Isabelle

Adriana absolutely loses her balance when you pull her. It very nearly topples you as well. Your own balance wasn’t as good as you thought. Or…maybe drunk wasn’t the right word for what was going on here because holding her this close through the dance, you’re starting to feel a little woozy yourself.

It might be a good thing though. Less inhibitions to throw your brain into disarray. Enough to let you start thinking with your own brain and not your mother’s paranoia.

Adriana Teresio isn’t an unknown quantity, after all. She’s made hundreds, maybe thousands of public appearances across Terenian space and into Hybrasilian and Zaldarian space. The woman is known for being fearless and flamboyant. Nobody, literally nobody, has ever reported her a drunkard, nor the sort of actor who’d play one. She’s an actor, yes, absolutely, she knows how to play a public persona and she’s leaning into this one, but it’s patently obvious to someone like you, who’s supposed to have obsessively studied the woman, that this wasn’t her decision. This is something that happened to her and she’s playing the role she was handed rather than the role she wanted.

This is important background information because you’re trying to figure out what she wants from you in a situation where she’s obviously intoxicated in some manner against her own intentions and she nevertheless came up to you and cut in. Stop thinking with paranoia for a moment. This isn’t a five-D chess thing, Isabelle. This is a first order optimal strategy given a set of limiting constraints: or in other words, she’s sincere in what she’s saying.

Stop and take that in. You wanted her attention all along, isn’t that right? Destined to become her protege. And congratulations, you got it! And now she’s telling you that you were in the midst of blowing it and she’s trying to help.

You ever see someone stuck on a tricky math problem or trying to build something and you know how to do it way better than they do? Like you’re watching them handle the screwdriver and you can see that they’re about to strip it? Where you know that you could help and you have the overwhelming urge to step in before they fuck it up because you know at a level of deep empathy how stupid they’re about to feel? That’s Adriana, you’re the one about to ruin the screw.

She responds to your last comment, about making enemies, it takes her that long to regain her balance. “I’m telling you that you can be better, child. You can. You’ve shown that spark, but you keep crushing it.” She shakes her head, then nearly falls into you again from the dizziness that causes and everything is the smell of roses for a moment.

Let us be further clear. This is a moment when Adriana Teresio is going to determine what sort of person you are. If you can’t break out of Almira’s mold now, you’re done with Adriana forever. Even if you win the whole tournament. You can wish for her job, but you can’t wish for her trust. That’s beyond the power of material wealth and the greatest technology that has ever existed.

Now tell Adriana honestly, what do you love most, Isabelle Lozano?

***

Dolly

This is fun, right? Jade’s right there with you (sort of, she did need to give Angela her undivided attention, but you’ve still got your sleeve on and you know Jade will be right there with you any second). And that makes it okay that Valynia is back. This time you can seduce her properly! With Jade’s help and encouragement!

So it’s not a problem when her warm spotted fur suddenly fills your face and covers your mouth, muffling your meep of surprise. It’s not a problem how strong Valynia’s perfume is and the way it seems to wrap all around you through her loose dancing dress as she presses you into her body and against its folds. It’s not a problem that they’re pulling you deeping into the crystal spiral, into side rooms that can’t be seen from the main corridors. None of these things is a problem because you’ve got Jade with you, and Ksharta and Angela, and you can feel everything and – oh goddess is Angela into the Empress fight? Oh gosh she’s totally into the empress fight, she’s loving every second of this and you’ve left her unsupervised and you can feel her intensity through the bond in combination with everything that’s happening to you and Ksharta’s growing awe!

Angela

You have to duck when they throw the first punch. Well, it’s not really a punch, you know how to throw a proper punch and Zaldarians don’t do that. It’s more of a push, coming from the empress with the shorter dress and cape (she’s the old one, you think) into the one with the long dress. It’s just, when that happens the one with the long dress pushes back only…it’s not a push, it’s like she shoves with her chest energy, which is a thing Zaldarians can do, you guess?

And it definitely doesn’t seem like either of them are listening to you, but they did both grin when you offered to let them get back to it, which you didn’t really understand until this very second when the empress in the longer dress turns the force of that Zaldarian energy away from her Zaldarian opponent and hits you full blast. “Wouldn’t want to cause a diplomatic incident, you see” she smiles, and there are sharp teeth in her smile and the glow of her shoulders still faintly hanging in the air as she moves, seeming perhaps a little brighter. “But of course, when that pathetic bitch comes for another round, I will appreciate your fine support!”

But before you can do anything, there’s a tug from the short-caped empress, who has grabbed your arm and is pulling you away from the long-dress one. “Don’t let that usurping bitch get the better of you, you’ve got us going which clearly means you support me!”

So now they’re fighting over you and Ksharta is very extremely neutral right now actually and Dolly is gone because of the pirates you so helpfully directed towards her while Jade races her attention off that way. But that does mean there’s nobody else who’s in your corner at the moment.

Jade

This sure is a lot, huh?

She glows in the dark, lit up in lilac and black by the force of kisses. It shines through her bodysuit, revealing her shapes and curves. It is like the darkness has undressed her.

"Everything, then," she said. "I will give you everything I know how to give."

Then she's swept away, towards the centre of power.

There are certain concepts that Solarel does not possess. That conflict is undesirable. That parties should not end in conflagration. But one of the big ones is that she doesn't understand the idea of theft. To creep like a thief in the night and take something that belonged to someone else - that concept fell apart on multiple levels. Possession was worthless; ownership was decided by the spirits. Giving offense with dishonourable tactics could cause a feud between tribes that would last generations. That if you took something then you were also taking the responsibility to use it on behalf of your tribe. Stealing a bucket meant drawing from the well.

So she had to stand before her Empresses directly and declare her intent.

There was a BANG and a crash that shocked through the rising din as she cut a table in two with her sword of gold. No words. Not for these, Outsiders in the truest sense. For them she merely points, and hefts her sword. This is a feud. All know how she was wronged. All know the justice of her case. The destruction about to commence is but the return of toxic energy. She is fighting for love. For justice. For honour itself.

At least, that's in Solarel's head it's that clear. To onlookers her appearance could mean anything. This was a tribal warrior from the stormlands who had a religious duty not to explain anything to anyone. She was speaking through her actions and, despite what she might think, cutting a table in half and advancing menacingly could be taken in a variety of different ways.

The timing's uncanny; the live musical performance has changed from the moving Hybrasilian ballad Among the Reeds, Unseen to a modernized performance of the traditional Terenian folk song Rotten Red Fruit, with a pre-programmed light show casting shadows of old gods and demons on the walls. Jade lets them through. (It's not that she's micromanaging the entire electronics system here, it's more that she's added herself to the great big complex system, another layer of projection and audio, Ksharta thinks.) The whine of the guitar, the thump-thump-thump of the drum (like all their hearts), the lyrics of defiance in the face of the two-faced coin of oppression and desire, they're all for this, all for now, for

Angela, whirling, catching the Empress of Zaldar behind her ankle and swinging her down into a dip, so she can whirl her back up and send her spinning into her rival, so she can spread her arms and laugh, so she can have the Empress shoved back into her, the impact sending shivering sparks across her front, the impact enough to rock her back on her heels, but those nails are digging into her shoulders as she's clutched possessively

Dolly, pulled into a red-lamped room, pinned against the wall, as Valynia thumbs the faint shape on her shoulder where her fur hasn't fully grown back in yet, the same shape Dolly insisted on only having partially filled in, the same shape Dolly's found herself occasionally touching, and the way Valynia rubs up against her and smiles sends shivering sparks across her front, and she takes a deep breath

Jade, many-eyed, but the security cameras weren't cleared for this performance, and the shadows shivering across the walls remind her too much of the underworld, and Dolly's delight is the same as Angela's delight and they're both things that she can't give, not really, the impact and the softness, the violence and the scent, but she does her best, doesn't she, and her jealousy claws and bites against the growing realization that she can feel it, too, she can smell it, too, she can feel fierce and small at the same time, if she closes her eyes she can feel the blood pumping hard under Angela's skin and she can smell Valynia Bander's intoxicating perfume

Ksharta hiding behind the buffet table, tail curling and twitching, aware that literally everyone else in this harem/polycule/channel/situation is horny as fuck right now

Angela, one wrist twisted behind her back as she's sandwiched between two possessive dragon girls, using her other hand to tilt up an imperial jaw, teeth bared in a grin, feeling the excited shiver as she pushes herself back against the other, dimly aware that she's the axis on which an entire species' intrigue turns tonight, wishing that there was something similar for the kittens, imagine if there were two goddesses fighting over her

Dolly, feeling Valynia's fangs on her neck, tugging, tongue dragging on her fur, mewling into her, but with enough devotion to her goddess to try and give as good as she's getting, cupping Valynia's toned butt and lifting it into a biscuit, wishing that the wall behind her was Jade feeling her up, and it would be bad if she was kidnapped from the party, wouldn't it, it would be a security disaster, so there's reasons to hope that doesn't happen, beyond the tangled-up feelings of what that would do to Jade

Jade, running into someone, no, through someone, passing through them like a ghost, wishing she was able to tear herself apart and be everywhere at once, glorying in Angela's physicality the way that Dolly does, helping Valynia turn her priestess into a shivering mess, running a reassuring hand through the fur on the back of Ksharta's head, and

"You know we can feel it, too," Ksharta whispers.

The desire is a loop, the want that is tying the four of them together, one hand clutched together, the other reaching out. There's more bleed the more it gets; palms over mouths, hands on wrists, eyes drinking it in, and the yawning need to meet those desires, to be a good girl, to make them sing like Whispered Promise can.

Jade stops. She doesn't know what room she's in. The song is reaching a crescendo. Black and white war on the shining walls, each one containing the next figure. She crosses her legs and folds her hands in her lap, seated on the air, and she opens up her heart, unfolding like the flower, and in that moment of vulnerability her harem can feel her helplessness on the strings of Whispered Promise, her need to keep Dolly safe, her hunger to be good for them and to deserve them.

And her hands are on Angela's wrists, guiding, squeezing, a halo of jade fire around her head, an encouragement to give as good as she can get, to make her goddess proud, to teach them not to underestimate Angela Victoria Miera Antonius, to show the goddess what this kind of fight is like and how to glory in having a body, how to enjoy the throb of pain, and she'll guide you to the victory you want

And her hands are under Dolly's corset, under Valynia's dress, digging in, working in circles, the hot breath on Valynia's neck, and if you want her you must have me too, the sting of the brand on Dolly's shoulder replaying on Valynia's skin, and hands between them offering materials with which to shut her up, this is how we play, Valynia Bander, with magic and trust and the glory of a goddess, and what you do to her you share with the harem

And her hands are running slow trails through Ksharta's fur, relaxing, comforting, reassuring, you are part of us but you are not required to lose yourself in the decadence, my heart is a stone temple and there is unquenchable fire there which gives off no smoke but there is also water, cool on the tongue, soothing, and in this space it is your choice to walk into the fire, and you are my good girl, Ksharta Talonna, I am proud of you, your cooking and your hunting, and your courage to wear me tonight, now tap my hand if you need more attention because Dolly you are a bad, bad girl, seduce her MORE, use your BODY, show her why I CHOSE YOU, I LOVE YOU--

And guests gawk at the figure of the goddess, eyes closed, handless arms unfolding behind her like the petals of the flower, the water of the Fishers dripping from her mask, an art installation, another performance, they say that she's actually the mecha that Seven Quetzal pilots, you weren't here when she pulled herself free from it, she's actually a hologram and a Hybrasilian psyop because of the Empresses being here tonight, you can pass right through her, what in the world is she doing?

Smokeless Jade Fires doesn't care. She can't. Her world is three women, and what she can be for them. That is enough.

Adriana

Paranoia is a hard thing to get away from, particularly when you've been raised on it your whole life. When you've been taught to treat everyone as a threat or an opportunity - not to trust, not as company to just enjoy. When you've been taught that building your walls high is the only way to survive.

What do you know about Almira? With all your sources, your power and resources, do you have any better insight as to how she treats her children beyond what's in the tabloids? Can you even imagine what it's like? To be told you're an idiot for every small slip, that you're stupid whenever you just can't do something, that you're worthless if you can't be of value to your mother's plans?

Think then, how it feels for every. single. piece. of praise you've ever received to only have been doled out, sparsely, on those few moments where you've done something that literally anyone else would have found impossible. For every little bit of validation to be locked behind tricks, traps and tests. Everything designed to withhold the one thing any other child would receive naturally - all in the name of forcing a girl to grow up on a preordained path.

What were your parents like, Adriana? Were they better? Or do you understand the sheer scale of damage a parent can inflict on their child's psyche when they want to?

Isabelle's paranoia is a deeply conditioned response, as is her competitiveness, arrogance and her fear. These emotions run a path with very well worn grooves. And one woman's fingerprints are all over it.

That said, all of this simply emphasises just how important it is when that paranoia just ... slips away.

You can see it - the surprise, the widening of her eyes as you actually stumble. That's the moment that she realises you're truly finding it hard to balance - not just acting, not tricking her. The moment her hands go from testing your reflexes to holding you upright earnestly.

She frowns in puzzlement, and then in genuine worry as her own feet stumble.

"What in the ..." she whispers, as the two of you stop dancing - only to sway unsteadily in the middle of the dance floor.

Her hand goes to her forehead, her eyes refocus - as if seeing you more clearly. No. Not just you. But your dress. A flicker of horror even, as she realises what is being done to you against your will.

She places a hand on your shoulder, steadying you both, and closes her eyes.

Click.

Click. Click.

A soft whirring noise comes to your ears as a trio of drones take flight behind her. They're small - each about the size of a fist, but as they float towards you you can see just how much care has gone into their creation. Their shells are polished smooth, their control joints move seamlessly, precisely. They're definitely not mass produced, but are the kind of machines one could spend months building by hand.

They circle around you gracefully, carefully. Like a shoal of fish. Or planets entering into orbit. And with them comes a gentle breeze of fresh air, pushing away the intoxicating miasma that you didn't even realise was engulfing you.

A few deep breaths later, Isabelle opens her eyes. You never even saw her reach for a remote.

"Are ... are you okay?" she asks.

And in that moment you can see what she truly loves: It's not the arena, it's not companies and planets and money. It's not power and planets or politics. Those are things she does. Things she's been raised to do.

She craves validation. She craves love. She craves touch and being held. But they're not what she loves either. They're just things that have been denied her for too long.

No, what she loves - what she truly loves - are things like these drones. Building things. Creating things. Discovering things. It's the love that makes a little girl build a model of the known galaxy, just so she can dream of the edges that are still to be explored. The kind that make a woman spend days tweaking a drone just to make a pretty dress prettier, in a way nobody has before. The kind that drives someone to take a prisoner, when your ruler has told you not to, just so they can learn more about their opponent's culture. The kind that is trying, so hard, to find her own spaces, her own things, free of her mother's influence - but who just doesn't have the strength to do it alone.

Yes, hers is a spark that keeps getting crushed. But you'd be a fool to blame Isabelle for that.

The question is, what will you do with this insight Adriana? Has this put you off her - will you step back and let her fend for herself? Will you just 'see how she goes' - and in doing so, subject her to yet more tests? Will you be just another person who turns their back on her, withholding the things she truly needs?

Or will you help her too?

Mirror holds Matty close as the crowd parts and the sound and attention filter away toward the demesne of Zaldarian politics, leaving the pilot alone with her family once again. The younger engineer clings tight, nestling her head in between Mirror's neck and shoulder and purring out of sheer nervousness as much as excitement as much as the comfort she derives from being in this position with this woman.

For her part, Mirror wraps her arm around Matty's back and envelopes her completely as she traces one blunted claw along the length of her neck. She is tense enough to be mistaken for steady, alert enough to be mistaken for protective, strong enough to be mistaken for in control. Only a twitching of her whiskers and the rigidity around her knees reveals the truth.

Is she being that obvious, do you think?

"Yes I know," she soothes, "That was a very scary dragon indeed, wasn't it dewdrop?"

"Uhuh..."

"But also very pretty, right?"

"Y-yeah. Super pretty."

"Do you... understand, then?"

"Nnnnnnf."

"..."

There is a moment where everything almost shatters. Mirror can feel eyes on her. On her back, on her chest, on her head. She sucks in a breath through her teeth, and squeezes her eyelids shut.

"Mattara Swimmer. Are you going to keep me safe?"

"Eep! M-mo-mommy? K-keep... you safe?"

"Solarel is strong. Solarel is unpredictable. Solarel holds my heart in her hand. Solarel has defeated me countless times already."

"M-m-mew..."

"And yet."

"A-and yet?"

"I am going to win. What is different?"

Long silence. Eyes on her back. Eyes on her chest. Eyes on her head. But this time the pressure's missing. Matty's face brightens like a kitten at a tuna buffet.

"You mean..?"

"Yes," says the Whispered Promise as she boops Matty's nose, "You. You are my key. With you I cannot be defeated."

"D-does that mean that I--?"

"Yes, sweet dewdrop. It does. So then I ask of you: how shall I defeat the strongest pilot ever? What would you do?"

"M-me? But I! Well I!" Matty squishes her own cheeks before she arranges herself into what she hopes is a Serious Thinking Face. But it's hard to make those when someone's clever fingers keep stroking your spine, "I guess if it was me I'd ask for help. But you're asking me, so I..."

"You know, dear heart? I think. You are exactly right."

"Sorry, I'm just not a fighter and I-- huh? I am?"

"You are. I need help. And I think... I see where I should ask for it. Stay here, kitten. Work with Slate. Work with Kiriala. Our work is beginning. Our work has begun. Are you ready?"

"Yes, mommy! I-I've got this, mommy! Just you wait, we're gonna wow you so hard you'll be speechless! Er, i-in the good way!"

Mirror simply smiles, and lets her brilliant little engineer go to stand on her own feet again. Already her gaze is tilting upwards, along the spiral. Already her path is leading her toward the smell of roses. It is nothing to slip past a pair of Empresses in the dark. It is nothing to leave Solarel to her own plans, and not tip a paw at all.

She arrives in silence. Adriana Teresio. Isabelle Lozano. And a handful of drones, blowing [Nectar] in her face. Her eyes flow like rivers as she watches. As she stares. In silence. In power. In victory.

Mirror and Isabelle

Adriana Teresio, held up again, a breeze cutting across her dress and ruffling the flowers, looks at Isabelle first.

She says nothing though, not at first. First, she slides a hand up your arm, Isabelle, to the control device and tap taps expertly, causing all three drones to gently float back and withdraw themselves.

She looks up at Isabelle’s face then, conscious despite her swoon that frozen on the dance floor, she’s garnered quite an audience, including a Hybrasilian who’s slipped among the dancers to come up close and inspect them.

“I am…more than okay. I thank you for your concern, Isabelle, though you’ve misconstrued what I needed. Even so, your preparation is damn impressive. If those are in production, I’ll take a hundred thousand of them, and if they’re not, where would you like your factory located?” she smiles, showing you her teeth, and she is not joking.

“Bold of you to show them off in this party though. I see our new guest has taken a keen interest. You there…”

Mirror, she turns to look at you, using Isabelle’s weight to move herself safely down to be level with your eyes. It’s clear that even though the nectar was briefly kept away from her head, the effect on Terenians is lasting and so she didn’t so much sober up as hold steady there for a moment. Her eyes don’t look clouded though, in that the effect is somewhat different from drunkenness. It seems instead to have affected her balance and her inhibitions. Perhaps some indication of the Terenian brain structure that it offers her clarity of speech rather than the unique vision that it offers to Hybrasilians.

“Mira Fisher, yes? The one who goes by Mirror, an undefeated pilot, hmm, I think at least, you expressed discontent with your last match. It seems I’ve attracted quite a few experts with unusual control structures tonight. But I have a different question for you. You’re the first Hybrasilian who’s approached close to me tonight. Might that be because my dress has as much of an…unusual effect on them as it does on me?”

There are several people listening to this with curiosity. But you can see in her eyes that what she wants to know is the intention behind this dress, not merely a passing curiosity of differing cultures. She wants to be sure that the challenge wasn’t simply a mistake so that she can fully enjoy herself.

The lights flicker as movement and violence play out beneath your feet, in a wider arch of the crystal spiral, but here the dancers are hanging on you.

***

Solarel and Angela

There’s a crash when the table goes, and the lights flicker as other Zaldarians slam into the walls and unleash a cascade of energy. The room shakes, but the fighters still. Even Angela, who’s about to gleefully throw a punch at a royal retainer notices the changed expression and stops.

Voctine and Nialkai both stare, recognizing you instantly. Then they both turn to each other.
“Usurping bitch, did you put her up this?!”
“Fallen Queen, what game are you playing?!”

They speak at the same time to each other. Voctine sweeps a hand past her ear, letting her short cape flare and stretching her glowing shoulders in the flickering darkness. Nialkai raises herself up, gathering all the substance and height her lavish outfit can offer her.

Around them, their retainers are looking to them for a cue about what to do, and looking to you to see what you’ll do. At first, it seems like with all the posing and posturing that they’ll fall back into bickering. But after the first round of insults spoken at once, they’re both looking at each other.

Then they look at you and there’s a different sort of greed in their eyes. “First one to bind her will be crowned an imperial knight!” yells Nialkai, and “whoever seizes her will be first of my house when I reclaim the throne!” shouts Voctine.

Angela is smiling gleefully, her opponent cast aside as she looks for an opening to take a swing at your herself. And above you, blurred through they crystal, a crowd of its own freezes to hang on the words of Mirror and the most powerful Terenian woman.

***

Dolly

You’re in a private side room in an inner swirl of the crystal ammonite shell.

This is without a doubt one of the most overwhelming experiences you’ve ever had, but the thing that you may, perhaps, be remarking on, is that this is working.

Valynia does not purr, but she has a quiet roar, a deep-throated rumbling within her as your hands make their circles. She revels as she takes the gags from Jade and shares that feeling back into the circle, pulling on Dolly even as she herself is touched and pressed in all the right places. There’s a shared feeling of relaxation and joy and Valynia herself is like a furnace, taking in fuel and outputting more and more heat.

Outside of you, the light of the stars and the lines of empires converge, but before you is nothing but gray and black speckled fur and a long tail wrapping around and around your legs as all hands are too busy to hold.

And blessedly, joyously, underneath it all is an undercurrent of relaxation, the release of tension, as someone ducking under a table Ksharta feels Jade’s touch as well and relaxes and lets herself enjoy the show.

They have made their bids. She makes hers.

< Whoever defeats me, > Solarel signs with large, sweeping warlike gestures, < will have my obedience. My devoted service. My blade at your beck and call, in accordance with the Codes of Zaldar. >

Solarel smiles. They realize their mistake.

If there are two Empresses, why not three? If two Empresses are willing to promise so much to have their armies lead by the Aeteline, how could either of them stand against the Aeteline piloted by the Hunter of Huntresses? They'd come to this gala with their courtiers, their generals, their vassals, figures of power and ambition. And now in their arrogance they'd placed the greatest prize of all on the table: the word of the one honourable warrior in the Evercity.

So, Empresses - which of your servants do you trust with Imperium?

[Who's the Monster? 9
- The wrongness of their act is exposed to all; they mark XP if they change their mind. If they don’t, they must attack you or take a Condition.]

"Mira of the Fisher Clan," she corrects, "Whose star name is Whispered Promise. 'Mirror' in the modern alphabet. An undefeated pilot who has expressed discontent with every single one of her matches, in actual fact. You do your research, Adriana Teresio, but there are limits to your network. You may tell your spies I have enjoyed the chase."

Mirror dips into a low, sweeping bow, kicking one foot out as if to physically brush aside the 'unusual control structure' comment. Unnoticed. Utterly beneath a response. Look elsewhere, Consortium Queen. Look elsewhere, Uncrowned Princess. The pair of you may look anywhere on the Whispered Promise except that singular phrase. It does not exist. Behold her body, her fur, her spots, these ribbons, this crown, this exhibitionism-to-the-point-of-ridiculousness. The tension in her body that has nothing to do with her exposure. The opening of her eyes, visible even through her extensive modifications.

She sniffs.

"They will not come. The [Children of Hybrasil]. Because you are dressed as a Bride, Adriana Teresio. You are being handed to a Goddess, though which I could not say. You have chosen sacred garments for a sacred ceremony, and they will not cross into your miasma for love or conquest. Because you are anointed in [Nectar]. It is harvested from a flower that grows in the Empire's core worlds. Breathing it will open your eyes. Imbibing it will open your mind. Religion. With [Nectar] we can see the meaning of our star charts. Of the stories. Your eyes are closed, I see. But perhaps for a Terenian, our sacred drug opens the pathway to the heart?"

Mirror shrugs, and the gesture ripples her ribbons like waterfalls. We are both of us sacrifices to the intentions of Mayze Szerpaws, she says inside that gesture. Is the challenge to your liking? What kind of woman runs the Terenian Empire, really? Might we be friends, given the opportunity? But the motion of her shoulders comes to an end, and with it the chance for a reply. Her eyes like deep, yawning pools move from the woman who owns everything to the girl who owns... well, hm.

"Continue the lesson. Adriana Teresio. I have interest in the rituals your species uses on the education of your kittens. I will wait my turn to dance with Miss Isabelle Lozano."

The name drips like honey off her tongue. Strange emphasis, with importance placed on every single syllable. Slight slurring at the edges, where the vowels fight with the chirping of her native language. She is looking for the star name inside the Consortium construction. And what has she found?

Two Empresses move forward, but not as fast as one Terenian. There's fire on her wrists and a goddess riding her, plain to see, a warrior chosen for a battle. Promises on the table from both empresses, and so much glory for you to win, Angela Victoria Miera Antonius, if you listen. Take it all and you can be the rival that Dolly truly deserves, the beautiful Terenian who--

No, that's not right, Dolly realizes, and offers a silent prayer to her goddess. She's part of this, too, and Angela doesn't want rivalry for its own sake. Take it all and you won't be anyone's joke, Angela. Can you tell her that, Jade? I have never thought of her as a joke, but she's been hurt by people's refusal to take her seriously before. And-- goddess-- my goddess-- yes, she'll be a good kitten, hands behind your waist, won't let go--

Take it all, Angela Victoria Miera Antonius, and...

"I saw this," Jade whispers in her Terenian's ear as she comes in hard, jabs at the Zaldarian's guard, takes early ground. Around them, a convergence; behind her, two empresses close in, unwilling to see their promises granted to this warrior. "Your potential. Your fury. Your warrior-heart. That is why I marked you as mine, Angela Victoria Miera Antonius. I could think of no greater conquest save my first, my greatest, my beloved."

Dolly melts into the rub of her cheek and looks up with devastatingly soft eyes at her pirate captor, another hand of her goddess, and like this, it's easy to see why the goddess fell in love with her from afar. She leans into the gag, mewls like a girl who gets to have her fantasies come true every day, and when Jade guides her face into Valynia Bander's chest, she breathes in like she's on the beach trying to drink in the sea air, fingers curling against the pirate's back.

"Tell her your plans. Threaten her with your worst," Smokeless Jade Fires whispers in the pirate's ear. "She's a naughty little thing who wants to be the damsel in distress. Distress her. I'll take my time to save her tonight." Unspoken: but I will save her. I am in control of the scene. I am giving her to you because I love her and you are making her so, so happy for me.

Her fingers trace Valynia's neck, measuring for a collar.

Joy is clear on Angela Victoria Miera Antonius's face as she becomes, for a moment, the center of the room, armed with an ambassador's stave wrenched out of his hands, using it like a Hybrasilian spear, carving space for herself out of the fray. The goddess gives to those she loves, and in this moment, it's impossible for her not to see Angela Victoria Miera Antonius as Dolly sees her: the physicality, the demand for attention, the sweat on her bare arms, the bounce of her dark hair, the broad white teeth bared in a victory-grin.

The thought of Angela barging into the room, flush with victory, and revealing that she was in league with the Red Band the entire time makes Dolly's knees buckle and makes her bury her face in Valynia. And now, little huntress, I will have my revenge for what happened on Akar II, and then, and then-- but then after she's pawed at and groped and treated like a pirate's prize, at a party of all things, unable to cry out for help from oblivious partygoers, oh, then, Valynia double-crosses Angela, and she's got access to the outfits from Akar II, and she leaves them on the bed together for Jade, and, mmmfff, Angela in that pink-red gauze, tied so tightly together that Dolly can't lift her face from those generous alien breasts...

Angela's breathing heavier, and she's flushed for reasons that don't have to do with the battle. She's getting some images, some echoes, and Jade might be encouraging her by giving her glimpses of Dolly pressed up against her, batting those eyes, making her adoring little noises. But that's just part of the expanded senses Jade is offering. Words are becoming less useful, not when the emotions and the images are so much more immediate and easier for the goddess to spread out among those she's connected to. This is hard for her too, you know. But fighting and fucking start with the same letter, don't they?

No one can touch Angela Victoria Miera Antonius, not while she is dancing with a goddess on her back. Her prize awaits her in a side chamber, to be rescued or betrayed, but it is one of several prizes that can be won. All she has to do is fend off two Zaldarian empresses and somehow defeat this Zaldarian knight who gets fiercer the harder she's pressed, a battle-lust that is a mirror of Angela Victoria Miera Antonius's own, but guarded, not able to burst forth the way the laughter spills from Angela Victoria Miera Antonius's lips.

Dolly sways her hips, invitingly, but also to let Angela know that war is a dance. And she spares a moment to say another prayer for Ksharta Talonna, who is just as good a girl, and who would most definitely save Dolly and Angela before the station exploded. The station is allowed to explode because of Red Band explosives, it's her fantasy and she doesn't have to worry about logistics. But Jade shouldn't do that. Can you hear her, Jade? Some fantasies can remain fantasies, Ksharta can just say that the station's about to explode as she parades two lovely slave-girls back towards the idol, Jade, and also maybe tonight isn't the right night to do actual exhibitionism, and, mmmph, yes, knee there, nip there, tug her head back by the hahahahaiiiiir...

[An Entice has occurred, and it is a 9. It is Dolly attempting to entice Valynia, but it is also Jade enticing Angela with Dolly, and it is also Angela enticing Solarel through glorious combat. <3]

Mirror

Isabelle regards you, frowning and trying to figure out your deal. What you're looking for in dancing with her. Suspicion is there, after all you are a competitor in the arena, but it's not as strong as you might expect. You've no way of knowing - but the shock from misjudging Adriana's actions earlier is still strong in her mind. Between that and the residual effects of the [Nectar], you have a unique window here, a moment before the walls are put back up.

Adriana takes her back to the dance floor, still unsteady, but determined.

As they twirl away in drunken spirals, you watch, observe, and turn syllables around in your throat.

Lozano is a name well known in Terenian space, and chewing it over only shows you her history. Daughter, heir, raised by the woman who is - even now - watching the dancing duo closely from a place behind the food tables. Probably thinking she's being discreet, but clearly far too invested in her monitoring of the situation to care about who notices her.

Isabelle's Terenian star name forms first. It comes as you watch how closely she follows Adriana around, how much attention she pays her - the most powerful woman in their space, the literal sun around which much of their world orbits.

Starchaser.

A fitting name for one always trailing behind those who blaze the path. Whose role is to follow, to pursue, to capture. Uncharitably, it might mean she was always going to be in their wake, but that was not the whole meaning of the word you are forming. To stop there would be ... limiting - stopping at the most basic level of her personality. Unfitting. Incomplete.

You watch her dress closely, those little drones, so intricate - do they seem familiar? Do they remind you a little of the nine-drive system? Although clearly manipulated through a different process. Her own control structure. Unique.

Different - the next level of the name reveals itself. Starchaser. The one who reaches beyond. One who will find the edge of space and keep looking. Keep exploring.

Starchaser. The one who seeks. The one who comes after. Maybe, perhaps, the one who inherits.

It fits well, but here is where simple observation will soon reach its limit. How much more intuition does this moment give you? How much of these next conclusions are you able to reach? Fed by something more than a keen wit - through instinct, superstition and something ... special?

For to translate this sentiment into her Hybrasillian star name will take that something special. An ability to see the webs of destiny and fate and to get an inkling of the strange powers within her - both literally and figuratively. You can't know that Trak'tho technology is in her blood. But do you get a sense that something about her is ... different?

If so, you might start to see the deepest layers of Isabelle Lozano unfurl before you.

Starchaser, whose name is Thirteen Citallic.

Of where she's been, where she is going now, and where she might go in the future. A blueprint to all she was, is and will be.

And if you are able to understand all this, the next question is obvious.

What will you do?

Solarel and Angela

They attack.

There’s a melee of chaos, and in it is a dance of love.

The two empresses are, for a moment, united. They each share a target, each move forward in their style: Voctine with her sharp, flashy advance and Nialkai with her graceful, flowing movements. But they share a direction and so they advance side by side. If it were just the two of them and Solarel, theirs would be an impossible temporary alliance to crush a shared threat.

But it is not just the two of them and Solarel. Their own retainers rush in a scrambled frenzy and so they must split like a mountain river striking the rapid rocks. Voctine slams an elbow into one of her own people, then quickly spins her before she can release the energy, causing a chain reaction of Zaldarians piled in a rush of sudden exhaustion. In the flickering lights, her body glows a sparkling energetic blue as her short dress and cape snap after her.

Nialkai ducks beneath the release of energy, the rustle of her dress like a breath of air, but then Angela is there spinning a stave and Nialkai is forced to raise her own energy blades to meet the challenge, stopping her momentum. She spins and her dress spins out and widely, brushing against Angela’s body with waves of sparkling gold and black. The force of her against Angela is like a rushing wave and it’s everything just to keep it from pulling her off her feet. But then it’s beautiful too, the stave sparks against the energy blades and Angela’s muscles glow in the golden reflected light of her dress and her body.

Solarel, what comes at you then is not a sharp attack of two united empresses, but a rolling chaos. Retainers first, pushing and shoving, some already charged up and radiating molten heat, others fresh and eager. And then Voctine will reach you first, the empress you so loyally served, who abandoned you, and yet just tantalizing out of reach are Angela and Nialkai and a whole other set of retainers dancing their way towards you.

This is the love of the steppe just for you, Varangian. The love of the whole self, of ten or twenty whole selves being poured out, shaping and rushing, stepping and twirling, all for you, all at your word, a Terenian shining as brightly as any Zaldarian amidst them. How do you manage to find yourself in the heart of this fight?

***

Dolly

“This isn’t fair” Valynia whispers into the ear that she’s biting, and you can’t tell whether she’s talking to you or to Jade. “I’m the kidnapper, I take what I want.” Her claw is digging into your shoulder blade in just the right spot, hand slipped beneath the cloak to touch you above the low-cut corset. The way you purr against her chest is filling her with a heat that you can feel through your cheek. “You’re not supposed to want it, you’re not supposed to invite it. To…to make this a fair game for both of us.” She tastes like sweat, and like wine, and like spice all together.

She shudders and it runs through you. Through all of you all the way down to the tip of Ksharta’s toes. “I haven’t felt like this since I was a girl on Terysil, since the first time I let someone…” she breathes through her nose, long and deep, and the tension floods out of her shoulders even as the claw digs deeper, deep enough to hurt in just the right way.

“I wasn’t supposed to love you…” and then she’s pressing and she’s pressing, and her hands are at the edges of the corset and her tongue runs along the exposed neck below the headdress woven into your hair, her face working its way through the soft fur. And as she takes, you hear her whisper, so quietly “are you sure this is what you want?”

***

Isabelle and Mirror

“Do you see what my dress-maker has offered me?” Angela asks, speaking to Isabelle as she twirls, audible to Mirror, audible to Marcina Villajero, hovering nearby, hooked into the role of chaperone for the evening, too responsible to fully entrust her charge to someone else once Adriana started leaning on her.

“At the greatest international political event of the cycle, no Hybrasilian would dare approach me for I am a gift to the gods. Nor can I make a daunting approach myself, their nectar makes me far too unsteady. The Zaldarians are…” she gestures, and from the swirls above you, you can see the flashing of lights and the glow of energy releasing over your head. The world moving above and around you in a dazzling display, unapproachable without violence. Do you remember the heat you felt from Solarel in that moment? An unconventional fire.

“And every Terenian who supports me finds themselves a little muddled before long. I appreciate your little drones. That’s the sort of preparation that makes you something special. But I don’t want the challenge removed. I don’t want it bypassed, I don’t want to be cheated out of it. I want to face it head on, to make everything I can from it. That’s my heart, you see. That’s the truth I’m living tonight. You need to have a heart because if you close it off for the sake of power, you’ll get lost and never find what you’re looking for.”

She looks at Mirror as the dance comes to an end. “Thank you for answering me Mira of the Fisher Clan, whose star name is Whispered Promise. I look forward to your match with Marcina when you have it. I’ll be sure to have a rose sent to your hangar as a token of good luck. I hope you enjoyed my attempts at education. I want this…kitten you’d call her, to stop running from herself.”

She grins and extracts herself from your arms Isabelle, Marcina quickly coming to help her balance. Marcina will lead Adriana gently into the next dance, offering a grin for Mirror herself before they separate. Leaving Mirror and Isabelle for their dance.

She has thrown the spear. She has declared herself. She has transformed the world into a cascade of light and heat and motion...

She steps back, hooks a chair with her ankle, kicks it into the Empress' path.

It's a lodge brawl. A sudden, wild circular transference of energy. Power to power to power to power until entropy has taken the edge out of it...

She steps back, taking a wine pitcher from the table and uses a splash of liquid to deter someone used to prioritizing their clothing.

Why can't she feel it? She can't hear herself think. She doesn't have the infrastructure to communicate. These are people she hasn't studied, who haven't studied her. This fight is an exchange of small talk. She could occupy space and turn heads with a rehearsed masterstroke against someone who wouldn't know how to stop it, but what would the point of that be? She never found joy in this kind of anonymous showboating, in the love of the steppe. She endured it then as she endures it now, another knocked over table to delay and another step back. She thought maybe this time it might have been different but she didn't have anything to say to these people. Speak not to the outsider. Maybe it meant this. She'd come here to observe the forms but she already regretted it.

She crosses blades with Voctine like a flinch and a cringe, some instinctive nothings passing between them. She sleepwalked through the exchange. She was fighting an empress, but what was an empress to a Goddess? Where was the spark of divinity in this heart? She couldn't even tell her apart from her double. She couldn't even tell her two swords apart. One sword of gold and one sword of silver but neither of them was the blade lodged in her heart.

So she throws them. Both blades, one after another, the two swords spirits and all traded for two more steps back. The steps that give her the space to finish her turn, to lower herself into the crouch, to kick off the ground with all the stored force of kisses and launch across the hall in a full burn sprint. She's done her diligence and shown the flag, and now it was time to leave unannounced.

She sprints for the Aeteline. To leave the chatter of mortals and speak with the language of gods.

If the eye of the goddess was elsewhere, she could cut off the flight of the Zaldarian. If her attention was on Angela, she could shut a door, pen the knight in, give her a chance to catch up. She could read how Angela slows down, keeps an eye out for traps as she follows in the knight's wake, remembering the mine that ended their last battle together. The underhanded ploy, the trick that wins the battle. But her eye is drawn elsewhere. It is focused, entirely, on Seven Quetzal reaching up and patting her mouth, asking for permission to speak. Permission that the goddess grants her high priestess.

Dolly licks her lips as her gag turns to smoke, fades away by the magic of her goddess. The goddess perched on Valynia's shoulders, trying very hard to look casual, staring intensely at her. The goddess who is trying to give her a space pirate despite the roiling emotions in her heart, who is trying to find a way to incorporate Valynia into their play without melting down so that she can... carry out a plan? She never asked Jade about Valynia's plan, about her offer to incorporate Jade into the pirate gods. She opens her mouth, lets out a pathetic little huff, tries to find her words even as the pirate undoes her finger by finger, nibble by nibble.

"What do I want? I... I want the adventure," she admits to herself and to her goddess and to Ksharta Talonna and to Angela who is cursing at the receding back of Solarel. "That's why we're out here. The stars, and the aliens, and the pirates. But I want everyone to see Jade, too. She picked me. Out of everybody on Hybrasil she picked me to help her show the universe her glory, her divinity, and... when you kidnapped me, I. Well. Well." The inquisitive vibrates through her flesh.

She wants Valynia Bander. She's dangerous and takes what she wants and is the star of Dolly's teenage fanfics come to frustratingly sexy life. But there's a dangerous edge to being with her, too. The loss of control. The way that she wants to use Jade. There was tension and worry in that kidnapping, even while she got memories she'd only just started to blushingly share with Jade. Worry that she was going to be used to blackmail Jade, to make her serve the Banders, to be married off to a hot handsy pirate who saw her as a pawn. Jade is watching her intently. Is this all part of the plan? Valynia is tugging at the sensitive spot on the back of her neck.

What can she even say? I want you to teach Jade how to be you? I want to be your captive queen, since Angela is my rival and Ksharta is my student? I want you to pin me down and tie me up, to smuggle me out of the party in luggage, to show your Red Band how easy it is to kidnap me? I want you to be my villain, but safely, but dangerously, but in a way that won't hurt Jade? The heat of you, the smell of you, is driving me wild? I wish Jade had a body like this? No, I don't, I love her as she is, but your body makes me weak in the knees in a different way?

"If you promise," she says, as serious as she was piloting the idol by herself. She pushes back, dares to try to assert herself. "Promise me that she will be your goddess. That you'll make her your patron, and when you rule the Red Band that Jade will be the first one in your temple, the highest idol, the, the goddess of the Jade Band. You'll rename the entire pirates. The entire! You'll be the Jade Band! And Ksharta Talonna gets a free pass through your territory forever! Then..."

She swallows, dizzy, giddy. What she's getting from Jade is shock, but she's committed. For you, Jade. This time she won't fail. If this is what you want, then Seven Quetzal will perform miracles for you, too. As thanks. As a promise. And because she's very, very horny right now, and that gives her courage, too.

"Then I will fight as hard as you want," she says, and shoves Valynia Bander backwards, as hard as she can. Only a step or two, but it's enough. She pushes her hair back out of her face, lifts her chin, tries not to melt. "I will be a worthy conquest. You'll have to do your worst. Your worst. I'll scream. If you want. I'll try to escape. I'll use everything Angela taught me." (She should not have blurted that out.) "And. I'll enjoy it. Especially if you let me out for a chase every now and then. Planet to planet. A sacred hunt. My chance to see the universe with her again, your chance to catch me again, to take what you want, to... make me a prize. A trophy. Your Dolly."

"Dolly, you don't have to do this," Smokeless Jade Fires says, stepping between them, small again, flustered, her hologram-body fuzzy at the edges. "We're going to win the tournament anyway. You don't have to sell yourself to Banders just to glorify me!" Just to glorify her. Her heart's tearing. She steps forward, interlaces her fingers with her high priestess's gloves, even in front of the Bander, because she has to touch. She has to touch, as much as she can. She has to hold her beloved's hand. The high priestess who would do anything for her, and so it's up to her to look out for her sweet, vast-hearted bride.

"I can do this," Dolly whispers back, loud enough for Valynia to hear. "Like you wanted. I want to do this. Like in "Nine Parsecs Deep." The lodge back home will be... disappointed, but you'll have more worshipers than ever, you'll be able to change them, you and me and Valynia and Ksharta and maybe even Angela. That's why you told me to, you know... to seduce her."

"I what?!?" The goddess's jaw hangs open, without her even telling it to do so, moving on its own. A strange miracle that just adds to the shock it cannot help but express.

"You... when I was kidnapped... I thought you were ordering me to... that's why I..." Dolly's eyes flicker between her goddess and the pirate who she wants to pin her to the floor. She's overheating. "Did you not?! I could feel you being all seduction and want and... oh goddess." She slumps to the floor, and she can't even hide her face because Jade's still holding her hands. "...I really hope it worked?" Her look to Valynia is pleading, mortified, hopeful, insecure, vulnerable. "I still... mean it. About. I'll make that trade for... it's not even a trade. Everybody gets what they want. You get Jade's blessings. And Jade gets all of you. And I get to discover if... well... I... you know? And you get me. You get me. I want to be. gotten. Even if, I, and the seduction, and... do you still want me, Valynia?"

Jade turns to look at her rival, her potential cult leader, the impudence of Mu Ysha made flesh. The only person in the tournament who could really, truly take Dolly away from her. Angela Victoria Miera Antonius plays games, and Ksharta Talonna wants to be cherished, but Valynia Bander wants to challenge her for Dolly, to give Dolly the kind of special pleasures that only Jade could give her before, and to make Dolly a captive queen. Fear roils inside of her; fear of losing the ball game. Of being hung on the tree again. And if she lost Dolly then nobody else could fill her. Not Angela Victoria Miera Antonius, not Ksharta Talonna, not Whispered Promise. A memory not her own surfaces from within her, hugging a beloved bird-doll so tight that part of her worried that it might pop, nuzzling it like it was the only thing in the whole world.

Her whole world, sitting on the floor, looking up vulnerable and hopeful at Valynia Bander, the way that she'd looked up at her that first night.

And she can't even grab Valynia Bander and shake her by the front and toss her up and down in the air.

"No," she declares, before Valynia Bander can answer that dangerous question. The sudden sharp sting of disappointment from Dolly hurts even more. "As if I would need the worship of this, this scum! This pathetic bandit trying to take what the gods have not allotted for her! It is an insult to you and to me that she even thinks herself worthy of touching you! Why doesn't she keep her hands to herself, or better yet, why doesn't she go and hide under a rock somewhere? You, you handsy, stinking, reeking, oversexed, presumptous thief! She doesn't need you! Go keep your temples and your brands and your musk and your ion cannons and go fuck yourself with them! And then you can--"

Everyone feels it at once. Ksharta, curled up under the table. Angela, almost caught up to Solarel making her way to her mecha. Jade, phantasmal, up in Valynia's face. They all feel Dolly burying her face in her gloved hands, sobbing in embarrassment and shame and the backwash of Jade's overwhelming fear and the shock of betrayal.

And Valynia Bander gets to see, face to face, a goddess's world come crashing down around her ears.

[Insecure: take rash action to confront the object of your jealousy. Harmony drops when: one of you feels neglected or scorned by the other.]