Isabelle watches Adriana go, a dozen questions still buzzing in her head: Whether she'd be okay. Why'd she choose this kind of challenge? What was she trying to prove? The steps needed to set up a factory - joint venture, but she'd have to oversight production. The drones were experimental, custom - any attempt to mass produce was, by nature, going to end with an inferior product. Even if it was still years ahead of the competition, even if it was still good.

Don't close off your heart.

Isabelle's hand twitches. A memory resurfacing - one lost in all the bustle of preparation for the Gala, in the plans and in the battles. A ... question she'd had. An area she needed to learn more about.

There were habits of hers that would be hard to break. Ways of thinking that had been ingrained over decades. She still couldn't think about them taking prisoners, stealing cargo and ships, without feeling genuinely uncomfortable. Such acts were meant to never be justified. The antithesis of liberty and freedom. What the law was meant to stand to protect.

But ...

She'd spoken of family. The dossier had been silent. What more didn't she know? She at least owed it to herself to find out.

The Gala was the opportunity. Every pilot was sure to be there. Including the outlaws. She just had to find her.

After this dance.

She turns, looking at Mira of the Fisher Clan. Looking at the Whispered Promise. Wondering what she'll ask. Wondering what she sees.

People say that cats are always smiling. Silly, stupid, insufferably smug, the corners of their mouths are just permanently turned upward in a way that makes it seem like they know a secret that they are refusing to tell or that the look of confusion on another person's face is just so funny to them that the smirk is glued onto their face forever. Bastards.

People say that cats are always frowning. Glum and glowering, nothing ever makes them happy. And the way their eyes narrow after they've been around company for a while is the most insulting thing of all. Such an antisocial lot that loves nothing, cares for nothing, and in fact are incapable of either. The merest thought of sharing a dance with someone respectable feels insulting to them. Bastards.

People say that cats are always begging. Pleading, prodding, pathetic. They want what others have and all they see when they walk into a room is credit chits on legs. Their large eyes are the work of a race of con artists and tricksters, creatures who expect it easy all the time and know the fastest route to plenty is what those around them have already earned. Those eyes of theirs may be large, but they are empty. Soulless. Disgusting.

People say that cats are aloof, that they are snide, that they are condescending and conniving.

Mira Fisher is a cat.

Her face is borderline unreadable, whatever angle it is viewed from. Is that the hint of a smirk she tosses at Marcina Villajero? Does it stay on her face after? Or is she coldly dissecting the entire room with an expression like pure ice? Is she looking for something, or does her sudden obligation to wrap her fingers around a Terenian's wrist and waist and lead her around a dance floor fill her with some manner of revulsion.

Is she simply sad? Is something weighing on her mind that's crushing every other thought and emotion out of her all the time? Is she hungry? Is she sick? Is she happy? Why don't her eyes stop running? What is she thinking when she half closes them? Why does her breathing feel so rapid? Is that her heartbeat? Doesn't she know it's rude to show fang at a party?

"Isabelle Lozano," she's still saying it with a strange accent, but her voice is supremely calm for somebody whose face might be registering every strong emotion in the known galaxy at once on it, "For a very long time I have wondered about you."

She leads on the dance floor. Any attempt to take control of the rhythm of the dance is met with a strange, shadowy melting of form, as if she suddenly stopped having bones and then started again right after the balance of the moment had shifted out of control. Sometimes she plants her feet and turns out to be stronger than steel, and steadier than a mountain. No, she leads. She is respectful with her hands and gentle with her guidance, but she is following a beat inside of he one the music is playing and will not allow anyone or anything to drag her back to the main melody. Easier by far to follow along willingly. Possibly even fun.

"What kind of person you are, what you like and what you dislike, how you compare to me. If you are a threat, and how I might kill or defeat you if you became a threat to me and mine. The price of being a famous name, Miss Thirteen Citallic. Your pathway leads you to a lot of criticism and an endless parade of strangers telling you who you are and what is the matter with you."

In this moment, the grin on her face is unmistakable. So that's what it looks like.

"And so I have come as well. Initially I thought I might sabotage your machine. Or I thought I might have someone break your legs before we could have a match. But I do not see the necessity any longer. You are... how do I put this? So you will understand? I perceive that you are a dreamer. There are things that you love, perhaps, places you would like to be, a person you would like to be with. There are things in life you would like to accomplish, before the path written in your name hits an end and you are pulled back into the universe to make more stars. In short you have dreams. Plenty of them I'm sure, and pretty enough. I will not insult them by trying to name them."

One two three and one two three and one two three four five two three, she sways not with the music but inside of it. Many of her footfalls and her slow and quiet twirls are outside of the main beat, but they match again, over and over at different points of the song that to anybody paying attention can't feel like anything but intentional. She must really love to dance if she's dug into it this deeply.

"But," she sighs, "You have no wish. There is not a single thing you would or could ask another for. Do not deny this. If I ask you why you risk yourself in this tournament, you will tell me some ridiculous story about how winning will make you the Queen of your Consortium. Absurd. Without defeating the current Queen? Without besting her in any way? Whoever's plan you might be following they are even more of a child than you are. I perceive that you are here for no reason. None at all that may be granted by the powers that dwell here.

"That is why your matches have no spark. Your technical ability is unchartable, I think it goes, but your fights are lazy and boring. You move from an assumption of superiority and so dismiss your opponents out of hand before you've met them. That is why you are caught off guard so frequently. It is why your Queen is lecturing you, like I am, instead of praising your record."

She squeezes a little bit harder, pulls a little more insistently to continue the dance where she seems to be thinking it will try to end. She cuts off the first retort by standing on her tiptoes and touching her forehead and the flower crown resting on it to Isabelle's lips. Hold two three and one two three and go two three four five. She shrugs.

"I am not here to insult you. I am not. I am simply stating that you have dreams but no wish. I find this superior to a wish with no dreams: it is an important distinction that you should remember. And so I am no longer interested in defeating you. In fact, I have come to offer you my wish instead. Ah, look at me! So transactional just now, just like in your animes! This is very fun, may we continue the dance? There is a lot that I can teach you in a. Very. Short. Time."

Solarel

You’ve done your job being the focus of everyone’s attention too well. When you go, they go. It’s a brawl, sure, but it was a brawl focused around you. Angela was laser-focused on you and she’s chasing. She was the one who was holding up the empress Nialkai, so as soon as Angela broke off, Nialkai was rushing with her to chase you, full of all the energy that Angela Victoria Miera Antonius could put into their fight, glowing brightly. From there, you’ve got a split of retainers, and the empress Voctine recovering from your clash. So it’s all a chain of dominos crashing down after you, one after another.

But there’s one that was hurt a bit more than the others. Voctine was your empress. The one who gave you the Aeteline. The one who made you her champion. She is…less than she was. She has defined herself by what she lost and in so doing pinned herself to another. But in that brief cross of swords, there was something of her old self. Of the woman who hungered for the stars, damn what might stand in her way. She felt that hunger, and when you gave her nothing to feed it and then broke from her, it hurt her deeply.

She staggers after you. Not fast, not stable. Dangerous as only a woman scorned. A woman who knows the Aeteline had always been hers to give.

As you run at the head of the pack, you catch a glimpse of Akaithon, already in the hanger, undoing restraints and detaching docking latches. But there are several women, Terenian and Zaldarian both who won’t let you go.

[Roll to defy disaster however you think best.]

***

Dolly and Jade

That had been a moment where a look of real pain had crossed Valynia’s face, if you’d been looking. But it’s gone in an instant, nothing but an illusion, a trick of the light. That had been her lips curling in a sneer as she strides forward, nothing more. She reaches a hand up, and in a flash, she’s back before you Dolly, her talons barely click on the crystal floor.

“Yes, I want you” is all she says, but her voice cuts through your tears all the same. Then with a hand that is fast, rough, and strong, she yanks you, not gently, into her embrace. It’s a tug that makes your arm feel like it might pull out of its socket and it’s hard enough to spin you completely around so that one hand is over your stomach and your back is pressing against her chest. She keeps her right hand firmly on your arm, her grip tight, hands over the neural mesh that links you to Jade.

And Jade, she’s talking to you while she holds Dolly protectively, her left hand across your priestess’s body, interposing between you.

“Oh I’m not good enough for you?” she asks, and the sneer is so deep. “I’m nothing but pirate scum, is that it? Well, this pirate scum already has her prize.” She laughs, and it is a cruel laugh. Not like Dolly’s laugh, nor Angela’s, nor Ksharta’s, nor even like Whispered Promise. It’s the laugh of mockery, the laugh of Dishai the stone goddess, whose grip you could not defeat.

“You don’t deserve her” she says, and the words drip with venom. “Look what you did. Look at your priestess crying in the heart of the crystal gala, in that beautiful dress made to display her just for you. This wasn’t my doing, Smokeless Fires. It was yours. So you’ve forfeited her and I’m taking what I came for.”

With a grand motion, she rips the neural mesh from Dolly’s arm. And then, gently, slowly, ever so carefully, she tucks it neatly into Dolly’s belt as you watch, Jade.

The gesture is excruciatingly clear. Dolly is suddenly, resoundingly cut off from you, but only as long as she wants it. She could reach down and put it back on this very moment if she wanted. But does she?

***

Mirror

There’s a commotion elsewhere, but it doesn’t touch the dance floor. Marcina gives Mirror a look of commiseration for a brief moment, but you get a respectful distance. The music shifts to jazz. Slow and delicate, with a building crescendo beneath it. The band fills the dance floor with a melancholy bass, the slow building of drums, and a languorous piano.

And around you, mixing with the Hybrasilian delegation but keeping well clear of Adriana, are your family members, who have filtered in and are avoiding the rush to the hangar as well. Slates sipping a drink, Matty’s calmed down and is even speaking with excitement about something in her specialty that somebody got her talking about, and Kiriala is relaxed and watching your dance.

Isabelle
Family. That really is something. Whispered Promise has something she asked you. Does that reflect on your family, do you think?

Speak Not. Treat your captives as you treat yourself. Old words, old laws, old commandments from a tribal warlord for a tribal context. Lessons from an alien culture. Demands from burned out statues on the hills. Chains, a wall between a girl and her dreams. Old and pointless loyalties, the laws of ghosts. What were the Codes ever to the Empress?

She tries to retreat but it's not that easy; she knows how to be inescapable. She knows how to use a blade and how to use the blades of others. Solarel is a huntress; she fights with patience, knowledge and precision. An empress fights with loyalty, power and iron will. The circle is closing in and she's boxed off, driven back. Closer and closer to the balcony and the stained glass windows.

She doesn't want to compare it to fighting Mirror. Tactics requires her to. An impossible challenge. A dedicated opponent. A battle that takes everything she has and more just to survive. A claim on her loyalty. Is this not her function? Lie back into it, consider it objectively. This is the kind of challenge you sought. She has beat you before, fighting like this. You have the data. You have the skill. Overcome.

But it's different. It's different, it's different, it's different! No matter what Tactics says this doesn't feel right! She doesn't want the victory! Doesn't want to do the study that'd make her better at this kind of war! She never called herself a tactician, she shouldn't have to live up to that reputation in everything she does! This is different and she doesn't want to do it, and no matter how she tries she can't find the joy in it. She's losing. It's not a lesson. It's not a stratagem. She's just losing because she's just bad.

... it's because she's not a God. It's because she's not wearing the armour. That's what this is. That's the only thing that's different. The only thing that's changed. She won't be happy until she's back.

Her back's to the balcony. She'll never get the chance.

[Defy Disaster: 6]

.

Mirror

Isabelle dances, letting you continue to lead, as she thinks about what she's going to say next. It's not easy, there's so much there, so many thoughts so many feelings.

Have you ever had so much to say that you feel pulled in six directions at once? Where the simple decision of what to say first feels confining? An array of paths you could take but if only one could take them all - give them all equal importance, equal rights to be the first thing heard and discussed.

It's not made any easier by the rush of impulses that clamour against her mind. The impulse to argue back. The impulse to take back the lead in the dance. The impulse to frown. To posture. To do something back at this strange alien who is spouting ideas at her that feel like they miss who she is while at the same time skewering her through her very core.

What to do, what to say first? How to respond?

She looks around for inspiration, noticing the others watching.

"Your family." she states as much as asks, glancing at the odd delegation around them. "I can see why you'd fight to protect them. You're lucky to have them."

"Family's an odd concept, isn't it? It's not something this tournament can grant. Sometimes ... it's not even what you're born with." she admits, and in those words there is pain for years. Guilt on display. Is this the effect of the Nectar? Or simply cracks opening in walls that have been beaten on again and again in the course of a single night.

"And it's important. Once you've got it, you'll do anything to keep it safe. From thinking on how to kill someone you don't know in case they turn out to be a threat ..." she says, and she dips her head in order to make it clear she is simply acknowledging what you'd said before - without judgement or offence.

"... Or, if you're scared enough, to shoot a girl through the heart just to avoid the risk."

"When I fought Ada Smith, you'd have seen the match - She spoke of her family too. It was a surprise - If she's here tonight I might try to ask her more about them. I feel like it'd help me understand her more."

Isabelle continues, her arms flowing as she follows you through the steps you lay before her. Does she meet your expectations here? And the name you have bestowed? Or is there something more - an extra decimal point that the Thirteen just doesn't quite cover?

"So, a long way to say that I am listening. Tell me your wish, Whispered Promise. Tell me what you'd like me to learn. Tonight seems to be a night for lessons and evolution. And it might be that by the end of this dance I'll be able to tell you my wish too."

"Not lucky. Not lucky. Family is not luck."

Mirror shakes her head. Her tail reaches up from behind her shoulder and presses its fluffy tip against Isabelle's lips, as if predicting a possible interjection.

"Not skill, either. Family is not skill. But, deserved. Hard work. Family is... effort. Reaching out. Connecting. Growing. Changing. Expanding. And sometimes... contracting. Cutting off. Because family. Is not blood. Often, yes. But sometimes you must choose. Between the family that will have you and the family that assumes you. I have made this choice. Before. I have walked away. Debts are not forever, Isabelle Lozano."

The dance continues. Mirror is a very stubborn instructor, though she is fluid in the way she moves there is no budge in her when it comes to the nature of the dance. Her only two forms of momentum are the one that she controls and the one where she doesn't move at all. On the surface, a control freak. But that information's at odds with the group she's surrounded herself with, and the way they look at her (and feel free not to, just look at Matty getting sucked deeper and deeper into her own little world). There is a point to it, then. Possibly. Or she just thinks this girl needs permission not to think.

"It is maybe difficult to contemplate. I do not know. Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers. These may ensare us. Or enrich us. Or one and then the other. But if they harm us. They cease to be family. Because. Family is effort. Family is hard work. Family is earned. Ada Smith, Unseen Goose knows this. It is why she defeated you. Not because she outsmarted you (though she did). Not because she outpiloted you (though she did). You lost because you were lost. And she was not.

"She is a pirate. This you know. Are you aware of what that means? Mother. Older sister. Wife. Power. She is a protector. Of things, of people, that cannot thrive within the main systems of your society. Consider this: existence where work is impossible. Existence where all the parties feel... askew. Like you cannot belong where they are. Existence where your talents are not valued. Because you need special consideration to thrive. Consideration that is not given. Because it does not occur to others around you that you might be struggling."

Here, she smiles. There is a genuinely pleasant memory at the forefront of her mind, and her body radiates warmth and healing vibrations from the strength of it. The dance mellows considerably, and Mirror is content to follow the beat exactly, if only for the moment.

"I am a mercenary. This you may also know. A different. More limited path. To the same end. I have contracted to Unseen Goose before. A favorite client: she pays me in paper. Very precious. No one understands. Are you aware of how she operates? To live on the edges means to be free of rules. But free of help, also. And there is... mm. There is a tradition in the Fisher Clan. One which Huntresses scoff at. When we sense a hungry mouth. We forget to guard our meals.

"Do you. Understand? There is pride. In being hungry. There is compassion. in offering the sport. There is dignity. In giving up the chance to have more than you need. That is our way. My way. And it is how the Unseen Goose lives as well. Were her pirates the sort like in the animes, she would be dead twelve times over. Stronger than me. I hope for my sake she is defeated before I reach her. Or I will disappoint Marcina Villajero. Who is looking forward to me eating her."

A lick of the lips. A curious stare, up into the eyes of Isabelle Lozano.

"...Hm. You are not. You do not. You would not. I see, I see. You are more effort than that. There are few in your life who might measure up. Isabelle Lozano, whose star name I have seen to be Thirteen Citallic. Your destiny is crushing you. I give you a new name. A gift. In the tradition of my people. Of my people. You are Distant Gate. A pathway to extraordinary things. To new discoveries. To, mmmmmmmmm."

She walks two fingers up the length of Isabelle's arm, teasingly indicating the spots she'd seen handle those drones from earlier.

"To 'unusual control schemes'. But the walk to you is long, and difficult. And not many have attempted it. And so your heart is lonely. And so your path is quiet. But if you close the distance... I see the potential for many things. Some I love. And some I do not. This name is my gift. If you wear it you need not be Thirteen Citallic any longer. Need not heed your destiny, but make a new one where its corpse lies. All this. A much longer road to say:

"I will not tell you my wish. You must take it without knowing what it is. You will learn it! But I will not speak it aloud for the first time here, of all places. And in the spirit of your greatest business animes I offer you this job. To be part of a team. I have assembled. Am assembling. To deliver a message. To broadcast it over whatever might be happening at the time of my choosing. I assure you it is quite illegal. Fun, yes? Fun, yes! My goals. Twofold. One: to destroy the villain Mayze Szerpaws, and expose her lies to the galaxy. Two: to make the Zaldarian outcast known as Solarel my family."

Mirror stops dancing entirely. Her body is electricity and tension. She almost seems as if she might glow, release some radiant blast of energy from her breath in the way of that people, but she does not. Cannot. She is just a Fisher, after all. Now she heaves a sigh, and for the first time consents to be lead to the beat of another person's heart. To let Isabelle take her where she will, or to let her go entirely.

"I love her. And I will save her. Whether you help me or no. Though I offer recompense for your services. Naturally. The wish is not your payment. The wish is merely information that will be revealed by the job. My offer is this: Hybrasil barter. One favor begets one favor. I ask this, I give this. However humble. Or impossible. The task. I will perform it. I will knit you a sweater. Or I will shatter the chains that shackle you to your wealth. I will make you a pirate. Or a traveler. Or a Queen. It is within my power. This tournament cannot give you everything, Miss Isabelle Lozano. But you can find them here, regardless. Winning matches is unnecessary for all but one. It has. Always. Been a distraction."

Of course she's had the glove off before. Of course. For personal hygiene reasons, mostly. But she feels naked without it. Her arm, suddenly bare, suddenly cut off from her goddess, her...

"I'm sorry," she says, hands folded, looking down at the floor, the picture of shame. "I really thought you wanted me to... to..." She reaches up, rubs a cheek, sniffles loudly. Was it her? Was she making up the feeling in her heart all along? Giving her an excuse to have someone else, someone who was more dangerous and physical than Jade, jealousy from seeing Jade claim whoever she wanted? Was she a bad girl?

She doesn't deserve to have her goddess save her this time.

She can't touch Dolly. When she advances, Valynia drags her a step back, and without the glove, without the memory weave, she can't TOUCH Dolly, she can't hold her, she can't try to reassure her, she can't do anything. "Let her go!" She can't touch Valynia, either. Not without her priestess to be her hands and her eyes and her ears. (She can't see herself through Dolly's eyes. Her only eye is a security camera. A distant sense, an impersonal view of the room. Her only body here is thin light, a reflection of a reflection.)

"You are the one who doesn't deserve her! You don't even know her! You-- Dolly," she says, hyperaware of the pirate. If she begs, the whole universe will know. If she crumbles, falls to her knees, that will be all that she is. Everything is collapsing underneath her feet. Is the entire station shaking? "Dolly. Take the glove back."

Was Jade wrong about her the whole time? She'd tried her best, she really had, and now she's here, so useless that she's being kidnapped again, fighting the urge to melt into Valynia's arms, her goddess staring at her, and...

And the feeling of waking up and knowing that Jade's already awake, watching her sleep like she's a bird on the other side of a window. Of being able to fall and know, know that Jade's going to catch her. Of being pushed to her limits in the mech, making her heart sing. Valynia never tried to give her the universe. But did she deserve the universe?

One finger traces the outside of the glove's wrist. Worry throbs through her, turmoil, anger, and the intensity of Jade's roiling heart, and she jerks her hand away, as if she had been bitten. It's overwhelming. It's like drowning.

Dolly jerks her hand away from the glove. A moment of aching, of worry, of heartache, and then nothing more. A moment of pain, real pain, not just the activation of nerves to make her bride squeal. Pain she'd caused, again, by not being good enough. By not being like Whispered Promise, that effortless confidence and careful touch, that frustrating power in those deliberate hands. Her surprise just made Dolly cry earlier, her attempt to give Dolly a gift just led to this, and now she's hurting her bride.

Her greatest fear, right in front of her.

"You can't take her! Not again! She's not yours, Dish-- pirate! She's mine! She promised!"

She'd promised. And she was failing that promise. And that should give her the strength to stand up and lift her head and be better. But she's frozen like a bird before a snake. If she opens herself up before her goddess, Jade will bury her, and Jade will see right through her, and their cuddles and basking and deliberate teasing before fighting Ada seem so far away. Like there's a window between her then and her now, and all she can do is press her face against it and yearn. Yearn to be worthy of Jade's love. To be the focus of that overwhelming attention, to not want anything else.

Valynia pulls her towards the door, and she leans back into the pirate's grasp despite herself.

Jade falls to her knees. Her palms rest on the floor, feeling nothing. "Please!" She sobs. Her eyes are focused on Dolly's face like it's that first morning, listening to her Dolly sing alone in the kitchen. "Dolly, don't leave me!"

"You'd have Ksharta," Dolly says, her mouth dry, trying not to look at Jade doing something which she'd never done before. She's embarrassed for her goddess, aware that she wouldn't want anyone to see this, crushed under the realization that it's her fault that pushed Jade this far. "And Angela. And the cult. And you could pick someone better. Someone who deserves you."

"I don't want them! Not like I want you!"

Her hands curl around the glove, and she squeezes it as hard as she can. "How do you want me, Jade?" She asks with her mouth and with her heart.

"I want you like this," Jade says, and envelops her in need, throwing herself around Dolly, so aware of Valynia pressing against Dolly's back that it's like they're entwined together. "I want to make your dreams come true and I want you to want me too. I want to touch you like she can, to give you more miracles, to be your goddess, to make you happy, I want to make you feel safe, I want to make you feel beautiful, I want... I want Seven Quetzal. I want you to think I'm strong. I want to shine for you."

Then she lets go. She steps back. She forces herself to pull back her essence. "But I lost. Now you know." That she's not strong. That she's not shining. That she's half-a-goddess. That she's still stuck on that tree in the underworld. And now Valynia is going to make everyone know. She's lost anyway. She's lost everything. Angela Victoria Miera Antonius will wrench herself free. Ksharta Talonna will turn up her nose and trot away. The cult will abandon her idol. Nobody will bother to worship a weak, pathetic goddess unable to be strong and smite her enemies. And each loss will hurt, will hurt terribly, but she'd flay herself of everything if Dolly would just step forward.

"You're already strong," Dolly says. "And you deserve so much better than me. But..."

She struggles against Valynia's grip. If what Jade needs right now is to be held, then she's going to hold her goddess in her arms and hold her tight. It's the least she can do to deserve being loved by a goddess.

"S-Solarel?" Isabelle replies, eyes widening slightly. The two of them continuing in their dance to the beat Mirror has established. One two three. One two three. One two three four five four three. It happens without conscious thought.

"She hurt me once. Like I think she's hurt alot of others along the way." she says, eyes focusing that cold asteroid of memory. "Not intentionally, but ... thoughtlessly, I guess. Didn't even register the pain. It just seemed to be part of how she was. How she moved and how she thought."

"And you want to save her. Love her. And broadcast a ... message?"

Isabelle frowns.

"Will anyone be hurt by this? Won't you be hurt by this?" she asks. "I don't know her that well and I am sorry if this is an offensive question. I just ... don't want to cause more hurt right now. Even unintentionally."

Mirror and Isabelle

The room dances and people swirl, and the singer sings of the rain bathing her face. Below you and above you is the shifting of people, the glinting of crystal in impossible angles, gravity that spirals around you.

It’s Kiriala who sidles closer, keeping her distance from Adriana but coming to join the dance next to you.

She offers her own answer, unasked for. “Are you a goddess then?” She cocks her head, looks at Mirror like she’s wondering it seriously before looking back at Isabelle. “If you’re not, you can’t know everyone perfectly, and if you can’t do that, you can’t always avoid hurting people. You can try really hard to know people as well as you can, but if you don’t let anybody know you then they won’t work around you either.”

She tosses down the rest of her drink and stands close, deeply intrigued by the topic.

***

Dolly

Valynia doesn’t let you go, but she’s not hurting you either. She’s just firm. Her grip strong. There’s a sound of distant jazz, but in this side room, the door is shut, the crystals darkened, and only the depths of space bear you witness from beyond this room.

“Did you only want me because you thought she wanted me?”

She’s talking to you, Dolly. Only to you. Her hand closes over yours, her fingers brushing the glove. And in that moment you feel: anger, pain, rejection, jealousy, humiliation, and beneath it all, so small and so deep hope.

What do you say to her?

***

Solarel

It’s so close. Memories of the Aeteline flicker within you. It’s not like the Kathresis at all. Not cold, not the vision of angry ghosts. The Aeteline is the polar opposite: it’s a nuclear furnace. It’s young and it’s powerful and the Aeteline knows its own power. It bathes in it. It revels in it. The great god seeks to be wielded. It seeks to move! To run! To fly! It makes you ask what it means to fly, to truly feel the very space around you bend to your power as you flex your wings. The Aeteline is agitation, it is unbridled, and yet it has sat inert for so long, unwilling to accept another pilot that fails to deserve it.

You could touch it. You could connect to that god. It’s so close. Everything is so close.

But an inch may as well be a thousand light years. Because you weren’t fast enough. You didn’t win the race.

No, the winner of this race is Angela. Angela who you fought before, Angela who dances in the circle of that young Hybrasilian, so different from Mirror, with her new goddess.

Her hand is upon you, and as she slows you, so too is Voctine who demands her own birthright, her silver blade aimed for your throat. More are coming, and more besides.

Beside you, a vague part of your senses feels the floor shake as Akaithon leaps down to lend her own aid, the impact of the jump sending energy coursing through her legs. But it’s hard to focus, hard to concentrate on anything that you need to do when everything you want is so close and yet so out of reach.

Stagger and then tell us how you reach beyond the possible.

"Would even a goddess make no mistakes? I wonder. They do not always agree, after all. And the very basis of our language (which they gave us) is the belief that there is always another way to say something. Regardless, you are correct: it is impossible for any of us to be so perfect that we do not hurt anyone, and it will remain so until we are at least as old as the stars are now. You have hurt people, Kiriala, though I am certain you did not intend to. And you have hurt people, Isabelle Lozano, and I hope that that was unintentional as well."

She pauses and gives the girl a long look that says the recent match against Ksharta Talonna is not far from her mind. But she dances on beat and lets the moment pass without so much as a shrug.

"I have also hurt people, quite intentionally. And I have failed to hurt them, unintentionally. I have in fact made every mistake it is possible to make, and I will make them all again before I die. Solarel? She has hurt many people, yes. But none of them more deeply or more cruelly than she hurts herself. Forgive me, but in the Consortium is it not the custom to pay large out large sums to acquire outcomes you deem desirable? Why should saving the soul of the most beautiful woman in creation not fetch a commensurately exorbitant price?"

The music shifts, becoming slower and more intimate as if in stubborn resistance of the commotion happening all up and down the great spiral of the gala. Mirror presses herself in closer, finally adjusting the rhythm or her motions to be more akin to a heartbeat rather than a deliberate act of semi-rebellion against the local conductor.

Her body is warm. Her fur is soft. Her eyes are half-lidded, but looking up. A show of trust mixed with caution. Her tail flicks behind her and brushes her Squire's cheek as a reward for her boldness.

"You asked a question. 'Will anyone be hurt?' Yes, I imagine so. In the first place it is very much my intention to drag that so-called 'fashion designer' into the light and skewer her in front of everyone. It is also my intention that this message be broadcast specifically overtop the middle of my rematch with Solarel. This will functionally blank out a chunk of whatever we do. I imagine it will get several people fired.

"I consider this irrelevant. Jobs are plentiful and the specifics of who one works for almost meaningless. Those who can acquire them will do so again and again with minimal effort. Those who cannot will hear my message and realize it is them I am speaking to. And then there is me. I will be harmed, yes. I hope to guard against even greater harm by doing this. If you wish for cleaner hands than the ones you have, I cannot help you. You must quit playing at being a pilot and retreat to a garden where you may tend the flowers in peace. But if you yearn for..."

She stops completely. Stops even dancing, her feet locking in place. She opens her eyes all the way once more, and cranes her neck to pierce the eyes of the genius super-prodigy some call undefeatable.

"No. I am going about this backwards. Hmhm, my Squire has so little left to learn from me already. She will graduate to becoming a knight before I am ready. I suppose I must make ready to become a Queen of some sort before her metamorphosis finishes. Very well! You speak, Isabelle Lozano. Tell me about your troubles. Tell me about your hurts and who gave them to you. Tell me about your loves. It will be easier to see my heart if you show me yours."

When it comes down to it, said Tactics, this is a resource management problem.

She stepped into the coming blade.

Pain. Blood. Pain. Energy.

In the breaking of scale, the parting of skin, there was power.

Your body is weak, said Tactics. Your body is unlovely. Your body is clumsy, untouched, unadorned. You hold no allegiance to it. It is but a coin to you.

She was boiling beneath the blows of knights, of bodyguards, of Varangians. Every turn and rush took her into a different blow. Each blow she internalized. Inside her she felt three points, white hot, as her body strained under the accumulated weight of her mortal coil.

Spend it.

Solarel closed her eyes.

And she walked the mountain.

*

The Stormlands. Impassable. Unlivable. Inescapable.

They crawled on their bellies. Elbow over elbow, slowly forwards, heads bowed. To raise any higher meant to fight the wind, howling overhead, gale-strong. Trees soared overhead. Some were burning where lightning had struck them. The clan looked at the distant fires and lightning with envy.

Fingernails against the dirt. Scratching, scratching, scratching. Searching for metal. Digging in the earth like animals as they crawled like worms. Searching, searching, searching. A discarded power cell, spat loose from a divine weapon and covered by dust and dirt, would be enough to power the clan for days. So every eye was kept down, watching the torn soil they left in their wake.

But one girl looked up. She saw the Gods.

Pointless, she knew, to look at them in the distance. To see those lights that went up endlessly, those mystic eyes, the radiation crackle when they engaged coolant cycles. To look at their monolithic grace, untroubled by the wind. To see them fight, the wasteful blaze of their engines enough to make and unmake this tribe a thousand times over. She saw it. It loomed in the distance, a colossus from ancient times. It stared directly at her.

Of course she could go. She could cut the line and crawl in that direction for a day and a night on the dim and flickering power left to her. She could get to her feet and embrace the only solid structure across the Stormlands. All for the chance to stand vertical for a moment. For a chance to climb upwards. Of course she could go. All that it would cost her was everything.

*

She stood before the Aeteline. She stood before her God.

Molten blood dripped from her. The floor was dusted with the violet dust of pulverized scales. A sword was still stuck in her body. She pulled it out and dropped it atop the knight who had wielded it. Torn spirits surrounded her, clouds of fading nanites crumbling back to dust.

The first part of the journey. The breath of the gods. The storm of blades and blows. To approach a God was to follow a path of ruin and bodies, the bones of ancient soldiers who had dared the ancient world's guardians. There was a path of ruin and bodies behind her now; knights and varangians scattered and dazed, swords broken, ribs cracked. They had left their mark.

With bloody fingers, Solarel reached out to touch the foot of the Aeteline. Life. Life, power, freedom from all this. She didn't need medical attention, she didn't need rest, she didn't need this body. She needed strength. Strength enough to interact with the people she loved. To be worthy. To be beautiful. If all being better than she was cost was everything she was, it was cheap at the price.

[Marking Insecure and Hopeless]

Picture Dolly. So small, so vulnerable, eyes still wet with tears, and the way she hesitates to speak, trapped between a rock and a hard place, says almost everything.

Almost.

"...when you kidnapped me, after causing so much damage to our mecha that I was cut off from my goddess, my, my goddess," and the word is emphasized to mean so many other things, "I was scared, and I was angry, and I thought you were an audacious handsy brute, and... and I wanted Jade to come and save me. But."

The "but" is small and feathered and flutters around the room.

"...by the end. I was excited for her to come save me, but I wasn't afraid anymore. No, I was... I was afraid that you'd try to keep us apart. But I wasn't scared of you. Just like Jade, you know how to make me feel small, and pretty, and... and someone that people want." She reaches up, brushes curls behind her ear, and looks up at Valynia. She is the smallest person in the room, and her body language is a bared stomach and throat. The pain of this room is something she will brave if it means that she can stop anyone from being hurt.

"When I made the offer, I thought that I was in agreement with Smokeless Jade Fires," she continues. "And I thought that... I don't want anyone to actually fight over me, but... I like being. In the middle. The prize. As long as I know I'm coming back to her in the end. And..."

She glances about. The room is still private. She straightens up, brings her fists to her side, scrunches up her face, eyes furiously shut. "I. Seven Quetzal. Have asked. My goddess. Smokeless Jade Fires. Many times. To indulge me in fantasies about being kidnapped. Often by pirates. And you are, you're the pirate. So when I asked, I thought... I thought everyone was getting what they wanted. Everyone was getting what they wanted. You are ambitious, Valynia Bander. You are ambitious and brave and sexy and... and I still remember the way you treated me. The things you..."

She runs one hand along the place where the fur is almost grown back in, and she briefly lets her tongue part between her lips.

"...but you have the Red Band. And Smokeless Jade Fires has me. And... since I have to choose, I choose her."

I choose her. I choose her. I choose her. Jade grins, and it's victorious and preening and papering over the moment of awful gross vulnerability in front of the Bander. She meets Valynia's gaze and puffs up, almost frantic. She didn't lose, after all! She is never punished! Dolly's still hers! And all it took was...

All it took was making her cry, because she'd tried so hard to please her goddess.

Her face twists despite herself. This isn't fair! She's not supposed to feel guilty! She's not the one who started any of this!

Perhaps she should go and see. If Ksharta--

Ksharta Talonna, who she'd just admitted wasn't as important to her as Dolly. Ksharta Talonna, who she'd seduced. Ksharta Talonna, hiding underneath a table in a half-empty ballroom. Why is she still feeling guilt? She is a goddess!

(Because goddesses keep their promises, because goddesses look after those who believe in them, and because goddesses are supposed to be more than anyone else, in all ways, in all things.)

Smokeless Jade Fires does not apologize. But she does say, "I... Ksharta Talonna is calling for me." Not over the gloves, she's not, and Dolly knows that. "You had better not. You had. When I come back, I expect my high priestess to still be here."

And then she pulls herself away, and she vanishes from where she was floating in the midst of the party, and she withdraws her attention from Angela Victoria Miera Antonius. She leaves her most precious bride with her rival (who she rejected, for a goddess, who was starting to feel smaller and smaller). And projects herself next to Ksharta Talonna.

"Hi," she says, lamely, ears drooping. She pulls her knees up to her chest, one phantasmal hand rubbing Ksharta Talonna's chin. "I hope... I hope I helped. Make this party better, I mean."

Dolly doesn't take the glove off. But she leans back into Valynia. "I'm sorry," she says, in a tiny voice. And then she stops talking and listens, ears up, her ungloved hand on the back of Valynia's own. She makes no move to break away. She is still, herself, Seven Quetzal, the prize of the goddess, the kidnapped high priestess. And her heart is so big that there's room for everyone inside, even Valynia Bander, even if it won't work out, and that's why she stays there, waiting, listening, feeling Valynia's heartbeat against her back.

Trusting that there's something she can do.

[9 on Emotional Support means that if Valynia opens up, she sheds a Condition, and if she does not, Dolly takes a Condition.]

"Oh, I have hurt people too" says Isabelle as the two of you come to a stop in the dance floor. There's a pause, a gathering of thoughts, a weighing of scales, before she makes her decision.

She lifts her hands, a signal to resume motion. What motion is up to you, but this is not a conversation that is best had in stillness. For the mind to move, so too must the body. Lest one breaks the spell by paying too much attention to the other.

"And yes, I refer to one in particular; the fight with Ksharta, which was in order to keep someone important to me safe." she continues. "I find myself returning to it again and again. Playing it over in my head to see if maybe I'd choose differently. Take a more merciful approach. But each time I can only come to the same conclusion: I had to do it. I'd do it again. And I am ... not proud of that fact."

The pause echoes, and faintly the words "not a good person" can be heard behind the tail of the sentence.

"Maybe if I were stronger, I wouldn't find myself so ... bothered by it." she admits, as the walls continue to crack. "Mother always says that guilt is a weakness; that one must have the courage to do what must be done - even if someone gets hurt in the doing. So what if our decisions put a rival company out of business? It's like you say - people who are skilled will find new work ... and those who can't will have to make do. After all, business is simply the survival of the fittest. Just like the arena."

"I just ... she says alot of things like that: That family is all. That one's duty is to serve the family. That those who don't contribute to society will be left behind. That those who steal should be punished. That only the foolish believe the universe is fair. That some people have been given the fortune of a better start, and they are stupid if they don't use it to push themselves to realise the highest potential they can be ..."

The dance continues, but Isabelle's mind is moving further away. To nights spent in study, when her mother would tell her that she wasn't tired, just lazy. To the family's daily meal, where her mother would tell her that she didn't really want to eat something more filling, she was just being greedy. To the training accidents, when her mother would berate her for being clumsy.

"I'm not a goddess, nor am I an idiot. I know people can get hurt from the things we do, whether we mean to or not. But sometimes these things just feel ... wrong. I can't explain it - I don't understand it. But that doesn't make the feeling go away."

"In that sense, you have your answers - I hope. My Troubles are plain and plenty. The one who gave them to me is clear - myself. And as for my Loves, well - you were right when you said that I have dreams without a wish. I have things I love doing, machines that I love making, places I love going and people I l- w-well, that I might-"

At this point, a clear blush works its way up onto Isabelle's face.

"The POinT beInG that I have things I love. Okay. And yes, I'm still figuring some stuff out. I mean, I only had my debutante three years ago, and most of the people there were old friends of the family or business partners. Since then, it's been nothing but work and piloting. The boardrooms always have the same six faces (and two personalities) in them and it wasn't until Solarel crashed into that pirate skiff that ..."

"... that things started to really change, I suppose."

She sighs.

"Very well. If you truly think her worth such a price, then I guess I owe it to her to help save her too - even if she did hurt me. And even if you think it irrelevant, I hope you won't be offended if I take steps to at least reduce the harm to those who might get fired because of the broadcast."

I owe that much.

"Which brings me to my next question - assuming we are still in the vein of trading them back and forth and assuming my answer suffices? Why all this to bring down Mayze Szerpaws? I admit I've heard of her designs - seen some tonight, in fact - but beyond that, and maybe having a name that sounds like a bad anime villain whose mech has hand-mounted masers, I don't really know her either. What did she do to earn such ire?"

A sigh. A sigh. A sigh. The dance resumes, and what had been liquid motion chasing a hidden melody inside the ballroom becomes a demonstration of raw power. The stomping of her feet, the twirling of her partner, the low dips where she is above the Terenian at last, and the two can share long, soulful, meaningful looks in the shadows where their hair paints the floor without anyone guessing quite what they're about.

A sigh. A sigh. A sigh.

"Family. Is NOT. Blood."

They rise. They fly. There are no thrusters hidden in the ribbons that pass for Mirror's dress but when she leaps there is force behind it. Enough to pull Isabelle off of hers, enough to carry the pair in a small rainbow of an arc across the dance floor. Enough to crash down with an authoritative crash that is almost in sync with the percussionist. She frowns, a flicker of darker irritation passing across her face.

"Dismiss my words as an Outsider's ramblings if you must. But I. Will speak..." she pauses for a long and awkward moment as she grasps about in her agitation for the word she's supposed to be using, "Cl-clarity. Obviousness. Tru... truth. Truth. I will speak my truth. Frankly!"

Her voices pitches upward in triumph, victory that has the pair of them twirling and fanning out their ballroom gowns to capture the eyes of everyone around.

"Your mother is an idiot. She has taught you backwards, and a thousand years ago I would have killed her for putting you together so wrong. Today I will settle for simply tearing her empire inside out. I will cast her down from the pillar she is lounging on, and only then will I hear what she has to say about survival. Listen. Listen to me. Listen. Listen, Isabelle Lozano!"

Her hand is pressed over Isabelle's mouth now. Not so forcefully that breathing has become difficult, but a gesture that requires real effort to speak over, or around. There is a desperation welling inside of her, now that she's heard these things. She has an impression to make and no time to make it in. The words, the words, what are the words? Her heartbeat rises to levels associated with panic, though even now her dancing is smooth and controlled. She bites her own lip, hard enough to draw blood with her fang.

"Survival of the fittest is a fool's interpretation of the world. The strong live. The weak perish. Stupid. What is the point of strength, Isabelle Lozano? Why do you feel conflicted when you follow this natural law? The strong do not eat the weak. Weak meat makes weak warriors. No. The strong eat the strong, to become stronger.

"Why? To grow. To cast a larger shadow. To wear a larger cloak, and cast it over the weak. To shelter them from the storm. Their lot is to live, and wait. When we die, they will consume our corpses, and become strong themselves. Did I tell you that those who couldn't find new jobs would be left behind? Did I tell you they should fend for themselves? I did not! What is the point of strength? What? What?! The universe is unfair! Then we bring fairness to it! An arm! Strong enough to push against the scale! That is, that is, that is!"

A sigh. A sigh. A sigh. The dance resumes, and it is quiet and stately. Mirror is quiet, and with every breath she calms. She slips back into the mask of the perfect pilot, and her fingers squeeze plaintively against Isabelle's.

"You are not the source of your troubles, Isabelle Lozano. Your head was put together upside down. Someone else has done this to you. I remove your blindfold now. You had a choice, with Ksharta Talonna. You chose what was taught you. You chose harm, for the sake of protection. You are so close. And so far. All at once. The act of submission to another's will is a choice. You are not a goddess? Neither is your mother. Choose to save your beloved, or choose to strike back. Choose even greater cruelty, if you will, but it is a choice. You are in far more desperate need of my wish than I realized.

"...If Solarel is what pried your eyelid open first, then that is good. Smashing open doors is what she does best. But you must walk through it now. Let go. Let go. Learn what it is that makes you strong, Isabelle Lozano whose name is Distant Gate. Leave your mother to me. I will show you. How far her blunt her claws have become. How short her reach. How family... is not. Blood."

Solarel
The door is open and it is full of fire. The threshold is made of light. The spirit of the Aeteline is the spirit of fire. A nuclear furnace. It is yours, it has been yours, it remains yours. What is the burning of your blood to a silver sword in the face of this cursed spirit? What is pain when everything is already consumed?

The Aeteline is ready. Connection lines extend freely to take you. All the explosive energy waits to be commanded. Protection routines snap into place, nanobot reconstruction systems throwing thin but regenerating walls to separate you from your attackers in nothing more than a reflex.

To join with the Aeteline is to be so much more. Is this not your true body? Was everything you were before not merely a scouting system to collect data to return to the core? Is this not the true scale of the universe?

It would not do to remain here. Nor to crush the small things beneath you. They are unworthy of such attention. They are nothing but the dust before your eyes obscuring the universe. Your calling is to ascend above such things and see that which is beautiful. Is this not also truth?

***

Ksharta and Jade

“You did” she says, and smiles, but her eyes are sad. “I…worry that I’m broken. I look at the great Hybrasilians and they are all so…so wild. Look at your pride, at the abandon that Dolly seems to so easily take on, how willing she is to give herself to something greater. To…someone greater.” She blushes despite herself, as she certainly has felt the connection all night.

“Look at Mirror, or Kiara, or the many priestesses. The heroes and goddesses in the myths. Did Irtana grow despondent because her tribe was defeated and she was left alone? No, you rose to the goddesses and so gained her own godhood through boldness and bravery. Mu Ysha did not give in to despair when she shattered her sword on the rock of Hunger, but instead she meditated and sought penance, and in the hunt she drew her sword of blood for the first time and fought with Hunger as an equal.”

Ksharta sniffles. “I thought maybe with your blessing that I could be strong like them. But I couldn’t. So I thought that maybe I’m the one who’s broken.”

You know, Jade, that as a faithful Hybrasilian, it would never cross her mind to consider that you are in any way the problem, it’s either her fault or some other goddess who overruled your authority. She isn’t crying very hard though, and she isn’t done talking. “Maybe I just set my sights too high. I’ve always relied on the others, I’m a good cook, I make people happy. Now I get to experience these other feelings too through your favor and I can stay here where it’s safe. Do I really need my own victory or my own knight or my own pirate?”

She sniffles again and tries to smile because you did help, Jade, and she loved this, and she’s glad to be here, and it’s even more special that you came and gave her all her attention so gently even though she knows how much you’re hurting too. It’s just that even with all that, her heart is aching and so things are very hard.

***

Dolly

“You know” Valynia says quietly, “I’ve half a mind to rip that sleeve back off of you. I didn’t think my feelings were for sharing with the whole group. But…I see your choice and I won’t take it from you now. Not…not right now.

She breathes, and you can feel her taking in your scent, the feel of your body and your hair and the headdress pressed against her.
“You smelled like this when I jumped on you the first time” she says, and breathes again. “Like prey and excitement. Ready to bolt but so so hungry all at the same time. It made my heart beat then, and it does now. It’s why, at the little station…Whispered Promise is her own goddess, but I don’t want a goddess, I want you, little priestess. I want you. I’ll take the goddess you come with if I must. But. I. Want. You. Dala Hunters.”

She breathes again and her claws are sharp against you as she quivers, and her muscles harden.

“Personally, I think your goddess is being jealous and petulant and you’re too willing to go along with her. You say I have the Red Band and you have her. Well, fuck you. I’m a pirate, Dala Hunters. I’m greedy. I want everything I want.”

She smiles then, twisting you just sideways enough that you can see her face, her grin with her teeth out, ready to bite. “But I don’t think I want unfairly~ I think you can have me, and you can have her, and she can come gallantly to your rescue, but every time in the meantime I get to have you. ♡”

“So there you are, little Dolly. Do you think my offer is fair? If you want it, your face is right here. You don’t have to say anything at all. All you have to do is nod, just a little, just the tiniest little motion.”

***

Mirror (and Isabelle)

There are eyes for your dance. Eyes for Mirror’s impassioned speech. In the center of it, Adriana nods to herself. Perhaps she agrees. It would certainly match with her manner of choosing a successor, something she chooses by merit despite her family name carrying the greatest weight of any blood in the entirety of the Terenius Consortium.

But now the music is ending, and soon the party will be as well. Also there’s probably going to be a warning klaxon going off in the hanger presently as a result of Solarel’s particular door smashing talent.

How would Dolly do this?

She'd... know the right thing to say. She always does. They're her spear and net, and maybe that's why she likes to be disarmed. To not have to be responsible for using all of them. To put her trust in a goddess who doesn't deserve her, just because of the weight of all those words. But she never acts like they're a burden, except when she's leaning in and begging for her goddess to shut her up.

But that's not the kind of reassurance Ksharta Talonna needs.

What would Dolly say? You're a good cook? She can't even eat the smoke. You're pretty? Seduction would make Ksharta Talonna freeze and then bolt. How dare you doubt my judgment? She's already sniffling, Jade, do you want to actually truly make her cry?

If you want a victory, we can go steal one! Pick someone here, we'll be pirates tonight! No, she'd have to want that, and the heart of Ksharta Talonna doesn't want that. What does it want?

"Give me your hand," the goddess demands. She holds her own out impatiently, and when Ksharta Talonna reaches out, she takes that little cook-knight's hand in two of her own. "Ksharta Talonna," she says, "I am not a goddess of knowing things. I could hunt your dreams out of you, but that would be..." She flashes her fangs. "Difficult on you. And I take care of the little cats who give themselves to me."

It is important to say out loud. It is important to be. She will not deserve Dolly if she cannot make this true.

"I cannot make you happy forever," she continues. "Not even our Grandmothers can do that. But I am sorry that... that my blessing has not made you happy for now." Is it true? Yes. It is. "That I have not brought you victory in battle, because I defeated you and carved that defeat into the world. That I have not shown you a way that you can be a great knight and a great cook, because I have been lost myself. That I have not declared war on your hunting lodge for the sake of possessing you, or offered you a place among my priestesses. I have failed you in many ways, Ksharta Talonna, and even I do not know how to make you happy, or which of these things would make you feel that I am worthy of worship."

She squeezes. She tries to make it a Dolly squeeze. The kind that makes people feel connected, even without a glove.

"But there is a place in the house of the goddess for you. If you wish to hunt your courage until you catch it, I will make you our knight, and a place by Dolly's side. If you want to see if cooking makes you happy, then I will make you our cook, and no dish will be outside our reach. And if you want a mortal lover, I will help you catch one. They will pale in comparison to me, but..."

She sniffs, and tries to look magnanimous and not like someone who has recently begged her high priestess not to leave her for a more fleshy paramour. "But they will always be there to touch, and you will be able to smell their desire, and I suppose it is intimidating to be one of my concubines, not knowing if I am going to bring you dizzying rewards or terrible punishments." She is so understanding. So generous. So composed. And...

And she hasn't made Ksharta Talonna happy.

"Whatever you choose to hunt," she concludes, "you will be safe and protected by me, as long as you choose. I am Smokeless Jade Fires; I am undefeated in battle and the hunt." Never defeated. Not even once. Whispered Promise and the Red Band can sneer all they want. She always wins. "I doomed you to defeat, and for that I owe you my blessings. I will be your jackal as you flush out joy."

[Emotional Support hit an 11, if Ksharta Talonna chooses to accept Jade's attempts to help her.]

---

Dolly flicks an ear in... irritation.

"Valynia," she says, and she's indignant, not quite like she was when first kidnapped but still with more fire than she's shown all night. "How can you... you can't insult her and then ask me to... and... you pirate!" Her body language is muddled, her tail's tip is flicking, she's finding it hard to look Valynia in the eye, she's plainly flustered, but she's clenching her fists and a word away from stomping her foot like a kitten.

It's not easy for protagonists, is it? Not in her favorite stories. And now she's in one, thanks to her goddess, and all the things which look clear from the outside are all muddled and difficult and she's weak, she's so easy to sweep off her feet, but you can't say that about Jade! Right after she leaves! Right after she fell to her knees, desperate for her, and the relief when she saw her goddess again after being kidnapped, but...

But she wants Valynia and Jade to fight over her. Just not in a way that hurts either of them. And that only works in stories, doesn't it, Dolly? And here Valynia is, dangling the perfect compromise in front of her, so why is she so angry, just like when Valynia first grabbed hold of her, dangerous and sensual and... and so greedy!

I. Want. You.

But Valynia isn't the one who fell to her knees and begged for her. For only her. Valynia didn't offer to give up anything for Dolly's sake, didn't offer to reform her ways, to beg Jade's blessing, to bring her treasures and gifts and offer her the universe.

I'll take the goddess you come with if I must...

How dare anyone talk about Jade that way?

Even a stupid sexy pirate dangling dizzying indulgence in front of her?

"...the others like Jade more than they like me," she admits. "She's the one who attracts attention. She's the rival that Angela wants, and she's the power that Ksharta craves. But they like me, too. In their own ways. But you don't like Jade at all. Valynia, how can I be with someone who doesn't like both of us? Her strength and whatever both of you see in me. Our desire to be what others need. She brought me here, she showed me the stars, she lets me dance, she wants me just as much as you do, and all you see when you look at us is me. And if I say yes..."

If I say yes, you'll want me longer and longer, and you'll start wondering why you have to share me.

Also, you are strong, and embarrassed, and greedy, and you don't like it when people say no to you, do you?

Dolly's heart tightens. For the first time tonight, she actually feels a little frightened. That's the flipside of being attracted to dangerous girls, isn't it? The danger. And Jade feels dangerous but she's really not, but being alone with Valynia right after turning her down is... is just asking for her to reveal that she's got a path cleared to her mecha and Dolly's coming with her whether she likes it or not.

Or maybe she'll just be sad. And Dolly will feel terrible, and kick herself for assuming the worst, and wish she'd been able to be cleverer, better at words, or the kind of warrior that she is when Jade's guiding her hands, or even just smart enough to realize what Jade was bottling up.

Either way, Dolly tries to look fierce. Like a high priestess. Like someone whose girlfriend was just insulted. Like someone who should not be trifled with, Valynia Bander. What sort of huntress are you?

She had so much to say.

But the Sage said Speak Not.

She idolized the Gods. How could she not? The sounds of their battles would shatter the plains. The crunch of their footsteps would tear tear earth. The hiss-zap of their energy weapons would be followed by thunder that would cow the storm. They were so loud. So different from the silence of the Code. The ideal embodiment of the Code. Their words were their actions. With their actions they could hate. Love. Destroy. Imagine getting to say it that loud. To say anything that loud.

Maybe if she spoke that loud then she could finally be heard.

*

It was years later. She was still silent.

She'd said everything she could. She'd howled it with the roar of autocannons. She'd shouted it with the crunch of the lance. She'd breathed it with flamethrowers. And still nobody could hear. She meditated for weeks on what she wanted to say and then said it with fire and Tactics. And all she left behind was wreckage. Why? Why did no one listen? Why could no one hear when she was speaking not? Only Mirror. Only Mirror. Akai had tried, but it was barely a beginning. Only Mirror had heard what she was not saying and not spoken back.

She... thought she understood. What she was not saying. She was trying to. She had the emotion of it, fierce and bubbling, in her heart even if it couldn't resolve into words. She needed to resolve it into techniques instead. Everything she knew. Everything she'd studied. Every curve and edge of the Whip. She needed to say what she could not speak with the most perfect battle she'd ever given.

She couldn't survive failure. Not after all this time listening.

This is the wish she gives to the Aeteline. The cursed engine stirs. It is the whole of her now; the part of her that will wrap that mortal wish in armour and carry it's unspoken passion on the edge of its blade. With a ballerina's grace the Aeteline steps from its mechanical harness, so soft it does not even crack the tile. Her false enemies step back and she waits for them to retreat. She could not not speak with them no matter how she tried.

She ignites her heels and leaps for the moon. Everything lay as it should. She has adapted to the machine long ago.

The music fades out, leaving Mirror and Isabelle standing at the dance floor. The silence - well, relative silence. The party is still ongoing after all - is a welcome respite. In fact, it's more than welcome, it's absolutely necessary. After all, one doesn't have that kind of a speech thrown at them whilst doing that kind of a dance and somehow have a witty one-liner prepared to finish it off with.

It was going to take some time to unpack all this. This ... this ...

Fire and fury ... did she just declare war on my mother??!

That was not an outcome she'd expected when they'd started this dance. Was this going to be a thing? Just continually getting surprised by world-changing events like this every time she just honestly talked with someone?

This galaxy was ridiculous. And the sheer enormity of that thought brought a smile to her face before she could stop it.

"You know, I think I believe you can do exactly as you say, Mira Fishers, whose name is Whispered Promise."

Although in this case, the promise was anything but whispered. she thinks, casting a glance towards where her mother had been standing. Almira has gone, but that's about as comforting as not seeing the snake that had been in the room a few minutes ago.

"I won't bother warning you about just how dangerous she can be. I think you've already weighed that into your plans - but just ... my siblings ... they're in this picture too." she says.

"And ... thank you. For the Name, as well as the lesson. I will need some time to properly process this, but I promise I will."

All

Not even the sudden departure of the Aeteline can fully end the party aboard the spiraling crystal shell space station. But it does take the energy out of the room. The Zaldarians, nearly all dazed and enervated after the brawl and the rush, slowly filter out of the hangar, not knowing what to do, none able to properly give chase. Other guests eat and dance, they spread, the Terenians and the Hybrasilians discuss trade and piracy and all the myriad matters of bureaucracy and delicacy that ultimately boil down to how many fish everyone will wind up getting.

Still, even among five such grand festivities so far, this will be one to remember. The grand theft of what is debatably the greatest mecha known to exist. Though "known" and "debatably" carry much weight in that description.

Kimri Blessed daughter of Grandmother Night may, perhaps, have offered the best observation. Watching from just outside the hanger, she commented to the delegation: "Hunger is with that one."

***

Even so, time passes. Food and drink run thin, the music stops, and the guests depart in their turns. And after that there is rest, training, tune-ups, and all the myriad ways that one might prepare for the finals. For now, every match counts. No more round robin, no more friendly competition and wondering at the cutoffs. The elimination stage is prepared and the fights will be coming so very soon.

In the first round:
Match 1: Ada Smith will face Angela Victoria Miera Antonius
Match 2: Jacinta Niares will face Dala Hunters
Match 3: Isabelle Lozano will face Kiriala of Maeahu
Match 4: Solarel will face Akaithon, Knight of Zaldaria

In the second round:
Marcina Villajero will face the winner of match 1
Mira Fisher will face the winner of match 2
Marna Kerne will face the winner of match 3
Maelia Dala will face the winner of match 4

***

Dolly and Jade and entourage

Ksharta chose cooking first. It's not what she wanted. You could feel her heart rise when you offered her a knighthood in the house. And she said as much, she's not so utterly blind to her own feelings. But then she had said "I can't see how that looks yet. It sounds right, but...I can't see it. So I'll cook first, and get you all prepared for the matches and then we'll find out what it means to be a knight."

And, well, it may not have made her heart soar, but she was honest and it was stable and that made her happy in a different way. It's good to see this, Jade. Happiness can be big and small. It's not always fulfilling someone's fantasies. Sometimes happiness is feeling safe, and the happy little twitch of a girl's tail when she tastes her curry and she got the spice mix just right.

That's what she's cooking now. Angela needs it after a grueling tiebreaker that she barely scraped out, and you all need it to cheer for her. She still plans to play the villain in a sense, but for now with everyone else involved, there's something of a united front and everyone cheered for her in her final matches to qualify.

[Ksharta chose to accept emotional support in her way.]

As for Valynia...

"You think I hate her, but you're wrong. I see her." She had smiled then. "Just be extra loud when she's seen me back and I'll come find you, little Dolly."

And then she had glided out of the room, leaving behind the scent of spice before you could stand under your own power.

And now, you've got one more pirate to face before you can go up against Mirror (Mirror!!!). The boss (maybe) of the whole Red Band (question mark) and one of the most feared lionesses in the galaxy. Jacinta Niares. This one is probably real, but after everything you've been through with Valynia, what sort of power do you think her boss wields?

What you know about her mecha, The Roar is fairly limited. Statistics are listed as
Power: ****
Speed: ***
Defense: *****
And it's known for its overwhelming medium-range weaponry. There have been a lot of imitations though, so if it's the real Roar and the real Jacinta, expect surprises.

***

Isabelle

It is a funny thing, but after the party, you find that your schedule isn't quite so booked. This is not to say that Almira Lozano didn't hear everything. It is not to say that she isn't plotting something. She has certainly not disappeared, and her advice is available whenever you wish to seek it, with the same skill and judgment as always accompanies it. No, it's just that your training schedule is a bit more open and sleep might just exist in small quantities.

Perhaps it's simply that you danced with Adriana and met all the superficial goals your family had set? Perhaps it's the unusual business deal you struck. Perhaps it's the deal you struck with the Fisher cat and the fact that for the first time your mother might view you differently than the daughter she so often cowed.

Though, this is not to say that you shouldn't be very busy. Kiriala won every match she fought except for her match against Mirror. Her mecha sports the latest in Hybrasilian technology: perhaps not the match of the most esoteric mechas out there (again, Mirror herself seems to deliver the unusual) but at least the equal of anything the Terenius Consortium can manage to field at the moment. Meanwhile, Kiriala's skill and focus have been top-notch. A steady hand and a calm mind are her hallmarks, the exception of Mirror yet again notwithstanding.

The Ginger Tiger's ratings are slightly upgraded from before as well (or perhaps merely updated based on the range displayed in the fight with Mirror)
Power: ****
Speed: ****
Defense: ****

You'll need to do a lot to prepare for her.

But then, competing with that are other things. You still have a Zaldarian nanobot connection and they have been positively shrieking warnings at you (insofar as a vague mental sense of unease can shriek) since the end of that party and the reactivation of the Aeteline. You still have Quar as a prisoner in some sense. And Asil is still there and she's going to call for you as many free evenings as your stamina is prepared for. And you did promise to come when she called, didn't you?

Tell us what your life is like as you build up to your match.

***

Mirror

Congratulations! You had the best record in the round robin (officially at any rate, and notwithstanding your own description of the matches). You thus received the one bye extended from the tournament, putting you in the illustrious ranks of the three prior faction champions. You're even slated to face Marcina in the semifinals, which as it turns out was the soonest you could get unless she had decided to forego her own bye (perhaps possible if she's seen the bracket keeping you apart, but she seems content for you to face one opponent at the least). On top of that, if you're lucky, you'll face Dolly first, and of course Jade as well. Assuming they don't both melt in embarrassment the second they see you.

In the meantime, you, along with the other three will be commenting the first set of matches. You even get to pick your co-caster. Marcina, you've met: keen intellect, analytical, thoughtful and caring, but absolutely a sub in conversation. Maelia is also known for being analytical, being a keen scientists, but with more of a humorous and passionate streak and of course her own Hybrasilian deep space background. Or Marna, who is loud and teasing, with a keen ability to read people quickly and focus on the emotional heart of matches.

***

Solarel

Travel in the Aeteline is a unique feast for the senses. It presses against the universe, it warps the space around it with its vicious furnace. A small part of you may realize that the Kathresis would find the Aetline offensive, perhaps even filled with irrational and vicious hatred for it in its active state. Its Trak'tho masters would have believed such a thing to be an abomination. That said, the one thing you will not hear news of in the intervening time is the location of the Kathresis, which was taken by someone else from the crystal hangar and is either not known to the cult it had attracted or they will not say.

But what matters is that now that there is a host of new tactics available to you? Tiers of strength, speed, and energy control that you haven't touched in a long time. You don't need to land in the days before your scheduled tournament match if you don't want to. And even if you land, you hardly need to leave the mecha or its dock.

If you look for news about your match, you'll find you're facing Akaithon again, though apparently she has unregistered the Makhaira and the briefing has no details of what mecha she plans to pilot the face the Aeteline. Her own statement about the plan you two executed together, in its way.

What will your tactics be to face Akai again so soon?