It takes a great deal of effort to look this disorganized. She has arrived mere seconds before the agreed upon time. Wearing her pilot's bodysuit, unzipped to vent heat in the exact same way as it had been when she'd first met Dolly in that bar not so very long ago. Fur matted with effort sweat, no attempt at application of makeup or fur paint or even basic spot touch ups. Her cascading silver hair is disheveled and frayed to the point of ruination - as if she'd run herself to death in a ponytail and then pulled it free at the last moment in a desperate attempt to appear somehow more 'professional' and instantly dooming her entire look.

She has several of the tablets she pilfered from Slate's desk wrapped in a bundle in her arms, and she is winded past the point of speech. Every piece of this look carefully considered, reached for, and worked toward with the deft hand of a fashion designer. She'd even run the length of the hallway outside the broadcast booth four times before entering just to wear herself down enough to sell herself as the overworked and under-prepared rookie caught squeezing too much training time in when she didn't even have a match to get ready for. Inadequate. Exhausted, so much that even her modified eyes have dulled and stilled, to the extent that they still can. Hunched and ruining the natural beauty of her body, clutching at useless and outdated pieces of tech, opening her mouth in awe at the datafeed Maelia is wearing in her eye.

She collapses into a seat and sits there in silence, making no sound or movement except to breathe with steadily increasing stillness. Staring only at the floor.

"I... wanted," she pants, "T-to. To. To... follow. Every match... if I, I could. I..."

She sets her handful of screens down and starts activating them, pushing them this way and that until she's found an organizational structure for them she seems to like, though she frequently changes her mind. She looks up and tries to smile, but all she manages is to raise her whiskers in a yawn.

"M-my eyes. Can't tolerate information processing. In the style... style you're dem, demo. Demonstrate. Ing. Demonstrating. Using, I, I mean. So I. But. Yes. No. That is fine. What you have... chosen. Presumed. Is fine. I have... interest in those two. Beyond the curiosity of, of seeing my next. Opponent. And I. Yes. Hybrasil..."

Her eyes leave the floor, only to get stuck on the ceiling for a moment. It takes concerted effort for her to move her head and straighten her posture to the point where she is simply looking at Maelia face to face. The act almost looks to be causing her pain. Flustered. Starstruck. Submissive. Embarrassed.

"The Children of Hybrasil, I mean. We are as a... as a species. A very insular lot. The chance for two cat pilots. Discussing two more... Will generate a lot of, of interesting. I think. It's a good. Opportunity to. Give something. To home. I. Um. Agree with your... assessment. Jacinta Niares is hiding something. Likely spectacular. And she will need it. To have any chance against the goddess, Smokeless Jade Fires. To say nothing. Of her priestess."