[b]Pink![/b]

She was Ariel, and Ariel was a spirit of the air.

That meant thunder and lightning. 

Fireworks were one thing, unexpected fireworks were altogether another. Disturbed from their rest by explosions and screams and the facility lights going dark, guards rush for windows - and freeze. Maybe the most joyless of them will eventually remember to be annoyed at unscheduled pyrotechnics, but for everyone else it's like stepping into a dream. All the colours of magic raised aloft, a call to enchantment like no other. Pink dances beneath the colours she wove, sunset slashes of violet and bronze, warmer than an ocean that swallowed the sun.

Everyone, roll up! The show is about to start. The show is unmissable - wherever you are in the complex, step outside, look up! You'll see it! It's all for you, each and every one of you. Look at the sky and see her paint in stars and comets.

And pay no attention to wicked Caliban creeping from the compartment, dressed in orange rags, a tame demon to match her bound spirit. Caliban will prowl and lurk and be ready to bedevil the audience when the show calls for her. The performance will want for neither devil nor angel. The performance is everything, the magic that asks you to stop and believe that with this mask a girl can become Juno or that an explosion might be lightning.

Asked to believe all that, it is not much to ask that the stagehand - wearing green so dark it is almost black, who walks quietly but confidently across a stage bedecked with jewels and fairy clothes - be ignored. She is simply there to move the scenery and rearrange the backdrop. Even if you saw her it would be churlish to admit it, even as she carries away the treasure, the ship and the skies themselves.

[Explosive Devices 0/4: 6+4 [b]10[/b]]

[b]Red![/b]

On the one hand her kill-all-humans joke just landed in the wrong fucking postcode and she's going to be staring down the business end of a logic probe in minutes. But, [i]fuck[/i], she was blown away by the swag of the move. Unbelievable. No hesitation. There was a (perceived) crisis and it got fucking [i]managed[/i]. Frankly she's in awe in addition to being extremely into it. And Sophie was clearly keen for it too...

De-escalating would be coward shit. 

"Say what again?" she asked sweetly. She's already going through chemical combinations in her head, the compositions that might dissolve the riotstopper glue, the possibility of detaching and remote controlling an arm into gathering them. "My ambitions to serve humanity? No doubt those can be achieved simply through expanding my own hardware, consciousness and/or political influence."

Wait. Fuck. What if Yellow or Black or... whoever the fuck had programmed her with psycho brainwave patterns in case of an emergency? What if Everest had built a secret assassin mode into her? Who knows what Sophie would find if she started digging around in her head. 

[b]White and Black![/b]

They exchanged glances. The possibility space contracted; this was already deliberately Political. There wasn't a way around it.

"Crystal," said Black. "You are extremely smart and socially adept. You will see through any attempt I make to manage you. As such I am engaging you on the level of raw biological instinct. I bought sandwiches[1], and I would like you to take a shower, eat a full meal, accept a shoulder massage - and preferably have a full nights sleep but I understand there are limits to what I can ask - before you hear what I have to say. I make this request understanding exactly how valuable your time is at this moment."

[1]: Lasagna

"Crystal," said White. "You are extremely beautiful, and your haunted gothic workaholic vibe is powerful. I love not only that you have done all this immense amount of work, but you took the time out of your day to manage Fiona's mental health and body image. I can see your soul burning so brightly the world is aching to keep up."

They exchanged another set of glances. This time there was no mutual comprehension.