[b]Brown![/b]

"Okay," she said. Remember - she straightened her shoulders a little. Professional. "I wasn't thinking. I'll leave."

She feels like she missed a beat. Why did looking at footage entail an interrogation? A different colour, a correct colour, would have made the connection. Even Pink would have had the courage to detonate the concealed smoke bomb in her heel that she'd installed to get out of situations like this one. All she could do was take it on the chin and be on her way without flinching. 

[b]Blue![/b]

She takes extensive notes on this even as it solves the mystery of how her digestive system works. A primitive version of this let her taste test everything that was destined for Mrs. Everest for poison, disease or foreign contaminants. She hadn't realized it could be used for inorganic materials too.

She thinks about what she's learned. Silicon-diamond glassblowing stands out the most to her. Carbon fiber weaving is more practical on a mass scale, but the difficulty and resistance of glassblowing as a skill appeals to her. The nature of it as impractical and hard to industrialize makes it feel comforting, the physicality of the work made it feel powerful, the heat of it made it feel nostalgic. The results would be deeply individual, artifacts more than gear, and that felt right. Earlier members of her family had been all aboard the Factory Must Grow mindset, most especially Ox, but joining the Aevum project as late as she had gave her an opportunity to indulge in [i]craftsmanship[/i].

"On the topic of diamond glassblowing, I can see the compromises I'd have to make to afford a version of it," she said, bringing it back around. "But I'd like to hear, just for comparison/aspirational purposes, who has the best version of it on the station? What do they make? What does the out of touch aspirational manifestation of this craft look like?"

[b]Green![/b]

[Mechanics 0/3 3+3, [b]6[/b] success but lower, Fiona's lead goes to 6]

Fiona stands tall. The ocean fades until it is the rapid-rushing water of a jungle stream, not even knee high despite its efforts. The tangling kelp pushes into the distance until it's the walls of a rainforest, twisted and tangled in every direction, vines hanging low and tangled but not close enough to catch. Heat comes into place; intense but languid, the stirring of a tiger at noontime.

In the forest there is a growl.

It's a small but meaningful shift; Green has gone from a concealing landscape to something physical concealed within the landscape. Not thinking through the cold, wet cable-hard entanglement of the kelp but through a hunter's patient, steady motions. She has made some part of herself manifest even if she won't yet show what that is; her consciousness has changed from oceanic blue to transparent white; the omnipresent glow of an Indian sun and a determination not to be baited or goaded. Her muscles are gathering beneath her. She won't attack on anything but her own terms.

[Conceal 2/8 4+3 [b]7[/b]]