In the end, she came without words to trade at all. 

What was to be said? Words of congratulation rang hollow in her own ears, coming from a stranger. Outsider. Now, enemy. Taunting likewise impossible; too many negative memories. Fresh traumas, lack of appropriate insult grounds, mission abort. What then? Make her offer. Ask the victorious pilot to step down from the tournament and save her the trouble.

Mission status - failure. 

Mirror is silent as the night sky when she slips into the hangar. No commentary. No acknowledgement. She stands in front of Dolly with her armful of drinks at the ready and then...

And then that is all. She places bottle after bottle down on the nearby table. She picks them up again and rearranges them. By volume, by height, by texture. By intricacy of cap design. Only after combining several of these arrangements into a star pattern does she seem satisfied. Or at least discouraged enough to give up. She moves to step away from the table, thinks better of it, and places two spotsticks in the center of her offering.

But now she cannot step back. Not unless dismissed. She is trapped here in enemy space, with faces both friendly and not converging around her. There is no expression etched onto her mouth. Her eyes are as inscrutable as ever. Her posture is blank and carefully neutral as can be. Does she belong? May she share in this moment? Or do you need her to wear her other mask, now that you have earned the chance to strive against her?

Mirror opens her mouth. Ten thousands words attempt to escape her all at once. Not even a hum makes it past her throat. 

She closes it again in silence. Holds up her hand to show the pair of bitten, broken, bleeding claws instead. Her head tilts. She points at Dolly. Taps the space on her chest where her heart is with the mangled fingers. She repeats the gesture three times. It is difficult in the extreme not to let her head flick around for someone here who might save her. Collapse the wave of the conversation down into a manageable fragment.

What... does she want to say? What is worth saying? What is, what is, what is, what is?

That she is sorry. That she is going to crush this brave girl and her fledgling goddess given even half a chance. That she would rather not. That the only reason she can is because of the love they showed for each other in the arena tonight. That she only has hope in her own delicate, desperate plan because of it. 

"I." it comes out clipped. Tense. There is a pause long enough for everyone in the room to have their own awkward stare at her before another words slips loose, "When. I have eaten you. I. Will want... discuss. Payment. Services rendered. You. Your goddess. Critical. Under, unders--

Understand?"