She plays the game without speaking. Sets her cards down and simply waits for someone else to notice and understand the effect. She makes accusations by pointing at the other player and tapping the card on the table, if a copy of one has already been played, or by arranging what has been in a line by value and tapping the empty space where it ought to be if it hasn't. No smile. No frown. No flicker of irritation. No sign of impatience. No reaction to a wrong guess. No reaction to a good play. No response to victory or defeat, and no question answered with anything other than brief eye contact.

Yes. Heard. Moving on. Tap, Tap. Goddess. Next Turn.

Dala Hunters requested no talk of matches or what is to happen after. Dala Hunters is too tired and full of the events of the day. Understood. Mira Fishers has no words that are not categorized by those restrictions. No space for small talk, and no interest in banter. Praise or thanks are worthless for as long as she is an enemy. All the rest is business.

She sits. She plays. She finishes her drink and does not pick up another. She waves away all food. She does not flinch when Ksharta Talonna becomes flustered and upset by this. She does not apologize. She acknowledges the criticism the same way she acknowledges every other question or comment. Yes. Heard. Moving on. There are no more cards to play.

She does not reject the touch of Dala Hunters. She does not reciprocate. She does not tense. She does not relax. Dala Hunters requested that she wait. Mira Fishers waits. It is useless to entreat another guest for help. Only Slate could coax words from her right now, and Slate is not here. Will not come. Mira Fishers waits.

The party winds down. Other guests trickle out. The cult falls asleep. Mira Fishers remains. But the Goddess does not come. Dala Hunters seeks the company of Angela Victoria Miera Antonius. The pair of them struggle to remain conscious. Only now, finally, does Mira Fishers stand up.

She hesitates for a moment in the dark. She turns to leave without a word or sound.

She returns to the drinks she brought in offering. Untouched except to turn her star into a pyramid. With swift and startling violence, she kicks the lot of them across the room. She stares at the snuggled couple. Now wide awake. Watching her. She brings a third claw to her mouth and bites it in half before vanishing into the darkness of the hangar docks.

She will not sleep tonight. She will spend it tuning the Whip, muttering the names of all her debts into the cold and the stars.