[b]Pink![/b]

She stares at the soap flower for a long moment before throwing it in the trash.

She fucked it up again. She knows, in general terms, why and how it's fucked up. She took on the concept of food at the most stressful, disoriented and painful time of her life and her learning process then had been profoundly fucked up. She'd absorbed the concept in the most minimalist way imaginable, forming it into a tight frozen box in her head and hadn't engaged with it so long as it produced results. She could feel it in her thoughts like a whirlpool; anything that went close got sucked in and spat out at high velocity on the other side.

The problem was that to fix it she'd need to unpack it first, and that meant she'd have to process whatever emotions and thoughts had gone into building it. And she didn't have time. She didn't have time or capacity to work through whatever her bullshit was. She'd tried her best to work with it, to see if she could wrap that vortex into something beautiful, but all she'd gotten from that process was a failed attempt to poison her girlfriend. Perhaps she should simply never engage with the concept of creativity ever again. Too bad she couldn't.

Instead she'd just have to raise the bar. Prepare something so beautiful that its existence would retroactively punish the person she was now for not reaching that height. 

She took a deep breath and resumed her duties. She would be a good maid. That was penance.

Elsewhere, Green would switch in with Eli, but it was clear that she was distracted and she didn't say much of anything unprompted.

[b]Crisis Team![/b]

Black, White and Yellow form the are going to the Crisis Centre but they're not the Crisis Team. They're Strategic Thought, and they were chosen for this because November wants them gone. The division helps put her feelings into sharp relief.

In particular, her fear. She's never been this close to what will probably turn into a riot before. She's seen the evening news, she's heard the stories, and she's scared. She's systematically cleared out every moderating voice - diplomacy and patience, physicality and morality, subtlety and coherency. This has left her remaining operative team the sharpest, smartest, most highly strung optimizers with no checks or oversight. She has no idea what good she might do, and so she's settled for being prepared to do good the second she identifies it.

[b]Wasteland Sky![/b]

Orange has been working on a project of her own. To whit, how can she reliably move suitcases full of swords, pyrotechnics and spy equipment around Aevum Station? The answer was, of course, to commit to being a wizard.

Utilizing some of Singh's old bureaucratic-technological assets, retroactively editing some old playbills, and gossip spread by Bondi she had given life to the person of Caliban and her mysterious troupe of body doubles. This was a figure of mystery - an experimental line of theatrical androids from a cancelled art project? A viral marketing campaign for a future Line? A mannequin possessed by the ghost of a powerful sorcerer? There were plenty of open ended suggestions in the backstory she'd made for herself. But most importantly, she was the kind of person who could go to and from any neighbourhood in the city, and had just enough clout to have her pick of parties she wanted to attend. She's even done a couple of non operation performances with Bondi over the past few weeks just to ground the character a little more.

"How have you adapted to being humanoid?" Blue asks Monk as they travel. "Do you miss your old body, or do you prefer this one?"