[b]Pink![/b]

"I can't speak for Fiona," said Pink, "and that's where most of this lies for you. It's..."

There's a quiet moment as she thinks through. She can't bring herself to speculate, to offer blind reassurance, to presume she knows someone else's mind. She's not right for that. She needs to speak in truths.

"But for me," she said, "I do not [i]want [/i]to be the queen of the underworld. I hate it, actually. It's an intensely stressful experience driven by hubris, paranoia and familial obligations. I have bitten off way more than I can chew and I'm stuck with it, but this is not my wish and not my dream. What I [i]actually [/i]want is this, with you. It breaks my fucking [i]heart [/i]that I have basically nothing creative to show this year because all my focus has been spent smashing the ugly shit of terrible people instead. Everything I see here in this masterpiece you have made gives me the energy to push through it in the hopes of something better."

She gave a handmaiden's sigh. Gentle, deflating, eyes down.

"I think... do you remember that old song? [i]Yes, it's bread we fight for, but we fight for roses too[/i]."

[b]White![/b]

"Charmed, Mr. Knightly," said White. She looked as tired as him, in a subtle android sense. It was part of the makeup and mannerisms of the Crimson Tower persona; being visibly exhausted conferred a strange air of authority when directed to the well rested, and a sense of camaraderie amongst those similarly tired. "It sounds like you've got quite the schedule. I hope we won't take up too much of your time..."

She hands him a piece of paper as they walk and indicates for him to look at it. 

[i]Good afternoon, 

You may be under surveillance. Please continue to act as though nothing is unusual and this is a social visit. We will scan your office for listening devices and inform you once we can speak openly.[/i]

"... but yes, as I mentioned in the email, Leather said that you had some feedback for Dispatch. Don't spare my feelings, how can we unfuck ourselves?"

[b]Blue![/b]

"It's not about who chose it, for me at least," said Blue. "I [i]am [/i]that body. Green created me in response to going through the on-ground testing. All of my physical instincts, all of my sense of how to move, what my body should feel like derives from that. I've kept all of those instincts, as much as I can fit, even -" she very artificially waved a hand. "- though it means that I have only built up the bare minimum amount of expression and familiarity with this body. Every old instinct I over-write with a new one makes me feel like I'm losing myself. If I let this body feel like home then I wouldn't be Blue any more."

It's an incoherent feeling, a cowardly confession, the definition of grasping. She won't let herself move on.