[b]Solarel[/b]

This is nothing like Roevig. The street where you find yourself feels warm and close. The little table is a light, wooden thing in the shape of a circle, barely big enough to fit your bowl and a narrow tall glass with your tea. Steam still rises from the black lacquer of the bowl, and bits of some kind of green herbs and garlic and small pieces of noodle that were difficult to pick up are stuck to the bottom. 
You’ve never eaten food like this. You could have on Akar, if you’d sought it out, but it’s not the mainstay there, and not what they bring Zaldarians by choice. It doesn’t taste like Hybrasilian cooking either: the herbs and vegetables don’t sit well with them, and some of the savory spices in these noodles would probably make Mirror gag. 

You’ve never been in a place like this. The table is small because the restaurant seats its people so close together, waiters and waitresses expertly weaving their way between the tiny tables to serve the food. The low lights, tinted slightly reddish, make the space feel even closer and more intimate, as do the velvet curtains that cover the door. Only when someone new comes in is there a moment of white light that creeps into the space like a slash before closing up again. And yet there were so many places like this one. A street filled with little holes for any Terenian to duck into and eat, drink, or chatter if they can make themselves heard above the constant purr of background noise. None of this appears owned by any Empress, none centralized or in service of any knight nor lord. 

You reached Horizon in a blind rush. Horizon, the name of both a system and its one habitable planet, stood for a long time as the edge of space for the Terenius Consortium. The Hyperlane to reach it was longer and the only exit point besides TC Prime led to a dead system with no useful resources and that still doesn’t have a name. The Consortium expanded to the galactic south instead, and only when all routes there were exhausted did they return to striking further out, eventually finding the Cerulean Belt beyond Horizon and coming into conflict with the rapidly expanding Zaldarians. But Horizon still sees itself as the edge of space, gazing out into the great unknown. It dedicated itself to making ships. Not mechas, but civilian ships for trade, transport, and exploration. Its shops fill with people, its ports bustle with trade. It is, after all, the gateway to the capital of the Terenius Consortium for the entire galactic east. 

Five years ago, you wouldn’t have been allowed here. There are still very few Zaldarians at all, and equally few Hybrasilians. This is squarely in TC space, and it’s filled with Terenians. But you are allowed. The virtue of the Arena meant that raiding stopped and travelers, though rare, were permitted. The Aeteline received no more than a few low whistles at your arrival. Few people here know enough about Zaldarian designs to even realize the unique nature of the Aeteline. To them it just looks like a damn nice ship. 

So you were a stranger but only remarkable as an oddity rather than a sensation. You moved yourself to one of the myriad of restaurants along this row, and you ordered the noodles that were the biggest picture on the menu, which they brought you along with hot tea. Sitting in this crowd with the constant rumble of conversation around you feels like being wrapped in a blanket of vibration and warmth. In that space, you devoured your meal before you had even known it.

As you stare into your bowl in reverie, you feel the lightning bolt of a very light tap as a Terenian girl sits next to you and tries to get your attention. Despite the heat, she’s wearing a red cape over her port jumpsuit, for no purpose beyond its look as far as you can tell. Her long hair, dyed bright pink and worn down below her shoulders, shines brightly compared to the room lights. 

“Hey!” she says brightly, flashing you a Terenian smile that she’s probably hoping you’ll understand as friendly. “I saw you come in here, but I’ve never seen a Zaldarian tourist ordering noodles before. I know this is forward of me, but do you want to be in a movie?”

***

[b]Isabelle[/b]

After the library, Asil insists on ice cream. Someplace smaller and deeper into the city of Akar Prime, further away from the port and out where there’s mostly just housing. People here all watch the matches, but they’re not catering to the pilots, and so when you go into Renaldo’s Scoop, you get simple ice cream and not fancy concoctions that someone is hoping will make it on camera. 

When you’re seated, and with whatever is your favorite flavor, Asil sits behind you and massages your shoulders. Then she sits down with you and starts her own icecream, coffee flavor. “You know, since I met you, I keep seeing you how eventually come around. Isabelle Lozano is always panic first, then think of doing the wrong thing, and then figuring it out and doing what’s right. We’re gonna have to work on speeding up that cycle though.” She boops you on the nose with her spoon very gently. 

“So…we’ve got time now and we’re way out of the way. So what’s the worst you think your mom could do if you stood up to her? Keeping in mind that you’ve already committed to doing all our cooking and earning our way as a mechanic.” She winks at you. 

***

[b]Mirror and Dolly and Entourage[/b]

[All Who Gather Feast After Hunting]. To always revere Grandmother Hunger, to give thanks for her reprieve, and to offer it to the pack. If there is such a thing, this was the origin of Hybrasil. To imagine the pack not as a static, tiny thing, but as a growing thing, gathered around the hunter, where those who are weak may feast with those who are strong. 

Nine Forests, in her role as the head engineer and most in charge of Jade’s physical body, smiles a knowing smile that broadens to a grin as Dolly dances for the gathering and Nines gets to see the fruits of her own handiwork. In her heart, she thinks that this worship is something special for her as well because her paws worked in the name of her goddess to make it real. [Dolly takes a string on Nines.]

Six Stones, after her fourth drink, pulls her own shirt off and joins Dolly at the pole. She can’t help it. She’s always secretly envied her priestess. It’s why she teases. And in this celebration, safe and without worries for the next day (little knowing what Mirror will demand of her) she lets caution to the wind and grabs hold of Dolly’s collar and her wrists as she joins in the dance and lets Jade do what she will with such an impertinent worshiper. [Jade my take a string on Six Stones through Dolly’s entice on her behalf.]

Poor Matty Swimmer is wearing her little bell tonight just like Mirror instructed after their first meetings. After just one drink, she can’t keep herself from looking away but constantly glancing up at the dance, the blush rising in her cheeks to utterly consume her. After the third time she jingle jangles so loudly that she startles herself, she gives up any pretense and throws herself into Mirror’s chest, where she buries her head happily and looks for pets. 

And Slate. Well, she’s certainly enjoying the show, but she’s not overcome. She sidles up next to Mirror instead, arms crossed, a smile on her face and a drink in hand, but with a face that says she’s thinking business. “So boss, you’ve got almost everybody you wanted, right? All the pieces lined up. The only one, besides Solarel herself, is the TC champion you met. Villajero. I watched her fight today. Outgunned her opponent in every way, but she let slip a little. She’ll change things up, but between us, I’m feeling a little reassured. The Ninetails has the firepower to beat her, even if that mecha of hers is [the beast who grew tall to eat the sun until Katchtenkirya tricked it into becoming drunk and spitting it out]. Just make sure you match her until you get your shot.” She sips and watches the dance, her other arm running over yours, her claw pressing on the skin to let you know she’s there as she runs it down through the fur.