[i]The Plover shines like a piece of Olympus granted to Ceron, resplendent on the black-and-gold marble of the launch deck. It is not strange to only have a handful; everyone knows that exclusivity is a marker of taste and quality. A knife is thrust through her belt as a last resort; a blade as large as a statue sits ready for the Plover and her pilot. The fools don't know what they do, daring the anger of this war-machine, this great and terrible wrath that stands poised to make this flight their very last.[/i]

"I'm going to name you... hmm." Ember twists up her mouth in that little way she does, one hand on her hip, looking up at the Plover. "You do need a name. Or maybe you want to earn one? That's it, that's why. After we scatter them into the void, I'll have the right name for you. I'm Little Ember, and I'll be riding you today. Thank you for your service and your loyalty."

She waves with a clash of bangles over at her wingsnake, ears up and delighted, smile tinted coral pink by her silk. "Over here! Gosh, goodness, a real knight of the Azura! What will the terms of our wager be? Don't worry about making it particularly fair, you're doing us a service by joining me anyway. Don't underestimate me, though; even if I haven't piloted one of these before, one look and I know, I [i]know[/i] I'm going to be good at this. I'm Little Ember, and I know you, you're Dyssia, aren't you? I haven't had the time to thank you for what you did on Bitemark, that little unpleasantness, what have you thought of the ship thus far? Beautiful, isn't it?"