It had to work. It had to work. It had to work. It had to. 

Mosaic grinds her teeth as she stares out the porthole at nothing. This part of travel [i]sucked[/i], she had no tolerance for it. Relying on auguries and prayers to tell what's going on, her own senses completely useless in the face of the sheer scale of the thing she's attempting to do. In fact there's nothing [i]to[/i] do even though she's the one who decided to do it. The speed of her legs means nothing. The strength of her arms means nothing. The sharpness of her claws is worthless. For the dozenth time she asks the navigators if the [i]Slitted[/i] is still in pursuit. For the dozenth time she tenses up tighter than a coil slipped under a collapsed building while she waits to hear that, yes, it is.

They're beginning to get annoyed with her. She shrugs. Can't really blame them.

The [i]Plousios[/i] was a museum relic disguised as a coral reef. Its maximum speed, its high end maneuverability, its weaponry and debatably even its armor paled in comparison to the [i]Slitted[/i]. Mosaic knew (and Omn was not yet tired of telling her) that it was a miracle they'd made it this far away from Bitemark without being overrun. That miracle was too much to ask for another; it had already bought her the one advantage her ship had over the Crystal Knight's. Namely, its engine.

Who the fuck knew how it worked? Frankly, who the fuck cared? It did, and it made this Imperial-era warship the true power of, of... the middle of fucking nowhere. Ha! Still the queen of the stick, huh Mosaic? She stomps her foot, as if that could bring this crumbling leviathan to heel.

"All hands!" she bellows into the tubes where he words will carry to those who need to hear them, "Burn the engine! Let it roar, let us fly! But turn as we go! One of our own has been taken prisoner, and we will not forsake her!"

The glistening of saliva over fangs is not audible through the [i]Plousios[/i]. And yet. Every single denizen shivers in unison as the image pops into their heads unbidden. Even the Pix do not make a play on her in this moment, content to bide their time as they scramble for the wheels and levers that will bring Mosaic's plans to fruition. 

"Take us all the way around! And I said speed up! When we see the bitch, jam our fist right up her throat! Rescue missions require boarding, don't they!"

She laughs, and the ship grumbles at the sound of it. She laughs, and the head of every person who'd made their life in Beri perks up. She laughs, even though the sensation of the sharp turn is so slight under her feet she can only tell it's happening by the muffled impacts of random debris shattering on the suddenly lurching bulkheads. It feels nothing like running, and yet. And yet. And yet. 

Her heartbeat quickens just the same.