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For a moment Selene had allowed herself to believe things had been going well. The spearmen’s ignoble assault had been rebuffed, and the squad seemed to be overwhelmingly alive. In her book, on any other day, that would be considered a clear and decisive victory, warranting some home-cooked celebratory meals and several dozen personalized Thank-You cards. Unfortunately they needed much more than simple survival at this stage, they needed battle-ready and more. The hardest stretch was still ahead of them and there would likely be no moment of respite from here on. Worse, those poor soldiers who had fought and lived but could not continue were stranded here, at the mercy of whatever Aberrant stragglers or reinforcements might circle their way. As valiant as they were, in their state she did not have high hopes for their survival.

As the groups began to divide themselves, her choice seemed clear: stay behind to protect the wounded, and hold off whatever came until evacuation was possible. But among the remainers she spotted Dunkirk—Howie, she recalled—and his purported experience combined with the prowess he’d displayed was enough to convince her that those staying behind would be well protected with him at their side. 

So next she turned her attention to the Shrimp. She didn’t much care for shrimp, but perhaps channeling that distaste into physical violence could get her to come around to cocktails or tempura. Quickly though, Rudis was rallying the pilots to lead an assault on the walking fortress, and so she decided she would simply cook the dishes for someone else instead.

That left the princess, then, and Selene hesitated. Something writhed inside her, a bundle of knots winding tighter at the thought of stepping into the nest. What was that, fear? No. Silly. Fear never announced itself to her so boldly. What then—concern? Doubt? The knot twisted, dissatisfied. No. The shortness of breath, the twitch in her fingers, it wasn’t anxiety. It was anticipation. If she’d ever been to school, or knew what a prom was beyond its definition, she thought this might be what it felt like to be invited to dance. 

The realization made her uneasy, but Sabine’s excitement focused her before it could do anything else. The pilot landed with every indication that she would not be staying for long, and Selene watched as Odessa wasted no time climbing aboard. 

Right. That’s how it was, then. 

Selene approached the Wyverne and could feel Nebulae still bristling with energy. She took deep breaths, telling it in their silent way that it was to be absolutely gentle with the friendly woman’s robot, before letting go of her hold with the simple instinct of going up. Several hearty [i]thunks[/i] sounded against the metal hull as Nebulae pulled and clambered and indeed lifted her up, up, and finally on top along with Odessa. Selene nodded to her respectfully. 

“[color=8882be]Always a pleasure, ma'am,[/color]” she said, smiling, and then patted the Wyverne appreciatively. “[color=8882be]I can’t seem to find the seatbelts. You may have to keep the acrobatics to a minimum, Sabine![/color]”