Bella!
Artemis looks at Bella like she's stupid. "You're alive," she said. "Aren't you?"
She wears her suit, silver grey, tight fit, sharp against the black collared shirt, black office shoes, and black strangler's gloves. Her hair is a shock of tangled brown, cut short on both sides, a single silver moon-shaped earring on her right ear. She stands like she's either greeting a dignitary or about to throw a punch, and no amount of polite precision can distract from the fact that her eyes are voting for the punch. Don't worry, it's not personal.
"You're alive," repeated Artemis, "when you started as dead. I've had hunters raised from the dead before but that's because people remembered them enough to summon them from the Lethe. I've never had one drag themselves out the hard way. Of course I'm not disappointed."
She paused. "Unless you're talking about the sex, which I will reluctantly concede as being necessary for this stage of the operation. I can overlook it, for now."
Ember and Dolce!
Plundering Fang has always had an eye for vulnerability.
"I have decided," she said, "that we shall make the captive into the Syneffo's outfit."
"What do you mean?" asked her combat tailor, Lytefit.
"This is also fashion in the Skies," said Plundering Fang, high-handedly. "Sometimes a pet servitor is made to be both companion and fashion, like a fox-scarf who wraps around her mistress' neck. It's unusual for an Azura themselves to be used for this sort of thing but not entirely unprecedented. We just need to pretty her up, wrap her in -" Hera maliciously leaned down to whisper in Plundering Fang's ear. "- peacock feathers," said Plundering Fang with a smile, "paint her scales, add some gold chains and supports so that she can move easily while carrying him. Maybe fit her with a saddle~"
Ember, this is a problem. Plundering Fang has just found an opportunity to move to the next stage of the competition without having her puppet release Dolce for a moment - if she gets away with this there's not even going to be a moment where you'll be able to do more than stare into those glazed and helpless eyes. You need to find a gap in the armour.
Dyssia!
It's time. The Plousios is about to descend into the flames of a star.
The diviners agree it can't be put off any further; the initial clash with Liquid Bronze delayed but did not end the pursuit, and as decisive a victory as 'stopping time' was the Biomancer General has divine allies of his own that have put him back on the case. It's time to follow through on the original plan and descend into an open fusion reactor until the hounds pass by.
The upside for you is that this is going to put you beyond having to worry about any big philosophical questions for a while. The downside is that the interiors of stars are hot. Not too hot - the Academy of Biomancy, where new species are forged, is built on the volcanic Forge of Hephaestus in the center of a trinary star system, so organic life in this galaxy knows a thing or two about enduring extreme solar heat. Also, the sunspot where you will be sheltering will actually be several million degrees cooler than the fusion reactor in the heart of the ship's Engine. An Imperial-Era battleship's hull armour is proof against even the direct plasma vent of a Starbreach. You're not going to die.
But oh my god does it feel like you're going to die. It's hot. Servitors cluster around ventilation panels, lying sprawled in the whispers of cool air. The entire ship is covered in a fine layer of downy fur from where the Ceronians and Pix have been shedding. And here and there can be seen the hulking and indifferent shape of a battlecrab, often carrying on its back a prisoner or two who strayed too close to the waterline in search of relief. There'll be time to launch a rescue invasion or negotiate with the Tides or something later, this isn't a crisis. You just need to get through it.
So how do you beat the heat, and who is keeping you company while you do?
Artemis looks at Bella like she's stupid. "You're alive," she said. "Aren't you?"
She wears her suit, silver grey, tight fit, sharp against the black collared shirt, black office shoes, and black strangler's gloves. Her hair is a shock of tangled brown, cut short on both sides, a single silver moon-shaped earring on her right ear. She stands like she's either greeting a dignitary or about to throw a punch, and no amount of polite precision can distract from the fact that her eyes are voting for the punch. Don't worry, it's not personal.
"You're alive," repeated Artemis, "when you started as dead. I've had hunters raised from the dead before but that's because people remembered them enough to summon them from the Lethe. I've never had one drag themselves out the hard way. Of course I'm not disappointed."
She paused. "Unless you're talking about the sex, which I will reluctantly concede as being necessary for this stage of the operation. I can overlook it, for now."
Ember and Dolce!
Plundering Fang has always had an eye for vulnerability.
"I have decided," she said, "that we shall make the captive into the Syneffo's outfit."
"What do you mean?" asked her combat tailor, Lytefit.
"This is also fashion in the Skies," said Plundering Fang, high-handedly. "Sometimes a pet servitor is made to be both companion and fashion, like a fox-scarf who wraps around her mistress' neck. It's unusual for an Azura themselves to be used for this sort of thing but not entirely unprecedented. We just need to pretty her up, wrap her in -" Hera maliciously leaned down to whisper in Plundering Fang's ear. "- peacock feathers," said Plundering Fang with a smile, "paint her scales, add some gold chains and supports so that she can move easily while carrying him. Maybe fit her with a saddle~"
Ember, this is a problem. Plundering Fang has just found an opportunity to move to the next stage of the competition without having her puppet release Dolce for a moment - if she gets away with this there's not even going to be a moment where you'll be able to do more than stare into those glazed and helpless eyes. You need to find a gap in the armour.
Dyssia!
It's time. The Plousios is about to descend into the flames of a star.
The diviners agree it can't be put off any further; the initial clash with Liquid Bronze delayed but did not end the pursuit, and as decisive a victory as 'stopping time' was the Biomancer General has divine allies of his own that have put him back on the case. It's time to follow through on the original plan and descend into an open fusion reactor until the hounds pass by.
The upside for you is that this is going to put you beyond having to worry about any big philosophical questions for a while. The downside is that the interiors of stars are hot. Not too hot - the Academy of Biomancy, where new species are forged, is built on the volcanic Forge of Hephaestus in the center of a trinary star system, so organic life in this galaxy knows a thing or two about enduring extreme solar heat. Also, the sunspot where you will be sheltering will actually be several million degrees cooler than the fusion reactor in the heart of the ship's Engine. An Imperial-Era battleship's hull armour is proof against even the direct plasma vent of a Starbreach. You're not going to die.
But oh my god does it feel like you're going to die. It's hot. Servitors cluster around ventilation panels, lying sprawled in the whispers of cool air. The entire ship is covered in a fine layer of downy fur from where the Ceronians and Pix have been shedding. And here and there can be seen the hulking and indifferent shape of a battlecrab, often carrying on its back a prisoner or two who strayed too close to the waterline in search of relief. There'll be time to launch a rescue invasion or negotiate with the Tides or something later, this isn't a crisis. You just need to get through it.
So how do you beat the heat, and who is keeping you company while you do?