Slowly, Alexa walks to the wall and puts a stone hand against the viewscreen. She recognizes most of the banners hanging there, shifting back and forth in their chained positions.
Athena means well. She cares, in her own way. And she wishes to bring glory to Alexa, for to do so is to glorify her own name.
But against all the ships here... Damn that child. Four, against an empire. Even the fraction of the empire's might arrayed against them is sufficient to swat them from the sky, and it stings that they'd send but one ship to fetch their princess.
When your spear is heavier in your hand than your opponent? You know what, they feel plenty heavy now.
And with that bright note singing in her heart, she scans the viewscreen for the next boarding party. The same trick surely can't work twice, so she'll be there waiting for them.
[That's either a 5 on Look Closely or 7 on keep them Busy, whichever is more appropriate.]
"I didn't want to kill them," Alexa very carefully does not say. Alexa performed the rites of war before the battle, and doubtless they did the same. Athena favored her over them. What fool could stare into the face of the god of war and spit in their face so?
She walks among the dying and dead, granting the first a quick, calculated thrust, the second the Hades-requisite coins and prayer, and wonders not for the first time why Molech saw fit to grant her adrenaline. Or perhaps it was Athena? It's good in a fight, no doubt. But in the aftermath... well, Molech would no doubt be criticizing her form. That thrust was sloppy, Alexa. You're making them hurt even more, instead of less. Stop shaking, Alexa. Be graceful, Alexa. You're the perfect warrior, and warriors don't have quivery spears or nerves.
"Why did you help him," she also does not say.
With the necessary done, she kneels and offers a salute. "By your grace, I yet live."
Right words, wrong attitude, Alexa. Sloppy. Be grateful. This dullen tone does not befit you. Athena has spared you, favored you.
The first thing you need to know about Molech is that you're wrong.
The gods, in their wisdom, smote him down for his hubris, yes. But that doesn't mean that he was a bad person or a bad father, right? He was kind, and caring, in his own way. He was a good teacher.
(She never once forgot one of his lessons. He made sure of it.)
He taught me how to be brave, how to be strong. The enemy must know, the instant that she steps on the field, that they are doomed. Let them wail and gnash their teeth, for they face the Warmaster, the chosen of Athena, and none shall survive!
(She tries to spare them, once. What are they called? A small military outfit from a backwater, barely worth noting. It's over in a second, after all. Routine. Decapitate the leadership, and clean up the rout. But they're running. Panicking. Leaderless. Not a threat, at least not today. Let them live.
(And then the next day, Molech brings her to the courtyard, to the prisoners. They sit, tied, no hoods or armor to distract from the terrified looks in their eyes. She missed some, he explains. It's perfectly understandable, after all. A battlefield is chaotic. But she's better than that! She's made in the image of Athena! She's the offspring of the Warmaster! Anything short of perfect devastation is unacceptable.
(So, in his mercy, he allows her to correct her previous mistake. Make it quick, Alexa. After all, there are other, far more drawn-out ways to be killed.
(She cleans her spear obsessively that night, but it still feels unclean.)
Molech taught me how to fight to the end, to give it my all in every situation! Never back down, never surrender, and never give up!
(She runs, once. Breaks in the face of the enemy.
(And they win! The Glorious 25th Regiment, her friends, her comrades, they win, even without her! It's amazing, and she's so glad that Molech doesn't have to know!
(He knows. Of course he knows.
(And the next day, the road out of his capital gains some new decorations. Anyone who witnessed her shame must find a new occupation. Slave, perhaps, if you're lucky. Outcast. Disenfranchised, locked out of bank accounts, family, friends, left to pick for scraps until starvation or prison take them.
(The unlucky take weeks to die.)
More than anything else, he taught me loyalty! How to be a proper bodyguard, how to care for only your ward! I was his servant, his creation, and I owe him my life. Perfect devotion and obedience is the bare minimum I can do to start to repay that debt.
(Her name is Minerva, and she has the softest hair Alexa's ever felt.
(They weren't supposed to meet. Schedules should have made it impossible to do more than catch occasional stolen glances in corridors.
(But Minerva... Alexa can't help herself. Can't help but find reasons to pass by the library. To ask questions. To learn favorite books (The Rise of Endymion), color (lavender), hobbies (reading, blushing). To make her laugh and find eternity in the way her cheeks dimple. To spend long afternoons basking in her light.
(She shouldn't. She knows it. But she can't help it.
(And then one day, she comes to the library, flowers and a copy of the newest Endymion release in hand and… it's an unfamiliar face at the desk. The little nook in the back corner, where sound is muffled by thick stacks of tomes, the little nook with a fold-out couch and a well-loved blanket, is absent all of the above. Alexa rips the door off her home, shouting her name, only to find soldiers inside who warn her of the dangerous spy who lived there, and was trying to steal proprietary technology from the palace.
(She doesn't ask Molech he did with her, and Molech doesn't tell her. She tells herself it's for the best. Hasn't she done enough already?)
So if you think you know Molech, think again. He's not as bad as the stories say.
(The stories aren't nearly bad enough.)
Alexa The Construct Marked by Athena and Hera Seeking Peace
Agenda: What is my Purpose: Find a reasons for who you are and what you do.
Moves: Built For This You have only one purpose in this world: You were built to explore the Horizon. You must follow your orders. It is what you were made to do. You do not have your own society. You are artificial. You Command Lore about your creators, their secrets, and their science. Tell us who made you - it may even be the people of another member of the fellowship. You also Command Lore about yourself - your purpose, your functions, your creation. Only you can tell us what you are. This Move cannot be Shared
By Your Command You were created to serve, and serve you shall. You have three Locked Bonds, and you begin the game with the first one filled in with the name of another member of the fellowship. These Locked Bonds are: -Like it or not, I must follow _______ ‘s orders. -I have chosen to follow _______ ‘s orders. -I have grown emotionally attached to _______ . When someone named in your Locked Bonds gives you an order, you are filled with Hope if you follow it, and filled with Despair if you ignore or go against it. Either way, this Hope or Despair only lasts for one roll. When you Forge a Bond, you may write a name into an unwritten Locked Bond. Once it is written, it is permanent. You can never change or erase a Locked Bond, unless a Move specifically tells you to. Locked Bonds count towards your maximum of 3 Bonds with a single person.
The Robot You cannot eat Food, and the Healing tag has no effect on you. When you Fill Your Belly, you must use Fuel--the ichor of the Gods-made just for you. You can be healed by items with the Repair tag. You do not need to breathe or sleep to survive. Your severed limbs or eyes can function remotely from your body, although you need an item with the Repair tag to re-attach them.
Hold Them Back When you successfully Keep Them Busy by grabbing them, pinning them, catching them, or otherwise holding them close, you grab them. Someone you have grabbed cannot move and cannot harm you, but otherwise this works just like Keeping Them Busy normally does. You may end the grab at any time to do one of the following things: Throw them to the ground. They land prone right where you want them. Slam them into something, hard, dealing damage to them. Talk Sense or Speak Softly with them, rolling with Hope. You hold them close until you’ve said your piece and they’ve said theirs.
Advanced Sensors When you Look Closely, you may ask one question from the list before you roll. You may choose whether or not you still want to roll after hearing the answer to your first question. You may only use your Advanced Sensors once per scene.
What are you made of? Stone and Bronze You are a very tough golem, built of marble and bronze, and animated through the will of Athena. Add your Aegis (Armor, 1 Use) to your Gear. When you Fill Your Belly, when you are Repaired, or when you get a 10+ on any roll, restore 1 Use to your Aegis. It can never have more than 1 Use at a time.
Gear: A pair of spears, presented to me by Athena herself (Melee, piercing) As a replica of Athena, I share her multilimbed nature and can walk or run on walls and the ceiling. I have a riding pod, perfect for defending my ward or restraining naughty kitties. Redana, as a clever princess, has a small crucible of bronze with which to patch chips in my stone (Repair, 2 uses, slow). She’s also figured how to use the Seal to summon me to her side whenever it is needed (1 Use). Now, if only she could figure out other things… Crucible: [ ][ ] Seal: [ ]
Bonds: I must obey any order Redana gives me. I enjoy the elaborate tea ceremonies I have with Dolce. I'm slowly sharing the booze recipes I've accumulated with Vasilia. Isty and I played tag in a flirty way. I told Redana who I am.
Fought Jas'o. Damaged Blood Fought Jas'o again. Damaged Grace. Grace repaired by Dolce. Level up! +1 Courage. End of Session 1. Wild robot orgy damages Grace. Stabbed by Bloodfeather, damage Sense. Repair Blood between sesssions. Refresh repair kit. Level up! New Programming: Speak Only When You Mean It from Ogre playbook. End of Session 2. Rest episode! All stats refreshed.
To be lost down there is to be swallowed by a selfish, all-consuming love unworthy of the name. By the time you look up, Lucien’s already been swept away.
You can try to put things into reverse, and expose yourselves to more danger (and certainly to finding out what’s actually down at the bottom of the Flood, and thus to likely losing your memories) or you can go full speed ahead and get Sasha, Jackdaw and technically Ailee clear.
That's... unfortunate. Coleman winces and wishes Lucien well, but it doesn't stop him from feeding more coal into Sasha and revving the engine. There's a time and place for everything, and "on a boat on the Flood with eels running from the Storm" is appropriate for basically none of his personal occasions.
There will be time to go back, he tells himself, once it's not four people risking their lives to save one.
"You do not die!" she yelled at Lucien. "You do not die until I tell you to die! You especially don't die to backwater slime monsters! Do you have any idea how embarrassing it would be for me if you died here!?"
...Three. Three people, to save two. Math looking somewhat more tenuous on that one. Jackdaw, please make the sensible choice here? You like the train, right? You enjoy curling up on a smokestack with a good book?
Is this the revenge of the Flood? Did she stir these eyeless things up from her depths? Or is this a depraved indifference, a decision not to lift a driftwood finger as the parasites in her waters seek to drag you down and devour your bones? And, when you get down to it, is there really a practical difference? The propulsion's clogging, and the waters all around you are writhing, and the boards Coleman put together are starting to buckle. Coleman: if you don't do something, and fast, you're going to be going down to meet the Flood a lot sooner than you'd like.
Look, he did not spend that long socializing with the locals to have his raft torn apart by garbage noodles. So while Lucien tackles the propulsion, he scampers up Sasha--with a quick, "pardon, ma'am," to Jackdaw--and fires up the boiler. Up til this point, he's prioritized a stable platform for her, but if the choice is rocking the boat a little or suddenly being boatless, it's an easy decision.
It's a question of friction, really. The driftwood he bargained for is nailed, screwed, and tied down, variously, and that's basically just different means of holding perpendiculars together. Now, Sasha groans and lays prone on the raft, reaches out all four limbs, and just squeezes the raft together. The cross beams are robust enough, and he chose square enough timbers, that the additional pressure should be enough to let it hold together.
Then the tide recedes, and you realize that, for one reason or another, you're still alive. And you only seem to be missing a little bit of yourself. A memory or two, but you'll be run over before you can tell where the holes are.
Coleman is shaking inside, and doing the mental equivalent of patting your jacket to figure out where your wallet is. Something's missing, and that's the worst thing, is that he doesn't know what it is. There's got to be. Gotta be a way to figure out what she took, right? He can't just go through life not even remembering what he lost, right? He feels seen, and touched, and violated, and he's not even allowed to have enough time to mourn for whatever it is he's lost!
"Coleman! Good on you for not playing dumb pagan games!" she said, walking over. "Honestly, I see so many grad students selling their souls for so much less than they're worth. Like, have you heard of self respect!? Are we going down that way?"
And then there's this asshole.
"No, we're going to go down if we're not across before the Storm gets here. Grab some driftwood and start paddling."
There will be time to mourn later. Right now is the time for practical solutions, and getting a train across a lake.
"Actually. We probably should share them, too. I think. Between ourselves. Unless we give up our memories of each other, I think that's... that'd probably for the best." Seasick smile. "Might be fun?"
Oh, sure. Great idea. Bit late, but good idea.
No, no. That's not fair. You're allowed to be bitter, but you chose this. Don't get angry at teammates just because they have the luxury of deciding what they give up.
They've already done the important part. Everything else is just paperwork for other people to keep up with them.
That's... that's her! Doctor Sylvanius! The King of Mars! She does not look at all like the pictures.
What you're seeing is a little old lady with Doctor Wiley hair and glasses thick enough to stop a bullet with an adorable little golden crown floating above her head, surrounded by a phalanx of golden-plated battle robots that are laying down a hellstorm of fire. She squints up at you with a face full of smiling wrinkles and a voice like chocolate chip cookies. "Oh hello there dearie. Could you please show me to my seat? I do hope I'm not too late."
Who?
No, sorry, he obviously knows who she is. And it's a big deal that she's here in a non-city-crushing capacity--his sister folks! Shogun couldn't stop the war, but a wedding can!--but he's focused on other things right now.
"No, I think you're just in time," he breathes, eyes awash with tears. "This way. They've just said their vows. And would you look at this, the seating chart says you have, oooh, every seat to choose from."
Coleman doesn't know how or when he got between the Flood and Sasha.
Intellectually, there must have been thoughts involved at some point. Neurons must have fired, muscles contracted, to bring him to this point, chest and frills puffed out--fear him, for he is big and scary--mere inches from the Flood's outstretched fingers. But for the life of him, he can't recall having them. He just heard Sasha whining and, well, here he is.
He stares at the goddess's sightless eye sockets, and knows that he is going to die in front of an entire town.
So it's time to double down. Look at how on-purpose and intentional this was, Ms. The Flood. Look at how he matches your lack-of-gaze without flinching. Just stretch out your fingers an inch or two. His chest, his heart is right there for the taking, and just think of the sweet love that you could harvest. His wrench--his father's, his grandfather's, and so on for too many greats to count--is in his hand, loose, confident--
+++
Everything is so big! Stupidly big!
But that's okay! Because he's big too! Big enough to help clean the train for the first time! It's the biggest day in his life!
And yes, he needs help to reach the windows. But Grampa says that just this once, it's okay for him to stand on the benches. And he has to be right, because Gramps has to be the biggest kobold in the world! Why, he must be almost as tall as the train itself!
And Gramps says that if he does a super good job, he'll even get to hold The Wrench!
That's what Saturday afternoons are for, after all, is Gramps and Coleman sitting around a diner car table. He could listen to the stories for hours. There' that engraved story about the first engineer, this signature from the second, this elaborate manual on engine repair picked out in the tiniest font, the one picture that Gramps always faces away from him for some reason (which doesn't really make sense to him, since it just looks like the Nanny in fancy clothing, and what's interesting about that), jokes, advice, crypic wisdom, patterns, swirls, diamonds, the odd jewel...
He cannot fail. Too much is riding on this moment.
+++
And now the wrench is heavy in his hands. Because if there's one thing he can offer--one thing to match the potential new life of a new train--it's history of an elder. A tale of love and life, picked out in scroll and gilt.
It's not as important as Sasha. It's not. It's a hunk of steel, no different from any of the flotsam scattered around this tranquil pond. If he throws it away, it's not like he's losing anything. All the stories are tucked away in his head, after all, he can remember it all. He should just make it easy on himself
And maybe if he tells himself that enough, it'll feel true enough to let his suddenly-iron grip relax.
The Flood is still watching, waiting. Grinning. And that grin--that smug superiority--is what turns fear to anger.
How dare she?
How dare she come in and lay claim to that which is not hers? How dare she force him into this position? How dare she think she has the right to offer him life! To offer him freedom--freedom, of all things--from existence? From suffering?!
The wrench hits the floor of the raft like the gavel of judgement. "I have neither shame nor guilt to give you," he snaps. "And I value suffering too much to exchange it for the soporific stupor of false life. This journey will end either in glory or death, and I'll hang before I let Sasha down! I have a duty!"
Victor massages his throat, coughs, tries to speak, and coughs again. Several failed starts later, he finally manages, "s'not a sex thing."
But, that's not important right now. There are martian kingbots to thwart, a stunning vigilante to subtly perv on in ways that won't tip hands to outsiders watching, and above all, a camera to protect.
What, you didn't think he was going to rely on the stream cameras, did you? Sure, they're probably higher quality, but there's a romantic part of him that wants his own copy of this. Something to look back fondly on with found family and adopted children, perhaps.
So as he joins in the fight, Bode on one side and Prometheus on the other, he mostly gravitates to the tripod in the aisle, adjusting it as needed between blows.
This is fine. This is okay, he can deal with this. This is a solvable problem. He's got nanite arms already, that's like fifteen swiss army knives already. There's a solution here that doesn't involve explaining breathplay to a four-year-old and
And
Feeling kinda lightheaded
Hee! Light headed! Because of the sawblades! That's it! He can cut off his own head! Saw off the neck! Take that, Dominos! Can't choke him out if the neck's gone!
Granted, that means he'll need to get fitted for a new collar, but that's a fun date to have so, all in all, net win!
Oh. And also develop a life-saving method of preserving the spine, carotid, jugular, and windpipe, all in a matter of seconds. Hrm.
Right. Table the sawblade for now.
And really, Prometheus, he thought he taught you better than this. You shouldn't ask two yes-no questions back to back, even if the answer is the same to both.
Fetzen
Phoe
Lurking Krog