Balmas

Fellowship: The Heart

Coleman digs in a cabinet and tosses a canteen towards Ailee. Right tool for the job is water, not another sandy fist.

"Hate to admit it, but makes sense. Soon as you die, or as soon as someone more powerful rises up, you're back to square one.

"So what's the plan, then? Paint me a picture, Ailee. What's the world look like after you go to the Heart? Is the very concept of monarchy done away with? Killer plan, can 100% get behind that. Or is it an immortal god-king Ailee? Or maybe you want to invest laws with an actual force behind them, to prevent the problems that civil wars present?"

Breathless Dead

She really shouldn't be making faces. She bears the form of the bright-eyed. The bright-eyed does not make faces that translate roughly to "you are not worthy of my focus." Or at least, not in as friendly a way.

Still. At least one person here is sensible, right Bella?

"That depends entirely on how securely that gag remains affixed," Alexa deadpans. "Trust me, I would love nothing more than to return to my post."

It was actually quite a nice job, after all. Nobody coming to steal ships, nothing to fight over, just long nights on the quad staring at nothing. Plenty of time to think.

Although... There's a twinge as she thinks of the tea she'd miss, the faces the Captain would not pull with no drinks served.

"But I trust she informed you of the seal that binds me to her. Any order spoken by her must be followed. And the same allows her to bring me to her side in the twinkle of an eye."

Oh by all the gods, earplugs. She's an idiot. Gags and earplugs, the magic combination.

"As such, until we find a way to remove said seal, I am afraid we must be unlikely comrades."

Breathless Dead

"Are you fucking serious right now?" she does not say.

Except... it's echoing around the room. And with rising bile and horror, she realizes that she's the only other one here. And Mynx is looking at her. And oh fuck, she actually said that out loud, didn't she?

Well, she's dead. Just a matter of waiting until Redana has a large enough jackhammer and a sizable enough group of witnesses. And that's assuming she wants to make it personal, wants to make it last, instead of just, you know, strapping her to an industrial press and hitting the switch. Unless she wants to make it last even longer, and straps her to the prow of the ship just before the jump through the wine-dark depths of Poseidon's realm? Alexa doesn't think Vasilia would allow that, but it's not like there's a real dearth of ships available.

Gods, they're still staring. Alexa grits her teeth. She's dead anyway. Might as well get some things off her chest.

"Look at this! Odoacer and her fleet outside! Jas'o inside, destroying the city!" Although, come to think of it, the thunder of bolt has long been swallowed in the thunder of the storm... "Zeus, doing her level best to destroy this titan and all within it! Ceronians prowling at any second to swallow us in their net! You have been taught history! The like of tyrants who fiddled while their cities burned were to be models of what not to do! And you, you! You, Mistress, are enjoying a"--quite enjoyable-seeming, admittedly--"bit of the old pinch and--"

Something short-circuits in her mind. "And... And. Mistress, what is Bella doing here? Did you not leave her on Tellus when you kidnapped me?"

Dammit. She'd built up a head of steam, and suddenly it had all vanished away like so much hot air. She shakes her head angrily. "Either way. Bella, it is a pleasure to see you and I am sorry you, too, got caught up in our Mistress's schemes. Mynx. It is. I am. Erm. Mynx. No, Mynx. For now, we must find a way to escape the Armada if any of us wish to survive."

Fellowship: The Heart

That, at least, snaps Coleman out of it midway through his fifth pass over the same mirror-finish spot. He considers it in silence, before turning at giving Ailee the same consideration.

"Let me ask you this," he starts slowly, tucking away the cleaning supplies with practiced care. "Is this a philosophical question, or a practical one?"

"If you're asking philosophicaly, wondering whether we should give laws moral weight, the answer's hell no. Laws're only as good as the people enforcin' them. Laws't can't or won't be enforced, don't exist, and rules that are enforced have the same effective weight as law, even if they're not on any books.

"I don't think that's what you're askin' about, though. Think you're asking about the law because you got some other questions in mind. If the laws can't be counted on to protect people you love from people more powerful, what's even the point of 'em? And more importantly, when the time comes for you to overthrow the Duke, will those same laws get in the way of the changes you want to bring around?

"Am I on the right track there?"

Breathless Dead

Alexa sits in front of the jail cell, jaw agape and one hand outstretched towards the grill.

Did he just...?

The chair goes flying and the doorway loses a chunk of wall as she barrels for the hallway. "No, sir, you do not understand!" Rock dents under her fingers as she pounds the wall. Come on, come on, there's gotta be a way to figure out which way he went! An echo, a hollow! She peers hopelessly down the next vent down the hallway. Come on, give her something! A tentacle, a slime trail, something to tell her she's going the right way! "I am not here to offend or maim, but to follow the will of Hera! She bids the titan to move!"

Stone pounds on stone as she gallops down the corridor. She doesn't know where she's going, but she has to do something with all this energy! Has to find him! Has to figure out...

Has to...

Her gallop slows to a pace, slows to a stop, slows to a drop to her knees at the corridor's splitting point. If she doesn't know where he's going, there's no hope of catching up as things are. He can fit through smaller gaps, has a better knowledge of the complex. He could be in the next room, and by the time she busted the door down, he'd be down the vents again.

So, the obvious solution is to ask someone who knows. The bones are smooth, polished from long use, and every soldier has a set of their own. Maybe Hades will help. Maybe he won't. As she shakes the dice, feeling them click and clack against her palm and each other, she desperately hopes it's the former.

Left. It'll have to do.

Fellowship: The Heart

"You'd rather it advanced like a wildfire?"

Coleman burnishes Sasha industriously, but it's immediately obvious that it's purely to have something to do with his hands. There's certainly no thought involved; this is the third time he's buffed that patch and--hold on--wait--yep, fourth time.

"Because that's what you'd get if you decided that rules shouldn't apply to, ugh, exceptional people. People would go around deciding, 'Well, I'm exceptional, so the rules don't apply to me.'"

It shouldn't be possible to pronounce 'exceptional' as if it's something scraped off your boot, but Coleman manages.

"And who decides who's exceptional? Is there a standard test? Anyone scoring above 95% gets to ignore the rules? Is it a matter of being better at magic? Is it about being better at stealing money? Or do you just wake up one day, head full of spirits, and decide 'rules are lame?'"

Coleman's not really looking at the scenery. Oh, he's looking out towards the desert, certainly, but he's focusing several million miles past it.

"Let's follow that thread. You're exceptional! Congrats! The rules don't apply to you anymore! You get to rebuild society in your image! And now you're the king. You decide which rules to make, secure in the knowledge that you'll never have to follow them because, after all, you're exceptional.

"Don't get me wrong. I'm with you on hereditary monarchy. Being in charge shouldn't be a matter of 'my dad was a bigger bastard than yours, so you need to do what I say.' But even if we made sure the leader was the best person for the job, you'd still want a way to hold them accountable. Otherwise, like you said, the exceptional people get to make the rules that say they don't need to follow the rules, and then they're in charge forever. Or at least, until the next exceptional person rises and wages bloody civil war to show how exceptional they are and how they should get to make the rules."

Breathless Dead

Alexa seizes the tentacle and pumps it enthusiastically. "Finally, somebody who understands proper civility! A pleasure, to be sure. I am Alexa, born of the Warsage."

Although, she thinks as she keeps the bright smile fixed on her face, the bars and lack of a proper desk do somewhat detract from the office-ness of this office. And there's very little

"And I, too, hope that you can help me. I am given to understand that you are capable of moving the Eater of Worlds, even in its current state. If it pleases you, I would have your assistance in navigating the paperwork and bureaucracy that no doubt accomplishes such a gargantuan task."

Gah. This is weird. Normally, it would be child's play to find the levers on a petty bureaucrat--pride, envy, the odd murdering of an annoying superordinate--but there are so many levers at play here that it's hard to find one to focus on. And, if she's being honest, the tentacles waving around are--gmfhp. Yes. Distracting. That might be more the issue.

[Alexa's dice strike again: 4 on Speak Softly.
-What do they want, and how could I help them get it?
-What can they tell me about moving the Eater of Worlds?
-What should I be wary of when dealing with them?]

Breathless Dead

Alexa opens her mouth.

Alexa shuts her mouth.

No, that's fine. Totally fine. Unorthodox, but undeniably effective. Totally fine. Not a problem.

I mean, sure, Vasilia ordered that she and Alexa should take the lead. Sure, that means that they'd have had no answer to this phalanx but to find another passageway with fewer guards in it. Sure, that's robbed Galnius of any glory from this fight, and the bulky soldier is glaring daggers. It's fine. Totally fine.

You know what would be even finer? Is helping out.

Still, she can't help but feel that little niggle that something is wrong. These soldiers do not fight as they should. Do not act to preserve themselves, do not show fear. Any general would be thrilled to have soldiers that disciplined, but it feels unnatural.

Fellowship: The Heart

In the train, a kobold sits, staring blankly at a bit of... bit of whatsit. S'hard, he thinks. S'got squiggles on, and he wishes he knew what they mean. It seems important.

S'gotta be, right? He wouldn't just--

The things outside are singing again. Sounds awful. Like drinking a cuppa without

Without what, though? For that matter, what's a cuppa?

Gingerly, he holds the whatsit close, and lets a claw drag across its face. Whatever it is, it's pretty. All shiny. S'got pictures on--and there's a thrill that runs through him. Pictures! He knows what those are!

His seat rumbles, and he almost looks away from the-- the. Whatsitcalled? Something this shiny and with so many pictures feels like it ought to have an important name. He oughtta know what the name is. Something like this is worth remembering.

Breathless Dead

Alexa sits against the wall, almost motionless, and lets the sheep's clever fingers do their work.

Honestly, it's amazing how deft his motions are. She's seen him in the kitchen, preparing meals, and always he makes it seem so simple. His knifework is impeccable, flowing, like an extension of his arm, no matter what technique is called for. It's almost like the universe is mocking her. Put a spear in her hands and tell her to pin it to a target from fifty yards, and she'll split a hair on the bullseye. But give her a knife and an onion, and--well, the less said about that dinner, the better.

It must be nice to be so sure of yourself. So able to focus, to know exactly what you're supposed to be, what role you need to fill. Is it that wrong to wish to trade places? To be soft, to know what to say, to know how to help? To spend all your time making other people happy with food, wise words, and friendship?

She winces as the chisel hits an unexpected snag, and does her best to keep her face turned away from him. He doesn't need to see this. It's not important. It's a function of existence, is repair. Ideally, she'd have been able to pick up the chunks that got chipped off so they could be cemented back in place, but in the mean time, sandpaper and chisel will have to just prepare a rough surface for the bronze and keep more stone from chipping loose.

But of course, they could never swap. She could never force him to take her position. It wouldn't be fair to him.