Balmas

Breathless Dead

Alexa will never admit to this, but there's a part of her that even now--even after the gods have spoken, have rendered judgement, have censured and destroyed--even now, still agrees with Molech. Battles, in a perfect world, should be orderly things. Consider how much simpler things would be if formations moved as directed, if every contingency could be planned for and counteracted, if everything could be paid attention to and noticed and figured out and wasn't being blasted at her from all directions.

It never gets easier. There's never enough time to pay attention to everything, to figure out why or how the ship is here or what's going on and why the Armada's hellbent on turning them to powder because right now, Bella's claws are still tracing an arc of blood through the air and Alexa has to figure out exactly everything she remembers about the cat. Did their paths cross? Did she ever happen to be present when Bella was training? What does she know, how does she move, how does she keep this from turning further into a bloodbath?

The claws are the key, she realizes, halfway through the first step. It's the same principle that was drilled into her over and over again. It doesn't matter what weapon you're using, what matters is keeping out of their weapon's range and keeping them in yours. If she can just get close enough--dodge enough swipes, keep Bella from thinking of her as a threat, don't get any closer to Redana if she values her life, she's not here, Vasilia forgive her but keep attacking her, that's right, she's the one you need to worry abo--Now!

She is painfully aware that, were this not a fight, this might look sweet. Just gals being pals, one big spoon with her arms squeezed as tight as possible around the small spoon. She's even known some people where the white-hot grip around the wrists, the heaving breaths, and the frothing, rabid flecks might not be unusual.

(She misses those days, sometimes.)

Alexa swallows. This is important. Ignore the squirming, ignore the lashing tail, tune out the bombardment of SP on shell. Right now, there's nothing but her and Bella. And so is this conversation. Soft. Quiet. Among... Friends is probably strong. Acquaintances? Closer than complete strangers, anyway.

"I am," she hesitates, "not good at speaking. Not when it's just me, on my own. With my own thoughts. Forgive me."

And don't eviscerate me. That's important too.

"Bella. We are not close. Not close enough for me to give you straight advice, as a friend. I know you have your own reasons for choosing as you did. And I wish I had that.

"I do not have that choice. When"--and the word "Redana" again sticks in her throat, chokes her until she revises--"I am given an order by someone carrying my seal, I cannot disobey. Cannot tell them that forcing me to join them in a suicidal charge against the greatest seat of power in recent memory would be most unkind.

"I cannot even fault you, on being asked to be the second in command of this death march, for refusing. I certainly cannot fault you for being angry that, on refusal to join, you were robbed of that choice. You were betrayed even more thoroughly than I, for while I have never been able to refuse an order, your choice was ignored in favor of abandonment.

"At the same time, there is one of us"--oh thank goodness, that works--"who cannot stop talking of you. Who misses you dearly. Who tells story after story of her best friend. And although you will never hear the words out of her mouth, she misses you. Wishes that you were there with us. She is hurt that you are not there."

Alexa sighs. "I cannot be the one to tell you what is right. I do not know it, and cannot be trusted to tell it. But..." And for once, she smiles. It's a good look. "I have made more friends in that ship in a few months than in all my years with Nero. Who can tell but what you may find there?

"I am going to let go. Please do not hurt us. I would not have you as an enemy."

[Bookkeeping:
7 on Keep Them Busy. Bella will retaliate once time is up.
9 on Speak Softly.
-What can they tell us about how they feel about Redana's betrayal?
-What do they want, and how could we help them get it?
-What were they doing, and what are they going to do next?]

Fellowship: The Heart

"And you sound like somebody who'd rather die of septic shock than ask for help," he retorts mildly. "There's always someone knows better'n you at something. Why wouldn't you go to someone as knows more'n you? You wouldn't tell me how to run my train, and I'm not gonna tell you you're doing your hoodoo wrong. I can understand if you're out in the middle of nowhere and need to do what you can with what you have, but if you got the chance, seein' an expert's just common sense."

He stares at her eating for a few seconds before adding, "Common sense also says sieves don't make the best cups. What, they don't teach you how to use spoons at your fancy college?"

Fellowship: The Heart

Coleman tucks away the canteen with ill humor. Oh, sure, splash it around, Ailee. It's not like we're in a desert. Don't come begging to him later on, asking to open Sasha's little boiler to rob the water sloshing inside.

But, his humor is significantly improved by the addition of food. And the promise of desert! He's not sure where the man's going to pull it from, but then again he'd kind of chuckled when Lucien had initially promised dinner at all.

"Gramps always said you don't fuck with three people in your life," he said, sipping from the bowl. "Your doctor, your lawyer, and anybody preparing your food."

Breathless Dead

"Redana..."

Stop talking about me!

Her voice cuts off like it's been guillotined, and she's left mouthing like a fish. She tries! Oh, believe her, she tries. But the words that are so stridently clear in her head refuse to come out. Redana can make her own decisions, yes! Of course she can! But only when they're decisions that are only Redana's! When she's acting as princess and heir, her decisions affect more than just herself! It's not as simple as 'let Redana decide how she wants to dress' when she's dragging people behind her! Let Redana decide, but let her decide as well! Redana knows what's best for Redana, but shouldn't everybody else get a say if what's best for Redana is not what's best for them?

All of this, she does not say. And she does not say it while leveling a hurt look at her princess. Of course Redana wouldn't allow her to speak, not after Alexa criticized her in front of subordinates. That's normal. That's what she was taught by Molech. Seen and not heard, the perfect idol, the perfect background and unspoken threat for any who dare approach the Warsage.

So why does it sting so more right now?

"Fine, yeah. Alexa, do as Bella says and shut this idiot up and maybe I'll arrange for you to come back with us. I'll be right back, make sure this is resolved by the time I'm back."

Naturally, it's Mynx who breaks the spell and leaves Alexa gaping between the two cats. Can. Can she do that? For a panicked second she imagines it.

It'd be painfully easy, wouldn't it? Vasilia is unorthodox, certainly, and Alexa wouldn't care to bet on just how many tricks she has up her sleeve, but Vasilia isn't expecting it from her. One stone fist to the back of the head. Bam! Instant nap attack. She'd be fine, and they'd be gone before anybody ever came for them.

Galnius would probably even back her play. Could you imagine the glory to be had? One of six to recruit the Ceronians and rescue the Princess? How many legends could that spawn, how many songs and sagas? The Empress would probably grant a hyperpalace for each of them!

Yes, it'd be eminently possible, even easy!

So why does the thought fill her with revulsion? Of thoughts of an empty canteen, with no cat captain gleefully tossing back Sherman's old paint stripper formula? Of calm nights bereft of the old, precious china set and small cabinet of dried leaves? Of calm, peaceful walks around the dockyard with nobody beside her? Of...

She's not going to say "of being a thing," because what else would she be? She's a creation. A designed product. It's her destiny to be what somebody else tells her to be.

And so, when the order comes to step up, to fight on command, she shrinks. She flinches. She takes a step back.

It's not much. But it's clear immediately that if it's fight or flight, she's not fighting.

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."