Balmas

Breathless Dead

Alexa freezes.

Idiot! Don't freeze! Defend!

But there's not a lot she can do in this circumstance. It has the drop on her. No matter how fast she is, the bat's trigger finger is going to be faster.

Get in the way of the shot? Impossible. Can't block a cloud. Don't be in the way if it won't help, moron. Maybe if she had the AEGIS, she could plug the hole but that wouldn't stop it from just reloading and blowing a different hole.

How is it up here in the first place? She thought that model was built for close ground support.

She eyes the pair at the center console. They're the most vulnerable here. Could she bring a shuttle in to ground in an emergency? Probably not.

Vasilia's talking. Follow her lead, and get ready to take the helm.

Fellowship: The Heart

Wolf!

See how carefully the lizard moves?

Never once does the little twerp test the limits of the leash. Very carefully, moving only as far as he's able. Not a threat, see? Not going to hare across the station and drag you along like he did just now. Friend! Ally!

And now he steps between you and your snack. This is not how friends act, lizard. Friends don't rob each other of food!

"No! Not food!" he soothes. "Crew! Needed! Important!"

Breathless Dead

Okay, first off. She does not sulk. Alexa has never sulked, will never sulk, cannot sulk. Sulking is not graceful, beautiful, brave, or strong. She does not sulk.

Now, with that said, there may or may not have been a period where she wandered the surface of Barassidar. And yes, there may have been a certain sulky quality to them. But that's not sulking! She fell from orbit! She was recovering. There's a difference.

Honestly, Alexa doesn't remember much of that day. (She suspects it's probably for the best. She's been to the museum of victories, and it all seems strange, far off, like it happened to another person. Which is weird, because there are other things about the exhibit that have always stuck out as being blatantly wrong and incorrect, like how the exhibit Molech's beard isn't rigidly regimented into carefully groomed plaits.)

She remembers the viewscreen. She remembers the way the expanding cloud of glass framed Nero in a ring of kaleidoscopic reflections. She remembers the fall, the reentry. Remembers watching her hand glow as red as her eyes, remembers wondering whether she'd hit the ground as molten slag.

She doesn't remember the impact. Again, it's probably for the best.

Most of the rest of the subsequent weeks was trying to get back to the palace. Trying to find landmarks that hadn't been destroyed, navigating through a land that was no longer home. There wasn't any point, really--even from here, she could see the moment the Spear went critical. Molech was dead, the war was over.

But the alternative was just lying back to die.

She should have known better, really. Nero couldn't let the palace stand. In the end, the only way she got there was by following the smoke plumes.

Alexa doesn't know whether Nero thought to raid the records storage facilities when she sent the shuttle crews to destroy the palace. And she wasn't going to go off-base looking. But if she's here…

Well. Molech kept obsessive records, right? Citizen papers, citizen transfers, enslavement contracts, every detail in the empire had its paper trail. Nero wouldn't burn that, right? There's gotta be a record in there of where Minerva got sent.

It's not going to be useful. It's been over two centuries. She could be dead, or moved on. But… She has to at least try, right?

"I'm pretty sure the Pallas Rex is dead," she says softly. "And the galaxy is a better place for it."

Breathless Dead

"Are you sure this worked?" she very carefully does not say.

Can you imagine the base ingratitude? She almost took a dip in a caged star. She has an arm after all of that! She should be singing the machine freak's praises!

Not, you know, worrying.

It's just that...

She tries, as hard as she can, to wiggle a finger. Come on, thumb, you can do it. Signs of life, people. Something to show that she actually still has an arm, and not just some clay mumbled over by a priest of Ares.

And he won't let her touch it, either. Every time she reaches for it, it's another metallic slap on the wrist. It's not dry, he says. It has to cure before she'll regain sensation. If Alexa touches it, she'll leave indelible marks. Does she want that? Because if so, by all means, be his guest, see if he helps again.

It can't be a trick, can it? What does Iskarot stand to gain from this?

***

She decides that having sensation in the arm is even worse.

Oh, sure. Having a club arm that she couldn't touch was bad. But having a club arm that she can't touch and which itches as it dries?

Torture. That's what Iskarot gets out of this. He's making a point, she knows. "Make sure this doesn't happen again."

The worst thing is feeling like she can't help. The crew has been very understanding, and have taken up the slack. But it kills her to watch Redana doing temple duties, and Isty drilling with Galnius, and be unable to join in.

Useless. It's the worst feeling.

***

Iskarot, after endless days of monitoring and testing and trials, has finally approved her arm for motion. Provided, of course, that she takes it easy, no strenuous activity, and no sticking arms in the Engine.

Which means, of course, the training ground is littered with broken spears.

Hera and Aphrodite, she's missed this.

Breathless Dead

There's no time to curse the Hermetician's name. If she'd noticed half a second quicker--no! No time!

Turn them so Isty lands on--No. Her stone body would be just as deadly an impact as the gravplates.

Nothing to push off of. The wall is so close, taunting her with the array of pipes and sculptures just out of reach. If she could just reach out and grab--

No. Not an option.

No! That's not true! There's something she can push off of!

There's no time to communicate the plan. Just to tap the hands holding her. Let go, Isty. Alexa's got this. She lets the air spin them around. There's nothing to push off of, nothing to arrest their fall, nothing to get them to the handholds on the wall.

There's enough air to spin them around. And Newton still applies.

Alexa shoves Isty towards the wall. She's smart. Isty'll figure it out, she can catch herself.

She can't get them to the wall. But she can get her there.

[10 on Keep Them Busy]

Breathless Dead

This is not the first time that Zeus's majesty strikes the words from Alexa's mouth.

There's just... so much to it. The sky is never the same twice, and each time it's a new delight to behold, full of crimsons, teals, and every other color, playing in a never-ending cosmic chase. It's enough to make a statue feel very small.

Alexa floats, caught in a swirl of color, and wonders.

She wonders so hard, in fact, that she doesn't see the pounce until it's too late and a cold nose is buried in the small of her back.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Fellowship: The Heart

Sasha whines uneasily and backs away as the water laps at her feet.

That's all Coleman needs to dive away towards the little falling fox body. Sasha knows enough, now, to distrust the wiles of the Flood. (And a wry part of him wishes that he or Jackdaw could learn that lesson.)

The platforms are slippery, soaked in a flood of salty brine. All that's needed is one tug at the right moment to send the wolf sprawling, and enough force forward to keep her from scrambling up while he drags her forward.

"There! Crew!"

[11 on Overcome]

Breathless Dead

"Ackpft!"

Muscles spring and the wolf sails across the room like a tossed doll.

Shit. Shit! Alexa's on her feet in a second and moving. Careless! Stupid!

Epistia is already slowly climbing to her feet by the time Alexa arrives, and the look in Epistia's eyes freezes her cold. Of course she's not allowed to have this. Of course she's ruined her chances before they even began. And of course, Epistia's in good with Redana, and now she's doubly screwed. One word to the wise and she's history.

Epistia dusts herself off, rigorously checking herself for injuries before fixing Alexa with another cool, evaluating stare. Of course. That's her right. What was Alexa thinking, she could have been hurt, could have been--

And Epistia gives a single, slow, deliberate wag of her tail.

Mental gears grind abruptly. She can't-- That's not-- Is that allowed? She can just--

Epistia turns, tail swiishing, and walks slowly towards one of the training blocks. But just before she turns the corner, she turns to meet Alexa's eyes.

It takes a few seconds for the thoughts to process, but Alexa hesitantly smiles. Because she knows what that look means. It means mischief, it speaks of hope, and right now? It says, "well, aren't you gonna come get me?"

Alexa takes a step, and that's all Isty needs to bolt.

"You little brat, get back here!" And for a time, the room is full of nothing but whooping, laughter, and the sounds of two idiots chasing each other.

Breathless Dead

Alexa casts the spear aside without a second thought.

Molech didn't want her to learn wrestling, did you know that? It's not proper. It's not the way he taught her to fight. It's not intimidating, it's not glorious, it's not beautiful. More importantly, it's not lethal--you see a threat to the throne, you put it down then and there, and let the drips off the spearhead inform the rest of that meeting. Wrestling is a peon's game, Alexa, and not fit for she who is created of War.

There's a pang that Isty didn't throw herself into this of her own volition. Then again, it's not like Alexa invited her here for wrestling, right?

Right. Right.

She throws herself into the blows, two arms covering her head and the other two vice-gripping themselves around Isty's waist in a steamroller bullrush. It's awkward, and the blows rain down in the approach, but that's the goal--let her vent her fury, her frustration, in a way that won't get either of them hurt.

She's wondered, before, how to make Ares happy. It cannot be enjoyable to be trapped inside your own head, even if your own head is temporarily somebody else's. Does he destroy because he enjoys it? Because chaos is what he is? Or is there another reason?

The slam against the steel box knocks the breath out of both of them, but more importantly it knocks the butt of the spear from Isty's grasp. Alexa kicks it away before the Ceronian can grab it again, and devotes two of her arms to controlling the other end. At this range, neither can bring it to bear effectively, but that doesn't keep Isty from trying.

She would never call it a tantrum out loud. Calling it anything out loud is a good way to attract undue attention. Besides, tantrum doesn't really fit, does it? To call Ares' destruction a tantrum is like calling the core of the ship a bit hot, but more than that, "Tantrum" arrogantly declares that the issue is childish, unimportant. "Protest" might be a better fit.

Alexa spots her chance, and brings her forehead down in a sledgehammer headbutt. It's not enough to hurt either of them, really--they're both built for war--but the disorientation grants her precious seconds. She flips the princess against the wall, wraps her in a headlock, brings her legs up to lock them around Isty's thighs, and lets gravity pull them backwards.

And now, it's just a matter of riding it out. Let Isty scream, let her howl, let her reach backwards and claw at whatever she can reach. Alexa is tough. She can take it. She can endure. She can protect until the fury is spent, until the chaos is tired, and Ares allows his chosen a brief peace.

She doesn't even realize she's buried her face in Isty's hair or started murmuring until a bit of hair slips into her mouth. She pauses, but decides to keep up the steady stream of--not quite whispering or even talking, but a constant murmur of sound. Just letting her know that when she comes back, Alexa will be there.

Fellowship: The Heart

Coleman considers, briefly, saying something along the lines of "Seven, but we can get by with four." But it's not a good idea to start a lie to a stranger that's so easily disproven by just looking at the New Arrivals board.

And that's a long list of possible threats. He frowns, and taps his chin in thought. Bonecrackers are an unknown, and therefore something to tackle once he's gathered his crew. Ditto the angel, with a side of "not fucking with that." Of the remaining three...

"How quickly can you guide us to the rats?"