Balmas

Fellowship: The Heart

Well, fuck.

Some thing in the Heart aren't that bad, Gramps had said. Can be reasoned with, bought, avoided.

But not angels. Gramps wasn't one to get bogged down in their metaphysical construction--what was important was that they tangled the tracks, could shrug off the most inventive 'bold's tricks, and couldn't be convinced to leave a train alone. Best thing for it? Throw something else at it, and make a quick exit.

With that in mind, he casts around--there! That support beam that Sasha just plowed through! Honestly, this it's a wonder it hasn't fallen apart yet, and this room's already so on fire, so he's not actually hurting the station by dropping a hundred robots on top of the angel by shooting at it. He's just... hurrying it along, is all.

[Not sure whether this is Overcome or Keep them Busy, but it's a 9 either way.]

Breathless Dead

Alexa is lost and does not know the way out.

Everything is happening too fast. No conversation lasts more than thirty seconds before the augurs declare it doomed, fruitless, bereft of blessings. She manages to keep track of the first five names, at least, but faces start to blur into one another.

The only constant as she's shuffled from one failed candidate to the next are the cheerful faces of the Augurs, the friendly voice of Caval, and Aphrodite stalking behind the Augurs, ticking boxes and flipping signs.

[Damaging Sense to Speak Softly: 6.]

How long does it take to tire out two indefatigable beings? How many faces, how many names, how many beings, until it's all Alexa can do to lean on Caval for support?

"Why?" she breathes, head sagging against Caval's shoulder.

Not even how is this possible, but why? Why is she doing this? Is this revenge? Entertainment? Does she genuinely believe that by appeasing Aphrodite, they may be spared? Is she trying, gods forbid, to help Alexa?

And the world stops.

No, that's not right. It's just the noise--the ever-present, all-consuming noise--has dropped to murmurs, the crowd focusing in on the Augurs.

Oh gods, what's that number say?

Breathless Dead

I've never had a hubris of my own before.

It's a strange thing for her mind to latch onto, no? Such a small detail to focus on, and probably patently incorrect to boot. She, Alexa, had brought down the wrath of a god on an Empire. She, the scion of Molech and Athena, had singlehandedly destroyed an empire spanning the galaxy. She's known for centuries that she was the Warsage's downfall, but she hadn't realized that it had happened so early! Not even in ignoring the rituals, or in performing them wrong, but in believing that Aphrodite didn't--

But so long as she's focusing on that, she can put off thinking who told her to believe that in the firs--

No. Don't. There's not enough time for--just focus on the present, okay? Like the two--no, four? Call it four robots. Two. She can do two. Caval and--shit, what did she say her name was, did she say her name? You should be good at this, you got training specifically in remembering people at court, you useless--

How is a Pisel-class loader even sentient? You don't need to give a crane a big brain--just enough to move to location A, recognize target B, and figure out the best path to move it to location C. You expect her to believe that in two hundred years, she--it?--she had just, just, decided it was going to be something different? Is that even possible? You are what you are, you don't just--

Caval gives her an encouraging shove, and she staggers against the crane's dangling hook. "But I have a girlfriend," she very carefully does not say. A), it's not true. Not yet, at least. B), if it were, that's exactly the thing you should never tell somebody who has a grudge against you.

One wide-stretched eye flits to Caval, and then up, up the crane. They're really serious about this, aren't they?

She takes one hitching, heaving breath, and sits in the hook of the crane like it's a swing, lets it haul her up to eye level. "It is," she hesitantly decides, "a pleasure? To meet you?"

Breathless Dead

"I am beneath the notice of the god of love."

The sentence comes out automatically. The words have been trained, drilled, and practiced, until they can be martialed into formation on command. But there's a quaver there, words which come out just that little bit too quickly. It's less rebuttal and more reassurance.

It's not like she's neglected the rituals at any point, you understand? Aphrodite must be respected as any of the others. She makes the demanded sacrifices, performs the expected rites. But she also understands that it's not a matter of tit for tat, of exchange of worship for romantic conquests. She cannot love or be loved, so why ask for the impossible?

But...

But there's always a but, isn't there? That gnawing pit of uncertainty, churning in her gut. Did she offend Aphrodite in pursuing Minerva?

Even worse, was it because she didn't when it counted?

No, that's... That can't be. Cannot be. It'd be insane. No, that's wrong. Has to be wrong. Can't be right.

If there's any justice in the world, it's not right.

Breathless Dead

Alexa has never had a fair fight before.

There have been curbstomps, yes. Knock-down, drag-out brawls where one side is desperately overmatched, yes. Battles where the chaos of Ares destroys any semblance of order, battles where she desperately wishes the other side could see how thoroughly they're beaten so they'll run so she doesn't have to hurt them.

But never an even, one-on-one duel where both combatants were the same. It's just something that she's never experienced.

Isn't that exciting, Alexa? Shouldn't this make your pulse pound, your heart race? Finally, a chance to prove your skills! A chance to show the might of Molech is superior, even in an even duel!

But it's not. And she's not. Maybe in other circumstances, where nothing is at stake, she could sink into that enjoyment.

Should she be terrified? Finally, a chance to be expunged by someone who knows her, knows her history, knows what she deserves and why? Someone who will stop at nothing to see justice done for her crimes? Shouldn't that send a thrill down her spine?

But it doesn't.

And it'd be lovely to think that it's because of friendship. Because of tea ceremonies, or shared drinks, or a wonderful afternoon with an adorable wolf-girl.

But the truth is, she's wondering. Struck dumb, almost. Staring at the robot in front of her, hearing the ring of divine ceramics against impossible, nonsensical, mass-produced, unyielding steel. Marveling at the perfect movement, the impeccable defense, the divine confidence, the sheer overwhelming threat.

What was the point? The point in the training, the long nights, the early morning, the pain, the deaths? If the touch of Athena could turn a weak skirmisher into this...

"You are amazing," she breathes.

Fellowship: The Heart

At the first scream, Coleman's in Sasha, swinging the hatch shut on the leash, and jamming the fuel feed open. This is against every regulation, against every wise word, against everything he's been taught. You do not give an engine a head of steam unless you know damn well that you've put in the effort to clear the road ahead of it.

Unless.

Unless staying here is 100% guaranteed to be more dangerous than letting the engine run.

One brass-and-steel arm snakes out and grabs the wolf in a fireman's carry, and Sasha bellows a warcry.

Where to? Fuck if he knows. To, right now, is much less important than away.

[Get Away, 2,2,+3: 7. Taking Wolf with.]

Breathless Dead

Alexa stares at the mic like it's the point of a thunderbolt.

No, that's not true. If it were a thunderbolt, she'd at least know what to do. Some guidelines as to whether to dodge, charge, bring up the shield, something other than gawp uselessly at the crowd..

They're waiting, the air tense, electric with yearning potential and the crackling of a thousand eyes laser-focused on her. Hera and Apollo, oh fuck, she can't-- Can't think, can't focus, can't breathe which is fucking stupid because she doesn't need to anyway and--

This isn't what she was made for! Molech didn't teach her anything about public speaking, or performance! She's the help, the background! If she's with Molech, then he will do the speaking! She goes with him everywhere, therefore there's no need for her to talk, ever, especially not in front of a crowd, and especially not in front of a crowd of people who know exactly who she is!

Oh fuck, they hate her, don't they? They know she betrayed them, turned to Nero, is an oathbreaker, kinslayer, traitor--that's why they're all here! That's why such an eclectic group is all gathered here instead of doing their jobs, is because nobody's willing to miss the execution of the millennia!

The first power chord strikes, and Alexa almost collapses with relief. Thank goodness, thank all the gods, of course Redana would be trained for this. Of course she'd be able to address a nightmare crowd, calm them down, deliver a stirring speech that'd have the crowd on their side in no time. Of course Nero would make sure she knew how to do public speaking!

And now that she actually has the mental space to look at the crowd... Her brow wrinkles as her gaze flits from one nonsense to another. This crowd is madness in every sense of the word. Everywhere she looks, robots are choosing seemingly at random what to--who organized this? There's no patterns! Everybody's mingling with each other--there's no formations, no rigid, segregated ranks. There's a phalanx member mingling with skirmishers, trading for a drink from a legionnaire wearing a paper hat. Cheering and fighting mingle with feasts and--Aphrodite, that's an orgy, good heavens. Brass and soldiers mingle like water, flow from group to group, wander the stands--where's the order, the commands, the sitting in place and listening to the presentation? Even with the background of the wailing guitar and the falling nuclear rubble, the cacophony of the crowd is like standing in chest high waves. No two bots are alike, uniformity and regiments discarded in favor of paint, tattoos, engravings, modifications… And while there's no chance in hell that she could ever do the same--can you imagine the offense to Athena at so defacing her image?--there's a part of her yearns for the floral patterns she sees on the tripod distributing popcorn through the crowd.

None of this should be possible. None of these robots were built with imagination, creativity, anything but war and the few neurons needed to power it! How can this be? This art, this splendor, this… this chaos?

Mmm. This solo is going on quite a long time, isn't i--

Alexa catches Redana's eyes, and just like that, she's dumped square back into the ice water of panic. Redana, no. Redana, you can't be serious. Redana, please.

Gods above, help.

Alexa approaches the microphone like it's a coiled viper. Tosses it from hand to hand, tests its heft, its weight. Traces the engraved handle, appreciates the ornate brass scrollwork. Taps the mic, and winces as feedback screeches across the arena.

She shoots another glance at Redana and cringes at the encouraging grin.

Okay, Alexa. First lines on coming home. Power ballad on the sacred axe of Zeus backing. People who know you and outnumber you five thousand to one. Make it good, Alexa.

"We just flew in from orbit, and boy are my arms tired!"

Nailed it.

Breathless Dead

The fuzz of static stops for one blessed moment, and Alexa's head is her own again.

Molech takes his time fastidiously straightening out the cover on the icon. Only once the sheet hangs perfectly flat and even does he deign to look down into the parade ground. "Do you know why it's not enough to be obeyed?"

Alexa does not, cannot answer. Any movement right now kicks up the mud, blood, and oil coating the ground, and the mere exertion of standing takes all the effort she has. Every heaving breath costs energy. She doesn't dare move to correct her flagging spearpoint, lest she overbalance and fall face-first into her guilt.

"I could simply command you. And so long as I hold this icon, you would be helpless to disobey."

Don't look down, Alexa. He's talking to you. Focus on him. He is your father, your emperor, your god. So long as you're focusing on him, you're not looking at the carnage around you. You're not listening to the moans you've caused, not smelling the bitter iron swamping the air. Not looking at the faces you've guarded for the past six months. Worship Molech as if your sanity depends on it.

Molech sneers. "And so could anybody else holding this icon. Anybody could command you to turn against me. That may do for an army, but for you? For the perfect warrior, for the perfect guard? For the Pallas Rex?"

He rests his hand on the cover and Alexa's breath hitches. Don't stop looking at him. Don't you dare look at them. Don't think about the time you've spent with them. Don't you dare put names and families and card games and stories told and history to faces.

Save yourself, you coward.

"I expect you to do better. How many more will you kill before you figure this out, I wonder?"

And the world is static.

***

Alexa's head swims, lost in the light. The world dims, sounds fade, until all that is left is the soft fuzz and the blissful beauty that is the entire world.

And wouldn't it be nice to stay here? Just sit back, let it happen. Let guarding Redana be somebody else's concern. Let somebody else take the reins. No more anxiety, no more worries, no more questions. Just orders and instantanous obedience. Let someone else assume the burden of what those orders mean for everyone else.

Do it, coward. Save yourself.

There was... Something. She had. Didn't she? Something she needed to. Something she wanted to. To. Erm.

But the light! It's so beautiful. Just stare at it. Let it make you comfortable, let it teach and lead you. Isn't that more important than whatever you were thinking abou--

Faces knock at her mind. Aren't they important, too? Precious, even?

Static mounts around her, a growing fog as the icon presses harder against her mind.

She stands, frozen. Then, a weight at her arm drags her attention away from the light.

It's... herself?

No, a reflection. A mirror image, reflected in the glossy surface of the--of her--shield.

Isn't that important, too, her traitor mind insists?

And the static shatters.

And she realizes a number of things in short succession. First, reflections don't usually nod at you before vanishing. You are here, indeed. Second, there are a number of very pressing concerns in the stands around them. Although, third, she has the Aegis again, and what clearer sign of Athena's favor could she ask for?

Fourth, she should be in front of Redana. There is guarding to be done.
(Overcome: 5,4,4+2: 10)

Fellowship: The Heart

The choice is maddening.

On the one claw, he'd be a fool to turn down this opportunity. This station is the definition of bad luck, the personification of every bad thing that could happen to an engine. And what's worse, it's something he can't fix, should not fix, because if he does then all the bad luck stored here could get out and affect every other crew on the lines. Escaping as quickly as possible is the only option.

But what kind of lesson would it teach Sasha if he let her build the head of steam she wants? Let her flee the station, leaving Ailee and Lucien in a lurch? Would she learn the essential calculations of who to save, how many to save, at what point leaving one or two behind to save the rest become acceptable losses? Would she simply become a coward who flees whenever things get rough?

Ultimately, it's the look on Jackdaw's face that gets him to shake his head. Leaving without Ailee's gonna be a hard sell. Lucien maybe slightly less so, but college friends stick together.

"Have you seen any of the others? Our new friend here said there were a number of factions to check with."

Breathless Dead

She's not fast enough, even as she's too fast.

She can't stop. Her legs move under her almost without direction. It's instant, trained and drilled into her at almost an instinctual level, no matter how much her mind screams no, stop, Isty, don't! Her ward is in danger, and she must protect!

And yet--for all the speed, the training, the drills--she's not fast enough. She just barely feels the fingers slip through her grip--

And spends the last precious seconds she has in the ship sprinting harder. She won't stop, not now, not with this much force. But she can push off towards that eye, and maybe, with the new terrain, she'll have a chance of catching Redana.