Balmas

Breathless Dead

What does she mean, probably nobody will die? Demeter? What?

In the back of her mind, she can't help but feel like she's missed something. Forgotten something. Some little mental gear has shaken loose in the past minute--she can hear it tic-tic-tacking across the floor of her mind, skating to hide itself under a cupboard somewhere.

“Still down here."

Alexa whirls around. 'You're not suppose to be here' dies unspoken in her throat, and now it's Redana's turn to receive the confused stare.

Did you know Redana could do that? She shouldn't be surprised, but it still astonishes.

Something about the image is off, insists her brain. She doesn't know what, can't tell.

But comprehension is swimming around the edges of her minds like a fin around a shipwreck survivor. Any second now, it's going to decide it's had enough of teasing her, and will dart in, mouth agape with razor realizations.

It's not the star at the heart of the image--that's part of it, no doubt.

Comprehension beats its massive tail and goes for the kill.

It's the hair, floating in a halo around the star. She spent months on this planet--endured typhoons, hurricanes, tornadoes. Was sandblasted almost to bare stone. She's seen every weather this planet can torment a body with, seen the effects on miserable troops.

This is new. She sees the leaves floating in reverse, sees the shine on the girl's face.

Alexa would need several things to turn white as a sheet--blood, skin, a complexion not already best described as marble--but she's giving it her best go. The cannon!--

As if to underscore the realization, the ship grumbles as one of the engines burns hotter.

"You’ve got—"

And she's out here, looking for a quickie! Gah! At least Redana only endangered herself for her stupid whims, not an entire planet!

Hot grief pushes her to her knees in front of the goddess. "Mistress of the hunt. This spear was given me of my mother--it has won many battles, slain countless foes. Stop the hermetics from firing their cannon, and I will burn it as a votive at your shrine."

She doesn't dare look away--or, vexingly, to meet the goddess's eyes. She can't bear the thought of the anger there--but worse, surely, would be pity.

Fellowship: The Heart

"Jackdaw!"

Wolf, stay. Give! Drop her! No, let him--dammit, give over--fine! You can help! Fine, yes, he's not strong enough to lift her on his own, so come with him!

Yes, yes, your pod, I remember, we'll deal with it, come on.

Aquarium is further away, yes. But it's also the more likely to have benches, and it's not until Jackdaw's sitting on one, food in hand and wrapped in a fresh blanket, that he stops fussing over her.

"Come on. Take your time, Jackdaw, small bites, that's it. But when you feel up to it, I want a name of the person who did this to you."

Breathless Dead

Alexa had thought it comforting to see the arrowheads and sheaves of hair on the altars of the ship's temple. No matter how unfit her offering, how burnt the food, someone was on top of the fitting appeasements.

Hastily, she withdraws a hand from a shirt--whose, she's not quite sure, she's quite lost track--and offers an apologetic smile. She doesn't want to step away--certainly not now, just when things are getting interesting. But ignoring a goddess is... well, let's be honest, right now it's super tempting. She self consciously brushes herself down, pats her clothes back to some semblance of decency, and bows her head. Short term tempting, yes, but still not a good idea.

"How may we serve the Mistress of the Hunt?"

Breathless Dead

"Ackgh-!"

Oh gods. She can feel the pressure of eyes on her, wondering how the hell a statue is having a coughing fit. Can she blush? She's never blushed before, but she's also never swallowed her own tongue and she's doing a great job of that!

Beautiful!

Objectively, it's true! I mean, modeled after Athena, physical perfection, insult to the goddess to imply anything less but--!

Beautiful!

And the coughing is only pressing them closer together, giving her ample opportunity to feel the sheer solidity of the woman holding her--the iron muscles, the softness of the skin. Mmm.

Beautiful!

Oh gods. Oh fuck, Ramses is looking at her--half-lidded, smirking, seeing what she's done and oooh, how it burns. She tucks her chin, not daring to match her gaze--and damn her, even the little chuckle she makes is cute. Breathe, Alexa! You trained for hours! You know how to blend into the background, become part of the scenery! The Warsage beat and drilled courtly etiquette into you! You should be prepared for this!

But none of that training involved cute girls telling her she's beautiful!

She opens her eyes--and finds Isty there, staring back. Is that fright? Excitement? Is this cowardice, fraternizing with the enemy?

("Fraternizing." Hooboy, wouldn't she just like to.)

Alexa manages a feeble--but very excited--grin, and kind of shrugs. No, this isn't how she wanted the evening to go. But she's open to being persuaded otherwise!

Once she feels she can talk without her tongue immediately swelling and trying to choke her, she turns a timid smile on Ramses. "You know, I do not believe Birmingham said you need to turn us in immediately. Surely, you could spare some time with us alone? We can continue our dance, and perhaps I can show you a new Path?"

(13 on Talk Sense with Wisdom.)

Fellowship: The Heart

Well, the simple answer to that is solemnly resolve that, in the future, he won't burn down any pods of Blemmyae. A butterfly flaps its wings, tornadoes happen elsewhere, problem solved!

Somehow, he doesn't imagine that this particular Blemmyae will be satisfied with that.

The complex-but-easiest answer is to wait for Black Coleman to show his face. Potential problems is that he might not be here, but the odds of that were fairly slim. But even if he were to negotiate with himself, there's no guarantee that this Black Coleman is one who comes before the tribe got wiped out. Spilt milk and all that, though it's a strange term to apply to genocide.

The simple-but-no-no-please-no answer is to delve to the center of the carnival--brave the midway, pay homage on the Jet Coaster, breathe deep the toxic fumes of the elephant ears until they practically glow with festivity... and ask the Ringmaster for help.

Breathless Dead

It's not that Alexa is a bad dancer. Indeed, she's privately very proud of her mastery of several forms, hard-earned through long training for court functions.

But she can also recognize when, like drills, she's just going through the motions.

Which isn't fair to Isty, and there's a part of her that dies at the thought that these mechanical motion will be their first dance together. Can she get a redo, please? Somewhere they can be alone? Somewhere she can convince her that no, this isn't how she normally dances?

She holds them tight and doesn't meet their eyes.

What kind of person is she?

The Pallas Rex, monster of Molech? A relic of a bygone age, chased by titles and battles fought and lost?

A tool? Tool sounds nice. A tool doesn't need to think about how it's used. A tool isn't complicit.

Alexa? A defender?

What kind of person does she want to be? Does she get a say in that?

"I am unsure," she admits. "I am someone who is trying to help those I care for. My captain. My friends. Isty."

She gives them a squeeze, almost more for her own sake than for anybody else's.

"We are probably more alike than you may know. In return, may I ask? What do you gain from capturing us? Advancement? Prestige?"

Breathless Dead

Something so large and so heavy has no damn right moving that fast. When did she close the gap, grab that tentacle? How did that arm wrap round the cloak, pull the Coherent against herself? This is Birmingham messing with time again, right?

Alexa places one hand gently on the Coherent's shoulder and another clamps around her waist. "May I have this dance?"

"I don't--"

"Please." Alexa smiles, one of those smiles with too little warmth and far too many teeth. "I insist."

And they're on the dance floor. This is madness, the little voice in her head is shrieking. There could be any number of tentacles in that cloak--if a dozen are good, surely three dozen are better? And even if there aren't more, all the Coherent has to do is call for help, and they'll all be in the brig.

This is nice, though. And--

And Isty breathing is incredibly distracting. Every time they hit a particularly energetic beat, she huffs out, and it tickles a line of fire across her shoulder. And--don't look down, don't look, you have things to be doing that aren't considering how closely they're pressed together, surely? Aphrodite above, what she wouldn't give to dance like this without the Coherent's tentacles between them. Note to self, sacrifice something valuable when this is done. What does she own that could match this moment in price? Would Vasilia really miss her ship?

She forces herself back to the present, and offers a milder smile to the Coherent. "A pleasure to meet you. I am Alexa. You are?"

[8 on Hold Them Back. Deliberately holding off on end of action to give Coherent time to react.]

Fellowship: The Heart

Coleman yelps, jumps off the paw, and scrambles down Sasha's hatch. There's a part of him wants to give Sasha a way to stoke her own boiler, and it's only horror stories of crews that did that stopping him. Still, as he shoves the feed lever down and jams it open, he's having second thoughts.

"Or, and consider this carefully! You trying to kill my daughter is the reason I kill your whole tribe! And stopping right the fuck now would go a long way to changing my mind about that in the future!"

[If he's willing to listen, that's an 8 on Talk Sense.]

Breathless Dead

Gods, she's so young.

Alexa gently places one hand on Epistia's shoulder and turns her away from the Coherent, away from the image of Vasilia in chains. "There is more to war than attacking and defending. We are fewer than ten, and they number a thousand. If we fight, the brig gains some prisoners and we gain nothing. We can only help the captain later if we retreat and regroup now."

She takes a deep breath, fingers tapping restlessly. How to explain?

"Did..." She frowns. "Do the Ceronians tell the story of how Thriss stole Tharao from Molech?"

Molech was not the type to take prisoners. If he was going to take the time to house and feed you after a battle, it was because you had something he wanted. He might need to pick your brain, or maybe he wanted to give you a chance to finally see the light and join him.

It had taken a full season of skirmishing to take Hippolyta. And now that he had one of the Ceronian generals in hand, he wanted the other. Place the bait in a fort somewhere, let the Ceronians swarm in, and make a quick sweep.

That's what was supposed to happen. It would be simple, easy, and he'd have both birds in hand.

A season later, Tharao still languished in the trap, the bait untaken. And Thriss continued her guerilla opposition, which was entirely unheard of for a Ceronian.

Alexa does her best to skim over the details--Isty doesn't need to hear about all the mud in all the unpleasant places--and she's not the best storyteller. But surely Isty can see the point? By the end, both Tharao and the planet had been taken back, and none of that could have happened if Thriss had simply rushed the fort on day one. Right? You get that? So we need to go, now, while nobody is watching us, and come back once we understand what we are facing.

(5 on Talk Sense)

Breathless Dead

People are bowing. Why is everybody bowing? Should I be bow--

Oh, you cannot be serious. Of course Bella's he--

There are two Bellas. That's certainly A Thing. And for once, she's glad that she's far from her ward. It means Redana's nowhere near here.

She squeezes Epistia's hand and is incredibly grateful that Vasilia is drawing the fire of attention away from her. "We belong here," she murmurs as quietly as she can. "We have done nothing wrong, remember. We are just leaving, quietly, because we have urgent duties elsewhere in the ship. Is that not correct?"