Balmas

Breathless Dead

It would be nice to just relax into it. Mynx is gone, with nothing to mark her passage but a cryptic message and two darting-deerlike shapes in pursuit. She could simply lie down amidst the flowers, breath deep the spores, and let the vines have their way with her.

And that's exactly the reason she can't. That thought pushes her, staggering, to her feet. She can't stop here. Maybe she'd be fine. Maybe she'd just have a relaxing day to herself with her thoughts. But she's had far too many of those as is, and she has things to do. There are people she cares for, and miracle of miracles, she's one of them.

Aphrodite is a villain, yes. He destroys for love. But thus are all gods, and she loves herself too much to lie down now.

Someone--she doesn't see who--catches her when she staggers out of the fog. She's slow, too slow to chase, but she can at least scrape the moss out of her throat enough to speak and try to make some order out of the chaos of fleeing magi and scattered phalanxes.

Breathless Dead

[Paying the price of losing the Aegis, probably by dropping it in the fall. Overcome: 2,3,2, +2, squeaks by with a 7.]

None of this is right. She's stone and metal. Who uses poison on a machine? Who expects that to work?

Dread creeps across her like the vines. Because it's not poison, is it? You don't poison a machine. You sabotage it. You throw grit in the gears, drain the oil, contaminate the fuel.

Already, she can feel stone cracking. Roots as fine as hairs seek out pinprick imperfections and expand, doing in minutes the erosion of centuries. Moss tickles at her ears, and then the world dulls, muffles as the moss grows down and in. Vines tease around her eyes, and she can't squeeze them shut tight enough.

Her chest isn't tight--it's too full. The stone has nowhere to go, nowhere to expand to, in the face of the invading plants. Already, she can feel the plants spreading in her throat, pressing out, binding the flow of sounds.

[Damaging Sense.]

"Aren't you supposed to be her friend?"

She only has seconds, and she needs hours.

"Redana doesn't want servants! She wants people to like her, she wants friends, and she'd be more destroyed if she found out you were coercing people to be her friends than--"

A knee buckles, and she sags against Mynx, as much holding Mynx down as holding herself up. '--if they left' dies in her throat, choked out by the vines and impact.

[Damaging Grace. 1,2,6, +1, 9 on Talk Sense if Mynx cares to listen]

Breathless Dead

There. Alexa fixes her gaze on the one yellow hood, and stares at it. Don't let her out of your sight, don't give her a chance to melt back into the crowd, keep your eyes locked on her. Move across the catwalk as quickly and quietly as you can, but don't lose her.

What even can she say? "Please stop poisoning people?" "Help me understand?" "I've been a terrible friend and I'm sorry?"

Finally, she's over the hood, takes a step off the catwalk, and drops like a stone.

The floor buckles, and yellow figures scatter around them, but that's not important. What is important is that she's got her, she's hugging her as hard as she can, and--

"Mynx, please, tell me how I can help you."

[Hold Them Back squeaks by with a 5,1,1, +3. 10. Probably gonna spend hold on Talk Sense or Speak softly after Mynx responds]

Breathless Dead

Alexa sits on the catwalk surrounding the cavernous engines, and decides this is probably the best case scenario.

Well, no, of course it isn't.

Best case scenario involves Alexa pulling her head out of her own ass in the days leading up to this. In a perfect world, she could have paid Mynx the attention she obviously needed before she poisoned a dozen people and plunged the ship into chaos. Best case scenario is not "Alexa picks which of a hundred identical yellow hoods holds a disguise."

But if she has to pick Mynx out of a crowd, this is perhaps the best case scenario. Mynx is a perfectionist, but the nature of secret societies is that they are, as it were, secret. Even if Mynx spent time on nothing but infiltrating the ranks of the Hermetics and learning of them, she can't have mastery of every detail. She can't have the perfect mastery she normally would.

More mastery than Alexa, more's the pity. Alexa doesn't know the rankings of the Hermetics, the intricacies of their robes, the secrets.

So instead of trying to interpret, she's only trying to notice the patterns. She follows them, one by one, noting garb, responsibilities. What pattern of robes, who do they talk to, where do they go, what levers do they pull? She's building an index of robes on the fly and not understanding a bit of what it means. But she doesn't have to decode the robes, know who's who--all she has to figure out is which cog is turning just that little bit slow, which one is not fitting in.

[Look Closely: 5,4,6, +1 Sense. [b]12.[/i] Which one is Mynx?]

Breathless Dead

But why is she doing this?!

That's the one question she needs to answer, she's sure of it. Solve that, and everything else falls into place. There has to be a motive, and that motive will dictate who the target is.

If Mynx wants to stop the journey, then Redana's the target. Redana, with her open heart and with her bonds to the crew and with her desire to cross the rift. Kill her, or poison her, and the journey ends.

But we have two ships! They're not both crossing the rift! If Mynx wants off, off is an option! Redana would...

Well, Redana would be a bit hurt, of course. Would do her best to avoid making it a thing. Would let it happen. But hurt nonetheless.

Revenge, then. Bella did a number on her back on Sahar. Mynx is probably the only person who could track where Bella is, but even with a disguise, Bella's probably too paranoid to let anyone close enough for poison. No habits to exploit, too much risk for a good fight. Stir up chaos...

Table that. Call it a maybe. Even if it's Bella Mynx wants, Bella's about as hard to find as Mynx if she doesn't want to be found.

She dismisses Dolce and Vasilia almost out of hand. Either one would be ridiculously simple to eliminate, simply by taking the form of the other and waiting for the opportune moment. No chaos necessary. Hell, chaos would make things harder, if for no other reason than making them look at each other harder.

Maybe chaos itself is the point. Make enough problems, and somebody has to pay attention to her. Acknowledge her. But if that's the point...

She'd even baked cookies. That stings, somehow, almost as much as the murders. They're still in the meeting room--Alexa hasn't been back yet to check whether they've been touched yet.

The list of leaders is dwindling, at this point. Jil of the lanterns? Potential. And it'd fit, if Mynx wanted to start a war, to assassinate both leaders and point each side at the other. Only slight problem is that Jil's not on the ship. Iskarot? Has some of the same issues Bella with being harder to find, but with none of the motive. Ramses? She'd only be a target by association with the Hermetics, it feels. Maybe the Assistant Secretary, to plunge the Tides into chaos?

And finally... Well, she's not so naive as to think she, herself, might not be a target. She's involved in other groups to at least the same degree as Redana. And while her death wouldn't mean the end of the journey

So, then. Call it probably six possible targets. Three more likely than others--herself, Bella, and Redana. Only one actionable out of that list, apart from herself, is Dany.

But... Well, her gut says that Dany isn't in immediate danger. Even if she is the ultimate target, she won't get hit until others have died. And she trusts Dany to take care of herself.

So that just leaves Ramses and Iskarot to find and protect.

Breathless Dead

Alexa's heart drops out of her chest, hits the floor, and starts to dig.

Only two people could have done this. One of them is still on Sahar.

She's not entirely sure whether she wouldn't like it to be the one still on Sahar instead.

"Evocatii," she says, quietly. "I think I've found your soldiers. But we have a new problem."

There is too much to do, and too little time in which to do it.

"I have the dizzying task of finding a consummate shapeshifter, possibly rampant, amongst thousands of people on this ship. If she does not want to be found, I will not find her. Please, calm your people. And spread the word to them, because any one of them could be her. Tell them, 'Mynx, I just want to talk where we talked before.'"

It's dumb. Mynx doesn't want to be found, has no reason to come. But it's the only thing she can think of to draw her out.

Breathless Dead

What happened here?

Not all of this mess is from the fight. Soldiers living large. There's a pile of clothing scattered across the floor, but the hamper's in the other corner, miraculously untouched. Not!Rusty noses aside a shard of shattered plate, one of dozens pilfered from the mess, and none of them clean. Thank the gods there's no blacklights.

She kneels and swipes one finger through a chunk of bowl that still has a remnant of stew in it. No, chowder--thick, creamy. Savory, with--she licks the finger, and grimaces.

"I appreciate that you have spent only a little time with the Captain, so please, understand that he would never poison soup. Or anything, really. He loves food, and especially loves sharing his food with his friends, too much to ever use it as a weapon. It'd be a betrayal to everything food stands for."

He also wouldn't completely overwhelm the delicate cream and crab flavors with that much pepper. Fwah, you can barely taste anything else!

Which doesn't guarantee it's not poisoned. It could even be used to cover the taste of the poison, though it'd be a poor poison that needs pepper to work.

No, what this room reeks of is Artemis. An expert in destruction appeared in the room, spilt no blood, and took no damage. A hunt declared? For what reason? On whom? Why are the Kaeri involved?

Somebody had a Thunderbolt. Who on the ship has a thunderbolt? Vasilia has the pistols. Who else? She would know if anybody else had one, surely? Galnius is brash and cocksure, but not to that degree.

She traces the clawmarks, compares the size and depth with those of her own hand. Traces back the clawmarks to where surely there must have been a launch. Something that big, pushing off against the floor hard enough to shatter oak, must have left a spatter in the blood. A paw? A foot?

God, please don't let this be Mynx. She hasn't seen her since the fight and, if this is Mynx, she won't. But the idea settles in her head and camps there. Mynx, with her poison. Mynx, unmasked amongst a phalanx suddenly realizing someone among them isn't who they should be. A flurry of activity--Mynx stepping along the floor, mid transformation into a lion… But the Thunderbolt. Mynx, having stolen Vasilia's pistols? Why? To what end?

No. It doesn’t make sense. She doesn't want it to make sense. There's no motive, no reason for the fight. It's the kind of twaddle you get in a mystery novel, all red herrings to throw the reader off.

Orders of business. Find Galnius. Find out why the Kaeri were in their chambers. Get more answers from them.

But first, though. Find the first spark. Find the first scattered chair, the first sign of violence. Retrace the steps of the fight, down through the layers of soldier's stink and SP scorch marks.

What happened here?

[Look Closely, 6,3,5, +1. 12. What does the play-by-play of this fight look like?]

Breathless Dead

Alexa pauses mid-stitch, and then, with the deliberation of someone who is suddenly painfully aware of what she is holding, tucks the needle back through the bolt of fabric.

There, see? Now neither of us is armed.

"Evocati Khaesh," she starts, picking her words slowly and carefully, "I have not ordered anyone executed in over two hundred years, and have no desire to break that streak. I am neither the captain of this vessel nor the leader of any group aboard it. I have no ability to order anyone executed, and do not seek that authority.

"Nevertheless. As much as you are bound to obedience in the eyes of Zeus, I am bound to be a good host. If any have harmed those who are under our roof, it reflects poorly on us. As such, I will help to locate and retrieve your soldiers. Who was the last to see Meuven Ra or any of the rest?"

And while we're at it, Hermes' tits, maybe we can find a bell for you to wear.

Breathless Dead

Please, by all she holds dear, let that be the right thing to do.

She's never heard silence so loud before. The only sound is the opening and closing of Lacedo's mouth, until eventually Alexa excuses herself and quietly click-click-clicks out of the room.

Lacedo. Fuck. Please, let her take this the right way, learn the right lesson. She's seen that shellshocked look in friends' eyes before. The last thing she wants is for Lacedo to turn around and turn this hurt into hate, to decide that Alexa is in the wrong and double down on humanity. Alexa certainly knows that there's enough space on this ship to avoid her if Lacedo decides to do it.

Please, let this be okay.

***

It starts, as things do, almost by accident.

The tulips won't bloom, is the thing. She's almost positive she's doing it right, and going down the list once more of things. Soil? Acidic, thanks to the bark. Not too moist, which is hard to get on a ship full of crabs, but she picked her niche nicely. No weeds to steal nutrients, as the dirt under her fingers and half-full bucket can attest. At this point, she's half tempted to assume that Demeter is simply cursing her tulips, which, at this point, isn't completely out of the question, but--

She turns at the noise, and for a second Arth'na freezes in the doorway as if caught doing something wrong.

"... I. Can I-- D'you mind if."

Alexa quietly lifts the bucket, and dumps it onto the compost pile as she waits for the Alced to assemble her thoughts. Heck, she's got no ground to judge there.

Arth'na swallows and blurts out, "I won't touch anything, but, um. Can I watch?"

Alexa smiles, and waves her over. "You won't get anywhere in gardening by not touching. Here, let's go over this together, let's get your hands dirty, and maybe you'll spot something I've missed."

And that's how it is. One or two, at first, popping into the kitchen, or the room she's trying to turn into a sewing room, or asking if she'd show them some of the wrestling moves she's been practicing with the Coherents. And it's not until she starts needing to coordinate room spaces, and moving quarters, that she realizes she's started to hold workshops.

She's not the leader the Fleets need. It hurts, a little bit, to think. There won't be another generation of the Fleets that defeated the Kaeri. She doesn't know the lore, the chants, the dances, cannot be the war leader who will lead them to glory and victory against Ceron. She cannot be the Pallas for the Fleets. But maybe Alexa can help the Alcedi. She can show them what she knows, give them options, simply be herself, be open, and support them as they decide what they want.

And if what some want is to stick around, then, that will be their choice. And when Lacedo wants to talk, Alexa will be there to pick up the pieces.

Breathless Dead

"What is the meaning of human life?"

Alexa paces back and forth as if sitting still would kill her. As if trying to bottle up this energy, this sudden anger, would vibrate her through the floor. She stares at Lacedo, gasping for words, before whirling and stabbing a finger at the window.

"The meaning of human life, Lacedo, is that on every planet out there, there are servitors. Billions upon trillions of servitors, toiling away against the day that their gods will return to them. Mansions full of servitors who toil and spin and cook and plant and make beds that will never see a human head. A planet full of people building more and better Plovers for the day the Armada will take them back! Rusters scavenging, cutting and dying in orbital shipyards to feed supply chains that haven't sailed for centuries! Warrior servitors playing at unending war on a decimated planet because they know nothing else!

"The meaning of human life is that after Zeus struck down humanity for their hubris, humanity didn't learn! They'd reached for the heavens, sought to push others beneath them, and were struck down and then they did it again! They built people! Thinking, breathing, people! People, with feelings and desires and souls! And humanity set them up and told them that they weren't! That they had no more right to those feelings and wants than their toaster, when even the gods will answer the prayers of servitors!

"The meaning of fucking humanity is that in one fell swoop, half the galaxy got plunged into the underworld! Our half! Us! And they still. Don't. Learn! They're a relic from the past, extinct, confined to one planet, irrelevant! They made themselves gods, told us what to be, killed us all, and abandoned us to our own devices, which is probably the greatest kindness they could have offered!"

She can feel the thought driving her along, like a spring that's been wound for a hundred years. It's like grabbing a garter snake, and finding a python in your hands. The thought's been there for years, just waiting for the chance to get out. She can't stop. Doesn't want to stop.

"Your flock scatters to the winds because however you dress it up, they made us to be slaves. And you want them to make more of you, so they can do it all again."