Balmas

Breathless Dead

Abandon the Firetree?!

It's…

Is it weird that she doesn't want to abandon the ship?

It's not that it's become home in a startlingly short amount of time, really. Not the friendships that she dares to think are maybe real, and not foxgirl machinations to manipulate her.

It's….

It's an imperial class.

Look, you probably don't get that, not if you haven't read all the books she has, but. Imperial era warships don't need the slipgates, right? They can go anywhere they want, anywhere they please, with naught but ritual to guide them and--

They're families, right? A crew, all united and pulling together. Shanties, echoing down the hall. Smiling faces, passed and waved at and embraced when the time is right. An Imperial ship is the face of freedom.

Well, not always. Occasionally it's the face of the abrupt surprise villain, but mostly, right? Mostly the face of spunky young heroes exploring the cosmos in an episodic go-anywhere strike-anywhere ship.

But after too long spent thinking, it's the only thing she can think of. A ship can be replaced, right?

Potentially, for someone else, because where else is she going to sign onto one of these, but the ship itself is available somewhere else.

And the Pix aren't.

Unless she succeeds, in which case she'll have unleashed a horde of backstabbing foxgirls on the galaxy, which seems like it should take mental pride of place, but that's not what we're doing right now. Right now, we're trying to convince the Pix that they could more efficiently bamboozle folks by showing up one at a time, right?

Which is also happening one at a time, mostly. Trust is a rare coin among the pix--did you know in their language it translates to someone you haven't stabbed today?--and so she's not sure which of her friends is actually a friend, and which views her as an easy mark, and which thinks they can manipulate her into acting on their behalf.

(Which, come on, all you have to do is ask, she is not exactly a closed book here. Get her excited about something and that's your in, you've got what you're implying already.)

But one at a time, a few at a time, she's doing all she can to make them realize that the ship is really an impediment. If you blow a hole in someone's atmosphere every time, rain fire down on a mountain, people come to expect you, right? You can't con them in that kind of environment.

Hell, is it actually a con at all? You're just demanding something under the threat of violence, like a brigand.

See, and here's the thing, if you go in one at a time, you can ingratiate yourself into the population, right? They don't know to expect the Pix, economic superstars and quasi-ceronians. Hell, they might actually see you as actual Ceronians, if it's been long enough since the last raid.

And talk about coverage! Right now, you're pretty much limited to one ship, right? Can only affect one planet at a time, can only rob one planet at a time. Think what you could achieve if you split off, twos and threes, and held up small settlements! You're still basically Ceronians, you can still band together and take over planets, the power is in you, not your ship!

Avoid the biomancers. Avoid the captain. Steal badges as needed and as possible to get away with.

She's hoping. She's hoping like hell that she can appeal to that base instinct, that base need to get away with it, to hoodwink someone, enough that they'll give up the power to just blow someone out of the sky, which is much less satisfying for everyone involved.

And maybe that will be enough.

Breathless Dead

The spy theme hum dies in Dyssia's lips.

No, that.

That isn't right.

That can't be right.

This isn't right!

She's digging now, scattering papers to the wind, subtlety and spy shit forgotten in her desperation to find. To find something, anything, to show she's--

All of them? Just.

Well, no, clearly not all of them. In the biomancers' minds, that's the problem, innit, is that some of the Pix aren't doing their job, even though they've also decided that their job doesn't need to exist.

All of them? In cold blood? Wiped out, in one three-day purge, all because they don't have a purpose? For not fitting in?

She'd felt comfortable. Like it was cozy, knowing that somewhere, out there, there was somebody making sure that things went right, that were taking care of things, making sure everything happened smoothly. That there was someone with a plan and a handle on things.

Because she was always going to be part of that plan.

Like she'd been part of the plan for Merilt?

Inconvenient, but an Azura. Unable to simply be disposed of en masse simply for not fulfilling a purpose. Sacrificed in the most optimal way.

They kidnapped her, for cryin' out loud. All she has to do to get her life back is wait, and--

And go back to her old life, knowing that she'll never be challenged, and never have to fight, and can return to her workshop, and not striving, and--

And let them die. And not do anything to help them, when she has a chance to help, when she might be the only one who can help, when all the help the biomancers offer is increasingly incredulous attempts at finding a niche for the Pix because they can't see that they don't need a niche, can't see that not having a niche isn't a justification for genocide.

It's okay, she can--

Talking to Tidal isn't an option, though? Tidal's great, hot, fun, but she also doesn't listen? She knows what she knows, and what she knows is that biomancy is the greatest tool in allowing people to be happy maintaining empire? She'll get that look she always gets, and reassure Dyssia that things may not make sense right now, but in time she'll understand, and it's all for the good of everyone, and the empire is happy, and the people are happy, and--

How many drones can she request? Enough to make a difference? Not ten thousand, not for an Apprentice, even an Azura one.

What can she even modify them with?

Virus the lot of them, so they die in minutes instead of days? That just delays the project for however long it takes to whip up another ten thousand. Gives the Pix an extra few days. Maybe gets the Pix declared rogue, because who else could have the motivation to protect them? And if she gets caught, now she's being watched, now she's being protected--for her own good, of course, the poor dear is confused, doesn't understand what needs to happen--

And don't think it hasn't slipped her notice that her first thought in response to a genocide was to treat a bunch of--well, not people, but living things as disposable objects, as tools to be tweaked to purpose.

Aaaaaugh.

Unleash the drones on the biomancers. No. Pix fight to protect their biomancers, she's just attacked the ship.

How quickly can she whip up a protective instinct? In theory, it's established research, all the tools exist for it. But again, unless she can infect at least five thousand of the ten thousand, it's only a delay. And again, a three day delay at best.

So, develop a new fighting species in days, find a way to keep the drones alive, somehow apply it to all then thousand drones, and effectively hold the ship hostage with her new combat species which will outdo a group of three-quarter Ceronians? While not also running afoul of Zeus for creating people, who will now be fully people, and as such, their own.

She's not ready to be a mom.

She could turn the Pix into the best servitors? Find their best niche? But the thought sits in her throat like half-returned vomit, burning, acrid. It accepts the Biomancer's position, works within it, acknowledges that the best she can hope for is to prevent biomancers from biomancing near things she cares about.

Which is, itself, a startling realization.

She gathers the notes as best as she can, and puts them neatly back in their folders. Semi neatly. As best as she can remember, which admittedly is not very. Anything to buy time, prevent people from noticing what she knows.

She doesn't know how much time she has. Or rather, she knows how much time she has, and it's Not Much. But despite all logic, despite all sense, she is going to save her captors from themselves.

Somehow.

Breathless Dead

It takes Dyssia a week to realize that she's looking at this through the wrong lens.

Up to this point, it's been a standard adventure, right? The idyllic present, the inciting incident, the refusal of the call, the aged mentor--which isn't being fair to Tidal, really--but she thought this was all going to be a big space adventure.

No. Oohoho, no.

See, this is a spy thriller.

Granted, one where there's not an immediate love interest? Normally, there'd have been a femme fatale type, possibly an opposite number in the villain's ranks, to be a foil to the heroine. And Tidal could fill that role, maybe, if she weren't already being a mentor?

And one that's almost surprisingly mundane? Normally, finding out that one of your most trusted confidantes was an agent for a third party would be a stunning third act twist. Although, since it's this close to the inciting incident, it might also be considered to be setting the stage, determining the rules by which the world operates.

Everyone knows about this? Does everyone know this? It's never quite clear what's common knowledge and what isn't, and the thing about being common knowledge is that nobody tells you it is until you reveal that you don't know it, somehow.

Why do they have so many drones, though?

Probably, she should just ask Tidal. Everyone here seems so willing to bend over backwards to help her. Which is weird, but also somehow reassuring? Even if she doesn't know what the plan is entirely, there is someone out there who does, and who has good ideas.

But also… What if it just is common knowledge? It'd be awful to see the momentary hitch in their gaze, the brief retabulation of how capable she is, the readjustment of where to start?

Because they can't be military, right? The Pix already have a stronger fighting force in, would you believe it, the Pix.

But military is all they seem to be good for, too? Fight, kill, die.

Can't be civilian, she doesn't think. Or rather, there are so many better options for virtually every civilian use. You want the accumulation of skills that comes with life, a soul, a brain.

Fuck, they're creepy.

They could be, she supposes, a form of chaff. Throw them out into a battle, clog the field with them while your actual troops are occupied with something else.

More and more, she believes their true purpose is simply to accustom Apprentices to treating living beings as disposable, as programmable.

(She hasn't gone so far as to give them a brain or a digestive system. That seems like the next logical step, but it's a hell of a step to go from various effective combat augments to creating life. That seems a good way to get in trouble.)

But she still doesn't know, and she still can't ask. And she is on a Pix vessel, center of backstabbing and betrayal.

Which is why she's sneaking into Tidal's quarters. There's gotta be something there, some note, some textbook she can barrow. All she has to do is find it, and figure it out, and hey, here's a chance to scope out where she might keep her badge.

Breathless Dead

H'okay, lot to unpack there.

So, no skill transference. About what she expected, but still good to confirm. Which means that at any point, anybody has to be able to do all jobs. Or, no, wait, everyone has to. Everyone has to know how to do the jobs, including their own, and below in the chain, because logically, if someone is taking your badge, it's probably someone below you, which means there's now a gap for you to fit into if you can steal their badge from them in return.

Fuck, they really did a number on that mountain, too. She liked that mountain. The Azura would never built or move or arrange an imperfect mountain, but they occasionally might make an oversight, right? And so there's a tiny spot on the west end of the mountain, got a perfect little grove with, if you can imagine it, no line of sight for a crystal dragon to see the giant space mirrors? Shady, cool, has a nice little stream running down the center of--

Had. Had a stream. Probably has some glassy pebbles, now.

What jobs does she actually know how to do? She could probably maid inoffensively? It's a good job, but not one she really envisions for herself for the rest of her life?

(Ignore, for the sake of this argument, the coughs and fits of an imagined Brightberry, stalking from one pile of debris to the other and gesturing emphatically. She likes the state of chaos. It means she knows where everything is, thanks much.)

But that's kind of the point, isn't it, is that this isn't a permanent position? Learn enough to do well in a job, and then figure out who's next in the line, how to do their job, and how to steal their badge.

Unless… If they're not doing their job, their badge will be stripped by their superior. Who superiors for the captain? It's basically inconceivable that she could get in on that, because the captain is the one who's got the most to lose, the most protections in place, the most qualified to rule or at least the one most capable of maintaining their rule. A useful thought to keep in mind, but even then it doesn't guarantee that the captain themself does not have a superior. Hrm.

Gee, that ship is getting close. She should probably be trying to escape, shouldn't she?

But also…

"I'll admit that biomancy is one of my blind spots," she says, more to the ocean than to Tidal, talking aloud. "It's one of those things where, like. If you're mastering sculpting, you might make a thousand vases, right? Or bake a hundred loaves, or forge a hundred swords, or give a thousand speeches, all in search of that perfect one, right?

"But when your product is alive, it feels…"

And…

Well.

If, hypothetically, you don't get to that point, right?

If your house, for instance, is full of the discarded refuse work of past projects. Clay pots that have been left unattended until the clay goes hard and dry. Figurines, glued together, but sitting in front of jars of paint accidentally left open, crusting over with sludge. Architectural mockups, half-detailed, miniscule blades of grass glued across half the lawn before moving on to a different project and probably accidentally sat on..

They're not abandoned, right? She's put them down for now, let that field lay fallow. The clay can be rewetted, new paint can be acquired, the building can be rebuilt.

But if you do that to something alive, then you can't just shrug that off. Someone has to live with what you've done besides your longsuffering dragon bestie.

And yet.
And yet, already, she can feel the questions welling up. What does she need? What does she know? How long did it take you to learn? How long did it take you to craft that persona? Hypothetically, if someone had a birthmark, how hard would it be to tell you'd done something grossly illegal? What were you before you were Tidal Specialization? Who were you?

And perhaps more importantly, who will you be once I take your badge?

She shivers, staring at Tidal like an awl at a particularly tempting bit of leather.

"It's something I want to learn, if you're willing to take me as a student."

Breathless Dead

On the one hand, oh no. She can already imagine what awaits her if even maids have badges. She's gonna have to work her way up to a maid outfit?

Unless maids are something different on this ship? Ooooh, maybe they have assassin maids. Tasteful dresses, hiding steel stilettos. Steelettos.

Mmmf, she's already getting squirmy, and it's not just tentacles getting familiar.

On the other hand, should she be feeling bad about her servitors getting kidnapped with her? It's not her doing, she's not responsible, she's not the one airlifting a house into the ship, she didn't volunteer for any of this, they didn't ask for this, but.

Honestly, it's more that she's guilty for not feeling more guilty? Like, she also didn't ask for this. It's not her doing and she's not responsible for them kidnapping her either, but it's also super reassuring to know that she's not going to be kidnapped alone? She'll have at least twelve other people also wrestling for badges. They can form a badge kidnapping coalition, steal each others' badges, bully the ones who don't have any yet…

Oh, this is a good thing. This is a game. And games have rules.

Rules are good. She likes rules. Honestly, she doesn't understand why other people don't like rules as much as she does? They say they do, but then they contradict themselves the entire time, act like they didn't tell her one rule when yes you did say that rule, you can't just decide the rules are different or act like she didn't understand them correctly. Maybe you just should say exactly what the rules are, and then we can all record it, and look back at it, and you'll see exactly what you said the rule was, and how she is so following the rules, and so there!

Rules are nice. They delineate the world so neatly into what to do when, if you can just figure them out.

But more importantly, rules mean that Dyssia can win.

"So, in the assumption that backstabbing will happen at some point, you've organized your society so the roles will continue, even if the person doing them is different. I wonder, does the badge confer the abilities? Some kind of scent-based prompting? That'd make things so much easier, makes so much more sense than training for a lifetime for one skill."

She's talking more at Tidal than to, narrating a train of though.

"Any means. Is there a system in place to keep them from immediately taking it back if you use violence, beyond the obvious of them already having beaten you? Do you declare immediately what you are, or do you just know by scent? Scent would make theft harder, if only because it means that the person you're pickpocketing can tell when the scent leaves them. Is there a grace period, a time of no-take-backsies? When I become captain, what orders can I give?"

Ooooh. Oh, there are so many thoughts.

"You're excluded from this, though," she says, as if it's the most obvious thing. Which it is? "You're the one running the experiment, after all. If it takes six weeks to rejigger someone into a different role, you can't have the biomancer in charge needing to constantly swap between whoever has the badge.

"I wonder if you're allowed to partake, though. Must be plenty of outlaws for you to hunt and punish, but it wouldn't be fair if they couldn't take your badge, too. Must get tempting."

Breathless Dead

Oh.

That… works? She hadn't expected it to work, honestly. Like, if you're going to memorize a disclaimer about how friendship is not available for six to eight weeks, depending on cloning time--to the point that you can recite it on demand, underwater, while tying up your victim--you'd think you'd be less flexible than "Yeah, sure."

Not that she's complaining! It's. Well, it's honestly a relief! She's still trapped in a situation that's spiraled laughably quickly out of her control, soon to be in one where she's entirely removed from any resources she has now, which, to add up, sum total negative one clothes, negative two veils, negative twelve servitors, but positive one crystal dragon best friend..

Neutral? Has not gained, but also has not lost. Positive, definitely positive. Positive by virtue of the sucking gape that negative would be.

"Oh hey, d'you mind if we stop by my place before we leave the planet? Need to pick up some things before I leave."

Gotta say it before the thought goes away. It'd suck majorly to remember as you're leaving the planet the one--okay, several dozen--things you want to take with you, which somehow you do not think to pack when you're leaving to visit a friend who shares cat pictures with you a lifetime ago.

Is that what the other Azura use their flocks of gear-carrying servitors for? Just to make sure that you have your couch on the off-chance you need to flee the planet with your entire house under your arms? That's smarter than she'd given them credit for--mostly she'd just seen them carrying art supplies or files or massive blocks of marble.

God, she almost went to the spaceport without her couch. Buck naked too, but focus on the important things, like, you know, keeping your captor sweet.

"Never had the privilege, honestly. Or a Ceronian vessel, which I gather are kind of similar? Or is that a bad assumption to make? You're scaled down from them, right? But is the culture different? Do you have a shogun of your own? Does that get you in trouble with the Shogun-Shogun? What kind of mercenary work have you done? What makes you unique relative to other ship cultures?"

Keep them occupied, too. People love talking about themselves, right?

Breathless Dead

Dyssia opens her mouth.

Dyssia closes her mouth.

It hadn't quite hit her yet--here, in this place of life, surrounded by electrifying thrills and threats, here in the enfolding tentacles of this mirage in front of her--but she's going to be alone. Just her and the Pix and, you know, whatever they decide they want to do to her, or have her do for them, or.

Just her, surrounded by people who.

Well, it's not fair to say that they don't care about her. She hopes, anyway. They care very much about her, and about what she does, and what she can do for them. It's in their best interest to keep her happy.

But it feels.

Well, you know, in the stories, the hero always has a sidekick, right? Or a friend, or a lover, or a nemesis that is actually a lover but neither of them have figured it out yet? And sometimes the story needs them to be apart--the sidekick has to be kidnapped so the heroine can kidnap her back, and confess that she's always meant the world to her, and hey since we have all this rope from climbing the wall, maybe we could.

Ehm.

Anyway, the point is, the point is that being alone always leads to being together. You ache while they're apart, you worry about them, but you know the payoff is coming. The sidekick will rescue the heroine, the lovers will confess, the nemesis will be redeemed.

And. Well, she has Brightberry, and that's good. There's days when that's all she wants, when things aren't making sense and all she wants is to crawl in bed so tomorrow comes faster.

D'you think they'd let her take her couch if she asks nicely? That seems important, right this moment. Take her family, her friends, her city, her planet, but don't take her couch, too.

But sometimes the storyteller pulls back the curtain, right? Gives you glimpses of, whoops, the friend is actually a plant of the evil Baroness Meerline, and you can almost see the calculating happening in the corner of their eyes? Seeing how the manipulation happens, and wondering why people don't see it, and lowkey screaming internally because are you blind, can't you see that if you go with her, your friends will be left alone, and--

And she's about to be surrounded by. Well, by people who are going into this knowing the score. Knowing that she's the pawn that they have to crack, which is a terrible metaphor. She's going to be surrounded by Pix who want her to trust them, want her to work for them, want to be her friends.

And she doesn't know that she doesn't want them to be her friends? Which sucks massively, because it doesn't make any damned sense? She wants to be able to trust them? But also if she picks any one of them at random, the biomancer is--

What a shitshow. How do you biomancer in a way that doesn't lead to the biomancer immediately biomancing to keep you happy?

So, can't trust them to make a friend. Can't choose one on her own to make a friend, because then the biomancer gets involved to make the friendship happen perfectly.

And she can't even keep the dismay off her face, can't keep it from crumpling, can't keep the hood from half-flaring. Even a blind biomancer--a blind biomancer who is also deaf and dead--could see this.

"How long would it take to happen naturally? Not to have a friend assigned, or cloned, or created, or edited, but. You know, to let me muddle into it without interference? If I ask for that, is that an option?"

Breathless Dead

You know, people don't notice things nearly enough?

It's weird, right? Doesn't make sense. People just say things, as if everyone's a prince, too busy thinking about what they're going to say next to pay attention.

Dyssia knows she's weird, right? People won't let her forget it. But surely everyone else is weird for not paying attention?

Do other people just… not care? Not notice? Not pay attention to the emotional state of everyone around themselves? Are they not constantly trying to figure out what other people are thinking, are feeling, so they can fit themselves in better?

And you know, she used to wish that everyone would do the same? Like, paying attention, she means. Pick up on all the cues that are right there if you just [/i] look. And they just don't?

It's to the point that someone talking to her and--and, you know, actually paying attention, actually watching her, actually listening--almost feels like it's accusatory? Like she's done something wrong, and every nerve is singing, and--

And oh shit, it's.

Go back. Go back to not paying attention to her, please go back!

It's like suddenly the universe has a physical pressure. Eyes stare at her from every direction, invisible, but totally present by the force of attention they exert. A great sucking pull, the weight of every creature in the environment hanging off her next words.

He's here.

He's here and he's watching. Here and waiting, waiting for those words to spill from her lips.

Tidal Specialization was way too quick to accept that. Way too eager to get her to promise.

Until she betrays me. Tidal has that pressure in her eyes, that built-in species-level urge. It's inevitable, right? She can't not betray her. Unless she does? Unless she just chooses to leave? Recuses herself? Can't. Gotta be a trap. Can't trust a scorpion to sting you if stinging you is. Um. Not? Stinging you?

Reexamine. Other terms? Until she's.

Until she's delivered to another pix. Seems like a good way to end up in solitary?

Until they're off planet? Does she know they're leaving? If she says that, will that mean they just. Just won't leave? She wouldn't leave if all she had to do was break one person to claim a planet.

The tentacles are squeezing her too hard. They must be, because it's hard to breathe right now.

"Not particularly, I don't think," she babbles. "I mean, not that it's not striking, because I mean, wow, what a coincidence, did your parents name you that and then you went into it? C'mon, you gotta have a name of your own, I can't call you by your job. We can be friends, right, no need for"--potentially life ending, holy shit--"promises like that, right?"

Breathless Dead

"Oh my gosh, you know about crabs."

She's tugging at the tentacles, but not--Look, it's not an escape attempt, right? It's just hard to properly talk about something like crabs without the proper wild gesticulations.

"I know about crabs!

"Did you know they're on literally every planet we've ever conquered?! Every single one! Planets that are barren, lifeless, just rocks and bacteria, have crabs!

"Oh I'm silly, you know that. There are some planets where we--it's like, we've never even seen them, but we know they're there because--well, admittedly, some survivors have seen them, but that's just anecdotal, and I hear most of them were gibbering--we know they're there because of the evidence it leaves on the crabs' natural prey! If there weren't crabs there, the submarines would see far more animals down there!"

She beams at the Pix.

"Oh, you have to tell me your favorite. Please? I've read books, but my favorite is--get this--a crab the size of a planet. One of the sailors told me about it, can you imagine it? A crab so big, it has sub-crabs inside it, so big it can eat starships! It hasn't been seen in centuries, but the sailors say it's still out there!

"…Hmm. Now that I think about it, she might have been pulling my leg? She seemed serious, didn't have that little tell around her eyes that said she was joking. Or maybe trying to scare me?

"But come on! A crab the size of a planet? How do you get scared of that? I wanna see it! I wanna fly inside it, crawl on its back!"

Dyssia is grinning and wiggling against the Pix. There are benefits to tentacles, you know? Yeah, you can't escape them, but you have an excuse for getting nice and close to them, and pressing your face against them, and really getting familiar.

"Have you been working with crabs long? Have you made any improvements on crabs? I mean, they're crabs, I'm surprised you've taken the time out of your busy schedule for Azura matters, you know? Is Tidal Specialization your name or your job? C'mon, I gotta know the name of my partner in crime slash new best bud slash kidnapper!

"And the answer is yes! Although you can't really know whether that's the truth or not, because I'd say yes even if I were secretly thinking no, you know? If I wanted to escape, the easiest way to do that would be to trick you into letting me out, right?

"So, how about this: I will promise on whomever you choose not to attempt to escape until after you betray me. Does that work?"

Breathless Dead

She's the most beautiful person Dyssia has ever seen.

Which is saying something, when you consider that Dyssia grew up with Merilt, and if you look up "sex goddess" in the dictionary, you'd find a picture of Merilt there!

Well… no, no you wouldn't. Making a dictionary, writing up sex goddess, and putting a picture of anyone but Aphrodite--or maybe Demeter, depending on your definitions--is a good way to end up with a bunch of slag that used to be a factory.

But you get the picture, right? Merilt's the kind of hot that lets you walk into a room and instantly quiet every conversation. The kind that has options. The kind that doesn't have to settle for--

Look, it wasn't a crush, right? Dyssia explicitly did not want it to affect her relationship with Merilt. She was lucky enough that Merilt chose her, out of all people, to be best friends with.

Because let's face it, Dyssia is. Well, yes, attractive. She looks in a mirror and thinks, "Yeah, I'd do me." But in an unconventional way. Attractive, but. Not in a way that would let you go on the street and know that every eye is on you. Not in a way that gives you that easy walk, that confident gaze. Not in the way that would let you walk up to your best friend and ask whether they'd like to be more.

She's her best friend.

Was. Was, she needs to remind herself. Past tense.

It made so much sense, though. Yeah, you might end up in a fulfilling relationship that goes places and ends with both of you sharing a life of adventure. Ooooor, you might alienate one of the only true friends you have--again--and end up in a gutter.

Or, you know, you could spend years pining? Pining is probably the wrong word. Being happy with what you have, telling yourself not to ruin it. Being scared to ask that first question, hoping against hope that maybe, maybe she feels the same way? Only to be stabbed in the back anyway?

Did… Did Merilt know? She always told herself that no, there's no way she could have.

But right now, she's questioning a whole lot of her past assumptions. She can't have known. She had to have known. There was always that teasing look when she smiled. And, so you know, Merilt has a great smile. Dyssia could look at the smile for hours, and god help her if Merilt laughed. Just, plain up girl-melting laugh.

Or, you know, it was. Back before. Before things changed.

The smile she gives out now is… It's the same shape, right? Like, to a tee. Could photograph one, and photograph the other, and line them up over one another, and have no differences. But it's fake, Dyssia knows--the mouth shape is the same, but it doesn't reach the eyes.

You wouldn't do that to a friend, right? Wouldn't keep them by your side, letting them stew in--

Fuck, is she the bad friend? Is that what happened, is that Merilt knew, and got tired of waiting for Dyssia to finally get her guts together and ask?

It's not fair. She wants to be angry--wants to nestle into it like a warm ball of energy, draw power from it. But now she's not even sure who to be mad at.

The Pix has the same smile, you know? Like she's spent time with Merilt, and crafted her mouth to look the same, and spent hours perfecting that same smile under her tutelage.

And she's open, and willing, and wants her. She's even more of a sex goddess than Merilt, could have her pick of anyone, and is asking for her, and wants her, and--

And she's within arm's length now, she realizes with a jolt. No idea how she got through the jellyfish tentacles--she'd moved past them almost without thinking, on autopilot, just figuring out which way they were going and then not being there. Just…

On second thought, it's not quite like Merilt's smile. Not like either of Merilt's smiles, she means--not the real one that she used in private back then, or the one she gives out to devotees today.

It's probably just the light, you know. From the jellyfish, and the bioluminescence, and the way the wings scatter and diffract both across the Pix's face.

It's a crafted illusion of a smile. But it somehow seems kinder than what she's used to.

She gulps, and stares at the Pix, almost at a loss for words.

"Come here often?"

Fuck. No, actually, at a loss would be better.