Lemons

Amygdala Circuit

Quinn's arrival into wakefulness was heralded by a long, heavy yawn, and as she blinked the gunk and the vague memory of Safie and Dahlia laughing with her on the lake from her eye, she clasped her hands above her head and arched her back into a deep stretch. She let out a satisfied groan as her back popped, and again as her neck followed suit, then fell limp on her bed again, closed her eye, and mentally prepared herself for the day. After all that she finally rolled to a seated position on the edge of the bed. She gave Dahlia a small smile--they were coming easier and easier these days, she knew, even if laughter had yet to follow--and stood, plodding over to her drawers to find the day's clothing.

Not long afterwards, a black t-shirt and pale gray sweats acquired and donned, she emerged into the kitchen, clutching Dahlia's hand like a child the whole way. She'd been very lonely before, and it had worn on her something fierce; despite all the looks that had been cast her way, it was nice to have Deelie around again more often, she'd missed her a lot and was newly happy again every time they talked.

They hadn't talked much about what had happened when Dahlia was still driving herself to exhaustion in the sims. Quinn didn't have the heart to explain that she'd gotten drunk because she discovered that her parents might be dead and then consciously decided to shatter the treaty like so much glass, but she was pretty sure that Besca had at least mentioned it to her; she'd been treating Quinn a bit more...delicately might be the word.

But you know what else was something that she'd missed a lot? Besca's cooking. As soon as she approached her open door she could smell the pancakes and bacon, and took a deep and appreciative whiff.

She honestly wasn't sure what kind of political hurricane Roaki being made an informant was brewing--given the situation with Casoban, she could imagine it wouldn't be good--but the part of her that was a selfish teenage girl instead of a pilot on whose shoulders the world seemed to hang was just glad that Besca seemed to have more free time to spend with her now. Enough to cook again, at least. Finally releasing Dahlia's hand, she plopped herself down in her customary seat by the range and tilted her head backward and sideways to catch Besca's eye as her braid pooled on the floor.

"Morning, Besca!"

Lem's Stash

Aoife

"Rhodes Island, I'd like to extend the deepest of gratitude to you and request the privilege to join you as an Operator. Wha--? Code name? Um...I guess...Ashgirl will do."

★★★★★★

Operator Profile _______________________________________ Codename: Ashgirl Epithet: The Taran Pariah Class: Guard Branch: Arts Fighter Race: Vouivre Affiliations: Dublinn (formerly) Height: 173 cm Weight: 75 kg Place of Birth: Post-annexation Tara Date of Birth: January 1 Gender: Female Combat Experience: 10 years

Clinical Analysis ______________________________________________________________________ Strength: Excellent Endurance: Excellent Mobility: Standard Arts Adaptability: Outstanding Combat Skill: Excellent Tactical Acumen: Normal Infection Status: Infected Imaging tests show blurry outlines of subject's internal organs, with multiple dark inclusions. Her circulatory system shows an alarming degree of originium particulate matter. Through these criteria we can determine that this subject is infected. Cell-Originium Assimilation: 28%. Multiple crystal lesions visible on the subject's skin. Blood Originium-Crystal Density: 0.32 u/L. Miss Aoife's condition is extremely aggressive and severe, and her prognosis is poor. Unless measures can be found to more effectively delay the progression of her infection, she likely has less than six months to live, if that.

Character Synopsis:

A former noblewoman and former revolutionary, forced from both of her homes and set adrift.

Personality:

Aoife tends to be a bit quiet most of the time, and when she speaks, she often sounds slightly strained and uncomfortable--almost stilted, sometimes--like she dislikes talking, and so people assume that she wishes to be left alone. Not so, actually; she is quiet and strained because her aggressive oripathy causes her a not-inconsiderable amount of pain on a constant basis. Rather, Aoife tends to be quite personable, if not entirely skilled in social situations, as she hasn't had a surfeit of healthy interactions, and enjoys being around and talking to other people as long as she's not the one doing most of the talking.

Though it's been a long time since her privileged and sheltered upbringing and she barely remembers a single piece of it, it still reflects on her character to this day. Chief among those reflections is how narrow her view of the world can be. She can be closed-minded, and has a tendency to discount things she hears that she doesn't want to. She knows this very well and actively works against it, but it's a trap that is all to easy for her to fall in when she's put under stress. The other major effect is, as mentioned, Aoife can have trouble relating to other people. Spending her early life in the noblewoman bubble and her later life as a (largely expendable) soldier has limited the people she's been able to open up to, and so she can have difficulties forming genuine friendships.

But despite all of that, Aoife is a good person at heart. Despite how she may look on occasion, she's not selfish, standoffish, willfully ignorant, or egocentric, and joined Rhodes Island as much to fulfil the duties of an Operator and help others as to be treated for her own oripathy. The fact that she's willing to endanger herself by pushing her Arts even when she reasonably shouldn't in the service of her work should be proof enough that she really is trying her best. It can just...be hard to see that sometimes.

Talents	Talent Description
Taran Swordsmanship	Brought up from a young age to be a noblewoman of Tara, Aoife Eóganachta of course learned the former kingdom's traditional style of swordplay from a young age. Though of course it wasn't intended to be actually used, not in the way she uses it now--it was entirely ceremonial to begin with--it has certainly come in handy as she became first a member of Dublinn, and then an Operator of Rhodes Island. The principle reason this is so effective is that she efficiently leverages her rather strange, almost dancelike, style quite effectively. Because most people aren't familiar with the Taran style--it's not extinct, but it's nearly so--it makes her rather unpredictable and hard to read, letting her get the drop on opponents before they're able to adapt.
Pariah's Oath	Aoife has gone through a great deal of pain in her life, whether it be physical or emotional in nature. Even now, her remarkably severe infection causes her not-inconsiderable suffering every minute of the day. There are many times that she's wanted to just...give up. To let it end already, to take the coward's way out, whether that be letting the heritage of Tara die, turning herself in to Victoria, or hurling herself from the landship. But because she hasn't, she's developed an astounding level of willpower, able to push through constant physical pain, emotional torment, and any number of roadblocks. She is going to get to where she's going, and good luck to anybody that tries to stand in her way.
Skills	Skill Description
Sheer Cold	Aoife's arts, channeled through her sword, are of a particularly unique variety. While they generally take the form of ice, they actually involve directly arresting molecular motion. Though it may have the same overall effect most of the time, when trying to freeze objects that are typically coldproof it shows its use in being remarkably good at freezing them anyway. Through spectroscopic measurement techniques, the peak of her freezing power has been measured between 170 and 175 degrees Kelvin (-103C and -98C, respectively).
Bitterwinter Bite	Though obviously the sword is a heavy part of her combat kit, the freezing power that Aoife possesses is used through more than just the sword. Given her powerful infection, she is able to channel her Arts naturally, of course, and is able to do so with a startling degree of intensity. Though they don't have much of a range to them--remember, not actually ice but manipulation on the molecular level which I am to understand gets exponentially more difficult past ten or so feet--within that limited range you are at constant risk of being both slowed to a crawl and frozen solid. Despite this obvious strength, however, subject has been heavily advised against using this more than necessary, as it seems to exacerbate her condition.
One Thousand Shining Teeth	Finally, we come to likely the most dangerous application of her Arts that Aoife can muster--both towards her enemies and towards herself through increased progression of her oripathy. When her life is on the line, though, anything is fair game. Through judicious application of her arts, everything around her is so molecularly strained that it becomes incrediby delicate, even metal and stone. With a sufficiently hard strike, they can shatter into storms of razorlike shards, serving almost like a shotgun; spraying out a surprising level of devastation. All that being said, this is not without further drawbacks. Principally, that she isn't necessarily immunte to the shards, nor does she have exclusive rights on shattering them. Still, if it's leveraged right, it is truly, truly a menace.

Equipment Module

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Claíomh-na-Samhain

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• Claíomh-na-Samhain - The Sword of Samhain: Aoife's bastard sword, forever and always by her side. Reclaimed from the ashes of her family home, this previously ceremonial blade has been turned into both a superb arts conductor and a vicious weapon of war.

Operator Archives

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The Eóganachta clan is a very old Taran family, going back far into when it was a kingdom of its own and nearly passing into myth in their own right. Consequently, even in the new, Victorian Tara, they occupied positions of power and privilege that would be the envy of any native Victorian noble, let alone those Tarans unfortunate enough to not have enormous family fortunes and a huge manor to retreat into. It was into this incredibly privileged upbringing that their youngest daughter of three, Aoife, was born. Her two elder sisters Siobhan and Bronagh had enough years separating them from her that they were less siblings, and more auxiliary parents. And so Aoife grew up coddled and spoilt, doted on by four separate different sources. It was an idyllic childhood, and she didn't spare a thought to look outside of the manor grounds.

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But all that changed when Aoife was more or less seven years old, when a rumor spread among the Tarans--whether true or not, nobody knows to this day--that the Eóganachta clan had sold out to Victoria.

And that was the only match that the powder keg needed to ignite.

In a single, brutally violent night, the entire Eóganachta estate was razed to the ground, and Aoife's parents were both killed, along with Bronagh and Siobhan. Aoife--scared, confused, and unable to understand what was happening--was pulled from the ashes of everything that she knew and thrust into the arms of a disorganized group of Taran malcontents. Perhaps if she'd been a little older, she would've been killed. But...

...Perhaps she also would've been able to hold on to herself a little bit better.

Within the disdainful Tarans, Aoife Eóganachta became...nothing. They refused to even use her name, refused to let her be Aoife Eóganachta. Just...You. Or Vouivre. And other things, of course, until eventually she the name stuck: Ash Girl. But never again Aoife, and certainly never Eóganachta. No name.

Until she forgot it on her own.

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For the next few years, she lived as something like a daughter, and something like a servant. She wasn't quite one, yet wasn't fully the other either. And after a year? Two years? Ash Girl had become her name. She barely remembered even the faintest fragments of her former life, and almost nothing at all of her old home. But still, she was...harmless. And, in turn, in no danger of harm.

But that all came to an end when Ash Girl was eleven years old.

The Taran malcontents--as a whole--were trending to more militant, and more violent. And when she was eleven years old...

Dublinn was born.

It took the Tarans by storm, and Ash Girl with them. She was still a child the first time a sword was shoved into her delicate hands. A scant year of training, and before her thirteenth birthday she was being involved in warfare.

She fought for years, until the sudden catastrophic incident in County Hillock. And it was there that she saw firsthand what Dublinn truly stood for. The blinders were pulled away from her eyes, and she finally saw the horrific biolence and pain caused even to Tarans for what it truly was.

She couldn't be here anymore.

And so Ash Girl ran.

She ran from County Hillock. She ran far, deep into the lands that used to be Tara, back towards where she knew. And eventually, her feet found half-forgotten yet familiar pathways that led her up to a ruin of collapsed, crumbled stone, charred wood, twisted metal and sodden ashes. She stared at it through the lashing rains, and memories began to slowly bubble up to the surface of her mind. as through through molasses. And the first to arrive was a name that she recognize, but felt somehow wrong in Ash Girl's mind.

Aoife Eóganachta had come home.

She couldn't go back to Dublinn. She knew that. Her home--her second home--was gone forever. She shook her head, trying to ignore the shivers that ran through her pale body. And as the rain began to peter off, she slowly, meditatively, began to walk through the ruins.

Every time her eyes played over something even the vaguest bit familiar, new memories began to surface. Memories that she knew belonged to her, but felt like someone else's. She came across her own room at one point, or at least she thought she did; as she stared at the third floor bedroom that had fallen into the first floor, she thought she recognized the shattered remnants of a fireplace and chimney that were piled up inside. She was in a daze as she passed through it all.

Finally, she wound her way into what she remembered now was the living room, and there, where her father once read by the fire, she found the collapsed remnant of the mantle. Almost hypnotized, she acted on a vague impulse and scraped aside the ashes, digging through the refuse of the years until her hand closed around the handle of Claíomh-na-Samhain. A sharp feeling of disorientation blurred through her; she was Ash Girl. But she was Aoife too.

So now...this home was gone, and there was no going back to Dublinn. Not after that. Never again. She thought she might puke.

She did.

But still, the question remained. Where? Where, with this sword on her back, should she go?

Not Victoria, obviously. Maybe Columbia? Yeah, that was...probably the best idea.

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Columbia was nice enough. But it didn't hold her for very long, and nor did anywhere else. Unsteady, unmoored, a self-imposed pariah from her homeland, she became a drifter, roaming hither and thither for the next several years. She took odd jobs; she took mercenary work; she took anything she could find. But Siracusa, Leithanien, Iberia; none of them held her for more than six months.

As she bounced around, she inevitably found herself drawn into conflicts, and struck out against what she perceived as injustice. Whether as Aoife or as Ash Girl, she kept roving, kept moving. Until the summer of year 1105.

She was caught up in a conflict again. She was prepared for many things; her skill with her sword and her tough Vouivre physique had carried her through much. But what she was not prepared for was a grenade of active originium detonating nearly underneath her foot.

The explosion itself didn't do a huge amount of damage. That wasn't the point. The problem were the countless shards of originium that blasted into her, afflicting her with a crushing infection immediately.

And...she didn't know what to do after that.

She never thought she'd be infected. And she wasn't exactly in a place with stellar treatment of the Infected; the south of Ursus was not a great place for her to be. So she just kept trying to do what she'd done before.

But it did not go well.

Even as close to the edge of the plate as she was, she couldn't even make it all the way. And it was then--barely functional, deeply disoriented and dizzy, aching all over from her oripathy--Aoife was discovered and saved from death's door by a woman who called herself "Firewatch." Said something about an organization; Ash Girl wasn't quite in the proper mental state to really figure out what was going on. And right before she passed out, she heard Firewatch talking to someone over a radio.

Next time she woke up--just a month ago now--she was in Rhodes Island's medical bay, and felt better than she had in weeks. It took time for her to mend, and to discover what had happened, and where she was. And soon afterwards, she discovered her Arts. Her very, very powerful freezing arts. And as she recovered, she came to a resolution. It had been years ago now since she'd lost her second home.

It was time she find another.

Trivia:

• As mentioned, Aoife's health is not exactly stellar. Specifically, her oripathy has gifted her with several unfortunate symptoms. In addition to the crystalline lesions--she has over a dozen now--she has tremors, fevers, and full body aches, and a few other unpleasant things. These can be largely managed through oripathy medication, but they can only be managed, never completely removed. There's always a chance one of them will strike.

Arknights: 5S

Aww YEAH I am so ready to get started on this!

Shelter: A Zombie Survival Story

_{18 - Capricorn- Senior- 5'8" - Lee Bo-young}

"I get called heartless a lot, and every time I want to scream."

Shin-ae Yun

---

Appearance Details

Tall and lithe, Shin-ae cuts quite a recognizable figure walking through the halls. While she couldn't be called buxom by any stretch of the imagination, she is not entirely devoid of curves; she does have an unmistakably feminine shape with a modest bust. Her angular pale face is framed by silky, pin-straight black hair that falls to somewhere just north of the small of her back, and set with eyes that are dark enough brown to be nearly the same. That face is set with a near-permanent expression of annoyance or frustration. Combined with the prim way that she tends to carry herself, it tends to give people the impression that she doesn't like them, regardless of anything that she might actually feel regarding them. Or, to put it simply: she has a colossal resting bitch face.

She has (or had, evidently) a closet filled with proper clothing. Button-down shirts and blouses, pencil skirts, cashmere cardigans, most done up in monochrome. She is looked at somewhat strangely sometimes, as her bearing and clothing combined with her overall attitude lend her an air of professionalism beyond her years, one that is far more formal than her actual genuine thought processes.

Characterization

A whole lot of Student Council President Shin-ae's life has been defined through expectation.

Being the child of two Korean immigrants, she was, from the beginning, subjected to the tiger mom style of parenting, with all that entails. She had expectations HEAPED on her. Things that she needed to do. Things that were demanded of her, or else she'd be yelled at. The stringent rules in her household couldn't be called entirely negative, as they did impart to her a great deal of tenacity and discipline. But that's not really a consolation to a child so choked under those expectations, and while straight A's and knowing how to play the violin might impress her mother's co-workers, they do very little to prepare one for speaking with your peers on any meaningful level.

On that note, this has had a number of effects on how she interacts with others, first being 'the Shin-ae Stare,' dubbed as such by her vice president; that terrible resting bitch face that dogs her feet. She has a reputation among the student body for being a hardass, and the persistent reminders that she gives about decorum and conduct, something that she's a bit picky about, really have not helped. Consequently, Shin-ae is alone a great deal of the time; not only is she not really allowed to hang out with friends outside of school because of the draconian rules of her household, but there are few enough people who know what she's actually like. Which is quite personable, actually; she's not relaxed and laughing all the time, obviously, but she's friendly and helpful enough, and if you pay enough attention you can find the streak of dry humor that she has under the surface.

And it's a very good thing that she's started flouting her parents' rules now and then to spend time with other people. Because just like preparing one for a social life, those straight A report cards and violin recitals have done very, very little in preparing her for the apocalypse.

Character Notes

- Her mother Hanseul Yun works for a prominent tech company in a fairly high position. Shin-ae has no idea where she is right now.

- Her father Ji-ho Yun is a freelance photographer who works from home. She's extremely worried about him.

Inventory

- Flip phone (yes, really, she isn't allowed a smartphone)
- Heavy backpack filled with supplies (textbooks, notebooks, pens, pencils, etc. etc.)
- Violin case and violin

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Shelter: A Zombie Survival Story

Juuuuust gonna throw this in the ring!

Shin-ae Yun

_{18 - Capricorn- Senior- 5'8" - Lee Bo-young}

"I get called heartless a lot, and every time I want to scream."

Shin-ae Yun

---

Appearance Details

Tall and lithe, Shin-ae cuts quite a recognizable figure walking through the halls. While she couldn't be called buxom by any stretch of the imagination, she is not entirely devoid of curves; she does have an unmistakably feminine shape with a modest bust. Her angular pale face is framed by silky, pin-straight black hair that falls to somewhere just north of the small of her back, and set with eyes that are dark enough brown to be nearly the same. That face is set with a near-permanent expression annoyance or frustration. Combined with the prim way that she tends to carry herself, it tends to give people the impression that she doesn't like them, regardless of anything that she might actually feel regarding them. Or, to put it simply: she has a colossal resting bitch face.

She has (or had, evidently) a closet filled with proper clothing. Button-down shirts and blouses, pencil skirts, cashmere cardigans, most done up in monochrome. She is looked at somewhat strangely sometimes, as her bearing and clothing combined with her overall attitude lend her an air of professionalism beyond her years, one that is far more formal than her actual genuine thought processes.

Characterization

A whole lot of Student Council President Shin-ae's life has been defined through expectation.

Being the child of two Korean immigrants, she was, from the beginning, subjected to the tiger mom style of parenting, with all that entails. She had expectations HEAPED on her. Things that she needed to do. Things that were demanded of her, or else she'd be yelled out. The stringent rules in her household couldn't be called entirely negative, as they did impart to her a great deal of tenacity and discipline. But that's not really a consolation to a child so choked under those expectations, and while straight A's and knowing how to play the violin might impress her mother's co-workers, they do very little to prepare one for speaking with your peers on any meaningful level.

On that note, this has had a number of effects on how she interacts with others, first being 'the Shin-ae Stare,' dubbed as such by her vice president; that terrible resting bitch face that dogs her feet. She has a reputation among the student body for being a hardass, and the persistent reminds that she gives about decorum and conduct, something that she's a bit picky about, really has not helped. Consequently, Shin-ae is alone a great deal of the time; not only is she not really allowed to hang out with friends outside of school because of the draconian rules of her household, but there are few enough people who know what she's actually like. Which is quite personable, actually; she's not relaxed and laughing all the time, obviousl, but she's friendly and helpful enough, and if you pay enough attention you can find the streak of dry humor that she has under the surface.

And it's a very good thing that she's started flaunting her parents' rules now and then to spend time with other people. Because just like preparing one for a social life, those straight A report cards and violin recitals have done very, very little in preparing her for the apocalypse.

Character Notes

- Her mother works for a prominent tech company in a fairly high position. Shin-ae has no idea where she is right now.

- Her father is a freelance photographer who works from home. She's extremely worried about him.

Inventory

N/A

---

Lem's Stash

_{18 - Capricorn- Senior- 5'8" - Lee Bo-young}

"I get called heartless a lot, and every time I want to scream."

Shin-ae Yun

---

Appearance Details

Tall and lithe, Shin-ae cuts quite a recognizable figure walking through the halls. While she couldn't be called buxom by any stretch of the imagination, she is not entirely devoid of curves; she does have an unmistakably feminine shape with a modest bust. Her angular pale face is framed by silky, pin-straight black hair that falls to somewhere just north of the small of her back, and set with eyes that are dark enough brown to be nearly the same. That face is set with a near-permanent expression annoyance or frustration. Combined with the prim way that she tends to carry herself, it tends to give people the impression that she doesn't like them, regardless of anything that she might actually feel regarding them. Or, to put it simply: she has a colossal resting bitch face.

She has (or had, evidently) a closet filled with proper clothing. Button-down shirts and blouses, pencil skirts, cashmere cardigans, most done up in monochrome. She is looked at somewhat strangely sometimes, as her bearing and clothing combined with her overall attitude lend her an air of professionalism beyond her years, one that is far more formal than her actual genuine thought processes.

Characterization

A whole lot of Student Council President Shin-ae's life has been defined through expectation.

Being the child of two Korean immigrants, she was, from the beginning, subjected to the tiger mom style of parenting, with all that entails. She had expectations HEAPED on her. Things that she needed to do. Things that were demanded of her, or else she'd be yelled out. The stringent rules in her household couldn't be called entirely negative, as they did impart to her a great deal of tenacity and discipline. But that's not really a consolation to a child so choked under those expectations, and while straight A's and knowing how to play the violin might impress her mother's co-workers, they do very little to prepare one for speaking with your peers on any meaningful level.

On that note, this has had a number of effects on how she interacts with others, first being 'the Shin-ae Stare,' dubbed as such by her vice president; that terrible resting bitch face that dogs her feet. She has a reputation among the student body for being a hardass, and the persistent reminds that she gives about decorum and conduct, something that she's a bit picky about, really has not helped. Consequently, Shin-ae is alone a great deal of the time; not only is she not really allowed to hang out with friends outside of school because of the draconian rules of her household, but there are few enough people who know what she's actually like. Which is quite personable, actually; she's not relaxed and laughing all the time, obviousl, but she's friendly and helpful enough, and if you pay enough attention you can find the streak of dry humor that she has under the surface.

And it's a very good thing that she's started flaunting her parents' rules now and then to spend time with other people. Because just like preparing one for a social life, those straight A report cards and violin recitals have done very, very little in preparing her for the apocalypse.

Character Notes

- Her mother works for a prominent tech company in a fairly high position. Shin-ae has no idea where she is right now.

- Her father is a freelance photographer who works from home. She's extremely worried about him.

Inventory

N/A

---

Amygdala Circuit

"What is this, deadgirl?"

It always amazed Quinn just how real the sims felt. No matter how many times she hopped in, there was always that same thrill; an echo of the freedom she'd felt when she first left her house. It was only months ago, wasn't it? It felt at once like yesterday, and like a distant past life that she'd never even been a part of. She looked up towards the projected sky, admiring the faux sun with Ablaze's terrible maw stretched in some horrific parody of a smile, and appreciating that it sounded like Roaki had a little bit more bite in her now. Taking her into sims had been a good idea. "Even if it's not real and it's just there for training in the end, it's still pretty, huh?"

Rolling her neck and stretching her arms briefly, she dropped her head down and stared levelly back at Blotklau. There was a hint of a cold shiver that was ready to race up and down her spine; the last time she'd seen it face to face like this hadn't been the best of times for anyone involved. But she did her best to ignore it. If she could ignore using the Savior and weapon that had massacred Hovvi, then she could ignore an unpleasant memory.

"You know, I told you I'd tell you what Ablaze meant, but I never did." She let a beat pass, and if she'd been in her own body, she would've probably reached behind her head and adjusted her braid. "After this one, I promise. I'd tell you now, but it kinda takes a while to explain."

She went quiet for a moment, reaching her clawed hand out to grab the sheet, but not pulling yet. Not 'til Roaki did. Her voice was completely lacking in anything like humor or sarcasm. It was sheer quiet sincerity all the way down. "I meant what I said. You don't deserve to die and I'm not gonna let them kill you even if I have to fight the whole world." After another pause, she let humor leak back in there and cocked her massive head in an odd reptilian motion.

"So, you gonna come kill me or not?"

Pariah Online: A Voyage into the Intangible Aether

---

Alja heaved a long sigh upon hearing Seele's explanation. Graves and Sieg made a little bit more sense now. There was only one way Graves knew how to have a disagreement, and things getting heated and emotional sounded like code for it snowballing violently out of control either during their fight or immediately afterwards. Her jaw clenched, though she did her best not to show her frustration. As much as she wanted to deck Graves for starting a fight now of all times, he was clearly broken up, and being yelled at never helped anything. At least it seemed like it was resolved now. So she took a long, long calming breath and let it out slooowly, and by the time it was gone the violent impulse had abated and worry had taken its place. She'd never seen Graves like that.

But that was neither here nor there. Pressing either him or Seele right now would make it worse more than anything else. She'd grill someone later on what the hell happened, but this was not the time. So she elected to ignore it, steamroll right past it for the moment, and consider Seele's second question. As soon as it was asked, she sagged a bit. Nowhere near as much as she had in front of the door, of course, but she was obviously bothered by something.

"The others went to another guild--Children of Letria--to see about pullin' together. Safety in numbers, you know? I didn't go with them, I wanted to...talk to Leaves." Her voice slowed as she spoke, until she finished and it ended up ground to a halt. She took a sharp breath and stared up at the sky for a moment, trying to squeeze the evident emotion out of her voice some and meeting with minimal success. "Didn't end up answerin' me when I knocked on her door." A part of her knew that it was possible, if not downright likely, that Leaves had just been asleep. But that more reasonable voice was shouted down by the choking feeling of guilt. By the time she dropped her head, though, she'd managed to wrestle it back down, and she looked down at the girl next to her with a wide, genuine smile.

"Ha, listen to me divin' into self pity. I'm alive, hey? I'm sure things'll get better from here, right? Graves is good at pullin' himself together, he'll be just...fine..."

She trailed off as the recollection of the conversation she'd had with him in the sewers resurfaced, and she sobered up almost immediately.

"Listen, um, Seele," she started, "you remember how I wanted to have that convo with you at some point? Could we...uh...do that sometime soon?"

Amygdala Circuit

"You're not dead yet and I don't give a fuck what Casoban has to say about it." Quinn spat with searing energy. "And there are no laws or rules that says you can't go to sims. So do you want to kill me or not?" Blood boiling, Quinn barely managed to wait for an agreement before she pulled Roaki off the bed where she'd taken residence for the past few weeks, rammed her into the wheelchair, and took off through the open doorway.

Dodging through incredibly confused staffers, nurses, and doctors, Quinn tore through medical, pretty much jogging as she piloted Roaki's wheelchair like an airplane. It was lucky that sparring and training had given her so much more strength and stamina, she though; when she'd first gotten to the Aerie there was no way she could do this. It would be so much slower, and take so much more effort.

As she went, her mind raced. After she got out of medical she'd need to cross almost exactly straight through the common area. She knew Roaki wasn't exactly well-liked at this point, obviously. So she found herself wondering if she should skirt around the edges and try to attract less attention, or if she should just plow through the middle to cut down on time. They only had so much, after all. "Within the week" could mean in an hour for all she knew. And on realizing that, she knew exactly what she'd do. She screwed up her courage. Whatever happened, this was probably going to make Besca and Deelie mad, and she hated that. She'd never intentionally done something that she knew would anger them, she didn't think.

But Roaki's life was more important. So as she emerged from medical, she went straight.

People looked at her with a varying array of expressions which she did her best to ignore as she punched straight through the growing crowd. It wasn't quite lunch time yet, but it was getting there; people were just starting to get off work. She found herself glad that she was hurrying. It'd be harder and harder the more people showed up.

Dodging by the last crowd of hangar staff--was that Tillie?--she finally cleared the commons, very conscious of ever eye in the room on her. Her jaw was clenched tight. From that point it was a brief sojourn through mostly empty hallways to get to sims where she desperately hoped Dahlia wasn't at the moment. It would be...difficult to explain to her at the moment. When she arrived, the technician looked at her, mouth hanging open and eyes wide. She shook her head quickly, trying to catch her breath as her chest heaved. What was it Doctor Follen had said?

"Doctor Follen is trying out a new therapy. Hooking her up. Sorry." With no further explanation, she rushed past him as well, finding all the sim pods empty and breathing a sigh of relief in spite of herself. Still moving quickly, she grunted as she hefted Roaki into one of the pods, shifting her a bit and letting her plugs catch. Proceeding to do the same herself, she gave a harried grin. "Blotklau should still be in the system from training."

The she connected, and Ablaze breathe deep, trying to keep herself calm. She wasn't at all excited to fight Blotklau again, but it had to happen. She closed her eye and made her second and third breaths as she was notified that someone had connected to sims.

Don't help me this time, okay?

Amygdala Circuit

There will be consequences.

No matter how soft Doctor Follen's voice was, and how firm Quinn's conviction was, those four words sent a shock of unease down her spine. She'd been so worried about the Board's retaliation when she just moved Roaki out from holding. This was so much more important and impactful. But no matter what...she had to. She would never, ever forgive herself if she didn't; if she let Roaki die. She took a long, deep breath, steeling and steadying herself. Two breaths. Three.

"I know. I just..." I just hope only I get punished. "...I just couldn't live with myself if I didn't." She gave him a small, sad smile. "You get it, right?"

The she went quiet, and with one more protracted look at Doctor Follen, she slid open the door and left his office, striding purposefully into the foreign ward and ignoring any questing looks. Pulling out the 104 key the thong on her neck, she fitted it into the door, took another deep breath, then shoved it open and dove in.

Her voice was vastly different from what it usually was. It wasn't subdued as it was on occasion. It wasn't cheerful and bouncy the way that she tried to hard to be most of the time around Roaki. Rather, it was fast and low and showed a clear urgency in the sheer tension present in her. Her foot was tapping rapidly on the floor in a way that she didn't know if she'd ever done before, her lips were pressed tightly together, and she moved immediately over to Roaki's bedside, yanking the wheelchair to her instead of taking a seat like she usually did and shifting it over to the bedside as well.

"Roaki, I need you to murder me in sims right now."