Mcmolly

Amygdala Circuit

The presence that haunted Quinn faded, satisfied, confused, and soon she was left with silence. Quinnlash didn’t have any answers for her, it seemed, or at least none she thought would help the situation. It was clear enough where she stood with regards to the Loughveins. If an article was posted tomorrow revealing their bodies had been found, there would be a party in the dream that night.

The last, lingering thought left in her wake was the word she so often used whenever they weaseled their way into conversation: Takers.

The quiet didn’t last long. From Quinn’s room there came a raucous thump, a muted, mumbled alarm, and then the hurrying of footsteps. A moment later, Dahlia came bursting through the door.

“Quinn?!” she yelped, eyes wide and heavy with bags. They locked unsteadily onto her, and with steps just as shaky she scrambled over. “What is it? What happened?” Her hands pulled Quinn’s face up, inspecting it, patting down her arms, searching wildly for some sign of injury. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

She wasn’t, not that Dahlia could see, but that didn’t settle her any. She spied the phone discarded on the ground, but didn’t bother with it. The room looked fine, no damage anywhere. No alarms blared. No attack. Still the worry stuck with her, and she looked to Quinn expectantly.

Amygdala Circuit

Over the past weeks Quinn had begun to see the effects of her status as a burgeoning celebrity. People wanted to speak with her—to hear her speak, as though suddenly her opinion on every topic, no matter how mundane, became gospel as the words left her mouth. Regardlessof how she felt, she was famous. She’d seen it on TV, on the news channels and talk shows. She’d seen it at Mona’s, with the gathered crowd, and the hostess herself. She’d seen it on the Aerie, in the eyes of everyone from the heads of medical to the trials in engineering.

And now she was seeing it on her phone, as she typed the words Mr. and Mrs. Loughvein into her search bar, and was met with dozens upon dozens of pages monopolized by the name Quinnlash Loughvein.

[RISC’s new pilot Quinnlash Loughvein maintaining silence after sudden departure from interview…]

[Quinnlash Loughvein refuses to take responsibility for Casoban upset…]

[Minor Houses in Helburke reportedly beseeching Great Houses to retaliate against Runa’s pilot Quinnlash Loughvein…]

[Euseran governor questions whether or not RISC overstepped by sending Quinnlash Loughvein to interfere in Casoban’s duel with Helburke…]

[Is Quinnlash Loughvein a Helburkan plant?...]

[What are Quinnlash Loughvein’s ties to Euseran tech companies?...]

[Quinnlash Loughvein: RISC’s newest pilot? Or last?...]

[St. Senn. Kimimura. Calhan. Merko. Loughvein. Abroix. Wender. Dane. Reos. Brandt. Jayne. Take this personalized quiz now to find out which pilot you are!...]

[Experts React: Dinner with Mona: Quinnlash Loughvein dying of modiotype liver disease?...]

[Steal her look! Quinnlash Loughvein replica eyepatch! 17.99 plus shipping…]

[…Page 63 for an exclusive interview with a Queenshand native claiming to be in a secret relationship with Quinnlash Loughvein…]

[Photos from Aerie Station show RISC pilot Quinnlash Loughvein wheeling Helburkan prisoner across commons. Were national secrets shared?...]

[Team Tensions? Dahlia St. Senn hasn’t spoken to Quinnlash Loughvein at all since interview? Does RISC’s star pilot hate its newest addition?...]

[Quinnlash Loughvein was born on the moon: proof next week.]

It went on. And on. And on. Page after page after page of news articles and speculative pieces, merchandise ads and tabloid garbage. To the world below her, Quinnlash Loughvein was a million different people all existing at once, and all entirely incompatible with each other.

Only on page 15 did she finally see a break in the form.

[Nation’s modiology stars dead? Originally slated to appear at a conference in Queenshand, Locke and Sansean Loughvein cancelled upon hearing that a singularity would be appearing in their hometown of Hovvi. While transportation to the lakeside town was heavily trafficked, sources say the couple, who had been booked a year in advance, were last seen boarding a flight to the neighboring town of Ozzi. It is unknown whether they arrived home before the attack, however, there has been no word from them since.

The conference continued, however many attendees requested refunds upon hearing the keynote speakers would not appear...]

The Shattering of Aegis

---

Damn, right, the thing was dead, what the hell did it care if she punched a hole through it? As soon as it had ripped itself free of the knife, it was at her again, and though she beckoned her weapon back with a sharp wave and another whistle, it was slow. She was slow. Briefly she tried to recall if she’d survived a wolf-mauling before. A mountain bear had swiped at her once, a wild dog had chewed at her shins and she’d waked funny for a week. This, she guessed, would be much worse. Her arms went up, her head went down. She braced for pain.

Movement in her periphery, then the sounds of a struggle. Her body unclenched and she realized she was not dead, or even dying. There was a flash beside her. She heard fire, smelled it, but still didn’t piece together what she was looking at until she remembered their conversation the other day.

Kyreth, or the wolf, or both, were on fire.

Her mind shouted at her: Move, you idiot.

Lilann moved, broke into a mad dash and nearly stumbled to her face as she came to him. On instinct she grabbed the wolf’s pelt, and the instant she let her aether sink into it, she felt resistance. She let go. No time to fight on two fronts. Instead she found the cloak, twisted her fist into its fabric and flooded every fiber with her will. She felt it like she did her lyre, her knife, her props; it became an extension of her, almost.

Whistling, she crossed her arms first, psychically pulling both sides of the tangled cloak around the wolf’s body once, twice, and then yanking tight as she could. She held those ends together with one mental fist, and with the other she made a flinging motion towards the ground. Again she shouted: “Down!”

The thing was heavy, but with the amount of aether she’d pumped into the cloak she hoped it would be enough to throw the beast off of Kyreth and pin it to the dirt.

Amygdala Circuit

Quinn got an answer from Besca before she’d stepped off the elevator. – o yeah ! saw he r resume very samrt! glad u like her wil try 2 meet her soon ! :o) -

From Dahlia there was still no word, but once Quinn had made her way back into the dorms it made sense. Everything was just as she’d left it. Through the crack in her door there was only silence, and Dahlia still flopped down onto the bed, breathing quietly in the dark. How long she’d sleep was unsure, and had varied from day to day. Sometimes it was a mere two or three hours, even less, and others she was dead to the world for half a day.

“Day shmay,” she had said once, teasingly. “We’re in space! No horizon up here!”

To her credit, if not comfort, she was right. Unfortunately for Quinn, that meant there was still no one around to assuage her loneliness. These moments were exceedingly rare before, but more and more each day, circumstances were forcing independence upon her. As she stood in the commons, it became clear that, unless she continued to stand here for hours, there would be no one to come make the decisions of her day for her. This had been true of all the recent days prior as well, and if the trend continued, it would be true tomorrow.

An alien revulsion at the idea of simply waiting tingled beneath her scalp. Ultimately however, the only thing that could move Quinn now was Quinn.

Amygdala Circuit

Tillie recoiled at the offer, cast a furtive glance back at Ablaze as if it had caught her doing something she shouldn’t. “O-oh, gosh, that’s—well, I appreciate that. I’m thrilled to be working on it, you can bet I’ll be hanging around all the time. W-working, of course! Strictly working. Thank you! Uhm! Really!”

A nervous giggle escaped her. Left unsaid were the silent laws of a place like the Aerie, the hierarchy of the staff, and the expectations laid upon those who could only newly call the station home. Quinn’s offer was kind, but Tillie’s bosses weren’t going to let someone as green as she was have free reign over a Savior, blessing or not. If she showed up here unscheduled she’d be planetside with her junk packed in a box and a resume that would function better as kindling after RISC was done with it.

But, of course, she wasn’t going to say any of that. Not to Quinnlash Loughvein. Quinn, even! The girl seemed so nice, and even without the weight of their unspoken social dynamic heavy on her shoulders, she could never bring herself to reject a gift. For now, she would ride the high of sitting in Ablaze’s cockpit, and being friendly with her favorite pilot, and that would carry her plenty far.

Tillie checked her phone, let out a small, excited sound that she’d find time to be embarrassed about later, alone. “Oop! I’ve gotta log my results then check in with my supervisor,” she said, making her way back onto the lift. “You wanna ride down together, or do you need a bit more time?”

The Shattering of Aegis

---

This was a fucking nightmare.

Lilann had seen plenty of death in her time, especially in the past few days. She was used to the way it looked, how it smelled, and how it affected the less obvious senses, like comfort and guilt. She was not, however, used to seeing it move. So when the dead wolves burst from the brush and charged them, she took a moment to check whether or not she was dreaming.

As it turned out this was not, in fact, a fucking nightmare.

Ceolfric and Ermes leapt into action, brave boys that they were. Lilann’s focus shifted quickly to the wolve rushing towards her. She clutched her whittling knife and reeled it back, flooding it with her aether—only to see the dark blur of a waterskin hurtle past her at the beast. A moment later, she registered the hazy shouting she’d heard a moment prior as Kyreth crying out her name. He must have thrown it. A brave boy in his own way.

It wouldn’t be enough she guessed, even if the wolf had been living. So, with a sharp whistle, and the somatic propulsion of the throw, she launched her knife after it. It sailed arrow-fast, guided more by will than anything—which was for the best, she was an awful shot with a bow. As it drew close she curled her fingers in and twisted her hand, shouting: “Down!” Heeding her call, the knife angled down following an intuitive marriage of her motion and her intent.

Her goal wasn’t to take its legs; the blade was small and even if she managed to slice one it would just keep coming. Instead, her aim was the back of its neck, or its back, to pierce in and press it to the ground. With any luck—and a fair bit of aether—she hoped to pin it there until Kyreth or Ceolfric or anyone, even fucking Cerric could come take the damn thing’s head off like Eila was instructing them to do.

Amygdala Circuit

Tillie continued to rub her arms, her hands, her face. It wasn’t like she hadn’t noticed how cold it had been inside, but now back in the warmth it seemed so reluctant to leave her. Perhaps that was just another effect of the cockpit; she’d never read anything concerning it, but, there was a certain unnatural aspect to the Modir that made it hard to call any study ‘definitive’. Who was to say, really?

Looking to Quinn, it seemed she was still stricken as well, shivering, teeth clattering. She’d broken out into a cold sweat though, which was odd, but again, by what metric? Certainly cold sweats weren’t unheard of among pilots who were often dealing with modium growths in their own bodies. Still, as close as modiology could run with medicine, Tillie wasn’t a doctor. It wasn’t her place to say.

So, instead she got excited. “Can I?” she squeaked, voice suddenly and thoroughly thawed. “I mean! Uhm! Of course I can!”

With a bounce in her step, Tillie scurried back to Ablaze and took hold of the opened port. Her stomach fluttered to look into the darkness one more time, but then the chill reached out for her again, and she closed the door. It sealed with a sharp hiss, and black-against-black, the seams all but vanished to the naked eye.

Instantly she was warmer, the whole of the air was too. Coming back to Quinn, she stood with her hands triumphantly on her hips. “Phew! Savior secure! How’d it look in there? I mean, did you see anything you want checked out?”

Amygdala Circuit

The cold did fade, quickly, and with it the pressure. The presence was slowest to go, and even then it didn’t leave her completely. Quinn’s messages went out, and, expectedly, she received no response from Dahlia. Besca did reply a handful of moments later though.

- great hun ! gla d u r making friends :o) -

Inside the cockpit, Tillie stood with Quinn’s phone light, torn. Obviously the appropriate thing to do would be to leave immediately. This wasn’t just like being in someone else’s room, this was a Savior. People like her weren’t meant to even see inside the cockpits, to say nothing of being left inside unattended. To dally would have been wholly unprofessional, and if Quinn decided she’d waited too long, or if one of her superiors happened to check the feed, she could be very justifiably fired.

But…when else would she get a chance like this?

She could be quick.

Using the phone as a guide, Tillie approached the seat and carefully, very carefully, hopped up onto it. The cushions were surprisingly soft, but still utterly frigid. As she leaned back against them, the chill shocked her, pushed through her back all the through her chest, her legs, her face. She rested her head against the frame, and felt the barest tickle of the plug’s input against her neck, a focal point of cold almost like a needle. Of course, she had no housing for it, and the last thing she wanted to do was bleed all over Quinn’s cockpit.

She lay there, shivering, but inwardly as settled as she might be lying in her own bed. She felt her face split for a smile, her cheeks burning, the corners of her lips cracking. A horribly embarrassing giggle escaped her, and she was thankful there was no one around to hear it.

For a few, transcendent moments, she wasn’t Tillie Tomm, Modiologist. And she didn’t quite feel like Tillie Tomm, Hero Pilot, either. Just then, she was Tillie Tomm, Turning Ten, and it was the happiest she’d been in a long, long time.

When she emerged from the Savior’s skull, she was quaking like a leaf, her face was beet-red, except for her lips which were graying. She rubbed her arms and cheeks furiously, and squeezed her hair, which crackled like ice. Her glasses were frozen over, and she rubbed those clear too. If she was at all uncomfortable, she showed no sign of it. All Quinn saw was a wide, goofy grin, and the giggling that came with it.

“T-t-t-that was a-am-mazing! Thank you s-so much, I-I’ve d-dreamed about that forever!” She held out Quinn’s phone, unscathed save for a bit of frosting over the screen. “U-uhm! B-b-but I d-definitely get wuh-wh-why you guys wear h-heated suits!”

Amygdala Circuit

With the dark there came an odd and familiar enveloping sensation, like arms around her, briefly, before it slipped off of her like a blanket. Even then it didn’t feel entirely gone. Along with Tillie, Quinn could feel another presence there, separate from them, and from the unplacable pressure exuded from the pulsing walls. And, as always, it brought with it a certain comfort.

Tillie walked with all the sure-footedness of a newborn faun, immediately folding in on herself to stave off the cold. Of course, even in the cockpit’s frigid heart, she didn’t seem the least bit deflated. As Quinn checked the seat, she made her way to the soft edges. They held no brace, but there were, driven into the flesh, the dim, blinking lights of a measuring array. Tiny nodes set up all around, aimed inward towards the seat. Tillie guessed it was another way of monitoring the Circuit’s regenerative progress.

Tentatively she reached out, probed the brain matter with a single finger. Soft, damp but not wet, though she felt a slight suction the instant her skin made contact with it and she jerked back. A cold-addled giggle broke the dark and quiet.

“T-t-t-this i-is-s…s-so cool!” she said through chattering teeth, punctuated with a squeal. She came over to join Quinn at the seat, marveling in the narrow but piercing light of the phone. “A-a-and y-you just….s-sit here! I-in this! I-in the c-c-cold! Uhm! The suits m-must be s-s-so warm!”

She ran a hand down the chair, careful not to touch the inputs, though she did lean in close to examine them. “I n-n-never tho-o-ought about how yo-you’re p-plugged into this. I-is it c-c-comfort-t-table? D-d-do you get…l-like…uhm! C-c-cramps?”

The Shattering of Aegis

---

Lilann was no stranger to waking up with the urge to scream, and so it was with practiced restraint that she managed to keep from shrieking when a nightmare quite literally tore her from sleep. She said a silent thanks to nothing that no one had heard or noticed her bolt upright, and though it took several minutes for her heart to slow and many more for her breathing to steady, she did eventually shut her eyes again.

Just in time for it to be dawn. Next time she would just pray for death.

On the road once more, Lilann found herself in a daze. She tried to keep her mind busy, plucking at her lyre and forcing herself to focus enough to carry the tune—though she did not sing. Occasionally the chill would catch her the wrong way, and she’d glance urgently behind her, or out into the woods. She listened for…well, she didn’t know. Growling, perhaps, or maybe music.

Often her eyes went to Kyreth, as though he might be gone if she didn’t check on him. She had to remind herself that the shadows about his face, and clothes, were shadows and not blood, had to tell herself, almost out loud, that he was still alive. It donned on her that she’d never heard him scream before, and so she couldn't know what it sounded like, even in a dream.

In the back of her mind, a part of her was confused and repulsed by how quickly she’d begun to care for him. He was nearly twice her size, and she suspected they were about the same age, but more and more when she looked at him she saw…

The cart. Or didn’t, rather, as she walked squarely into the back so committedly it nearly knocked the hat off of her head. She felt her mask for cracks, relieved to find none, and made a mental note to threaten anyone who might have witnessed her clumsiness later. For now, there were evidently more important things to worry about.

Ceolfric and Ermes stood near the front of the wagon, talking to themselves—Ceolfric much more loudly, and not, it seemed, explicitly to the shadowy boy. Their attentions were focused upon a wounded wolf in the middle of the road, but before she could consider the pitiful thing any further, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

Once again, practice saved her from an embarrassing outburst. It was only Kyreth, though he seemed rather concerned. “Be careful, something is wrong,” he said, before joining Ceolfric and Ermes. She would have followed despite his quiet urging for her to stay back, but then she saw the woman, Eila, draw her bow. Almost instinctually, Lilann pulled the knife from her pouch, ready to infuse it with aether.

She watched, confused and more than a little apprehensive, as Eila loosed a—surprisingly excellent—shot directly at the wolf.