Phoe

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

It would be entirely fair if you're finding it a little bit difficult to stand Euna Kim right this second.

It's not that her breathing hasn't gotten heavier, because it has. Exertion is exertion even when you don't max out your performance, and she's been in here all day teaching classes. It's the way she breathes that's galling, because even that smacks of training and overachievement. Each breath is measured, precise, controlled. She seems more energized by every little thing, to the point where she can't quite stop herself from bouncing back and forth on the balls of her feet. She smiles like a dork, sure, but a very effortless one.

She is the psychopath who marvels at the world while she runs, Vesna. She's pretty much glowing. How are you friends with this person? It's not because she frequents your store, lots of people do that and you're not that into all of them. Is it really just that she helped you out with your hands? Or, well, what? She seems a lot like your evil opposite. What makes you get along so crush-level well with the cyber fitness dweeb?

"Very well answered back there, Threevee!" she chirps with casual ignorance of burning lungs or drained batteries, "You're exactly correct about the safety of it, not to mention how important it is to make this fun! But there's a physical component to this, as well. Were you aware that running at different speeds works different muscle groups? There's a difference in form for each pace you're capable of that stretch different parts of your legs and require different signals from your brain.

"And that's really the key, isn't it? You have to practice for each shift. Every individual form of energy expenditure, if you're going to learn what you're capable of. So it's, you know, again, important even for those of us without muscles in our legs. So to speak. But we're not so different how we move, the three of us. The challenge of the mind stays the same. If you go too hard for too long you just burn out and cause injury, but if all you do is pace yourself you create limits to what you even know how to do. You'll be running wrong for your entire life. And it will always stay as awful as it felt the first time. Plus there's... oh. Oh, huh."

Euna frowns, watching November. As quick as anything, she's got her by the arm and leads her quietly to a chair before shoving her to a seated position with the absolute gentlest of touches.

"Looks like you were burning a little inefficiently there, friend. I might have improperly calibrated your challenge level here; you're a, please don't be offended, but you're a very unusual model and I haven't gotten your type in here before. Very difficult to tell what your weight to torque ratio is and... ah shoot, I'm making excuses. Never mind about that, were you pushing yourself just now? Heat regulation's an important part of the efficacy of the workout, ok? Take a minute, please. And when your body's screaming at you, listen. Movies are full of moments about the beauty of smashing all your limits, but you don't get to that part before you learn what all they look like."

She smiles kindly, while waving with a sharp motion over to her assistant, pointing toward the back and then her guests while pantomiming a drinking motion. Cinders is maybe a little too eager to show how fast she can run while she zips over to and from a mini fridge with several bottles of brightly colored, vaguely fruit flavored, highly sugared drinks that are nevertheless filled with quick-recharge nutrients. There's a bunch of these things on market and most of them are crap but if you know what you're looking for it's an important part of recovery and workout extension.

"There you go Eunie! You want me to put it on their tab? Or are you playing favorites with your girlfriend again?"

"CINDE-- for the love of god will you knock that off? I. Am. Married!"

"And that's stopped you for having the hots for a bunch of cuties how?"

"Fuck off, Cinders. You're on solo cleanup for a week."

"A week?! But I've got--"

"It's about to be a month if you don't shut your mouth and get back to teaching."

"Slave driver."

"Excuse me?"

"I said yes sir, Ma'am Sir Ma'am!" Cinders snaps to attention and salutes before darting off in a zigzag pattern to dodge the heavy object she's certain is about to be thrown at her.

Euna sighs, and tosses 3V a bottle of neon-blue "don't die" juice. She holds the purple one toward November.

"How about you?" she asks, and her voice is warm again, "Does your manufacture allow for energy intake via consumption? I've got two different models of charging station if not. I'm not going to forgive myself if I let anything happen to you your first time in here. Or any other time, for that matter."

Huntresses of Hybrasil

"Be it. Indulgence. Or. Connection. Be you. Guest. Or. Family. I am. Happy. You feel... free. Ask. Beg. Breathe. Here, you. Are. Treasure."

"Yeah it's a lot," says Slate with a smile, "She's a lot. But don't worry your pretty little head, cutie. As long as you're here, you're among friends."

"Safe company."

"...Or that, sure. C'mon Boss, sell. Sell it! How's she gonna fall into the fantasy if you sit there all overwhelmed and -- ah."

Mirror simply smiles, and fills the quiet of the room with Matty's warm purrs via the motion of her fingers. She is gentle. She is tender. She is affectionate and loving. One hand wrapped around the little sillyhead's waist to keep her from squirming or melting her way onto the floor, the other playing circles all up and down the back of her head. Through the hair, across the ears, a pause to brush the cheeks, sliding tenderly down her throat and playing tenderly with the outline of the collarbone. Tickling the back of the neck and moving to start the cycle over again.

She motions with her head toward the dumpling packages, and Slate grins as she makes a show of picking out several of the juiciest, most densely packed treats in the entire order. The level of sway in her hips would put even Mirror to shame. Up she comes, licking her chops suggestively in sheer delight of the sights and smells. And as she crosses, Mirror switches to stroking Matty's chin and the top of her neck, gently guiding her head up, and up, and up, until she's stretched (splayed, really) as far out as she can be, helpless to speak. Ready, in other words, to eat.

"Ah, there's a good girl! Good girl, sweet kitten, let all those thoughts come tumbling out. You don't need them, do you? Of course you don't. Of course you don't! Those are for the adults, aren't they? No, all you need to worry about is sitting still and opening your mouth sooooo wide, so Slate can feed you. Can't have you starving on us, can we? What would Trosta say? There we go, there we go, good girl, darling ripple, say aahh~"

Slate hesitates a moment before closing in for the kill. It was difficult sometimes to know which end of Mirror's breakdowns and recoveries were the affectations and which were the genuine hints at her mood. Sometimes both halves of a wild swing were genuine, and other times an entire water slide's worth of twists could turn out to be an aspect of play, though that was rare. Sometimes it was about shortcuts sometimes it was about surprises. Sometimes a moment was simply deemed too important and she would put on her mask and burn through it at deep personal cost.

Even for an expert in Mirrorology, it was a lot of potential cues to have to pick up on. And this for a woman who'd cosmetically altered her eyes to make it harder to gauge her emotions. But the motion of her hands, the softness with which she holds Matty: simultaneously giving the girl enough freedom of movement to let her make a complete fool of herself without ever letting her slip away from the cradle of comfort and softness... well, there was no room to misinterpret that, now was there?

She sits down next to her Boss and dangles a dumpling just out of reach of Matty's mouth, so that she needs to strain and stretch a teeny bit to nibble on it. It's tempting in the extreme to stuff the poor girl's mouth full and lock her out of the conversation for however long it took her to recover, but nah. Well, yeah actually. But some other time. And with a toy instead of food. She's got ideas. But you only get one first impression. And she'd promised. This girl would be family before the time came to say goodbye.

So that it would never have to.

Mirror buries her face in Matty's hair and plants a tiny kiss on top of her head, between her ears. Slate dutifully feeds the precious kitten her food, and wipes her mouth clean of drippings between each bite. But her eyes are alight with mischief that will not be silenced, after all. She looks over the top of this little moment and catches Mirror's eye.

"We had to clean out several power conduits near the cockpit, thanks to the burnout and reaction to that geist-thingy, Boss. A deep clean and a scrape did for the paths to Tail 3, but Tail 5's got a line too corroded to be kept. Not a problem; we've got the parts spare and the crew's all trained for this. It's not finished yet, but it'll be done before the next match, bet."

Mirror's smile shifts, and not subtly. One moment she wears a look of contented bliss, and the next with wicked amusement. So that's the game, is it? She continues to hold Matty close and returns to her massage, but her tone of voice becomes weary and bored. Business talk. As if Matty wasn't in the room at all. As if it couldn't matter less if she overhead a status report that most pit crews would commit murder to keep secret. As if the trained and talented engineer being fed dumplings in her lap was too small, too silly, to be factored into the appropriateness of the discussion.

The adults are talking. She feels Matty grow warmer as she catches onto the implication, and gives her a soft squeeze in exchange. Her lower hand massages Matty's stomach as she swallows a laugh.

"To be expected. They have the rest of the night off, I presume? Acceptable. And the controls themselves? Have they been tested for responsiveness in the face of the new connectors? The last time we needed to rip the Whip's guts out like this it felt like I was trying to cut through a waterfall making it move at speed. Frankly I'd rather let the whole thing get hijacked again then ever repeat that sensation."

"Nah Boss, can't. We've tried this, remember? Not a single one of us born can properly test out Nine-Tails' response rating. We need you there for that much, at any rate. Was meaning to talk to you about that. Can you spare time in the... well actually, since we're talking about changing the way the power routing works entirely to prevent this kind of attack in the future we might have to hold off all in all to avoid redundancy. Gonna be a busy day, I think. If it's not too much trouble, can we get you to clear your schedule? Emergencies only, Boss. It's gonna be touch and go without any additional expertise to stabilize us."

"Tch. Unfortunate. I do need time to run the business side of our operation, Slate. This operation doesn't pay for itself. Especially with the Smith getting involved. But if you say there's no time, then there's no time. It isn't as though we have any fresh experts on hand who could speed us out of the trial and experimentation phase. I'll have to put out another loan, instead. It will be difficult: the major TC financial establishments are growing reticent to accept my collateral. I may need to take risks."

Oh no, Matty! Mirror doesn't think you can help her! And without your help she might even get hurt by pirates of Banking Goons, the very worst kind of scoundrel in the universe! Can't you speak up? Can't you save her? Don't you have a single thing to say right now, or is this conversation too big and sophisticated for your little mind to handle? And for that matter, can you master yourself while Slate is still brushing little bits of dumpling off your lips?

The clock is ticking.

Breathless Dead

Eyes for eyes. Stares for stares. And a dress... for a princess.

Bella's expression is unreadable. Her eyes fix on Redana's, watching herself be watched, calculating the angles of vision and where, and what they point to. She watches the rise and fall of Dany's chest and listens to the rattling of the bell that tells her the Princess has developed a slight tremor she can't quite control. She watches the reverence with which those strong, calloused hands lift the dress and carry it toward her.

Bella's posture is immaculate. Straight and proud but without being stiff. She is solid as the earth and fluid as the rains washing over it. Her silence could rival the Anemoi. The stalemate lasts for long moments that can only be measured by how many shallow breaths can be taken before the galaxy stirs to motion again. She breaks the wall between them by turning her back on her new maid. But then she reaches back and pulls up her hair, lifting it above her neck in a great, blue-black cascade.

She points at the floor by her feet, and knows without looking that she is Understood. She lifts her feet one at a time and steps into the confines of her new dress. The fabric is smooth and soothing against her fresh skin. Where it brushes against her fur, particularly where worshipping hands guide it there, it draws a soft sigh and something like a purr from the depths of her chest. Her arms lift automatically in just the way she remembers seeing to make it easier to finish fitting the garment onto her body. Back straight, tail tucked out of the way, waiting with the patience of a warrior's held spear for the signal to relax, release, and move again to accommodate the tying of the knots.

It takes a while. Redana's frills press against Bella while she works, followed closely behind by her own magnificent body. Bella makes no complaint and no cluck of impatience. What irritation remains beating in her heart, she works out through the flexing of her fingers and by breathing in the scent that now permeates the air. The sharp and soothing tones of Redana's skin mixed with her own signature perfume and splotches of spilled syrup. At long last. These sensations belong to her. They are given out as gifts for her to snatch and hold tight against her heart.

The knots are clumsy. She feels them cinch too tightly around her waist and knows from their presence and weight that Redana has chosen familiar ones instead of correct ones, and in choosing has marred the beauty of this perfect dress. Unseen, Bella opens her mouth to admonish, and then closes it again without a word.

What is she to do? Is this a test of some sort? An offer of retribution for what her life had turned out to be? There is no temptation in it. Condescension is a dagger she might wear at her hip, but every cruel or cutting thing that crawls across her mind does so with a memory belonging to a face or faces that disgust her to hold onto them. She looks down at her claws, sharp and full despite her attempts last night to trim them, and shakes her head.

"Get me a chair, so you can actually reach my hair. And stick closer. This far back I can't feel you working. If we're going to do this I..."

Her breath catches. Her body grows warm. Bella's neck turns away to look at the wall, even though she still hasn't set eyes on Redana since this began.

"Love me, Redana. Worship me. With your body and your heart. I have no use for a maid who can't do both."

Oh Hera, is it the dream of every abused creature to grow strong enough to be the abuser? Or can the scales be balanced by softer measures? Don't hot and trembling hands that need instruction on how to weave any hairstyle more complicated than a ponytail a better show of penance? Aren't small, soft breasts pressed close enough against her back to feel the heart beating underneath them a greater payment than any whip or hurt that she could manage?

I waited my entire life to have you. I was prepared to burn the stars out of the skies to have you back. I chased, I yearned, I destroyed myself for less than a sliver of what you're offering now. But now that it's mine, I won't take less than everything you have to give. Don't you dare hold back. Don't you blush or shy away now, Your Highness. Thrill if you want this. Speak up if you don't. But don't you dare do anything to take last night away from me, not now and not ever.

She doesn't speak a word of this aloud. Private thoughts manifest as knots in her neck to be massaged out of her by careful, tender hands. She sits and she endures the tugging of her hair, and the tiny swears that punctuate each little mistake. Fueled by pancakes, she sits and waits for Redana to be satisfied with the braid she is attempting to weave. She doesn't even offer a word of criticism when Redana pulls the whole thing loose after wasting minutes on the struggle and switches tracks to lovingly brushing her locks into silken smoothness instead. As if she were deciding that there was no improving on the natural perfection of her mistresses' body.

"Mmm, very good. Now sit still and let me fix yours, you sloppy thing. And turn and face the mirror while I do it, so you can learn. Don't talk back! Mistress knows best, right?"

No. No scales can be balanced by any bright acts of bravery, nor of love. And even if they could, the crimes they would absolve were long since washed to the point of filth by planets' worth of blood. But if the universe was so keen on delaying her punishment, then... endure it, Redana. The desire to put her fingers through your hair and make you beautiful again has burned so hot and so long that it can never be put out again.

Give up your dreams, and give her this. Let her make you the envy of every other maid in the universe. And after that... after that, do as you will. Take her anywhere, do anything, as long as it's together. Do not waste what little time the galaxy has allotted you and she for happiness before it steps back in to take it all away.

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

"Oh, you remembered your forms! Thank you Threevee, that... means a lot."

Euna hasn't moved in the time she's been waiting for the both of you to be ready, but now she lets a tiny smile light up her face. She immediately wipes it away with a shake of her head, after which she meticulously smooths her hair back into place. Her fingers might have a light current function to them, because when she finishes there's not a strand out of place on that silver curtain.

She walks around the happy couple, watching with eyes trying to drill through your bodies and into their respective inner workings. For a long time she doesn't say anything. And then with precisely measured steps, she walks over to the edge of the gym, where a white line has been laid down across the floor in tape.

"We don't have a lot of space in here," she says with a shrug, "so this is what passes for a track. Legally I'm not allowed to take you outside in my capacity as an instructor. Disruption, noise ordinance, safety concerns. It's a shame; I know some great running paths. But rules are rules, so we'll finish our warmups inside my territory or not at all."

Here, she blushes bright. There's an old argument at war inside her head, maybe. But her posture is proud, and she doesn't elaborate.

"This is the last of our warmups; we'll put you girls through a real set of strength reps after we finish this jog. I chose the running line so that it doesn't cut across any of the other elements, but all the same be mindful of the other guests as you pass. If you see someone moving, call out your presence. That's just good etiquette, ok? We'll do ten laps total: 3 with light intensity to get going, then a single sprint lap followed by a medium effort circuit. Finally, we'll alternate high intensity laps with rest ones, finishing on an all-out burn with as much as you've got left."

Euna grins, and taps her toe insistently on the line.

"The pair of you can run side-by-side, and match each other's pace. I'll follow along behind to adjust your form if I have to, and keep you honest besides. November, this is a really good chance to watch your girlfriend, and especially what happens to her as we get closer to the finish line. I don't know how your energy processing will compare, but if you've got the spare thoughts for it try to make a note of how your diagnostics line up with what Threevee's displaying. Don't worry too much about the efficiency of your run cycle for now, we'll fix that with time."

At the last second, she snaps her fingers. Or, she tries to in any case. She stares at her fingers and their dull, utterly unsatisfying 'clunking' with consternation, as if this wasn't the two-thousandth time she's noticed this particular issue with her materials composition since she went chrome (metaphorically). The expectations of a hundred childhood hours spent learning this very human gesture were not easily erased from her brain. She runs a hand through her hair again, and shrugs.

"Hey Threevee! As long as you've got the breathe for it, go ahead and explain to November your best guess as to why we're running on the schedule we'll be using. Don't worry about a textbook quality answer, I'm mostly curious to get a peek inside that cute head of yours while I take full advantage of having your flank. Hehe. Alright, let's go! Show me what you've got, you two!"

Huntresses of Hybrasil

There are a few advantages to being taller than the average cat. For one thing, natural terrain advantage. In the language of Posture, she naturally saw the furthest and projected the deepest calm. It was easy to win arguments when by standing up straight she could drive her fellow Hybrasilians into climbing just to get a read on her eyes, which dealt a blow on the first point of rhetoric before a word was even necessarily spoken. For another thing the Terenians tended to take her more seriously than many others of their kind since their religion preached physical size as a path to piety and cleaner living. At least so far as she understood it. Strange people. By far the strangest breed in space. Nevertheless, fascinating.

But in any case these things were not relevant to the current situation. The final advantage of height, and by a delightful coincidence the only one that matters right now: leverage. No mythical goddess' body had she. And even though she trained, the fact was her muscle mass was lower than the average pilot's by dint of her control scheme and the physical realities of the motions she did not need to perform like they did. But so what? Simply having longer legs was all she needed. A bend at the knee and she is positioned. Grab, high and low. Snap to full extension and:

"Meep!"

"Up we go, cutiewhiskers! My oh my, what a wonderful introduction, thank you much. Good girl, good girl! And you brought your little art project as well? I can't wait to see it; I'm sure it will be just precious. But not just yet, ok ripple? You've been on your little feet for so long, and now it's time to rest."

Matty is actually lighter than expected. With one hand at her knees and the other on the back of her neck, she tucks almost instantly into Mirror's chest and wraps her arms around her to make this outcast engineer the easiest carry Mirror can currently remember holding. All down to the surprise of the moment. All down to leverage. There are moments where she is grateful to be herself, instead of some other happier cat. This is such of one.

She moves quickly over to the couch, before her legs can develop a tremble and shatter the illusion. She sits while she can still do so gracefully, and leans into the armrest to support her back enough that she can easily hold Matty curled up in her lap with her head nestled close against Mirror's chest. The robe shifts dangerously. It's really only Matty's ability to stay still like a good girl that's for certain keeping it on her at the moment. Too much squirming and she might get more than she's ready for, the poor thing.

The heat pouring off her body is pleasant. Muscles loosen along Mirror's back and stomach in particular, and she sighs with contentment as the shuddering, embarrassed purr starts to vibrate through her bones. Her eyes flick across the room to Slate, who grins.

"Well that's just plain unfair, Boss. You know I was trying to stay mad at you, right? How'm I supposed to do that now that I've actually seen her. Damn you. Just... damn you, you're too good."

"Don't scare her, Selin. You've only just met. For that matter, she and I have only just met."

"Yeah, and you're already like that because... ok, right right, you're right as usual. I'm sorry. Hi there, you adorable thing you, my name is... is... Boss, do I really gotta do this?"

"The crew's not here, Selin. Matty will not be joining it in any official capacity. Her master was very adamant that I do not poach her for any purpose but this one. She gave you her name, don't hide behind modernity now."

Her smile is serene as she plays with Matty's hair. Slate watches with a silly expression on her face in spite of herself, heart visibly melting in real time. She clicks her tongue, the ultimate sign of the defeated.

"My revenge is going to be swift and brutal, and that's the last I'm gonna say about it right now. Ok cutie, you'd like my name? I'm Selin Makers, Laughing Story. Please just call me Slate. 'Mom' will do fine too, if you decide you're here for that. I'm Mira's chief mechanic, so you know, and Mira's first partner. If you take her, that means taking me too. After all, I'm originally the one who pushed her to look for someone like you. Though that was years ago, and she refused. Stars and spots, did she refuse. Hahaha, you should have seen... well, anyway."

There's a spot of silence in the room. Matty's purring stops, and she even risks Mirror's robe and grip for a chance to sit up and listen. Face full of cautious curiosity. Mirror says nothing, but watches on. Slate nods, and is left to pick up the pieces.

"Yup, see, that's the thing you have, Matty. The thing that Mirror needs and can't get from anyone else she's met. You've got kind've a heart on your sleeve thing going, don't you? You're very easy for her to read. Notice how confidently she picked you up just now? You never see that with someone she's just met. But with you... well ok, here. You said you didn't quite fit in on Hybrasil? Then you'll fit in this room just fine, see? We're a couple outcasts ourselves. Even before the big incident that got Mirror her stupid nickname.

"I don't want to overwhelm you since you're new and all, right? So I'm not gonna drop anybody's entire life story on your head, you just need to understand a really important thing that Mirror's never going to be able to explain to you. She can't, it short circuits her to try. I called myself her partner, but I don't got dibs on her. We're not in competition, you and me. Mirror, she's got the biggest heart in the entire universe, got me? And she needs... a lot. A lot a lot, to fill it. You could be a part of that, if you wanted to. Casual or serious, just show up and be yourself."

"You decide." Mirror's interjection is clipped, and desperately tense.

"And that's all, really. You won't have her all to yourself, but you'll never ever lose her for as long as you stay. Easy, right? As for me, don't worry. I think you're adorable. And matter of fact I'm pretty damn interested in what you've brought with you in a professional capacity. Real damn interested. So take a sec, right? Thanks for not hopping straight out've her lap. Real decent of you. Just think over how you feel about what I told you, and what Mirror's showing you, and then let's go ahead and see what you've got to show us. Don't worry too much about putting it all into words; the way you carry yourself while you're giving your little presentation will tell us both most've what we need to know. The rest we'll settle over drinks later. It'll be fun!"

"You like dumplings? We've got leftovers. I can. Feed you. If you want it."

Breathless Dead

The smells of batter, syrup, and whipped cream are hooks inside her nose. They pull her up when all she wants to do is disappear under the covers and never be seen again. Not that she could. The thread count on these sheets is awful, rendering them distracting, rough, and scratchy to a shocking degree. Wasn't this bed intended for royalty? Who'd been washing it? Had anyone?

With nowhere else to hide, hunger pulls her to the edge of the bed. Shame draws her legs up to her chest. Fury pulls her claws across the matress. Her eyes glare out into the gloom, and lock onto the figure sharing the space with her in its increasingly desperate, clumsy curtsy. Her jaw clenches. Her tail thwaps across the bed in a display of obvious agitation. Her body pulls tight into itself until she's at risk of pulling open the last of her healing wounds.

But every breath smells like pancakes. The pit of her stomach is hollow and howling. There is chocolate in the air and warm butter, decadence piled atop decadence with childish intent that screams Redana, and yet with a degree of skill and subtlety that suggests she had no hand in this, except perhaps to plan it. Who could have made?

It's like being trapped inside a dream. Morning in the palace with everything just the way she remembers it, only with the positions reversed. Her heart races against her will, her nostrils flare, and her claws dig ever deeper into the cushions she's still seated on. No words will come out of her mouth. She can't even think of any, just now. All she can do is glare daggers at Redana, try to cut her in half with a look, and hope it isn't hunger that shines through above everything else.

Stupid. Stupid to think she'd want this, Redana. Want this power, want this reminder of the way things truly were, want this, this... gah, fuck! Every thought comes back to hunger. Of everyone who'd fought that dance, she was the only one who'd taken wounds from all of them. The cuts she'd torn into herself cost her dearly. Now she was burning hotter and harder than anyone. Her body demanded fuel like a glutton without any regard for the feelings of the moment or her head, or her heart.

Bella rises to her feet. It's a boring, basic, perfunctory sort of motion without a hint of playfulness or acceptance to it. But no room for malice, either. She crosses from the bed to the table without acknowledging the maid in the corner. She doesn't reach for a bathrobe or steal the sheet for a cover, or anything. She walks and she sits, in all her glory, and takes the knife and fork into her hands with no thoughts but to clear the air of this maddening smell.

She eats quickly, but with care. Always taking the time to cut a new triangular mouthful out of the pile and transfer the fork to her dominant hand the way a proper Lady is meant to before she brings it to her lips. Every bite is delicate, always moving her lips around the fork so that the act of eating wouldn't smear or wipe away the lipstick she might be wearing at any moment. There are many toppings that might be spilled on this particular plate, but nothing so much as threatens to stain her as she moves.

The taste is sweet as anything. If anything it's even richer and more overwhelming than it smells. There's so much flavor here she almost can't keep her eye from watering. A shiver spreads across her neck three times before she finally finishes. Only the last few bites does she try to savor. Those final triumphant moments the only ones worth lingering on. She chews, and lets her eyes drift shut. She opens them again, and beholds Redana.

She is beautiful. Gods damn her, she is beautiful beyond compare. Trying to hide the power of her body only seems to draw it out further. Where the skirt ruffles up it draws the eye to the muscles of a girl who lived her life for sprinting. Wrapping those iron legs in such delicate stockings is like stuffing a thunderbolt into a bouquet of flowers. Danger dances with beauty in mixture soft enough to want to rest her head against it. The outfit promises, she could demand it if she wanted to. Nothing asked of a person dressed like this could be denied. She knows only too well.

The air, too, is awake with the soft chiming of a bell, jingling with every hopeful bounce of the leash. Bella's shoulders melt at the symphony of it. Her sharp edges round to relaxed curves, more and more with every fresh jingle. Redana is here with her, and once again the room is rich with the music of bells. It has come between them, once again. A new hunger starts growing inside of her, one no plate of food could ever satisfy. To make this silly creature dance for her, to see her spin, see her clean, see her hum a little tune while she bends so carefully to pick up...

Bella sighs. She is not allowed to ask for something like this. Even now, that film reel weighs heavy in her mind, while a thousand memories like knives drive into her heart and demand she blush, demand she balk, demand she at the very least raise her voice high enough to say, 'Redana, what the fuck?!'. There are many nights of heavy conversations that lie between them, still. She knows this. So she should cut off all this nonsense from the start, before it's too late.

But her eyes turn to the dress, hanging there in front of her. The one that looks so much like the thing she tried to make for herself on the Yakanov, only tailored with far greater skill and possessed of a vision that saw far more clearly what it was she failed to capture. All the majesty and wonder of nebulae and stars and even tides. The majesty, beauty, and allure of the True Sea.

She looks at Redana again, and rises to her feet. The blessings of Bella's body take her higher and fill her out more than Redana could replicate even in costume. That dress was made to fit one body on this entire ship. Her lips curl up into a condescending smile, one flush full of sharp, wicked, dangerous, and above all taunting fangs.

"Well?" she asks, and her voice drips with Imperial haughtiness, "How long will you stand around staring at me like that? Are you going to dress your Mistress, or do I have to punish you?"

Huntresses of Hybrasil

"On the contrary I... hnn. Do you? Do you really? No. Of course not. Sarcasm. Selin, this is not the time for that. If I have given you reasons to think I do not..."

Mirror frowns. She is only too happy to ignore the knocking at the door for a moment while she finally gains her legs and slinks toward the fridge on dainty steps. A bottle of beer flies from the open door into Slate's waiting hand. Two more drinks sit in Mirror's, one sharp strong and bitter, the other sweeter than candy.

"Off the mark again. You're talking about yourself. That one hurts the most, you know. Fine then. I'll say the first one: you are good at many things. And I need you for all of them, much more than you... never mind. Never mind. Never... never mind. And you're correct, of course. Defending ourselves against this thing is an entirely different net than the one we're dragging up right now. There's no knowing what might be caught up in it."

She tilts her head toward the ceiling with a long sigh. Not out of exhaustion or sadness or even frustration. It is simply the form her thinking takes in this moment. She swings around to the other side of their tiny room and plucks a soft, blue robe off a hook on the wall. Hardly a planned thing, just a courtesy left for her use as a pilot on cooldown. A lot of assumptions get made about her kind, and while not all of them exactly hit the mark, each of them were useful. If one was clever enough.

She slips it on and ties it loosely around her waist, giving her the seeming of someone wearing a particularly lurid party dress. It's almost more scandalous than seeing her nude. Almost. She mustn't traumatize her kitten straight away, if she can help it. Her expression softens as she looks to the door. Still quiet, no second knock.

"Our answer might be waiting for us in the hall, you know. But whatever shape our countermeasures take, it's correct that they can't be as simple as a lock. I can't see the shape of it yet, because I don't know what happened. But whatever we use should be subtle. Not a lock. Not a lock. Especially not a very good one. Though a lock might be necessary to hide our intentions. We might build in systems to reroute power without quite so much hotwiring, or we... well. A Crystal Fire Drive is just a well of energy, after all. It might be turned to any purpose, or driven through any channel. Our shield should be a thing that makes use of the attack itself. Don't you agree?"

And with that she leans against the door and waits. There's no need for more than a brief glance into the hallway to know how Matty is or what she looks like. And it's not difficult to predict her, either. Mirror raises a hand with one finger up to shoulder height for the length of one breath, two breaths, three...

She points. There's a soft and tremulous knock on the door. Mirror swings it open just after the third beat, and Matty squeaks when her knuckles hit nothing but empty air.

"Well hello there, sweet little willow! Hello!"

Soothing condescension. That's the tone that Mirror's voice is chasing. Something to make her kitten burn from the inside out, but without hurting her feelings. She leans forward a little bit and puts a gentle hand on Matty's shoulder with a squeeze that sends tingles down the spine. Her robe slips just a little bit at the shoulder.

"Did you come here all by yourself? What a brave girl you are! But come in, come in here, silly! It's dangerous for shining little treasures like yourself to be out all alone. Haven't you heard? There are pirates about, and worse besides. The sorts of wicked villains who would snap an adorable kitten up as quick as blinking and gobble her whole! We don't want that, now do we? There we go, come in now, that's my good girl~"

The slightest tug is all it takes. Matty's steps are tiny, flustered, and unsure, but she goes where Mirror leads. As soon as she's through the threshold, Mirror slides the sweet drink into her hand and clicks the door gently shut. The sound of the lock echoes at least three times as loud.

"Well, here you are. And looking just as cute as I remember! Would you like to introduce yourself to my partner, cutie?"

Breathless Dead

Thank the gods, though she'd cursed their names hardly any time ago. Thank them, bless them, praise them. For giving her an answer that doesn't need any more words.

The universe compresses all around her. Gone are the endless depths of space. Gone is the massive expanse of the Plosious. Everything that is, that was, that ever shall be can fit inside this single bath chamber. There is the smell of fresh water and of steam, of apple and soft not-wine, of smooth oils and incense quietly being added to the pool and the air all the time. There is the feeling of those oils as they sink into her skin, washing away the grit and the scars and replacing every inch of her with something smooth and beautiful as marble but as sensitive as she could ever remember feeling.

And. There. Is. Redana.

The touch of her skin is lightning. The beating of her heart is thunder. They rush through the Princess and into Bella with a greedy, hedonistic surge that allows no defense. The smell of her hair, even soaked through as it is, is fire. Warmth and spice that seeps into her brain until it feels like she is dissolving, losing control, helpless to feel her ear twitch and her breath draw in with ever greater insistence. More. Give her more. More!

Redana's hands are as rough as shark's skin. Even the water and its many miracles could not soften the callouses inflicted upon her royal hands by the horrors of the journey that brought them here. But even so. But even so. They play music on Bella's spine. They pull sighs from between her lips, when her lips are hers to sigh with. They tingle and they burn and they search as they grasp at the silken cascade of her hair. They pull her straight. They hold her close. They bid her reach her hands out in turn.

Bella's claws are sharp and hard. But she dares to place her hands upon her princess. In this place and this moment, if no other. One hand upon her back, the other on her butt. She tenses. She lifts. She pulls Redana up from the water, just enough to make them equals in this moment. She squeezes. She holds onto the lightning with deep, insatiable greed and pulls it closer, closer, closer, tighter and tighter against her body as if she meant to absorb it into herself. Her body feels as hard as diamond and as yielding as the pool they stand in. Soft. Rigid. Stiff. Warm. Wet. Her claws play across Redana's supple skin enough to test the tension and set her princess aflame, just to the point where she threatened to draw blood but never causing harm.

She has skill enough for this, after all. She has been gifted the opportunity to prove it.

Her mouth closes around Redana's with a hunger built up over a lifetime's worth of longing. Longing without ever daring to actually hope, the sort of awful, gnawing pit that grew and grew and grew inside of her until she became capable of every horror and unkindness she had inflicted upon the crew of this cursed, unhappy ship. Upon the Princess herself. And even so. She tastes those lips at last.

They are warm. Wet. Savory and yet as sweet as the most tempting fruit. The sort that might distract her from a chase and thereby doom her forever. And still she eats. She lets her fangs brush against them, biting down but only softly. Only seeking the noises of acceptance she can capture with her own tongue and swallow them inside of herself. Her fingers play across Redana's skin, as far as they can reach while needing to hold her in place, pinning and pinned at the same time.

But the fire inside of her does not cool. Every kiss, every touch, ever scent only seems to throw more fuel on it until she is near to igniting into a new star. More, she roars with every kiss. More, she demands as their hearts come close enough to share a single beating pattern. More, she pleads as their bodies press and flow and brush into one another. Soon, Princess, I will take everything from you I have ever wanted. Ever dreamed of. More than that, even.

And I will give you myself. Everything you want. Everything I am. And if I must, to satisfy you I will become more. Or less. Whatever I need to convince you to finally, finally, finally douse this heat before it kills me. Because I want this. Because I want you.

Because I have you now. And I will hold you forever, even if the universe itself should be my enemy.

Together, they sink back into the warm embrace of the water. Together, they entwine leg and finger and arm. Together. And even still, they kiss. Because this is the answer the gods have gifted her. A speech her tongue cannot fumble, however hard it twists.

Breathless Dead

The song of splashes and steam whispers in her ear. Awaken, Bella. Awaken. Eyes open. Ears bend. Thoughts stir. The air itself is sighing all around her, drawn in by the music played by a dozen tall pipes pouring water into the basin of grass and rocks. The smell all around her is clean, barely fragrant. There are herb scents and floral notes here, but faint. So very faint. All of it is pulled into the steam and cleaned until the only information her breath can tell her is that this is a place of healing.

The water soaks into her fur. It glistens on her bare skin. The water ripples over her and dwindles away in tiny waves, washing more and more of the red away. Bit by bit she is cleansed. The red that had been smeared in everything washes away, leaving pristine soft white fur and pale skin that manages to almost be beautiful in spite of the many marks and gouges that still mar her body.

Something like wine, and yet not wine, is poured gently into her mouth. It is lighter, sweeter, and yet somehow more astringent. It leaves her mouth feeling clean. This is something she knows, though she has never had a name for it. Nero insisted on it whenever she was bathing. Attending to her and Redana when they would attempt bonding meant bringing out bottle after bottle of the stuff in a steady procession. Always in clean white ceramic containers, to preserve the flavor and the purity. It's a scent and a flavor that is inextricably linked with baths.

She sighs, drawing short into a wince as her skin starts stitching more cuts together with fresh unblemished skin. Every part of the process on display for her audience, today. Every part of her, on display. Her greatness, her size, her strength, her softness, her curves, and the perfection of the ritual preparations that marked the original intention among Humankind for her species. Almost human. Almost. You could mistake her for one, in the dark. Touch her. Feel her. She belongs. No guilt. But the luxurious fur now swimming in this hot bath made her exotic. Lesser. A pet and a companion. A maid with skilled hands to accomplish every chore. A songstress or a silent mouth, at Mistress' pleasure. It had been a mistake, or a design beyond the ken of her pedigree, that turned her into the thrice-terrifying Diodekoi.

She would shrug, but the energy was being put to use elsewhere in her body. She lets her head lean back into a warm rock instead, and her blue-black hair splays into a halo on the surface of the water all around her. Lantern light sparkles all around her. On her. On her more than anyone. Even now? Yes, even now.

"Hey, Mynx?"

"Nnnnnnnnnnnn."

"Sorry. Redana, then. Princess. What... are we? Us, I mean. Do you want me gone, or here? Alive or dead? Am I your prisoner? Or am I... something else? Are we?"

The sound of water trickling down awaits the answer. The currents massage and the steam relaxes. Somewhere in her exhausted mind, the not-wine carries up a strange and pointless thought up through everything. With the priestess-garb of Artemis in ruins and finally peeled off her body, she had not so much as a stitch of clothing left to her name. Nothing here was hers, and her authority was stripped from her. And it never reached this far out, besides. So it would be this, then. This forever. Heh. Hehehe. The idea of it makes her chuckle even as she waits for her answers. What a treat this would be for someone. Maybe everyone.

She was, after all, born to be perfect.

Huntresses of Hybrasil

It was not, of course, strictly speaking necessary to take the bags back in so many trips. And if that was true there was no need whatsoever to walk at such a slow, deliberate pace. Let alone with the exaggerated sashay she chose to celebrate the moment. Yes, thank you darling little Terenian, watch the pretty tail if you please. Are you feeling sleepy? Or something else, perhaps~?

Would you like to... come inside? Or maybe slinking back into your vehicle and self destructing in the dark and quiet before your next assignment is a little more your speed?

"Mmm. Thank you very much. Worry not: your personal compensation has already been included with our purchase."

Her smile is absolutely lurid as she reaches for the final box. The door closes with such deliberate slowness that it should be counted as a crime. And maybe it would. But who would bold enough to charge her for it?

Only once she's alone with Slate again does she let the embarrassment show. And then only through a handful of sharp sniffs and a fluttering of her left ear. The smile that greets her seems to pull all the air out of her chest, and she slumps down at the table rather than seating herself with even a modicum of grace. Suddenly she is flustered. Exposed. She pulls inward and hunches forward as she reaches for noodles and one of each kind of dumpling along with a tall glass of cold clean water. Now her movements are careful and small. Now she goes through effort to hide everything she'd been showing so proudly.

Always the way with her. Heedless for the length of the battle. It's only when it's over that she notices the number and the depth of her injuries. So to speak. Point to you, Selin. That makes... what, since we've come here? Thirty-seven to two? Good for you!

Mira takes a small bite of a dumpling: so small and so delicate that she comes away chewing nothing but a small amount of dough. She tilts her head as if lost in thought. The second bite tears the thing to pieces, and her eyes flutter closed in pleasure.

"D'pndsh whn shh'mrnnn." She slurs before finally swallowing her bounty. Another dumpling is already in her hand, but she holds it. It moves toward and away from her mouth in a horrible dance, if it could in fact feel fear.

"If you are looking for clear answers, I have none. Possibly, we have been infiltrated. One of our darling, precious engineers is a traitor in thrall to Solarel. If you believe that, then I'm very excited to cheer for you in the next match. Have fun."

She shrugs and chews another dumpling, this one full of heavily spiced meat, and calmly lets the steam pour out her mouth before continuing.

"But other forms of sabotage are more possible. Nothing definitive. Sound is a focusing factor in the control of nanites, I have been informed. If our hangar was reshaped for the benefit of a sneak-thief, there would have been a noise. One among our number should have marked it. Would you have said anything, if you'd heard? It might have sounded like anything at all. We shall have to ask."

She slurps at noodles, now. Takes several long swigs of her water until it starts dribbling down her cheeks. She lets the droplets fall on her breasts without complaint. Her spine straightens. She displays herself with pride again, and the detachment of a woman too lost in a puzzle to have any room left in her heart for modesty. Her tail curls around her legs. She plucks it up and chews on the tip contemplatively without thinking about it.

"But if this is the methodology, the number of culprits will be slim. It was an act of real skill, sound or no. The caste system of the Zaldarians is such that most such individuals have the favor of their Empress. Solarel does... not. A sufficiently talented, excommunicated materials-whisperer, and one quite freshly arrived in the system. Someone whose loyalties, or at least services, are acquirable beyond the fear of repercussion via Solarel's newfound mastery of currency and commerce. I knew it was a mistake to watch the wolf-cart anime with her. But even still, our list of suspects could not possibly stretch beyond a pair of names, at most. A very straightforward search."

Mira eats quietly until continued sustenance is impossible. This happens much sooner than her general lack of food the past several days would have suggested. But the fare was delicious, and why would she believe the leftovers would be any less so later? She pushes away from the table and looks longingly at the fridge, though she makes no motion to get up and get herself anything. Neither does she ask. She simply stretches. Arms back, head back, legs apart. As full and ostentatious a display of herself as this tiny space and its spartan lighting will allow.

"Equal odds this was done with simple brute force. Geists are not complicated programs to work into a system. A data spike jammed into the cockpit at any time would have done the trick, though indications are that our intrepid, ah, heroes also made efforts to cover their tracks, and did so well enough that even I did not notice signs of damage or sabotage until the trigger event. It might even have been accomplished via social hacking, which brings us back to our darling crew. If no one heard a noise, we might then ask if any among them have been flirting with strangers lately. A cute little gift, given in an untimely manner. That is my deduction, separate from my investigation. I have given my report, O Captain."

She frowns. There's an angle here she's not considering, and it is driving her nuts. Like the sound of aloe leaves being scraped, but on a loop inside her mind. She winces.

"...I was hoping our kitten would turn up tonight. Never minding any fun we might have together, she's a diligent worker. I think she would come with a report on the preliminary concepts for my... what would you say? Commission? I am very curious to know how Trosta will think to bind the hands of a God. Even one as small as I am, hmmm~"