[b]Redana![/b]

At no point did you pull that switch. Being ready to was a clever move - the action of an engineer, the kind of thing that would have gotten you a precious nod of acknowledgement from Iskarot. But there was no reason for you to pull it, no crash and detonation and shattered glass and wave of toxic fumes. 

And yet when you look at your hand holding the lever it's in the downmost position anyway. The door blares as it opens, as the howling wind blasts into the cabin and every unattended object is hurled about. It takes all your strength to hold tight to where you are, even as the boarding ramp lowers to provide you with a view of a massive eye painted like a butterfly's wing in yellow and purple and black. 

At no point did you let go of your handhold and yet the next thing you know your fingers have just scrabbled onto the edge of the drop ramp as you almost went hurling into the void. It will take all you have to hold your grip and not look at the shape of whatever it is is looking at you with that illustrated eye.

Roll to [b]Overcome[/b] if you wish to keep your grip.

[b]Vasilia![/b]

You don't remember shutting the door to the cockpit, but you did - you even wrenched the handle off so you couldn't easily open it again. You're not clear why that was the course of action you took rather than going to rescue Redana, and Dolce is looking at you with evident confusion. There's no time for that, though, because the machine on the window is banging for your attention and once it has it it touches three fingers to its shoulder in what looks more like the charades code for four words than anything.

It holds a finger for the first word, then it points at its chest with two thumbs, and then expands the gesture around - us, we? Two fingers, second word. It... strikes a pose straight out of a children's film series, Princess Deadlift, doing the flex combined with two-finger point that she does when it's time to get serious. Determination? Conviction? Willpower? Three fingers, and then it places one palm flat upwards, and uses the other two to mime a ballet dancer with its fingers, dancing about and performing kicks. 

We... are very serious about dancing? We will dance?

Fascinating probably but while this has been happening you've been without visuals on the exterior for the better part of a minute and you could fly into a mountain at any second. This is a serious problem and playing charades with an insane robot doesn't seem likely to help. If you want to straight up fly blind through this then you'll need to [b]Overcome[/b].

[b]Alexa![/b]

This is not how war should be.

Athena is there besides you, spear drawn, shield raised, but there is no advice from her, no muttered tactical assessment, not even commentary on your own stance. Her eyes are darting about looking for a threat as the shuttle turns to madness. Vasilia just slammed the door to the cockpit shut and locked it and Redana almost got blown out of the door that she must have mistakenly opened and there is an enormous eye staring at you through that loading dock.

"Sylica pattern assault carrier," Athena breathes suddenly, more shocked than you've ever heard her - but as she says it so you see it. The visual effect of the eye is incredibly disorienting but once you change your perception to focus on the hard lines and shape of the frontal ram you can see that it's not the mad eye of some god but a spectacular illustration painted onto the front of a combat shuttle. You know the Sylicas, Molech made a billion of them, huge and ungainly aircraft designed for lunatic mid-air boarding actions. You spent a lot of time aboard those in the olden days.

It's up to you where you put your focus - but if you assist either of the others they can roll with Hope. You might also want to do something about Princess Epistia who is lining up a javelin toss directly at the centre of the eye and you're pretty sure you see Ares telling her to do it. You're fairly certain that means that toss is not going to de-escalate this situation.

[b]Bella![/b]

Captain Lorventi clicked her beak and depowered her halberd. The cut about patience landed - glancing around you can see that Lorventi was the only one of her kind who seemed emotional and flustered in this moment. "Of course. Praetor." she said stiffly, trying to feign professionalism.

Strange. She's so obviously a highly strung mess out here in field when she was so restrained and focused on the ship. Is she actually new to this? Is there something about this situation that is triggering some phobia or trauma? Is it actually Mynx in disguise? Whatever it is, it doesn't seem to matter - she's coherent enough to perform her function.

"Praetor," blurts the machine, rising to its feet in a motion far too graceful for something that spoke like an invalid. "The Laughing God has told us of your coming. You are to dance the role of the Emperor. And so we will honour you and obey you in all things." It - she? - fell back to one knee in another fluid motion, one hand to her breast, the other extended out behind her. Still a bow, but the bow of a theatre performer this time - an act, as well as an act of respect. 

"And we salute you!" blasted the crowd of machines in unison, so suddenly it made Lorventi jump and ignite her halberd again. They all raised their fists to the side of their heads, or whatever passed for it. The sound of these voices made a machine symphony that was somehow beautiful.

"We who dance the dance of death!" cried the speaker-machine, voice starting to flow, somehow finding music to it. Or do you have that backwards? Was its speech halting because it was trying to speak instead of sing?

"We who dance salute you!" cried the machines again.

"We who have died ten thousand times will die for you ten thousand more!" sang the leader.

"We who died salute you!" came the choir's refrain.

"All is ready!" sang the leader. "The Usurper comes! The Betrayer comes! The Hounds come! They come riding the lightning, racing against time itself!"

"We who have become death salute you!" roared the choir.

The leader bowed to you again, as fluidly and quickly as mercury. A zephyr gesture and a snap of her fingers and her choir - who had subtly positioned themselves through the performance - lift and haul slabs of stone away. As they do they revealed a hidden staircase, concealed underneath the otherwise identical marble of the rooftop. It was furnished for an Emperor, with carpet of soft blue velvet, and lead downwards into the heart of the palace.