Dolce did not answer right away. It was a big thought, and it deserved due consideration, which was hard when every spare thought seemed to turn to how agonizingly slow they were advancing. Still, he thought, and still, he puzzled, but in the end, all he could do was shake his head. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t see how that matters.” Imperial politics? Future murder? He didn’t specify. “You have to do this, because Bella has her job, and so do you, and it’s the only way you have to getting all your friends back, or even seeing home again. I have to do this, because I have my job, and it’s the only way I can keep my friends. We don't have much of a choice, do we?”

She tucked them in an alcove to hide from an advancing patrol. Neither of them so much as breathed until the sound of boots was just a distant echo, no louder than their own heartbeats.

“...still.” He murmured. “I wish we could have met under better circumstances. The Princess speaks well of you, and I think her judgement has been sound thus far.” He offered up a little smile that couldn’t quite banish the regret misting in his eyes.

*********************************************

Vasilia will commit to conceding nothing, least of all this seemingly-restrained act of the Thunderer’s ‘benevolence.’ Gift! Really! Knowing her, she was probably lurking in one of these lockers, waiting for the proper moment to burst forth and receive Vasilia’s weeping, awestruck gratitude. Any moment now! Get ready! Here it comes!

Anyyyyyyyyy moment now!

...well!  Were she not so pressed for time, she would throw open every last locker until she found her [i]generous patron[/i] and, and, she’d let her know [i]personally[/i] what the great ruler of Olympus could rescue her from next! The top culprit may well [i]shock[/i] her!

A dim, wearied voice of reason reminded her Demeter [i]was[/i] no longer harrying her so directly. Which was a point  in Zeus’ favor, all things considered.

Which, well. Yes. But. She distinctly remembered only having the one pistol before, which would have matched perfectly to her current repertoire of usable arms, had Zeus not been so blindingly obsessed with the aesthetic qualities of a matching brace of pistols. So. Perhaps it’s all a wash.

The lockers were, ultimately, not spared her coming. Many were slung open far faster than was traditionally acceptable, until she found one stocked full of weaponry in potentia. From here,  she selected two short spear hafts, and along with the last remnants of her once-proud jacket, they made for a makeshift sling. Though perhaps 'half a straitjacket' would have been the better term. She expected the battle before her to stay grounded only as a temporary measure, and of the options available, fixing her bad arm tight to her side was the least painful.

The rest of her gear, she donned with haste. The glaive, collapsed at her belt. The musket, slung across her back. One pistol, in its holster. The other, clutched in her right hand. Nowhere else to put it. Nowhere else to go but forward.

With feet beyond the grip of gravity, she loped down the last hallways of the [i]Anemoi[/i], bounding though the loading dock, off the deck, the wall, the ceiling, back again, back again, onwards and forward! 

Hold fast, crew of the [i]Plousios[/i]! Your Captain fast returns!

[As Vasilia is racing to return to Dolce's side, she now rolls with Hope.]