Vasilia laid aside her glaive, and turned an ear to the symphony of the stars. 

The bridge offered an unparalleled view of the passing travellers, and little else for her lonely vigil. A place of action, of command, of judgements, it had no use for frivolity and no space for a proper walk. She’d spread out a blanket on the floor to grant herself a place to tend to her weapons, and even this concession felt an intrusion. Wrong, somehow. Breaking some unspoken taboo. It pricked at her sensibilities, like lying down with a twisted back. Forever promising to calm down soon, soon, if only you could just find the right way to sit.

If she had no patience for her guest, then perhaps she shouldn’t have been several days fashionably late.

“You’re always bloody involved, when it’s about a throne.” Vasilia spoke to the air, the hairs on her neck bristling at the electric presence. “Why even bother with all this? One word from you, and the contest’s decided. No one on Olympus would argue.” She didn’t name who she suspected Zeus might choose. No taste, for running through that tired script again. 

For as much choice as she had in the matter.

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

Dolce did not blink. Had not blinked. For a while. How long? 

Well, how long since he’d blinked, or how much longer could he go without? The first one, it’s been...well, he didn’t quite mark the start, it was after she’d pulled out the notebook, which meant at least a minute fifteen, give or take some. The second one, it’d been so long since he’d tested himself in this way, he couldn’t possibly guess what his limits were. It’d been years since he’d had to do blinking drills, and he did somewhat regret stopping, in hindsight, because there was nearly too much Princess for him to keep track of. There were drawings, detailed drawings with lots of figures to remember, and an errant teacup holding something between fluid dynamics and a time bomb, which he could not apply a napkin to until it was about to explode. While his eyes managed that, his ears were in charge of listening. His hands had to drink his own tea, at appropriate intervals. Put it all together, and his mouth needed to come up with useful advice, when asked for, or when the conversation lapsed sufficiently, which was proving to be a rather squirly metric today! 

No, no, no time for blinking at all.

“I think,” Dolce said, slowly, testing the waters in case he was about to be swept away again. “Maybe we ought to...compensate, for the factors we don’t choose?” Oh, wonderful, [i]brilliant[/i] observation Mister Dolce, no possible way that the Princess slash Senior Mechanic hadn’t thought of that one already. “That is to say, there are other factors, yes? In our composition of crew and armaments that could be used to our advantage. And, perhaps the decision can be made in light of those, ah, other factors, such that the factors - of the ship - can be adequately balanced in light of threats...unknown?”

The too-long sip of herbal tea proved remarkably un-soothing.