"The ship belongs to the Captain. The crew belongs to the Captain," Redana recites back at Dolce with a sneer. "The ship is mine, the crew is mine. Thus. Come on, even [i]I[/i] can do this! It's a [i]simple[/i] logical statement. If the ship and crew are mine, and they belong to the Captain, then [i]I am the Captain.[/i] You've spelled it out yourself! And if I cannot help her with these, then to [i]Tartarus[/i] with them! To [i]Ixion's Wheel[/i] with us all!"

She begins fiddling with a dial. A dial that, yes, when you pull that hanging cord, signals to the engine room that more speed is necessary. That storm's coming up fast and hard, and in another heartbeat there will be no way to stop; the [i]Plousios[/i] won't be able to deaccelerate in time without shearing itself apart.

"I have her [i]blood[/i] on my hands, little cook!" Easy mistake to make, Redana. That's yours, dried. From where you've been punching walls and mirrors. "Hers, and Mynx's! I tore her apart! I wanted to, and wanting's the same as doing, and I gave her the death she wanted all this time, the death I didn't want for her, I didn't want for any of them, why, why am [i]I[/i] worth dying for?"

She punches the dial and it crunches under her knuckles. Then she rests her forehead on the wall and her shoulders tremble.

"Back to the kitchens, little cook," she says, in a small, still voice. "Or I'll kill you, too."

It's not a threat. Not in that voice. Just fear that she's telling the truth.