[i]Irritating, the split; she relegates herself for a moment to a pre-determined pattern, fingers running through fur, a hum just on the edge of sneering, except she'd never be that mean to her precious Dolly. But she hates it. It's... dishonest. Pretending that Dolly has all of her attention while she is forced to attend to matters in her body, when Dolly deserves so much, all of her, particularly while she's toying with a possible member of a harem, and her thoughts are like thunderbolts that shake the trees, the wind that whirls their leaves, the black pit of the sky.[/i]

There she stands, a doll surrounded by ants. Most mecha are at rest, slack, empty, but Jade insists on her stance: one foot forward, one arm outstretched, her lance resting one tip on the ground with such precision that the immense weight isn't even going to leave a mark on the floor (though the lack of charge running through it plays a part in keeping the floor unmarred, too). This is the Guard Who Keeps The Gate, a stance of vigilance, of strength, of refusal to scamper. Under the circumstances, it is the proper position for an idol, rather than cross-legged and sitting in meditation, or back arched and preparing to leap. She will not have anyone question her legitimacy here, under strange stars.

Scaffolding surrounds her, particularly around her breastplate, where the scuffing is strongest. Were she to move, it would be... disruptive. How brave her engineers must be, knowing that they serve her at her sufferance; that where other mecha are silent and only contain danger in their inert elements, their fuel tanks and their electric nervous systems, Smokeless Jade Fires contains within her at all times the power to take a step forward and send them plummeting about her feet. Thus, when her head shifts, a sudden hush falls over the gaggle of engineers surrounding the Zaldarian, radiating outwards from Silver Ripples, who happened to catch the motion out of the corner of one eye, and the pair still working on filling in the pockmarks on her chest immediately drop tools and make for the stairs, just in case.

"Nine Forests," Jade projects, her voice inescapable, echoing and repeating off the floor, drowning out the frequencies of the larger hangar all around. "Who dares approach the goddess?" Her fingers, one by one, drum on the lance's haft, never letting it escape her control but bringing attention to how she holds it. Her head slowly tilts to one side as she eyes both her Head Engineer (a mountain-cat, thick-furred, colors of fiery smoke drawing the eye down to her torso) and the impudent Zaldarian. "This disturbance is [i]unwelcome.[/i]" And that is all she needs to move to convey that she inhabits this body, this vast idol made unknowingly for her inhabitance, that she is immanent.

She will have the answer. And if it is not interesting, more interesting than pampering her precious Dolly, then the Zaldarian will be expelled. And if it comes to that, she will drum the lance on the ground, the once. The damage to the floor will be as much part of the point as the sound, the shockwave of air, and the reminder that she is still in control. And what will the authorities do, anyway? Reprimand a goddess? It will be the fault of this Zaldarian, their insistence on disturbing Jade while she is [i]busy.[/i]

[i]The fashion show is a blur of motion, recorded through Dolly's fluttering eyes. Her hands grope Dolly's curves blindly, and she cannot fine-tune their force; are they too weak, mere fluttering wingtips, or too strong, making her arch her back on Angela Victoria Miera Antonius's shoulders?[/i] A rumbling growl vents through her speakers as she awaits the insight of Nine Forests, and do not think her mood will be improved if the Zaldarian thinks themselves worthy to speak directly to her.