"You really want to know what I think? You should be getting ready to say goodbye. Fry them, shoot them off into space, set them down on some sorry ass rock if that makes you feel better about it. The Tides are dangerous. You shouldn't have let them on board in the first place."

Bella moves with the precision of somebody who knows how many eyes are on her. The Coherent all around her, who always stared like that whenever she needed to work with their kind when her chores included Plover maintenance or other highly technical labor. And the sheep who can't stop shivering, but also won't look away. She does what she's always done with eyes on her: rise to meet their expectations. She holds her back straight and head high. She flicks her tail with supreme confidence, and snaps her fingers imperiously. She gestures at a woman who is very poorly pretending to work, and with one nod and a jab of her finger sends her tumbling down from the light rigging to fetch a fresh chair.

She sits with her legs crossed and her hands folded over one knee. Surprisingly demure, for such a beastly creature. Her fingers are very carefully folded so that nobody can see the tips. Neither threatening or exposing her weaknesses. Her expression is thoughtful as she watches the captain of this worthless rustbucket of a ship. And not just him, but the scene around him. Which around him trip over themselves looking for ways to serve and which simply bend their ears to eavesdrop. Who is truly indifferent and who is uncomfortable. Who is excited. She licks her lips, and closes her eyes. Don't hurt yourself watching her, Dolce.

"...But you did. You asked monsters on board your ship, and you left them free to do whatever they wanted."

It's not clear if she's talking about the Tides, or herself. The way her eyes keep drifting to her hands every time the sheep winces is difficult not to notice. But she's decided to stay, since nobody will dismiss her. And she will not dismiss herself, or run away. There's pride in that ample chest that won't let her abandon whatever sort of duel this is. Memories and thoughts flicker in the light across the surface of her natural eye. 

A moment later, several Coherent come scrambling up carrying a table and a pot of tea. They pour two cups before shooting back to an officially sanctioned Respectful Distance, and watch with the kind of tension that suggests they've forgotten how to breathe. Not out of fear. Everything in the air here suggests excitement. Everything except the captain and his guest, locked into their battle for the fate of all the monsters on the [i]Plosious[/i]. Bella picks up her cup and lifts it to her lips. She holds it there for a long moment, taking delicate sniffs.

"Sugar, you assholes. And cream."

She sets the cup down and waits for them to sweeten it. Can't quite keep the smile off her face when that first completely smitten girl comes racing out of the green room at the speed of gay and adjusts the cup to Bella's specifications. She picks it back up and takes a long sip. She shrugs.

"...Wine."

"Uh, ma'am? I dunno that we've got anything to your, uh..."

"Did I stutter?"

"No, but I uh, I really don't think you understand how bad--"

Bella rolls her eyes.

"It won't be the worst thing I've ever had, just bring it. Aren't you filming a movie? Not to mention you're alive. I'd like to celebrate that. Your names were all carved into my skin, after all."

"R-right. Ma'am. On it. Uh. Ma'am. Back in a, uh, a minute. Ma'am."

"Praetor."

"Oh shit, right! That whole thing! Right back inaminutebyyyeee!"

Another eye roll, followed by an annoyed huff. Bella takes a long sip of her tea and sets the cup down in front of her with a quiet clink.

"You're right about one thing: this can't continue. The Assistant Secretary can't lead for shit, which is so obvious that even he doesn't want the damn job. You keep asking, I keep telling you. Put someone else in charge and you'll unfuck that system overnight. Give me more time and I can even tell you exactly who it should be. If you want me to fix it just say so. It'd be a lot easier than having to keep talking about it."

She frowns and lifts her cup again, eyes flitting about in search of wine that is apparently not coming. There's a tension on her face that implies she's considering whether or not to say something. But then, why not? She licks her lips again, and drains her cup without spilling  anything, or bothering to breathe.

"I heard you. On Sahar, you said my name. Why? You could have had me in chains and in a cell and instead I'm -- fucking finally, put it on the table. Thank you -- I'm here, giving you advice about how to do your job. Why? Why the fuck are you doing this? What the fuck makes you think you can trust me?"