"Apologies. It's not even the alcohol that's doing it. It has been a busy night. Today I..."

Mirror pauses to sip from the bitter beverage without complaint, taking long draws from the glass in between periods of letting her head roll around on the couch just to feel her hair tumbling around behind her. Back and forth. Her legs might have betrayed her, but she still needs to move. The clarity it brings is... necessary. She takes another slow sip. 

"Details later. The relevant bit is that I was made to drink [i]cinnamon.[/i]. Legends do not do it justice, Slate. I would sooner request actual poison."

She shivers and spits as the memory spreads across her tongue. Another long moment of head rolling follows, this time accompanies by a massaging of the couch with her fingers. The glass in her hand twirls as if compelled to dance. Slate says nothing, in the wake of her admonishment. She is hooked.

It'd be simplicity itself to return to the point and attack it fresh. Reinforce her classic point about information being more important than victory. She could press it even farther, in this case: information of greater value than even safety. The shock value of the statement, strategically walked back a moment later before the objection could be raised. Naturally she values her life. Naturally she does not want to make unnecessary work for Slate. Naturally she recognizes it will not be possible for her to skill check her way past a series of new constraints. This [i]will[/i] result in risk, damage, and likely even injury she otherwise would not incur. She's not stupid, after all.

But. If there is value in the exercise, and they both agreed that there was, then what safer environment for experimentation could there be than a tournament? This was not war. Death was an impossibly unlikely outcome. They were here in pursuit of a dream, yes, but even multiple consecutive losses could not threaten that, particularly if the development project bore fruit. Nothing was on the line. They could adjust as necessary at any point. And it would, in any case, be [i]fun[/i]. 

But she does not say this. She doesn't try to imply the argument with her eyes or a strategic cough or any other secret body language she might have developed with her mechanic. She's too busy feeling the swish of her hair swaying across the back of this excellently soft couch. She wishes Slate would join her here, but of course that isn't going to happen. She's still upset. Still working through the possibility in her own mind. The kindness she can be offered is trust. It's Slate's ultimate choice that will determine how they proceed. And there was no point in extending her that responsibility if she immediately worked to crush the free thoughts from her head before they could arrive at an independent conclusion. And it would not do to stay in a relationship if she could not be secure enough to hold off from seeking instant reconciliation. 

...She would ask later. Check back in a calmer moment, even if she had to be awkward about it. But she would, of course, frame it as a clarification. But the waiting. The waiting, in any case. Slate was signaling for a pause on the whole thing. And Mirror would give it to her, whether she got credit for that or not. 

"Well, we can only have her for so long as she is a good girl and gets her work done at the Forge, but: Matty is a very sweet little thing. I am absolutely certain you will love her. One of those earnest, heart on her sleeve types. Never difficult to tell how she feels about something. She can snap from full droop to full perk in a breath, and when I told her I had a mind to adopt her she turned colors you could observe even under her fur. I had her in my lap nearly without prompting, and her purrs..."

Mirror's smile fades for a moment, and her gaze shifts to some object in the far distance. Well beyond the reaches of the hangar, and probably even Akar. 

"She is a hybrid, do you know. Child of a starfarer and a mainlander, markings of one and the signatures of the other. It's a curious mind that works a trade so different to anything that either might have offered her. And I believe she is enjoying herself. But the way that she looked at me, I. Hm. If I were asked to describe her in a single word, it would be 'lonely'. We will need to be very careful. Gentle, especially. But we could do so much good for her, Slate. And if we do, then..."

(I forgot to note it but, Comfort and Support: [b]8[/b])