"That's what I'm saying. It is your choice."

He flicks an ear. Three javelins whistle through the air to glance off the deck a step away from the Alcedi. Each from a different direction. The churning chaos around them presses on without missing a step.

"I don't suppose you've seen my wife...? No, you wouldn't have. It's best you hear it from me anyway." He wheels forward. The Alcedi do not stop him. A flock could be obliterated entirely in a mutiny gone wrong. And still, he is unarmed. 

"Jil. I'm going through the Rift. I can't say if I'll make it to Gaia, but I swear I will try with everything I have and everything I am. If you want to push me out of this, I'm the one you'll have to go through." His brakes squeal as he stops before her. A pace outside her cutlass' reach. "Is this how you want to do it? Behind my back? Ganging up on me, when I can't even walk? This close to the Rift?"

Jil, have you heard the stories of Sahar, when Demeter raised her hand against Dolce and Vasilia? He would never speak of such things, lest he take honor that was not his, and bring shame to the goddesses name. But some say they left the field untouched, while Demeter was left chastened, abandoned, bloodied, even, by Olympus. For the crime of overstepping her bounds.

Do you know where you stand? When you meet the eyes of the captain you are deposing, do you smell the cigarette smoke? Hear the scratch of the Hunter's pen? See the light of virtue flicker, but for a moment? How thoroughly - [i]really[/i] - have you prepared for this?

"Tell me why you're doing this, Jil. Please." He begs. "The choice is still yours."