At first Isabelle freezes from surprise. Her mother was never physically affectionate unle --

[i]Oh. Of course. The staff are watching ...[/i]

She quickly returns the hug, although her grasp is feather light, as if she's afraid of putting too much pressure on Almira's skin. Once she's released, her hands quickly return to the proper position, clasped in front of her. Head down, expression chastised. Sorry.

She suppresses the flinch when her mother's voice lingers on the word 'fool'. Those around her would never know, but Almira never shows her true displeasure in public, those are only reserved for more private moments in her home - her fortress that is swept safe from prying eyes and ears. For her to use such language, to emote and dance on the line between 'loving but concerned mother' and something that the tabloids could actually [i]use [/i]against her - she must be [i]livid[/i]. Isabelle grasps her forearms, feeling the goosebumps under her dress sleeves, and worries about what might await her once the doors are shut and the staff dismissed.

"Yes mother. I'm sorry, mother. It will not happen again." she says, rote words and supplications. 

It's a flimsy shield, but it's all she has.

The walk gives her time to reflect. With all that's happened over the last days a bath and food would be great but, more than hunger and discomfort, all she feels is a tired numbness. Too long awake, too much felt and fought. Too much cried out over the moments where she was left alone in the dark in a dying facility. The aching fingers of fatigue pull on her eyelids and all she really wants is to return to her quarters to sleep.

For now, though, she can't let that show. Head straight, posture perfect, steps quick and measured. The new boots on her feet ache. She's done this before, can do it again. Riding her reserves until the moment when she passes out, face down in a book at her desk. Hopefully tonight won't be that bad, but there will be nights like that between now and the match. Practice needs to be done and reports need to be read, after all.

The zero-g combat will be a different kind of arena, but not one she's unfamiliar with. The chief difficulty is likely to be just overcoming or circumventing her opponent's advantages of speed and ranged preference. If she can be trapped, or closed with, the fight will be over fast. 

Her opponent herself though, the public data that Akkar has provided doesn't tell her much. For those insights, she will wait until she reads the more detailed information that her mother's sources have provided her. 

"Do you have any other specific instructions for me, mother?" she asks, her voice carefully neutral. "Otherwise, I will get to work immediately on prepping Novasurge for the match and reading the transcripts."

[Invoking [b]Guidance from Above[/b]: Asking a superior for guidance and useful information regarding how to defeat Quar Dilara.]

Later. Much later. She walks back through the door to the quiet, dark sanctuary of her private quarters. Normally the solitude would be comforting, a safe haven away from everything and everyone else. Tonight though, just feels empty.

She'd spent the evening in the workshops, carefully avoiding her crew. One in particular. She knew she'd lashed out, she'd hurt Asil. Part of her wondered if she'd forgive her - a larger part expected that she wouldn't. She couldn't blame her. She just wasn't a good person.

Curling up around that guilt like a pillow, she laid her leaden limbs down on the bed and, without moving a muscle, turned off the lights.