Hah! Merilt, Merilt, Merilt. A+! Good effort, but you forgot one crucial, teeny tiny eensy weensy detail: Dyssia [i]knows[/i] you too well for this joke! Remember? That's the way it always was! You were the ideas person! The one who came up with all the plans, the ideas, the big pictures, the [i]pranks[/i]--oh! Remember that time you found out one of the ministers was dying his nose? And Dyssia just wanted to leak the story to someone important and get him in trouble, but [i]you[/i] thought it'd be extra funny to swap it around with something a different color? And Dyssia stayed up three nights in a row? Turns out alchemy is easy, actually, once you get past the first hump of not going to sleep! The tricky bit was finding the right material that would go on blue, but turn orange with body heat, see, so that he'd put it on in the morning, and it wouldn't show up until he was [i]in the council chamber![/i] So that's your mistake, see? You were always the one making the ideas, and Dyssia was the one who made them happen. Dyssia knows this is a joke, and you know this is a joke, and the only one not in on joke is the Drowsing Droner!--Droning Drowser? One of those makes more sense, but the other tastes better to say. Hrm. Listless Lisper? Kinda mean, and he doesn't actually lisp. Sleepy Speaker? No, wait, that's actually pretty close to what he's called, though it has the bonus of alliteration. Come back to me on this one? Anyway! You have to keep up appearances for your political ally, of course, but if you just look at Dyssia, she just knows that those eyes will have that old twinkle because, after all: Apollo didn't actually [i]say[/i] any of that. That'd be friggin' rude, first off. Can you imagine? Years of service, decades of attempt, all in the face of complete silence, only for the first words out of his mouth to be, "no thanks?" What kind of god of virtue could say that with a straight face? Nah, nah, he probably said something along the lines of, y'know, impossible for Dyssia to properly finish a path [i]here.[/i] It makes sense, after all--they have extra paths out away from Irassia, did you know that? Of course you know that. Silly to ask. It's your whole plan, after all! That [i]is[/i] the plan, isn't it? Just look at her, Merilt. Doesn't have to be long, just a little bit of eye contact. Just enough to flash a wink, right? Man, the Pix. Was that part of the plan, or is this just two birds with one stone? Very convenient for some planetary conquerors to show up just when you're looking to get a friend off-planet, right? Oh! That's why you wanted to get in with Apollo, right? Like the Pix would just [i]show up,[/i] right? No, no, this is all planned. Apollo brings them, you make a show of giving her to them, they fly off into who knows where, and whoops, here's Dyssia, raring to go, and could you maybe help her achieve-- Um. Details, Merilt. Slight flaw. You know that if she actually [i]does[/i] achieve mastery, the planet is forfeit, right? Did you think about that? And you said you've, uh, given them permission to help Dyssia achieve that however they want? With the planet on the line? Merilt? Merilt, now would be a good time for that eye contact. You've thought about that, right? You've taken that into account? Because you know that brute force doesn't work, right? She tried that--you know, back when she was with that tutor, the one with the mole under her eye? Turns out that being forced to do one thing and only one thing doesn't actually make you a master? It just means that you bake a hundred loaves of bread per day until you can't look flour in the eyes without wanting to retch. And they have permission to do whatever they want? For whichever craft they want? For however long they want? With the possible reward of total planetary domination on the line if they can get her to produce a masterpiece? That, uh. Hey, Merilt. This [i]is[/i] a plan, right? Look at her, Merilt. That all kind of sounds like, you know. Uh. Just one look, Merilt. For old times' sake? Really need that assurance right now. Won't take but a moment. Just a flash of a smile, is all it'd take. Because if all they have to do to is get her to a master-level product, and they get the planet, they're gonna skip everything that makes mastery worthwhile? Just get her to mass-produce things until eventually incremental improvement means she gets good enough at that one thing? No joy, no love, just do it until it hurts and then keep going? And then if she does, they get the planet, so if she loves the planet, she's not allowed to get better? Merilt. Merilt please. Merilt, just-- Look, just look at her. Please. Fuck the blowhard, fuck subtlety, just look at her, Merilt. Tell her this is the plan, and that this isn't just. You're not [i]actually[/i] selling her off? Betting the planet on her being so horrendously incompetent that. Apollo didn't--[i]you[/i] didn't-- Look at her, damn you! If you're actually going to do this, you can't just pawn her off without--This isn't just-- You could set her world back on its axis with a glance. And the fact that you won't even give her that is… It's like, it hurts worse, right? Because there was hope, before. There was hope buoying her up--or maybe sideways--that this wasn't just want it looked like. This was a kindness from someone you considered family, to give you something they couldn't. There was something filling her chest with warmth. But now it's gone, and it's worse because--it's like jumping in an icy river, right? Sure, you'd be just as cold if you did it from the edge of the river. But if you jump in from a sauna, you're plunging in from super-heated steam to scale-pinching ice, and the shock is so much worse. And so now it's--it's like all that warmth isn't just gone, but it's left a hollow in her wake. Left [i]her[/i] hollow, left her dull, like she'll never feel again and count her blessings for it. No, that's not quite true. Hollow, save for that burning ember, always present. Muted, usually, but there in the background, waiting for when it's needed. How dare you, Merilt? How dare you discard her--no, no, worse than discard! Bet against! Cast omens and auguries and determine that just because she's not a master now, she never will be! Sell her to foxgirls, will you? Lie to her, and tell her that Apollo says it's impossible! Impossible! Impossible you say? She wishes now that she hadn't lost the veil. It'd be so handy for keeping the tears from showing. "Brightberry." "Hmm?" "How many messages can you send at once?" "Mmm, twenty? Thirty?" "Can you manage something citywide? No, no, global. Want this fucker painted on the moon." "Um." "See, Merilt here just bet the planet against me." She's flying on wings of anger, glaring daggers at both of the treacherous worms who thought they could get rid of her like that. Future Dyssia will probably regret saying this, but Present Dyssia would explode if the words didn't leap from her mouth. "And I want everyone to know [i]exactly[/i] why they're about to get [i]real[/i] familiar with foxgirl musk."