[i]And I shall call you Tactics because it is all you are good for.[/i]

She couldn't stop thinking about that phrase. It had been buried on an artificial world in the frozen heart of the [i]Kathresis [/i]and it still felt like it had been waiting for her specifically. 

The Ancients had built the Spirit Realm. They created the order of divinity; the cascading waterfall of might from god to spirit to geist. They had made it first in language and the material world followed - as Zaldar wrote, the Gods exist as aspects of the Spirit Realm, and the matter of the Material flowed to reflect their purpose. Some Gods carved mountains or rivers. Some flew amidst the clouds to trigger thunderstorms. Some churned the earth and spread new seeds. All of these, according to the Sage, worked according to the common design of the Ancients; the physical forms of corrections made to the perfect worlds as they had originally written them to be.

And yes, she could walk the mountain, scale the height of the beast, fight through its guardian drones, peel away its defenses and break the physical echo of its brain. But there was nothing of purpose in that. When she had claimed the [i]Haforn[/i] there had been exaltation, glory - but she had not fallen into it as she had fallen into the [i]Kathresis[/i]. Was she - were the followers of Zaldar generally - the physical echoes of the will of the [i]Kathresis [/i]and her sister machines? 

What did that make the [i]Aeteline[/i]? Manufactured. Cursed. What did that mean? Had the Empress inscribed a new Word on the fabric of the Spirit Realm, marring the design of the Ancients? Or had they [i]found [/i]its Word and set it free to work its design once again? There had been no struggle, no breaking of it, no forcing it to fulfill a different process like the struggle with a wild God. It had been as effortless to integrate with as the Kathresis had been. It had been so complete that it had left a scar. Life outside it felt like a blur. Perhaps there had been a struggle after all, and it had broken [i]her[/i].

She took one last, craving look at the [i]Aeteline [/i]and then tore her eyes away and stared directly into the narrow blue light of a quantum cryptography tube. The relief was [i]absolute[/i]. 

All of her thoughts turned and reorganized - rather than running over endless, unsolveable, philosophical problems of will and destiny instead her mind realigned around processing enormously complex but extremely solveable equations. It was a buzz, stilling her thoughts, slowing her reflexes, pushing her big slow deep thoughts into the background. It was pleasure, every few minutes getting a warm rush of endorphins as her brain reported another breakthrough success that made her want to kiss whoever was closest in satisfied triumph. It was the only way she was going to function at a social event, and she didn't want a repeat of the last gala where she'd gone into brooding obsession mode for the entire fucking time. No, this time she was going to get smashed on high quality mathematics. She was going to fucking [i]talk [/i]to at least one of the girls she mostly interacted with through the context of - there needed to be a Hybrasilian word for high concept sex/robot battles/drama. She was going to get in a fight that had nothing to do with stealing a god. She was going to wink a lot and live dangerously.

She sees Mirror. She winks. She flexes her shoulders. Her arms were still strong despite all the time she'd spent in the cockpit but, oh - didn't they ache to hold something real and heavy? A sword. A girl. She was low to the ground and on the prowl tonight, full of a strength as blunt as her outfit, and she was going to find a way to use every bit of it before this night was done. 

Mirror. More than an Empress: a Champion. Crowned in flowers and wrapped in a ribbon. Every revelation meticulously planned. Every part of this stage rehearsed. The shock of seeing her, the visual, the impact, the power, the sophistication, the meaning. So much language. So many silent words. So much planning. Oh, Mirror could be worse than Solarel when it came to overthinking, couldn't she? So much effort gone into making a mask say 'no more masks' that she'd lost sight of the basics.

She makes eye contact, locks together in that fearsome challenge stare that the Hybrasilians hate and love, forcing her into scrutinizing every flicker of her eyelashes and movement of her iris. She stares at Mirror's eyes to make sure she has her full attention.

And then she smiles and drops her gaze to stare at Mirror's tits. 

[Entice: [b]13[/b]
Spending a string: Solarel wants to be 'winning' this - whatever you think that means - for now. Mark XP if you accept]