[b]Pink![/b]

She tries to steady herself. Raises her hand and tries to hold it level. It's not right. It's wobbling and she needs to fix it. Needs to...

She needs scaffolding to start with. Lines of blueprints click into place, the bones of function - the frame of the paper. This is what she's working with, the raw materials of force and direction. Dispensed with in a moment, now she could think about how to conceal that function. False windows, twisted golden wire around the iron superstructure, golden roses, yellow roses, thickets of them amidst the blackberries. Thorns and thorns and - blackberries were red, secretly. Most blacks weren't black at all, they just buried their colours in their shadows. Take out the colours and they'd be as flat as vantablack.

Thorns and thorns and thorns, keeping the princess imprisoned. Pricked by a spinning wheel, a cursed creative engine. Sweet scents, sweet tastes, artistry in captivity. Have you seen a wall-crawling vine sprout? They release new shoots like springs, curling like pigs tails, unless they've found a branch or trellis and their spirals condense into strangulation. Neodarwinism is discredited, complexity is the truth that biological evolution is not a blind watchmaker but the organic discovery and rediscovery of certain deep mathematical constants. Civilizations too move between stable equilibrium. The princess was a stable equilibrium and her reign was beautiful, her slumber was stable too and the people got on without her...

But her hand is still not steady. She frowns, concerned.

"The axial tilt of the station is misaligned," said Pink. "I need more resources to fix it."

[b]Orange![/b]

[Traffic Analysis 0/1 2+3 [b]5[/b]]

She used to like scanning the radio. It was one of the entertainment sources she always had access to in space. She liked the process of scanning, flicking between different channels, listening to enough to identify if it was music or commercial or headline and then flicking off again. She both loved and hated the Christian stations because they had a way better ratio of music to bullshit than commercial stations, but it usually took a while of listening to twig that all of these songs had a common theme and they weren't ever going to move off that theme. Brown didn't care what she listened to, but Orange wanted the full experience and was prepared to channel hop until she built it up.

[b]November![/b]

It's going to be Some Bullshit.

She feels that across her entire network, it's the tension across every colour. The environment isn't controlled and there are too many unobserved agents. Too many unaligned people with too much power. A sense that luck only intervenes against her. Her prediction is this: At any second something unbelievably stupid, terrible, mighty or all three is going to happen and she's going to be up all night dealing with it and up all night tomorrow thinking about how she might have dealt with it better.

The longer things have gone without errors the more fatalistic her mindset has become. By this point it'd be a relief more than anything to know what she's dealing with.

[b]Spooky![/b]

She's quiet for a long moment in the station after Chaka leaves. Some of the motion sensor lights dim.

Then she finally gives her comeback to the empty station.

"I'm [i]twenty five[/i]," she said. 

Not enough of a kid to think that comeback wouldn't get her deservedly laughed at. Not enough of an adult to not want to say it. 

She took the case.