By the time Quinn called it, it was almost evening. Hours had passed in a blur of fists and kicks and sweat. Sybil lay splayed out beside a plug-in fan, which, blasting at high-speed still couldn’t budge her wet, matted hair. She spat out her mouthguard and lay exhausted, gasping in and out while the lightheadedness of her exercise high set her skull abuzz. Quinn was speaking, she could tell, but it felt like they were separated by a whole pool’s worth of water. 

Cyril sat beside her, not quite as worn out. He listened intently, worried that if he didn’t, she might grow upset with him again. She seemed leveled now, but somehow he’d managed to flub what had seemed to him like a good first impression. 

“[color=caffbf]I’m sure she’d be thrilled to,[/color]” he said, giving Sybil’s knee a shake, which she responded to by throwing him a middle finger for as long as she could keep her arm up. “[color=caffbf]She loves trying new things. We both do—it would be great to do this again.[/color]”

The door opened behind them, and Cyril jolted. With how quiet and isolated the pilot’s floor could be, arrivals often took him by surprise. 

It was the woman from the platform, the third pilot, Camille. Rather than a suit of armor, she wore a uniform of the CSC colors, with an ivory shoulder-cloaked draped over her right arm. Cold eyes found the three of them instantly, and she marched over with a sure and rigid pace. She stood taller than the lot of them, hair tied back into a short tail, hand resting on the pommel of a rapier sheathed at her hip. 

“[color=caffbf]Uh oh.[/color]” Cyril muttered. He got up to his feet and brought his hand up in a quick salute. “[color=caffbf]Captain.[/color]”

Camille looked between him and Quinn, before finally turning her attention down to Sybil. “[color=a187be]Derisa,[/color]” she said, her voice like a wolf’s growl. 

Cyril nudged her gently with his foot, breaking her from her exhausted stupor and dousing her sober the moment she saw who it was staring at her. “[color=55cbcd]Shit,[/color]” she wheezed, and scrambled up to her feet. Her thighs burned in protest and she found herself leaning against her brother for support. “[color=55cbcd]Captain.[/color]”

She stood there in silence for a moment, watching Sybil tremble and heave pretending like she wasn’t barely able to stand. Finally, she said, “[color=a187be]Tonight’s sims are cancelled.[/color]”

They balked. 

“[color=caffbf]Really?[/color]” Cyril beamed. 

Sybil was more skeptical. “[color=55cbcd]Why?[/color]”

“[color=a187be]You’re exhausted,[/color]” Camille said, talking directly to her. “[color=a187be]You aren’t conditioned enough to go from physical exercise to simulations. The strain would ruin you for days, and we can’t have that. This is why we alternate.[/color]”

Cyril winced. “[color=caffbf]Sorry, we’ll make it up—[/color]” 

“[color=a187be]You’ll make it up tomorrow.[/color]”

“[color=55cbcd]I have the gala tomorrow,[/color]” Sybil snapped. “[color=55cbcd]I’m presenting three paintings, one of them is a collaboration for Cyril’s show.[/color]”

“[color=a187be]You will call them now, before they close, and inform them that you cannot attend. Ask them to reschedule, if you wish.[/color]”

A reinvigorating anger sprung to life in Sybil’s chest. “[color=55cbcd]We arranged this [i]weeks[/i] ago! Can’t I just make the sims up the next day? Or tomorrow night?[/color]”

“[color=a187be]No, you can’t,[/color]” Camille said, and when Sybil opened her mouth to protest, she cut her off. “[color=a187be]This is an order, Derisa. I’m giving you the opportunity to handle it on your own terms. I suggest you do so.[/color]”

There was seething rage in Sybil’s eyes, but it never made it past her lips. Gritting her teeth, threw off her pads and stormed off, wobbling at first before forcing herself to walk straight. Cyril swore under his breath but didn’t dare look up at Camille, instead shooting Quinn an apologetic look before hurrying after his sister. 

The door shut, and suddenly the two of them were alone. Camille walked onto the mat, kicking Sybil’s pads to the basket. Again there was a quiet moment before she turned her attention fully to Quinn. 

“[color=a187be]So, now you’ve seen them first hand,[/color]” she said, face stony and impenetrable. “[color=a187be]What do you think of Casoban’s heroes?[/color]”