Balmas

Breathless Dead

They don't understand, do they?

Alexa stands stock still, frozen in a lunge, even as the head drops, even as Ist--Epistia--picks it up, draws away.

Surely, they have to know who he is? Conquerer of galaxies, first among mortals? Redana even recognizes him, and she only knows him from that asinine propaganda masquerading as a museum! Don't they see the danger he represents? Don't they know what he'll do to get his way? To make sure that he has his perfect utopia, his perfect weapon? Don't they see the threat?

They do, and her heart sinks that she's it. She stormed in and… Don't they see that she's protecting them?

But to them, she just killed a man in cold blood. Disobeyed orders, defied the will of the Empire, all to kill one man. Of course they'd form ranks to defend against this new threat. Epistia cannot trust her, but worse than that is the image of Dolce, frozen in the act of putting away a teacup. That look of fright--not because of another, but because of her--

She never wants to see him look that way again.

Redana tugs insistently, faintly at her spear, and, with some hesitation, Alexa lowers it. There's nothing to be gained in this. Nothing but further distrust to be sown, no matter how unjust it may be.

"Come," she murmurs, pointedly not looking at the distrust leveled at her. "You need to rest."

***

It is an uncomfortable shuttle ride, to say the least.

There's no official declaration, no orders given. Nevertheless, the crew shuffles off to one of two corners--the one with Alexa, and the one without.

It's a very lonely corner.

***

Alexa shuts her quarter's door with a quiet click, and sags into the chair like a puppet bereft of strings.

He's on her ship. Somewhere, Molech is on her ship. He's dead. Or, not dead. Beheaded, but still alive. Not able to do physical harm.

And she killed him.

Somehow, she almost feels more guilty for not feeling guilty. It had to be done. She thought it had been done.

And now that it's done, already he's turning them against her. Making them distrust her. Making it so she can't just seek out the sheep and ask for some oolong, or mix something to curdle paint for the captain. Even in the infirmary, setting Redana down on the bed, she'd had one of the Ceronians watching to make sure she didn't do the unthinkable to their princess. As if, after having sacrificed so much, placed so many eggs in that one basket, she'd now jeopardize her ward.

She never thought having privacy would be so terrible.

Fellowship: The Heart

"You won't find the grail here!" Coleman blurts out.

Hesitation.

"You want the grail? You want knowledge? You need to get out. Need this. Need us."

A plaintive squeak.

"Clear the path, and you have free passage."

He's gonna regret this.

[9 on Talk Sense]

Breathless Dead

Alexa has had this nightmare before.

Of him, alive and whole. Of him holding out his hands, of that small not-quite-a-smirk, of that voice that brooks no disobedience. Of the command for the Pallas Rex to return to his side. To be, once more, the blade in the hand.

She wishes that every dream ended with her turning away.

This apparition is even worse than the dreams, for her dreams are of him as he was--dignified, regal, organized, composed. This Molech is as a temple that is reclaimed by nature, thrust through with tokens of what he once was but mired in the signs of what she did. Of the decay that she failed to prevent--no, actively aided! This is the terror that Nero promised she would never see again!

She feels the spears in her hands, but it is not their familiar warmth that centers her. Instead, it is the weight of the burden she carries. It is the princess, growing cold and pallid in her arms, that wraps her arms bracingly tight, that turns her stumbling footsteps to centered power sprints. It is the promise of something better that grips her spears tight, straightens her back. Here, at last, is the figure from the dioramas, form perfect and spears lethally aimed.

Here and now, with fear hounding behind her and a promise in her arms, the Pallas Rex strikes.
[Finish with Courage: 9]

Breathless Dead

[Damaging Sense]

She fights as though nothing can harm her.

Redana--Alexa has to keep reminding her that this is Redana, her ward--shrugs off blows that should fell primeval beasts. It's breathtaking in the same way that a storm is: a terrifying reminder of your own mortality, of things almost beyond mortal ken.

And she's playing.

Alexa knows what pulling your punches looks like, and this isn't it. This isn't trying to spare someone's pride, trying to let someone down easy, trying to avoid hurting someone. Redana is a cat batting around a mouse, letting it slip through her paws before dragging it back by the tail. She's enjoying this.

And all it takes is for the Kaeri to find one chink in the armo--yep, that's a knife.

Oh fuck, that's a knife!

What the heck is she doing?! Her ward's in danger!

Alexa wades through the storm of blows like a backhoe through gravel. She has a ward to protect, no matter whether the ward can protect herself or not!

And immediately on reaching her, head still ringing from a particularly vicious club, she realizes the futility of her actions. It's not that she's-- well, look at Redana! She's like a mountain made of smaller, musclebound mountains! Maybe if she could get an arm or three around her she could--no, um, maybe if.

"We need to go!" She hangs off Redana's wrist, doing her best to drag her away and making zero progress.

From this close, she can see all too easily the ugly bone still lodged in Redana's chest. How are they going to get that out? That's the kind of thing that exsanguination is made out of. Does this place have a hospital? She has to be the worst bodyguard every created, that's two in a row she's gotten killed!

(What a relief it was when she knew she was free of number one.)

But here, staring at Redana--it has to be Redana--it tears at her. They have to go! She's trying to help you, you damn fool! Why did you have to make it so hard to dislike you?!

If you'd been a worse master, this would be so much simpler! If you'd been like Molech and been a threat, it would be so simple to let the Bloodfeather continue! Even if you'd just been like your mother, left Alexa to fend for herself, treated her like dirt, Alexa could ahve persuaded herself! Vasilia might have suspicions, yes, but ultimately they'd have been able to leave, to disappear into the universe! Alexa could have, have!--

She doesn't know what she could have. Could have left? Followed that letter burning a hole in her? Could have found a small planet, far from the Empire, and prayed to every god to obscure Nero's auguries?

But no! You had to be-- Well, let's not mince words, a naive prat. But that's not something that merits death!

So now she sits, tugging futilely at a wrist. You had to be kind, didn't you?
[2 on Get Away]

Breathless Dead

It's strangely unnerving to fight someone who doesn't care about surviving.

She has fought people who knew they were going to die. Better people than her, who hoped to buy time for others, who stood knock-kneed and trembling. But always, they fought with... Well, saying they fought with hope would sound unbelievably trite. But they fought as if they wanted to live, as if they dreamed to imagine that there might be another outcome.

The two fight like dancers. Each movement is precise, exact. Every thrust and defense, calculated. But the calculations are wrong, and there's no other way for Alexa to think of it. Lorventi throws herself into the fight like a berzerker, takes risks that no sane person could. It should be so incredibly easy to take advantage, get in the one good thrust needed. it's what Lorventi wants!

But time and again, Alexa flinches back and is punished for it. The Aegis accumulates molten floor, scratches--does not crack, thank Athena--but each time, that willingness to die, to push beyond what is required, unnerves Alexa.

All she has to do, she tells herself, is keep at it. Keep Lorventi facing her. Keep her thinking of stabbing and twirling and not noticing the... whatever the Redana thing is.

Any day now. Take your time.
[Keep them Busy, 9.]

Breathless Dead

"Then we are at an unfortunate impasse."

The knowledge is all the worse for knowing that this is not done by the Captain's command. Lorventi is the face, the voice, the spearpoint, the champion--the designated victim, the sacrificial lamb. Briefly, she wonders what would happen should she manage to divine which in the formation was truly giving the orders, pick them out, strike them down. Would Lorventi be angry or grateful?

It's pointless to do more than wonder, she knows--her eyes are locked on Lorventi's. See? We are all friends here. We all serve the Empress. This is merely a misunderstanding. Honesty and integrity line every marble surface of this face. Never mind that while we're here meeting each other's eyes and smiling at one another, neither of us have stopped tracking exactly where the other's speartip is.

"If the throne calls her child home, then this must be directed to the child in question, for it is she that I must follow. I am sure that when she is less..."

In the distance, the child in question starts to sing. Alexa meets Lorventi's eyes, deadpan.

"...indisposed, we may sort this out."

Fellowship: The Heart

Coleman groans. On the one hand, these misfortunes aren't out there befalling trains of the line. On the other hand, it's damned inconvenient to go from one misfortune to another and there's part of him that regrets not just grabbing the fox, setting Sasha on the line, and getting the heck outta Dodge. Exeunt, pursued by King Dragon, and scene.

Still, if you're operating on a scale of worse to worst, he'll take a pissed-off clown over an Angel or King Dragon. "It's good to see you again, Pagliacci! I hoped we'd find you!"

Breathless Dead

What is happening.

Dimly, she can feel the tickle of the dress smoldering, smell the acrid stink of silk starting to burn, and is sad. It may not have been a dress of her choosing, but it was... Is it wrong of her to feel sad at its impending destruction? She felt pretty.

It's a silly thing to focus on, but it's something to take her mind off of no seriously, what the fuck is happening. One second she's wrinkling her nose, assembling a sentence to try to refute Bella and then--

Did everybody know about this? Have the rest of the crew been excluding her from this, keeping her in the dark? Why would they do that?

It's the smoke from the dress causing the prickling around her eyes.

She flicks from one to the other, before grumbling and picking her spear from her belt. Redana may regret it later, but she's still her ward. And Alexa is, at heart, a defender. She'll keep the Kaeri off her back so... Redana? Still, she thinks? can have her alone time with Bella.

Breathless Dead

It's not a lack of words that pushes Alexa forward, wraps her around Caval in a tender but firm hug.

Oh, the words definitely play a part--believe her, she tries. Opens her mouth, fails, gulps, and then draws Caval in. But what even does she say to that? How could she possibly respond? What speech could properly fill that void?

...She doesn't even know what the right speech ought to be. You're not broken? But they are, just look at them! None of them are fulfilling their purpose, that for which they were made. But "you all are broken" also doesn't feel right? Broken, but that's not bad?

Hugging is easier than thinking. She can close her eyes, nestle Caval close, occupy herself with running her hands across her back. Reassure her that she's here, and here and now, so long as she holds her, the world will be alri--

The world blurs, her arms are empty, and the world is not alright. She swallows. Kaeri. Bella. This is a hell of a pickle to suddenly be transported into without warning. She can handle one or the other easily, but both?

Tell her she’s wrong, please.

"She is wrong, please."

She shouldn't be surprised, really. Molech was secure enough in himself, in his prestige, his power, that the idea of retaining people simply to reassure him of the same would be laughable. And Nero almost didn't care that Alexa existed, so long as she didn't get any ideas about leaving or rebelling or things of that ilk.

Still, the surprise hurts. Having her voice stolen, parroted, reminding her that she is not her own, hurts all the more. She'd... well, she'd almost started to think that...

The thought sticks in her throat like a lump. She was wrong. Nevermind what she thought.

"I..." Don't fiddle with the bouquet, Alexa. You're the best. You have the best poker face. No tells. Stony disposition, that's the key. "I am... unsure?"

She's being asked a question. Don't look away, that's a sign of lying. Face her, and don't let the burgeouning panic show on the outside.

"You have... brought me out of the palace, to be sure. Opened my eyes to many things. You are a better master than"--your mother--"others I have served. I do not count you among my enemies." She swallows. "So long as you hold my seal, I physically cannot count you among my enemies. I am perfectly loyal to you, can do nothing to defy your orders. If that is what you seek in a friend, then yes, I am your friend."

Fellowship: The Heart

"Dammit, get off me!"

It's not fair that somebody that skinny has that much muscle. How does somebody that far gone manage to have the berseker strength like that? He can't even take a hand off the controls to push away the wiry bastard!

"Listen, moron, I know that! But if it's shooting robots, it's not shooting us! I dunno how it was on the Weasel, but in here we try to help each other! So either pick a direction for us to run in, or start shoveling the coal! We die here, we can't get you outta this station!"

[Talk Sense, 10.]