Balmas

Breathless Dead

It's impolite to laugh at your ward. Improper! Unimaginable! The perfect guard is emotionless unless needed, melts into the background, and certainly doesn't get the giggles.

So that choking sound Alexa just made is a grunt of effort from batting an overly courageous crab back down towards its compatriots, and the quirk at the edge of her lips is satisfaction at doing a job well done, and so there.

Alexa shakes her head ruefully and moves closer to Redana. That is the correct position, right? Sitting at her feet would demonstrate the proper deference, but seems inappropriate given both the still-damp tunnel and the imminent crabs. At the same time, facing towards the crabs allows her no ability to read the Princess. She hesitates, and then selects a careful ease next to the princess--not lax! Never lax!--but one that lets her watch both crabs and princess at once.

"It speaks well of you, Zeus-touched Highness, that you can tolerate a world in which your subjects do not view you as a perfect being. That you can rebel in this fashion, criticize your mother, is quasimiraculous."

Alexa rubs a thumb across the grip of the spear, traces the familiar grain of the shaft, lets its worn groove stabilize her while she lines up the right words in her head.

"To question the orders issued by the Warsage was to admit, however tacitly, a treasonous belief that he might be wrong. And to do so to his face! To insult, impugn, imply? Was to earn a traitorous reward."

She contemplates the crabs in silence, having run dry on sentences. Their wet skittering echoes distantly as Alexa thinks.

"I do not resent your mother the privilege of editing his book to fit her regime. Indeed, if she must have a foible, overly generous mercy can only be preferable to cruel, certain destruction."

The shadow of a scowl passes across her face, and she amends, "…in most cases."

More silence, more fitting of words into mental slots.

"Still, it is vital to recognize that it is an alteration from the original. If Molech ever wrote that--and having committed large portions of the original to memory, I can confirm he did not--he did not often put it into practice. To make an enemy a vassal is good, yes. But far better to teach other vassals-to-be the consequences of becoming his enemy."

Breathless Dead

These crustaceans do not have divine favour yet but they are, ominously, trying.

@Thanqol

Alexa stares at the smoldering ashes, and does her best to resist the urge to light another parchment.

That's not the result she was hoping for. Neutrality is better than Athena favoring the crabs, but that little flare-up at the end? How could that be anything but Athena's interest being piqued? Surely Alexa's not so far gone that even Athena would turn her back?

The precious scrap of parchment gives a nervous flutter in her breast pocket.

Maybe they have time for Redana to attempt the augury instead? The thought pains her but, as someone yet in favor with the gods, maybe--

“So what is up with you and Molech?”

@Tatterdemalion

Alexa freezes like a child caught with a hand halfway into the cookie jar.

Ah. Yes, that book. He never let anybody but himself near it, you know--it was his magnum opus, his legacy, and he'd be damned before he let lesser hands dilute his masterpiece. Alexa has read it cover to cover over a dozen times, looking for--looking for something. She's not sure what. Some hint? Some mention of her? Some idea that maybe, under all the bluster and distance, he might have--

That's not important. It's done with. He can't hurt anybody again.

She stands, not looking at Redana. It's not a snub--there are crabs, see? That's what she's looking at. Definitely.

"Zeus-touched Highness, I would crave a boon. I shall answer, but in doing so, I may tell a different story than your mother. May your wrath be brief at this?"

Fellowship: The Heart

It says much about today that all Coleman can muster is a tired stare. Just how much bad luck is this station keeping off the lines, if this is just one day here? Clowns, King Dragon, Angels.

Coleman is slow to climb down Sasha, patting her affectionately as he does, but it quick to draw Ailee close, if she'll allow it. Physical contact is amazing at drawing someone back to earth, stablizing them, and he needs that just as much as Ailee right now. "You're not gonna be happy when the professor gets back, then. We're gonna get out of here as soon as we find them, before anything else happens. Meet Wolf, by the way."

Breathless Dead

It's not that she doesn't trust Redana, you understand.

For all her faults, Alexa has never seen the princess flub a ritual. She's expert, punctilious, every motion practiced and precise, every syllable enunciated with the exact intonation required. There's no reason she couldn't perform this augury just as well as Alexa.

But... Look. These crabs are organized. Efficient. They've even formed into regiments! You don't get that without the touch of the war god. Which means that going into battle without first ensuring that she favors you would be ludicrous.

Almost as ludicrous, you might say, as insisting that the ward should come along with her into danger when she could just relax in an area without killer crabs. Yes, she knows that Redana and the hermetician cleared this out--she just about had an aneurysm when she found out! How can she guard her when she insists on actions like this?

No. She will not risk this until she's positive that Athena favors them and not the crabs.

(The letter burns against her chest, secure in its newly sewn pocket. She agonized over that--what if it gets wet down here? Redana insists that she mostly cleared out the water, but the thought that the precious information in the envelope might get damaged! It's only the even worse thought of leaving it alone, unguarded in her quarters, that saw her looking for a needle and thread.)

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."