Balmas

Breathless Dead

Something so large and so heavy has no damn right moving that fast. When did she close the gap, grab that tentacle? How did that arm wrap round the cloak, pull the Coherent against herself? This is Birmingham messing with time again, right?

Alexa places one hand gently on the Coherent's shoulder and another clamps around her waist. "May I have this dance?"

"I don't--"

"Please." Alexa smiles, one of those smiles with too little warmth and far too many teeth. "I insist."

And they're on the dance floor. This is madness, the little voice in her head is shrieking. There could be any number of tentacles in that cloak--if a dozen are good, surely three dozen are better? And even if there aren't more, all the Coherent has to do is call for help, and they'll all be in the brig.

This is nice, though. And--

And Isty breathing is incredibly distracting. Every time they hit a particularly energetic beat, she huffs out, and it tickles a line of fire across her shoulder. And--don't look down, don't look, you have things to be doing that aren't considering how closely they're pressed together, surely? Aphrodite above, what she wouldn't give to dance like this without the Coherent's tentacles between them. Note to self, sacrifice something valuable when this is done. What does she own that could match this moment in price? Would Vasilia really miss her ship?

She forces herself back to the present, and offers a milder smile to the Coherent. "A pleasure to meet you. I am Alexa. You are?"

[8 on Hold Them Back. Deliberately holding off on end of action to give Coherent time to react.]

Fellowship: The Heart

Coleman yelps, jumps off the paw, and scrambles down Sasha's hatch. There's a part of him wants to give Sasha a way to stoke her own boiler, and it's only horror stories of crews that did that stopping him. Still, as he shoves the feed lever down and jams it open, he's having second thoughts.

"Or, and consider this carefully! You trying to kill my daughter is the reason I kill your whole tribe! And stopping right the fuck now would go a long way to changing my mind about that in the future!"

[If he's willing to listen, that's an 8 on Talk Sense.]

Breathless Dead

Gods, she's so young.

Alexa gently places one hand on Epistia's shoulder and turns her away from the Coherent, away from the image of Vasilia in chains. "There is more to war than attacking and defending. We are fewer than ten, and they number a thousand. If we fight, the brig gains some prisoners and we gain nothing. We can only help the captain later if we retreat and regroup now."

She takes a deep breath, fingers tapping restlessly. How to explain?

"Did..." She frowns. "Do the Ceronians tell the story of how Thriss stole Tharao from Molech?"

Molech was not the type to take prisoners. If he was going to take the time to house and feed you after a battle, it was because you had something he wanted. He might need to pick your brain, or maybe he wanted to give you a chance to finally see the light and join him.

It had taken a full season of skirmishing to take Hippolyta. And now that he had one of the Ceronian generals in hand, he wanted the other. Place the bait in a fort somewhere, let the Ceronians swarm in, and make a quick sweep.

That's what was supposed to happen. It would be simple, easy, and he'd have both birds in hand.

A season later, Tharao still languished in the trap, the bait untaken. And Thriss continued her guerilla opposition, which was entirely unheard of for a Ceronian.

Alexa does her best to skim over the details--Isty doesn't need to hear about all the mud in all the unpleasant places--and she's not the best storyteller. But surely Isty can see the point? By the end, both Tharao and the planet had been taken back, and none of that could have happened if Thriss had simply rushed the fort on day one. Right? You get that? So we need to go, now, while nobody is watching us, and come back once we understand what we are facing.

(5 on Talk Sense)

Breathless Dead

People are bowing. Why is everybody bowing? Should I be bow--

Oh, you cannot be serious. Of course Bella's he--

There are two Bellas. That's certainly A Thing. And for once, she's glad that she's far from her ward. It means Redana's nowhere near here.

She squeezes Epistia's hand and is incredibly grateful that Vasilia is drawing the fire of attention away from her. "We belong here," she murmurs as quietly as she can. "We have done nothing wrong, remember. We are just leaving, quietly, because we have urgent duties elsewhere in the ship. Is that not correct?"

Breathless Dead

There exists a world where, when Alexa sees the viewport, she marches to the front of the room. Mounts the dais, clears her throat, and calls for attention. Yes, yes, thank you for coming, she would like to formally announce that the Pallas Rex is present and available for questions and/or vengeance, as the situation requires.

Because, yes, she's bad at parties. But she knows damn well what it means when the leader of a group holds a party with such a prominent viewport. It means that there's about to be a demonstration, a display of force, an execution, an object lesson. Something terrible is about to happen to Ridenki, and all the Hermetics are going to be able to see it in excruciating detail.

It traps them in visions of the past. They can't! The Alced have suffered enough! She can't let them bring the planet back to the way things were!

It's only the touch of a hand on hers that draws her out of her panic. And even then, it's not til she looks at Epistia, takes in the quiet concern on her face, that she realizes how abruptly she locked up at the sight of that window.

And she doesn't even have the words to explain herself.

She forces a breath, and then two, and carefully squeezes back. Yes. This is workable. She can do this. She just needs to figure out which of these nigh-identical coats has a Birmingham inside, get them alone, and make her case.

Courts. She can do this. Follow the patterns, watch who's mingling with whom, and find the one who's at the center of all the motion.

[Look Closely with damaged sense: 4,4,4, +0. 8. How could I get Birmingham by himself?]

Fellowship: The Heart

"Now, you can't ignore it."

There's not much to do at night. Mighty Natascha puffs contentedly to herself, worn from the long day's haul and belly slowly digesting a load of coal. Mister Conagher dismissed the other firemen to the crew car hours ago before announcing his own intention to turn in. That just leaves the two of them, sat round the little lamp in the corriidor of the coal tender.

And Granpappy never rushes a good story. He takes his time tamping down the baccy in his pipe, savors the smell of it. Reachs out the window, lazily strikes a match against the tunnel wall as it rushes past, nestles it deep into the little cup. Builds up steam, puffs a few rings. All in complete silence, eyes never leaving the spellbound little kobold on his too-large chair. And it's not til the ceiling runs thick with pipe smoke that he graces his audience with a continuation.

"There's some say that if you acknowledge the paradox, you'll end the world or summat. Reality'll collapse in on itself. And they're smart men and all, and I'm sure they've all done some amazing math and come out dead sure of themselves. But I've had the pleasure of meeting myself before, and ain't any harm come of it so far. You're there, and he's there, and what can you do about it? Myself's a gentleman, and knows things I don't, so no harm in picking my brain as he's there, right?"

***

Of course, Granpappy never actually said what to do if your future self had made enemies. Frankly, a disappointing gap in knowledge, and Coleman can't wait to meet himself to find out how to deal with it.

That, or throttle himself. Oh, you weaponized Sasha? Great, great! Brilliant! And you rule the lower levels of the Heart? Fascinating! The eyepatch is new! When does that happen? Who were you plundering at the time? Does that happen before or after we entirely lose our sense of self and turn to piracy and train cannibalism? Because of course that's what we're doing, right, is hunting other engines for parts and crew?

No doubt that's what the Blemmyite was for. Is for? Will be for? Bah. Black Coleman wants their expertise in amalgamation, the better to splice and graft Sasha to her true destiny. She will survive, no matter what happens to everyone else.

For now though, the kobold climbs into one trashcan-lid sized metal paw, lets Sasha lift him up to the clenched fist, and taps it gently with his own. "I'm afraid you've me at a disadvantage here. You know me, but I've never met you before. You are?"

Breathless Dead

"Ruin..." Alexa turns and takes in the planet again. Views it as it was--wreathed in flames, shadowed by Ares, stricken. Views it now, a verdent paradise, blue and green and teals. Quietly, decisively nods. "In the end it was, I suppose."

But it wasn't always like that, was it? Back in the beginning, when she could still believe in the cause. She could look at Molech and see the brilliant tactician, marvel at the sweeping ambushes, the precision with which enemies were cut down, and tell herself the cruelty was worth it. Planets scrambled to fall at his feet, without a single shot! They were making it possible to fight wars without fighting wars! Soon, warfare itself would be pointless, eradicated! And all she had to do was ignore the gnawing feeling that this was very wrong.

She was broken, obviously, if all she had to do was fit into the place that Molech told her to fit.

It was so simple. When she won, it was because she successfully carried out Molech's orders. And when she failed, obviously she'd failed to understand what he wanted.

That's part of the reason she never actually commanded the army against Thriss. Even then, back when Nero was a jumped-up nobody from a backwater, Thriss was a capital-T Threat. Her grasp of strategy, her ability to surprise, to plan and execute maneuvers, almost rivaled Molech himself. Alexa would go to comply with orders, and find Thriss two steps ahead in routing it.

(Privately, she almost suspects that Nero had to have gotten rid of her quietly. But no, that's what Molech would have done. Far better to occupy a resource like Thriss with conquering somebody else--with bringing others under the heel of Empire. Something to occupy that needle-sharp mind and keep her far from the capitol.)

Much better to fight Mengekai. You'd never find a general so willing to respect the rules of war, so rigid, so damn polite about things. It was never about the objective, about winning the day at any costs. Only with Mengekai could she demand single combat, a duel of champions, and find an agreeable, almost charming wink in return. He expected honor, and if it was found, would return it. For him, war was... Well, not a game. Not exactly. It was a messy affair, desperately to be avoided. But if there were no more battle, then where would he win glory?

Would it be strange to call him a friend? On opposite sides of the war, certainly, and they'd kill each other in a heartbeat if the war demanded, but also not entirely an enemy? It's strange--she almost wishes she could track him down, find out what he's up to, reminisce about all those times they fought each other.

Such an odd whim.

He can't have settled down--he'd never be able to sustain his troops, ply them with gifts to establish his own power, without a steady supply of plunder. Pirate, maybe? Would Nero turn him loose on the galaxy, let him play warlord?

And, at the end of the day, he's not Vatemoral, and thank goodness for that. Thriss's grasp of strategy was flawless, but you never knew what Vatemoral was packing or even, half the time, what they hoped to gain. The only universal was that it was going to be nasty, be bigger than last time, and involve an esoteric or two. They were playing a game, and damned if anybody else knew the rules.

That wasn't to say they were a bad person, but Vatemoral was the kind of person for whom the answer was less important than asking the question. They delighted in poking simply for the knowledge of what would happen when you did. Vatemoral is probably in an order of mysteries somewhere far from here, and Alexa is too glad for that.

Breathless Dead

What is this feeling? Of unbearable tightness, like everything is squeezed too tight in her chest? She can't move, can't breathe, because to do so must surely shatter the illusion.

Because that's what it is. It has to be. She... She saw the wreckage! Felt the heat! Knew that the planet had fallen! She watched the ships burn, named the crewmembers on them, did the rites of the dead, for none remained on the planet to see Hades placated! This can be nothing but the cruelest joke to play on her.

And yet.

And yet, there it sits, as if war had never come.

She dares to raise a hand to the glass, as if by reaching out, she could grasp the planet, draw it close. Traces the lines of the continents, as familiar as the day she read them on the map. Tries, in vain, to see if she can't spot one of the armadas. It's nonsense, she knows. Who could have survived?

And yet, she finds herself smiling.

It cannot be. It's impossible. Nothing short of the direct intervention of the gods themselves could bring this about. A terraforming effort on this scale, a restoration like this! She shudders to think what the cost must have been. What world did Nero sacrifice to the gods to bring this about? What dread bargain the price for Alced?

And yet, there it is.

And here she is, miles away. She aches to be off, to see the surface. Is it possible that some of of her comrades yet live? That she could find them, reunite with them, share stories with them, reassure each other that yes, you made it, you survived! Share drinks, live, reminisce of those who did not!

She presses almost flat against the glass, her stare hungry for what she cannot have.

"Did..." She gulps, musters the soft words back into line, and turns a soft gaze on Epistia. "Did your mother ever talk? About this, I mean. About Alced."

Fellowship: The Heart

Well, small point of order, if he may, ma'am? You see, and he hates to bring it up but, well, he's not an Engineer. His mind hasn't been touched by a train, raw and uncensored and intolerably full of that barrage of input. He may wear the gloves and swing the wrench, but if he were to go into a roundhouse and call himself an Engineer, at best he'd be laughed out of the building.

And more's the pity, really. Mister Conagher hadn't had the words to fully explain what it's like to fully connect to an engine, though the word "overwhelming" had been involved. And at the first connection, it's almost painful? It's... Look, your brain is trying to interpret senses you didn't have thirty seconds ago, and the train is getting used to what it's like to be able to see. You have two foreign minds that are temporarily fused together and every nerve is firing at the same time and you're not sure whether you're dying or if you've ever been alive before this or whether you're seeing the moment the universe began.

It's not sight, you see. To feel the tracks under you, to shriek down the tunnel and hear the earth moan in response? You're experiencing echolocation, feeling the future of the track through your wheels, and your primitive lizard brain isn't ready for it. And that's before the train decides to reach out, to touch at the other minds in the area, incorporate their senses?

Really, donating his sight almost feels like it must be superfluous.

Sasha isn't fully formed. It's clumsy, pushy, the way the tendril of will nudges at his brain, a child's first clumsy grasps at an object. She can't just reach out and direct his eyes, show him what to look at, and she's not subtle enough to skim across the surface of a mind without it noticing--already he can see some booth barkers turning to stare at the train.

This is gonna be trouble.

Breathless Dead

"Of course, Captain."

Alexa doesn't dare look. There's the chance, yes, that Epistia is forgiving. That she'll be excited, happy even, with this assignment. It's a day out, a chance to spend time with one another! And if there's anybody who could be counted on to guard her from the predations of curious priests, it's Epistia!

She wants to hope. But the thought of what she might see--disappointment, or anger, or even simple resignation!--better to seal it away deep in a vault, where reality will not tarnish it.