BlasTech

Huntresses of Hybrasil

"I ..." starts Isabelle.

What does she say? What can she say? Her mind is a haze of static and warm buzzing. The flight suit suddenly feels too tight, the wall and floor she's leaning against too cold. Where is the warmth that had been there a minute ago? The fire, the sparks. When can they come back?

"... I'll ..."

Where can she go right now? Certainly not back to training - not yet at any rate. She needs time to process everything that just happened. How that one brief crack - letting herself speak some words that had been burning at her all morning to speak - had led to ... had led to this.

Is this what happens when you swear at your girlfriend?

Are we girlfriends? Or just objects of mutual lust?

Does that depend on what we want?

Want.

Want. Want. Want.

So much want, unlocked by such a small crack. A giving in to temptation, the tug, the pull. Just letting herself fall over that edge once brought her so much that she wants it again. And again. And more besides. She wants walks on the beaches of Murzon, she wants candlelit dinners and evenings spent reading books together on the couch or in the lab. She wants hands held and arms entwined. She wants time just spent talking and being together. Discussing drone algorithms, the lifting capacity of industrial hydraulics or just what her life was like before she appeared at that fashion show. She wants dates. She wants flowers and chocolates and trips to cheesy carnival rides. She wants shopping trips where they don't buy anything. She wants to share a milkshake and to then wipe the foam off her lips. She wants to be thrown down on the bed, hands tied, and made to feel. She wants to talk about table settings and wall decorations and whether they should buy a pet.

[Isabelle is, needless to say, smitten with Asil.]

She wants to ignore how her mother might feel. How her family, or the press would conspire to hide those brown eyes away. How they might try to push them apart. She wants to ignore how she might do it herself, if things got bad and it was the only way to keep her safe. She wants to run from the problems and bathe in the brighter possibilities, until their warmth melts away the last vestiges of fear.

She wants so. Much.

She has to keep her breath under control as she shakily responds.

"... I'll get a copy of the contract sent to you ..."

[Isabelle rolls for Entice - 0 + 1 + 2 = 3]

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Kalaya had been morosely poking the dumpling, hoping that another morning date would materialise, when the priestess barreled up to her. The suddenness of the woman's approach, as well as her dishevelled appearance, had meant she'd already been watching her with idle curiosity. Despite this, it was still surprising to be addressed directly, particularly when her eyes had passed right through at first.

Looking around a bit as if to confirm that yes, this person is indeed talking to her, and there are no other potential contenders for the title of knight lurking behind her (the dumpling chef briefly enters her mind at this, but she seems to be happy in her current calling), Kalaya turns back to reply.

"Uh, yes?"

Way to go Kalaya.

"I mean, yes! Totally a knight. All up for quests and rescues and such and not moping over my girlfriend at all! What's going on, do you need help with something?"

She indicates the seat Peregrine had left (she herself is now sitting on Vee's in a futile attempt to savor the last lingering warmth of her presence) and offers up the dumpling.

"Tell me, what's wrong?"

Huntresses of Hybrasil

The kiss ends, the supernova fades, and Isabelle's vision returns. Brown eyes meet brown as the air returns to her lungs. She can taste the sweat and salt of her own blood.

Is this what she wants? No.

Yes.

Close?

She doesn't know what exactly she's thinking. Her brain isn't forming full sentences, so much as emotions and impulses. Somewhere in her, buried under arousal, there is a reconciliation - a balancing - that will need to take place. Between what she wants, the limits she wants to set, and what the other woman wants.

Her hand grabs the front of Asil's dress shirt. It makes Asil pause, unsure if she's going to be pushed away.

Isabelle's eyes lock onto hers, blinking from under lashes. Her mouth is open, still panting, and she licks her lip across the spot where she'd been bitten. Long fingers curl in, catching behind a button. Pulling the cloth tight across the other woman's chest. Until, hesitantly, feather light at first, but more impatiently at the second, she tugs forward.

The supernova may be gone, but a fire burns still - white hot and molten with need.

There's a split second - where comprehension dawns on the young woman's face before they crash together.

Asil kisses her again, forcefully, hungrily. Her tongue demands entrance and Isabelle submits with a needy moan. Hands find her hips, fingers digging in and Isabelle breaks the kiss to gasp. Her body shudders, cold sweat breaking out as she feels the other woman flush against her - their chests pressed together. Two thin pieces of fabric all that separates from the skin underneath. She pushes forward and Isabelle's back meets the wall of the room with enough force to make it shake.

Her hand finds the back of Asil's head, fingers tangling amongst short locks as the other woman trails kisses down her neck.

"MMm! No ... no marks ..." Isabelle gasps, as she feels the other woman's teeth press down on her skin.

Asil breaks the kiss, disappointed at first, until Isabelle pulls down the mesh of her bodysuit. The sound of the zip thunderous in the silence of the room, revealing her upper chest and collarbone.

"Here." she says. "Where I can hide i-it."

Asil doesn't wait, one hand grabs her by the jaw, tilting her face up and away, a finger tracing down open lips as she sucks hard on the exposed skin. Isabelle can't help the groan that escapes, her whole body shaking. Asil adjusts her position, slotting a leg in between just as Isabelle feels the strength give out from her knees. A hand grasps her tightly, and Isabelle surrenders, giving in to whatever comes next.

The wall shakes again.

What will you do here today, Asil? Will you stop? Will you go? Further than you should? Or just far enough? What will you take from this woman? What will you give in return? Isabelle does not have your techniques, she does not have the willpower or knowledge to do anything other than submit. (Which she will do willingly, enthusiastically even). She's trusting you to draw the line as to where this ends.

Huntresses of Hybrasil

Isabelle enters the room and stops.

Her eyes flick across - taking in the walls, the stools, the papers sitting next to the small table. The room is already very familiar to her. Not because she'd been in it before, but because she'd been in so many others just like it. Small focus rooms - where one can read a contract or review papers without any distractions. No sounds. No People. Not even a window to let you know the passage of time.

More often than she'd care to admit, she'd gotten so caught up in things in one of these that the whole office would be empty by the time she emerged, blinking tired eyes and wondering where everyone had gone. She'd walk out through the silent halls, listening to only the soft sounds of her footsteps and the occasional whirring of the automatic doors. There was something nice about the office after hours, something about seeing the normally bustling space be so peaceful and quiet. Something nice about the normally shared spaces suddenly being all for her.

It always made her sad that the sun had to rise again the next day for another round.

Her eyes land on Asil, and she freezes. After a heartbeat stretches to two, then three, the other woman shifts uncomfortably - unsure if she's meant to talk some more or just wait for the inevitable.

For her part, Isabelle is having trouble recalling the words that she meant to use right now.

Mierda. She thinks, pinching her nose in a vain attempt to keep some blood in her brain where it belongs. Why does she have to be so stars-damn cute.

It's not like Isabelle doesn't cut a fine figure herself - what with the jet-black pilot's bodysuit, shin-high leather boots and the grey-with-white trim jacket that she's got hanging open over the top. But her brain isn't operating at nearly the levels she needs to in order to be self aware.

Instead, after successfully resisting the urge to head back outside and regather her wits, she chooses to plough on and let actions start the conversation. Slowly, deliberately, she reaches into her jacket pocket, before removing the projector and setting it down on the table between them.

"You recognise this." she says, it's not a question.

"I found it in my room last night. It was knocked loose this morning during training and played its message - over an open channel."

She lets that and all the implications of it sink in, waiting until the other woman's eyes widen.

"I don't have to tell you the kind of trouble this will cause you. Beyond the power imbalance between us, if word of this were to get out to the press or worse ... reach my mother ... you could find your life being turned upside down and inside out. You will likely not get a moment's privacy from the investigators, the journalists and the investigative journalists. It would probably end with you being blacklisted. Your sponsorships, coding and drone work ended. Your skills forever left unfulfilled."

"Not to mention that this is an act of gross insubordination and impropriety. I mean, sneaking into my quarters? What were you thinking? You're lucky you weren't caught with all the extra security that's in place now. And why didn't you just ... ugh!"

Wait, what happened to our script?

Shut up, we're winging it now.

She sucks a breath in through her nose, letting it out through her mouth with the count of five. Reset. Poise. Calm.

"So ... what this is ..." she continues, her voice back in control. "... is exactly what the meeting invite said: a review of your sponsorship arrangement."

"Subject to your agreement - which you have the right to withhold - You will continue in your current duties at a pay increment of one hundred twenty percent of your current rate. If any competitors come to you with a higher offer, let me know immediately and I will beat it by a further ten percent. You will report directly to Madame Toldeo for any input into the fashion line, and directly to Chief Tomas for all things related to the Mech drone development program."

In short, you won't be my report anymore. You need the distance for your own safety, I hope you understand that. And the "Golden handshake" should also insulate you further from attention. At least, it's the kind of scandal and response that the tabloids are familiar with. A ... negotiated settlement for where neither side can prove their case.

"Publicly, of course, I will not be able to comment on my response to your message, or any way in which I may have 'led you on' as you may get quoted on saying." she continues, folding her arms and staring at the wall. "Off the record though, I - I did want to say thankyou. Thankyou for trying to speak to me, instead of simply sabotaging my mech and killing me or some other method of revenge for what I sa- what I yelled at you. It would have been fair."

She sighs, eyes tracing the lines in the wall paneling, as if the patterns could somehow make this whole mess any easier to navigate.

"But most of all ... I wanted to -"

She looks back at those brown eyes, eyes she could get lost in. Wondering briefly if they see the plea hidden in all of this.

"- to just say."

Come on Isabelle, you can do it.

Deep Breath and just say it. Say it!

It's okay, just let it out.

She breathes deeply. And speaks the words that have been bouncing around inside her head ever since the training match.

"... fuck you, too, for putting me on a pedestal."

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

So easy to follow. So easy to obey. Just slip her hand into Ven's and come along.

But.

But but but but.

"Wait." she says, tugging Ven to a stop beside her.

This isn't a small thing. This isn't a simple thing. This is asking her to put the Kingdom's welfare on hold. To put her girlfriend's welfare on hold. Two pillars standing against the suggestion of a Witch, where neither would be easy to bend. Both together? Almost impossible.

"We do need to talk to the Sapphire Mother about this before we do anything else. Lifting this curse on me, fighting the Dominion. Even Hell. Our approach to all of that hinges on Her response."

"I understand if you don't want to come with me when I see her" she says, glancing at Ven. "But I don't want any more distractions. Everyone in this whole land seems to be moving in their own directions, pulling at the strings of their own plans and just building a bigger and bigger tangle. Ushua, Agata, The Broken King, Mars. I mean to cut to the middle."

She blinks, as if remembering something.

"Uh, assuming that the date part of this morning is over I mean. I'm always happy to go and eat some dumplings for a bit more if you want Vee?"

[Kalaya refuses the XP - as much as I'd love her to take it, she's got her priorities right now and won't be swayed.]

Huntresses of Hybrasil

Things had been going so well too. Quar was placated, and they'd started their lessons. The drills so far had gone smoothly and Novasurge was indeed operating at optimal levels. If her luck could have just held out, Isabelle was sure that she could mollify her mother and keep her from looking too closely at her timesheets over the next days.

Of course, she should have known that Luck and her had a toxic relationship.

Time seems to slow as the projector is rattled free from her pocket. Her eyes only able to track it as it bounces across the cockpit floor before rattling to a stop. Her brain so focused on launch trajectories and impact predictions that it doesn't even recognise what that small black object is until the recording starts playing. Her heart, happily beating along without a care in the world (it lives in delusion), can only seize up as the brown haired visage appears.

Oh ... crap.

===== EMERGENCY MEETING ======

Dozens of Isabelles crowd around the mindspace's central screen, each one watching in fascination as Asil's message plays out. Each one pushing and shoving at the others as they try to get a closer look. Elbows and shoulders are deployed indiscriminately and the resulting mosh pit is filled with cries and expletives, as well as less-than-useful commentary:

"Her hair looks nice, has she done something to it?"

"I missed her eyes."

"Do you think we should've dressed better for this?"

"It's a projection, dummy, she can't see us."

"... I knew that!"

She's so caught up with just *looking* at the other woman, that the message manages to reach the end with most Isabelles still none the wiser as to the content. That is - until the single, dutiful, one at the typewriter finishes her transcript and hands copies out. One by one, the Isabelles read it, process it, and then get to work on the most important points.

"Us leading her on? When did we do that?"

"I thought she'd be more angry about the yelling."

"I don't want her to go."

"Does she ... like us like us? I think she likes us likes us guys!"

"She'd be better off without us ..."

"Shut up Self-Esteem, what have you done for us lately?"

"Does anyone care that I just shot down two more missiles headed for us?" Asks Reflexes, sitting alone in the corner. "No? Nobody? Fine, whatever."

"ENOUGH!!"

The chatter ceases as the one Isabelle shouts the rest into submission. She's dressed in business attire, her hair drawn back into a ponytail and wields her clipboard with authority.

"We don't have time to sort through all our baggage right now, people! Immediate action is needed!" she commands, before pointing towards one of the lower-ranked Isabelles.

"You there! Schedule an appointment this afternoon with Asil to 'Review her Sponsorship arrangements'"

"You there, take Creativity, Anger, Honesty, Doublespeak and Romance and get to work on what our script will look like when we see her. Make sure Fear proof-reads everything. Assume we will have witnesses."

"You! Go and lock Libido in a closet until this is over."

"The rest of you, I need wargame sims on Mother's likely reactions when word of this gets to her. We need contingency plans for what she's going to do when we don't fire her."

"And Reflexes?" she says, before pausing as two more explosions sound in the distance. "... keep up the good work."

Huntresses of Hybrasil

Isabelle brings up the selections using her portable computer, swiping through to the ones she wanted. It was a strength of Terenian mechs that they could be so easily customised - although they always seemed doomed to play the "Master of none" role when compared to their Hybrasillian or Zaldarian counterparts.

She frowns as she does so - recognising Novasurge from the schematics, and that this meant Emberlight was still being repaired after her match with Ada Smith. The work had been extensive she supposed, a close range reactor overload will do that, but she struggled to think of a reason why it would take this long to get her personal mech back into fighting shape.

We'll have to go by the repair hangar later today. Find out what's going on.

Her fingers tap against various holorecords as she confirms the loadout for training. Her last several matches, as well as the impromptu fight with Solarel, had all relied on close quarters combat and bladework. To mix it up, her practice today will focus on long range fighting - missiles, autocannons and a lance rifle. A mix of heavy weaponry and precision. She adds to this some point defence weaponry, drones and shielding to give her something to do on the defence when trading blows with her opponent.

And as for Asil's message. She tries not to think about it. Even as she keeps it with her while she suits up.

Huntresses of Hybrasil

The gesture is surprising, enough to knock Isabelle out of her element for a moment. To have someone, a practical stranger no less, take that level of concern about her wellbeing - that she'd offer her the first bite despite obviously being hungry herself? It was ... touching.

After the meal is finished, they settle into a rhythm. Isabelle signs, communicates and learns. And in this ebb and flow of information, it is very easy to lose track of time. After all, this, this gaining of knowledge about things that are different - so different - to the day to day banality of business and family? This is something that genuinely interests her.

Indeed, researching and exploring an alien culture ranks about 7th on the list of things that can really grab her attention. Right ahead of a Good Warm Bath and about four places after Making Lists. It would be easy, so easy, to keep doing this all day. If only an attendant wasn't heading there presently to remind her of her duties.

Duty.

One of the words in the family credo, and burned so deeply into her bones that getting her to shirk it is not an easy order. An Isabelle who is willing to cast it aside entirely would represent one that has taken a true break from her lifetime of upbringing (not to mention a childhood of repetitive lessons on the topic, as well as an adolescence curtailed by strict routines and control). In short, it's unlikely to happen right now. Solarel may have put some cracks into the chains that bind her, but the only direction they are being pulled at present is tighter.

The least difficult way to get her to blow off her lessons is to give her a means to claim that this is training time, just as important to her next match as reviewing the holovids. Maybe if Quar and her were to practice swordplay she could conceivably claim, with some righteousness, that this is practical and needed to her ongoing success.

Outside of that, it would take some significant coincidence to capture her attention sufficiently to distract her away from the call to train. On the grand list of things that Isabelle maintains in the back of her head (and excluding listmaking itself) - Quar would probably have to hit either #1 or #2 by pure chance - and either accidentally reveal a love of a specific genre of TC fantasy romance, or a love for writing fanfiction. But, really, what are the chances she reads stories about space wizards exploring new galaxies?

Finally, there is one last way that she could, at least temporarily, distract Isabelle from her training. You see, tucked tight in Isabelle's jacket pocket is Asil's projector, carried unplayed by her heart. Knock that out and reveal the message and - depending on the content - you might distract her enough to stay here for a short while. At least until she figures out what to do in response.

Huntresses of Hybrasil

Mother had not been happy.

Sit up straight. I didn't raise you to slouch at the table.

Yes Mother.

No yawning. Only uncouth people yawn in company.

Yes mother.

Don't take the toast today, you look like you've put on weight.

Yes mother.

And that had been before the interruption. Fortunately, breakfast did not count as "Training time" so the prohibition on distractions wasn't yet in effect. But she could tell from her mother's expression that this day was not off to a promising start. Isabelle hurried to Quar's chambers, as much as was proper, flanked by two of the security staff.

She leaves them by the door as she enters before moving to release Quar's restraints. Whether through some intuition, or just the fact that taking her hostage won't help Quar escape (the guards already have standing orders to ignore any attempt in that regard), she doesn't hesitate to let her prisoner get use of her hands once more.

Or maybe she's just too tired to care. Hopefully her mask is holding, and the tiredness is not too obvious to one unaccustomed to Terenian mores.

Taking a seat across the table she waits with impassive patience for her to sign something, or explain what is on her mind.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Kalaya takes a breath, chewing on a flavourless dumpling, as she mulls over the options.

"I've spoken to Cathak, and you're right that she wants the Kingdoms as her prize. And that's it, not to savor, or protect, or cultivate or cherish. Just as a bauble to add to her hoard. Kept and held tightly, even as her gaze then seeks out the next thing to grasp."

"I refuse to let the Kingdoms suffer that fate - and will not let that happen." she continues, shaking her head. "I'd hoped to win support at the Convocation in Chrysanth to take a stand, or at least do something against that rising tide ... and maybe from there to convince the Kingdoms to band together against the Dragonchild. I don't know if that will work - it certainly won't be as elegant either. Knowing some of their leaders, I'm picturing a whole bag of cats fighting amongst themselves whenever I try to think of what that might be like."

Not to mention I'd have to talk to Lin.

She shudders.

"Whatever path we take though, I think I owe it to the Kingdoms, and my oaths, to first speak to the one being that I hope would actually help us save her own lands. If the Sapphire Mother can give us some insight, or some support as to what path to take, or what dangers we might face ...

She trails off, uncertain of what she was hoping the deity would provide.

But hoping all the same that she'd give them something to go on.