#or if this jade is just trying So Fucking Hard she's resorted to faking empirical decrees

[catman-draws]

We need an in comic background Jade who is desperately trying to make the choir happen and no one else cares, except maybe tits out Jade but they only wanna sing Milkshakes

- Trash

Things got Weird after Dolorosa left

[hhhhhzsskksz]

Kanaya isn’t surprised to see you; in fact, she seems to dismiss the trunk-beast in the block as easily as if she didn’t know of it at all.

No, you think warily, that’s not true. She looks at you with something satisfied in her eyes, an approving little nod when Eridan ushers you in front of the extraordinarily expensive husktop and the into a chair that feels uncomfortably like a pile. Your face flushes at the thought, but you figure you’ve been red enough for the last few days for it not to make a difference.

She smiles, and she feels like home, but a home with sharp edges and locked doors keeping others out and you in. She glances up and behind you to Eridan, and flashes him a characteristicly restrained but conspiratory smirk.

“Karkat, I’m so very glad to see you well!” She grins, and it’s a genuine grin. You relax a little. You’re usually anxious, but right now you’re just being unreasonable. Kanaya’s your most trustworthy friend. So what she’s been talking to Eridan? They’re friends too.

“Yeah, he’s been settling in-“ Eridan looms over you to jokingly rest his elbows upon your shoulders. There’s no real weight behind it, you’d probably collapse if there was. It’s a firmly playful action. His hands dangle under your chin, in front of your neck. You blink a little as the dazzle of his rings, which occupy his fingers in a relatively restrained amount in his casual state but are by no means absent, reflect the light of the husktop. The glare of it pricks your eyes, and for a moment, it feels like all you can see is the white of Kanaya’s fangs and the golden rings of lights speckled with jewels.

You sit up a little straighter and rest your chin against his hands to avoid the glare. You jolt for a moment at the chilliness of his skin. Eridan laughs and shoves his cold fingers back under your chin.

“Cold bulgewipe-“ you gripe, before reaching up and slapping him on the cheek. Eridan makes a sound that sounds more like a moan of pleasure than pain. You’re 70% it was a joke. At the possibility of the other 30%, you give a chuckling Kanaya the most apologetic look you can muster while still half-wrestling your grinning iceblock of a morail.

“Careful, I might have to resort to my known quadrant vice!” Kanaya comments playfully. That makes you stop play-fighting Eridan for a moment to glare at her. From the crinkle of her eyes and the soft, affectionate curve of her mouth, you come off less threatening than you’d like.

“If you try to auspice us, I will start a fucking riot, you madwoman.” You grumble. Eridan takes your moment of indignant protest to shove his cold hands down your loose shirt, making you shriek and squirm before sliding to the floor in escape.

For a minute or so, the room is only filled with the sound of toothless insults and fits of giggles. Your ribs hurt, but the floor is soft under you. You close your eyes.

You never got to talk to your friends like this, too afraid of identification to use the shitty voice or video cam on your husktop.

There’s a lining of melancholy to it anyway. You miss something you never had. You have it now, and it burns you in its wake.

As he finally comes down from the throws of his laughing fit, Eridan plucks you off the ground without warning and places you firmly in his lap. He settles back in the chair and faces a bemused Kanaya.

Eridan’s arm crosses your chest. The shirt sleeve falls to reveal your shoulder, and his grip is too tight to correct it. Tight, but not painful. Not unless you resist.

Kanaya smiles and makes a temple of her fingers to rest her chin.

“You look good. Better than when I last saw you.” She comments. The last time she had saw you had been when you were 8 and gathered the bravery and stupidity required to send a blurry photo.

“You should brush his hair though.” Her eyes rise to Eridan, and he ruffles your head affectionately.

“It’s cute like this.” He rejects firmly.

“So, uh- what were you two talking about before?” You ask.

“You, mostly.” She replies casually. “Eridan wants make to make you some properly fitting clothes, with his sign and such.” She glances to him, and Eridan removes one of the arms around your waist to fake-gag.

“I’vve got to *burn* those bluebitch clothes he wwas wwearing yesterday, him wwearing some dead landdwweller’s sign-“ He shudders, and then adds. “No offense to you, a course. You’re jade. That’s different.”

You see something flash in her eyes that don’t quite understand, but a moment and it’s gone. Perhaps it was just the husktop. Signals can get lost in space, you guess.

“Or to him, I’m assuming.” She says, and if she’s uncomfortable, she doesn’t show it.

You can’t see his face from your position in his lap, but you can tell from the change in his posture that he’s suddenly sporting some sort of grin.

“Oh, but he’s not-!” He trills, and his hands trace along the side of your chest. You suck in a breath, as his claws dance over fabric so thin it might as well not be there. There’s a tingling in your spine and a sort of pleasant numbness building in your head. You let your head fall back and hit Eridan’s chest softly. The air greets your exposed neck.

“I’m gonna showw her, okay?” He whispers in your ear, and it takes a moment to register. By that time, his hands have found purchase at the bottom of your shirt.

“What?” You mumble, too slowly. Eridan paps you gently on the cheek, and you can see the faint green blush of a voyeur on Kanaya’s cheeks.

The cloth on Eridan’s chest is soft, not the hard padding of a military costume. Something deeply ingrained recoils within you as the bottom of your stomach makes contact with the air.

Your movements are clumsy at best, but you lurch upwards in the vague direction of the gill-hole you assume to be his ear.

“Does she know?” You ask, and even pap-heaviness must not be able to conceal the panic in your eyes, because Eridan’s now-visible face frowns, large and looming over you.

“Wwell, not about this-“ His hands trace your sides lightly and you shiver. You’re not sure if it’s from the cold of your hands or the inconvenient whims of pale serendipity.

“But yes. For almost as long as I havve.” He confirms. It should be a relief. You think you’re going to vomit.

“Are you alright?” Kanaya’s face swims in your vision. She looks unsure; it’s a distinctly unfamilar expression for her to have. “He doesn’t have to show me, I’m sure you can tell me through Trollian-“

“Wwell, I wwasn’t going to *now*-!” Eridan snaps, and you hold up a hand placatingly. The tension melts from him almost instantly, and Kanaya seems visibly relieved.

“It’s fine.” You grumble, and the deep intake that comes next is more an anchor than breathing. You can do this, it says. You don’t have a choice.

You lift your shirt. Kanaya’s eyes are scalpels wielded by the empire’s most pitying vivisectionist.

“Eridan says they’re gills, he thinks-“ Kanaya’s eyes widen, and she doesn’t seem happy, exactly, but she nods encouragingly towards you, never lifting her eyes from your stomach, “well-“ you continue, “They’re pretty fucked up. And I don’t think they work.”

Eridan jolts and makes an indignant noise. “I did *not* say that. Besides, wwhether they wwork or not isn’t important. It’s-its about the *symbol* of it, you knoww.”

A bitter taste emerges at the back of your digestion-tube. It’s not a symbol of anything, you know. You’re red-hot and tiny and covered in vestigial organs you can’t use; a miscellaneous joke of a troll.

“Are those the only ones?” Kanaya asks, and the succeeding moment of silence seems to urge her into clarifying. “I don’t mean to pry, but gills must be taken into account when making any quality garments...” A moment passes.

Eridan taps your cheek with his claw as if to alert you into the conversation. “Wwell,” he asks, “Do you?”

Kanaya makes a surprised face and sends Eridan a look bordering confusion and jest.

“I had figured you had-“ Her eyes fall to you, and you shuffle in an attempt to casually sling your shirt sleeve back over your shoulder. You know what this looks like. She’s implying-. You’re as red as the sun at noon. Floors are fascinating to observe. You would know.

Eridan seems mostly nonplussed. “It’s been 3 nights, Kan. Adjusting to space and shit. Even I’m not that insatiable.”

Eridan drops his chin to your shoulder, and you feel his cool breath, catch a shimmer of fangs as white as the star-bleached earth in an Alternian drought. He’s grinning lechorously, and you tilt your head back instinctively to create distance from the danger of his jaw.

You realize, as your neck is bared towards the screen and your eyes pressed tight against your lids, that you had done exactly what Eridan wanted you to do.

“Plus, I think Kar’s a little shy.” Eridan says, smugness permeating the words as his noses along the column of your throat.

You wait for Kanaya to tell him off, something about decency, but she just laughs. Eridan, ever prone to jolting displays of immaturity, leaves a raspberry on your throat and pulls away, snickering. You do not squawk as you try to pull up the loose collar of the slippery shirt to wipe away his spit, because *gross*. It doesn’t work, and your neck is left cold and wet until Eridan graciously uses his scarf to wipe away his salvia, still giggling. Kanaya rolls her eyes.

You’re still breathing heavily. Everything feels hot, almost feverish, and you focus on Kanaya’s face. She’s swimming in your vision, and in the whirlpool she’s unfamilar, the angles of her face transforming into maleficient caricatures of themselves.

You think you’re going to be sick. You close your eyes and tuck your head against Eridan’s chest, trying to block out your surroundings. You make sure to angle your shoulders to cover your neck. The protection it provides is all in your thinkpan, you know. Eridan could rip your arm out of your socket like snapping a dry twig.

“Are you alright, Karkat?” Kanaya asks, and when you look up, her face is kind and familiar as ever, that of your oldest friend.

Eridan tenses as if to respond for you, but you uncurl a bit and manage to eke out a muffled “M’fine”.

You’re starting to get awfully tired of people smirking at you like you’re some sort of wriggler.

“Well,” Kanaya trails off. There’s an intentional breathiness to her voice that leaves her assumptions regarding the two of you pretty obvious. It’s a sort of encouragement, in the crude way that some frat cerulean slapping the shame globes of his morail after scoring some red fling in the barracks is encouragement.

“The charts for measuring will be sent to you. I’ll send the ones for gills and without, to be sure.” She pauses, unsure. Hesitantly, she adds; “I’m sure, if you would be so inclined, that you could find a suitable tailor closer to you, in whatever section of the galaxy you’re in currently. I appreciate it, to be sure, but I’m not sure why you would still..”

Eridan tenses and holds out his hand as if to grab hers. It pauses midair as he remembers the distance. The rings rattle as his hand *thumps* back onto the four-legged holding slab.

“Because you’re my friend, Kan.” He says finally, after the sort of pause borne of conviction rather than hesitance. “I wwasn’t going to just ascend and then...wwhat? Fuck off wwithout you guys?”

His hand tightens around you, and he leans his head against you. A happy little puff of air escapes his fangs as you touch him back, curving your hands along his arms to find skin. Kanaya watches, and something hard melts off her demeanor. She smiles, and it’s warm, with only the slightest peek of fangs.

You think vaguely that this sort of collective vulnerability leans into quadrant territory, but it’s hard to care when Kanaya rests her chin on her hands like she’s 5 sweeps, her eyes pensive and *kind*, and Eridan’s holding your hands. You feel the kiss of cool air on your cheek. Your eyes slip shut like a content purrbeast. The glow of the husktop burns sweetly behind your lids like a sunset peeking through the curtains of your hive, and for a second, you don’t think you could anything better than what you are feeling now, safe and surrounded in this ship swaddled in the deafening cocoon of space.

@are-u-kitten-me-right-meow

[ladytrollfishes]

Cresce and Shupaa: Make an Acquaintence

You don't get out of Arkady as often as you like, really. You're in Ghoulisar on business of course, but that doesn't mean you can't take a little time to yourself. Ghoulisar had an excellent creamery- you hadn't tasted all their flavors yet so you stopped by for a cone. You bounce through the streets, working through your cone and sorting through the melodies of the passerby on the streets, separating strings that trembled with every day stress, brass that burst with the joy of a good song, xylophones of excitement, bass of fear- the every day melodies of the crowd pass you readily as they shift through their thoughts and the physical space  around you

.All but one. It's been trailing for you awhile. A combination of boredom and tense anxiety constantly radiating you while you travel around the city. Someone's following you. You don't know Ghoulisar as well as you know Arkady, and Ghoulisar doesn't know you as well as Arkady! It's your signmate, you're sure. You turn off into a corner.

Kitty | neriticNomad12/31/2018

Your new assignment is unusual in nature, but the process is the same. You have a mark. You have informants, then, information. You follow the trail until it takes you to your mark, and all of it happens like clockwork. The difference is that you aren't allowed to kill her, which means your job is exceptionally harder. You keep your eyes straight ahead. They never view your target directly. 

You see her in reflections, and in your peripheral vision, but never more than that. She's easy to watch, because she doesn't seem to be expecting you, and unlike other marks you've had, she doesn't seem to have anything to hide. It isn't your job to speculate, but your mind still wanders: What could Lyrian want with her? What's the long con? And why go so far as to hire you? You say none of this out loud.

The only sign of your thoughts are the waves of pensive cerulean, which pass over the light of your implants, before fading back into neutral jade. You stick out a little, when you aren't trying to hide. 5'6" isn't a terrible height, and your boots push you up to 5'7". The real intimidation comes from the strange-looking machinery in your body, so you hide it, with long sleeves, high collars, and a hood, which hides your implants from view. You distract from it, with a leash, and a medium-sized two-headed dog at the end of it. 

Everyone loves a cute dog. Your mark makes another move. You wait, and give her room, then follow. Your senses search the area for anyone that might be lying in wait, but perhaps, tonight, you're a bit more relaxed than you should be. "Cress" hasn't given you any trouble so far. Why would she do so now?

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)12/31/2018

You listen for the melody to follow you, waiting around the corner and take a nice long lick of the ice cream. It's a cherry garcia and dark chocolate flavor. Very good, but not your favorite so far. You've been taught a dozen different ways to lose a tail, but you don't plan on using any of them tonight. You want to know what this stalker is here for. So when you hear them coming around the corner you turn back like you made a u-turn and smash your ice cream right into the center of their chest.

 "Omigosh!" you exclaim. "I'm so so so sorry!" You make a show of pulling out a hankerchief while you take a look at whose been following you. Covered face, walking a lusus, could have been a jogger, really. There's a glint of something from under their hood but you can't quite tell what it is. Jadeblood. You take a moment to consider if this might be anyone besides your signmate, then dismiss it. Your position in Torrent is solidly middling, Melete's not the sort to leave this work to someone else- no it had to be her.

Kitty | neriticNomad12/31/2018

Your lusus has two heads. Asterion isn't very talkative. She tends to speak only when she feels a need. Chara, on the other hand, loves the sound of her own voice, and that's the head that barks in alarm, when your mark collides with you. You take this exact second to realize just how badly you've fucked up. Now you just need to fix it. Unpleasant, but necessary. The words of your strength trainer echo, momentarily, in the record of your memory: Muscle up, buttercup. "It is fine," you start, neutral and expressionless. You lift your mouth to where it's visible, with no protruding teeth, and only a few haphazard marks. Most trolls have a few. It's nothing special. 

"Forgive my... carelessness." The reddish-colored ice cream sends an unpleasant chill through your sensory receptors. Your gloved hand scrapes the bulk of the ice cream from your chest, and flicks it to the side- oops, that was too hard. You dented that trash can. Way to go, Becvar. "... Are you offering this cloth for my aid?" you ask, but it doesn't sound like a question. This is why you're not a birdie. You can't fucking talk to anyone.(edited)

January 2, 2019

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/02/2019

Oh honey no. The stalker blares of alarm and anxiety. Her words come out neutral, and the line of her mouth you can spot from under her hood barely moves, even when she speaks.  Her words drop like gravel on glass and when she dents a trash can with more strength than you'd expect from a jadeblood and her melody is mournfully mortified. You'd wince except for the fact you're actually a little charmed. You take another moment to mourn your taste. 

 "Of course I am," you witter, blinking at her and offering her the handkerchief. It'd be rather forward of you to press it to her chest,  but you do consider it. She's either too uncomfortable to refuse or uncomfortable enough to do something even more drastic and you can't be the judge of it just yet. Better to pull your punches. "You weren't so careless at all," you exclaim. "It was a complete accident, and your shirt is ruined! Let's get some water on that. And let me buy you coffee as an apology? There's a cafe right around the corner where we can get both."

Kitty | neriticNomad01/02/2019

As if your situation couldn't get worse. If you survive this, you'll consider different employ. (That's a joke. You'd never change jobs, and you're most certainly going to die.) "... That is... very thoughtful of you," you pronounce, slowly, but the alarm bells are still going off in your head. The glowing lines in the side of your hair run red with anxiety, as your computers run the calculations. If you say no, you'll seem suspicious when she sees you elsewhere. She knows how to spot you, having seen you up close. If you say yes, that's direct contact with a mark, and you don't do direct contact. You do the opposite of direct contact, which is staying the fuck away. If you were killing her, this would be convenient, but you're contractually forbidden from doing that. Briefly, you ponder if Lyrian would understand, if you explained the situation. ... Likely, no, which is a shame, you think.

 "... This offer seems favorable," you decide, finally, interrupting your silent beat. You take the handkerchief, visually scan it for any hidden hazards, and dab, somewhat mechanically, at the spot on your shirt. It would be difficult to poison you this way, and you're wearing gloves. There are no blades or concealed weapons, or at least, not ones you can pinpoint, with the knowledge in your databank. Indeed, the handkerchief doesn't kill you. You record this data for future analysis, and schedule a virus scan. The handkerchief stays in your hand. You want to rinse it before giving it back to her. 

 "Are you quite certain you wish to fraternize with an unknown person?" you ask, studying her from beneath your hood. The red light in your implants fades, but stays red. You're on alert. "Dangerous individuals are present in the vicinity." That's you. Potentially, that's her.(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/02/2019

Her alarm only grows as you speak, and she's slow to find the words to respond to you. You wait patiently, pleased as punch that she can't even figure out a good excuse to try and get out of it. Instead she resorts to vague intimidation, like she can threaten you, in a city full of imperials and you're a trained soldier of the empire. It's positively adorable. You beam at her and you don't even need to fake it. 

 "A stranger's just a conversation away from being a friend," you explain patiently. "But you're so sweet to worry. I insist! We're so lucky, this café is one of my favorites. They have spiced apple cider to die for, but the coffee is also excellent!" You smile down at the fluffy lusus at your feet too. "And they're lusus friendly. Let's go!" "What's your name anyway?" you exclaim as you take two steps backwards before you turn, keeping your eyes on the stranger. Was that a slip of red light under hood you saw before?

Kitty | neriticNomad01/02/2019

That's the moment you realize this isn't a friendly offer. In fact, it wasn't a question at all. She was making a demand, and the saccharin in her smile promises more than you can handle. There's a flicker of yellow - fear - which runs across your implants, before being washed out by the red of baseline anxiety. They'll likely stay that color, until you find a way to leave.

 "Charm-ing," you say, and your eyes don't leave her for a second. You walk. The night air bites at you, through the damp stain in your shirt. You can't reroute your sensory input, which means you have no choice but to endure the double discomfort of being here, and feeling exposed. Your peripherals stay on her, even when your focus shifts away. Asterion and Chara don't know what's happening, but Asterion keeps looking back at you, under the mop of her fur.

 "I am called Maera," you say. You don't give her your hatched name. Again, you contemplate incapacitating her, but you have too many witnesses, and you don't know what she's capable of. So, instead, you have to pretend you know how to talk to people. "What are you called?" you reply, even though you already know. Maybe you'll glean something useful yet.(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/02/2019

Oh, well she's got sense enough to be afraid, her melody flickering with a little tremble of fear. Perhaps she's realized you aren't quite the ditz you're pretending to be? It's a little disappointing, really, you were wondering how long you could string her along without her realizing you know what you need to know. You don't expect for a second that the name she gives you is real at all, but at least she shows some respect for social normalities. 

“Call me Cress!" you exclaim with a smile, and spin into the coffee shop. It's a quaint little thing with a little stage you've performed on occasionally, enough that you're familiar with the staff, at any rate. There aren't too many customers at this time of night, but it's busy enough that you won't be overheard, at least. 

"Hiiii," you say as you approach the counter. You only know the barista by sight, but they're all wearing name tags. They smile as you approach. "Hey Cress! Glad to see you're back in town," they say. You steal a glance at their name tag. Heliop. "Glad to be back!" you exclaim with a smile. "Could I trouble you for a cup of water? I'm such a klutz, I dropped an ice cream cone on my friend here by accident. Also could i get an apple cider and a-" You turn back to "Maera" for a second, hesitant. "What kind of coffee do you like? Oh, and a treat for the lusus."

Kitty | neriticNomad01/02/2019

"Heliop," as their name tag informs you, stands about an inch shorter than you. They're green, somewhere towards olive, but the low, filtered lights of the shop are coloring everything just slightly yellow. They drum their fingers across the counter as Cress speaks to them, but the way they lift their wrist tells you they've taken piano lessons - without thought, their hand forms the same shape it should when resting on a keyboard. They have a moderate amount of confidence in their work. It must have been a slow day. They seemed relieved, when you first walked in, to have something to do. Very slow day, in that case. 

 "Mocha," you finish, for Cress. You glance up at the menu, briefly, and add, "Peppermint, if possible. ... Mother does not like to share. The medium biscuit, please." You'll break it in half. Asterion and Chara don't need to know. Cress - Cresce - is in her element. She's enthusiastic about this place, and she never once drops her cheery attitude. You file away the location of this shop in your databanks, note the exits, and memorize Heliop's general features. The location of her "favorite" coffee shop is promising information, in some small measure. If Cress knows your real purpose, she likely won't come back, but that's the great part about being bound to Alternia: A troll can only run so far before they run out of room. If you have to track her halfway across the planet a second time, you will. When the server turns away from you, you eye Cress again. "Do you come here often?" you ask, which is the most cliche thing you've unknowingly done, ever.(edited)

January 7, 2019

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/07/2019

Maera doesn't ease very much, even when ordering for herself and her lusus. There's a moment of casual consideration and affection as she orders a biscuit, and then more careful tense beats. You can barely see her face from under the hood but you bet she's watching you. You take care not to seem like you're watching her either, keeping your eyes on the desserts they have on display as you review the information you do have. She's not a spy, that's for certain. She's almost as bad as Melete at conversation. She has to be at least on par with you strengthwise, as easily as she dented that trash can, despite being nearly halfway down the spectrum from you. That feeling, too, when you crashed into her, the glint of red you caught from under her hood.(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/07/2019

The hood was an interesting choice. They were pretty much only good for keeping your ears warm. They blocked your peripheral vision. The were obvious. Having your hood up constantly was more noticeable in a crowd than if it was down. Despite popular media, hoods were generally very bad for stealth. Unless, of course, whatever was underneath it was more noticeable than the hood. If you placed bets you'd place them on Maera being some sort of augmented cyborg, built for power rather than stealth. An assassin, most likely. Someone who didn't want to attack you in public at least. Plausible deniability perhaps? Did your signmate hire someone to kill you? That surprises you- she did seem more like the type to get her own hands dirty, so to speak. You press your hand to your collar at the unpleasant memory. Fucker. 

 She's still doing recon, obviously, otherwise you'd have noticed her following you ages ago. Most people doing wetwork dangled on the edge of legality and the murder of an imperial agent by a mercenary would draw far more attention to her than she'd like. It would be difficult to pull off an assassination of an imperial soldier in the middle of Ghoulisar, and she'd need to know as much about your habits and commonly frequented locations as possible if she were to make a getaway. She's even bold enough to ask you about your coffee habits.You giggle as she asks. 

"Whenever I'm in Ghoulisar! As often as I can, really. I love this place." 

Depending on how this conversation turns out, you're obviously never coming back here without company. "Here's your order," Heliop says, and slides you two drinks and a biscuit. "Thanks!" you exclaim, handing the biscuit and the mocha to Maera. "Hold on, you grab a seat first. Heliop, can you grab me one of those apple turnovers actually? Sorry to tack something at the end of my order like that, but just looking at this batch makes me hungry!" It wouldn't be the first time you had coffee with someone who desperately wanted you dead. Only Maera isn't desperate. You wonder what she wants. Not just with you, but as a person. What sort of person took a job as insane as this one?

Kitty | neriticNomad01/07/2019

A person who doesn't see any other choices. Her next line doesn't follow the script. Something is wrong. You take note of it, but it's a small enough divergence that you don't think now is the time to panic. Maybe. Probably. You hate the uncertainty of all of this. Killing someone is easy! They're either dead, or you need to try again. Cress is confusing you. You're not sure yet if it's intentional. Regardless of your reservations, you take your drink. You don't see any reason to speak again, and, not being one for needless words, you find a place to sit. This is an alchemy on its own. You want something where your escape route is quick and easy, and you don't have your back to any current patrons. You choose a seat by the window, for a few reasons. The first is that you want to keep her guessing. If you really wanted to kill her right now, you'd choose something more discreet. 

Again, you remind yourself, you're not trying to kill her for real. This is for show and information, but that kind of nuance usually gets missed when observed in situations like this. The second is that it grants you security, too. Trolls are a little less likely to kill someone if they know it's on display. Murder tends to be a private affair, usually, unless she's one of those bloodlust exhibitionists. Then you guess you're royally fucked. You sit, uncomfortable in the cushioned chair. Chara and Asterion sit at your feet. Asterion is still watching Cress, but Chara is more focused on the biscuit in your hand. You hide it under the table as you break it in half, and you feed portions of Chara's half to her, little by little. You need her to stay with you, and stay quiet. Cress has a game. You don't know what it is yet, but you're pretty sure you don't like it. Thinking about what might come is making you more uneasy, though, so you focus on pinpointing her center of balance, and other physical attributes, filing these away in your memory.(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/07/2019

The seat Maera picks is between you and the door, with her back to a window, with a clear view to anyone who may approach. The turnover is a useless exercise then- an excuse to move past her and snatch her hood off when necessary but at least it'll be delicious. You smile at her as you wait for your pastry as you pick your next move. She's so very clearly uncomfortable- you don't suppose assassins usually get bullied into tea time with their targets. She knows something's up. You assume she knows what your actually place of employment is, so you're certain she knows you're up to something, but her uncertainty speaks volumes about her experience in dealing with spies. The apple turnover slides over the counter, warm and spiced, and you breathe in the buttery aroma.

"Oh that smells so good," you say. "Thanks, Heliop!"You don't waste a moment before you bite into it, and take a sip of your apple cider. Ghoulisar did have a good apple crop. Arkady's were fine, in and of itself, of course, but there was something special about apples here. 

 "Oh, it's so good," you moan, as you slide into the seat across from Maera, placing your cup and pastry on the table. It's small, the sort of table with space for maybe two husktops, no more. Your knees could bump hers if you slid down in your chair, but you don't. You keep your back straight as you wash down another bite of your pastry and get down to business. You finger slides behind your ear to give the patch of tech there a scratch- with your mind you set your wetware to record. You're not armed, but Maera doesn't have to know it. You give her a wink and make a finger gun with your left hand, and slip your right under the table.

"Just so you know," you say with a smile, and lean forward, keeping your other hand carefully under the table, "I've got one of these under the table and pointed at your lusus." You tangle the lusus leash with your foot and step down. 

 "So maybe don't make sudden movements," you say casually. "She is actually yours, right? You seem quite fond of her. Shooting a bullet into you seems like it might not work but her?" You click your tongue and shake your head. This is why Torrent made certain to remove lusii from the equation. It was a mistake to bring her on a job like this. "So let's talk," you say, leaning forward.

Kitty | neriticNomad01/07/2019

You knew she was up to something, you just didn't think it would be this. You didn't think any troll would go as far as to threaten a lusus, and it's why you even bothered to train yours for your job. Chara whines as the leash gets pulled, and somewhere under your cold shell, there's a spark of concern. It runs lime-green across the lines of your implants, just before it trips your emergency overrides. Then it - the worry, the color - they both disappear. One of the scientists who works on your implants protested this measure. They said it was "cruel." If you were capable now, you might agree. As it stands, you aren't. 

In dire situations, the computers in your brain can strangle your emotional response, and turn you "cold," as it were, until you reach stasis again. It's supposed to make you more efficient. It's supposed to ensure you actually do your job. 

 "What do you wish to talk about?" you say, and you keep your voice even. The lights under your hood have gone dark, so the only light comes from what's reflected in your eyes. "I have little I can say." You have water capsules at your belt. You just don't know how quickly you could manipulate the water, and if your draw would be faster than hers. You're not immune to bullets, but you'll let her keep thinking that you are, if only so it gives you that millisecond advantage. You should have killed her.

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/07/2019

Something curious happens to her when you make your threats- the anger, the fear, the concern, those you all expected, the offense that you would do such a thing- well, honestly, dear, what did she expect? Carrying a vulnerability out like that in the first place? But that cacaphony  cuts off for a different sort. Her natural sound drops to a whisper as static plays over it. Wetware, perhaps? To keep her from intense emotions? Interesting. There's not even a twitch on her face to indicate the change. "Well for starters," you say, musing, a hand on your chin, like it's nothing but a casual coffee chat. "Why don't you take off that hood? I do so like to look a person in the eye when we're having a civil conversation."

Kitty | neriticNomad01/07/2019

You stare at her for a moment longer than necessary, expressionless. If you could feel anything right now, it would probably be resentment. However, ultimately, you comply. Your gloved hands let go of your lusus's leash. Fingers hook into the fabric, and pull it back from your face, then behind your head. You're jade, and it's obvious from the color that fills your irises, accented by the light tones in your skin. You have no facial scarring, no protruding teeth, and fairly average ears - long, but not excessively so; pierced, but only with studs. Your mouth doesn't move, and your eyebrows stay flat, your eyes on her. You'd look very plain, perhaps eerily so, if it wasn't for your hair - shaved into an undercut, with lines of tech sprawling across the sides. As it turns out, replicating psionics requires quite a few hookups to the brain. Go figure. She can't see it, but those lines connect at your spine, and then disappear under the high collar of your jade-marked coat. As your hands retreat, you take the opportunity to pull a water capsule off the belt across your chest. You hold it in your glove, black against black, and try to slip it past her notice. It's insurance. Even without your emotional response, you still have enough dry humor to ask, "Do you like what you see?"(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/07/2019

She takes a moment to consider your request, and you wait patiently as she struggles with it. Her hesitation tells you almost as much as her compliance. Her face is plainer than you expected, honesty. No unusual scars, no pockmarks from battles long past, or brutal disfigurements from implant injections. That was more imagination than you needed in your day to day life, honestly. She definitely wasn't wrong to keep the hood up- that sort of tech isn't common, and something you assume requires a lot of maintenance if she has to keep her hair shaved like that. The static keeps you from necessarily hearing what she's feeling- though you assume quite badly would be the answer. Her face is as emotionless as her voice though, so honestly you guess this was mostly just a power move. You know what she looks like now. You smile cheerily at her. "Well, you're pretty cute!" you exclaim. "Not exactly model material though. But there, isn't that better? Now we can see you." "Now, why are you following me? You're not doing it for your own reasons." You take another bite of your turnover.

Kitty | neriticNomad01/07/2019

You just don't like to be seen. If you could block people IRL, you would block everyone you ever met. The low-profile thing is just a bonus. "No," you confirm. Her teeth are pinging your danger sense every time she smiles. Annoyance fires, but you don't feel it. "The interest is strictly professional." 

 She seems to know how to navigate these kinds of conversations quite well. You wonder, for the third time tonight, why Lyrian bothered with you, and didn't even try to warn you that she'd be on the lookout. She isn't just a mark. She's a mark who has been marked before, and evaded them, and that gives her the upper hand. 

 "This is a job. Your name was given. You were tracked. There is nothing else to say." This is the strangest questioning session you've ever been in. Annoyance fires again as she bites into the pastry. "To reveal my employer would be destructive to my reputation. Unless you are hiring me to find them, it is against contract to discuss further. Is this acceptable?"

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/07/2019

You take another bite of the turnover as you consider what she was told. Only the job, and your name. No information about you? You know your signmate knows what you do for a living. She's got your name, and also Rumisa chattering in her ear. You sigh, blink prettily and drink from your cider. For the first time, you're not smiling. 

This isn't an assassination. It's a test. And it's not to test this little green pawn either. She's testing you. If she wanted you dead, she'd have given this girl all the information she had on her. Your psi, your position, your friends- then this conversation would have gone much, much differently. You ponder your options. "Let me guess," you say finally. "Your employer is a stunning mirror image of my face with the bonus of a slathering of subbjugulator paint. Goes by the name Lyrian? I'm very sorry to say, but I believe you've been a little bit set up!"

Kitty | neriticNomad01/07/2019

Why does every employer you work with have deep-seated emotional baggage? Can't you just get sent to kill a local annoyance, just once? "You realize that confirming guesses is also against the contract. Confirm?" 

 But it helps. Little by little, she seems to be easing off the trigger, and as you lean back into comfortable stasis, your override unlocks. The implants on the sides of your head burst into your jade green - neutral - as your emotions return. You still don't take your hand off the water capsule. You don't take your eyes off her, not even for a second. 

 "You already know what can be said. This is not in the contract. Make a better offer, or leave well enough alone." The computer in your head coaxes you into adding a "please" to the end, because you're speaking to your better, even if you were hired to hunt her.

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/07/2019

The implants at the side of her head spark green, and the radio static stops, much to your relief. She sounds annoyed, but not as tense as the conversation starts with. Even getting brave enough to bite at you! You can't help but laugh at that. It's tinkly. You worked hard on that. 

 "Leave well enough alone!" you exclaim. "When you're the one following me. I don't see how I could simply ignore it." You smile coyly up at her and lean forward on the table so the tuft of hair that dangles out from your forehead frames your face. 

 "The set up, dear," you say, "Is that I'm not a regular person you can follow around, though you've probably figured that one out. If she wanted you to succeed, well!" You snort a little then lower your voice, watching her carefully for her reaction. "She would have told you I work for the empire as an interrogator," you murmur. "I have their resources behind me if you do in fact, move against me. You'll be much better off breaking that contract with her, trust me."

Kitty | neriticNomad01/07/2019

Oh. That's cute. On a second thought, you realize this is probably the point, and push it from your mind. She drops a bomb on you, and you can recognize that she's looking for you to be outwardly shocked. You won't be, because you never emote, but in your mind, yes... you're sort of surprised. It confirms the growing suspicions you've been having, ever since Cresce first "bumped into" you, but it confuses you, too. And you also don't understand why both Lyrian and Cresce are so god damn dramatic, until you spot her sign, and... Yes, okay. That tracks. You humor her by raising one of your eyebrows, briefly. Then you put it right back where it was. 

 "Congratulations," you say, even as ever. "There is a correction to be made, however. If she wanted me to succeed, she would have allowed me to kill you." You don't think you mind breaking your contract, if you were set up to fail in the first place. "She did not. If you have gotten what you wanted, will you cease threatening Mother?" you ask, which doesn't sound as exhausted as you feel while saying it. Lyrian is stranger than you first assumed. Cresce, too, is strange. You don't like the fact that they seem to know each other, and that you now seem to be implicit in their personal dealings, but that can't be helped much anymore. However, you note one thing: Cresce is on the defensive. She's not asking you to go back out after Lyrian, though she may be planning a strike to execute later. This doesn't seem to be a two-way fight. In fact, if they're signmates, it hardly seems fair at all. You pause, and then say, "It is not against contract to share the methods used to find you, should you desire it."(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/07/2019

You hear it, the symbol crash of surprise as you let her know what you're capable of. A suspended chord sounds as she sorts out her confusion, her eyes glancing over you, before it resolves to a major chord. Then, as a delayed reaction, her eyebrow raises. You grin at her. Wasn't that adorable? She manages to surprise you though, by what she says next. You assumed Maera was here to kill you. 

The idea that Lyrian would refrain- that she would specifically hire a trained assassin to follow but not attack- well. Well that gives you pause. And then again, when she offers you help. Unexpected! That wasn't pity you heard, you don't think. You'll have to find time to review the recording. Usually you'd have to work at an offer like this, and she just hands it to you. You take a deep sip of your apple cider as you consider it. Murdering you isn't on the table, you don't think. Not if she's offering to help. You don't hear any trace of fear or anxiety that usually comes with laying out bait, and all she's really offering is information. Learning she was set up, must have really turned her off of Lyrian, which could be useful. You'll make concessions, you'll think. It was time to deescalate. And you find yourself rather curious about Maera! As a person.

“It’s hardly all I want,” you say, “but alright.” You motion as though holstering a gun and place your right hand back on the table. You don't lift your foot from the leash. "Well!" you exclaim. "So long as it's not against the contract!"(edited)

January 8, 2019

Kitty | neriticNomad01/08/2019

You've decided that you hate trolls, and you'll stick to just killing people from now on. They're much less talkative, and they tend to be less demanding, too. "There is a matter of reputation involved," you say. You turn the water capsule over in your hand, then... slowly, re-attach it to your belt. You do this in full view of her, not breaking eye contact. She doesn't know its significance, but that lack of knowledge might help, because - cruel as it is - you want her to feel a little bit closer to the unease you feel here. 

 "Employers are protected because they talk. No one succeeds in this business without a reputation. Personal quarrels are not so simple as cutting ties and washing hands. To speak without heed of the contract makes one appear unreliable, especially when the conversation will not end with someone dying." Because you're not going to kill her. You should have, earlier, but it's too late for that now, better luck next time. Now you're just tired, because she's acting like you selling out your clients isn't a big deal, even if those clients set you up. Those clients are terrifying. They could do horrible things to you, or they could make sure you never work again, or both. You rest your hands on the table, now, fingers knit together.

"We are still in a public space, no matter how quietly we speak. There is security in that, but not enough to willfully break contracts. Make a better offer." You hope, to whatever gods would listen to someone like you, that she isn't the type of highblood to make her offers solely on threats. You'll take it, but that doesn't mean you have to like it. Threats don't pay bills, usually.(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/08/2019

You watch as Shupaa places something, you don't know what, carefully cautiously into the belt draped across her chest. It's a de-escalation gesture, and the sparkle of spite tells you she's making a point of letting you know you hadn't had her all wrapped up around your fingers. You hadn't even realized.  It had to be a weapon of sorts, then, one she had in her hands, that you had no idea what would do. You wonder, briefly, how different this would have turned out if she really was out to kill you.

 Her yammering about contracts and reputations makes you want to roll your eyes but you refrain. The tune she was singing would be very different if they were where you usually conducted these things. In a blank, sealed room with a two way mirror. But no, that's too much trouble to bother with for this. You didn't want to drag your personal dirt into Torrent for everyone to prod at. And if anything was personal, Lyrian was. Maera had nothing you couldn't stand to lose, if you threatened her and forced her and she objected. But on the other hand, how useful would someone like her be? You like playing the carrot better than the stick anyway. 

 "Then let me ask," you say. "Why are you in this line of work?" You take another long drink from your apple cider. It really was quite good.(edited)

Kitty | neriticNomad01/08/2019

There's a beat. You're... left at a loss. Your face doesn't change, but inwardly, you have to process this question a second time before you answer. You still haven't taken a sip of your own drink. It sits, untouched, between you and your interrogator.

 "Opinions are not relevant to the work," you say, finally. "They are unnecessary. This question, too, is not relevant." It's a cheap escape, but it's what you know, because you don't have an answer for that - because you've never needed one before. It never mattered to anyone else why you do what you do. You feel vulnerable. You decide that she's trying to get under your skin. 

 "A request for understanding may be in order, but this is not the way these talks go. Please explain why you feel a need to explore opinions and personal feelings. You were asked only for an offer, and if you have none, we have nothing more to discuss." 

 Under that same skin, you hope you won't have to leave. You don't remember the last time you were in a restaurant, talking to anyone, when you weren't on a hunt. Your memory concludes it hasn't happened before.(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/08/2019

The discomfort is a chord that doesn't go away. You prop your hand on your chin as you think over her answer. You've met people like her before. People who have only traveled the path set in front of them, people who were loyal to it simply because they thought of nothing else. People answered you honestly before- power, money, justice, some ideal they slammed down on the table and spat in your face for, but the most interesting answer was one that didn't exist. A blank slate. Her discomfort with the social setting and the conversation, the tech she has and her complete lack of personal consideration- well. Well that was interesting now, wasn't it! You take another sip of your cider. "How am I supposed to offer you something when I don't know what you want?" you ask simply.

 "If it's just money well. That's no real issue. But what if, with all the resources I have at hand, I could... do something else?" 

 You raise an eyebrow in question and take another bite of your pastry. This wasn't strictly necessary, no, but you have to admit you're curious. There's a person in there, behind all that tech. You've heard her. And whoever that might be, might be grateful for a little more than a job to do.

Kitty | neriticNomad01/08/2019

"Personal desires are not relevant to my func-tion." The stutter-step of your words is an unfortunate side-effect of your condition. She mistakes you for a person, and you aren't - not in the usual sense, anyway - and it's setting you down paths of thought that you aren't equipped to handle, putting strain on your systems. It's almost as bad as the last time the science team tested you on paradoxes. You shut down for a week. 

 Your lusus had laid down under the table during your discussion. She picks up on the break in your speech, though, and Asterion nudges her nose against your ankle. You only know this because you take one brief moment to look away from her, and down at your mother. This gives you enough time to collect your thoughts, and make a decision. 

 "Money would be acceptable. Payment will not be received for the work in these past two weeks. This will be a financial hazard. However, it would be equally hazardous for an employer to decide that too much has been said." Lyrian doesn't seem to be the understanding type. Although, so far, you've held to the letter of your contract, your employers don't always see it that way - especially since you can't report much back. Cresce caught you, but you had been declawed. Lyrian has special interest in Cresce, and in keeping her alive, at least for now. She has no such qualm with you, and it would be very inconvenient to die. You look at her, and let your hands fall back in your lap. "If you have the capability to keep such a thing from happening, or to prevent it in some way, there is potential to make a deal. Can you?"(edited)

January 9, 2019

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/09/2019

Personal desires are not relevant to my function. Oh my god. She even stutters. You school your face still- it wouldn't do now for her to think you're laughing at her. The poor dear, she's got her personhood tucked neatly away, doesn't she? Personal desires are not relevant to my function when you can tell how badly she wants this conversation to end! Like any other person in her position would. It's sad, really, but alsoooo. Hilarious. You tap your chin as you think about your options and how you can do this. "I assume you won't consent to protective custody?" you ask, with an eyebrow raised. "Officially registering you as my informant will give you legal protection. Lyrian's no longer a part of an imperial organization, save the Messiahs, so it will force any retribution to the courts, especially if you do give me good information on her." 

 "That's assuming everything's aboveboard," you say. "And of course, as an informant, you get paid however much i deem necessary for the information you give me." Birdies aren't exactly your field of expertise. You're an interrogarroter, not a field spy. But you know the basics of the system, and it's open to all Torrents. Maera gets registered and all information you get from her is catalogued accordingly. The only people who get to see everyone's individual list of informants were the people at the top. Everyone had leeway to obtain and manage their own informants, and while it wasn't meant to be used as a personal thing, well. Lyrian's record is plenty shady. All you really have to do is say you have suspicions of illegal activity for grounds for surveillance. Sure someone might pull you off the case for conflict of interest, but all that would get you would be pulling you off the case. You play your cards right, no one could nail you for abuse of resources.

Kitty | neriticNomad01/09/2019

"No, un-fort-un-ate-ly." She knows your answer already. Good. You have work to do, and as much as dying would be inconvenient, being held in custody indeterminately would potentially be worse, especially because you wouldn't have something to do. But the other idea has potential. "Registration is acceptable," you clarify. "What qualifies as 'above board?' The current path of employment cannot simply cease, if that is what you mean." 

 Your work, at least so far, is technically legal. Probably. You've heard and seen things that have certainly broken laws, but for the most part, you're a means to an end - for revenge cycles, for people with grudges, for anyone with a chip on their shoulder. If Cresce means that she wants to monitor that activity, that could potentially be bad. But then again, could it be worthwhile, for a short time? ... "This will require clearance through someone else, as well. However, it seems acceptable." You have to talk to the lab. Ultimately, she'll have to talk to the lab. You're still their project. They're still testing you.(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/09/2019

The sound of hesitation and confusion leaks out of her questioning your terms, and you realize that you were probably not as clear as you could have been. "I know your work dabbles in less than legal things," you say dismissing her concerns with a wave of your hand. "What I meant was that this should protect you, unless Lyrian murders you quite suddenly from a dark corner. I may be able to press charges, but you'll be beyond caring I'm afraid!" 

 "Legally this agreement is little more than an agreement that I pay you as I see fit when you give me truthful information," you say. "I could always request something particular, but you and I are both aware you could simply choose to withhold it." Your smile is a little thin. Really, you would find out if she did anything of the sort, and she wouldn't like the consequences.

"It's a fairly free agreement," you continue, "Though if you are found to be passing on false information to the empire, you understand the consequences." You tap your fingers against your chin as she mentions someone else, and you quirk up an eyebrow in a question, even as you tick off that mental checklist of suspicions as confirmed. There was always going to be a handler for characters like this. "Someone else?" you ask.(edited)

Kitty | neriticNomad01/09/2019

You don't say what you're thinking - that you hope Lyrian won't, in fact, do that - because you know, vaguely, the way this works. She's feeding on your intimidation and fear. Even without her once-charming smile, you feel as if she's the hunter between the two of you. It's not a good feeling. It's worse when she asks you what you mean. You think there's a fan that turns on, in the back of your neck, trying to cool down your body and keep you stable. You want to evade this question, and your scan for any listening ears turns into a scan for an escape route quite quickly. But you opened this can of wrigglebeasts. 

 "Arctophi." You watch her. "Labs. It is presumed this does not come as a surprise." You have a pen. You take a napkin, and write lightly on its surface, Arctophi Labs, followed by the contact information. This will put her in touch with one of the leads on your project. It's a quiet lab, but they're an imperial pet project, kept somewhat under wraps while they develop their technology. Their aim is to replicate psionics with enhancement tech, and use that tech to create more powerful assets to the empire. You're their project, and while they improve their experimentation, you test their tech in the field. You hesitate only a moment longer, pondering the napkin, before you give it to her.

 "If you are imperial, your security clearance should suffice." If it doesn't, you have no doubt she'll find her way. She seems intent on digging up everything she possibly can. "They will know to expect your call." You don't think they'll have any issue with it. They may even be glad. This is a new arena to test you in, and you found it on your own - or, more accurately, it found you.  Still, it isn't your place to suggest it. The details are above your heavily-modified head. It's better they stay that way.

January 10, 2019

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/10/2019

The beat of her melody is slow, resigned, as she tells you, she assumes you've figured out that piece of the puzzle- and well. She isn't wrong. You give her a mysterious smile. Things were a little more fun when Maera was left lagging along, but now she was catching on. The name she gives you is unfamiliar to you- you slide the napkin over to you and carefully study the words and numbers before you tuck it into a pocket. You'll find out soon enough. "Alright!" you exclaim brightly. You gesture between you with a flick of your fingers. "Sooooo what are you going to tell Lyrian about this little exchange?"

Kitty | neriticNomad01/10/2019

This isn't a prompting to tell her the information you've gleaned. Admittedly, it isn't much. You mentally tuck it back into its appointed file folder, and try to think of what you might actually say. 

 "Data is insufficient to say whether Lyrian is capable of seeing through lies. True honesty would likely be unacceptable. There is little desire to give her true information on you." She probably already knows it, too, if she sent you in blind this way. "The most likely plan of action will be to develop a false report, which follows what happened today, but altered, with no mention of this discussion. She is not following or spying on the work so far, but risk-taking does not seem acceptable. Does she know about your favor towards this establishment?"(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/10/2019

You tap your chin and consider the cards in your hand. You share a power with Lyrian, and that would mean sharing hers means sharing yours. It's not a far leap to make, with what you've done here and the fact you share a sign. No, you decide. No sharing. There's a third party at work here that you know nothing about and that means keeping your own exposure to the minimum possible. 

"No," you say simply instead. "I don't believe so. But let's make some adjustments to your plan." You sit forward, putting your weight on your elbows as you smile.  "Lyrian undoubtly has expected us to have a conversation, not necessarily this one." She has to know that your powerset makes being tracked very difficult. The test she's giving you here isn't to find out you're being tracked, but what you do with it. That's what you do if you were in her place after all. "What you should tell her is that I noticed you following me, confronted you, and accused you of being her pawn before assaulting you and running," you say, holding her gaze before nodding at stain on her shirt. "Work in the ice cream too if you want."

Kitty | neriticNomad01/10/2019

As she speaks, you commit the information to memory. It's a simple task. You've been working with your own internal computers for some time now, and writing the data away is the easy part. The hard part is making sure you retrieve the right data at the right time. 

 "Understood." This means you need to keep the ice cream stain, though, and you're not thrilled about that. "There are no other signs of a struggle," you point out. "Will this cause suspicion?" You don't know how well Lyrian knows Cresce, but she started this conversation by cornering you, then threatening your lusus. You'd like to think she'd put up more of a fight than just throwing ice cream at you.

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/10/2019

You shake your head. You never even tried to hit her the one time you met face to face. "Tell her that it was a public place and people were looking," you say simply. That's part of the reason why you hadn't done anything more at the ball. If you were going to pocket Maera as your own pawn, then you'd have an advantage on her. If she thought you were weaker or more incompetent than you really were, then perhaps she'd make a stupid move. Perhaps she'd tell Maera something she really shouldn't have. Of course, that would depend on Maera not getting caught. "When are you to report to her?"(edited)

Kitty | neriticNomad01/10/2019

"As necessary." You check the time. The only outward sign is a flick of your eyes to one corner, out in space, before returning to her. "Reporting will be done in person, as soon as there is information to report. This would qualify as information to report. Departure may be as soon as eight hours from the present time." 

 The extra time is to accentuate the story. If you act as if you spent time trying to re-track Cress, only to have her evade you again, you'll look slightly less like a hunter who didn't know how to do her job. And finally, after all that, you take a sip of your mocha. It's careful - the cup blocks as little of your field of vision as possible, and certainly doesn't block anything you can see of Cress. "Your input has been noted. Will you desire a report when the meeting is over?"

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/10/2019

You nod with a smile. It was so cute, the way she finally drinks that coffee, like a feral cat trying to lap up a few drops of milk , with those big eyes fixed on you like you'd steal it, or attack her or something. As though you haven't basically gotten what you wanted from this game. 

 "Yes, that would be great!" you say. There was just the concern of Lyrian discovering the lie. She'd be as good at it as you were, if not better. She did have more experience after all. "Don't worry you'll be fiiiine," you say with a flap of your hand before you hesitate, and place it to your chin again. "Well... it might be good to be a little worried. She probably has a sadistic streak." You mime a grimace. 

 "Subbjugulators, you know," you say almost conspiratorially. "They get creative." The more afraid Maera would be of Lyrian, the harder it would be for her to tell what exactly was she afraid of. You take another bite of your turnover and groan. "God this is so good?" You tear off a piece and hold it out to Maera with a smile. "You want some?"(edited)

January 11, 2019

Kitty | neriticNomad01/11/2019

You're fairly certain Cress is fucking with you at this point. Fear pings at the mention of subjuggulators and what they might do, which is a healthy response that any reasonable troll might have. It's strong enough that it turns the lights of your implants yellow to match, as it takes emotional center-stage. And then she follows that up by offering you a piece of her food, and you stare blankly at her. What? Does she expect you to trust her, after having just made both vague and direct threats? You have no evidence to prove what she's giving you isn't poisoned somehow. You're reasonably certain she didn't tamper with your coffee, but the pastry is another matter. She's had that in her hands from minute one. ... You take the piece, and begin scanning it for toxins. You have no accessible record of trolls having venom, whether in their teeth or mouths, but that doesn't mean she couldn't. The number of hazards one could put into a piece this small are relatively low, but even small dosages of some could prove fatal, or could, at the very least, incapacitate you.(edited)You find nothing, from visual or tactile scans, and nothing from olfactory scanning either. The papery pasty flakes off as you turn it over, and with your finger, you delicately push these flakes into a concentrated pile. Speaking reasonably, outwardly turning down her offer now could be offensive. That would be bad, tactically, and you can't find any reason not to eat it... So you do.

 Most of your taste sensors are not equipped for actual tasting. With limited usefulness to your project as a whole, they were designed to pinpoint toxins and ingredients, by matching taste data to different profiles stored in your memory. This over-analytical process is a long way of saying that you don't enjoy what you eat. You just eat it. Enjoyment doesn't help you do your job, and like your emotions, would probably only distract you. The only taste that manages to break this pattern is mint. It's cleansing, and it's one of the only things in your accessible memory that you remember from before the experiment. As you eat the pastry piece, slowly, thoughtfully, your implants begin to fade from yellow, back to green. Now you have a new problem: You aren't sure what to say. So, after you've finished the piece (you definitely did this in two parts, even if it was a small piece, just to be sure about the poison thing) you finally say, 

"This is acceptable. It has a variety of apples." Nice. Nailed it. Perfect.(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/11/2019

She lights up yellow, yellow, with fear, like a little cobra spreading its brightly colored hood- except of course she can't strike you. Not now. You can't understand why the scienterrorists would work something as flashy as that into her design but it's kind of adorable and you have to stop from pressing a hand to your chest in sheer delight.

You wait patiently as she methodically and carefully examines the pastry you gave her as you chew on your own piece. She tastes it, hesitant, then eats the rest and chews it like she's chewing oats. And what she says- you laugh. You can't help it! It's so awkward! "Oh aren't you just a dear," you say, and grab another napkin. You untangle your foot from her lusus' leash as you grab a glittery blue gel pen to write your number. "Call me when you have something to tell me," you say, drawing a heart at the end and coloring it in carefully. "I'll expect to hear from you soon."

Kitty | neriticNomad01/11/2019

You're embarrassed, and it makes yellow light fade in, then right back out after a brief moment. It wasn't that funny. The glitter pen is a surprise. The heart is even more so. You look at it with wariness, commit the number to memory, and then... tuck it away in your coat. Normally, you burn everything you receive. This, though, you'd like to hang onto. You stand from the table. "Understood." Your lusus, freed from the confines of Cresce's foot, trots over to you, looking quite pleased. You pick up your coffee, and after Chara picks up the leash for you, you leave without another word.

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