Tasha finds herself standing next to a mounted figure on Vykarin back, looking down at a battle taking place in the valley below where she stands. A red-furred Amazonian warrior sits atop the Vykarin. The only variance from the usual depictions are the pair of large red wings that sprout from her back. She turns and looks down at Tasha, and says, "What brings you here today, Sister? This battle is not one of vengeance."
The battlefield is gone, and Tasha sits in a stone cell deep within the Temple of Abaddon in Amazonia. A cloaked figure sits across from, and explains, "To have others fear or respect you to your face, to praise you and flatter you is this not godlike? In truth, it is very easy to be like a god, for gods need not deal with the reality of life. It is much harder, and more rewarding, to be a person, who exists among other people, and who gains strength from helping and being helped by others. This is what builds communities and nations, not faith."
"This is the Path you have chosen to follow," it points out.
The cell is replaced by a realm of flowing, liquid colors, where Tasha stand across from a ghost. "Oh, my last backup will be in long term storage, if it still functions after so much time," Nora says. "But let's be realistic here; I'm sixty-one centuries dead. There's nothing out there for me. At best, I might be able to continue as a simulation in some museum or whatever you've got by now. But if you overwrite me, then you will officially be Lt. Nora Argentine of the TSS Fenris, and you can have authority to override Mother. I'll show you the hand signs, but you'll need to memorize them."
In the physical world once more, Tasha describes what she found to High Priestess Nitsa in the Temple of Abaddon. "Do you feel that that is the real reason Abaddon sent you there, rather than to defeat the demon?" Nitsa asks next, without showing any obvious surprise at the revelation about the Fenris.
Tasha frowns at the woman's reaction, tilting her head in suspicion. "Part o' it," she admits. Then, she asks, "You knew The Fenris was there, didn' you?"
"The place is called Fenris Gash," Nitsa reminds Tasha. "The name had to have come from somewhere."
Elsewhere, in a tavern that shouldn't exist, on a ship long dead, and in a person not quite herself, Tasha sits with an indistinct figure. "Just tell me: did you achieve what you set out to do?" the man asks, and brushes a finger under Nora-Tasha's chin. "Are you what, and where, you want to be?"
Images seem to flash without order now, interspersed with the words of an ancient poem. Tasha stands in an endless white plane, deep within the virtual world of Melchior, and hears: In the sea without lees Standeth the bird of Hermes.
On the desert of Abbadon, two great machines come together in battle. Eating his wings variable And maketh himself yet full stable.
A naked, fur-stripped and bandaged Tasha floats in a suspension tank. When all his feathers be from him gone He standeth still here as a stone.
Earlier, on Belerophon, the stack of Sifran crystals produces an image of Mariel. Here is now both white and red And all so the stone to quicken the dead.
Balthasar stands in his underground prison, facing the Marker Stone. All and some without fable, Both hard and soft and malleable.
In a starry void, mirrors of ice rise up out of the cloud that Tasha finds herself on. The first mirror shows a young half-Vartan girl, maybe six years old. Her face is twisted in anger, fists clenched and bloody. The second mirror shows Tasha almost as she is now, or as she was before she ever saw herself in a decent mirror: the teenager, with a coy look and certain smugness at her own ability to manipulate others. A shadowy Vartan form seems to stand behind her, with a translucent hand on her shoulder.
The third mirror shows a creature made of scars and patchworks of chitin and metal, and a cold eye: The Empress.
Lord Yama seems to hover over Tasha's shoulder, as if anything that big could possibly hover intimately enough to whisper into her ear. "Fascinating, aren't they?" the self-proclaimed death god asks. "All of them different, but all of them you. Tell me, Tasha.. would you trust any of them to speak to the Progenitor?"
Before that, in a pit made of rope-like serpents, one of the serpent-forms wraps around Tasha.. and then breaks apart into smaller ones that scurry about, and tickle her scalp as they run through her hair. "Many flavors," the mass around her says, the sound coming from the coordinated movement of the insect-like legs. "You, your mate, your companions, your mother, the dust of another world. The past. You have seen the Portal. That is where the K'hu'an came from. Another reality, very different, and a very long time ago. We persist. You seek one other, such as we. Adam?"
The Temple of Abaddon again, in the Chamber of the Virtues, Tasha meets with her old mentor, who asks what Tasha is seeking.
"Guidance? No ... To be honest, I think ... I think I might be losing faith in my cause. I'm becoming paranoid, and it's making it harder to trust others. The power I've gained is corrupting me, its become a burden even as I fear to lose it. I have achieved what I set out to do, but now I find myself trapped in my own success. I fear I am just repeating the mistakes of the past; I have seen through the eyes of ancient beings and I know what I am doing is temporary, and I wonder, what does it matter? I fear my incompetence, I routinely take on tasks I am ill suited for. In my moment of success, I realized I had become conceited," Tasha answers in a tired litany.
"Success can be corrupting, because it is - in many ways - counterproductive to growth," the cloaked one explains. "Look back on your life, and tell me: which made you better, the failures or the successes? It is only through our mistakes that we gain wisdom. Success gains us pride, and potential problems. Do you fear mistakes or embrace them?"
"Both. It depends on the mistake. I am here confronting them, am I not? The higher I go, the less room for mistakes I seem to have. It is as you say: success restricts growth. I miss the time before I had succeeded, when I was still struggling to prove myself," Tasha answers.
"Do you feel that you have proven yourself?" is the next question. "I do not think you would on the course you now follow if that were the case. A course even I did not foresee in the beginning."
"No, I have a long way to go. I see your point," Tasha concedes. "You are saying I am focusing too much on what has been and what is now, rather than where I would be. Because I am unfamiliar with my situation I have stopped to brood on it, and in looking to these things I have stopped looking to the future and what could be with effort. While there are problems that demand attention, they are not so many as they seem."
"Some of them are of your own making - problems that do not, in reality, exist but that you worry about anyway," the sage notes. "Perhaps I am to blame for some of that. I was very focused on a single problem for a very very long time."
"It is a poor choice to blame my problems on another who has helped me." She pauses. "The Fenris was this problem you fought with?" Tasha asks as she leans forward. her conversations with her guide are usually once sided,
"Of course," the figure notes. "It consumed me. It was only over a great span of time that I became a symbol for avenging of murder, due to the beliefs of others."
"You're saying you pre-date your identity as Tisiphone, that you were concerned with the Fenris before you assumed that identity?" Tasha asks, brows rasing. "Then, are you an ancient spirit? A member of Expedition Fleet ..?"
The cloak hood is pulled back, revealing once more the slightly older version of the face that Tasha sees in the mirror. "Can you name me now, Tasha?" she asks.
Tasha's ears perk as she stares at the older version of herself before she quietly offers, "Nora?"
In the med bay, lying on the medical bed, Tasha confides, "When Katherine first started to visit me, I didn't know who she was. I remember living peacefully on an island, and I was content. I didn't want to leave. But the more I talked to Katherine, the more I began to remember. And then I woke up -- or I think I did? -- and here I am. But I still don't know if I'm the woman who lived on the island, the painter, or if I'm the woman that lives in this world. Being here feels a little odd, but I also feel like I've been here before."
Setting down his tablet, Remiel looks to Tasha and says, "You are all of them, Tasha. You're an explorer, a warrior, a mediocre dancer, a decent waitress and maybe now a painter. It's not like you have to be one or the other, or choose just one lifestyle."
Melchior, impossibly active due to the Vartan Marker places a torn and battered Tasha onto his shoulder, claiming, "I need you, Tasha."
A cabin aboard Bellerophon. It looks less sparse, a bit more lived in. Tasha lies on the bed, looking across to a desk, where the time 03:16 floats in a transparent terminal display. She isn't along. An arm is draped around her torso, coming in from under her folded wing. Gabriel is pressed behind her, and she can feel his heartbeat.
This isn't a dream. Tasha is awake now, she realizes. She's able to walk now, after days of physical therapy. Days so busy that they exhausted her, left her no energy to think. The pills Remiel gave her help with that, at least, so she can focus without wearing herself out.
As has become rote, Tasha's awakening comes with the confusion of sorting her memories. And not simply her memories: her identity, time, and place. Even after having been awake for nearly a week, she still can't shake the confusion. The flashbacks are even worse. A consuming fire and death, power, and guilt. With so much on her mind, even waking up feels exhausting.
But as in the previous days, she manages somehow. She tells herself she is her memories -- all of them -- that she is awake, that Abaddon is gone and everything is alright. And just as with every day, she can't quite believe it. But at leasts he believes it enough to continue on.
The woman reaches over to pat Gabriel's arm, not wanting to wake him. He's still here after all her inconsistency and danger; that makes her guilty too. But Remiel has told her not to question it, that maybe she's harder on herself than anyone else is. She wants to believe it, making it easy enough to accept.
"Mmm, awake again?" Gabriel murmurs into the back of Tasha's neck.
Even though she didn't mean to awake him, Tasha admits to herself she's glad she did. "I'm sorry," she whispers as she leans her neck back. "Do you want to go back to sleep?"
"Depends," the big male says. "Nightmares again?"
"Nothing too bad this time," the woman admits. "I still have that feeling that I'm not really awake, or I'm not really the person laying beside you, but Remiel said it would pass." She then shifts enough that she can give her mate a kiss, the avian side of her face visible in the dim light. "Thanks for worrying about me."
"I missed you," Gabriel says. "It wasn't easy. Especially with Katherine around so often, and Hakeber."
"I'm sorry," the woman repeats, deciding that she says that a lot these days. "You have more willpower than I do. Don't you ever resent me for that?"
"And thank you for waiting. I wouldn't have been mad if you cheated, did you know that?" The hybrid adds.
"Resent you?" Gabriel asks, lifting his head. "No, I .. just felt guilty for thinking about them. I can't fault you for what goes on in your imagination, otherwise I'd have to condemn myself too, wouldn't I? And.. well, there was one time with Hakeber.."
"But then.. the girl is practically a therapist in that regard.." Gabriel admits with a smirk.
"I don't mind. Even if you left me ..," the mostly-Vartan whispers, rolling over in a turn of feathers so that she can look at her mate face to face. "Even if you left me, I'd always be here for you, even if I can't promise perfection. Hearing that you've done it too, t even makes me feel a bit better."
"Nobody should expect perfection," Gabriel says, and noses Tasha's neck. "A perfect mate would be horrible."
"Hake, she's very forward. Even when she knew about us, that didn't stop her. I think that deep down Hake's fighting someone she used to be; finding her freedom but maybe also getting back at her past," the woman whispers, tilting her head up and smiling. "Katherine ... I can't think straight when Katherine is around. Did you know I expected her to snub me? I relied on it ... And then she seduced me, like she knew what I longed for ... My fears ... "
"I hated Melchior for a while," Gabriel admits. "He did the impossible to come to your rescue, while I could only.. stand around like an idiot, wondering what was happening. I even had one-sided conversations with him in the hangar."
"I'm glad you don't need me to be perfect. Someone in this room already seems to think I need to be. I keep telling her I'll try harder, but she's never really satisfied," the woman admits.
Tasha listens for a moment, and then nods in understanding. "I can see why you would. It probably won't make you feel any better my injury was caused by my trying to protect him. I couldn't stand to see him die, and even less so dying to protect me. But try not to hate him, Gabriel. I'm all he has. He exists for me. It's a terrible burden, someone who exists only for you. Maybe it would be easier, if I were a callous person."
Closing her eyes, Tasha lowers her muzzle such that her nose is touching Gabriel's. "But he doesn't understand. He wouldn't know why you were mad; he doesn't know jealously like we do. He is jealous, but it is a very unique sort of jealousy. He loves me, and I love him. But we are the same being even though we're different. Melchior exists in concert with myself; he has told me that himself. Our relationship isn't like any other. I don't even know if there are words for it. It's like ... Nora and I. We are each other, even though we're not. But unlike Nora, Melchior exists only for the other part. And for that reason, I try to give him whatever he wants. He asks for so little. What a terrible master I would be, to deny him. Maybe I am a terrible master: Balthasar tempted me."
"There's a reason the Terrans never developed AIs with personalities - aside from the flesh and blood sort, of course," Gabriel explains. "The Khattans, Silent-Ones and Nagai have them, but they also possess incredible egos and superiority complexes. Humans and Karnor - we empathize instead. The Terrans knew that we'd develop relationships with AIs, instead of seeing them as powerful servants. We'd see them as perfect mates. I suppose we have that in common with the Confederates too. Their one attempt at an AI took over their minds and enslaved them."
"Is that so..? I I can see it, when you put it like that. The Silent-Ones would never 'lower' themselves to treat a being not of the Star as an equal, while the Nagai do not emphathize like we do, but instead prefer heirarchies and contests of superiority." Tasha cocks her head to the side, laying against the pillow. "Eli warned me. He said that I shouldn't treat Melchior like a being, but simply as a tool. Not even a pet. But I can't tell the difference between him, I, and everyone else. There are differences, but so are there differences between you and me. I never expected to meet so many wonderful people. Maybe too many; I feel guilty with so many wonderful people in my life, when I know there are those without any at all."
"Well, the solution to that is to encourage everyone to be wonderful," Gabriel notes. "Of course, that's generally the role of religion and society, which also tend to reward the ones who can be the most awful as well. Still.. one person at a time."
"What did you tell Melchior, Gabe?" Tasha then asks, eyes opening. "Katherine met him, but he didn't react to her. I'm not sure he really saw her, save to note her relation to me and that she was present."
"Well, he'd only be interested in you," Gabriel says. "I think that's one of the things I ranted at him about. That.. because he only had to contend with one person - you - that he had an unfair advantage over me. I really hope Harmonia wasn't recording any of it."
"It's kind of cute, the way you compete with him. If You don't mind me saying so," the woman notes, then she kisses her mate on the muzzle. leaning back, she smiles and says, "I've lived with you both, now. Living with Melchior was a paradise without guilt, stress, or care. I could be happy there. I know I could. That woman -- the painter -- wouldn't have left on her own. But it it's a world without real growth, or passion. It's peaceful, perfect love. In hindsight, it was more like an afterlife than a life. It was an end when I needed one; thought I deserved one."
"Perfection is a changeless state," Gabriel explains. "No stress or care, but no challenge or surprise or excitement. I prefer a life that's more dirty and challenging and occasionally kinky."
"Kinky and challenging, that's me in a nutshell. And wou;dn't you know it, half the beings who want me aren't even interested in that." The woman chuckles, eyes rolling as she shakes her head. "Balthasar was jealous, too. Even ... Abaddon. I don't know when or how I became the focus of so many powerful beings. I still don't understand it."
"I'm angry at them," Gabriel says. "After seeing your report.. Tasha, you were used. By both sides, just to fight some ages old battle, it seemed like. Putting you on the path to the Progenitors made you a person of interest to Abaddon. If it could control you, that gave it control over Melchior and Harmonia. And the Marker Stone reacted when Abaddon took over Balthasar. It seems like a setup."
"The Progenitors wanted Abaddon out of the way. Abaddon wanted the Progenitors out of the way," Gabriel says. "If that means the Progenitors set you up somehow.."
"Do you think so?" Tasha asks, eyes widening. "I suppose it makes more sense than 'poor youth becomes chosen of the Makers.' When I look back at everyone and everything that has contested for their attention, strived and died just for the slightest chance at their notice, and think: I'm the one. I'm the one who will make it. When I think that, even I'm dubious. I think: how can that be true? Me? me, with my problems, and my betrayals, and everything else. But if you're right, if they used me, then it starts to make sense. It's a lot easier for me to see myself as naive and manipulatable than as The Chosen One or as a messiah."
"Either way, they owe you something for defeating their enemy," Gabriel says, and sighs. "Then again, that could have just been the final challenge."
"Who knows? They certainly don't like to be forward. Sometimes I think they must be sitting in their walking fortress all together around a table as they discuss how more abstract and indirect they can be. Perhaps it's their great hobby, now that they're no longer active in this world," Tasha suggests with a grin. "For what it's worth, I wish they'd just be direct with me. It's not like I would be disinclined to help them if their cause was just. They might fear that I won't side with them, considring they're the invaders, and they're right -- at least in part. I can't really make the decision, though, unless I know all the facts." She then rolls her eyes again. "Of course that would require them to be direct. At least I know a few things about them: the Magi are in their image, they came here long ago, they probably made most of us, they control the Hall of Souls, and they live in a walking fortress on Arcadia. Though 'live' may be assuming too much."
"A walking fortress would be something to see," Gabriel admits. "Far more interesting than a giant alien snail or a flying tentacled pancake monster."
"I miss the tentacled pancake monster. I've noticed these terrifying events seem to come in phases. The wonder, the terror, the conflict, the victory or defeat, and then the regret. I regret we couldn't reach it somehow, learned about it. I'm not sure that we've condemned its 'followers' to death by destroying it, either. I ... " Tasha sighs, dropping her headthen tucking it under Gabriel's. "I shouldn't worry about it, should I? What's done is done, and I'm supposed to rest, not worry myself back in to the tank. On that note, I'd like to ask you if I can attend the templar Academy in the Pit -- I know I should do it formally, but I don't have the energy for formality right now. Sorry Captain." She then kisses the underside of his muzzle.
"Hmm," Gabriel ponders, clearly thinking. "I'll need to dig through our treaty, see just what mutual services we're obligated to provide each other. We'd need to evaluate certain instructors and curricula to see what best meets our needs, and having someone actually attending the courses would be pretty good for that.."
"Cadet Aldara Tasha, happy to be a test subject as usual, sir," jokes the woman, who then makes half-hearted salute with her taloned hand that ends up being to gabriel's temple, given her head is burried under his. "Is there anything you'd like me to rush in to, perhaps break while I'm there? How about ancient technology? I'm hoping I can expand my knowledge to both ancient and current technologies, as well as explore the ways they can be used together. What happened caused a lot of questions, and not the least of which is where Abaddon existed and how he was reaching us."
"If anyone has collected information on the Sifras stuff, it could be the Templars," Gabriel says. "Assuming their various recruits stole.. brought the information from their respective nations. Anything the Expedition had on file is likely just speculation, since the artifacts either didn't do anything or else did things nobody could understand."
"The Silent-Ones would be the best source of interface experiements, though mainly because their technology is compatible on some level. I would like to know what exactly is happening between the two, though now that Abaddon has attacked we know these worlds have a defense element that is actively trying to destroy us -- that may be the secret as to why every Sifran-other technological combination has self destructed or otherwise lead to disaster. It's not malfunction, it's malice. Which brings me to something I've been thinking on ... If you want to hear more Sifran-Progenitor conjecture at three in the morning?"
"What else is there to do at three in the morning?" Gabriel asks with a grin. "We have MOTHER and our magic stack of weirdness here on Belle, and MOTHER isn't bonkers yet.. she might have information, if you ask the right questions. What's your theory?"
"Let me present my theory in a more comfortable and sexier way," Tasha offers, shifting so she can lay her head atop his and rub his back, which also gives him a nice view. "Now, my theory is this," the woman begins, sliding her hands around the man so she can reach better. There's a definite difference between her hands! "I don't think Abaddon's mind was contained in a computer somewhere. I think he existed in the weave created by the Sifran reality interceptor system -- the Sifran construct that allows them to interfere with the top level reality we live in by modifying its output before it reaches this stage of perception. Ser Herafiel said that he bleived reality was like a computer, or a text and that it was generated at the bottom -- a quantum foam he called it -- and that the information created there was modified by the Sifrans so that stuff like, say, me, can exist."
"Now, Melchior said Abaddon was destroyed. there's no way for him to know that save that the Progenitors told him, so we can take that as coming from them. But how could an AI be destroyed when it appeared to be remotely accessing Balthasar and myself? A 'wireless' hacking attempt? he could be because he wasn't remote at all -- he was present, in a sense. The matrix of his mind and body was the flesh of the countless, suntle variation in reality created by the Sifrans. In essence, his body was made from the distorted space-time itself: a subtle difference woven in to the world. I also think he could command the reality modifying system in order to move through space and time, to act on the world, and so on."
"But I also thiink his control is limited. Why couldn't he just bend reality and annhilate us all? I think it's because the Progenitors have shut down or come to control most of the system. His access is limited. Also, when he merged with Balathasar, he linked his weave in to the form of Balthasar. Normally this would not make him vulnerbale as he could just connect to the system and relocate -- but the Marker interfered. It jammed his connection, and also that of the Sifran crystals. His weave was no longer in connection, no longer protected by that connection. So wehn we destroyed Balthasar, we also rendered apart the space-time of his weave, sundering it beyond coherency. And since he is no longer coherent, he cannot fix himself or arrange a repair -- in that way he is 'dead.'"
"Hard to wrap your head around," Gabriel says. "But if he really was more of a 'spirit' in the system, then it makes sense that having a body could make him mortal again. And we've no idea what the Markers are even made of. Clearly though, they're made of something that the Sifran system can't influence or possibly even detect. Didn't Abaddon claim he needed you to guide him to the Hall of Souls? That implies it's somehow invisible to whatever senses Abaddon had access to."
"That would make sense. The Progenitors are clearly very advanced in their understanding of Sifran technology, at least at the level of being able to interfere and perhaps even control it. He probably needed me because I'm 'of their flesh,' so they would naturally be visible to me. I also had Lord Yama's approval and access to all the Markers, and I probably know more about Titan operation and working effectively agaisnt other living beings than he does. Despite his incredibly sophisticated attack on our systems, he was crude in his dealings with me -- almost simplistic. At first I thought itw as because he felt himself above me, but now I think it was because he simply didn't understand. To him, I was as partially incomprehensible, just as the Sifran artifacts are to us," Tasha explains, nuzzling Gabriel's head as she does. "He would use me to 'fill the gaps.' No, not use ... " The woman's hand pauses as she thinks back on the memory, and the man can feel her shudder. "Overwrite. He tried to do t
do to me what he did to Balthasar. He wanted me to become Enyo. I think i would have became an entity like him, a Sifran defense system."
"The goddess of destroying cities, wasn't she?" Gabriel says, with a shudder, and comforts himself by rubbing Tasha's 'twin cities' instead. "You don't seem the destructive type.. well.. usually.." he notes.
Tasha squirms, then bites the man playfully on his ears. "Not usually," she agrees, "But because I was linked to the great destroyer, the Seraph, he may have assumed. No, that's not it." She pauses, head tilting even as she wriggles. "H-he had always planned it. Maybe has approched e-every being that way, c-cultivated them, c-called them Enyo. H-he said I w-would be a god, that if d-ddestroyed the Progenitors I w-would surpass them. But I d-destroyed him, so maybe he was, um, right in the end."
"So are you a god now?" Gabriel says, giving a few playful squeezes to remind Tasha of the joys of being mortal.
Tasha squeels in particularly undignified way. "H-hey!" Of course, she then kisses him. "J-just because I'm g- ... gooood ... doesn't, doesn't mean ... " And then she can't seem to manage her concentration and longer ...
In the Mech Bay, Tasha sees that things have become a lot more organized. The various bins and lockers and boxes are even labeled now, in actual readable-by-non-machines ways. "Good to see you up and about again, Tasha," Fred says, and gestures for her to stand on a circular platform that she hasn't seen before.
Far be it for Tasha to avoid being directed to strange and possibly dangerous new places, the woman steps right over to the circle. "It's good to be up and about. I don't think I've ever felt so tired, or so ansty. How have you been holding up, Fred?" She asks.
"Oh, you know me: work work work, no time for play!" Fred claims - despite running a nightclub in the ships VR space. "Having a new pair of hands to help out.. helps out!" The platform lights up under Tasha, and multi-colored dots and rays of light begin to spin around.
"Is this a new Vartan toy. If not, it should be. We could pay for everything with this," the woman remarks as she watches the lights with rapt attention.
"Volumetric imager!" Fred claims. "Clemson found it in storage. It'll save a lot of time for this sort of outfitting." The device also hums of course.
"Well, I like it. Tell Clemson I'm impressed. And spekaing of new arrivals, I hear we have our very own Kampfengruppe army," the hybrid remarks conversationally as she watches the machine do its things. "Do you know what happened with them? I missed it due a religious dispute."
"Well.. right now they're in the upper Titan bay," Fred says, a bit quietly. "Officially a secret. Doc C is still making sure there aren't withdrawals or side effects from their treatment. I think the plan is to move them out with Harmonia's Picnic Basket when the time is right."
"Picnic Basket?" Asks Tasha.
"The ground-to-sky transport she and Eli concocted," Fred notes. "It's outside is this fancy latticework that looks woven.. to me it looked like an old-fashioned Terran picnic basket, without the handle."
"Really? I'll have to take a look at that before I leave," the young woman promises. "I do remember something about it, but it feels likeGabriel and Harmonia were just getting the idea. Now it's done. It feels like only yesterday."
"But then everything feels like it happened yesterday," Tasha admits, lifting her left hand to meet the lasers. "Which isn't as bad as when it feels like it happened tomorrow."
There's a ping from a tablet on a nearby workbench, and the swirly lights go out on the platform. "Ah, you're done!" Fred announces, looking over the tablet. "This tells me exactly how many plates you need, what sizes and where they go."
"I think that machine knows more about me than I do right now," the admits, turning to extend out her left arm, spreading her taloned hand towards Fred. "It's like wearing a glove that wants to crush and or shred everything."
"Do you actually want to crush and shred everything?" Fred asks, one eyebrow raised.
"Only occassionally. I may qualify as a god of destruction now, so maybe I can chalk that up as normal." Tasha puts a finger to her muzzle as she cocks it to the side, exageratedly. "There are situations where my ability to crush and shred things has been insufficent in the past. Can you help this?"
"I also apologize for melting, blowing up, vaporizing, sacrificing, losing and breaking half of what you have made for me," the woman adds without breaking the look of intense mock thiought. "I was going to say that first, but I have to take my memories when they come."
"I love blowing stuff up," Fred says. "That's why I'm so good at putting things together in the first place! So you want a set of armor-assisted talons for your left hand?"
"Can you do that?" Tasha asks as she looks over; Fred can almost see the point which in teasing becomes interest.
"Because what I really needed, in Balthasar, was a few power tools," the woman adds by way of explaination. "And who knows what the future will bring? I may need to conqueuer a planet or something, probably with my fists."
"For planet conquering, you should not underestimate your boobs," Fred points out. "I did once make a rocket-powered explosive-cap hammer.. in college. It didn't work as cool as it sounds though, since the shaped charge still has the lower mass of the hammer versus the higher mass of whatever you need to hit with a rocket-powered explosive-cap hammer.."
"So it ends up just flinging your hammer back the way it came, out of your hands?" Tasha cocks her head the other way. "That sounds like something I would use ... "
"I do like the claw idea, too," she adds.
"Hmmm, do you really need something like that though?" Fred asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
"I did blow myself up for lack of them," Tasha points out, trying not to grin. "And considering I've nearly died more times than I can now remember, I'm not sure I shouldn't just be wearing heavy armor all the time."
"Well, how often do you see yourself having to fight your way out of a berserk Titan?" Fred asks. "Because.. you've sort of exhausted the supply of those.."
"That's not true, there's still two remaining that may try to kill me -- and both of them already tried once," Tasha insists.
"But if you reeeeally don't want to make one, I won't complain," the woman adds. "Much!"
"I doubt Melchior will suddenly turn on you," Fred says. "He's pretty chill, like me. Now.. do you want any particular colors for your new suit? Flashy lights, music players, built-in cigarette lighters?"
"How about red? Black makes me look insidious," the woman answers as she walks over. "I wouldn't mind a cigarette lighter either, but that's just a bad habit and not mission critical. Mostly, it seems like I end up being subjected to a lot more danger than I anticipated, so I'd like to learn from that -- unless you want to watch Tasha's slow transformation from a half-Vartan in to just a regular Vartan."
"It's an excuse to see you naked, either way," Fred points out, and punches on the keypads of several boxes, which obligingly dispense little ceramic hexagons into his bucket, since he's still corporeal enough in this room to function. Eventually another device is aimed into the bucket and fiddled with. "How red?" he asks. "And is pink okay?"
"I don't mind pink. Suddenly becoming a painter has introduced me to a world of colors," Tasha replies. "Did you know Katie can make her fur seem metalic? I don't know why she doesn't sell that to Vartans. Or me. I would buy it."
"Hmmm," Fred considers, and then shows Tasha a medium-red tile from the bucket. "That gives me an idea."
Tasha nods in approval as she sees the color. "I generally like your ideas. By the way, how has Nora been?"
"Well.. happy I suppose?" Fred suggests. "Mainly because she's busy again."
"That's good to hear. I need to talk to her later, and, well, it's going to be one of those conversations. I wouldn't want to burden her if she's not in a condition to deal with it." Tasha takes a deep breathm then exhales, head tilting. "Of course, being Nora, she can always handle it and she won't apreciate me worrying about her or fussing."
"She's mellowed out a bit," Fred says. "When she comes to the bar.. well, she's changed. Maybe become a bit more like you, even.."
"Well, she is me. It's complicated, but, that's one of the foundations. When I interacted with Nora's PersoCom I also overwrote it, but there's more to it than that. You've seen that Mariel has disappeared; that's part of it too. I learned some things about her -- about us -- she needs to know. I was afraid I might not survuve to tell her, so it's best I get it donw when I can. Once I recover, I'll be leaving again -- to college, in fact," the young woman elaborates.
"To a party school?" Fred asks, grinning.
Tasha barks a laugh, then shakes her head. "No, no ... I think I've had enough partying. Besides, I'm sure Katie can help me with that. No, I'll be going to the templar college. I've decided that maybe I'm not as ready as I could be, and with new people coming in, and you three taking your time to recover, I need to be better, too. It's just that now we have the time."
"Ah.. Katie.." Fred says, hugging his bucket to his chest. "She's got a collar now.. that could be fun.."
"What's this about a collar?" Tasha asks, ears perked.
"Oh .. The life collar?" Tasha knocks on her head. "The memories work now and then."
"Would be nice to have her in the Neighborhood some time," Fred hints strongly. He then rattles his bucket, and says, "Oh, and strip down to your dainties so I can fit this thing.."
"First you try to convince me to help you seduce my friend and now this," Tasha mock-mumbles ashs she starts to get undressed. "Just to beware: she's better at it then I am. She probably ahs far more practice rebuffing people, too."
"Gods, sometimes I can't even think straight when she's around," Tasha adds, head shaking. She's careful with her left hand, suggesting her 'chrush and shred' new appendage may have had a hand in a wardrobe disaster or two.
"Hey, get her and Nora together, a few virtual drinks in them.. and I'm sure you can tell Nora anything," Fred says.
Tasha twists her muzzle in a particularly shocked way, ears flattening and looking ill. "Please never say anything like that about Nora again ... No ... No drinking, no, um, you know. Please."
"Not around me," the woman adds, pleading.