The mirrors are the first thing Tasha notices. They've always been there, but what's changed is her own reflection. She now looks more like one of the mercenary sort that occasionally come through Underside. It stands out to her the most in the otherwise unchanged atmosphere of the place. The same regulars are there, drinking and gambling or just passed out. The corners are taken by those wishing to due private business. And the barmaid is.. well, the barmaid is too small. At least Tashly has had Tasha's old 'uniform' tailored to fit her thinner Khatta frame. It doesn't mean she's not pinched or patted by the clientele though. They usually aren't the picky sorts.
One surprise is that Jentz - the Rhian former first-mate who had to abandon ship because of a certain ticked-off Lapi princess, and one-time semi-boyfriend to younger Tasha - is also there, which means he made his way back from Abu Dhabi somehow. He's not with a crew though, just by himself.. with a Vartan girl in his lap. Desdemona is at the bar, with her back turned to the tavern. There's still the big mirror over the bar though that lets her keep an eye on things. She's tapping a fresh barrel of ale.
Tasha walks like a person who, to outward appearances, is in another world. That apparent -- but not actual -- disregard for what's going on around them, her sharpened instincts passively making of note of the world around her even as she feels the weight of the world on her shoulders. And like the mercenaries she so resembles now, her demeanor is not an uncommon sight in The Fallen Friend.
When she approached the building she had a plan. To sit down, maybe stare at a drink for hours. Enjoy being home. Watch the slow, dangerous life of the tavern play out before her. Feel a semblance of banal normalcy. And yet after entering the young woman finds herself increasingly weary while simultaneously sinking in to a kind of haze. Old feelings mix awkwardly with the new, creating a sort of fiction in her mind that places the tavern at the cusp of the unreal. It becomes a way wayfarer's stop in her life and another universe and a dream all at once. She stops, watching the bar beneath her lowered cowl, unable to get closer to it. Closer to the real part of the fiction.
Instead the half-Vartan wanders off. She meanders for a moment among the tables before finally dropping in to an empty booth, hands infront of her and clasped together, staring at them and at nothing at all.
"What'll you have, mister?" Tashly asks when she comes by, not really seeing under the cowl. "She's a bit scrawny," Blackwings comments in Tasha's mind. "Have you broken her in yet though? I remember when you wore that outfit! Hah, you were a cutey back then!"
I was, Tasha agrees, feeling the 'back then' particularly hard as she watches the younger, intact woman from the corner of her eye. Back before she was blown up, back before she changed herself to escape falling under another woman's shadow. And now here she is, listening to Blackwings, eying Tashly with half-hearted regret and something else. She doesn't remark on breaking the barmaid in; she might think Blackwings was getting to her, but the desire had been there from the start.
Maybe she did get to me after all. Tasha tries not to think too hard about that, nor the black metal around her wings. It doesn't work very well.
"Beer," she grunts, reaching in to her well-secured purse and pulling out exact change. She knows the price by heart, having accepted it and paid it more times than she can count.
"Uh, it's another half-shekel," Tashly says. "Price has gone up."
Tasha's brows arch and she wonders if Tashly is trying to pull one on her. It is, after all, a tactic she used herself on new customers. "Hmp," goes she, pulling out another half a shekel. The money hardly matters to the tired woman; it hasn't mattered to her for a while now. It's the principle, but she pays it and considers it the price of blending in.
Tashly at least turns away before checking the coins, and heads back to the bar. She only remembers to sashay halfway there, so her wenching skills haven't become reflex yet. Desdemona turns and takes the order.. and something's different. Tasha's mother was never a particularly conservative dresser, but this time there's something covering her midriff other than just the bar apron (and when she really needed to rake in tips, she only wore the apron). She's got on a long shirt!
The hybrid woman studies her mother with growing intensity, the wheels turning as she puzzles out this new piece of evidence. Such is her mood that the puzzle churns and processes much like that of the greater mysteries, bits and pieces filtering by and arranging themselves in order. Eyeshine? She wonders. Or someone else? It makes her think about when she met Gabriel. Off the market. The Abaddonian slang comes naturally.
Tashly returns with the leather mug, and then remembers to lean over enough to flash what cleavage she has (which is mostly the result of the outfit) in hopes of garnering a tip. The fact that she's polite probably means she still hasn't mastered the art of buttering up the clients.
It's here Tasha finds herself at an impass. The tip is assured, but what to do and how to do it rolls through her mind like wheels before takeoff. Slow, building momentum. And yet there's no flightplan and she isn't even sure what her objective is, why she's here at all. It makes for crazy thoughts. Tired, crazy thoughts building to somewhere.
Reaching in to her purse, she pulls out not a little tip, but a shiny bit of real metal coin which she rolls between her Vartan fingers, just far enough the barmaid would need to reach precariously. A little grin plays on her muzzle, entertained by this new game.
The girl is no Vartan, but her feline eyes light up all the same. And so Tasha finds herself with a purring barmaid in her lap. "Was there anything else you wanted?" Tashly asks, trying to sound sultry.
"Gotta love coin-operated wenches!" Blackwings cackles in Tasha's head.
"Gimme a kiss," Tasha tries, not sure of success but enjoying the risk. Something about being just another patron seated at the table of her old life messes with her mind, and her mind hasn't been doing so well. She wonders how far she can take it all. As for Blackwings ...
Shut up, old bird. Tashly might be just another bar room wench in a world full of them, but she's her place's bar room wench. She's new old Tasha, after all.
The kitty leans in for the kiss, and seems a little surprised at the muzzle. At least this is something she seems to be good at.
Tasha tastes the fruits of her daring, licking her lips afterward. The first time she saw Tashly, she almost asked Gabriel interesting questions. Now there's no Gabriel, she's alone in her own private hell of an adventure and everything is off kilter. Only hours ago she had talked the hard talk with a member of the Audit, and days before, a near-god. The why of it all hovers over head head like a guillotine.
And so she pulls Tashly in closer and holds on to her, a hug to hold on, and more for the thrill. After parting lips, she grins widely and says, "Pretty good. If you want better tips, this:" She then leans around, kissing the younger woman on the side of her muzzle in what's clearly no affectionate peck, sultry and with lips, but off to the side. Tempting, promising, aluring. She used it for tips, used it for Gabriel to drive him nuts. "For more, this." Another kiss, like the first, but she bites a little too. More teasing, more giving, all for more. And then another, special this time.
"And this for me." Tasha picks Tashly up, showing she's every bit as strong as the impression of Vartandom indicated, having the woman straddle her lap. She pushes in and holds her back, kissing her deeply, almost pressing her against the table. She knows it'll draw looks and the owner too, but it's her sudden plan, and she doesn't care besides. In a world without a real beer, with no outlets, she has Tashly in her arms and takes advantage; makes it count.
When she finally breaks the kiss, her face visible to the waitress from the movement, she bites her lip a moment then says, "That for someone special." Tashly gets pinched. "You're in my dress."
Tashly gasps! "Tasha?" she whispers, not realizing yet that the lean back over the table made her pop out of the already-pushing-her-up corset top.
"Tash, put yourself back into top," Desdemona caws from the bar. "No free peep shows!"
"In the flesh," Tasha confirms, amused at her own joke. She thinks to pull up the dress, but a naughty impulse tells her no and she agrees with its wisdom. Instead she leers, leaning down and putting her nose to Tashly's. "She'll get mad if you don't, but I don't mind. Want me to beat her up?" It's all a joke, but a part of the hybrid wonders if it's true that she could.
"Eeep!" Tashly squeaks, and tries to stuff herself back into her outfit. "Beat up your mom? That's impossible! Besides, it.. it would be bad for her to fight now.."
"Gotten old and fragile?" Tasha doesn't make the stuffing easier, pushing her nose here and there. When it comes to smell, she's as Karnor as any of the four limbed variety and the nuzzling comes with its own excitement. "Maybe need a cane?" She snorts a laugh. "I need a room, maybe you do too?"
"She's pregnant," Tashly hiss-whispers as quietly as she can.
"Ha-what?" Tasha stops as if her nose had found a wall. Her expression loses the leacherous quality immediately, thoughts of fun time gone. She pulls Tashly back in to her lap and loosely wraps her arms around her, more cuddling than foreplay, staring off at her mother. "Huh," she goes after several seconds. It still doesn't quite register. Pregnant. A sister, or a brother. Maybe both. "Pregnant? Who?"
"Your mom," Tashly replies, her mouth near Tasha's ear.. and also near the feathers that weren't there before. "Are you wearing a mask? Oh.. I bet you mean who is the father! It's that airship captain, the big one with the glass eye. He's doing really well now, less dangerous stuff I guess.. they been seeing a lot of each other.."
It's not as if Tasha didn't half-expect her mother would end up with Captain Eyeshine, but there on again off again romamnce had become so commonplace everyone and anyone around them knew about and expected it. It was old and reliable, as much a ficture of The Rake and The Fallen Friend as ironwood nails, Vartans and shouting. And now, that dynamic has changed.
"Hoy," the hybrid breathes, knocked back in to the real world, a realer real world if such a thing can exist. A problem of mortal proportions, yet still staggering. She studies her mom for seconds more, chewing on her lip. She then remembers Tashly's question and replies, "Naw, blew myself up fighting a god," in an off-handed way; another day. She then realizes she could be chewing on Tashly and does that instead as she watches.
The cat squirms a bit from the chewing. "Blown up? But I thought all the gods were.. behaving.. nowadays? Was it one of the bunny gods then? Jentz cringes whenever someone uses the B-word."
"Abaddonian god. Dead now, my big metal man came and saved me. Good thing too, I lost bad." Tasha nuzzles her catch a little, then helps Tshly straighten while pushing the coin in her hand. "For the drink," she emphasizes, "and nothing else. But if you want, I'll be staying tonight. Go get mom?"
"You want to talk to her out here or in the back?" Tashly asks. "I mean, I can lead you back there.. I can deal with the catcalls. You know your mom.. she'll blurt out who you are at the top of her lungs and probably make you take off your armor so she can make sure you're all in one piece.."
"Back then. I'll be good on the way. Maybe," answers the former barmaid, now wreck of pieces. She picks Tashly up and puts her on her feet, then rises, pulling her hood back over her head.
"Don't forget your beer," Tashly reminds as she straitens out her dress a bit. She actually carries the mug herself though, so Tasha can make free with her own hands.
Seeing it all as an invitation, Tasha puts her arm around Tashly's shoulders and reaches over to guide her beer holding hand up, sipping from it without ever taking it. She walks along in this fashion, feeling the insaniy of the world fading a step. Just a step, but it's out the door, where she knows it'll wait for her. For now though, she feels free.
There are the usual catcalls, of course, and even a comment from Jentz about 'try not to snap her in half' to the disguised Tasha. Once in the back rooms though, there's no need for charades. "Take off your cloak so I can see how bad it is," Tashly says, setting the beer down on a side table. The room used to be Tasha's, and hasn't changed much at all.
"But then I'd have to let go," Tasha complains even as she shrugs out of her cloak. She then tosses it on the bed, so reflexive a move she has to remind herself it's not her bed anymore. Tashly gets an apologetic grin, filled with apology for the cloak, her face, and everything and a side-serving of hunger.
At this angle the barmaid can see it all. The half-face, the mismatched hands, the sinsiter black armor that looks like it was made from old wealth. The accountements are visible too: The sword, the gun, the countless packs sealed and tied. It's all dusty, red and brown, the signs of a long haul.
Tashly doesn't even comment on the metal at first - she reaches for Tasha's face to feel the feathers. "They're not a mask to cover scars?" she asks. "The hand is real too? Did you.. get them from a Vartan?"
"Not in the way you'd think." Tasha glances off when her face is felt, looking to nowhere to feel a bit less awkward by virtue of not making eye contact. The touch is welcome, the reminder she's a mess is not. "Expensive medicine, Abaddonian technology. I spent monthes recovering, unconcious."
In a moment of pure, almost quaint self-conciousnessness, Tasha asks, "Is it that bad?" Without ever looking back.
Tashly bites her lower lip. "There've been a lot of Nohbakim coming into the city recently. The rumor is that if you sleep with one, you'll get their curse."
Tasha sputters, then barks a laugh. Is that what people will think? The laugh goes on; the whole thing is so rediculously absurd it snaps something in her brain, the levy springing a leak. Tears roll from her faces and she has to reach for her cloak to wipe them away.
By the end, she isn't sure if whether they're tears from the laughter or just tears. She sucks in a breath, then turns, sitting herself down and lookng up after one last wipe. "So I'm cursed now? Is that what you think?" A little voice in her head suggests it might be true; she hates that voice.
"Well, no.." Tashly says. "But that's what others might. I know you've been away.." She taps a claw against the articulated armor. "You don't look like yourself at all in this, either. Your mom will be worried."
Tasha's expression falls; ears, muzzle, the whole quality. In the sober voice of a person delivering unpleasant news, she explains, "My life is very different now, Tashly. It's often dnagerous and I run with powerful people. Powerful forces. I have my nose in things by all rights I shouldn't. I've gone far, Tashly. Very far. But it's come with costs." The hybrid glances towards the door a moment before looking back. Feeling the time for evasion is over, feeling, too, her mortality and what waits her on her return, she then says, "Before I came her, I was talking to a Bridge Officer. That's not uncommon now. Maybe it would be best if you avoided me."
"Well... this is just The Fallen Friend though," Tashly says. "It's your home.. sorta. Can't you just leave all that outside? Are you gonna tell your mom all of that stuff?"
Tasha considers that for a long moment, turning back to watch the door. The quiet becomes still, laden, and Tashly can see the old bar maid's eyes search, trying to find answers in the dim light. After a time, she finally says, "I'm going to do something dangerous soon. Everything I've been workingfor will come to ahead. I'll have what I need -- what I desperately need right now -- or ... " The or hangs in the air like the gillotien blade. "Or I won't. I won't ... I won't be coming back." She looks up, ears splayed. "What should I do, Tashly? Sometimes, I don't know anymore. I don't know this," she gestures around her, "any more. You do. Tell me."
The new barmaid turns to the wardrobe and pulls out some clothes. Tasha's clothes - unaltered to fit the lankier feline. "You should change," Tashly says. "Even if it's just for one day.. be the Tasha your mom remembers. Promise you'll come see your half-brother or sister.. maybe both, could be twins! So.. take off that armor and everything it carries with it, y'know? You probably need that too!"
Tasha looks down at herself, down at her hands and everything she is and may be. The black armor, the dead, the gods that she chases or is lead by. Her scars. She doesn't recognize herself in this place; even to her own eyes she looks like a stranger. Looks like she doesn't belong in her own life. It's enough; it's too much.
"You're right. I'll change." The hybrid's hands reach to her shoulders, head shaking. "No power. I'll need your help, which isn't a ploy. Although," she glances up and grins, it's a sad, lost grin, but it's better than the frown. "Help me out?"
"How do you pee in this thing?" Tashly asks as she tries to figure out the numerous latches along the back.. and she doesn't even try with the wing covers. "How did you get into it?"
"When it's powered, the whole suit is alive. It moves on its own, it closes and opens on its own. It even talks. Right now there's no power, so it defaults to sealed no-power mode and ... You don't know what I'm talking about do you." Tasha then begins pointing behind herself. "I'll just tell you what to do, okay? It's easier that way."
And so begins the half-hour proces of removing the suit without allowing it to crumble in to a thousand pieces. Designed to be functional but essentially expendable, the Achillies space armor is the product of its age: High tech, convienent, easy to fabricate and replace. It was never designed for the uses Tasha has put it through, nor the limited conditions it must endure. It makes for a challenge, but eventually it's done.
"That was way too complicated," Tashly says at the end, a bit exhausted. "Why not just wear leather armor? Are people attacking you here on Sinai too?"
Tasha rolls her shoulders, then stands and rummages through her old clothes. She's wearing her undersuit, but considers removing that too as she explains. "Leather armor doesn't compare. It's armor to take on giants, to take on anything if I have to. It saved my life many times. Once a ... " She has to stop and consider, yet again, how to answer. "A ... dragon threw me to the ground from flight. Without that armor, I wouldn't be here. There are places where even that's ... " ... not enough. No.
" ... Well, can you complain I'm trying to be safe?" Having decided, she runs a finger down her chest and steps out of her undersuit, stuffing it in her armor. It's here Tashly can see the extent of the changes, the scars, and all the rest. She quickly throws on her old tunic, belts it, then works at her tied-on socks.
At least the tattoo circuitry has been overgrown with fur again.. if it's still a bit sparser than in other places. "So it's just the arm and your eye?" Tashly asks. "What was the dragon's name? I didn't know there were dragons on Abaddon! But.. there's probably lots of gold there. Maybe Faraon moved to the world of fire too!"
Tasha thinks of answering, then decides the answer is supposed to be waiting outside with the rest of the weight. Instead she slings an arm around Tashly's shoulders, then leans in and kisses her on the head. "You're so cute, Tashly, with your questions!" Another kisss, briefer, then she waves a hand towards the door. "But I've remembered I should be leaving that outside. So! I'll just say, the dragon's name is patience, and we learned to sing and dance. We can sing and dance later though, take me to my mother and maybe plug your ears."
"Oh.. sure you don't want me to bring her back here to you?" Tashly asks as she reaches for the door. "I can cover the bar for a bit, now that I know how to use the crossbow.."
"Either way. I suppose I don't want to be left alone, I am very prone to brooding when alone." Tasha pulls in a breath, then sighs and lets go, walking back towards her old bed. "But I'll manage, it's what I do after all. If you need help, though, you call for me okay? I can take a bar room full of toughs, no problem."
"I'll only be a minute!" Tashly promises, and slips out of the door. She was being conservative.. Desdemona burst through in far less time than that - apparently the girl must have just told her 'Tasha's in her room and wanted to see you' or something similarly blunt. Thus, Tasha finds herself being squeezed in a crushingly loving embrace. "You back!" Desdi says, half-sobbing.
Having laid back on her old bed for an eerie -- if brief -- moment of familiarity and apparent nonchalance to cushion the impact of her appearance, Tasha was still half-surprised by the ferocity and speed of her mother and the sudden pinning hug. Unable to quite breath, she pats her mother, wriggling her arms all the while until she can free them to hug her mother back. It's only after the hug stops, that she realizes the dampness on her face isn't just her mother's.
"Hi, mom," she offers up from the bed, uncertain and feeling tinier than usual. her ears lay back, her right hand wipes her eyes. "I'm sorry I'm late."
"Why you no visit sooner!" Desdi demands, pulling back to look Tasha over. "You turning into me. You get hurt? You get hurt and not tell me?"
"Ummmm," goes Tasha, suddenly feeling a lot more like her old self than she'd have liked, mostly the old part of herself that didn't know how to answer uncomfortable questions from her mother. If her problems made her feel old, her mother makes her feel young.
"Well." It's said like a statement, a beginning, but the beginning takes a good many seconds. "See." More seconds. "I was in ... a bad fight. You know I'm employed now, don't you? Cadet? Joint Expeditionary Force, I'm a junior officer? Very junior? Well, I do field work. Research. Field research. And I was test piloting something, and, I was attacked. We won, but I was in bad shape. I've been sleeping for months to recover, but after I woke up there was so much to do annnd ... "
" ... And it's complicated," the hybrid finishes, as awkwardly as she began.
"And you not send word? You friends not able?" Desdi asks, but not in an angry voice, since she goes back to hugging Tasha against her. "I worry. Eyeshine come back with stuffs from bunnies, I always expect letter or something. You back for good?"
"Letters? I well, I though about letters, but, there's ... There's problems with letters." Uncertain how to explain to her mother that she didn't send letters both to protect her and the avoid political and security problems, Tasha falters. She bites her lip, then struggles to push her mom back far enought to look her almost in the eye. "Mom," she starts, mustering her courage. "It's hard. I have a position, and, well, I'm deeper in to things than most people think. I'm more influential and powerful than my position suggests, so I have to be careful. Careful for me, but also careful for you. I don't want to lead trouble here, and some of what I'm working on is, well, it's big." That's all she can manage, and so Tasha turns away to look at her bed. "So I can't stay. I have to go. There's, um, someone waiting for me. Someones. But someone in particular."
"Captain Beefy?" Desdi asks, having met Gabriel before. "He not here with you?"
"Gabriel's waiting for me. I left on a special mission, I've been traveling for days. I just left the Temple, which I went to after arriving from Abu Dabi. I've been across a continent in a few days," Tasha answers, reaching over towards her packs and tugging them closer. "He's waiting, but it's, um, a ... A man. A man named Adam. Adam is waiting for me."
"Who dis Adam guy then?" Desdi asks, a bit more seriously. "You sneaking on Gabriel? How you find someone better?"
"Uhh," goes Tasha with a laugh. How do I explain Adam? Like with Tashly, Tasha finds that evasion leads to problems. She took the younger woman's advice to heart, but realizes she can't get anywhere by a lack of detail. Trying to find a balance, she risks some truth. "Adam is ... Adam. Adam Kadamon. Adam. Atum. Ormazd. Atum isn't a man like most men are, Adam is ... Adam is different. He's not like us."
"He's ... He's greater, mom. Greater," offers Tasha, who turns to look in to her mom's eyes and see if she understands.
"Noble?" Desdi asks. "Sounds full of himself!"
Tasha's muzzle splits in to a smile. "Greater, but a noble of a sort. Think ... " A little more truth, the weight and the power in a few simple words. "First Ones."
"A god? You meeting with a god?" Desdi asks, sounding disapproving now. "He got float in parade?"
"They're not so bad, gods," Tasha insists, wondering if she believes herself. "They're just ... greater. Bigger, in some ways? But not always all ways. They're not like us, though I think Adam is mroe like us than most." And maybe he is us, she doesn't add. "Adam needs help. I need Adam's help. I, um, I know things. Bad, bad things, and I can't do it anymore. I can't handle it, it's too much. Tashly knows. She saw me when I came in here. I need Adam, before even knowing it is too much."
"You don't like gods, mom?" Tasha then asks, voice smaller.
"I not big on authority," Desdemona understates. "No trust gods and spirits. Trust people. Sometimes." She then looks at Tasha and asks, "Tashly drop big news on you?"
"You're taking the god-thing well, though," notes the half-Vartan, trying to smile encouragingly. She isn't sure if her mother believes her story or thinks she's making it all up; she's used to her mother not taking her seriously at all levels, though it's especially jarring when they're cosmic levels. It makes her want to be a bit growly, and that means teasing. "Looks like you took something else pretty well too!" She pokes her mom's belly with a finger. "See who got pregnant first, not me!"
"Of course I got pregnant first," Desdi says, and raps on top of Tasha's head with her fist. "Dat how I got you! But this time.. I realize with you gone, I getting older. Not a lot of time left, and Eyeshine.. he always persistent, but now.. now he safe. Legitimate. Not going to come home dead, like I always worry."
"I worry most that if you no come back.. I have nobodies left," Desdi adds.
Tasha scots up, leaning back against the wall and folding her arms, ears perking. "This sounds like the things you never tell me. Come home dead, legitimate, I thought he was legitimate." She frowns when she thinks on her mom all alone, thinking she can't fault her for wanting to have someone around. "And I know. About being alone, I mean. I have to deal with that, with Gabriel. I have someone else too, now, for Gabriel and I. But you first, dead? And what do you mean, not a lot of time left?"
"For having babies, silly," Desdemona explains. "You still young, gots time. You think you have lots to deal with now? Gods, fighting, whatevers else... Just wait until you a mom. All that stuff? Not so big then. Little things are way bigger, way more important."
Tasha frowns again, a big sad frown that lacks all sophistication and subterfuge. The kind of frown only her mom can get out of her, these days. "I can't have children though, you know that. So I only have big things. Oh! I have a sister!" The young woman holds up a hand, higher than her head. "I found things out. It's complicated, yah? Don't ask too many questions, but it's true. Going to have a little sister too, soon. Maybe two. And there's Katie. I've made up for the family I can't have, and now I've got more!" The hand lowers, then pokes belly again. "Just us, now everyone. It's getting crowded."
"Bah, no haves to give birth to be a mother," Desdemona says. "You got sister here too, in Tashly. Vartans not care a lots about parentage when it come to making families."
"Hmm, a sister?" Tasha turns towards the door, then looks back to her mother and nods. "See this is what makes us better than other species, we love everyone. Except Captain Blackwings." She then grins. "So, can I still kiss Tashly? Because my other sister is scary and kissing her hurts my head."
"Hey!" Blackwings responds to the slight.
"You no confuse Tashly, unless giving her advice," Desdi says. "And you stay for dinner, yah? I make stew you like."
"Are you mad we don't love you? if you'd been more lovable maybe that wouldn't have happened you know." Tasha thinks as she grins at her mother. "Even if you're a mess, and a murderer, you could have been decent to us. To me.//" Then her ears perk and she cocks her head to the side. "Stew, you said? As a government official I can't accept bribes," she notes in a faux-haughty voice, lifting her muzzle, "but because you're family I'll overlook it. Besides," the head goes down and she flattens her ears, "I think I need it. Gabriel and Katie are going to have words with me, but I think they won't mind if I tell them I stayed longer because I needed rest. How about I hang around tomorrow too."
"I like have you around longer," Desdi says, and wipes away a tear. "You help come up with baby names. And.. what sort government official not take bribes? That whole point of working for government!"
"I was being facecious," Tasha notes, over-emphasizing the word in order to flaunt her new vocabulary for her mother. "It means not taking an important topic seriously. Nora taught me that. I'll tell you about her. Oh, and no one offers me bribes. That's the problem with being more powerful than you appear, but it has it advantages ... like ... " She rolls off her bed, then hops to her feet and stands up, "like visiting family without everyone knowing I'm here! And using travel funds. That reminds me, I should set up an account for you -- you should come visit me -- and then you can visit Abaddon." She puts her hands on the small of her back and stretches, popping this and that. "Oof, well, stew right? We haven't cooked together in a long time, lets see if I'm as bad as always."