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<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein "Chasing? I...wouldn't say that, not really. It's not threatening me either. I guess I don't really feel the need to escape. It's...how do I put it..." She swallowed. Doctor Follen didn't usually stop the pen unless something was happening that was of particular import. She hoped he'd take what she said at face value. It was such an instinctual feeling in her dreams, even when Quinnlash wasn't there, that it was difficult to explain once she got down to it. "It's more like...there's something else in my head with me. And it wants to push its feelings and emotions into mine. Sometimes it bleeds a little too, and it's hard to tell where it ends and I start. But I don't know if it really wants something. It feels like she's just...studying me." "I've been sleeping well, though," she added hastily. "The last time I woke up screaming was almost two and a half weeks ago now." She wasn't sure whether that was because she was beginning to settle into RISC proper, or because of the hauntingly beautiful dreams that she could never quite remember. She could feel a sudden surge of disgust for Doctor Follen bubble out from nowhere and she stiffened. No, she begged, please not now. And besides...she liked Doctor Follen. What reason did Quinnlash possibly have to tear through the front of her head so suddenly? She shook her head. She was probably being skittish. She did have a tendency to overreact to things a lot. Don't worry, he's a friend. We can trust him! She didn't know if Quinnlash could hear her. She hoped she could.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Follen watched her intently, still as a salamander in the sun. It happened quickly—Quinn may not have even noticed—but when she began to elaborate, when she told him about what the voice did, how it probed at her emotions, tried to slot new ones in their place, his pen moved at the mention of a single word: She. He nodded appreciatively when she mentioned she'd been sleeping well. "Well, we could have you spend the night here, in the ward, to do a sleep study. It's not a painful or invasive procedure, but it's also terribly boring, and frankly I dislike the idea of dragging you out of the dorms to sleep in these crinkly old beds now that you seem to be adjusting so well to your own." He scribbled something down onto the topmost page of the file, and thought over a long Hmm before he went on. "So," he finally said. "Here's what I'd like us to try instead. For the next few days, or until our next session, I'd like it if you could write down your dreams for me. You can use as much or as little detail as you'd like, but try to get down what the voice tells you, if you can remember it. If it's talking with you, and you feel safe, perhaps you could try talking to it. You say you feel as if it's studying you—I find nothing inherently dangerous about curiosity. If it asks you a question, see what it does if you give it an answer—truthful or not." There was a sudden buzzing. Follen blinked, glancing around and patting his own pockets, until they both realized it was coming from her phone. It was a message, from Besca. -come to the war room quick. important. deelie already on the way.-</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn tried not to show her discomfort when Doctor Follen asked her to...write down her dreams, and try to converse. That disgusted feeling had fallen into the background a bit, but it still lurked just underneath the surface. She took a deep breath and nodded, then— It wasn't time for another reminder— She bolted up, staring at her phone with confusion and concern writ across her face, all thoughts of dreaming forgotten. She'd only been to the war room one or two times. It really was important if she was headed there. "Sorry. Something important just came up. We'll catch up later, okay?" She curved out of his office, this time keeping a quick jog through the halls of the medical wing, earning her a few irritated looks that she did her best to ignore. There was a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that she knew, and she recognized it with dread. Just like in Hovvi: a crushing certainty that something terrible was about to happen. Cutting across the plaza and weaving back and forth between people, she darted into the stairwell. It'd take too long to grab an elevator right now and that Quinnlash fear was still coursing through her. Taking the steps two, then three at a time, she blazed a path up the flights. By the time she arrived at the solid metal door she was out of breath again. Taking a moment to catch it, she heaved the door open and strode in, still breathing hard. Besca was standing there, a look on her face that did nothing to assuage Quinn's anxiety. Dahlia was there too—maybe she hadn't gotten into the sims yet when she'd gotten called—and her expression wasn't any better. Her voice only shook the tiniest bit when she spoke. She was pretty proud of that. "What's going on?</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. The war room was relatively small, an offshoot of the bridge proper, but it was very busy—not with people per se, but machinery, screens, and a general air of unease. These upper floors were much different from the rest of the Aerie; there was no effort here to make things seem organic, or comfortable, or really even habitable. It was sterile in a different way than the medical ward, not to be clean, but rather, to be primed. At the center was a round table whose surface was a screen, upon which were dozens upon dozens of smaller windows. Two or three other people sat on the far side, busy, blind and deaf to everything else. Besca and Dahlia were stood at the side closer to the entrance. They both turned to Quinn when she entered. Besca had her phone up to her ear, and conveyed her odd mixture of worry and 'I'm happy to see you' through a brief smile. Dahlia hurried over to Quinn, hugged her quick. "There's a problem with Casoban," she said. She looked a bit distressed, like she didn't have time to word what she was saying any more delicately. "Something about a dispute over trade routes with Helburke. Apparently it's a really big deal for them. They're dueling over it." Besca gripped one of the chairs and dragged it like she meant to throw it, only stopping herself at the last moment. "How did you agree to this!" she shouted. "How am I hearing about it after the press! I'm your f—I'm your commander!" Dahlia winced. "She's talking to the Board…ah…Casoban is losing pretty badly. They were going to accept an offer of aid from Eusero, but Toussaint intervened. It would have dissolved our partnership. He talked to our Board, got them to agree to let us step in as their proxy. But, uhm—I think…I think something's wrong." There was a sharp CRACK as Besca's phone impacted the far wall. Her hands went to her face, pressed hard, then she all but collapsed leaning against the table. "Everyone with a college degree get out. Now." She didn't have to say it twice. In moments the scant crew had cleared the room, and it was just the three of them left. Dahlia hurried over to her, taking her by the shoulders and coaxing her down into a chair. Besca's hands shook, she brought them back to her face and rubbed hard at her eye. "Quinn…" she breathed, voice quavering. "Quinn I'm so sorry…"</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. For a moment Quinn might have thought she went deaf. Besca and Dahlia were talking—their lips were moving—but there was only silence and a tinny ringing in the back of her mind. It was like she'd just disconnected; a brief flash of vertigo, the dark just at the edge of her vision, the lingering breaths between whispers she couldn't hear, but she could feel. Anger was offered, but it couldn't match her own fear. In its absence was an inner chill, and the sound of distance hoofbeats to shatter the silence. "…renegotiate! We didn't know the terms!" Dahlia's voice was too quiet for how loudly she actually seemed to be speaking. "…Board did. Said her phasing speed…don't know anything…" Besca was equally quiet, her words faded in and out. "…think Toussaint got played…deal with Eusero anyway…thin our numbers…" The ringing sharpened, not fair. Throwing us away. Supposed to be safe. No. No. "No!" Dahlia snapped, and suddenly the world became clear and steady again. "I don't care! I'll go down with her and I won't leave. They can agree to change the terms or they can concede." Besca was still deflated, slumped over in the seat with her head in her hands. "Helburke won't concede, and the Board would rather…they won't change their minds, either. It's House Tormont. You go down there and you're liable to have three or four other Houses joining them." "They can send as many as they want," Dahlia hissed. "I'll burn them all. I don't care." "Well I care, Deelie! I care! We are not breaking the Illun Accord for Casoban! Helburke will sink the whole country overnight, after they've mulched both of you anyway!" Dahlia balked. "You cannot actually be considering this." "I'm…" Besca muttered. "I don't know what else to do! If we refuse, this turns into another Westwel—then what?" "Then we figure something out!" "That...that's not how it works." "Quinn is our family," Dahlia said sharply. "You might not care if we lose any more of it, but I do." Besca shot up, eye wide and angry. Dahlia withered, briefly, but she kept her lips stiff and didn't back down. "Get out," Besca said through gritted teeth. "Dahlia, get out. Now." Dahlia frowned, but she seemed far more angry than sad. She looked to Quinn, eyes gleaming with held-back tears. "Yes ma'am," she said, and left. It was only two of them, then. For a moment it looked like Besca would run after her—she seemed to regret herself the instant Dahlia turned her back—but instead she sat back down. She looked older, suddenly, and tired. She felt both, immensely. "I'm sorry, Quinn…" her voice was thin and shaky. "I'm sorry. She's right. She's right, I—I can't let this happen. I have to think of…something. Something. I can't let you go. It's not fair, you're not ready. I won't lose you."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Everything was falling apart. It was all falling apart, and so quickly. She closed her eye, bowed her head. Her whole body was quaking. She had just found a family, after sixteen years of a fake one. Sixteen goddamn years. And now because of the board, and Helburke, and Eusero, and ESPECIALLY Casoban, that family was falling apart before it could even really form. She was not going to be thrown away. Besca's voice reached her, and her head jerked up without warning, staring at the door where Dahlia'd just left. No. No. NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT. Her own shaking was starting to settle, and her chattering teeth finally stilled. The fear, the terror, was alloying with something else, something that turned her stronger. Her blood no longer ran cold. No. It was boiling. Her teeth stopped chattering because they were clenched so tightly together the jaw creaked. Her hands no longer clawed at her arms, balled as they were into tight white-knuckled fists. It was an unfamiliar sensation to her, half-remembered and only barely at that. A handful of brilliant red blooms in the endless night sky. But at that moment—with all this—everything falling apart—her sister and Besca suddenly at each other's throats—it felt so very right. Quinnlash was still afraid. But she was also furious. She shot up, pacing back and forth with a sudden blaze of seething energy. Besca didn't deserve this. Dahlia didn't deserve this. None of them deserved this...and she didn't deserve this. She'd run through hell on earth a month ago and come out on the other side. She refused to let this rip her away from them, and she refused to let them fall apart over this before it even happened! A growl built in the back of her throat as she reached into her pocket and yanked out her phone. Three contacts listed on the screen. She tapped on St. Senn. She answered on the second ring, and Quinn exploded. "Get the fuck back up here RIGHT GODDAMN NOW!" She hung up, then slapped it down on the table, a fierce and piercing eye like that of a bird of prey looking straight at Besca. Her voice was a snarl, bit out through clenched teeth. She had NOT come this far, through this much, to die to something like THIS. "How long have we got."</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Where there was an air of indignant anger, there was suddenly distinct feeling of satisfaction, and pride. The chill receded, she was content to listen. So was Besca, evidently, and Dahlia if the speed of her return was anything to go by. They both seemed utterly baffled, looking at her as though she'd torn off her face to reveal some stranger beneath. A glance passed between them, not of malice, but confusion—then, acquiescence. "Uhm…" Besca stuttered, averting her eye the moment Quinn's turned to her. "A week. It would have been longer, these were originally doubles-duels; Casoban set the terms to bench Yule though, so now Helburke is using that to bench Dragon. Now it's a one-on-one." She paused, hesitating to ask if Quinn was certain about this. Then she felt guilty. An outburst of bravery, warranted or not, wasn't going to squash her worry for the girl's safety. "That's not enough time, Quinn. I don't see how it could be. If we dropped you down today to draw out your weapon you'd still only have a handful of days to practice with it—and most of that would be in sims, anyway." She mustered up a bit of her own courage and looked her dead-on. "I meant what I said; I'll figure something out. We could get you sick, maybe. We could…I don't know, we could tell'em you fell into a coma or something, get Follen to put you down for a couple days 'til Casoban forfeits." Dahlia joined her, putting a hand on Quinn's shoulder. "She's right we can…" she began, but nothing came to her, so she just shook her head. "You don't have to do this. I…we don't want you to have to do this."</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Where there was an air of indignant anger, there was suddenly distinct feeling of satisfaction, and pride. The chill receded, she was content to listen. So was Besca, evidently, and Dahlia if the speed of her return was anything to go by. They both seemed utterly baffled, looking at her as though she'd torn off her face to reveal some stranger beneath. A glance passed between them, not of malice, but confusion—then, acquiescence. "Uhm…" Besca stuttered, averting her eye the moment Quinn's turned to her. "A week. It would have been longer, these were originally doubles-duels; Casoban set the terms to bench Yule though, so now Helburke is using that to bench Dragon. Now it's a one-on-one." She paused, hesitating to ask if Quinn was certain about this. Then she felt guilty. An outburst of bravery, warranted or not, wasn't going to squash her worry for the girl's safety. "That's not enough time, Quinn. I don't see how it could be. If we dropped you down today to draw out your weapon you'd still only have a handful of days to practice with it—and most of that would be in sims, anyway." She mustered up a bit of her own courage and looked her dead-on. "I meant what I said; I'll figure something out. We could get you sick, maybe. We could…I don't know, we could tell'em you fell into a coma or something, get Follen to put you down for a couple days 'til Casoban forfeits." Dahlia joined her, putting a hand on Quinn's shoulder. "She's right we can…" she began, but nothing came to her, so she just shook her head. "You don't have to do this. I…we don't want you to have to do this."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein The sudden bellows-blast of rage didn't last long, and Quinn slumped back down into a chair, looking vaguely sick. "...You don't have to do this. I…we don't want you to have to do this." Quinn laughed then, a thin flat thing totally devoid of humor or joy. A death rattle. "You think I'm thrilled about it?" She looked at her feet, and her voice dropped to barely more than a whisper. "But there's...there's nothing we can do about it, right?" She wasn't particularly savvy in politics, but she'd picked up a thing or two from Besca. "Fine, I get out of it. What then?" She left no time for responses before continuing: "We lose Casoban, right? And then what happens to the Aerie?" She shook her head and looked down at her hands. They were trembling again, but her mind was clear as it could reasonably be, under the circumstances. That bolt of pride—unexpected, but not unwelcome—that had punched through her mind from Quinnlash stabilized her some. Enough to keep her together, at least. "I'm terrified. You have no idea how terrified I am. I have no idea how I'm even speaking right now, when all I want to do is run back to my dorm, curl up under my covers, and cry until I wake up from this bad dream." A deep, shaky breath. Another. A third. Three deep breaths, in and out. "...But I—I can't. So..." she dropped her head into her hands. No. NO. She absolutely could not. There wasn't anything she could do, or anyone else. She turned to Besca. "...I'm drawing today." She blinked, and for just that moment she was that terrified child again. The one who'd woken up screaming. The one who'd latched onto Besca in a death grip, and begged her not to leave. The one who'd cried her eyes out into Dahlia's shoulder, apologizing for killing her father. Who'd barely made it through her first phase. Then she blinked again, and—at least for the moment—that child was gone.</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. The cockpit was cold, and dark, even with the skullport open. As the elevator brought the unnamed Savior down from Aerie Station, Quinn could only sit and feel the odd, artificial gravity keeping her steady. The vents on the suit's collar warmed her face, but an eager chill raked its fingers down her scalp. Dahlia stood in the narrow opening. She wasn't suited up—Dragon was still docked in the hangar—but she'd thrown on a few layers of shirts and coats, and had a scarf around her neck. She still shivered even without being inside, but made no complaints. "It'll happen," she said. Her words were visible in the frosted air. "You'll get it, it takes a little focus at first but you'll get it. You just gotta reach out, physically and, y'know, mentally, too. Don't think too hard about what you want it to be, don't worry about not knowing what to do with it—it's all natural. It comes to you, from the Saviors. They know what to do with these things, so, so do you, if that makes sense." She looked down below, to the horde of engineers scurrying around the Savior's feet. Most were running last-minute diagnostics as the elevator closed the last distance to the earth. Some, she saw, were snapping pictures up at them—or more likely, at its face. Its eye still hadn't grown back. A month had passed, and the Savior's socket was empty—covered now by a metal plate. Dahlia had never seen anything like it before, which wasn't too surprising, because evidently no one had. All wounds dealt to a Modir short of destroying the brain would heal, without fail, in every single case. Except for this one. She tried not to think about it. It wasn't her area of expertise anyway, and whether the thing had one eye or four or twenty didn't matter to her. Quinn mattered, and Quinn seemed to do just fine with it as it was. "Alright, touching down," Besca's voice said over the comms. Sure enough the strange gravity waned, and with a slight shake the elevator came to a stop. "Slot in whenever you're ready." "Gonna be right here on the lift watching the whole time," Dahlia said. She scooted in enough to give Quinn a hug she'd likely barely feel through the layers, and then climbed back onto the lift outside. "Good luck, sis." As she descended, the view behind the open cockpit opened up. They'd come to a vast expanse of flat, dry earth, and miles in the distance the lip of a crater creased the horizon. The bed of a long-gone lake, perhaps—plenty of space regardless. Soon enough the door shut, and she was enshrouded. The eager chill returned. It told her she was ready.</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Eyes fell upon the two pilots, in their corner tables, and briefly the Parlay quieted. Besca watched, tight-lipped and intent, but stayed where she was. Dahlia's leg bounced anxiously, and like Quinn she hadn't touched her meal, either—something that had not gone unnoticed by the Helburkans. Whether this was to be taken as a grievous offense, or a sign that their message was having its exact intended effect, was unclear. Roaki seemed annoyed by the silence. She held her fork like a dagger, slammed it down onto the meat hard enough for the metal to screech and the table to shake. The Helburkan side quickly resumed their own meals, and though she shot murderous glances to the Runans who continued staring, she eventually returned to her food. "Hate this shit, hate waiting," she grumbled, and having skewered the entire cut of boar through, she lifted it up and bit out a chunk. "Do it back home, too. Waste of fuckin' time. Why the fuck do they want us to eat together? Look at you, you're already scared shitless, so, what? Am I supposed to scare the shit back into you? Stupid." She barely looked at Quinn then, gray eyes focused down on her plate. Her cut was rare, almost bright red, but she managed to chew through it like wax. Blood and juice dribbled down her chin, stained her shirt. She didn't seem to care. "So why the fuck is Runa here? Didn't you guys just get mulched?"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein The silence grated against her ears, and she suddenly realized that everybody was staring. She managed to resist shrinking back and away, but only barely. Her finger twisted into the hem of the long black shirt that hung from her and held it tight. Then the fork slamming down split through the silence, and she jumped enough to knock her head on the backrest of her seat with a bonk. She hissed in a breath with a wince as Roaki continued talking. And the more she said, the more bile spat from her mouth, the deeper Quinn's brow creased. Her teeth clenched, and Quinnlash's anger tore through her like a purgative, setting her veins alight before collecting in her eye, a cinder ready to catch fire. "So why the fuck is Runa here? Didn't you guys just get mulched?" The fire flared once more, white hot and brilliant. But before it could ignite, the image of blood turned black by night running through streets lit with firelight and a boiling moon sheared down through it. A wave of dull grief sloughed over her, and the ember dimmed, then died. She slumped back into her seat. "Mhmm," she droned, voice steady now, but dull and dead. "A whole town. Which was my home, I guess." She knuckled at her eye, pushing the tears back before they had any chance to glimmer. "I'm the only one left."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Something within Quinn raged at her withering anger. So close, it was there at the surface, tingling in her fingers like it meant to ball them into a fist for her. It tells her she was right, that she should hate this girl, this Helburkan dog who would dismiss her so easily. Roaki Tormont didn't know who she was speaking to, if she did she would have thrown herself to the ground and begged Quinn for mercy. Too late. Too late for that. But it sank again, perhaps on its own, or perhaps the grief pushed it down. Roaki continued to eat, a glint in her eye at the mention of Hovvi's destruction. It wasn't amusement, per se, but there was definite interest. She hadn't bitten the hook, but she'd nibbled the bait. "That blows," she said. "People made it sound like you guys were untouchable. Guess not. Wonder what they'll do once you're dead, if, y'know, another one pops up." She dropped the meat back down onto her plate and took up a mug of something dark and frothy. Holding it to her lips and throwing her head back, she didn't stop drinking until it was gone. From the grimace that followed, it must not have tasted particularly good. "That how you lost your eye? One of the little fuckers get you?"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein "No," Quinn sighed, readjusting the strap of her patch. "I was just a kid when I lost it, don't really know how." Which, even if she didn't tell the whole truth, was true enough. She broke off eye contact, letting her eye roam across the Parlay. The Helburke flag, the crest of the Tormonts, the massive trays of food on the Helburkan side. On the Runan side, the board members—who she was none to happy with—and then... Dahlia looked so incredibly nervous. She hadn't eaten anything, Quinn could tell. She...Quinn breathed in heavily. It wouldn't be apparent to most, but she could tell: Dahlia was terrified. Terrified for her. Terrified of her. Of her Savior. Of her weapon. And of what she'd do if— Wonder what they'll do once you're dead, if, y'know, another one pops up. She sat up straight again, then turned her head back to Roaki like it weighed a hundred pounds. Her eye flashed, glinted like a chip of yellow ice. Her voice suddenly went hard and sharp as broken glass. "I guess I'll never find out what they'll do." She cut a piece of meat, brought it to her mouth, chewed, and swallowed, never once looking away. "I don't intend to die anytime soon."</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Roaki blinked at her, and for a brief, triumphant moment she seemed almost confused by Quinn's sudden turn towards courage. It was clear she'd expected a glass child, already cracked, to shatter at the first few harsh words. As much as she proclaimed to dislike the ceremony, Roaki was still Helburkan, and intimidation was still their strategy. Then the moment passed. There was a flame behind Roaki's eyes that stilled, momentarily, and as Quinn stared at her, there was…well, it wasn't respect, in the same way she hadn't been amused before. It was interest, again. "S'not up to you," she said, as dryly as she might describe the weather. "You all think it is, but it's not. Not anymore." Her gaze drifted to where Quinn's had lingered a moment before. To Dahlia. Her tongue clicked, lip curling over a bloody canine. The older pilot was still watching Quinn, and with every moment that passed, it seemed to aggravate Roaki more. Her voice turned from dry to cold. "Got family?" she asked. "Friends? That your little buddy, over there?"</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Besca caught it early, like she'd glimpsed Quinn's mind the moment before she broke, and grabbed hold of her. She felt the tears on her shoulder, saw the looks of the few brass and the Board's dumbstruck representatives. They pulled out their phones, dialed with unmasked and quickly-growing panic. Part of her was glad—they were about to tell the Board exactly what she had tried to tell them before, that this was a mistake. Part of her wished she could stick around to hear the shrill screams from the speakers, too. The rest of her wanted to get Quinn away. "Come on, come on, let's go. I got you," she whispered, walking her hastily to the exit. They made it out just as the sobs started, and Quinn's jellied legs nearly brought them both to the dirt. Dahlia came to her other side, helped how she could. "It's alright," she tried, but must have realized how shaky her voice was, and went quiet. They got back into the pavilion and all eyes whirled on them. Besca let Dahlia guide Quinn to the small, sectioned-off bunks as Toussaint came running over. "What the hell happened? Is she okay?" "No she isn't okay!" Besca snapped. "She's fighting a deathmatch tomorrow, and she only drew her weapon for the first time last week!" A look of shock came over Toussaint's face, and Besca found it absolutely enraging. "Don't you dare. This is your fault, Jaime." "My fault?" he spat, incredulous. "You're the one who insisted RISC couldn't afford to pay restitutions for Magnifique! You're the one who told me to find another way to keep our countries from splitting!" "Which I expected you could do without getting duped by your own people! Or do you think Casoban plans to pass up on Eusero after we get trounced here? I'd think you did this on purpose if I didn't know you were an idiot!" Toussaint's face screwed up in fury, but Besca only stepped closer. "I want you to send a message to your PM, Jaime. I want you to tell him that if he gets what he wants, and Casoban partners with Eusero, and RISC leaves here without Quinnlash Loughvein, that we're not allies anymore." She leaned down, so close she could feel his breath shallow. "I want you to ask him if this deal is worth every Savior you've got—because I promise you Dahlia isn't gonna be satisfied until she's mulched every last one of them. And neither will I." --- --- Dahlia had squared Quinn, sitting with her on one of the bunks. She hugged the girl tightly, mind racing. She should have been like this—broken, sobbing, dreading the fact that she was about to lose Quinn to something so absurd. But instead she was angry. Afraid, but also furious. Indignant. No, no she would not lose Quinn. She couldn't. Besca had been so adamant about the consequences of interfering but faced with the alternative, she was prepared to cut down every pilot and Savior on Illun if it meant keeping her sister safe. "Shh," she whispered. "It's okay. Quinn. It's okay—I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Look at me," she gently nudged the girl's face up. "Whatever happens tomorrow, I'm not letting her kill you. I…I might have been too slow at Hovvi. I won't be this time."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein At length, Quinn's shuddering cries faded, and she released her deathgrip on Dahlia as she fell silent. Another minute or so passed. She remained still, unwilling to move. She felt...safe here. With her. Then, still unmoving, "Dahlia..." Her voice was nearly inaudible; weak and weepy, it came out in a thin rasp. "...I ruined it, didn't I?" Of course she had. She'd lost control, said terrible things. She had been so angry. And so violent. Those thoughts, running through her head like a broken faucet, pure and potent as water. Fight. Fight. Kill. Kill. Kill. She didn't know which ones were Quinnlash's and which were her own, and it shook her to her core. Was that the kind of person she was, deep down? Violent and angry? What's wrong with me? She shut her eyes tighter. Then, "Can I—" The bunks were small, she'd seen them earlier, not to mention being on one right now. They were barely big enough for one person to lie on comfortably, realistically. And it felt absurd to even imagine asking it. Absurd. Stupid. Childish. But imagining herself lying there, in the dark, awake, alone—knowing what was about to come—agonizing over it—it was almost enough to draw a renewed flow of tears out of her. Instead she squeezed her sister tight again, clung to her, fighting desperately to keep the tears at bay. "—can I sleep with you tonight?"</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Dahlia didn't hesitate. "Of course," she said, nodding into Quinn's shoulder. "I'll stay right here all night. And tomorrow, I'll walk with you all the way to the Savior." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth, either. She would stay with Quinn, she'd stay with her as long as she could, as close to the start of the duel as possible. Then she was taking the elevator up to the Aerie, and she was getting into Dragon. She couldn't tell that to Quinn, though. She couldn't tell it to anyone, not even Besca. Getting up there would an ordeal all on its own, as would talking her way into the cockpit. But she was determined now, and more with every passing second, that she was not going to let Roaki kill Quinn. She was not going to lose her sister. "You didn't ruin anything," she said. "Someone was awful to you—that's not your fault. It isn't. Everything she said to you, you just ignore it. Ignore it, because it was all nonsense. None of that is gonna happen—not to me, not to you. "I won't let it." --- --- Sleep came much more quickly to Quinn than she might have expected, as if it had been waiting for her. As soon as she shut her eye, it came for her, wrapped her in its gentle embrace, and then she sank. The boat was still. When Quinn opened her eye, the sky was dark, and this time the lake reflected the moon and not the sun. Its image was imperfect—a crescent where the one above was full—but a step closer to real than before. The water, however, was still pitch black. Distantly, on the forested shore, she could see the umbral form of her Savior sat down, with its legs mostly submerged in the water. Beside it, the white, skull-faced deer lay resting. "How dare she," said Quinnlash, standing on the edge of the boat, peering angrily out at the water. There were no familiar shadows around. Tonight, it was just the two of them. "How dare she threaten us? Threaten our friends? A taker, Quinn, that's what she is. A mangy dog, and a taker. Quinnlash turned to her. For the briefest instant her hair seemed brighter, almost as white as the deer's fur, but it must have been a trick of the moonlight, because in that same moment it was oaken again. She stared hard at Quinn, incensed—not at her, but incensed nonetheless. "She doesn't get to hurt us. She doesn't get to kill us. And she does not get to say awful things about our family. Our real family," she spat. Her eyes softened, barely, and just for a moment. Then they were sharp as knives again. "She dies tomorrow, not us."</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein The black sky and the black waters rippled against each other. Just like before, everything felt a million miles away when she was here. Even then, there was an echo of that crushing sorrow embedded deep within her. Even here. But still... She stared out at the asymmetric moons. One above, one below. Different. The same. Shattered shards of the same coin, twisted 'round on itself. "I...I don't want her to die." She sat down at the edge of the boat, where she'd sat with Safie what felt like years and years ago, and dipped her legs in. They plunged out of sight, the inky waves consuming the light completely. "I don't want to die, and I don't want her to say those things about our family." She flopped backwards, staring up at the sky, a moment achingly familiar and yet so foreign. "But I also don't—" She stopped, collecting her thoughts. The broken stars wheeled above in a pattern that was at once right and wrong. Right and wrong. Right and wrong. "—I don't want to kill. It feels wrong." She sat back up, flicking droplets of black from her bare feet as she turned and pressed her knees to her chest, leaning up against one of the benches as she looked up at Quinnlash. "I know I need to. But...I don't want to need to. I might have to do it, but I don't have to like it." Her voice took on the ghost of an accusatory tone as she tilted her head at her younger self. "Why do you want me to make me?"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. As she looked up at the sky, the unruly stars whirled, it seemed, in tandem with her own doubts. They tilted, unlocked from the great void, and followed her eye like they thought they might find an answer in it. When she sat up, they all winked out at once—though the night did not get any darker. Quinnlash stared back at her, small face wrinkled in confusion, like Quinn had started speaking in Tohoken. "Because…" she started, and stopped, and started again with more certainty. "Because that's the way it is. That's what we do. We're a pilot. We…" She paced back, stood up on the bench and looked out over the water. "We should be killing monsters. That's what we're made for. That's our purpose," she said. "But they won't let us do that. Now they want us to do this and…and maybe we don't have to like killing always, but some people…deserve it. Some people deserve to die. Takers. People like Roaki, people like them." She didn't need to point it out. That cliff in the distance was still bare. "They're monsters. They'll hurt us, they'll hurt the people we love. And they'll like it. Killing them…we're doing the right thing. We're helping. That's why we should like it. If we don't like killing monsters, then…what's the point?"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein With every word that Quinnlash spoke—each wavering of her thoughts—Quinn grew stronger in her own. She uncurled, standing up to her full height, and joined her counterpart on the bench, looking up at the void of an endless sky. The stars had flickered and died. All that was left was... She let out a light gasp. A moment of revelation. "It's the same thing." Quinnlash glanced at her, mouth pursed in confusion, then followed her vision. "Distorted, broken, but still the same in the end. Right?" This time she was quiet for a longer time. Minutes passed as she looked out at the sickle crescent wavering on the black surface like a liquid mirror. Perhaps hours. She didn't know. She couldn't know. "They were monsters," she suddenly spoke again. "They hurt us in ways that I still don't understand." She took a deep breath. She still didn't know if she needed to. If she even was breathing, unless she did so willfully. The wind gusting by was growing stronger. "But...Roaki isn't like them. She's not an adult either. I think..." She picked up a piece of ice from the ever-full and unmelting cooler, then hurled it off into the water. It struck the moon, shattering the reflection into incomprehensible fragments of silver light. "I think she's a little more like us. Us," her voice sharpened to match Quinnlash's and she glanced sidelong at her, "If we were angrier." She sat down on the railing, meeting those black, infinite eyes. Her razor voice shook, but held. "She's us, once we enjoy it."</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. The moon never reformed after Quinn shattered it. The water stilled, but the countless rippled-apart pieces remained with an inexplicable void between them. She could feel her words sinking into the lake, and if she peered down into it, might have for a moment noticed something odd—that it was not black. It was just a very, very dark blue. Quinnlash's hands balled into fists, but she turned away from Quinn's gaze, contemplative, almost ashamed. Instead, she looked out at Hovvi, and for a long time she was silent. "No" she said, and her hands were squeezed so tightly her shoulders shook. "No, she's nothing like us! Not broken! Bad!" With a sharp wince, Quinnlash curled. A hand flew to her head, clutching at a horn that had seemed to grow ever so slightly taller in those angry blinks. In the distance, a great shape loomed over Hovvi. Not a Savior, but much greater, much grander. It was the silhouette of a mountain. "Stupid Helburkan mutt! Taker! she shouted, and pulled her hand away. Blood like ichor dribbled down her face. "We're good! She's evil! Good kills evil! Good kills evil and we're gonna kill her! We're gonna kill anyone who wants to take our friends away from us!" Standing as tall as she could, the girl glared hard at Quinn. Quinnlash's voice boomed within her, as if it rose up from the lake itself. "Now wake up! Wake up and protect my friends!" And she was awake. An alarm beeped softly somewhere far away. There was movement outside the bunk's doors, and the sound of people. Dahlia was beside her, back turned with her neck-plugs exposed. She seemed to still be asleep. The realization hit Quinn—was given to her, without request: today was the day she would kill, or she would die.</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Quinn had been right—the normalcy didn't last. As soon as her back was turned she could have felt the eyes return to her, and without much strain she could hear the whispering. Indistinct and worrisome, anxieties she might very well have felt herself, manifesting around her on the lips of people who were meant to be cheering her on. A screen overhead played the daily news. The volume was low, but the anchors spoke Casobani, so no one was listening so much as they were watching and reading the subtitles. A pair of minor singularities were set to open this morning, and Casoban's remaining pilots were split to tackle them one-a-piece. That at least explained why most of the Casoban crew were gone now—shipped out in the middle of the night, most likely. Toussaint remained, which was odd, considering he was allegedly the commander. Perhaps he wasn't anymore. He didn't look particularly happy. To be fair Besca didn't appear to be doing much better. She looked utterly exhausted, which, she was. She hadn't slept a wink, had spent all night online, searching desperately for anything that might help them. By the grin that split her face when she saw Quinn, she must have been successful. "Hey, hun!" she said, voice scratchy but her enthusiasm didn't suffer for it. "Listen, hey. I've been reading all night on this—on Tormont. Not a lot of publicly available information on the Great Houses, even less is translated, but some of the folks here—never mind, not important. Look." She slapped her tablet down onto the table between them. On it were dueling records. The first two Quinn had seen; they were Roaki's official duels as Blotklau's pilot. Besca pointed to some lines beside the word Synchronir. They'd been highlighted manually. "Know what that says? Sorry, dumb question, neither of us read Helburkan. It says, 'Subject was not observed phasing.' Remember how our info listed Roaki's phasing time as 'unknown'? I assumed that was just cause she was too new, and because neither of her duels reached the average phasing thresholds, so, you know, I figured she just phased average. But then I found these." Following the two duels were…more duels. Five. They were unregistered, unofficial in the sense that they hadn't involved a dispute with another nation. In fact, they weren't even duels with another Great House. Roaki had fought five duels against her own family. Besca's hands flew to the same word. Synchronir. "These duels were all over the place. One was minutes long. Two reached the average threshold. Another went way past the average, slower than Ghaust's. Way slower. And the last one…god, I've never seen anything like it before. She was connected for thirty minutes. And what does this say? 'Subject was not observed phasing.'" Besca's grin grew teeth, she tapped the screen manically. "Quinn, I don't think this is flubbed. I don't think she's slow, either. I don't think she can phase at all. That's why her duels are so fast. That's why she's so aggressive. She has to win before the other pilots phase because she can't just stall 'til she does too." Her voice dropped low, conspiratorial. "Hun—I've seen how you've been practicing. I think, seriously, I think if you can just get yourself phased, you can do this. You can actually beat her." Something in Quinn's chest thrummed excitedly.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein But just as quickly, Quinn remembered her dream, and the thrum died to a distant hum. Still there, but muted, dulled. She looked at the data. She—she really could win this. She could. She could win, and go home to the Aerie, and go back to eating at Tohoki Grill and sparring with Deelie, exploring the station, talking to Doctor Follen. It was everything that everyone wanted. So why didn't she feel better? "Hey, um, Besca," she started, surprising herself by how level and modulated her voice was. A pain beat through her, short but sharp. She wanted so much, so badly, to call her something else. But every time she tried, the word stuck in her throat, then died there. She stopped. She didn't even know what to ask, not really. Am I doing the right thing? It didn't matter, did it? She had to do it anyway. Do I really need to do this? Stupid question. The answer was obviously yes. That ship had sailed a week ago now. Once the gears had been set into motion there was no stopping them. And it was the day of. Why did this have to happen? Self-pity would only hurt her. It had no place today. So, thoughts tangled, she opened her mouth again. Closed it again. Thought. She wanted to ask something. She did. She just didn't know what. Her thoughts were disorganized, jumbled about. Not panicked, but certainly not the epitome of health either. But eventually, she settled on a question that she'd had for the last week, both of Besca and Dahlia. She hadn't asked either. But this was about the last chance she'd get, wasn't it? Before she needed to deal with it for herself. So she asked. "...Have you ever killed someone?"</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Besca's excitement waned when it became clear that Quinn wasn't as thrilled by the news as she was, and before she got much of a chance to contemplate why, she was hit with a question that withered her mood instantly, and entirely. "...Have you ever killed someone?" How does she mean? was the first thought that came to mind, which was a guilty feeling. She ought to have wondered why, first, or considered how she must have felt to ask such a thing. Instead, Besca found herself wrestling with her conscience for a real answer. If she thought about it for a moment, put her own selfish self-pity aside, no, Quinn likely wouldn't count Safie, and Ghaust, and Daz, and the rest of Hovvi as someone she'd killed. Nor would she likely include the pilots before her. She carried those deaths all the same, but for this, she would carry them quietly. Instead, she addressed it how she imagined Quinn actually intended. "Yes." A hard lump had formed in her throat, and swallowing it took effort that almost choked her. "Four. I've killed four people. Three before you were even born. One the day Westwel fell." Even saying it out loud felt…odd. Like she was drawing on someone else's memories. She recalled them all through a haze, but at the same time they felt entirely, ineluctably real. Years of separation and callouses helped her to keep the pain from twisting her face, but it was still there, in her eye. She looked at Quinn, and felt again the unbearable weight of what she was being put through. The injustice. Why else would she ask that question? Why else would anyone ask it? "You're afraid. You…you don't know if you can do it, do you?"</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Quinn was too far away to see the way her words effected Roaki, but the silence was enough. The other girl grumbled over the comms, then scoffed. "Don't think you're gonna be doing much talking," she said. The cruel grin was almost audible. "But you'll scream plenty." Above them, like a hundred holes poked into the sky, there hovered a swarm of drones. Some were doubtlessly from the camps, but most had been sent by news organizations. Casobani, Helburkan, Runan, likely even Euseran. This duel had stretched on for days, three pilots dead, with one more to follow. It was impossible for Quinn to know if the people of Casoban were aware of how new she was, but it was likely, and right now they must have been wondering why their Ministers hadn't taken Eusero's aid. Eusero as well must have been watching with a mix of dread and, perhaps for some, a sense of schadenfreude. They should have taken the hand. Now they drown for it. But if she thought back, thought about the Board, and the Prime Minister, and the Euseran higher-ups, Quinn would know that in the grand scheme, the only true loser was Runa. That Eusero was waiting, circling above the carrion of this field, ready to pull Casoban onto its deck, and let Runa struggle and sink until they took the hand as well. On the smaller scale, on the one that faced her now, she and Roaki Tormont were playing a game with no winners. If she meant to change that, first, she'd have to survive it. A beep in the comms, Besca's voice in her ear. "Time to roll, hun." Across from her, Roaki dashed for the cockpit. Quinn could hear a brief, discomforted straining in the Pilots channel, and moments later, Blotklau shuddered awake.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein The words had barely finished, and Quinn was already at the skullport. She tore the door open with one hand. A distant and fragmented part of her laughed at how hesitant she'd been the first time, how long she'd taken. But there was no time for that. Only one thing mattered now. Slinging herself into the chair, she felt her plugs click into place. It had become almost comforting. Familiar. A constant in an ever-changing series of troubles and trials. Her eye closed tight. And the darkness swirled away. Ablaze stood. Three deep breaths. Then she reached out her hand, grasped the sheet, and tore. The enormous cannon fell into her hands, and with an almost reflexive speed she spun it up to her shoulder. The white lines blurred at the edge of her vision, and she could feel the internal fire rumbling, waiting to be unleashed upon her target. It could keep waiting. Her mind raced. Her plan was half-formed at best, harebrained and futile at worst. But it was all she had. As much as it scared her...she needed to stay close. She needed to phase, it was true. But she didn't know how much time it would take afterwards. So she couldn't keep that distance. She was on a tight clock, and that fact beat through every inch of her colossal body. She couldn't take advantage of her cannon's range, like she'd done in every single sim. She needed to dance just outside of Blotklau's range. She needed to keep her chasing. And she needed to make her mad. A voice surged up within her, an impulse so strong it stole her breath. One word. And though she knew more would come, that first word was always the strongest: KILL. It was beating through her, thick as the ichor surging through her twisted body. KILL. And she snarled back: Go fuck yourself. Then, to Besca. Just two words: "Trust me." And then, finally back to the pilot channel. Across to the animal form of Blotklau, already starting to move. To Roaki. She let go of the cannon with her offhand—primed and tensed to move back at the slightest need—and stroked it down a braid that wasn't there anymore. The cannon was pointed out the ground in front of her. Very, very intentionally. Waiting for her to get close. Let's see if this works as well as it did in sims. Then she forced her voice into a high, lilting singsong like a little child playing. She hated what she was about to say. But again... ...She needed her mad. "Catch me if you can, little cripple girl~!"</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. There were few words more terrifying to hear from a pilot than: "Trust me", but Besca didn't object, because there also few words that could make her feel as helpless. Trust her, she thought. Well I don't have much of a choice. She watched as Blotklau took a few starting steps forward, only to stop as Quinn…taunted her? Besca balked, she wouldn't have thought Quinn capable of insult. Then again, up until last week, she wouldn't have thought her capable of swearing, either. It was a crass jab, and, frankly, about as blatant a play as she'd ever seen anyone make. And it seemed to work like a charm. "Oh, I get it," Roaki growled in her head. "You think making me mad'll get me to kill you quick?" Blotklau hunched, her hands flew out wide and her claws tore unreal holes into the air. Swiping her arms across her chest, the axes flew into being, blades bursting to life with white fire. "Tough fucking luck! I'm gonna pull you apart slow and careful! You're not gonna die 'til I say you can die!" The girl screamed fury, but even with her voice in the comms, Blotklau's roar was louder. The Savior broke into a mad sprint, low and nimble, closing the distance with frightening speed. With only a hill between them, she reeled back one of her axes and threw it in a whirling arc for Ablaze's leg, poising to lash out with the other.</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. There were few words more terrifying to hear from a pilot than: "Trust me", but Besca didn't object, because there also few words that could make her feel as helpless. Trust her, she thought. Well I don't have much of a choice. She watched as Blotklau took a few starting steps forward, only to stop as Quinn…taunted her? Besca balked, she wouldn't have thought Quinn capable of insult. Then again, up until last week, she wouldn't have thought her capable of swearing, either. It was a crass jab, and, frankly, about as blatant a play as she'd ever seen anyone make. And it seemed to work like a charm. "Oh, I get it," Roaki growled in her head. "You think making me mad'll get me to kill you quick?" Blotklau hunched, her hands flew out wide and her claws tore unreal holes into the air. Swiping her arms across her chest, the axes flew into being, blades bursting to life with white fire. "Tough fucking luck! I'm gonna pull you apart slow and careful! You're not gonna die 'til I say you can die!" The girl screamed fury, but even with her voice in the comms, Blotklau's roar was louder. The Savior broke into a mad sprint, low and nimble, closing the distance with frightening speed. With only a hill between them, she reeled back one of her axes and threw it in a whirling arc for Ablaze's leg, poising to lash out with the other.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn's right arm flew back to the cannon. She didn't want Blotklau—good GOD that thing was terrifying—to get caught in the crossfire. She hoped she had the trajectory right. Aimed at the ground. Aimed at the axe. And then, as it was nearly upon her, she pulled the trigger. There was a loud crack as a bloom of white light rent the soil, sending the axe screaming into the air. Clods of earth sprayed out, pinging uselessly against the advancing horror of Blotklau. But that wasn't the point. It all worked according to plan. The kick of the cannon—the sheer force of the shockwave—exploded so close to her that she was sent rocketing into the air. She spared just a moment to check behind herself and adjust for landing before looking forward again. Good, she'd only cleared a valley between two hills. Hoppping out of the crater she'd left, she huffed out a shaky breath and swore quietly off of comms. "I can't believe that worked." She'd taken some breathing room. But she knew from the footage she'd seen that Blotklau could cover that space in the blink of an eye. And the way it had run at her had only reinforced that. She clenched her jaw tight, jagged teeth scraping against each other with a sound like falling stones. She couldn't get too far away. Not until she phased. She'd even gone too far just then. The less she did that, the better. She tensed her muscles to dodge. Blinked. Recalled. Remember, don't watch my hands, watch me. Watch my body, watch my eyes. Don't try to figure out what I'm going to do, I'll tell you. You just have to listen. "You won't be killing anybody like that, kiddo. Who taught you to throw?" Keep her talking, keep her mad, keep her predictable. She hated this, and she hated herself for doing it. But it was better than the alternative. Anything was better than the alternative. She counted the seconds as they ticked down. Phase. Phase already.</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. There was a tense moment in the pavilion, a sharp sound as everyone watching collectively sucked in a gasp as Quinn launched herself into the air, then a wave of almost deafening hollers when she landed again in one piece. Beneath the surface of her mind, she might even have caught the ripple of panic from the depths. Besca was not immune, having stood up so abruptly her chair toppled behind her. She was might have nearly broken her silent pact not to curse in front of her, had she not been paying close attention. "Quinn!" The word hardly reached Quinn faster than the axe did. A low, horizontal whirl came to an abrupt and violent stop in Ablaze's thigh. Not deeply, and skewed sidelong from how far it had been thrown, but to someone new to flesh wounds, judging the severity would be difficult through the explosion of pain. "You can't run from me!" Roaki shouted. And just as Quinn had thought, Blotklau had indeed covered the space in no time. The deflected axe lay discarded, yet unrecalled, perhaps momentarily forgotten. The one in Ablaze's leg, however, was left there out of malice. For pain's sake. Blotklau came at her unarmed, but it would have been a foolish and final mistake to assume her any less dangerous. Something boiled within Quinn, louder than that shunned command to KILL. It wrapped her like a cloak, like a barrier between her and the Savior, and in the same way she'd shoved the voice under before, now it was wrestling to rein in her pain. A layer of numbness came to her, dull, but not ineffective. IGNORE IT it demanded, agonized. FIGHT. Claws splayed, Blotklau came at her in a flurry of slashes and spearheaded strikes. Where they landed on flesh, even grazing, they carved and sprayed ichor, and in the bottom of her mind she could feel something pulse each time. "Let me hear it!" Roaki's voice was ravenous. "Scream! Beg! Come on!"</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Dragon was wild, possessed of every bit of bestial fury Quinn had seen in Roaki. Her long fingers swiped at the swordsman, and when she dipped or ducked his swings, her jaw would unhinge like a snake devouring an egg, and a beam of light would blast forth. But he was nimble, fast, he seemed to know what she would do the same instant she did, and every shot sailed past him. Dahlia could feel herself speeding towards the threshold. The Circuit always seemed so eager to meet her, to speak, to take. The two ends were hands on her head, pressing, squeezing to come together, pressure ready to crush her skull and finally make itself whole again. But she never slowed down. The Modir was good, incredibly so. But then, it had crossed swords with Ghaust and won, and when she had dropped down into Hovvi, it had fled before she ever laid eyes on it. Skilled, smart, fast. She couldn't outpace him, and she certainly couldn't take a hit from that blade. Her mind raced, as if employing the dead pulses of her Savior's brain to work in tandem with her own. She thought quickly, as was the way when you only had minutes in the cockpit. Not minutes now. Not even moments. She passed the threshold. The hands began to squeeze. Dahlia grit her teeth as the light burned in her core, radiated from her like sunlight through blinds. It poured from her eyes, from her chest, it made her horns glow molten. The swordsman must have known—of course he did. He whirled his blade and struck for her heart, perhaps expecting her to duck it and put herself out of position to unleash another attack. Instead, she let it run through her shoulder. The pain was blinding, the pressure on her temples was so strong she thought her ears might be bleeding. But she grabbed the blade near the hilt, and on the guard, and she held. Her mouth opened, a bouquet of flaming teeth and a maw as bright as the sun. The swordsman's grip loosened, his sword vanished into the air. His hands took hold of Dragon by the throat and he wrenched her to the ground, face-down. It took every effort in the world not to let the blast go, to let it turn her and him and everything within a mile into ash and void. Quinn. I won't lose Quinn. Dahlia swallowed fire for her sister. It was pain she'd only ever felt a few times, and as it traveled down her throat she knew it would push her out of consciousness. So with a final, furious scream, she pulled herself free of the chair, and Dragon went limp. The swordsman saw it, must have known she'd disconnected. He yanked her up from the ground and then threw her down again on her back. Dahlia slammed against the cockpit walls, crying out, tumbling against the seat and then down onto the floor. He dug his fingers into her mouth and ripped the Savior's lower jaw clean off. Then, reeling back his fist, he made to punch clean through the skull. That was when Quinn's blast hit him. It exploded against his cloak, sending modium and ichor flying. When the smoke cleared there was a crater in his shoulder, and his arm hung by black threads. He turned to her, red eyes furious—and when she looked back she saw only her own reflection. Before Quinn could fire again, the swordsman was gone. Vanished into the void. Escaped, again. The battlefield fell silent, for the battle was over.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein All thoughts of guilt were gone. At least for the moment. Her heart pounded. Oh god. Oh god. Deelie. Deelie. "Deelie!" Her ears were ringing. There was no time to wait for someone to extract her. No time for her to rappel out, even if the rope and harness had remained in the cockpit for the duel. So what else was she to do but throw Ablaze down, resting the side of its head against the ash-and-ichor grass as she finally, finally, disconnected. The heat of her phase slipped from her, to be replaced with the frigid air of the cockpit. Her whole body was soaked in sweat. Her leg hurt like fire. Her leg, and her—her everything. It was all sore. She'd seen Dragon get tossed around like a ragdoll. The pains faded. The terror remained. Yanking herself out of the seat and falling to the wall of the cockpit, she bared her teeth, struggled up to the sideways skullport, and squeezed her way out. Half climbing and half sliding her way down the ravaged head of her Savior, her feet—tiny human feet—nearly fell out from underneath her as they stepped on soil for the first time in what felt like eons. And she did go down, stumbling, falling, cracking her knee on a rock. But it didn't matter. She ran. Frantically. Across the cracked, baked earth, hot air still rising from it. Everything was forgotten as she scrambled, barely staying upright, barely staying comprehensible. She wasn't even sure she could hear through the ringing in her ears. "Deelie, Deelie, Deelie!" As she passed the shattered fragments of Dragon's jaw, her voice escalated to a hyperventilating squeal, the voice of a desperate child who's lost something very important. "Oh god, Deelie!"</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. It was so quiet. How could a place like this be so quiet? Even the crackling hills seemed muted in Quinn's ears. The shroud tugged at her, worried—Not safe it muttered, but it wasn't the same certainty as before. It wasn't a warning, it was just…afraid. It was very, very afraid. And as Quinn continued to run, past the fires and rubble and the ichor, that voice sank down as well. The pain was fading, the panic, less so. Dragon lay like a dead mountain. A waterfall of black blood poured from its half-gone face, spilling down its throat and pooling on the earth, staining it deeper than rain ever could. As she drew closer, almost to the edge of that umbral lake, there was static in her ear. "Quinn!" Dahlia. She was okay. "Quinn! You're—ohmygod—you're alright! You—stop! Stay there, don't come any closer to the ichor. I'm out, I'm on the—hold on!" Moments later, Dahlia emerged into view, clambering over the Savior's chest. She spotted Quinn, shrieked something unintelligible, and then hurried down. She was limping and as she drew closer there were clear bruises on her face, cuts from where the vents in her suit had snapped and broken. But she was alive, and so was Quinn. Dahlia hit her like a missile, arms wrapping around her so tight and so fast it took them to their knees. She shrieked again, and this time it was clear that she was saying Quinn's name, broken by thin air and heavy sobs.</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Dahlia's mind was a fog. She was nicked and scraped and bruised, and could feel that some things inside of her were either cracked or not quite where they were supposed to be. Her thoughts were a jumble, messy, like some had been left behind in Dragon and now the holes were slowly refilling. But one thing that was still crystal clear to her was that Quinn was alive. And upset. She felt the shift from tears of joy to tears fraught with panic and fear. And…guilt? Yes, bizarrely, she did sound distinctly guilty. Dahlia winced as Quinn's hold on her tightened to a death grip, listened as she babbled nonsensically about how this had all been her fault, how she'd been hunted—hunted?—and that she'd led them here—no, there. Where? She mentioned Safie, and something twisted in Dahlia's heart, but she pushed it aside for now. "Q-Quinn," she said, sniffling, wrangling the steadiness back into her voice. Right, she was the big sister, it was her job to keep herself together. She held Quinn up when she went limp, holding her out enough to look straight at her. "Quinn, you didn't—no, no don't be sorry. Quinn you just saved my life. You did. You didn't do anything wrong. You saved me, you're my hero." She pulled her in again, hugged her tight and tried to get her back up onto her feet. "I'm so happy you're alive. That's all that matters, okay? You did it, I'm so proud of you." A crackling in their ears, the ping of someone joining the comms channel. "Girls! Talk to me, hey—I've got vitals but no visual, someone get a bloody drone in the air now!—one of you say something!" "Besca, it's me, we're okay. The Modir are gone." There was a shaking quiet on the other end before Besca mustered up a reply. "God—we saw Dragon go down, I…oh god. You're okay, good. Good, just sit tight, convoy is headed back out your way. Ten minutes." "Sure thing." Dahlia took Quinn by the shoulders, guided her away from the pooling ichor slowly spreading beneath Dragon. The smell made her dizzy, reminded her too much of real blood. They hadn't touched it, thankfully, but when there was this much, they'd both need a battery of tests when they got back to the Aerie. God, they were going back to the Aerie. She almost couldn't believe it. They were going home, and they were both okay, and she hadn't…done anything rash. "Here, sit," she said, finding a high, sloping rock to lean against. "You heard her, they'll be here soon. Just sit here, hold my hand. We did it, Quinn. We really did it."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn's head spun. Just too much. Too much was happening. She let Dahlia take her by her thin, shaking shoulders, walking her to a rock to sit on. God. They did it. She was right. They did it. The hills passed around her in a blur. The craters of combat, Ablaze lying down before her, the sun above her head, Blotklau— She stared at the smoking, blackened wreckage of Roaki's Savior that lay smashed upon on the side of the hill. Even from here, she could tell that something was wrong with it. Something was wrong with the head. It was the wrong shape, all twisted and warped like a crushed soda can. She gave a ragged shout, muted and garbled and barely louder than her normal speaking voice, but no less pained for it: "Roaki! Please! Roaki!" She pulled herself away from Dahlia's gentle hands and tried to run, to break into a sprint, to ignore it like she'd done while in Ablaze. She tried. She really, really did. But now, at last, her body had reached its limit, and told her: no more. The second she shook free, her legs gave up and turned to jelly underneath her. She pitched forward, hitting the furnace-hardened ground and crumpling in on herself. Still she tried to get up, to drag herself forward. Guilt burned in her stomach, pulling her ownwards. But she'd run herself to the end of her rope, and she knew it. And what would she even do? There was a moat around it by this point. Blood that she had spilled. So all she could do was watch the silent, ichor-drenched hulk in terror. "Besca!" The tears still on her cheek and spinning in her head conspired to make her sound desperate. Like someone was dying in front of her. Like she'd killed someone just in front of her. And maybe she had. "Blotklau is—it doesn't—Roaki is still in there!"</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Quinn wasn't on the dirt for long. Dahlia had her up almost immediately, holding her steady and stifling every effort she made to push forward. Blotklau lay in a steadily growing puddle of ichor, with three of its limbs blown or torn free, and the third a shattered, awkwardly-bent wreck. It wasn't stopping, either, it just kept bleeding, and bleeding. Soon enough it would fill the little basin around it to the brim, and spill out into the hills and valleys around it. "Blotklau is—it doesn't—Roaki is still in there!" Dahlia was silent, looking piteously out at the Savior, but her focus shifted more intently to Quinn. It took Besca a long time to respond. "Quinn, I'm sorry I—I don't know what to tell you. It's Helburke's Savior, she'll have to wait for them to come extract her." "The skull's been breached," Dahlia said. Her voice was quiet, analytical. "I can see it from here. The body's beginning to dissolve, the brain must have been damaged too badly. It's mulched." There was another long silence. "Besca?" "They're leaving." Besca said, solemn but sturdy. "They said there's nothing to recover." "What does that mean?" "It means…god. It means it's over. There's nothing we can do. If it's mulched, then the dissolution's gonna make extraction too dangerous, and that's if the cockpit isn't already flooded with ichor." She sighed, long, tired. "Quinn, you…you did good. You did everything you could have. I'm sorry."</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. --- --- --- ---</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. --- ---</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Two days had passed in what felt like moments. Besca had taken Quinn back to the Aerie, and on the ride up everything had just blurred. They'd taken her to medical straight away, run more than a dozen tests on her, taken blood and saliva and more blood. There seemed to be a general surprise that, aside from some bumps and bruises, she was entirely okay. Exhausted, and in need of food and rest, but her system was clean and there wasn't a single new growth on her body. Nonetheless, they kept her in medical at Follen's request. He saw to her examinations personally, monitored her. He seemed pleased, and told her again and again how happy he was that she was okay. How strong she was. How brave. He was very proud of her—everyone was, he said. Besca confirmed as much. She came in whenever Follen wasn't around, and stayed with her for hours until someone dragged her away to handle some urgent matter or another. But she always came right back. They ate their meals together, and in between her assuring Quinn over and over again that Dahlia was okay, just resting, she told her what else was going on. The singularity openings were a mystery, still. The best guesses were that the swordsman had, somehow, redirected the openings to the dueling field. They hadn't been particularly far, all things considered, and had only managed to squeeze in three Modir. They didn't talk about how it had spoken to her. They tried. Besca didn't know what to say. Instead they talked about the duel. Helburke was refusing to acknowledge the loss, and demanded not only that they be allowed a rematch, but that they be compensated for the loss of Blotklau. To hear them tell it, Quinn had ensured its destruction by how severely she'd disabled it, rendering Roaki unable to fight back against the Modir. They couldn't have it both ways, though; either Blotklau was too damaged to continue the duel, or she wasn't. In the end, Casoban agreed to void the results, but only agreed to a rematch on the condition that there be no bans, and Runa be allowed to champion them again. Helburke accepted the voided results, and withdrew their claim to the disputed area. So, in the most technical sense, Quinn hadn't won the duel, but the only thing that truly changed was her record. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, she had pushed Blotklau into the dirt, and, more importantly, had refused to finish the kill. Opinions were…mixed, she'd said. Helburke's thoughts were known. Casoban was decidedly unhappy with the fact that they'd lost two pilots for none, but the fact that they'd come out with the land secured meant that, really, they'd gotten what they wanted. The pact between them and Runa remained, but Besca didn't sound certain for how long. Eusero was in a fit, almost worse than Helburke. She said that wasn't surprising—they'd been depending on Runa's loss to close their deal with Casoban. Not only had Quinn spoiled that, but she'd done so by sparing a pilot from their biggest rival on Illun. To hear it told, there were a great many news stations in Eusero suggesting that RISC was working with Helburke, and that they'd fielded Quinn specifically so that Dragon wouldn't sweep the duel. They didn't mention that Dahlia had been banned. They just asserted that Runa injecting themselves into the conflict with a brand new pilot was inappropriate at best, and conspiratorial at worst. Some even stated that "Quinnlash" being a Helburkan name was hard evidence of the collusion. Apparently people were eating it up. Runa was split. There were people who supported her choice, certainly, with consideration borne from a national history of nonviolence—or rather, the inability. Others weren't happen to see a Helburkan spared. Many Runans still considered the lack of aid during Westwel's fall a betrayal of the Illun Accord, and would take every opportunity to get back at those who had stood idly by. However, hearing Eusero was not pleased did sway some to her side. Regardless, over the course of a few hours, Quinn had become a very popular topic across the world. RISC had become inundated with interview requests, most of which the Board had approved until Besca told them point blank that Quinn was hospitalized and could not attend. That had stalled them for a time, but she made it clear they couldn't put it off forever. Another matter had come up, regarding Hovvi. Or rather, regarding Quinn's life there, before...what had happened. Quinn had made a realization in Casoban, about something her parents had done. About the water. It had taken some time for her to put it into words, but eventually she got there. It had been modium. They'd been feeding her diluted modium, almost every day, for as long as she could remember. She was certain now, the smell, the taste, it was unmistakable to her. Besca had gone silent, excused herself. It was hours before she came back, and she did so with a million assurances that what had been done to Quinn back home was wrong. A million more than she had done nothing wrong. That she didn't deserve it. And one very stern, very serious assurance that it would never happen to her again. There was more to say—more they'd tried to say—but before long Follen gave the all clear, and Quinn was released from medical. Dahia was still recovering. Her wounds were well-healed, but vidently she'd contracted a mild case of modium poisoning from her stunt on the field, and some bone growths on one hand had taken her two bottom fingers, and three ribs which. They had grown biomatch bones for the ribs, which set nicely, and were fitting her for cybernetic replacements for the fingers. She had apparently tried four times to sneak out to see Quinn, but was stopped and now there was someone stationed to watch her door. Upon her release, Quinn made a B-line straight for Dahlia's room. At her hesitant request, Besca had come along.</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Even as Quinn had said it, a deep, faraway part of her knew she shouldn't have. But she didn't answer right away. Couldn't, really. She— She looked into Besca's eye, searching for something. Seeking. Probing. Digging as deep as she could. There was concern there, and she realized it was concern for her. There was confusion. There was caring and hope. And beneath all of it was something else. Something she recognized, but couldn't say, couldn't think about, something that hurt just as much as she wanted it. But what there wasn't, was anger. Or hate. Or even indifference. None of it anywhere. She turned, letting the barest fragment of vision skate over Dahlia. She was sitting on the bed, looking at her worriedly. Worry. She was worried. She wasn't—Quinn didn't think she was angry. Dahlia would never lie to her. They didn't hate her. Her face crumpled and she fell back into Besca. She kept crying. But instead of the long, terrified sobs of before, it was a soft, gentle weeping. Almost serene. Her family didn't hate her. She didn't understand why. She knew it was her fault, deep down. She knew that it was her presence that had doomed Hovvi. And now...her family knew too. And they didn't hate her. The quiet crying lasted for several minutes as she buried her head in Besca, cut through with words now and then. Simple words, simple ideas. I'm sorry, and thank you, and why? But eventually, the tears stopped. She went quiet. She released Besca and slunk—like an animal still, but wary instead of hurt and terrified—back onto the foot of Dahlia's bed, where she leaned herself against the wall and pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "Do you—" She stopped, reached up, rubbed the tears away from her eye as she looked at Besca. "Besca, do you remember when—when I told you I heard a voice in...in Hovvi, telling me to run?" Even saying the word, there was something of that savage energy to it, that deep and primal urgency. Then she paused again, hesitant. It still felt wrong to tell someone about Quinnlash. But her family— The more she spoke, the calmer her voice grew. It was still halting, but no longer so sickeningly shaky it felt like it would shatter at any moment. Her family was there, and they cared about her, and didn't hate her. "It's—it's still there. And it's in my dreams, and she's a little me. Both eyes, but they're black. She has horns, they're modium." She realized suddenly how suspect that sounded, so she added hastily, desperate for her family to believe her, "But she's good! I promise! She told me to run in Hovvi, and she told me to get back in when the Modir were coming, and—" Her voice grew quiet. She hadn't told anybody this. Some of it to Doctor Follen, but not the whole truth, of course, not Quinnlash. She looked down at herself, wrung her hands where she'd clasped them in front. Fretted. Then finally, "—And when I phase, she's what—she stops me from falling in."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. As Quinn sat down beside the bed and continued to speak, a look passed between Besca and Dahlia. A silent agreement. As strange as the things she said were, as outlandish as the last few days—month, even—had been, after everything she'd done, they owed her the benefit of the doubt. They listened, and they did their best to do so with open minds. It was…difficult. Besca did remember the voice, and had, over time, come to believe it was a natural, albeit incredibly strained, reaction to the invasion. Quinn's instincts manifesting in her memories as a direct push for her survival. But then, she'd found out about the water, and suddenly it didn't sound so strange. If she'd been dosed with modium her whole life, perhaps it was possible she'd been experiencing Conduit delusions before having ever stepped foot in a cockpit. Only… "—And when I phase, she's what—she stops me from falling in." The meaning was clear enough, and it really was her mind, tainted, then why would it be keeping her from closing the Circuit? It wouldn't, she was certain, but until a few days ago, she'd been certain that Modir didn't talk, too. "Alright… she said. "So this…other you. This little you. What does she…do, exactly? In your dreams, what's she saying? She's not trying to hurt you?"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn shook her head, and her voice began to level out. "No, never. She's never hurt me. We just..." She paused. How would she describe what it was like talking to Quinnlash? She shrugged helplessly. "...We just talk. About all kinds of things. What I think, how I feel about stuff. And she really wants to know why I feel the way I do too." She paused to collect herself. "She talks too, about people mostly. My—" Her voice strained, "—them, she talks about them—the people on the station, Doctor Follen...all kinds of things." She looked between Dahlia and Besca and a ghost of a smile flittered across her face for the barest fraction of a second before it was crushed back down. "She likes you both a lot. She got mad." "Like the last time we talked, it was right before the duel, we talked about—" Her eye snapped wide like she'd just remembered something very important, bounced back between the two of them again. How had she forgotten? How could she have let herself forget? Another searing shot of guilt lanced down through her veins. Her voice, so recently settled, began to tighten again. "—Roaki! Is she—how is—did Dahlia—" Her head whipped back to Dahlia, mouth immediately dry. "Did you—oh god—where is she?"</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. How did one respond to being told that an entity which might, or might not, exist within the head of your sister liked you? Concern? Disgust? Perhaps a bit healthy dose of alien confusion? There didn't seem to be a strictly correct answer, but for her part, Dahlia thought it was…cute. She wasn't a doctor, and the Conduit effects she'd suffered had never drifted so far into the psychosphere, but it did sound harmless to her. The idea of Quinn having someone in her head to talk to seemed comforting. She was intrigued, and could very well have listened to stories of these dream conversations all day. But then, with all the abrupt panic of a car accident, the topic changed. To the Helburkan. Dahlia couldn't help the flash of bitterness within her—didn't particularly want to help it. Her side stung from the rib implants, her two mechanical fingers were slow, still in their calibration phase. In the years since her only growth outbreak, she had begun to hope against hope that she'd avoid all that again. Stop. You were keeping your promise. "She's alive," Dahlia said. She knew she should say more, but she just…struggled to keep the edge out of her voice. Besca, saint that she was, picked the ball up. "Helburke decided to, uh, cut their losses. They were gone by the time we got you back to camp. Follen did what he could on the ground, but we ended up bringing her with us to handle the rest." She nodded, but seemed uncertain of what to say—or perhaps just how to say it. "There's been some…developments. She's still here. She's in holding."</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein ---</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein "There's been some…developments. She's still here. She's in holding." Quinn frowned. She didn't like that. She didn't like any of that. From what little she remembered of Dahlia's rescue—god she was like a superhero—she distinctly recalled that Roaki was going to have to have—have her leg cut off. She thought. She had no illusions that people on the Aerie would like her, but... Frustration nipped at her heels, and her visible brow slanted with a barely-visible combination of irritation and confusion. "Why is she in a holding cell instead of in medical after what happened? That just seems...cruel." And that was an excellent way of distracting herself from the other thing Besca had said. Developments. What did developments mean? At least she was alive, but the vagueness was enough to set Quinn's teeth on edge. Her stomach dropped out from under her as the thought of something terrible happening—some horrible complication, a growth in her heart, something like that—bled through her body like dye. She freed herself from the wall and unwound herself, sitting on the edge of the bad instead, staring at the floor. The satisfaction and...glee that she'd felt when she'd taken Blotklau's legs off ricocheted through her head. A deep breath. Two. Three. When she looked up, her face was writ with sheer mulish stubbornness. Don't even try to change my mind, it seemed to say. "I'm going to see her today. Soon."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Besca had been worried about this. Part of her had known that Quinn's display of mercy wouldn't just be a single, isolated incident of sympathy. She was too kind for that. Really, she was too kind for any of this. Piloting had a unique and repulsively effective way of wringing the humanity out of someone, especially when it came to dueling. Cruelty was indeed an apt word for it. Those who stepped into the ring and lost were rarely ever seen as people by the victors, more as cisterns to fill with the consequences of defeat. It had managed to effect Besca as well, much to her shame. She never gave much thought to the people Dahlia had beaten in the past, though the fact that she was young and most of her opponents had been older made it…easier to accept. She had felt some remorse at the idea that Quinn would have to kill Roaki, but only after Quinn had brought up her own misgivings about it—and even then, the stunt at the feast had left her sour. "It wasn't my call. The Board doesn't want an enemy combatant loose on the station. They think she might get into one of the Saviors, I guess—" she held up a preemptive hand. "I know how ridiculous it sounds. Everyone does. But the Board pays their wages, not me, so if they say she stays locked up it's just…it's how it's gotta be for now." "I'm going to see her today. Soon." That shouldn't have surprised her either. Despite all her bluster, Roaki was perhaps less capable of violence than any other person onboard; even still, Besca wasn't thrilled at the idea of them being in a room together, whether there were bars between them or not. But she saw the look in Quinn's eye, had seen it in the war room the week before the duel. She knew there'd be no point in trying to deny her. "I'll…make sure you've got the clearance," she said, and made for the door. "In the meantime, I should get back to work. Your, uh, performance in Casoban has brought us a lot of…interest. Anyway, Deelie should be out of here by tonight, so, I'll see you both for dinner." And with that she left them. Dahlia leaned with a groan onto the propped-up pillows, held out her hand to fiddle with Quinn's hair. She was quiet for a moment, still unused to seeing her so wound. "Hey," she said. "I'm really proud of you, y'know that? I don't care what anyone else says. You did good."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein All the tension inside of Quinn's body drained out and she slumped backwards. She leaned against the wall at an awkward angle and there was a sharp clicking sound as her plugs rattled against the drywall. Somehow that sound—that feeling—had become familiar to her. Not even familiar; comforting. And something about that made her so horribly upset. "...Did I really?" She went quiet. Thinking about something. The expression on her face steadily became more and more drawn. Minutes passed before she pulled herself upright again, looking...not at Dahlia, but in her general direction. "Besca said she told you about the water." She took three deep breaths. Then slowly, almost meditatively, she picked up her braid and reached behind it with both hands, just above the main neural plug. Fiddled with something. "...They said it was because I looked outside." The fiddling ceased. The knot came undone. In dead silence, the eyepatch peeled away from her face and fluttered to her lap like a mourning ribbon, revealing an eye socket that was absolutely mangled. And not just the socket; her entire right orbital and then some was covered in ragged white scar tissue. Her one functioning eye remained downcast. "I don't—know what really happened to it. I don't think it was good." She grazed her hand over it, feeling the unfamiliar, uncomfortable skin. Thick. Callused. Almost numb to the touch. "I've never taken it off before. I've never even seen it." Then slowly, almost unwillingly, she raised her head and looked her sister straight on. Her eye—the one that still worked, anyway—barely held back a tsunami of sorrow and despair. "...Why did this have to happen, Dahlia?"</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Dahlia gasped quietly when the eyepatch fell away. She'd never seen beneath it either, never felt the need to know what it looked like, never much wanted to. But she did suddenly realize that she'd never asked what had happened. Now that she knew about the water, and she was seeing the telltale signs of a growth outbreak, it made perfect sense. Every last trace of bitterness within her evaporated in an instant, burned away in the heat of something much stronger. She clutched the sheets, felt her new fingers squeeze so hard they clicked. With every word Quinn spoke, every sick revelation that came with it, Dahlia grew angrier. Her gut twisted in disgust, not at the ruinous state of her eye, but at the implication of its ruining. Dahlia had killed monsters. She had killed people. She had never wished violence on anyone. She wished it now. With a small struggle, Dahlia sat up again, met Quinn's eye and prayed she understood the fury in her own wasn't meant for her, because she could not contain it. "It didn't," she said, composure shaken. "It did not have to happen. They made it happen. They hurt you, because they're awful, horrible people, and they will never hurt you again." Like Quinn were a cave, Dahlia's rage resonated within her, and something deep inside echoed it back. Horrible. Unfair. Monsters. Takers. But the longer she looked at Dahlia the more that feeling settled. The more it urged her to believe those words. Believe she was safe, now. She got the sense that trust was foreign to it. All the same, it wanted Quinn to trust her sister.</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Dahlia gasped quietly when the eyepatch fell away. She'd never seen beneath it either, never felt the need to know what it looked like, never much wanted to. But she did suddenly realize that she'd never asked what had happened. Now that she knew about the water, and she was seeing the telltale signs of a growth outbreak, it made perfect sense. Every last trace of bitterness within her evaporated in an instant, burned away in the heat of something much stronger. She clutched the sheets, felt her new fingers squeeze so hard they clicked. With every word Quinn spoke, every sick revelation that came with it, Dahlia grew angrier. Her gut twisted in disgust, not at the ruinous state of her eye, but at the implication of its ruining. Dahlia had killed monsters. She had killed people. She had never wished violence on anyone. She wished it now. With a small struggle, Dahlia sat up again, met Quinn's eye and prayed she understood the fury in her own wasn't meant for her, because she could not contain it. "It didn't," she said, composure shaken. "It did not have to happen. They made it happen. They hurt you, because they're awful, horrible people, and they will never hurt you again." Like Quinn were a cave, Dahlia's rage resonated within her, and something deep inside echoed it back. Horrible. Unfair. Monsters. Takers. But the longer she looked at Dahlia the more that feeling settled. The more it urged her to believe those words. Believe she was safe, now. She got the sense that trust was foreign to it. All the same, it wanted Quinn to trust her sister.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn was almost knocked over by the sheer level of anger pouring out of Dahlia's face and the venom in her voice. There was a heart-attack second where she was absolutely certain that Dahlia was going to yell at her, she didn't know why. But it passed in a blink, and then the rage was less scalding, and more warming. Like a warm blanket on a cold night, Dahlia's anger scooped her up and held her close. She reached out as though to hug her sister, but remembered at the last moment that she had three ribs that needed to set. So instead she sat back down again, staring into Dahlia's furious eyes. "It's really that bad, huh," she murmured to herself before directing her attention back to Dahlia proper. "I know," she said quietly. "I trust you." A pause. A moment. The drawing of a breath, a tiny hesitation to gauge whether or not something was okay to say. Then, "...and she trusts you too." Picking up the eyepatch from her lap, she steadied her shaking hands enough to replace it, letting out a relieved sigh when she smoothed it back down over the scarred growth. Then, sitting there in silence, she felt the impulse to embrace Dahlia again. And again, she had to resist. This was going to happen a lot, wasn't it? "I'm going to keep a tally of all the times I can't hug you," she joked, forcing humor into her voice though her expression remained unchanged, "and repay it with interest once you're better."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Dahlia watched the fear in Quinn's eyes melt into understanding, and felt relieved. Her own expression softened, and reached out as well when she did, though Quinn decided against the hug at the last moment. "I'm glad. I trust you, too. I can't…help worrying. So much has happened, and none of it is fair. What's worse is that it's probably not going to stop anytime soon." She frowned, more to herself than anything. She was meant to be comforting Quinn, not preaching doom. "What I mean is, I'll always be there for you. Besca, too. Neither of us blame you for anything—you never did anything wrong. And even if you did, I don't care. I'm with you. That's family—real family." "I'm going to keep a tally of all the times I can't hug you, and repay it with interest once you're better." Dahlia smiled. She couldn't think of the last time Quinn had tried to make a joke, it made the room feel brighter. "You'd better," she teased. "Debts are the one thing I don't forgive."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn closed her eye lightly. You never did anything wrong. And she guessed that she hadn't done anything wrong. Or. Well. The only thing she'd done wrong was be. They still came to Hovvi because of her. it still lay at her feet. But at least Dahlia and Besca wouldn't ever leave her behind. She'd been silly to think otherwise. "You and Besca," she murmured. "I must be the luckiest girl in the whole world." She remembered she couldn't hug Dahlia this time (she still counted it on the tally, though). So instead she stretched out beside her, taking her hand gently, running her fingers along the unfamiliar metal contours. "I'm sorry for making you go in there. I promise if I could've, then I would have gone myself." Her words died away before any more reached her throat. It just seemed so blasé, whatever she was saying, whatever she was thinking of saying; incapable of trying to communicate what she was trying to say. So she leaned in, resting her head very lightly against Dahlia's, and hummed, "I love you, sis. You know that, right?"</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Laying there, Dahlia sighed deeply as the anger and confusion fizzled out within her. She was content, which was a feeling that had eluded her for more than a week, and was only a visiting stranger in the weeks before that. But now the smile touched her eyes, shut though they were, and she leaned against Quinn and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. Love you, too, Quinn." She could have stayed like that for a long time, and been happy. But that wouldn't do, not for Quinn. She'd survived not only her first duel, but her first Modir as well—three of them, at that. She should be celebrating, or at least out enjoying herself while the tsunami of political fallout was still only on the horizon. There'd be time for business and fussing in the coming days, but for now they could breathe. It had been so long since she'd just...breathed. Not since before Hovvi—a lifetime ago, now. "You know, when I won my first duel, Besca and I baked a cake. I bet we've got all the stuff we need—we should make one for you tonight, too." She brought her other hand up, tousled Quinn's hair. "Go on, get out of here. Go relax, go hang out in the observatory. Go be happy. I'll see you guys tonight."</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. "Hey hey!" Dahlia greeted as Quinn walked through the door. She stood stirring a ladle over a slow-cooker. Savory smells filled the dorm—chunks of tender beef soaking in a thick, aromatic bone-broth stock. Spices drifted in the air that, even after a month were still foreign to a nose like Quinn's, all of which Dahlia was careful to lay out and show her whenever she asked. "I asked Besca to prep stew for tonight, just finishing it up now! She ought be here in a few minutes." Quinn threw herself down into her blue chair, and Dahlia set out a few glasses on the counter. She was glad she'd changed the channel beforehand—it likely would have been weird for Quinn to hear strangers from other countries, or even just other cities, talking about her so animatedly. And, as if to prove her own point: "Some people were listening to the communications from the end of the duel. Did I really sound like that?" It wasn't the first time comms had been leaked, and it was no more surprising. Often the Board would arrange for certain snippets to land in the laps of favored news organizations now and then, if they felt it would lead to good press. With the storm Quinn's stunt had set in motion, they were likely trying to get ahead while they could. "It was pretty tense. You can get loud when you want to," she giggled. "That's not a bad thing. It's good, you know, that you stick up for yourself. Even to Besca." Setting the lid on the cooker down, Dahlia came over and threw herself onto the couch. "Besides, for a first leak, I thought it was cool. You know what mine was? They got me on the lift riding up to connect for the first time—ohmygosh, you could hear my teeth chattering—and I asked Besca where the bathroom was in the cockpit." Her ears went red, she rubbed her hands over her face. "Ughgod, it still comes up sometimes. I'll show up somewhere for an interview and they'll make sure they put me near a restroom. Kill me. At least this is something you can be, like, proud of."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Dahlia always knew how to make Quinn feel better. Her trepidation at the the oddness of it all, people listening to her without her being there, faded away. Dahlia had dealt with this for years. If she ever had a hard time, she could just ask her sister, right? And it was nice to know that having communications leaked wasn't a new thing, wasn't strange. She'd had enough of 'strange' for a little while. And as Dahlia discussed her first leak, Quinn felt an unfamiliar sensation welling up within her, starting in her stomach and spreading upward like bubbles. Something she'd felt before, but not for a long time. For a moment she didn't really understand what it was, and it dimmed within her. But it came back once Dahlia finished speaking, rushing up like soda poured too quickly and overflowing before she could even hope to check it. And Quinn burst out laughing. Not the weak chuckle she'd given two weeks ago, when Dahlia had knocked her on her ass just by stepping back when they were sparring, and certainly not the death's-head laugh from the war room a week ago. No, this was a full-throated laugh born from genuine happiness and the release of a terrible tension, and it filled the room suddenly and unexpectedly. She slapped her hand over her mouth in surprise, but she couldn't stop the giggles that leaked out from between her fingers even still. If there was one word to describe her expression, it was taken aback. But in a good way. She hadn't felt this way in a long time. And though the guilt bit at her heels still and a part of her knew that it always would, her sister didn't hate her, was there, and always would be. So Quinn was... Happy. She was really, really happy.</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. It had been a long and mountingly frustrating day, and Besca was ready to scream. Really, she was ready to smoke. She needed it. God, she needed it. Just a minute or two away from everything, all the papers and phone calls, the memos from above laying out interview requests. And now, this business with Casoban and Helburke… She just wanted to step into the observatory, light up, and stare at the stars for a bit. For two minutes, pretend she was somewhere else, someone else, who didn't have to juggle one international incident after another. But on the way there her stomach growled, and she remembered that Dahlia wanted to make stew tonight. Two days laid up after losing chunks of herself to the ichor, and the first thing she'd asked to do was cook something for all of them to eat together. The small pack in her pocket lost its luster, and she swerved in the commons towards the dorms instead. And lucky she did. Two minutes would have been too many. She'd have missed the sound of them laughing. She opened the door to see both of them sat in the living space, cackling like mad. Quinn was covering her mouth, giggling through her fingers. Dahlia had her head pressed back into the pillow, barking laughter out at the ceiling. Suddenly Besca felt like she'd just woken up after the best night's sleep of her life. "What's so funny?" she asked, tossing her coat onto a rack and kicking off her shoes. "I told Quinn about the leak from my first practice" Dahlia said, voice pitching high. Besca grinned. "Oh, god. Yeah. Quinn, you should have seen the look on her face the first time we interviewed at Late Night with Laurel, and the PM scurried up to her and said they'd made sure to put her room near the toilet. Priceless." "Oh hey, stew should be ready, wanna grab some bowls for us?" "Sure, but if you don't get up here I'm liable to mulch the whole thing myself. Been thinking about this all day." Dahlia got up from the couch, came over to the blue seat and peered down at Quinn. "Well don't eat too much. You probably can't smell it over the stew, but I went ahead and started baking the cake so we could have it tonight." She plucked up Quinn's braid, dropped it down into her lap. "And this one's for you, so you're gonna decorate it however you want." She spun on her heel, and made for the counter while Besca poured them their bowls. Dahlia sat down on one side, patting the seat next to her for Quinn, and Besca took a seat across. A few bites were enough to make her forget everything, all the worries, all the stress. Right now she might not have been someone else, but that was alright. She didn't really want to be anyone else. Besides, sitting here, just the three of them, she felt a million miles away from the Aerie.</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein If there was one word that could be used to describe Quinn's response to Roaki's condition, it would be outrage. She bolted upright, grabbing at the narrow bars, and the words forced their way out of her before she could stop them. "What the fuck? How could they treat you like this?!" She hadn't expected Roaki to be treated particularly well, all things considered. But she'd expected better than this! How could the Board justify it? Fury surged through her, burning hot and white in her veins. Someone needed to put the fuckers in their places, and fast. This was unacceptable, and everything she was rebelled against it on a visceral level. She instantly dropped a hand to her pocket, tore her cell phone out, and called Dahlia, eye straying back to the horrible, pitiful image in the cell as she did. As soon as she picked up, Quinn hissed through the microphone, "You and Besca. Down here. Right. Now. You need to see this." She hung up immediately afterwards, leaving no room for response, and fought very, very hard not to spike her phone into the floor or smash it against one of the bleak concrete walls. Her voice as she spoke again was tight, tense, horrified. "I was going to come down and talk because I thought you'd like the company, even if you were just going to threaten to kill me, and I wanted to give you a piece of cake. But this..." Her whole body was seething with anger, and she made a strangled sound deep in her throat, halfway between nausea and blinding fury. With one hand still entangled in the bars, her other fist bunched tight at her side. It was cold down here for her already. She couldn't imagine spending more than an hour down here, let alone two days. All alone too, with only a thin blanket on a steel slab sticking out of the wall. "...This is horrible." It's disgusting, she went on in her head. How could they? She grit her teeth, hand clenching around the bar so tight it creaked. As unpleasant as Roaki had been at the Henkersmahl, she didn't deserve this. Quinn wouldn't wish this on anybody. "I'm getting you out of here, Roaki." She didn't know exactly what she would do yet. But she was doing something. She would openly defy the Board if she needed to. If they did this to someone, anyone, they didn't deserve to have power. "I know you hate me. But I'm getting you out tonight. And that's a fucking promise."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein ---</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Roaki flinched when Quinn lunged at the bars. She hadn't expected anyone would come down here, and she'd just about made peace with the idea of spending whatever was left of her life in silence. So, as much as Quinn's presence surprised her, what had made her flinch wasn't the anger in her eye, or the dull clanging of the bars—it was the look on her face. It was that, lurking beneath the rage, and the horror, was something a thousand times more terrifying. Pity. "…because I thought you'd like the company…and I wanted to give you a piece of cake. But this..." She was being pitied. By Quinnlash. "I'm getting you out of here, Roaki." She watched Quinn's knuckles whiten around the metal bar, speaking through a tight cage of teeth. "I know you hate me. But I'm getting you out tonight. And that's a fucking promise." Roaki's jaw clenched, popped. Every muscle was tense and sore and her bones creaked at the thought of moving but she did. Hunched, slow, she pulled herself along the hard ground. The faint warmth of inaction was shaken off like dust, and fresh, new cold found her. She ignored it. At the bars, she looked up at Quinn. She'd been short before, she was used to that, but this was different. She'd been brought this low, hers was the view of a worm, in every sense. Staring up at her, it was hard not see the one-eyed girl as a kind of hawk, or a vulture, hungry and circling. For a moment she was back in Casoban, looking over her shoulder at Ablaze, her arm pinned, burning. She felt that desperation again, the flashes of pain even in the leg she'd not had for years. Chiefly, she felt the fear. Quinnlash Loughvein scared her, and because Roaki had spent her entire life having her face smashed into the things she was afraid of, she reacted in the way she knew best. She got angry. She got really, really angry. With a lurch she pushed herself up, just enough to her her hand around Quinn's wrist. Half leveraging herself against the ground, and half letting the girl's weight pull her, she managed to bring Quinn down and herself up enough to be at-eyes with her. She held tight, hand wrapped in the dry-bloodied gauze that ran up her sleeve, all the way up her arm and around her neck to hide all the new fades from the modium extraction. Her nails dug shallowly into Quinn's wrist, but she wished, she wished so much, that she had the strength to snap the bone. She would. "I…" Her voice withered into a rasp, but she didn't fall silent because of the strain. Rather, she didn't know what to say. She was angry, and she hated Quinn; that should have been enough. It usually was. Of all the things Roaki had struggled with, articulating her anger—effectively if not exactly eloquent—had never been one of them. The longer she stared silently, the worse it got. Hate her, she thought. Hate her! Tell her how much you hate her! Tell how much you want to rip her apart! Get you out of here? She put you here! She— Ah. There it was. The realization was harsh and bold and would not be denied. No, she didn't. You put you here. Not an easy thing to admit, but a reality she'd been squaring herself with since she'd tumbled out of her seat in the cockpit. You lost, you fucking worm. This is your fault. You deserve this. Shame filled her. Blessedly her face was already reddened by the cold, so it wasn't as obvious outwardly as it was to her. Heat came to her, but it was in her eyes and she absolutely refused to entertain it. She had begged the pilot who had cut her out of the cockpit, and screamed with the doctor who had…excised her growths. She would not, under any circumstances, cry in front of Quinnlash Loughvein. "I don't…" Thankfully she didn't get the chance. There was shouting from beyond the distant door, which flew open to reveal two familiar faces. One was an older woman who had been at the Henkersmahl, and the other…damn the luck. They both came sprinting, their expressions a mix of panic and worry and, when they saw her, burgeoning fury. "Get away from her!" shouted the other pilot. She slammed into the bars, wrenching Roaki's hand from Quinn's wrist. There was murder in her eyes. Roaki fell to the ground with a grunt, dragging herself back from the bars. The other woman pulled Quinn away, looking her over frantically. She patted her down with gentle hands, and, evidently finding proof that Roaki was as ineffectual a warrior as she suspected, sighed with relief and hugged Quinn tight. Something within her burned to see that. She looked away. "What happened?" the woman asked. She was breathing raggedly, her words were thin and strained. "God, Quinn, you scared the crap out of us."</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein "I might mess up, I might not be perfect, but a long time ago I wanted to be just like you, and somewhere along the way I gave up. Now I know I can still try." Quinn blinked, and for a moment she didn't understand. Dahlia...wanted to...be like her? Her ears were ringing as she stared. Just like before, with Besca, there was a profound sense of disorientation and confusion. Besca may have been her hero, the person who lifted her out of her gray life and splattered it full of brilliant color. Dahlia couldn't quite fill that same role (though she definitely touched it a bit). No. Dahlia wasn't her hero. But Dahlia was the person she wanted to be like more than anything. She was strong, she was brave, she was kind and gentle and she always looked out for the people she cared about. Quinn wanted to be all of those things. She wanted to live up to Dahlia's example so much. And she didn't know if she ever would, but she'd always try. And now here she was, dazedly hearing her forever role model talking about how much she wanted to be just like Quinn, and not only that, how much she'd wanted to be just like Quinn for a long time. A heat began to build within Quinn, a tiny sun in the middle of her chest that spread out through her body, sending tinglies racing up and down her spine. It was incredible. Another feeling that she knew. That she'd felt fragments of over the years, scattered shards of sunlight, but nothing like this. it took her a long time to think of a word for it. How she'd felt deep down when she'd snuck out of her room for the first time, past the fear and the knowledge she was doing something wrong. The rush she felt when she'd solve a puzzle. The brilliant light that had shone within her when she'd cast that fishing rod. Oh, that's what it was. It was pride. She leaned over and wrapped Dahlia in another gentle hug, hoping that some of that wonderful sunshine would pass between them. It was only when she spoke that she realized how warm her voice had suddenly become. It was strange. So much that had happened today was strange. But she had never felt more like Dahlia's sister than she did right then. "Thank you, Deelie. You're so much better than I deserve."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. --- --- It had become familiar, this feeling, ironically so much like waking up. When Quinn opened her eyes that night, she was there again, laying on the boat atop the spread-out towels. The sky was pale blue, darkness receding from the edges eclipsed by the distant forests. Beyond the lake's cliff-faced rim, a warm orange light was beginning to rise. Though the sun itself wasn't quite visible yet, it was reflected there in the water, surrounding the boat like a glowing, red-orange pond. It was at once pleasantly quiet, but if she listened, Quinn could hear the sounds of people on Hovvi's shore, see little dots of them scattered about the harbor and the beach. Too far for detail, too far to have been heard, really, but there it was anyway. The shadows of Dahlia and Safie laughed and chatted out by the buoy. Behind her, there was a slight whooshing sound, and a distant splash. Quinnlash was sat on the railing, fishing pole in her hands. The line was cast out far, though no farther than Quinn could remember having sent her own that day. Even in the burgeoning daylight she looked gloomy, darkened by shadows cast from nowhere, as if it were still night for her. The only exceptions were here eyes, which were no blacker or lighter than they ever were, and the horns on her head. They'd grown again, ever so slightly, and had begun to branch at their tips. Like the rest of her, they were unaffected by the sun. Instead, they caught moonlight that wasn't there, and glinted and shimmered like polished white gold. She glanced sidelong at Quinn. Her knees came up, tucked in close to her chest, and though it should have thrown her wildly off balance back onto the deck, she just hovered there, only tangentially touching the railing. "You didn't do it…" she grumbled. "You didn't kill her."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn took a deep breath of the lake air. It was far away now, but still so hauntingly familiar, and a part of her knew that if she wasn't so disconnected from everything in these dreams she would be crushed under the weight of her own sorrow. But she was disconnected. So instead, she walked up to the railing next to Quinnlash, picked up a fishing pole, and cast it into the lake herself, watching the blunted replacement for a hook zipping out of sight before it plonked into the water. She was silent then, gazing out in the predawn light at the cliffs where once stood a white house. In the distance she could hear Safie's voice along with Dahlia's, and it cut into her heart even here. There was a quiet certainty in her that no matter how much time passed, that wound would never scab, never heal. She'd never even gotten to say goodbye. "No," she said simply after some time, "I didn't." She shook her head. "You said before that she wasn't broken, just bad." For the first time since she'd sat at the railing, she looked back at Quinnlash, eye filled with genuine curiosity. "But you saw her in that cell, right? She's not a taker." The thing that might have once been a hook tugged, the bait that hadn't been there before drawing a fish that swam happily away. "She's had everything taken from her." Another deep breath. "Every time I think about it, I'm more sure that we the right thing." She unconsciously brushed her fingers, featherlike, across the top of her head where Besca's chin had sat during their embrace. "And they think so too. That counts for something, right?"</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Quinnlash shrunk when Quinn came close, curling tighter, angling her pole away like she thought it might be taken from her. Her eyes followed the line Quinn cast out onto the water, watched it plunk beneath the surface and settle. For a long few moments it seemed like there might not be anything in the lake at all, that perhaps Quinnlash was denying her. Did she expect to aggravate her? To goad her into another argument? No. Quinn could feel that wasn't the case. The air was warm, the water still and gentle. The sounds in the air were those of happiness, and the unseen dawn promised a long day before the dark returned. No, there was no fight to be had here, tonight. Quinn's lure bobbed. Quinnlash eased. Her face was still scrunched into a moody pout, and it didn't seem like she wanted to hear any excuse or explanation. It was like she'd been denied something herself. Like she'd worked so hard, waited so long, only to come up empty-handed. But then Quinn mentioned them. The good "them". "They didn't, though," she said, not so much upset as she was confused. "They thought we had the right idea before. You changed their minds. It shouldn't have been so easy—it's not fair. We're good, aren't we? We…we didn't do anything wrong. Why does it feel like we did something wrong?"</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein The first thing Quinn did after her eyes cracked open was yawn. Cavernously. The second thing she did was stretch, grunting quietly in satisfaction as her joints made pleasant popping sounds. The second thing she did was frown, still a little muddled from sleep. The TV? Why was the TV saying her name? Throwing on a gray t-shirt and the same black sweats she'd worn for her phasing test (she'd grown quite attached to them by now, given that they ranked among the first things to really belong to her), she padded over to the door and pushed it open. It was getting easier and easier every day. And her focus was elsewhere anyway. What?? She was on TV. And not just her Savior. Her, leaning tiredly against Ablaze's neck. A memory of the exhaustion she'd felt at that moment echoed through her and she flinched. Then it cut to a clip of her backpedaling frantically away from Blotklau as ichor sprayed from countless wounds. The newscaster was saying something about potential hostilities and certain political tension between Runa and Helburke, and she stared for a moment longer, horribly fascinated at seeing her Savior moving in third person. Even now, it still gave her chills. She turned her head then to Dahlia, cocking her head with an expression of vague worry on her face. "Why am I on TV, Deelie? It's been days, right?" She looked back at the news. There she was again, making that...surprisingly graceful, now that she looked at it...roll as her cannon blazed. "Is this normal?"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. "Mo-orning~!" Dahlia called, sing-song, as soon as Quinn emerged from her room. She quickly prepped a plate for her; eggs, sweet toast with syrup, a peeled orange. Besca had drilled into her the merits of a healthy breakfast long ago, and she'd come to find that even on the hardest and most grueling days, she never regretted a good start to the morning. She watched Quinn's focus shift to the TV, and frowned. She'd meant to at least mute it. Talk still hadn't died down, and while a modest singularity in Tohoki had diluted global attention somewhat, Runa itself was still very keyed-in on their newest, strangest pilot. "Ah…sort of, yeah. Usually it's a couple of days, then there's a singularity somewhere, or another duel starts, or there's a conflict brewing somewhere, and everyone starts speculating who gets pitted against who." Besca had showed her one of those 'Fantasy Duel' leagues before, where people drafted matches and bet on the winners. There was, evidently, quite a lot of money in it. It never sat quite right with her. "But things are pretty settled right now. Casoban and Helburke aren't happy, but we're involved in that, so the eye is still on you." She made herself a plate, sat down. "I mean, can you blame them? There's a lot to talk about, and once word gets out that we're still looking after Roaki, they're only gonna get more interested. People wanna…know, y'know? They wanna know about you, about the duel, about all that stuff. Actually, you might have to start thinking about your first interview. The Board'll prolly keep you in Runa, but you'll get to choose from a few of the big stations. Besca'll know more about that though—she had to go take care of something, said she'd be around later."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn watched the TV for a moment more before shaking her head vigorously to both chase the cobwebs that lingered from sleep out and divert her attention. Instead she turned and plonked herself down in the chair closest to the oven and stove, which she had steadily begun to consider hers and where Dahlia had put her food. Which, she reflected as she ate, was just tasty as usual. Dahlia had learned how Quinn liked her eggs roundabout the same time as Quinn had herself, and it had rapidly become one of her favorite foods. The main drawback to her post next to the range, however—well, not usually, but right now, certainly—was that she could see the TV just as clearly as before. The scene that was playing now was one that she knew, if she could still had nightmares, would appear in them: the swordsman impaling Blotklau, her own Savior roaring bloody murder as she dashed towards the two of them. A shiver passed through her body as Dahlia mentioned the Board. Anxiety was still burning deep within her, lighting a fire and setting her stomach to boiling. How they would react to her blatant disregard for their rules last night was a thought that she'd gone to sleep with, and it hadn't disappeared with the morning. She delicately placed the fork down on the plate, looking down blankly at the half-eaten toast and eggs (she'd eaten the orange first, because she loved them). Deep breath. One, then two, then three. If she'd learned one thing yesterday, it was that she could tell Dahlia anything, no matter how trite or awful, and be taken seriously, answered with honesty and compassion. "...Have you ever broken the Board's rules, Deelie?"</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Dahlia saw Quinn set down her fork, breathe deeply, and knew that something was coming. She didn't know what she'd expected, but a question of rebelliousness had not been it. Then again, why not? It was a fair question, and the answer…complex. Likely to be disappointing, but at least not in the way Dahlia feared it would be. "No," she said, and it was a bit like admitting she didn't know how to ride a bike, or whistle. It felt…not quite shameful, but certainly embarrassing. "I've wanted to, but…there haven't been a lot. At least, not a lot that they've tried to use with me. I guess I've never made them mad, is more like what I mean. Yeah I've skipped training days, or played hooky on interviews, but nothing serious." She knew why well enough. She never questioned things, never caused problems—though saying it like that made it sound like Quinn was a troublemaker, which, technically she was. But what Quinn was doing was good trouble. Needed trouble. No one should have been mad at Quinn for what she did, not at the duel and not last night. They would be anyway. "I've never done a lot of things. Being a pilot kinda takes more opportunities than it gives you. But just because you've never done something before doesn't mean it's wrong—you're the proof." She crossed her arms on the counter, laid her head down on them to be more level with Quinn. "You're worried about what they'll do, huh? 'Cause of Roaki."</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Dahlia nodded. Quinn was getting better at dealing with her anxieties, but it was still obvious enough when she had them. She balled up, her eyes found sudden interest in everything but the eyes of others. She was shivering despite the stove behind her. Dahlia wanted very much to reach out and hold her hand, or to go over and hug her, but gradually she saw how Quinn got a handle on herself. Her eyes turned upward, her brow went low. Thoughtful, not afraid. A good step to make, an important one. She listened, and it would have been a lie to say the same worries hadn't come to her—more or less. What would the Board do to Besca, or Follen? Quinn had led the charge last night, but everything would have fallen apart by now without them. If they couldn't touch her or Quinn, then it stood to reason they'd go after whoever was closest. "Me too," she said. She didn't lie to her sister. "But I'm trying to be optimistic. Besca has a good record. She's from Westwel, she's experienced, and under her leadership you won your first duel, and we survived a Modir ambush. Follen's the same way. They're, ah, ingrained, y'know? It'd be hard to get rid of them. Maybe harder than it'd be to just…let things go." It wasn't a good answer, it was hardly an answer at all. But it was honest, and it was, if nothing else, a start. "For now, I don't really know. We'll just have to be alert. Make sure at least one of us is always available in case they try something. If push comes to shove I can put my foot down, maybe they'll listen. I just hope it doesn't come to any of that." Her phone buzzed, and she checked it dreading a message from Besca. Blessedly it was just an alarm. "Shoot, right. I've got sims today." She hopped up from the counter, taking a few slices of toast with her as she grabbed the bright yellow jacket from the hanger and threw it on. "Late lunch, early dinner? I can meet you wherever." At the door she stopped, whirling on her heel and jogging back to the counter. She threw an arm around Quinn, held her for a long moment. "Love ya," she said, and then hurried out of the dorms. That left Quinn alone with her unfinished food, and no real help with her problem. And the TV. Low as the sound was, she could still hear the anchors talking about her. About the duel, and the upset, and how it was just so strange that Quinnlash Loughvein hadn't made a single public appearance yet. The only footage anyone had of her were the clips from the duel, and even zoomed in the details were blurry. "—and our sources at the Casobani parliament are suggesting that we may see a formal request for the transfer of the captured Helburkan pilot, Roaki Tormont, from the RISC to the CSC's station. This coming only hours after Helburke's sovereign approved House Tormont's appeal to declare her a fugitive. Officials claim she faces charges for the murder of five other members of the Great House. These requests are expected to hit the desk of the RISC's Board of Directors together later this evening…"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Love you too," she echoed as Dahlia left for sims. She was left alone in the dorms. As always, being suddenly alone came with a sudden spike of anxiety, though she'd learned how to manage it by now. Breathe in, breathe out, just like Besca had taught her. It always helped. So letting that anxiety fade away, she rested her elbows on the table and placed her cheeks in her cupped hands, trying and failing to figure out what was going to happen before it did. "...These requests are expected to hit the desk of the RISC's Board of Directors together later this evening..." And just like that, the anxiety came screaming back. Quinn wasn't an expert on international law. Her only education therein thus far had been a brief crash course on Casobani and Helburkan pilot culture in advance of the duel. But if Roaki were arrested and taken to Helburke for murdering five people...she didn't need a college degree to know what the punishment would be. And if the CSC got ahold of Roaki, well, there was certainly no lost love between her and Casoban. She'd just end up in Helburke in the end anyway. Eusero would use her as a bargaining chip and get her there too, if a little bit later. Just about the only safe place left for her was RISC. And that was the problem, wasn't it? Quinn felt a sudden knife stab down through her chest. She'd thoughts that she'd been taking a risk just taking Roaki out of holding, and had been worried what the Board would do to the people she cared about as a consequence. But the stakes had suddenly become so much higher. What would they do in the face of an international incident? She stood so abruptly that she knocked over her chair and it clattered to the ground behind her as she started pacing. What should she do? What could she do? She didn't want to fail Roaki. She wanted so desperately not to. The girl's haunted eyes from yesterday, her stammering speech, the horror that had visibly shot through her as soon as Quinn had touched her hand and her resignation towards death, they all played back in her head. If she let her go back to Helburke and be killed, she knew right away that she would never be able to forgive herself. The wound would remain within her for the rest of her life. She couldn't, she just couldn't. But it was becoming increasingly obvious to her how little choice she had in the matter. Her pacing slowed. She stared at the floor. Some hero she was turning out to be. Besca wouldn't be disappointed in her, would she? She jumped as her reminder alarm rang. Ah. That was right. She had to have her weekly evaluation with Doctor Follen in the next few days, since a few days of the week had been lost from the whole proceedings of the duel. It was almost funny to her, what with all the examining that he'd been doing of her in the past few days. She'd gotten out of the ward just yesterday, after all. But she'd already deferred the last one from her frantic training, and the absolute last thing she wanted to do today was to make the Board angrier by blowing off the schedule that they set for her. But she didn't mind, and she didn't want to miss it anyway. Doctor Follen was super smart. He would come up with something, maybe. And...he was important, wasn't he? Had some pull with the Board? Maybe he could talk to them somehow. She didn't know, but it was worth a shot, right? So mind made up, she picked up that chair, slid on her shoes, turned off the TV, and started off to medical. ...Again.</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Medical was quiet by the time Quinn arrived, but there had been a general, visible unrest in the station on her way. People in the commons were talking, muttering about Helburke, and Casoban. It was beginning to seem like relations were souring on Runa's side of that partnership as well, though that could have just been the sentiments of the people who actually worked with the CSC. Towards her though, the faces were all smiles, all respect. Quinn was still the golden girl of the hour. Whatever ill feelings extended into a particular room of the ward did not reach her, and it seemed like they never would. Quinn's guilt over failing Roaki might be stuck in her mind, but it would linger in very few others. Whether they gave her to Casoban, Eusero, or Helburke, it wouldn't matter. In a few weeks' time her name would be forgotten. She'd be Blotklau, a footnote in Quinn's own newborn legend. Perhaps not a comforting notion. Follen's door was open, and he spotted her as she arrived. He had his feet up on his desk, scratching absently on a notepad in his lap, and when he saw her a big smile split his face. "Quinn, darling! Good morning. Please, come in, come right in." He brought his feet down, set the notepad down before him, and gestured to one of the seats. "How are you feeling? Here for the eval? Well, let's get right into it, shall we?"</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Follen never once pressured her to speak in these sessions. Sometimes Quinn came in ready to go, and would talk almost the entire time, in her own halting way. Others, they would for minutes, quiet, while she thought and he smiled, encouraging but not insistent. Now and then he would scratch something down on his folder, even when she didn't speak, as though he'd heard something anyway. This time he didn't, though when she finally did break her silence, and mentioned the dream journal, the pen did move. "Oh, well that's alright," he said. "'Busy' is certainly an understatement. I don't think you could be faulted for forgetting your own name in all this, ah, excitement—to make an understatement of my own." The light in the faux-window was still early-dawn, violets and bloody oranges. No birdsongs today—he sometimes forewent those when he had something that required his focus early in the morning. "Dreams are important of course, and I'm very interested to hear about them, but I believe the waking world has taken precedence these past few days, wouldn't you say?" He smiled again, knowingly, comfortingly. He so rarely asked her to speak on a topic directly, but now and then it seemed necessary to offer a gentle nudge. "Perhaps you would like to talk about what happened at the duel. Or perhaps you've had quite enough talk about that. Tell me, Quinn, darling: what has been on your mind, really?"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Of course Doctor Follen would know that she wasn't being forthcoming. Even if she didn't wear her heart on her face, he always seemed to figure it out. Sometimes it hurt, because he knew how to get to what she was trying to avoid. But there was a kind of happiness that came with unburdening herself to him, even if saying what it was made her feel awful. And...she really did have a lot to talk about. It was just hard. "W—well," she began haltingly, nearly forcing herself to go past an almost inaudible murmur. She knew that Doctor Follen wouldn't blame her, just like Dahlia and Besca hadn't. And even though she'd told them, it was still burning a hole through her and she didn't quite know why. "When the swordsman Modir had the sword in the ground next to me, I—he—it—" She was stuttering now, struggling to get the words out. A part of her thought that he wouldn't believe her. That he'd call her crazy. She was half convinced that she was. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Doctor Follen would never do that. He'd never hurt her so deeply, she knew with the utmost conviction. If there was anyone she could tell outside of her family, it was him. Another deep breath. And finally, the inevitable third. "...It s-spoke. To m—me. "And—and you can ask Besca too!" She sounded almost frantic now. Despite everything, that feeling that he wouldn't believe her was still there. It still clung to her. And it just made it all that much more worse. "it joined the comms! She heard it too! You have to believe me!" A moment passed. That sudden energy deserted her, and she pulled her legs up onto the chair, just like before. This would be the hard part. The really hard part. It was like picking at a scab. It wasn't that bad to start, but it would just hurt more and more, and once it was done it would bleed for who knows how much longer. "It...it knew my name, Doctor Follen. It called me by name." One final deep, deep breath. And then the scab came off. "It said it—it was h—hunting me. That it had found me there. And that...that it had..." Her voice dropped to a whisper in earnest, hoarse and grating though it was. "That it had found me in Runa." She started shaking violently, more than usual, as the guilt tore back through her. "...It was at...at Hovvi." Her heart turned to lead in her chest and she squeezed her eye shut. Her voice steadily escalated, eventually building up to a pale imitation of a yell: "It's my fault, Doctor Follen. It's all my fault. They all died because of me. Just because I was there! It's all my fault!"</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Follen's smile fell away, but as Quinn continued to speak his expression didn't harden, nor did it seem to be particularly contemplative. No, he watched her impassively, like it was a statue of himself sat there across from her. A stone man, listening to the ravings of a frightened child. He hardly blinked, it didn't even look like he breathed. Then, when she had finished he got up from his seat and walked around his desk. He walked past her, to the door, and he shut it—though he did not lock it. Many moments he stood there, his back to her and his hand on the doorknob, staring perhaps, or thinking. It was very quiet. Eventually he let out a breath, and turned back around, but he did not return to his desk. Instead, he came to her side and sat down on the arm rest of the other chair, facing her. Once again he was quiet for a long time. It was different from before; it wasn't a waiting-quiet, it wasn't him, inviting her to take her time and speak when she was ready. She had spoken, and now, he was thinking. He looked at her, not unkindly, not piteously, but pensively. He was trying to recall something that he had not thought about in a very long time, or perhaps that he thought about often, but could never express quite right. Eventually he tried anyway. "Westwel had a population of approximately twenty-three million people, divided between five major cities, and a few hundred larger towns, as well as some villages, some seaside hamlets." he said plainly, as though he were reading off a census report. "Nineteen million were killed in the fall. Another six hundred thousand died in the immediate aftermath, then some more in the following months. Most of the continent was charred beyond saving, and what was left, or what could be healed, was deemed unworthy of the efforts. Now it sits, a blackened stain in the middle of the Carys Ocean. You can find videos from fishing vessels, and drones, and you can see that it's like…a skeleton, with all its meat gone. Parts of the cities still stand, whole rows of sky-scrapers only half-collapsed. You can see towns collapsed into massive fissures, and hills made from the blown-apart bodies of the Gray Finger mountains. Most of it's overgrown now—none of the vegetation looks quite right. It's all twisted, dark, like it's already rotted. Bits of modium in everything. Some scientists think it sprouts with the plants, now, though no one dares go to check for themselves." He took off his glasses, sniffed. But it wasn't to keep himself from crying, in fact, his eyes were totally dry. He cleaned the lenses on his shirt, absently. "For a long time I wondered why I'd survived. I'm not a particularly religious man, so I could only truly ask myself, and as I'm sure you're aware by now, our minds are not the most forgiving things when it comes to matters of guilt. I could tell you that eventually I realized how cruel and unfair I was being, and forgave myself for a crime I hadn't committed—but that's not what happened." He brought the glasses up—his eyes seemed so much dimmer without them—and put them back on. "I did come to the conclusion that attempting to understand why these things happen is completely and utterly pointless. I was convinced that there was no answer, or at least none that would make sense to a man like me. The Modir do what they do with all the sense and cruelty of a hurricane. It is their nature, devoid of motive or reason. "If you tell me this swordsman spoke to you, that it told you it was hunting you, Quinnlash, I believe you. But if it's true, it changes nothing. A victim is not defined by the intent of the assailant. Whether you are struck by lightning, or a bullet, the reality is the same." He leaned forward, met her eye. "The Modir attacked you. Why do you believe that is your fault, and not theirs?"</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein The long period of silence shook Quinn. His smile had gone. He'd stopped talking. He'd shut the door. She was getting really nervous now. Nervous that she'd done something wrong. That she'd given him the wrong answer. Her heart began to race as he walked over to her and sat down just next to her. Her eye was wide and scared. And then he'd started to speak. She'd never really heard much about Westwel. Besca had talked about it a little every now and then, but it was obvious that she didn't ever really want to. That it hurt her to talk about it. And the last thing Quinn wanted to do was make Besca upset. It was awful. Horrible. So terrible she almost forgot to breathe. Nineteen million people. It was no wonder Doctor Follen had taken some time to work up to it. It no doubt hurt him just as much as it did Besca; he was just better at covering it up, wasn't he? But it was fitting he'd mentioned a lightning bolt. Because the final question he'd asked..."The Modir attacked you. Why do you believe that is your fault, and not theirs?"...it hit her like that selfsame bolt. "Because I—" She paused. Thinking over the question. Why? Why? Why did she believe it was her fault? Well, because...because...because it just was. Her face was drawn and pale by the time she spoke again. "...They...they were only there for me. If I hadn't..." She trailed off again, voice miserable. Why? Why? Why? "If I..." She dropped her head into her hands, muffling her voice. "I don't know," she finally said, almost as though it had been dragged out of her. "I don't know why it's my fault. It just..." She grappled desperately against herself and the guilt that infested her, trying to force herself to understand what Doctor Follen was talking about, what revelation he'd found after the fall of Westwel. And, evidently, not succeeding very well at it. "...It just..." But still, she was...shaken. Why hadn't she blamed the Modir? She didn't understand. Shouldn't they have been the first on the chopping block? But they weren't. Ablaze wasn't. The swordsman wasn't. Because she knew deep down—deadly certain, as sure as she'd ever been about anything, that the one to blame was her. Maybe the Modir had done the damage, it was true. That, at least, wasn't her doing. But if she hadn't been there, they wouldn't have either. And Modir that weren't there didn't destroy a town and kill all of its inhabitants. She took her hands from her face, but refused to meet Doctor Follen's eyes in favor of staring shamefaced at the ground, wishing she had a better answer. "...It just...is."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Follen waited patiently as Quinn foraged her mind for an answer, and showed no signs of surprise when she returned without bounty. She blamed herself, still, and perhaps it was easy to see why. How else was the sole survivor of a tragedy meant to see themselves? How could they be anything less than a lure for destruction? But Follen still didn't concede. His face betrayed no trace of anger, or disappointment—in fact it was still quite difficult to see any emotion in him, even in his eyes. But there was, perhaps, a comfort there. There was nothing to take hold of in his eyes, no warmth or safety to find, but also no threat, no storm or chill to weather that would necessitate it. He was void. Dark, empty, and very gentle. "Things being the way they are, 'just because', is the logic of storms and monsters," he said. He got up from his seat and crouched down beside her, low so that he could look up at her downturned eyes. "There is more to your life than the things done to destroy it. To them, there is not. To define yourself by what has happened to you is cruel and unfair. Quinnlash—" He reached out and placed a hand over hers. His skin was so temperate, even in the warmth of the room, that it felt like little more than a breeze. "We are not monsters, and we are not guilty. Decide for yourself what you are. Be what you do."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn was quiet for a long time as she looked into Doctor Follen's gentle eyes. Her own eye betrayed the storm inside her, mind churning and grinding like a broken machine, filling up with sparks and smoke. Things being the way they are, 'just because', is the logic of storms and monsters. To define yourself by what has happened to you is cruel and unfair. She opened her mouth, trying to find something to say. She couldn't; the smoke was just too thick. She closed it again. She knew he was wrong. She knew he was wrong so deep in her gut. But she just...couldn't find a way to explain or justify it. A distant and buried region of her mind clogged with smoke and sparks knew that meant something, but the rest of her overwhelmed it, crushing that part of her beneath an avalanche of renewed guilt. We are not monsters, and we are not guilty. Decide for yourself what you are. Be what you do. The smoke cleared, just a little. The sparks spat out the smallest bit less furiously, and that distant, muffled piece of her whispered into her ear as though from a great distance: be what you do. And then again, still just that frail whisper, but persistent, insistent. Drag light into the future, no matter how dark. Set the night ablaze. She took in a slow, shuddering breath, completely oblivious to the fact that tears were starting to creep down her cheek as her brain collided with itself. She knew she was at fault. That feeling of being at fault—that knowledge that she was at fault—crashed into that idea that what had been done to her and to Hovvi didn't reflect on her, but on the Modir that were hunting her. It seemed so easy. If she thought of it logically, she knew it was true. But still, that guilt bit into her ankles and dragged her down into the muck. She suddenly realized she was crying almost dazedly—when had that started?—and as she sat up straight, or at least straighter, she swiped an arm across her eye. The crushing despair loosened. But...it still hung over her. Not as lethally, but more than enough to keep the weight pressing down. Like a wire around her neck that was still choking her, even if she could breathe now. "I'm being stupid, aren't I," she mumbled through the lump in her throat. "I'm sorry...I'll—I'll try harder."</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. He stayed there, crouched, for a long time while she worked through her thoughts. In the end it seemed the guilt had not left her, not entirely. But her composure was returning bit by bit, and that was, by any stretch, a marked improvement. "No, darling, no. You aren't stupid at all, and you need not apologize to me, nor try any harder, for anyone's sake but your own. The Board may see these evaluations as tests of your worth, but I do not—and I don't report them as such. We are here for you, and no one else." Letting go of her hand, he stood back up and made his way back to the other side of his desk. "Why don't we call that it for the day, hm? What you've said, and what I hope you've heard, is more than enough. You did very well—even if you won't admit that to yourself. I'm proud of you." As if to make his point, he flipped the notebook shut, and smiled at her. Suddenly, all of the warmth returned to him. "Is there anything else on your mind? Anything more I can help you with? Please, never hesitate to ask."</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Follen sat back down in his seat, thinking. It wasn't the same cold, statuesque contemplation as before; he hummed, he stroked his chin, his eyes lost focus in the air. "A good question," he mused. "Things have indeed already begun to…escalate, here. We had a small incident this morning. Besca handled it, and I suppose it's been quiet since, but I don't believe for a moment that's the end of it. Truthfully, I fear a schism may form here without the Board having to involve themselves much more, but I don't think that's our biggest problem. "I suppose you've heard by now, about the requests from Casoban and Helburke. I don't understand the intricacies much myself, but when two countries want something from you, it can be hard to say no. Thankfully, if I had to guess, the Board is quite tired of being commanded around by Casoban, and will have no real qualms denying Helburke anything, ever. Still, they might cave to a national ally—there's nothing in it for RISC to hold onto Roaki, in their eyes. "The best bet would be to turn her, I'd say. Make her an informant. I saw that she's wanted for some…grievous crimes, so, while she might be a pilot, I suspect she lacks the sort of fanatical nationalism we're used to seeing in Helburkan duelists. If the Board is convinced she can give us some sort of useful information, they may grant her asylum here, and then none of us—not you, not me, not Besca—would be in any trouble at all. However..." He leaned forward, hands clasped before him, and there was some amalgam of pity and curiosity in his eyes. "I went to check on her this morning, updated her medications, checked her for secondary growths. I even took some of those measurements you'd asked me about. She wasn't particularly conversational. I suspect she's aware of what's happening planetside. I believe she means to go willingly, and if she makes that known to the Board they'll gladly ship her out no matter what we do. " He sighed, shook his head. "No, convincing her to turn on Helburke isn't the issue, I don't think. Convincing her to live, however, is. Regretfully I don't believe she has much interest in it."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein With a sigh, Quinn rubbed her eye with her index and middle fingers. "Yeah. She was like that last night too." She lapsed into a brief silence while she thought over the issue before she spoke again. "Winning is important to her, I think. It seems like the only thing she thinks is important. Winning and being a pilot." Not for the first time, she wondered what it was that had been done to Roaki for her to think like that, and who had done it. She immediately jumped to how she'd stayed on the Aerie away from a bad family. But a moment later she dismissed the idea out of hand. The Board would never let Roaki be a pilot, not in a million years. And...it made her feel bad, but the idea of her in a Savior made Quinn a little uncomfortable too. So if that couldn't happen, then...what? Maybe should could ask Besca or Dahlia, but they wouldn't be back for a while and she was too antsy to just sit around and wait when the clock was steadily ticking to the Board receiving the notices. "Could I..." Hesitation again. She knew that the two of them had been seen by a lot of people walking through the Aerie, but it might still cause problems if she were seen— No. That was stupid. Roaki's life was more important than whatever reputation she'd started to garner. And the only people that would see her would be medical staff that had probably seen her last night anyway. The only worry was that Roaki still didn't like her, and Quinn being there would only make her more upset. But their...conversation last night had been both upsetting and eye-opening. Maybe she couldn't ask her family about her yet. But she could ask the girl herself. "Do you think I could see her?"</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Briefly, Follen paused, though he seemed to be considering what she'd said rather than her request. "Yes," he said thoughtfully. "Yes, I think that might be a good idea. Here, he reached into his desk, retrieving a small key and handing it over. "That's a spare, her number's printed on it—104. Feel free to hold on to that, so long as you don't lose it. I'm not too thrilled by the idea of someone else having access." He smiled again, and every bit of that pride was in it. "You're a good girl, Quinn, darling. I'm more and more certain of that every day. Good luck." As Quinn left his office, she could hear the artificial birdsongs chirp to life behind her. The walk was long, but not solitary. Nurses and other orderlies shuffled by, busy with this and that, but all who passed Quinn paused long enough to look at her. The wonder was painted clearly on their faces. Wonder at their hero pilot. Wonder at where she was going. The closer she drew to room 104 the less wonder there was, and in its place was concern. It was within her, too. A slow, low simmer at the bottom of her mind, so wary of rising, but unwilling to stay sunken. Careful, came the warning, not vicious but soft, worried. Just…be careful. As she stood before the door, the feeling retreated. The anxiety in its wake still rippled the surface of her thoughts, but Quinn pushed through. She fit the key, opened the door and let herself in. From after Hovvi, to after the duel, these rooms seemed so clean, so safe, so confining. The sensation of an IV pushing fluid into her veins shuddered through her. Her neural plugs itched, briefly, like they were still new. No machines beeped, no radio played and the screen on the far wall was off. The ceiling light was off, there was only the dimmed glow of a simulated overcast through the blinds of the faux window, casting the whole room in gray. Roaki lay in the bed, covers pulled up to her waist. Her head was turned away, to the window, but it was clear she wasn't asleep. Her fist wound in the sheets, she took a deep breath. "What—" she began, only for her voice to wither when she turned to see Quinn standing there. Her dun eyes widened in their pits, and though her face was shadowed by a tattered veil of hair, panic passed through it, clear and quick, before it settled into a more subdued uneasiness. Her eyes instantly fell away. "Oh… she said, raspy and quiet, but at least the shiver was gone. "It's you...again." She shifted uncomfortably, like she meant to sit up. Instead, she seemed to just burrow deeper into her pillow. "What...why are you...here?"</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. This was a trick, Roaki knew it right away. People called her stupid, but she had nose for this sort of thing. Schemes, plots, strategies—the tools of weaklings who never knew what to do when their plans fell through. But that was the shit of it. She wasn't dealing with a weakling, she was dealing with Quinnlash. Roaki followed the girl's shadow as she stalked from the doorway to the chair across from her bed. She didn't look at her face. Couldn't, still. It was pathetic, but she couldn't. That golden eye burned in her mind, more monstrous than the red gaze of any Savior. If she looked at her, somehow, Roaki knew she would see Ablaze staring back at her. The muscles in her arm twitched at the thought. Her leg ached even below where it had been cut, still, despite the pills these nurses had crammed down her throat. In the cold, at least she'd been in too much pain to think. Now with the unnatural warmth and comfort of a hospital bed, even with the exhaustion still lingering behind her eyes, all she could do was think. Think. Think. Fuck, it felt like she could hardly breathe. Her hand kept a firm grip on the sheet. She didn't know why, it wasn't like she could fight her. She couldn't fight anyone. All she could do now, and for whatever was left of her life, was sit and hurt and fucking think. And talk, apparently. Roaki chewed her lip. Of course, she should have seen this coming. This must have been why she wasn't dead yet, why they'd stuffed her in that icebox and now, why they'd thawed her again. They wanted something. Quinnlash wanted something. "What…" she started, forcing herself to sound at least somewhat like a person, and not a frightened worm. "What do you want to know?"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn linked her hands behind her head and leaned back, hmming as she pondered what to ask. A deal of it, though not all, was putting on an act, though. At least to an extent. She knew what she wanted to ask. She'd known what she wanted to ask since last night. She was less wondering about that, and rather pondering how to ask it. What she wanted to know was what had happened to Roaki. Hell, she was almost desperate to know what had happened to her. Why she was like this. Why she'd already been missing limbs. What had been done to her, and who had done it. But asking it directly...she knew that if someone she didn't know asked her about her childhood, she would have a bad response, and she had no reason to think Roaki would be any different. So instead, she needed to take a slightly more indirect tack and hope that it didn't blow up in her face. Her hmm ended, and she let herself fall back forward until she was looking at Roaki again. Again, not directly—she seemed to have an aversion to meeting Quinn's eye—but that general direction. "Honestly, Nothing in particular. I just don't know anything about you as a person and I never really got the chance to ask." She lapsed into a momentary quiet as she thought. Roaki was so scared of people taking from her that it seemed almost paralyzing. She remembered in crisp and horrible detail her own terror of being left alone or sent home those first few days, when everything felt so tenuous; like anything she did wrong would get her sent away from the Aerie and Besca. Roaki was...she wouldn't think of an innocent line of questioning, Quinn was sure. She didn't know what Roaki would think, but she didn't want to take any risks. "You don't need to tell me anything if you don't want to. And..." Her voice caught. It had seemed to innocuous just thinking about it. But saying it was...it was scary. She could feel her body tensing and the instinctual and elemental part of herself, deep down—perhaps Quinnlash as well, perhaps her alone—wanted her to close off, to ignore the rest of the world and stay safe and secure inside of her head. But the rest of her knew that if she did that, she would never reach Roaki. Never, never, never. And the thought of that hurt more. So she fought off that animal within her and finished the sentence. "...And anything you want to know about me—anything—I'll answer as best I can, 'kay?" With any luck, that would be enough—if only just enough—to get her to open up, even just the smallest crack.</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. "…I just don't know anything about you as a person and I never really got the chance to ask." Too late for that, Roaki thought bitterly. Not talking to a person anymore. But that didn't change anything. She was at Quinnlash's torturously inexplicable mercy—what she thought of herself now didn't matter. Person, pilot, worm, all of it was meaningless. She was a bundle of answers, waiting for the right questions. These, however, did not seem like the right questions. Was it a game? Toy with her, make her divulge her life's miseries on her way out? That seemed appropriately merciful. But then, the girl had also offered to lay her own secrets bare. Tit for tat? Smart, if she thought about it. Roaki would be taking them all to her grave, anyway. Of course, normally she wouldn't have given half a shit about knowing who Quinnlash was as a person. She'd never cared to know any of her enemies, and none of them had cared to know her. That was the way things were—or at least, how they were supposed to be. But laying there, Roaki couldn't help it. There was an almost animal curiosity within her. Quinnlash wasn't just another enemy, Quinnlash had beaten her. She was terrifyingly strong, and bafflingly cruel in ways that Roaki didn't even understand, ways she had never seen and never dreamed of. How could she not want to know, even just a bit? She fidgeted, lips pressed tightly together in a last ditch effort to maintain what little dignity remained. Don't play her game. Die silent. "…What happened to your eye?"</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. "…I just don't know anything about you as a person and I never really got the chance to ask." Too late for that, Roaki thought bitterly. Not talking to a person anymore. But that didn't change anything. She was at Quinnlash's torturously inexplicable mercy—what she thought of herself now didn't matter. Person, pilot, worm, all of it was meaningless. She was a bundle of answers, waiting for the right questions. These, however, did not seem like the right questions. Was it a game? Toy with her, make her divulge her life's miseries on her way out? That seemed appropriately merciful. But then, the girl had also offered to lay her own secrets bare. Tit for tat? Smart, if she thought about it. Roaki would be taking them all to her grave, anyway. Of course, normally she wouldn't have given half a shit about knowing who Quinnlash was as a person. She'd never cared to know any of her enemies, and none of them had cared to know her. That was the way things were—or at least, how they were supposed to be. But laying there, Roaki couldn't help it. There was an almost animal curiosity within her. Quinnlash wasn't just another enemy, Quinnlash had beaten her. She was terrifyingly strong, and bafflingly cruel in ways that Roaki didn't even understand, ways she had never seen and never dreamed of. How could she not want to know, even just a bit? She fidgeted, lips pressed tightly together in a last ditch effort to maintain what little dignity remained. Don't play her game. Die silent. "…What happened to your eye?"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein "…What happened to your eye?" Quinn sucked in a sharp, pained breath. She should've expected it, she really should've. But she somehow didn't, not so early out of the gate. She hesitated, her last breath half in and half out of her throat. Her eye flickered for a moment with...not with terror, per se, but certainly with some kind of deep discomfort, like a poison that lay beneath her had floated briefly to the surface. Still, her hands were already behind her head. So she could at least cut that agonizing part of the process out. "I did mean what I said at the...Henkersmahl, I think it is? I don't really know what happened to it." She paused, rewound. "Or...no, I know what happened to it. I just..." She finally managed to untie the knot and, for the second time in as many days, let it flutter down into her lap like a windless flag. This time she resisted the urge to run her fingers across the scar tissue, to see how expansive it was. She just sat there, hands clutching tightly around the strip of black and yellow fabric. "I just don't know why." "I was...twelve? Thirteen? Something like that, I'm never quite sure. And it just...went. Burst right out of my head." She shuddered and, forgetting her resolve to not, dug her fingernails lightly into the sleeves of her t-shirt. She hadn't thought of the sheer pain of that moment for some time now. Tried not to think about it. She could practically hear the shrill screaming, all the pain and the heart-stopping terror, ringing through her ears. "My...parents dug it out and bandaged it up, then gave me the eyepatch and I've been wearing it ever since." After a few shaky breaths, she let the arms down again and rebalanced her voice, purging the tremble as best she could. "I've never seen under it myself. Too scared to look." "What about you? How did you lose your arm and leg?"</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Roaki wasn't sure what she'd expected. No, that wasn't entirely true. She'd expected a lie, like the one back in Casoban. Maybe that she really had lost it in Hovvi, or during training, or that someone had gotten to her young and gouged it or popped it or something. She'd expected—hoped, even—to catch a glimpse of the hidden truth that someone had managed to beat her in the past. That she wasn't an invincible, unbreakable champion. That she was weak. Then again, would that really have made it any better? Would she rather have lost to Quinnlash the monster, or Quinnlash the weakling? Well, she'd rather not have lost at all. Roaki could read people well. She was good at sniffing out fear, and even without looking her in the eye she could tell that Quinnlash was afraid even before she admitted it. Maybe this really was the truth. She didn't know, it had just happened and that was that. It was so tempting to look, to see the proof of that fear forever marked upon her face. She couldn't. When Quinnlash asked about her lost limbs, Roaki shrank back into the pillow. An old and familiar anger flexed instinctually inside her. She'd hurt people, badly, just for looking at her arm, just for seeing her slip the prosthetic on. Her teeth gritted together, an ache shot down her leg, all the way to the foot she didn't have anymore, the one she'd lost in Casoban. How much of her had Blotklau eaten before it died? Not enough. "I…" her voice withered. She squeezed the sheet so hard her nails dug through the fabric and into her palm. Speak. You lost, now you speak. "I can't phase, she rasped. She didn't have the strength or the will to lie, and she was never very good at it anyway. "I tried, when I was old enough. I got in before the scars were even healed, and I tried." She blinked, and in that darkness she felt the cold cage of the cockpit around her. "I stayed in the whole time, like I was supposed to. I never disconnected—not until they made me. They said I almost completed the Circuit." How disgusting. "My arm and leg were…part of it," she said quietly. "They had to cut me out." Roaki stared at the sheets, how they fell flat just beneath the stumps of her legs. How disgusting, he'd said. Only half a daughter, but a full measure of failure. She'd almost proven him wrong. "Why is Dragon's pilot afraid of you? she snapped, before she could dwell on those memories a moment more. "Why does she do whatever you say? She's one of the strongest pilots in the world. And that woman, I heard her this morning—she's the commander. What did you do to them?"</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. It was strange, the more Quinnlash spoke, the more she revealed about herself, the less Roaki felt like she knew her. There were gaps in her story, but they didn't feel intentional, they weren't lies like she was used to, they were omissions of…grief? Anger, maybe? She didn't know, she wasn't used to seeing people act like this. She'd heard them break down over comms, she knew what pathetic sounded like, and while Quinnlash certain didn't sound like the warrior she'd been in Casoban, Roaki couldn't bring herself to see this display as weakness. What she did recognize was self-loathing. Roaki hated Quinnlash, instinctually in the way a hunter hated its prey, but also deeply and personally. She knew hate, she was good at hate. She'd clocked it perfectly at the Henkersmahl and she was reading it just as clearly now. No one hated Quinnlash Loughvein more than Quinnlash Loughvein. "So we started to lean on each other. And Besca took care of us, so we both leaned on her." "We're a family now, that's all." Roaki sucked air through a tight cage of teeth. Days in the cold, too tired and beaten to muster anything more than a glower and curt words, had dulled her. It was whole moments before she realized just how furious she suddenly was. Fucked that she didn't have the energy—or the means, really, anymore—to do anything with it. She could still hardly sit up without the aches and exhaustion laying her out flat. It should have been great news. Quinnlash was doomed, hopelessly and completely. It might take weeks, or months, or maybe years, but if what she'd said was true—and more and more, Roaki was starting to doubt that Quinnlash knew how to lie at all—then there was no avoiding it. So why did she feel so compelled to warn her? "You're a moron," she spat, unable to stop herself. Idiot, you're helping the girl who killed you. But she went on. "They don't need you. They hate you. They'll turn on you the second they get the chance, and if you let them do it because you think you need them too, then you're a moron. You don't need them." It was true. Quinnlash Loughvein didn't need anyone. Roaki was so sure of that. "You're strong. People are afraid of that—even if they say they aren't. If you let them, they'll take all that strength away from you. Know where you'll be then? Six feet under. Or worse, you'll be right where I am. Fuck's sake, don't…" her jaw clenched so tight it popped. "If you're gonna beat me, don't be me."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn sat stock still, frozen in place, stunned by the sheer force of the fury that was now pouring out of Roaki. And anger rose to match it within her. Both her own, and the deep and seething rage that she recognized as Quinnlash's. How dare she say that about her—their—family? The sudden surge of fire that burned bright and hot through her body drew a harsh gasp from her during Roaki's speech. And it wasn't just anger, but a complex cocktail of anger, self-loathing, searing guilt, and—even worse—a nagging doubt. Maybe it was true. Maybe they didn't need her. Maybe they were lying to her, and they really did hate her. She fought to wrangle it all down, but it was stubborn and would not be silenced quickly. For the first time she was glad that Roaki wasn't looking at her, so she couldn't see Quinn's face struggling to settle itself against all her instincts. But fought it she did. Struggle to settle it she did. This wasn't like the Henkersmahl. This wasn't Roaki trying to provoke her. By the time she'd finished speaking, Quinn had managed to force the anger back down into the pit in her head that it so desperately wanted to crawl back out of, ignored Quinnlash's boiling resentment. And though that powerful urge drained out of her, the rest—guilt, fear, doubt, self-hate—remained. Then the last thing Roaki had said seeped in through the cracks: If you're gonna beat me, don't be me. So it was Roaki's family that had done this to her? Quinn couldn't think of any other reason for her to react so violently to just the mention, just the thought, of the word. Another painful piece of kinship between the two of them, it seemed. That hurt, that scarring that they each bore on their shoulders, it all came from the same source, didn't it? Why? Why did these things need to happen? To her, to Roaki, why, why, why? It wasn't fair! Trying to ignore her inner turmoil, Quinn's voice when she spoke was quiet, so quiet—a stark contrast to Roaki's—and only shook the smallest bit. "It's my turn to ask a question. Remember, you don't need to answer if you don't want to." And now, finally, Quinn got the chance to ask the question that she'd wanted to ask since the beginning, the one that she'd tried so hard to work around to, though now she was almost afraid to know the answer. "What do you mean, 'be you?'" Her clamp on the storm of negativity inside her was creaking and straining, and she could feel heat building around her eye as her voice's trembling grew stronger. Still, she kept it as gentle as she could. "What did your—what did they do to you, Roaki?"</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. "…What did they do to you, Roaki?" She didn't know, at first, and in a way that was funny. So many years of pain, and ridicule, and shame, and yet she was hard-pressed to recall, in detail, anything specific. There were flashes in her memory, of her cramped room, of the cold stone floors of the castle. She remembered meal after meal eaten alone, listening to the rest of them above her, speaking of their futures, and their duties to the family. She could see their faces—the sneers, the disgust, the pity. She could feel the hollow pit in her stomach when they'd stopped calling her 'sister'. Before it all, the silence had eaten at her, but eventually she realized it was more that it was cocooning her. The burn, she knew, was her body melting away, so that it could reform again as something greater, something terrifying and beastly. And she remembered the first night, after it was done. The silence didn't burn anymore, because even in the dark, if she shut her eyes, she could see him sitting up there at the table, alone. Alone, because she'd made him that way. For too brief a time, he finally knew what it was like. Roaki looked up, not quite to Quinnlash's eye, but close. Close as she could get. So close. "They doubted me," she answered coldly. "And they were right anyway, but when I'm hanged it won't matter. Nothing can undo what I did. The whole world'll know that if I'm weak, then the mighty House Tormont, Sword of Aridea, Bane of Aridea, fell to a weakling."</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. A pit formed in Dahlia's stomach as she watched Quinn struggle, not just with the thought of the interview, but with having to pick a meal, too. Part of her knew the question was coming even before it was asked, and she scrambled inwardly for the right way to answer it. Was it better to refuse, to push back against the relapse and insist she make her own decision, or at least help her make one? Or was that too much? Would that make her feel worse, make her choice harder and set her back even further than she already seemed to be sliding. She felt so helpless—something that had become more and more common since Hovvi. Seeing Quinn struggle was hard, and seeing her struggle now, with all the wonderful progress she'd made, was much harder. But the interview was coming, and Dahlia knew that this little slip would be nothing in the face of whatever might happen if things went poorly tonight. So, with regret in her heart and as warm and understanding a smile as she could muster on her face, she took the menu away and sifted through it. When the waiter came by, she ordered the burger and milkshake for herself, and a chicken basket with fries and an orange soda for Quinn. She tried to phrase it as if she was just reciting what Quinn had said she wanted. Then she turned her attention to Quinn's interview worries. She'd be lying if she tried to say Mona wouldn't ask about the duel; Quinn had made a very bold and unprecedented decision, and people were…well, they were confused, and curious, and in other places they were mad but in Runa she'd seen mostly support. "Just be honest about it. Be honest, and concise, and don't elaborate, y'know? Mona's been doing this a long time, she can pick up when her guest doesn't wanna talk about something. It's not like a news interview, she won't try to…catch you, or anything, if that makes sense?" She slouched over the table, trying to recall how she'd gotten through her own interview. "Just…talk about the things you like! No one really knows anything about you yet, and here's a hint—people love to hear about the day-to-day stuff we do. Talk about training, and sims, and even where we eat! It's really easy for folks to forget how normal we are, they like the reminder! "Here! Like this. I'll ask you a question, and I want you to give me a short answer, and then, y'know, swerve it into a topic you do wanna talk about! Ready? Here: 'Hey, Quinnlash," she deepened her voice, even though Mona had a higher voice than she did. "'Everyone wants to know why you didn't kill the Helburkan girl! What's up with that?'"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein A similar pit opened in Quinn's stomach as Dahlia ordered for her. It wasn't that she didn't like what she'd ordered; honestly, she liked how Dane's did their chicken a lot, and she didn't mind orange soda any either. The fries were just a bonus. It was to be expected, Dahlia knew her tastes pretty well by this point. It was just...that it'd had to happen at all. She closed her eye and leaned back. She felt so powerless, like the anxiety and unease she'd fought so hard to shake off over the past weeks had her by the throat again and were choking her, clinging to her heels and dragging her down. She hated it. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair! But what else could she do? She was lucky that she had Deelie there. Really lucky. Otherwise she didn't know what she would've eaten at all. Ah, but now the topic had shifted to something more productive. "Everyone wants to know why you didn't kill the Helburkan girl! What's up with that?" Sparing a moment to give a halfhearted grin at Dahlia's voice, she settled again afterwards, going quiet for some time. How did she swerve a topic? Deelie made it sound so easy, and for her it probably was. But Quinn barely knew how to hold a conversation to begin with, much less how to control the flow of one. What did she want to talk about? What did she like talking about? She...she didn't know. But this was going to happen no matter what she wanted, so...she needed to try, right? "Well," she started slowly, almost halfheartedly, "That's...not the kind of pilot that I am, or that I want to be, you know?" Unbeknownst to her, her voice started to pick up a bit; more animated, more engaged, louder, warmer. "It doesn't make any sense to me; shouldn't pilots be working together instead of tearing each other apart? I'm a pilot because I want to protect people. So I just don't understand why I would need to kill someone, or be killed by someone, for something that seemed so petty at the time, you know?" She blinked, and realized that she'd been talking for longer than she intended and she'd gotten louder than she wanted. She realized people were staring at her and snapped her mouth shut. "...Was that okay?"</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Dahlia listened carefully, realizing as Quinn spoke that she hadn't really heard her explain why she'd done it until now. It made sense, of course, and it wasn't a huge leap to make from the understanding she'd already had. Nevertheless, sitting there, something began to well up within her, deep in her chest. It was warm and excited, stoked with each rising word until it blazed like a bonfire. The heat rose up through her throat and to her eyes. For a few moments every ounce of worry she had for Quinn melted away. She struggled to recall even a single time where she'd sounded more confident, more sure of herself than she did right then. Quinn might not have been happy per se, but she was certain. Pilots often had to choose between the two, and even if it wasn't a fair choice, even if it wasn't a conscious choice, it was one she'd made. Dahlia realized she was about to cry. "...Was that okay?" Fanning at her face, utterly oblivious to the looks they were getting, Dahlia dried her eyes against her sleeve. "Oh gosh, look at me, I'm so sorry," she said, smiling. Her voice pitched up high enough that it squeaked. "That was great and I'm just really really proud of you." Quickly, she leaned over the table and pulled Quinn into a hug. "You're a lil' light, you know that? The best. Every time I worry about you, you find a way to show me how strong you are." She sat back as their food arrived, sniffling and blowing her nose into a napkin as the teary threat subsided. "So, once you're past the duel questions, is there anything else you're worried about?"</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein More or less dazed, Quinn sat back and started eating. It was only then that she realized that she was genuinely very, very hungry. Sims always brought out the appetite in her somehow. Deelie had made a good choice with the chicken. She didn't quite know where all that had come from, from what corner of her it had emerged. But it had felt...good. And it felt better knowing that her sister was...she was proud of her. Pride had always been a bit of an unknown quantity to Quinn. She didn't really understand where it came from when it hit her; it would just pop up out of nowhere and blindside. And she understood it just as little, maybe even less, when someone else levied it to her. She didn't really get it, and she didn't know if she ever would. But that didn't stop that little warm glow in her chest when she made Dahlia so proud she cried. "Lil' light, huh," she mused to herself before snapping out of her reverie. "Well...there was one thing." The faint hint of a smile about the corners of her mouth flickered out. And just like that, she was upset again. "You said she wanted to...get to know me, right?" She hesitated. She didn't really want to bring it up, especially since she'd made Deelie so happy, and she didn't want to think much more about it to begin with, especially not now. But it had come to mind a few minutes back when she was thinking about what she'd be asked. Her eye twitched at the end in a way that it hadn't for quite a while, and her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "...Will she ask about...about them?"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. For a little while there was…relief. Dahlia sat and ate happily, hardly even tasting the burger through the sweet cheeriness of her own mood. She relished in it, while she could, because in the back of her mind she knew what was coming—knew where the conversation was headed. It was inevitable, and perhaps subconsciously she'd steered it this way so they could at least face the question together. Quinn's parents. The Loughveins. The monsters who had done unspeakably horrible things to her for who-knew-what reasons—reasons that didn't matter. It soured Dahlia's mind just to think of them, she couldn't imagine what Quinn must have been feeling. "I think…it's possible," she said. No lies. "But I don't think she'll focus on it too much. Your parents aren't pilots, no one else cares about them." It was hard to keep the spiteful edge out of those words, though she did try. "If they do come up, just…breeze through it. Quick, short answers. Don't think about it. She'll get the hint—like I said, Mona's good at this, and if you're uncomfortable, that looks bad for the interview. She won't dwell on stuff that brings you down." Dahlia set her burger down, wiped her mouth clean. She hadn't touched her milkshake; part of her felt like she hadn't earned it yet. "And Quinn," she said, not solemnly, but steady. "Remember: they can't hurt you now. They'll never hurt you again—Besca and I won't ever let them. So you just get through that part of the interview tonight, and we'll put that in our rear-view mirror, and won't think about it anymore, alright? You get back, and we'll do a movie marathon and fall asleep on the couch. I'll even stock up on snacks while you're planetside." Offering another smile, she returned to her burger. "Anything else on your mind? Anything at all, you can tell me, y'know."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn went quiet. Her head pitched down again, looking at her feet as her fingers twisted in the hem of her shirt. Remember: they can't hurt you now. She'd thought the same. She'd thought that she was safe from them, far enough removed that it could only get better. But that...that wasn't really true, was it? "You're wrong, Deelie," she said, in a voice that she seldom used. She sounded resigned sometimes. She sounded scared, or worried, or in pain. These were all voices that she used, and not uncommonly. But very rarely did she sound so defeated. "They can still hurt me. They still are." She lapsed into silence again, an awkward quiet falling over the table as she tried and mostly failed to organize her scattering thoughts. When she spoke again, she seemed almost surprised that she was talking, confused by her own voice. "When I—" She swallowed heavily, dropping a half-eaten piece of chicken back into the basket. "When I visited Roaki that first time, I..." More seconds that felt like minutes yawned in front of her. "I didn't want people to listen in, so I...closed the door behind me. So when I went to leave—" Her shoulders started quaking gently, her voice followed suit. "The closed door and—and the white walls and...I—" She dropped her head into her hands, and her voice cut out. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry. She cried.</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Dahlia's heart dropped as she watched Quinn's budding confidence deteriorate, gone as quickly as it had come. She felt a horrible pang of guilt run through her—she'd asked, after all, knowing where it would lead, and how difficult the topic would be. Now here she was, having all but dragged Quinn back down. The people glancing at them seemed concerned, confused, a few looked embarrassed. Their eyes flitted away nervously. It was so frustrating, but it wasn't Quinn's fault, either. Dahlia had spent so long fighting enemies she could see, enemies she could grab and burn and kill when they threatened her or the people she loved. This was different. Whatever promises she made wouldn't matter. If she got into Dragon right now, marched down to wherever the Loughveins were and stomped them into the dirt, it wouldn't matter. Quinn's enemy wasn't a thing, it was fear. A Modir could bleed, and roar, and die, but the only thing they had in common with fear was that they could not be reasoned with. It was killing her. She was failing Quinn without even knowing how. Hurting her without any way to heal. "I'm sorry," she said, quietly. "You're right. I can't protect you—not in the way you need. I can try, and I can be there for you, but I'll never be able to stand between you and the hurt they've already done." She reached across the table, took one of Quinn's hands from her face and held it. Looking at her hurt, terribly, but never lying meant that, sometimes, she'd have to speak awful truths, too. "We're all broken, Quinn. Me, you, Besca, Roaki—everyone. We're all broken in different ways, into different pieces, and all we can do is try to put ourselves back together in a way that we still recognize ourselves. And sometimes…sometimes there's just not enough left." she rubbed a thumb over Quinn's hand, tried to lean enough to smile at her. "But that's okay, too. Trust me. Cause even if you don't have all the pieces, you can always use what you have to make yourself something…else. Something better. I lost a lot of myself in Hovvi, but you know what? I put myself back together, and maybe I'm a bit different, but I'm also your sister, now. "Whatever they did, whatever they took from you…don't…mourn it. A thing is always stronger when it's whole, and you are strong. You are, even if you don't think so. If you believe me about anything, ever, please believe that."</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein It felt like there was a storm cloud in Quinn's head. Thunder and lightning and rain and wind all mixed together into a howling cacophony that rushed through the rest of her too, locking her in place like she was paralyzed. Like she was chained down in front of an oncoming train that knew she was there and didn't stop. Like she was at the bottom of a deep, dark well and floundering desperately as she slowly, surely sank below the surface. It made it hard, so hard, nigh-impossible, to think. To articulate ideas, not just to Dahlia, but even to herself. And each individual word that Dahlia said to her was like a pebble dropped into the well. They echoed down to her as though from a great distance. A faint plop, plop, plop, as she sank further, barely even audible above the deafening thunderclaps inside her. Broken, broken, broken. But that wasn't right, was it? She wasn't broken. Not really. Being broken meant that something had been there before to break. She was like—she was like a puppet. She wasn't putting herself together from shattered pieces. She was trying—trying, failing, succeeding, failing, trying again—not to fix herself, but to make an entirely new thing out of whole cloth. Figuring out who and what she really was past the layers and layers and layers of trauma and pain. Who was she? She didn't know. She wanted so much to hug Dahlia. But her legs had turned completely to jelly, and a part of her knew that if she tried to get up to move to the other side of the booth she'd crumple before she even made it halfway. So instead she squeezed Dahlia's hand in the one that she'd taken and gently laid her head on the table, staring with nigh-unseeing eye out at the virtually actualized beach. When she spoke her voice was weak and weepy and hard to understand through the still-flowing tears, but that utter defeat still filled it. She clamped her eye shut. "They—they d—didn't take anything f—from me. I'm...I'm just a d—doll."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Dahlia didn't know what to say. Seeing Quinn wither further and further was absolutely crushing, and every last atom screamed for her to do something, but she just…didn't know. She had nothing, no answers to give, no comfort to offer. Nothing she could say or do seemed like it could ever be adequate. She just couldn't match that fear. You're not enough. Again. Stop trying. You're making it worse. So she just sat there, squeezing Quinn's hand while she continued to cry. She called herself a doll, and though the mere suggestion sickened Dahlia to her core, she couldn't bring herself to argue. Maybe it wasn't her place to. Maybe it wasn't the time. It was hard to know anymore. All she could really do was hope, and right now, hope seemed utterly worthless. Whatever remained of Dahlia's will to smile died. Burned to the roots. "We should go," she said softly. "Back to the dorms, or the gardens. Somewhere else. Somewhere quieter. This…this isn't good for you."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein In the midst of a breakdown enough to eclipse nearly anything else inside her, Quinn was suddenly given direction. "We should go. Back to the dorms, or the gardens. Somewhere else. Somewhere quiet. This...this isn't good for you." There was something so intensely pathetic about how comforting it felt, how natural it seemed, to be told what to do. She hated it. She hated it so much, she knew that she should hate it. But in that moment, there was something so normal about it, so soothing. Like a deep breath after surfacing from the bottom of the well. She hated it. She hated it more than anything. She loved it anyway. So, lost and confused and head full of thunder, she latched on. Dahlia was right. It was loud in here. Or maybe not loud, so much as overwhelming. Crowded and busy and people were staring at them. With a great deal of effort, she hauled her head up from where it sat, doing her best to wipe the tears off even as they kept flowing. "Dorms," she somehow whimpered and whispered at the same time, squeezing her sister's hand a little harder. "Let's go back to the dorms." She was still shaking, but she managed to keep her eye open now, and she thought that maybe her legs had steadied themselves enough for her to walk now, at least enough to get back to her room. "I want to lie down for a while."</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. In the dream, Safie sat with Quinn at the back of the boat, their legs dangling in the water while Dahlia and her father chatted idly at the bow. She told her how proud she was, or would be, if Quinn became a pilot; it was hard to tell even in the moment whether she was speaking prospectively or of some nebulous present. The idea of working together was exciting, and Safie was absolutely certain that Quinn would love Tohoki Grill. She described dishes so vividly Quinn could taste them on her tongue, and a chef who sounded so familiar she could hear his jovial voice wishing her well. It was a warm afternoon. The sun was silver upon the waves. Eventually Safie pointed out to the forested shore, where a great white deer rested. Its antlers were tall and branching, and trickles of blood leaked from they sprouted on its skull. It seemed to know they were looking, and bowed its head. "See?" she said, smiling bright. "Even the stag believes. You're meant for greatness, never let anyone convince you otherwise." And before that warmth could turn to confusion, Quinn woke up. --- --- The haze of her dream faded, only a pleasant comfort lingered. There was a weight beside her on the bed, and fingers brushing through her hair. As the bleariness of sleep cleared, Quinn could see Besca sitting next to her. "Hey, hun." Her voice was soft, her smile gentle. "About an hour 'til the interview, time to get ready. I brought you some new clothes—tried to pick stuff I thought you might like. Just for tonight, in case you don't like'em. Next time I'll bring you shopping and you can pick out the stuff yourself, promise." She nodded to the end of the bed. Laid out there was a simple pair of pants, a solid black shirt, and a steel-gray jacket with a pair of golden stripes angled across the back. "Go ahead and get dressed—I'll be right outside." Besca left the door cracked on her way out, but a feeling lingered within Quinn like she wasn't alone. Even once she was well and properly awake, it stubbornly refused to leave. It came to her not like a chill down the spine, but rather, like a hand on the shoulder. Ready or not, she had herself.</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Besca took the brush from Quinn with a nod, and led her to the couch. She stood behind, pulling Quinn's curtain of hair over the end, and got to work. Long, easy strokes, pausing when she reached a knot to straighten it out gently. She still hesitated, still made mistakes here and there, she was certainly much better at it now than she had been before—even if she couldn't quite manage the braid yet. "Deelie told me about lunch," she said, and her tone was very deliberate. She'd had time to think, and time to make sure she didn't convey even an ounce of disappointment or frustration. Only measured concern, and understanding. "She wanted me to tell you she loves you, and that she's still proud of you. I am too." Finishing up, Besca set the brush aside and came around the couch. She knelt down in front of Quinn and took her hands. Small, and there was a cold there that she couldn't feel, but that she knew anyway. She'd been thinking about this, too. "You're Quinnlash. That's who you are, that's what you are. If I have to remind you of that every single day, I will, because it's true. You are not a thing, you're a person." She reached up, gently thumbed the dried tear streaks on her face. Smiled. "You're one of the most important people in the world to me. You'll never be anything less than that." She wanted nothing more than to keep Quinn here, to just let her be and decompress, but it wasn't her call. Patting the girl's cheek, Besca got up and went to grab her coat from the kitchen counter. "Alright hun, we're due at the elevator in a few minutes. I'm gonna be right with you the whole time; I've been on the set before, it's not too big. I'll be right off-screen, I'll even stand behind Mona."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein As she deftly twisted her hair into the long plait that it had become so known for on the Aerie, Quinn almost started crying again. But it was a different kind of 'crying' than before. Besca and Dahlia. Her family. They were so nice to her. So, so nice. She had never imagined that anybody could be like this before. Never, in all her wildest dreams and fantasies. They helped her when she was at her absolute worst. No matter what she did, how she messed up, they were still always there to help pick her up when she fell. They made her smile. Dahlia had even made her laugh. They were the best family anybody could ever ask for, anywhere. And for one delicious, impossible moment, Quinn let herself believe she deserved it. She was quiet as she finished the braid, bringing it around the front to check it before she snapped the elastic on the end to tie it off. Satisfied, she flicked it behind again, settling it against the jacket until everything sat comfortably. The nerves were still tearing at her. Anxiety was still bubbling deep inside her and setting her heart pounding. But Besca would be there. And she and Dahlia were both proud of Quinn. She would pin it to her chest and wear it like a badge if she could. You're one of the most important people in the world to me. "Um...Besca?" She took three long, deep breath. One. Two. Three. Then she stood, moved to the door to wait, and turned, looking at Besca as she plucked her coat from the counter. And she put a smile on her face. It took so, so much effort. It was fragile. It trembled as she tried not to cry. But it was still a smile. And it was still there. "You're, um, really important to me too." She paused. "And...thank you. For...you know."</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Besca hugged her as she walked past, quick and tight, and only mumbled a quiet: "I know, kiddo," on their way out. She kept close. When they reached the hangar, they found only a skeleton crew at work, along with the relatively small escort that would be accompanying them down. That was Caster's doing, she guessed. A stalemate and begrudging understanding didn't mean he wouldn't still skimp on her where he could—besides, his people probably expected him to retaliate somehow for her overstep. It was ultimately meaningless—and she figured he knew that, too. Local PD would have the whole studio cordoned off anyway, and here on home soil Besca doubted there was any real danger. If he tried pulling something like this in Casoban or Eusero, then, well, there'd be words. A smaller railing sprouted up around a smaller, inner section of the great elevator, still more than enough for the dozen or so departees. The replacement had been designed for compartmental decent, which was honestly refreshing. This way, they wouldn't need half a mile of clearance every time they wanted to send down less than their entire force. A series of checks from the control room. Loud buzzes, clicking. Green lights flashed along the railing, and with a decompressing hiss, they began to descend. The hardlight channel was not red this time, but almost entirely translucent, like they were dropped through a glass tube. Mona's studio was in Dorsey, a smaller city encircled by hills and spiderwebbed with thick runs of pastel trees. Even with so many leaves fallen, the world below them was a soft blur of pale blues and gentle pinks. Pockets of seafoam and amethyst dotted the brushy veins, wind lifted and twirled the fallen leaves, made the earth a rippling kaleidoscope broken only by the rises of a few tall buildings. Besca leaned against the railing, smiling wistfully. "When I was little, my mom used to tell me how beautiful Runa was. Her grandparents were born here, and she always talked about taking me and my cousins to see their old home in hills outside of Queenshand." Her eyes turned to the horizon, to the setting sun and the sky so vivid and contrasting to the pastel world below. "Even on the hardest days, when I look down here, I get a little reminder of what it is we're fighting for. What we're really fighting for." She looked back to Quinn. "What you're helping protect."</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. As the minutes counted down, the crew shuffled around with purpose. Someone produced a pair of small microphones over, unobtrusively clipping them to both Quinn and Mona's collars. Napkins and cutlery were brought out to the table next, along with a pitcher of water, and glass of wine, which Mona immediately sipped from. A thirty-second countdown started, and with only fifteen seconds left the food was served piping hot. From behind the counter, chef Akihiro gave Quinn an enthusiastic thumbs up. Besca made her way around the set, to Mona's back, where she'd be in full sight of Quinn. She waved, smiled. Her look said: "You got this." But like Quinn, she was undeniably still nervous. Mona was about as good a draw as they could have gotten for the first interview, but a million things could still go wrong. They had just this morning, and while Besca had tried to be as comforting and supportive as possible, in the back of her mind she knew it was ridiculous to expect Quinn to have a complete hold of herself after a nap and a few sincere words. A beep sounded, and red lights blinked to life on the cameras. A brief musical cue played as Mona waved to the centermost camera, and then there was relative silence. "Good evening, Runa, and welcome to dinner!" Mona said. Her voice seemed much bolder now, more projected, almost like a stage actress. "Tonight's show is a bit shorter, but it's very special. That's right. I'm sure some of you watching right now are asking yourselves: who is this beautiful young lady? and to those first-time viewers—hello, I'm flattered." She giggled to herself, as if in-time to the laughter of some unseen audience. "But no, no, really! A lot of you probably have no idea who this is joining me tonight, and I don't blame you! But we're very honored to have her here tonight, and—you know what, I'm gonna let her do the honors." Mona smiled to her, gesturing to the center camera. "Honey, why don't you go ahead and introduce yourself? Tell'em why I'm so excited to have you here tonight!"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Deep breaths. Deep breaths. More than three this time; just 'however many she could fit before the clock ticked down.' Deep breaths. Bury what was left of the panic so deep down it couldn't find her. Quinn was glad Besca was there. Mona was nice, she really was, but this place was still so foreign to her. Besca was like a grounding wire, keeping her from spinning out of control. She really wanted to start eating. Desperately. Chef Akihiro had come all the way down her to make this for her, and wow if it didn't look and smell just as good as always. But she restrained herself; it seemed like eating before the show started wouldn't be a good idea. And she really, really didn't want Mona to be angry with her. As the beep of the camera sounded, Quinn jerked slightly, taken aback. Oh wow. It was starting. She was...she was on TV! Some of that anxiety leaked out of her, and it was replaced with a kind of nervous energy. She smiled a lopsided smile as she looked at the big center camera that Mona had gestured to. She'd never talked in front of a camera before. So she took one more deep breath, reminded herself that Besca was right there cheering her on, and waved like Mona had, trying as hard as she possibly could to draw out that cheer that she'd lost. She could already feel that nervous energy and anxiety balling up in her stomach like a chunk of lead, but she kept the enthusiasm on as best she could. So many people were watching, and Deelie was definitely watching, and Doctor Follen was probably watching too. So, pulling up everything she had, she let her voice go. "Hey, I'm Quinnlash Loughvein, buuuut you can just call me Quinn! I'm the brand new pilot for RISC, and I'm super excited to be here!" She was almost surprised at how...happy she sounded, and how natural it all seemed to feel, despite being so alien an experience. Was this what she'd been like before?</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Mona grinned, clapping excitedly. Behind her, Besca was almost slack-jawed at how bright and giddy Quinn sounded—how enthusiastic, how normal. She'd heard her happy in the lulls between personal apocalypses, but this was so much…different. She hardly recognized her voice. "That's right, folks!" Mona said. "Quinnlash Loughvein is here with us tonight, and I could not be happier, let me tell you. But first things first—the entre to our entre. We had another guest join us earlier, a chef from the Aerie Station, mister Akihiro—am I saying that right? Akihiro? Well he came down and whipped up this salmon for us tonight and, folks, if I could just…" She brought the plate up to her face and took an exaggerated whiff. "Oh, my gawsh. I don't know a whole lot about Tohoken cuisine, but if this doesn't just smell like heaven, then nothing does. Quinn, honey, I know you're the star here tonight but I am almost as excited to dig into this as I am to talk to you, and it's your favorite dish so I can only imagine how you're feeling. So why don't we kick things off here with a few bites, hm?" Mona twirled her fork between her fingers and speared a small chunk of fish up. She popped it into her mouth, and her other hand came up over her lips while she chewed. "Good god," she mumbled, swallowing and turning briefly around to Besca. "He cooks up there for you all? Are you hiring? Oh, I don't think I ever need to ask another Runan why they want to be a pilot again." She took a few more bites, and whatever idea Quinn might have had that the questions were coming soon and rapidly would quickly melt away. Mona hadn't been lying, she seemed just as interested in the dinner than she was with her. Eventually she did manage a question, unceremoniously covering her mouth to speak while she chewed. "So, Quinn, I gotta know—what do you do with that beautiful braid while you're all set up in the cockpit? You know, when you're running and jumping and blasting and all that, is it in there flapping around? Does it, like, smack you at all? I've heard it's hard to snap a pilot out of the zone, but that thing looks hefty. I mean, it's so cramped in there, isn't it? And I wake up if I turn the wrong way at night. I couldn't imagine having a flail come at me in the dark."</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Besca was silent until they were outside, and the soldiers had formed around them. They mirrored her tension, shuffling hurriedly to keep up with her. The crowd was still outside, behind the barricade, and their cheering took on a confused twinge when it was clear that Quinn was leaving in a hurry. "I don't know," Besca muttered, and then realized how poor of an answer that was. "I mean—no, no one's hurt. Everyone's okay. I just…I don't know. I don't know what's going on." As they made their way onto the elevator, and the hard light barrier sprung back to life, Besca scooped her phone back out. They began to ascend. "Hey," she snapped. "Get Dahlia up to the briefing room. And get ahold of Caster—double the guards in the medical ward. No, no one moves Tormont. Just the guards. Have the info prepped and I want the room clear when we arrive, got it? Good." Stuffing the phone away again, Besca suddenly realized they were out of the public eye again. As if by reflex, she snatched Quinn into a tight hug. "Forget what happened down there," she said, burying her face into Quinn's hair. "I'm proud of you. I'm proud of you, and that's not gonna change." Eventually she did let go, but for the rest of the ride up, she held Quinn's hand. The pastel world blurred below, and the evening sky darkened to a cold, black void as they finally docked back in the Aerie. The railing lowered. Still holding Quinn's hand, Besca waved off the approaching crewmen and hurried for the lift. Eyes followed them, as did the confused whispers. The TV screens about the station were mainly tuned to Mona's show, where the woman was now explaining that something had come up and the interview would be delayed for later. "Everything is fine," she said. "No one is in danger." The briefing room was empty, just as Besca ordered, save for Dahlia, who jolted at the sight of them. "Hey! she squeaked, and bolted over. She threw her arms around Quinn, then hugged Besca. "What's going on? No one told me anything—why are you back so early?" Besca didn't answer her right away. She went to the center table and checked something, stared for a long time. Eventually she snapped up, and brought an image up on one of the larger screens. It was a man, perhaps in his thirties. He had swept black hair and a short beard, which was parted down one cheek by a long scar that trailed up to split his eyebrow as well. There was growth scarring on his neck, trailing down beneath the collar of his dark uniform, beneath which was the tip of a pilot's undersuit. The picture was clearly old, and had been taken of him while he was on the move, half turned away. His eyes were earthen but bright, like gold under a thin layer of dirt. He did not look pleased. "Quinn," Besca said, staring at the picture. "Do you know this man? Have you ever seen him before?"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn had to actively fight to stop herself from shrinking away from the stares of the—of her fans. She didn't want to think about it. She couldn't think about it. So instead of waving like before she dropped her head slightly, whimpering oh-so-quietly, inaudible over the noise. But it didn't last long. The creeping fear and panic that she'd felt back in the interview room was falling away, to be replaced by the burning worry of the uncertain fate that awaited her. As they boarded the elevator, Quinn counted the moments until they could ascend and get out of the stares. As she did, though, she heard something that quickly disrupted that count. Tormont? Double the guards? Was something happening with Roaki? No. Besca said everyone was fine and nobody was in danger, and she believed her. But that little nugget of unease buried itself deep inside of her and took root. The rushed ride back up the elevator was blurred, disoriented. Quinn had ping-ponged back and forth between emotions so many times today—good, bad, good, bad, fear, pride, guilt—that her nerves were absolutely shot, and this wasn't helping matters. But what was in focus was the way Besca held her, the words that she whispered into her hair. She was proud. Even after all that, she was still proud of her. And suddenly the world felt a little bit less unfriendly. Quinn hugged her back, just as tight, and buried her face into Besca's shoulder. There was a sob in her voice when she responded with a muffled "thank you," but it didn't go any further than that; she managed to hold back the tears that wanted to spill out so desperately, forcing them to stop until the urge abated. When the finally arrived back in the hangar, she made a beeline—though never getting far from Besca—straight towards the briefing room, relishing the hug from Deelie. She'd only been away from her for a moment, but she'd been so worried and so stressed that it felt like years, and now everything in the world felt right, if only just for the barest fraction of a fraction of a second. But unfortunately, it was not to last. As the two of them separated, the image of a man popped up on the big screen. At Besca's question, Quinn tried to think back. But nothing came to her. And perhaps not surprising, considering her upbringing. She she only shrugged helplessly. "N—no," she responded. "Should I have?"</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Besca paused, something like restrained relief passing through her, before she shook her head. "No, no you shouldn't," she said. "He's been dead for two hundred years." She brought up another picture of him, this one much more in focus. He stood in a group of seven, five men and two women. He and the young man beside him seemed to be close in age, and looked quite similar to each other, though the other man had longer hair, and was the only one in the photo smiling, aside from one of the other older men. "Eain iofkin Aridea. He was heir to the empire before Aridea broke the Illun Accord. That's his father, his mother, his uncles, his aunt, and his brother," she said. "Shortly after the empire glassed Kestren, Eain turned on them. He killed one of his uncles and fled with his wife—who was the head of House Tormont. That got the Helburkan resistance going, and, really, it's what ended the war." Another picture, this one of Eain shaking hands with a man who bore the Euseran flag on his uniform. They stood in the ruins of some large town. The hills burned behind them, and just at the edge of the screen was the massive foot of a Savior rising out of frame. "Helburke and Eusero pushed Aridea back to its capital on two fronts. The day the empire fell, half a dozen singularities opened up, and Modir came pouring out—nearly broke the assault. Eain pushed in and faced down his brother, Lauthric, right on the steps of the Aridean Palace. There's not a lot of footage left from back then, but reports say he and Lauthric dealt mortal blows to each other, and Eain hurled them both into a singularity before it closed. "Helburke likes to rest most of the glory on House Wolghast, for bringing the largest force to the resistance, and the country doesn't tend to look fondly on traitors no matter the intention. But history remembers Eain as a hero, if you dig deep enough." She looked back down to the table, frowning sharply. "This was his Savior, Dammerung." A final picture appeared of a Modir. Tall, slim. Its mottled gray-and-black body was striated with modium along the arms, and about the chest as if to mimic a ribcage. Its flayed grin was sharp and clamped tight. Its red eyes stared ahead like it could see all of them. In its hand was a long blade with a sharp crossguard, and a fuller filled with bright, white fire. Dahlia gasped like she'd been struck in the gut. Besca's frown curled into a grimace. It was the swordsman.</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. --- --- --- ---</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. --- ---</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. The elevator opened one floor early, the doors parted for Aldous Follen. Besca sighed. "Good morning, Commander," he greeted, stepping in beside her. It was only the two of them, and this lift was quite a ways from medical. He'd come all the way across to find her here, and she half expected him to hit the emergency stop once the doors closed again. Instead he said nothing, only smiled blankly ahead. Somehow she still felt as though they'd been speaking for hours. "What?" "Hm?" "What do you want, Follen?" He feigned offense, poorly—couldn't even hide the grin. "I can't check up on my friend?" "Checking up on your friend." "My friend," he insisted. "Who is very clearly struggling to bear the weight of her honorary diplomatic duties." Besca sighed again, as involuntarily as the first. "You heard." "Saw, more like. Every news channel in Illun is abuzz about it. Casobani dignitaries flying into Eusero; I think even high school newspapers can tell what's going on there. The imminent erosion of Runa's union with Casoban, laid at the feet of RISC's amateur commander, and her uncontrollable pilot." "They did not call her 'uncontrollable'." "They will. Even our own people. Once Casoban falls in with Eusero, they're going to blame Quinnlash's actions at the duel—and you for allowing them." The elevator dinged and opened again. Besca walked briskly like she didn't want to be followed, and Follen followed. "So what, then? Come to offer some grand solution?" "I already did that, if I recall, you and yours just haven't been able to deliver. No, I'm here because your theatrics with the Tormont girl are beginning to interfere with my department." "What, you didn't consider getting manhandled as interference?" she scoffed. "I considered it a part of those theatrics, but now things are moving backstage," he said. "The Board may not want to squeeze you right now, but they've certainly made their displeasure known to me. Our supplies are low, some of our men are sick and being prescribed band-aids. This morning I received an email giving me reason to believe medical's payroll could be held until this situation is handled." "They can't—" "They could, and any public backlash they might face would be forgotten the moment you crack and they get to parade an enemy pilot to her execution. My guess is they'll give her to Casoban, force us to work together against the inevitable retaliations from Helburke. Doubt it'll work, but it's better than nothing." "Thank you for your suggestions." "I'm not making suggestions, he said, stopping. She paused begrudgingly. "I'm telling you to do your job." Besca couldn't help the bristle that made her fists clench; she had to fight the urge not to grab him by the collar and show him what real interference looked like. But she took a deep breath instead, lips curling into a sneer. "That sounded awful close to frustration, Aldous. If you're not careful you might accidentally feel something." Of course then he grinned again, which was enough to remind her how impossible that really was. "Good luck, Commander," he said, then turned on his heel and walked away. Part of her missed being colleagues—it didn't look so bad when she yelled at him then. These days she did all her screaming on the inside. --- --- She found Deelie in the sims. The monitors were off, but the readings came through normal at a glance. There was only one supervisor on shift, and, without anything to watch or any need for direction on the comms, there wasn't much for them to do. So, when Besca came through the doors, they hastily took their feet of the desk, and wiped the drool from their mouth. "Commander!" they started, but Besca waved them at ease. "How long's she been in there?" "Uh, well," they checked the terminal, blinking the sleep from their eyes. "She was in before my shift." Besca balked. "Since last night?" "Since…uh…yesterday afternoon." She'd sent Deelie a text reminding her to get something to eat before she came back to the dorms. Now she knew why she'd never gotten a reply. "Cut the sim." "But," the supervisor started, but a sharp glance told them Besca's generosity was waning. "Yes ma'am." She made her way out to the row of pods as one opened, and Deelie sat up. The girl seemed a bit bewildered, but mainly she just looked exhausted. When she saw Besca, a little life returned to her and she waved happily. "Heya," she said blearily. "Where's Quinn?" "Asleep, because it's six." "In the…?" "Morning, Deelie." She helped the girl out, and held her steady while she shook the feeling back into her legs. "Seriously, you had two slices of toast yesterday, and this is the third day this week you haven't slept." "Mmh. Gotta." "No, you gotta go back to the dorms, lie down, and sleep. I'll make it an order if I have to." Deelie looked at her, the haze clearing in her eyes just long enough for Besca to see how anxious they were. "Have to be ready," she said. "You have to be functional. The sims will still be here in twelve hours—which is when you're allowed back in. Go." "'Kay. Sorry." "Not mad at you, hun," she said, running a hand through Deelie's fraying hair. "Just…worried." Deelie nodded mechanically. The hours were starting to catch up to her. "Me too, she said, and walked away. --- --- In her waking moments, as the warmth of her dream sloughed away, Quinn would feel a sharp chill pass over her. It slunk in through her cracked-open door, and moved across her bed as though she had no sheets at all. It touched her to the bone, not cruelly, but intently, as if to say: 'Alright, time to get up.' Distantly, she might have heard something she could easily have mistaken for hoofbeats. A shadow passed by her room, large and antlered, and then it was gone—or perhaps it hadn't been there at all. Her door opened wide, and standing there was not some ghostly beast, but the silhouetted form of her sister. Dahlia wobbled at the threshold, but eventually found her bearings and made her way in, step by shaky step until she nearly tripped into Quinn's bed. This wasn't the first time Dahlia had come to sleep here, and in fact, since they'd found out about Dammerung, it seemed she spent more nights here than in her own room. It was like she'd grown afraid to leave Quinn alone; then again, she had also been holing herself up in sims most days. "G'night…" she mumbled, absently patting Quinn on the head. Moments later she was fast asleep. Dahlia's day had ended, but Quinn's week had just begun.</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Tillie's eyes magnified behind her glasses, making her look somehow more excited than she already was. "Really? I can? Okay, uhm! Quinn!" she giggled again, high and staccato in a way that drew passing eyes. Her hand remained extended until Quinn drew attention to the equipment she carried. With another jolt, and a sharp, Oh!, she fiddled with the plated machine until it finally stopped beeping. A thin screen displayed a green light and no other information. The shavings she'd taken from Ablaze's foot were sealed inside an inner chamber with a transparent lid. As with all things removed from Saviors, they had begun to break down into the bubbling, black ichor of liquid modium. While normally being so close to it would have been extremely dangerous, Tillie's nonchalance suggested that the sample must have been safely contained. "Wrong?" she asked, though as she studied the display and the sample it sounded more like she was asking herself as well. "Mmmmnope! Nope it looks good so far! I was just—well, the section heads noticed you were coming in a lot, thought maybe you found something wrong yourself. They ran a full diagnostic on it, didn't find anything, but well, you're a pilot! You spend more time in that thing than anyone so, if you're checking it so much, then it must be important! That's what I told them, anyway. "I sorta study modiology. I mean, sorry, uhm! I do study modiology. So I sorta-volunteered-sorta-got-assigned to monitor Ablaze! You can think of me like…your assistant technician!" the idea got another, softer chitter out of her, but it was quickly snuffed. "O-or! You know, I don't have to be! I can totally stay out of your way, only draw samples when you're not around—it's no problem! Whatever's better for you, Miss—uhm! Quinn!" Tillie tried to salute, but she had to hunch low to keep from dropping the equipment again. Her smile turned nervous, expectant. She seemed ready to be yelled at, but something told Quinn that even that wouldn't deter the woman.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Ah. So that's what Tillie was doing here. Volunteered-slash-assigned to be Quinn's technician. Not a bad idea, and the more she thought about it, the more she warmed up to it. Though she could do without the container of ichor in front of her, it was hard to understand Ablaze sometimes, and a modiologist would be a big help, she hoped. ...Not to mention, Quinn was starting to get lonely. It'd be nice to have someone to talk to when Deelie and Besca were busy. "No, no no, don't worry about it." She tried her best to make her tremulous smile warmer as best she could, to be met with...debatable success. "I'm not...upset with you or anything." She sucked in a long, deep breath as she kept up calming herself down. "And I don't really think there's anything wrong. I'm just...stressed, is all, so I just want to make sure everything is okay. Being a pilot is..." she hesitated. "Well, it's nerve-wracking a lot. So I'm, um, sorry if I sound mad or anything." A moment passed and she pitched her head slightly downward. "'Course, I might not be the best to talk about it. I'm still new at this." Another delay. She picked her words carefully, a little like she was talking to Roaki. There was an instinctive understanding in her that whatever she said was going to be picked apart and dissected to its finest pieces by Tillie just the same way. "What I'm trying to say is—" her smile grew warmer, but also somehow sadder as well. "—I have no idea what I'm doing, and I'm tired. I'm glad you're here." A sudden idea popped into her brain, followed by a soft "oh!" as she peered between the Savior's massive legs to spot the platform that was indeed there. She cleared her throat, feeling intensely self-conscious as she awkwardly waved towards it. "I was about to go check the cockpit to make sure everything is okay." Pause, and she started slowly walking towards around the side of the Savior to the lift while she spoke over her shoulder, "You can come if you want."</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Quinn received an ecstatic shriek in reply, devolving into another giggling fit "See the cockpit? Really? I've literally dreamed of it!" Tillie said, near breathlessly. "Yes, yes! Uhm! Please yes!" She stepped out of the way and followed along behind, practically hopping. She deposited the equipment on a table near the Savior's ankle braces, and the two of them proceeded through Ablaze's legs, to the lift situated along its spine. The ride up gave them a scenic view of the mottled back, and not much else, but Tillie looked very nearly as fascinated as Quinn had on her ride down to Mona's. "They tell you about how big they are, and, you know, you see them on TV all the time, but this…wow. Uhm! I never got to go to any of the singularities growing up. Dad never liked them, didn't trust it. Duels too. Couple years ago I thought I'd never get to see one up close like this, let alone work on them. It must be so cool, huh?" Eventually they reached the top, where the neck-brace was extended into a wide, flat platform that spanned Ablaze's shoulders. There were more tables up here, tool cabinets and tables cluttered with equipment that looked like it might be meant for reading as much as mining. Tillie scurried over to a little console and swiped her nametag over its sensor. "I-I saw your fight in Casoban!" she said over her shoulder. "You really surprised everyone, even me! Uhm! I mean, not that I didn't think you wouldn't—well, maybe I didn't, a little. But I was rooting for you! Ever since they first started talking about you. Actually, it's kinda why I signed up." As Quinn approached the back of Ablaze's skull, she felt that chill again. It had been coming to her more often, and unfailingly each time she'd come to check on the Savior. The cockpit would be frigid, she'd know, but it was almost as if that cold darkness was reaching out to meet her. Tillie sidled up beside her again, hands clasped together. "Are you sure this is okay? I mean—I don't want to assume or anything. I know some pilots are really particular about this stuff. Should I close my eyes? Turn around?"</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. With the dark there came an odd and familiar enveloping sensation, like arms around her, briefly, before it slipped off of her like a blanket. Even then it didn't feel entirely gone. Along with Tillie, Quinn could feel another presence there, separate from them, and from the unplacable pressure exuded from the pulsing walls. And, as always, it brought with it a certain comfort. Tillie walked with all the sure-footedness of a newborn faun, immediately folding in on herself to stave off the cold. Of course, even in the cockpit's frigid heart, she didn't seem the least bit deflated. As Quinn checked the seat, she made her way to the soft edges. They held no brace, but there were, driven into the flesh, the dim, blinking lights of a measuring array. Tiny nodes set up all around, aimed inward towards the seat. Tillie guessed it was another way of monitoring the Circuit's regenerative progress. Tentatively she reached out, probed the brain matter with a single finger. Soft, damp but not wet, though she felt a slight suction the instant her skin made contact with it and she jerked back. A cold-addled giggle broke the dark and quiet. "T-t-t-this i-is-s…s-so cool!" she said through chattering teeth, punctuated with a squeal. She came over to join Quinn at the seat, marveling in the narrow but piercing light of the phone. "A-a-and y-you just….s-sit here! I-in this! I-in the c-c-cold! Uhm! The suits m-must be s-s-so warm!" She ran a hand down the chair, careful not to touch the inputs, though she did lean in close to examine them. "I n-n-never tho-o-ought about how yo-you're p-plugged into this. I-is it c-c-comfort-t-table? D-d-do you get…l-like…uhm! C-c-cramps?"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Everything seemed okay with Ablaze. Obviously. What would've gone wrong, really? And Tillie was clearly enjoying herself. But...Quinn was started to get twitchy, and even the comforting company of Quinnlash within her head wasn't enough to stem the growing tide. She'd gotten much better about being in enclosed spaces, partially because of her Savior. But she certainly wasn't good about them, and the oppressive sentient pressure of the Modir brain enclosing them—something that Tillie simply couldn't understand—certainly didn't help matters any. So when she spoke next, there was a tension in her voice that hadn't been there before. A tight, nervous tone, a bit like how she'd spoken when she'd first had her composure broken on Mona's interview. She tapped a fingertip on the big input, the one that went into the base of her skull. "The, uh, the pilot suit has gaps in it so I can still plug in." Doing her best to clamp down on the steadily rising fear, she half-turned, flicked her braid aside, and lifted the light briefly to the few sockets visible on her neck above the jacket collar before she brought the light back down and continued, "but um...I n-never really thought about comfort. I b-barely f-feel it since the s-suit is thick and heated and I connect r-right-t-t after, and you don't feel anything once you're in." She clutched at her narrow frame, trying in vain to warm up some as the cold started to get to her more. Her breaths began to heave more, and the staccato gunshots of her chattering teeth were only halfway because of the cold. "I'm sorry," she muttered quietly, gripping her upper arms in a very familiar way, "I-I'm g-gonna wait o-outside." She handed Tillie her phone for the flashlight, then fled the cockpit, breathing deeply as she emerged again onto the broad platform and moving away some so the cold could slacken off a bit. After a moment's consideration, she pinged a message to Besca and Dahlia (for when they stopped being busy and asleep, respectively): I have a new technician. She's nice. You should meet her.</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. The cold did fade, quickly, and with it the pressure. The presence was slowest to go, and even then it didn't leave her completely. Quinn's messages went out, and, expectedly, she received no response from Dahlia. Besca did reply a handful of moments later though. - great hun ! gla d u r making friends :o) - Inside the cockpit, Tillie stood with Quinn's phone light, torn. Obviously the appropriate thing to do would be to leave immediately. This wasn't just like being in someone else's room, this was a Savior. People like her weren't meant to even see inside the cockpits, to say nothing of being left inside unattended. To dally would have been wholly unprofessional, and if Quinn decided she'd waited too long, or if one of her superiors happened to check the feed, she could be very justifiably fired. But…when else would she get a chance like this? She could be quick. Using the phone as a guide, Tillie approached the seat and carefully, very carefully, hopped up onto it. The cushions were surprisingly soft, but still utterly frigid. As she leaned back against them, the chill shocked her, pushed through her back all the through her chest, her legs, her face. She rested her head against the frame, and felt the barest tickle of the plug's input against her neck, a focal point of cold almost like a needle. Of course, she had no housing for it, and the last thing she wanted to do was bleed all over Quinn's cockpit. She lay there, shivering, but inwardly as settled as she might be lying in her own bed. She felt her face split for a smile, her cheeks burning, the corners of her lips cracking. A horribly embarrassing giggle escaped her, and she was thankful there was no one around to hear it. For a few, transcendent moments, she wasn't Tillie Tomm, Modiologist. And she didn't quite feel like Tillie Tomm, Hero Pilot, either. Just then, she was Tillie Tomm, Turning Ten, and it was the happiest she'd been in a long, long time. When she emerged from the Savior's skull, she was quaking like a leaf, her face was beet-red, except for her lips which were graying. She rubbed her arms and cheeks furiously, and squeezed her hair, which crackled like ice. Her glasses were frozen over, and she rubbed those clear too. If she was at all uncomfortable, she showed no sign of it. All Quinn saw was a wide, goofy grin, and the giggling that came with it. "T-t-t-that was a-am-mazing! Thank you s-so much, I-I've d-dreamed about that forever!" She held out Quinn's phone, unscathed save for a bit of frosting over the screen. "U-uhm! B-b-but I d-definitely get wuh-wh-why you guys wear h-heated suits!"</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn reclaimed her phone, pulling her shirt out from underneath the jacket and rubbing the chill away from the screen before flicking the light off and sliding it back into her pants pocket. She looked at Tilly with a shaky smile. The memory of the pressure on her head always messed her up a little bit whenever she got out of Ablaze. Another thing she was starting to get used to more as she spent more time in the hangar, but definitely unpleasant. She made a mental note to ask Dahlia if she felt something similar when she was in Dragon. If she ever caught her awake, at least, which was becoming increasingly harder to do as she pushed herself harder and harder. "Uh huh," she replied, the tension still prevalent in her voice. "It's like being wrapped up in a—in a warm—a warm blanket." As her eye flicked to the skullport, she couldn't help but remember the last time she'd left it outside of the hangar—running—blazing heat, dry, cracked earth, the smell of ichor everywhere—Dragon lying in a pool of its own black blood as Blötklau dissolved with Roaki trapped and screaming on the hill above her—dizzy—desperate—screaming——— Her hands went to her arms again, digging in harder this time, and she trembled in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. A moment, and her eye—held wide now—went downcast. She shivered, and sat herself down on the metal floor, closing her eye tight. The tension was started to leak out of her voice, to be replaced with a sense of weariness that often came with the Savior, and an entirely different kind of stress: obvious fear. Instead of chattering with cold, it stuttered and halted in a way that she'd become very familiar with over the past few months. "I'm—I'm sorry, could..." She swallowed heavily, running her hands down her face to wipe off the sudden cold sweat, "could you—could you c-close the skullport for me?"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Tillie continued to rub her arms, her hands, her face. It wasn't like she hadn't noticed how cold it had been inside, but now back in the warmth it seemed so reluctant to leave her. Perhaps that was just another effect of the cockpit; she'd never read anything concerning it, but, there was a certain unnatural aspect to the Modir that made it hard to call any study 'definitive'. Who was to say, really? Looking to Quinn, it seemed she was still stricken as well, shivering, teeth clattering. She'd broken out into a cold sweat though, which was odd, but again, by what metric? Certainly cold sweats weren't unheard of among pilots who were often dealing with modium growths in their own bodies. Still, as close as modiology could run with medicine, Tillie wasn't a doctor. It wasn't her place to say. So, instead she got excited. "Can I?" she squeaked, voice suddenly and thoroughly thawed. "I mean! Uhm! Of course I can!" With a bounce in her step, Tillie scurried back to Ablaze and took hold of the opened port. Her stomach fluttered to look into the darkness one more time, but then the chill reached out for her again, and she closed the door. It sealed with a sharp hiss, and black-against-black, the seams all but vanished to the naked eye. Instantly she was warmer, the whole of the air was too. Coming back to Quinn, she stood with her hands triumphantly on her hips. "Phew! Savior secure! How'd it look in there? I mean, did you see anything you want checked out?"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein The skullport vanished, and Quinn immediately felt better. That's not to say she felt good. Not in any way whatsoever. But with the immediate reminder gone, she found herself able to—with the support of the long table that ran alongside her—haul herself to her feet and give Tillie a genuine, if weak, smile again. "N-no, nothing. It all looks fine." That's right, Quinn. It's fine. It's all fine. Stop worrying about it. Hangar staff would obviously catch any fluctuations or problems right as soon as they happened. There was no reason for her to come here like this, go through the torment of opening the port, diving into the cold, lonely, enclosed dark, and endure the Modir pressing in all around here, all alone. Thank god for Tillie. Without her there, Quinn would've just had a breakdown, she just knew it. She swallowed heavily, wiping the remnants of the sweat off again. It wasn't usually this bad. She opened her mouth to thank her for being there so she didn't completely fall apart— Before she stopped. Did she really want to make Tillie feel responsible for her? To layer her with Quinn's problems when she had nothing to do with them and no obligation to help with them? No. Deelie was pushing herself to hell and back because she was afraid for Quinn. Besca was working nonstop—she was surprised she'd even gotten a response from her—day in and day out because of what Quinn had done. The population of the Aerie was still a fraction of what it used to be, it seemed like, because Quinn just had to be at Hovvi. So everyone else had more work. She didn't want to be a burden on Tillie too. So instead, she kept that lame smile pasted to her face as inside, she screamed. "I'm...glad you enjoyed it. I'll tell head of hangar security that you can come up here any time you want." After all the trouble and pain she'd caused, making her new technician happy was the least she could do.</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Tillie recoiled at the offer, cast a furtive glance back at Ablaze as if it had caught her doing something she shouldn't. "O-oh, gosh, that's—well, I appreciate that. I'm thrilled to be working on it, you can bet I'll be hanging around all the time. W-working, of course! Strictly working. Thank you! Uhm! Really!" A nervous giggle escaped her. Left unsaid were the silent laws of a place like the Aerie, the hierarchy of the staff, and the expectations laid upon those who could only newly call the station home. Quinn's offer was kind, but Tillie's bosses weren't going to let someone as green as she was have free reign over a Savior, blessing or not. If she showed up here unscheduled she'd be planetside with her junk packed in a box and a resume that would function better as kindling after RISC was done with it. But, of course, she wasn't going to say any of that. Not to Quinnlash Loughvein. Quinn, even! The girl seemed so nice, and even without the weight of their unspoken social dynamic heavy on her shoulders, she could never bring herself to reject a gift. For now, she would ride the high of sitting in Ablaze's cockpit, and being friendly with her favorite pilot, and that would carry her plenty far. Tillie checked her phone, let out a small, excited sound that she'd find time to be embarrassed about later, alone. "Oop! I've gotta log my results then check in with my supervisor," she said, making her way back onto the lift. "You wanna ride down together, or do you need a bit more time?"</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Over the past weeks Quinn had begun to see the effects of her status as a burgeoning celebrity. People wanted to speak with her—to hear her speak, as though suddenly her opinion on every topic, no matter how mundane, became gospel as the words left her mouth. Regardlessof how she felt, she was famous. She'd seen it on TV, on the news channels and talk shows. She'd seen it at Mona's, with the gathered crowd, and the hostess herself. She'd seen it on the Aerie, in the eyes of everyone from the heads of medical to the trials in engineering. And now she was seeing it on her phone, as she typed the words Mr. and Mrs. Loughvein into her search bar, and was met with dozens upon dozens of pages monopolized by the name Quinnlash Loughvein. [RISC's new pilot Quinnlash Loughvein maintaining silence after sudden departure from interview…] [Quinnlash Loughvein refuses to take responsibility for Casoban upset…] [Minor Houses in Helburke reportedly beseeching Great Houses to retaliate against Runa's pilot Quinnlash Loughvein…] [Euseran governor questions whether or not RISC overstepped by sending Quinnlash Loughvein to interfere in Casoban's duel with Helburke…] [Is Quinnlash Loughvein a Helburkan plant?...] [What are Quinnlash Loughvein's ties to Euseran tech companies?...] [Quinnlash Loughvein: RISC's newest pilot? Or last?...] [St. Senn. Kimimura. Calhan. Merko. Loughvein. Abroix. Wender. Dane. Reos. Brandt. Jayne. Take this personalized quiz now to find out which pilot you are!...] [Experts React: Dinner with Mona: Quinnlash Loughvein dying of modiotype liver disease?...] [Steal her look! Quinnlash Loughvein replica eyepatch! 17.99 plus shipping…] […Page 63 for an exclusive interview with a Queenshand native claiming to be in a secret relationship with Quinnlash Loughvein…] [Photos from Aerie Station show RISC pilot Quinnlash Loughvein wheeling Helburkan prisoner across commons. Were national secrets shared?...] [Team Tensions? Dahlia St. Senn hasn't spoken to Quinnlash Loughvein at all since interview? Does RISC's star pilot hate its newest addition?...] [Quinnlash Loughvein was born on the moon: proof next week.] It went on. And on. And on. Page after page after page of news articles and speculative pieces, merchandise ads and tabloid garbage. To the world below her, Quinnlash Loughvein was a million different people all existing at once, and all entirely incompatible with each other. Only on page 15 did she finally see a break in the form. [Nation's modiology stars dead? Originally slated to appear at a conference in Queenshand, Locke and Sansean Loughvein cancelled upon hearing that a singularity would be appearing in their hometown of Hovvi. While transportation to the lakeside town was heavily trafficked, sources say the couple, who had been booked a year in advance, were last seen boarding a flight to the neighboring town of Ozzi. It is unknown whether they arrived home before the attack, however, there has been no word from them since. The conference continued, however many attendees requested refunds upon hearing the keynote speakers would not appear...]</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein As Quinn scrolled through her phone, she could hardly believe her eyes just how much people were talking about her. How much garbage they were spewing. There were some things that made her wince, like all the speculation attached to the duel and Roaki. There were some things that made her roll her eye, like the three different eyepatches, none of which actually looked like her eyepatch. There were some things that made her chuckle, and she tapped on the link for the pilot quiz. She'd take it later and see if she got herself or Deelie, or...or Safie. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. And there were some things that made her eye shoot open in sheer astonishment at the audacity. Secret relationship? Fad diets? Product endorsements I've never seen? Born on the MOON? She kept scrolling, and the results grew wilder and wilder. Until, finally, she saw it. Locke and Sansean Loughvein... And just like that, they had names. Locke and Sansean. And they were...they might be...they could be...dead? They might have died in Hovvi? Even imagining was...completely alien. Just...just the idea that mom and dad were...dead? Even now, it felt like breaking some kind of universal law. They had been her whole world, her whole reality, for so many years. It was almost hard to fit it into her brain. And something else smacked into her brain along with it, forcing itself in. Like a punch to the face, a lightning bolt to the chest, sending her reeling. Her breathing hitched. No. That had to be wrong. Deep, sharp breath. Hand shaking more, she reached back up to the search field. Missed it at first, scrolling past meaningless articles. When her trembling fingers reached, she typed in, Sansean and Locke Loughvein. Article after article filled the screen. Those about her came first, of course. But they were few and far between as she scrolled down, met with something else entirely. Genius Modiologists Presumed Dead? Loughveins Missing After the Hovvi Disaster Still No Word From Loughveins in Wake of Quinnlash's Duel and Absence - Are They Still Alive? More and more, and each one she read delivered that same bolt to her chest. She stared at the screen for another moment, then tossed it to the floor and dropped her head into her hands. She hated her parents. She knew she hated them. They'd done awful things to her for reasons she didn't understand and the search had made no clearer. They'd kept her locked up in one room for her whole life. Fed her poison. By all rights, she hated them with every fiber of her being. The thought of them dead should satisfy her, and she felt Quinnlash's satisfaction and even glee, certainly. So why, then did that that bolt strike her? Did that thought punch her in the face? Why did the thought of them dying make her so sad? And at that thought, her confusion and frustration found their voice and she let out a raw scream, letting her palms muffle it and dull the sharp edges: "Why do I care?!"</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. The presence that haunted Quinn faded, satisfied, confused, and soon she was left with silence. Quinnlash didn't have any answers for her, it seemed, or at least none she thought would help the situation. It was clear enough where she stood with regards to the Loughveins. If an article was posted tomorrow revealing their bodies had been found, there would be a party in the dream that night. The last, lingering thought left in her wake was the word she so often used whenever they weaseled their way into conversation: Takers. The quiet didn't last long. From Quinn's room there came a raucous thump, a muted, mumbled alarm, and then the hurrying of footsteps. A moment later, Dahlia came bursting through the door. "Quinn?!" she yelped, eyes wide and heavy with bags. They locked unsteadily onto her, and with steps just as shaky she scrambled over. "What is it? What happened?" Her hands pulled Quinn's face up, inspecting it, patting down her arms, searching wildly for some sign of injury. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?" She wasn't, not that Dahlia could see, but that didn't settle her any. She spied the phone discarded on the ground, but didn't bother with it. The room looked fine, no damage anywhere. No alarms blared. No attack. Still the worry stuck with her, and she looked to Quinn expectantly.</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn hadn't really thought of Dahlia when she'd given vent to her frustrated scream. But, she reflected, she should've. As she met Dahlia's eyes with her own, another shard of guilt buried itself in her heart. She looked so tired. So stressed. So worried. Unable to keep eye contact any longer for the stabbing hurt, she dropped her head shamefacedly. "Y⁠—yeah. I'm...I'm fine. Just..." She hesitated for a moment. Didn't want to put more on Dahlia. But looking up into her weary silver eyes, she felt herself throwing herself into her sister's arms before she really even realized it, hugging her tight in return. Her eye closed, and she felt a thin stream of tears leaking out. "I just..." Another moment of hesitation. Another moment of thinking that she shouldn't burden Dahlia with this. Another moment of self-loathing. But being near Dahlia drew the hurt in her out like nothing else, stripping away the hero pilot, the burdened celebrity, and everything else, and leaving what lay, buried deep, deep down, at the core of Quinn: the lost, scared child. So when she responded, there was a hint of tears in her voice. "Deelie, they⁠—they could've⁠—they might've⁠—died in Hovvi." She squeezed the hug tighter, burying her face in her sister's shoulder. "They might be dead. They're probably dead. I'm free of them." She screwed her eye tighter. "So why⁠—" And then thickness in her voice turned into sobs. "Why does it make me sad?"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Dahlia stood bewildered for a moment, reflexively returning the hug. Quinn was okay? She was okay. She was crying—normal, sometimes she did that—but she wasn't hurt. Scared? No, sad, she heard sad. Sad. Not hurt. She let out a breath that made her whole body rattle. Relief, mainly, but also the exhaustion catching right up to her. The fog in her mind had parted long enough to determine her sister was alright, and now she could feel it closing again. Quinn was sad about something. Something vague, at least to her, but that was okay. Dahlia was sad about things too. She wanted to say that, but she couldn't connect those wires quite right. She wanted to ask her what was wrong but couldn't articulate that, either. Instead, Dahlia patted Quinn's head, and resisted the urge to shut her eyes when she leaned her own against it. "No, it's okay. It's okay. No one's dead," she said absently. Didn't sound right. Felt right, but the words were mumbled and directionless, and part of her knew she was responding more with the intent behind them than the words themselves. "No one's dead. Promise."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein For just a moment, a beautiful, fleeting moment⁠—her sister patting her head, leaning against her, the hug so warm and comforting⁠—everything was right with the world. And then Dahlia spoke, and the comforting warmth started to burn lower. Just being there near Dahlia⁠—and the way she was talking, comforting, soft, like a real older sister⁠—was enough to cushion Quinn's pain. But...but the words she was speaking...they didn't sound right. She didn't sound right. She was exhausted. Exhausted. And it was all Quinn's fault. The warmth burned away, leaving only fading embers, and her sobs stilled then, to shuddering breaths that she could speak through. "Deelie...Deelie...please..." She squeezed hard enough for her arms to shake, like Dahlia would vanish if she left go. "You..you need sleep, Dahlia. Please. I know..." Her shuddering voice calmed to merely quivering. "I know you're worried about me. That's why you're pushing and pushing and pushing yourself." And then her voice went through another change. Went still, and flat, and hollow. "I'm hurting you again. Again and again and again, I just keep hurting you." "I'm...I'm sorry..."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Another change then, Dahlia could tell. She felt it in the strength of Quinn's hug, heard it in the way her voice lost its panic, and then lost everything else with it. She knew it was guilt, even if that realization didn't quite reach her consciousness. Quinn felt guilty about something, about her. Hurting her. Hurting her? Silly. Utterly silly. "No, no," she said, glancing stability for just a moment. "Didn't hurt me. Never hurt me, Quinn. Nuh-uh. I just…forgot, s'all. Just forgot. No biggie. Sleeping fine, just a lil' weird." She pulled herself away, just enough to look Quinn in the eye. Red, wet-cheeked, stricken with guilt or worry or grief or all; a part of her stung knowing this was the most familiar of her sister's faces. Dahlia wanted more than anything these days to see her smile. To make sure she was safe enough to smile. She smiled—like this, see?—and squeezed Quinn's shoulders. Her eyes ached. "Never sorry to me. I'm not sorry. I wouldn't change anything. Made you a promise. 'Cause I wouldn't change anything."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Dahlia pulled away a little bit⁠—not far enough to leave Quinn's desperate embrace⁠—and smiled. "Never sorry to me. I'm not sorry. I wouldn't change anything. Made you a promise. 'Cause I wouldn't change anything." Quinn stared up at her, almost uncomprehending. Didn't hurt me. Never hurt me, Quinn. And just like that, the fervent energy that she gripped her sister with wilted and faded, and she just about collapsed into her, resting her face on her shoulder once again. Closing her eye tight, clenching her jaw, she tried her absolute hardest to not cry again. And she almost succeeded. Almost, but not quite. The love that Dahlia showed her. Her burning, cloying guilt. Her...her parents, and the new news that she'd been burdened with. She couldn't hold it forever. And once the first tears came, the floodgates opened, and she wept. Even so, she kept trying to force words out through it. No matter what her sister said...she still wasn't doing enough. So she kept going, voice small and tremulous, like the pathetic child that she was, deep down. "I⁠—hic⁠—I made you⁠—sniff break...breakfast. 'S...hrrkkkg...'s in the fridge." Her hug once again turned tight, but less out of desperation this time. It was more out of... "I⁠—I⁠—I love you, Deelie. I⁠—heugh⁠—I love...love you so much."</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Dahlia stayed put, smiling even though she heard Quinn continue to cry. She'd come to know the difference between her spirals and her moments of simply being overwhelmed, and even with the fog closing around her, that sense of panic was abated. The air was warm now, and calm. "Mmh, breakfast…s'so nice of you. Can't wait," she said, laying her head against Quinn's nest of hair. The hug was comfortable, like a heavy sheet, and she swayed to some pleasant, absent breeze. "M'you too. Promise. You too…" Long moments passed and Dahlia showed no signs of letting go, though her arms did slacken a bit. Eventually Quinn would feel a bit of weight against her, hear the humming above her fall into gentle breathing. Now and then something loosely inspired by words escaped Dahlia's mouth. Nothing was intelligible. Her sister had fallen back to sleep. She stood upright, still swaying rhythmically, a contented smile on her face. Dahlia didn't really share her dreams—if she had any at all—but if she was dreaming now, Quinn could be certain it was a happy one.</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn wasn't a bodybuilder by any means, but the past few months had certainly been rigorous enough for her to pack some muscle on. Enough, at least, to gently wrap Dahlia's arm around her shoulder and carry her into Quinn's room, where she'd been before. She laid her ever-so-delicately down on the bed, being sure not to wake her. She stood there afterwards, looking down at her sister taking long slow sleep breaths, and her heart jerked in her ribcage. I'm sorry, Dahlia. I'm really, really sorry. And it was making her training a little more difficult too. Dahlia and her sim spars had never been the most useful things, but now she found herself missing the kind of outside-the-box thinking you only got when you were fighting a real person instead of a collection of ones and zeroes. They still could spar; but she would never ask her sister to push herself more than she already was, and looking down at her sleeping form only made that feeling keener. I wish there was another pilot on the Aerie for stuff like this. Well, no point wishing for things that she couldn't change. She turned and left her sister, gently closing the door ajar. And she didn't really want another pilot, because being a pilot was painful, and she didn't want anyone else to need to be. Speaking of sims, actually, she had her own to attend to today as well. She was already stretching the Board's patience. Better not their schedule too. So, shaking her jacket a little bit to resettle it back on shoulders properly, she left the dorms once more. She was already in the commons when she realized that she was a little hungry, and should've eaten in the dorms. She could go anywhere she wanted, really, but it wasn't the same without Deelie and Besca. Another pang of that sharp, hungry guilt bit into her heart, sinking deep and twisting as she thought about what their lives would be like if she'd never come here. As she thought, she continued towards the sims, until she finally raised her heat to meet the hallway to... ...Medical? She'd gotten so used to coming here in recent days that her feet had just taken her here on her own. But, she thought, if she was here...she fished the key to Roaki's room out from the chain around her neck. Might as well, right? Really don't want to miss a day, after all. As she walked through the sterile looking-and smelling hallways of medical, she was barely given a second glance by those around her. She'd become such a regular fixture here, she was more or less expected. Still, it made it easier to get where she was going, at least; everybody knew already where she was going and that dissuading her was a really bad idea, so they just...cleared out of the way along the path to Roaki's room. ...Into which popped, after a moment's consideration on the other side of the door. "Hey, Roaki!"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Not much had changed over the weeks in this little room. Artificial sunlight still glowed through the blinds in the window. The TV was off, as it always was, and the little table over the bed was pushed aside. Roaki had meekly, bitterly refused any sort of distraction, be it book or phone or cards. She ate scarcely, supplemented by nutrients either in the IV or through vitamins; she wasn't quite withered, but she'd gained no weight since she'd arrived. What she did when Quinn wasn't around was anyone's guess, though when asked she would shrug, and insist she either slept, or just lay in silent thought. The anger had gone from her. All of her words were blunted, either mumbled or spoken with a softness in shocking contrast to their encounter at the duel. She didn't' call Quinn names anymore, didn't insult Dahlia or Besca. Still she had not met Quinn's eyes, and rarely did she ever offer conversation of her own will. But almost dutifully, whenever she was questioned, she answered. Even to the rest of the medical staff, who it seemed had inherited her deference to Quinn by proximity. She'd stopped asking to die. Perhaps Quinn saw that as a step forward, or perhaps it was simply a lack of will to move at all. Today, like every day, she lay with her head turned to the faux-sun. When Quinn shut the door behind her, she looked up to the ceiling in acknowledgement, before sitting up and turning her eyes to the sheets. The fraying gray curtain of hair fell over her face. "…Hey."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn took a long, deep breath as she walked over to the chair that she had become a constant tenant of in the past couple month or so. As it always was, the air in here was thick, stifling. Not physically, of course. But Roaki's soft monotone mumbling dug into her heart every time she heard it. And her thoughts still being stuck on her parents' possible untimely death didn't have her feeling any better. So, unlike usual--very unlike usual--when she sat down, she didn't talk for some time. Instead she just...looked at Roaki. Look at her, and wrestled with her thoughts. When she finally spoke, it was after almost five minutes had ticked by. Through the conversations she'd had with Roaki, there was one question that, no matter how she was asked it, she always skirted around. She'd talked about her parents, of course. She'd talked about being kept locked up in one room for sixteen years, never allowed to leave, never even allowed to see out of it. She'd talked about the compact operating table being wheeled into her room, and being put under, only vaguely recalling anything about what had ever happened. She'd talked a lot, at Roaki's questioning. Answered every other question she'd had. Except one. What she'd never talked about was...the water. But it was on her mind now. And she couldn't get it off. When she spoke, her voice was most unlike its usual state as seen by Roaki. Gone was the bounce in it, the cheerfulness. There was no anger or sorrow. All that was left was a deep melancholy. "You asked me a while ago why my parents kept me locked up, why they operated on me, and I never told you because I said it was too painful to think about." She hesitated. It was still hard to talk about. So, guiltily, sadly, she redirected it outward, in a strange kind of delaying gambit. "Do you still want to know?"</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Something was off, Roaki knew it right away. Usually Quinnlash came bursting in loud as anything, eager to talk and pretend—for whatever nebulous reasons she had—as if they did not despise each other. Sometimes it was only for minutes, sometimes it was an hour, sometimes early, others late. She didn't know what time it was now, but as the silence, usually disallowed to last a handful of moments, stretched into minutes, she knew something was wrong. Her hand squeezed the sheet in a fist. Is this it? she thought. Had the mask finally slipped off? Had she finally exhausted Quinnlash's seemingly-endless patience? Or perhaps over the weeks she'd simply gotten everything she needed. Roaki knew silence, knew it well enough to know nothing good came after it. Were these people finally going to start treating her like the enemy? Evidently not. When Quinn spoke she sounded different. Sad. That wasn't anything new. Quinn had cried plenty—Roaki remembered because it infuriated her every time, reminded her she'd lost to a crybaby, that she was worse. This sounded less like ridiculous guilt or sympathy, and more like…nostalgia. The pain of memory. Roaki had become privy to many of Quinnlash's feelings, none of which made her any easier to understand. But this—pain. Pain she could understand. Perhaps this was an opportunity, and if she listened closely, she might discover the girl's true weakness. Or she's messing with you, you fucking idiot. That, she decided, was also a possibility. Weeks spent waiting for the other shoe to drop; was this gravity at work? She supposed it didn't matter, really. She didn't have much use for shoes anyway. "Okay," she answered. "Sure. Why'd they do it?"</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein "Okay, sure. Why'd they do it?" Quinn went quiet again, though this time for only a few moments, as she screwed up her courage, forced herself to think back to Hovvi, and her life. The discovery that water was supposed to be clear was a memory as crisp and clear as it was painful to look back upon, and she sucked a harsh breath in through her teeth. "When I...when I was a girl--a kid, I mean, or, a few months ago, before the Hovvi Incident." she started slowly, voice stopping and starting as she fought to string her words together properly. "...I thought water was supposed to have a dark tint." As she went on her voice grew more constant, but also unsteady, shaky, like it always did when she was really upset. Yet she still forged on. "I had no way of knowing. My...my parents, they didn't tell me anything, they cut off almost the whole internet, they told me everything was normal. Including the water." She closed her eye, taking a few deep, shaky breaths in an attempt to calm herself. "It would've tasted funny too, though I didn't know it at the time, really. Bitter metal and salt brine." One more deep breath. One more long pause. Her eye grew hot and stung as she fought back tears, holding herself together as her voice quaked. "...Modium. It was modium." "They kept me inside so nobody would know and I wouldn't understand." She clung grimly on to her composure, even as her voice grew thick and tears started to build around her eye. "They cut me open to check if my insides were okay." She wasn't sure if that was true, but it was the only thing that made sense. "I didn't—" She stopped speaking abruptly, and finally, her composure broke. Her thin shoulders quaked. And she began to quietly cry.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Roaki sat and listened quietly, as was her lot. It sounded like nonsense, honestly, and the more Quinnlash said, the less sense anything made. Modium? Did she really expect her to believe she grew up drinking modium? People died just being near the stuff, you didn't just drink it. This had to be a trick, then, another ploy to get something out of her. But what? What else was there to say that hadn't been said already? She had no crucial information for RISC, no deep, national secrets; Helburke wanted her gone just as much as everyone else, no one had ever told her anything she didn't absolutely need to know. She considered it might be that strange, miserable sort of cruelty she'd suspected Quinnlash preferred some weeks ago, but if that truly was the case, its purpose had yet to be made clear. IF the rest of her life was really to be spent listening to her enemy complain she wished she'd been back in that cell—at least there the cold would have killed her by now. Failing that, she had to consider the distant possibility that Quinnlash was telling the truth—or at least that she thought she was. Roaki didn't believe it for a second. She was well acquainted with the effects of modium, more than most people alive, she wagered. If Quinnlash had really been drinking it her whole life, she'd be dead. She was certain of it. But, again, if it was true—why? The possibilities to that question were fractal and endless and made her head hurt. Roaki quickly decided that she didn't care why. If someone had done that to her, she thought, she would have ripped their kidneys out with her hands. Quinnlash wouldn't, though. She had a special sort of weakness, and if her persona were to be taken at face-value, then it wouldn't be at all surprising to find out that she never did anything about it. God, fuck. But if she'd only stop fucking crying. "…Okay," she said, when the silence was long. "Your parents poisoned you. Why would they do that?"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Another long silence followed Roaki's question, with no answer immediately forthcoming. For a brief time, there were only Quinn's soft, hiccupping tears. Then, a bit later, she gritted her teeth, swiped her arm across her eye, and spoke huskily, "I don't..." The word know was on the tip of her tongue, when she cocked her head to the side as a thought struck her. Because she did know at least a little now. "Or, well...they're, or they were, modiologists. Really, really good modiologists. The most famous in Runa, I think." And maybe more than that; she thought she'd seen some articles in Casobani when she'd run her search. She rubbed her eye and socket with her hands, and when she pulled them away, she looked down at the floor and spoke softly, giving voice to the thought that had been lurking in the back of her mind since she discovered their modiology: "Maybe I was just a science project." She wished she could talk about this kind of thing with Besca and Dahlia too. But Dahlia was either asleep or in sims, and she was awake—as seen today—she was certainly in no place to help Quinn work through her own problems. Besca was in the dorm to sleep for three hours and then leave for the bridge before Quinn woke up; they almost only talked over the phone now. So Roaki was...she gave a weak, weedy chuckle. Roaki was her only confidante, and there was something sadly funny about that. She shook her head vigorously then, doing her best to banish the thoughts. "I didn't mean to lay all that on you." She forced another laugh, still pained but a little less so. "It's just...on my mind today. Sorry."</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Modiologists. Roaki was familiar—she didn't like them. When she was little, and weak, and had to be excised from her cockpit by scalpels rather than bonesaws, it was always the modiologists who operated on her. She glanced down at her hand, her arm, at the ghostly splotches scattered upon the skin. How many times had it been? She'd sworn she would remember every cut, but eventually there'd been so many, and they'd only hurt more as time went on. She'd lost track, it was shameful, so instead she'd just vowed deathly vengeance upon all scientists. The idea that Quinn had spent her whole life gulping down poison was still ridiculous to her, but if someone was going to do that, it would be fucking modiologists. Roaki felt herself getting angry again as Quinn apologized. Why did she keep doing that? There wasn't anything to forgive, you didn't get to have grievances as a loser—though, in her experience, that was undeniably due to the fact that dead people didn't have grievances. Was she supposed to forgive her? Roaki couldn't even imagine herself in the other seat, seeking forgiveness from someone she'd beaten. Though, again, dead people didn't forgive. "It's…fine," she said. Regardless of her feelings, it was clear Quinn wasn't going to leave it at that. This was the topic of their discussion today, and so like every other day, Roaki would bear it—and try, just a little, to sift something useful from it. "But why does it…matter? Wasn't everyone mulched in Hovvi? They're dead. You won. You can forget about them. The quicker you lose their names, the better."</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn closed her eye as Roaki spoke. When she responded, it stayed shut, and it took on that same melancholy that it'd carried earlier, something that was becoming more common to hear from Quinn. But it was a bit different this time; it was underscored with a taut, bone-deep tension. "The problem is..." She didn't want to admit how she'd felt before, that awful feeling of hoping they were alive. Hopefully she'd just forget it with enough time. "...They weren't in Hovvi that morning, the only reason I could leave cause they left my door open by mistake. They'd gone to do some...science thing in Queenshand." She sighed heavily, then leaned forward and opened her eye. "Until today, I was sure they were alive. But the stuff I read said they were going back when they learned the singularity would hit. So I don't actually know if they were there or not." She smiled lamely. "And not knowing is so much worse. Dumb, right? But," she went on after a beat of silence, "what do I do about it? Now that I know, I wish I didn't." Her voice dropped to a whisper then, and she pulled her legs up, resting her feet on the edge of the chair as she curled her arms around her knees. "And...I don't think I can forget them. Could ever forget them. They'll always be...there. They're, like, burned into my head." She made a muffled sound of distress, but didn't start crying again. She'd promised herself that. No more crying today. "See?" She motioned towards the door, held slightly ajar, forgetting Roaki wouldn't look at her. "I still can't do doors."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Things were quickly becoming complicated again. Ugh. So they weren't dead, but now, actually, they might be dead after all? Roaki didn't know how utterly wrecked the rinky-dink town had been after the attack, maybe they just couldn't identify all the dead people. There was a chance still that under all that rubble were the itty-bitty pieces of her parents. But that wasn't the frustrating part. It was the fact that Quinnlash seemed unwilling to just fucking let go that got her heated. She had to remind herself this was all likely bullshit anyway, but the part playing along wished she had the will to scream. That was why the door was ajar? This was why Quinnlash was the way she was? Unbelievable. "So just fuckin' kill'em," she said flatly. "You know you can do that, right? You're a pilot, you're allowed to. Even if they're fancy pantsy scientists, you're still the bigger fish." Fuck's sake, she almost looked up at her. Her eyes got as high up as Quinnlash's neck before darting back down. Frustrated, yeah, but in the back of her mind, like a leash, the word worm kept her heeled. Fine, no yelling. She'd just talk like some stupid fucking civvy. "And it's not totally forgetting," she said. "It's more like…Look, I had five siblings, and two aunts. I killed them all. And I guess, before I actually did it, I was…kinda like you. I didn't know. Most of them were shits, couple of'em weren't. Maybe I wanted to kill them, maybe I didn't. But when I was done, I did know, and it was better. "I didn't just suddenly forget them. They're…I…remember. But they're the past. So, if your stupid ass parents are still alive, and you see them again, just kill'em. Make them the past. That's when it gets easier."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn knew already that Roaki had killed her family. She'd fought duels against them, after all, and duels (almost) always ended with someone dying. But still, the plain admission had her hiss in a breath through her teeth, and a part of her wanted to yell at the younger girl for it. Her own family—the real one, at least—was so important to her that just the idea of killing family drove a stake into her side. But Roaki was talking, and she shouldn't interrupt, she'd asked the question after all. ...And besides that, there was a part of her—not Quinnlash—that yearned, that urged upon hearing Roaki's words, to beat her parents black and blue before squeezing their throats until they stopped struggling and turn them into past tense if she ever found them alive. But every time she tried to picture it, tried to want it, all she could see was Her mom looking lovingly down at her as she pricked the IV into her arm. Sitting with Quinn and smiling as the little girl excitedly talked about all the places she wanted to see when she was a grown up. The way she gently stroked her hand down her braid when she had a nightmare. I love you so much, Quinny. Then, before she even realized it, she was on her feet with a sudden burst of dry-mouthed panic. The chair crashed to the ground behind her as she lurched violently upward, eye wide in horror as she held a hand over her mouth with a vague panicked gagging noise, using the other to steady herself against the wall. Bile crept up in her throat, and she thought she might be sick. "I—" she choked out as her stomach churned, "I—I didn't—I—she—it's not—" And she got no further before she turned, stumble-ran into the bathroom, and emptied her guts into the toilet.</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Roaki jolted when Quinnlash shot up, and would have met eyes with her out of reflex, only Quinnlash was unfocused and covering her mouth like— Oh. She listened to the retching sounds from her bathroom, dumbstruck, staring at the toppled chair. Had that been her fault? Were the things she'd said so revolting that Quinnlash had needed to expel them immediately? Deep within her, she felt a little flame that she hadn't been aware of snuff out, leaving behind a cold lacuna she could not ignore. For the briefest moment, she had allowed herself to believe she understood. Perhaps, she'd thought, she had actually seen something familiar in another person—in Quinnlash, her enemy, yes, but also the only one to beat her. Someone who had doubts, like she had, and who seemed close to making the same mistakes or worse. She realized dumbly that she had tried to help. Idiot. By what right? In what way? Here she sat, day in and day out, broken and useless, a failure, senselessly clinging to a life that would be infinitely more valuable in death. She had lost. Quinn had won. How could she ever compare them? To assume so much, to insinuate similarity was worse than insult, it was omen. Just the idea of it sickened her. This, Roaki guessed, was no ploy. This was folly. She had forgotten her place, and had been swiftly and poignantly reminded. Cold cell or sterile room, the Aerie was a prison, and these people, especially Quinnlash, were her wardens and tormentors. She only hoped, soon, they'd grow bored of her.</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. It was minutes before Quinnlash returned, but she'd wished it was longer. Roaki's eyes found the sheets again, she couldn't tell if the shame was bearing down on her from without, or bursting from within, but it was heavy and burning all the same. Was she meant to say something? Should she throw herself down and apologize for what she'd said? If she brought herself low, as she had in the cockpit with Dragon's pilot had cut her apart, would that satisfy them? Would it end, then? She was surprised to find she had enough pride left to refuse, but not by much. She could take isolation, she could take insult, she could take pain, none of those had ever struck her as deeply as revulsion did. She hated being looked at, she felt disgusting. Worms belonged in the dirt, why didn't they just— Quinnlash is speaking. Well, Quinnlash was trying to speak. She did this sometimes, too, stuttered and stumbled and eventually gave up. Often the silence would last until she either tried to continue, or decided to call it a day. Roaki hoped for the latter. She needed to be alone. She wasn't going to cry—never again, not for any of them, she swore—but the cold and empty inside of her was suffocating. Every breath was a bit shorter than the last, a bit more strained. It was panic, almost, or aspiring to be. Another weakness she had no desire to degrade herself showing. "They're gonna come draw blood at some point," she said quietly. "Do you want anything else?"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn stared hopelessly down at the floor. If Roaki could've met her eye, she would've found not revulsion, not hatred, but pain. Deep, burning pain that ate at her newly-empty stomach and withered her lungs before breaths ever found them. "...No. I'll...I'll come back later. I don't—I don't feel..." She let herself trail off, and hauled herself to her feet, plodding to the door, pushing it the rest of the way open, and sliding out before shutting it behind her. As soon as she did, she fell against the wall, making her way wearily back through medical like she'd just been awake for fifty hours. I'm sorry, Quinny. You can't go outside, you know it's dangerous out there! You can go when you're all grown up, okay, sweetie? Her breathing hitched as memories kept seething up from the depths of her mind. She closed her eye tight and just stopped for a moment. This was a new pain. A different pain. A pain that stole her breath away. A moment after, she opened her eyes again and kept moving, managing to resume her feet proper this time. Aww, Quinny, it's summer! You're going to get dehydrated, sweetie! Drink it all up, okay? All these memories. They wouldn't go away. They kept playing back, over and over and over. We're just worried about you, sweetie! Dad and I just want to keep you safe, make sure you healthy! So lie down for me, please? Quinn had never, even right after Hovvi, wanted to forget something so badly as she did in that moment. So...how do I forget? If she thought about it for more than a moment, the answer jumped out at her. She'd read online that people drank alcohol to forget. Besca wasn't drunk often, but...when she was, she always seemed so happy. Quinn didn't know exactly what the process was, but she knew that it couldn't be too hard. Just drink something alcoholic, right? For a moment, she paused, and wondered if this was really a good idea. But then another memory tore through her mind, this one of her mom telling her a bedtime story. A painful twist jolted from her heart. And then her mind was made up. Skulking around the edges of the station—she didn't want people to see her in this state—she passed through the commons, and eventually found herself at one of her favorite haunts: Tohoki grill. It wasn't noon yet, so it was completely empty, as far as she could tell. Everyone was at work, or at CB Danes, which was a bit less of a sit-down place. Chef Akihiro turned to her with a smile, but it quickly turned into a confused frown at the way she was carrying herself. And, as she slung herself down, the frown grew a little more concerned. "I'd like a yuzu soda," she said tonelessly. And a moment later, she waved behind the counter, where a dizzying array of bottles was pressed up against the wall. "And put one of those in it, please."</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Akihiro hesitated. It had become very clear that Quinn had found a place among his favorite customers in her short time aboard the Aerie, and thus far things had been friendly between them. He knew her favorite meals, down to the ingredients she liked in some dishes, and others she didn't. He had on occasion crafted specialties for her, when time and supplies allowed, or had her taste-test potential new additions to the menu. They shared few personal things—though Quinn tended to wear her emotions on her sleeve, and so was not particularly hard to read—but there was an undeniable sense of understanding there. Besides, Akihiro had been working on the Aerie for years. He was used to being around pilots, and while the previous lot was gone, he had forged relationships with them as well, ranging from the strictly professional, to the respectfully distant, and, of course, the familiar. All of that aside, the difference between him and them was always stark. He was a civilian, after all, and no matter how friendly they were, they were pilots. They outranked him socially, and professionally. When they asked something of him, regardless of how much it sounded like a suggestion, or how much he would rather refuse, he could not. So, when Quinn asked him for alcohol, he followed it like an order. He picked a nice, albeit not overly-strong bottle that would mix well with yuzu, and whipped up a glass for her. He didn't know whether or not she'd eaten today, but she looked ill to his eyes. When he served her the drink, he slid a small bowl of soba noodles along with it. Then he bowed, went to fetch another cloth from the kitchen, and before he returned to the front, he sent the Commander a message, informing her of Quinn's whereabouts. There was no response, of course; Commander Darroh was a busy woman and likely wouldn't see a message from him for hours. By then he hoped Quinn would be finished, and sleeping, perhaps. She looked like she hadn't slept. These too were thoughts he kept to himself as he emerged back to the bar. "Would you like a menu?" he asked, and set one down near her. "Delivery day was this morning, so everything is fresh."</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn stared hopelessly down at the floor. If Roaki could've met her eye, she would've found not revulsion, not hatred, but pain. Deep, burning pain that ate at her newly-empty stomach and withered her lungs before breaths ever found them. "...No. I'll...I'll come back later. I don't—I don't feel..." She let herself trail off, and hauled herself to her feet, plodding to the door, pushing it the rest of the way open, and sliding out before shutting it behind her. As soon as she did, she fell against the wall, making her way wearily back through medical like she'd just been awake for fifty hours. I'm sorry, Quinny. You can't go outside, you know it's dangerous out there! You can go when you're all grown up, okay, sweetie? Her breathing hitched as memories kept seething up from the depths of her mind. She closed her eye tight and just stopped for a moment. This was a new pain. A different pain. A pain that stole her breath away. A moment after, she opened her eyes again and kept moving, managing to resume her feet proper this time. Aww, Quinny, it's summer! You're going to get dehydrated, sweetie! Drink it all up, okay? All these memories. They wouldn't go away. They kept playing back, over and over and over. We're just worried about you, sweetie! Dad and I just want to keep you safe, make sure you healthy! So lie down for me, please? Quinn had never, even right after Hovvi, wanted to forget something so badly as she did in that moment. So...how do I forget? If she thought about it for more than a moment, the answer jumped out at her. She'd read online that people drank alcohol to forget. Besca wasn't drunk often, but...when she was, she always seemed so happy. Quinn didn't know exactly what the process was, but she knew that it couldn't be too hard. Just drink something alcoholic, right? For a moment, she paused, and wondered if this was really a good idea. But then another memory tore through her mind, this one of her mom telling her a bedtime story. A painful twist jolted from her heart. And then her mind was made up. Skulking around the edges of the station—she didn't want people to see her in this state—she passed through the commons, and eventually found herself at one of her favorite haunts: Tohoki grill. It wasn't noon yet, so it was completely empty, as far as she could tell. Everyone was at work, or at CB Danes, which was a bit less of a sit-down place. Chef Akihiro turned to her with a smile, but it quickly turned into a confused frown at the way she was carrying herself. And, as she slung herself down, the frown grew a little more concerned. "I'd like a yuzu soda," she said tonelessly. And a moment later, she waved behind the counter, where a dizzying array of bottles was pressed up against the wall. "And put one of those in it, please."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Akihiro hesitated. It had become very clear that Quinn had found a place among his favorite customers in her short time aboard the Aerie, and thus far things had been friendly between them. He knew her favorite meals, down to the ingredients she liked in some dishes, and others she didn't. He had on occasion crafted specialties for her, when time and supplies allowed, or had her taste-test potential new additions to the menu. They shared few personal things—though Quinn tended to wear her emotions on her sleeve, and so was not particularly hard to read—but there was an undeniable sense of understanding there. Besides, Akihiro had been working on the Aerie for years. He was used to being around pilots, and while the previous lot was gone, he had forged relationships with them as well, ranging from the strictly professional, to the respectfully distant, and, of course, the familiar. All of that aside, the difference between him and them was always stark. He was a civilian, after all, and no matter how friendly they were, they were pilots. They outranked him socially, and professionally. When they asked something of him, regardless of how much it sounded like a suggestion, or how much he would rather refuse, he could not. So, when Quinn asked him for alcohol, he followed it like an order. He picked a nice, albeit not overly-strong bottle that would mix well with yuzu, and whipped up a glass for her. He didn't know whether or not she'd eaten today, but she looked ill to his eyes. When he served her the drink, he slid a small bowl of soba noodles along with it. Then he bowed, went to fetch another cloth from the kitchen, and before he returned to the front, he sent the Commander a message, informing her of Quinn's whereabouts. There was no response, of course; Commander Darroh was a busy woman and likely wouldn't see a message from him for hours. By then he hoped Quinn would be finished, and sleeping, perhaps. She looked like she hadn't slept. These too were thoughts he kept to himself as he emerged back to the bar. "Would you like a menu?" he asked, and set one down near her. "Delivery day was this morning, so everything is fresh."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn eyed the glass that Akihiro had set in front of her. She'd seen him pour a bit of a clear liquid into it from one of the bottles, she couldn't read it from here. Picking it up, she swirled it a little, watching detached as the pale green liquid sloshed around the sides. It looked just like the usual stuff, really. Didn't look like anything had been mixed with it. So, just like those months ago when it had been a bottle of crystal-clear water, she lifted it to her mouth and took a tentative sip. She blinked. It tasted like...like yuzu soda. There was a vague burning aftertaste to it that she couldn't place, but it wasn't too bad, and it wasn't strong either way. So by the time Akihiro had come back with the menu, she'd already drained half the glass. Nothing happened. Maybe she hadn't had enough to drink, or maybe she needed to wait. Maybe both. Either way. She picked at the noodles, idly wondering whether or not she should, or could, eat them. Took another drink. Idly flipping through the menu that Akihiro had set beside her, she closed her eye gently to his gentle gaze. She felt like she was suffocating. Drowning inside her own head. Falling back down in that well that she was trying so hard to crawl out of, and had been for so long. Enough that stringing words together came with some effort. "No, I'm—I can't—" A long pause. "I—she—" No more words came out. Her head dropped. She took another drink.</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Long minutes passed, quiet, as a handful of people shuffled in for an early lunch, took their seats in the dimly lit booths and ordered. Akihiro was alone, save for one other cook, and so he dipped in and out from behind the counter to serve food, or to check in thee kitchen. Quinn had finished her first glass very fast, and had politely asked for another with the same uncertain surety with which she'd ordered the first. Then, she finished that one too. Akihiro did not immediately refill this one, instead he waited until she asked on her own, and then delayed further by busying himself with the other tables. That took another few minutes, but when he finally returned she was still adamant that she wanted another drink. She was the pilot, she got what she wanted. He poured her another yuzu cocktail, and continued to work. He minded the kitchen briefly as he sent his cook out to fetch bread. When he returned, Akihiro brought a small basket of rolls out and set them down for Quinn, beside the still-untouched noodles, along with a pitcher and a glass of water. "In case you change your mind. Good for later."</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Besca braced herself on the bar to keep from toppling to the ground, but kept one arm around Quinn. This was, at least, somewhat familiar to her. Quinn was an understandably emotional girl, and by now she'd lost track of how many times she'd held her like this. That was a dismaying thought on its own, but what weighed it down, made it worse, were the parts that weren't familiar. She had, in years past, handled drunken pilots many times. It was a hassle but never surprising; piloting rewarded people with no shortage of reasons to drink, or smoke, or otherwise remove themselves from their horrid reality. It had been true of the hardiest sort, like Ghaust, and of the most seemingly-well-adjusted, like Safie. She had, on more than one occasion, had to pick both her and Dahlia off of the dormitory floor and bring them to their rooms. It had taken time, but eventually she'd learned how to handle them. She did not know how to handle Quinn. "S'okay, hun," she said softly. She ran a hand through Quinn's hair and shot a hard, expectant look at Follen. He only shrugged—useless fucker. Slowly, carefully, she stood up out of her seat and guided Quinn down onto her own. She didn't let go though, instead holding her close. She wove her arm under Quinn's, around to her other shoulder, and helped her stay upright. "Not goin' anywhere, just to bed. Gonna feel better after a little sleep. Come on, lean on me, just like that hun, there you go. Easy now." Follen got up as well and went to open the door for them. They took unsteady steps, their progress slow, until they were outside again. Most of the station was still at work, but those who'd managed to get breaks this early, or weren't on shift yet, were gathered in faux-happenstance not too far from Tohoki Grill. Some tried to be subtle about their interest, others brazenly recorded with their phones. None of them dared approach though, so Besca ignored them. "Alright Quinn, good work so far. Little bit further."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn's head spun like a top. As they approached the door, she found it difficult to walk, difficult even to stand. She didn't really know what was going on as they walked—or, well, as Besca walked, and she stumbled alongside her. She understood, in the loosest sense, that they were going back to the dorms to sleep. That was fine. Sleep sounded good. She felt sick, and the tears were still dripping down her face for reasons she didn't fully comprehend. So she just leaned her head into the crook of Besca's neck and let herself be guided. The familiar sights of the Aerie were weird, distorted, seemed a little bit unfamiliar and...off. At some point after they left the commons but before they made it to the dorm, she found herself talking. Or, at the very least, what could be passably assumed as talking of some kind. Really, less talking and more mumbling into Besca's neck as her brain spun in her head. Her voice was a soft, piteous thing, still clogged with tears, as well as heavy with the anxiety and pain that she couldn't seem to hold down anymore. "Beshca, 's...ish Dahlia mad a' me?" She fell silent for a moment, burying her face in Besca's neck again as they traversed the hallway that led to the pilots dorms. A part of her dimly realized that's where they were, and her crying grew suddenly louder and heavier. "Are...are you mad a' me?" Her tears quickly devolved into hiccuping sobs as her thin, shaking arms wrapped clumsily around Besca. "I don' wanna be 'lone anymore, wha'ever I did I'm sorry!"</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Besca had to steel herself. Had to. It was like listening to a pilot die over comms, just hammer blows of helpless misery and if she didn't mute that voice inside telling her to shut down, she'd crumble and that's all that'd be left. She didn't have that luxury anymore, hadn't long before she'd become Commander. Before she'd even come to Runa. There was a sizeable portion of herself still buried in the modious smolder of Westwel, right beside her old life—probably not too far from where Follen's own self was; difference being, she still had the humanity to look back and miss the things she'd lost. Right now, she wished she didn't. "No, hun," she whispered, dragging the words up her throat. "Neither of us are. Never. You didn't do anything, don't be sorry. C'mon, almost there." Follen opened the door for them, lingered a moment. She fixed him with a glare that was too muddle to be as threatening as she wanted. "Pilots and approved personnel only," she said. He smirked. "These would certainly be extenuating circumstances. She is my patient, after all." Cross that threshold and I'll fucking gut you. If he could read her thoughts, he didn't admit it. But he did reach out and pat Quinn's head with perfectly manufactured affection. "Sleep well," he said, and then he left them. The doors shut and locked. There wasn't time or effort to waste. Besca righted herself, and walked Quinn gently across the commons. She noticed Dahlia in the wrong room, which wasn't surprising, but figured the last thing she needed right now was a drunk bunkmate. She changed course for her own room instead. On the way she noticed Quinn's phone discarded on the ground, but decided to leave picking up for later. "Here we go," she said, leading Quinn to the bed. "Made it, easy-peasy. Lets get you nice and comfortable." As if she were handling an infant made from glass and pipebombs, Besca lowered Quinn onto the sheets, head to pillow, and then crouched down beside her. Tohoki Grill was moody, but this proper dark would do her good. She brushed fingers through Quinn's hair, traced them down her cheek and back up again. "Look at that, you did great. I'm not goin' anywhere, so you just close your eyes and sleep. I'll make sure you're safe and sound, yeah? Be right here with you."</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn's head spun like a top. As they approached the door, she found it difficult to walk, difficult even to stand. She didn't really know what was going on as they walked—or, well, as Besca walked, and she stumbled alongside her. She understood, in the loosest sense, that they were going back to the dorms to sleep. That was fine. Sleep sounded good. She felt sick, and the tears were still dripping down her face for reasons she didn't fully comprehend. So she just leaned her head into the crook of Besca's neck and let herself be guided. The familiar sights of the Aerie were weird, distorted, seemed a little bit unfamiliar and...off. At some point after they left the commons but before they made it to the dorm, she found herself talking. Or, at the very least, what could be passably assumed as talking of some kind. Really, less talking and more mumbling into Besca's neck as her brain spun in her head. Her voice was a soft, piteous thing, still clogged with tears, as well as heavy with the anxiety and pain that she couldn't seem to hold down anymore. "Beshca, 's...ish Dahlia mad a' me?" She fell silent for a moment, burying her face in Besca's neck again as they traversed the hallway that led to the pilots dorms. A part of her dimly realized that's where they were, and her crying grew suddenly louder and heavier. "Are...are you mad a' me?" Her tears quickly devolved into hiccuping sobs as her thin, shaking arms wrapped clumsily around Besca. "I don' wanna be 'lone anymore, wha'ever I did I'm sorry!"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Besca had to steel herself. Had to. It was like listening to a pilot die over comms, just hammer blows of helpless misery and if she didn't mute that voice inside telling her to shut down, she'd crumble and that's all that'd be left. She didn't have that luxury anymore, hadn't long before she'd become Commander. Before she'd even come to Runa. There was a sizeable portion of herself still buried in the modious smolder of Westwel, right beside her old life—probably not too far from where Follen's own self was; difference being, she still had the humanity to look back and miss the things she'd lost. Right now, she wished she didn't. "No, hun," she whispered, dragging the words up her throat. "Neither of us are. Never. You didn't do anything, don't be sorry. C'mon, almost there." Follen opened the door for them, lingered a moment. She fixed him with a glare that was too muddle to be as threatening as she wanted. "Pilots and approved personnel only," she said. He smirked. "These would certainly be extenuating circumstances. She is my patient, after all." Cross that threshold and I'll fucking gut you. If he could read her thoughts, he didn't admit it. But he did reach out and pat Quinn's head with perfectly manufactured affection. "Sleep well," he said, and then he left them. The doors shut and locked. There wasn't time or effort to waste. Besca righted herself, and walked Quinn gently across the commons. She noticed Dahlia in the wrong room, which wasn't surprising, but figured the last thing she needed right now was a drunk bunkmate. She changed course for her own room instead. On the way she noticed Quinn's phone discarded on the ground, but decided to leave picking up for later. "Here we go," she said, leading Quinn to the bed. "Made it, easy-peasy. Lets get you nice and comfortable." As if she were handling an infant made from glass and pipebombs, Besca lowered Quinn onto the sheets, head to pillow, and then crouched down beside her. Tohoki Grill was moody, but this proper dark would do her good. She brushed fingers through Quinn's hair, traced them down her cheek and back up again. "Look at that, you did great. I'm not goin' anywhere, so you just close your eyes and sleep. I'll make sure you're safe and sound, yeah? Be right here with you."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Lying down was nice. And the darkness was nice too. As the door to the pilot's dorms had closed behind them she'd flinched like she'd been struck, and that flinch seemed to reverberate around her body like a shiver. By the time she'd lay down, it had become a shiver, and tremor that ran through her. She felt the covers dip and turned to see what it was, even though it was dark and she couldn't see very good right now. But she was still coherent enough to realize after a few moments that it was Besca, that Besca was next to her, was stroking her hair, rubbing her hand on her cheek. "Look at that, you did great. I'm not goin' anywhere, so you just close your eyes and sleep. I'll make sure you're safe and sound, yeah? Be right here with you." That's right. Besca was there. Besca was there. Besca would make it all better. Quinn curled in on herself, almost wrapping herself around Besca. She was still crying, and crying hard, in that deep, raw way that came with all restraint being torn away. Her eye stung like fire by now, and as she lay there, her quiet, disoriented slurring continued, growing more and more distressed as she went on. "Beshca, why did they leave me? Why do they hate me? Ish it 'cause I was bad? Did I do shomethin' bad?" She reached up and grabbed Besca's hand on her cheek, pulling it down to her chest and holding it in both hands as she wailed quietly, piteously: "'M I a bad daughter?"</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. Besca felt hot iron in her gut. The heat welled in her chest and made her throat ache and close. Unable to speak quite then, she shook her head to buy time and gripped Quinn's hand tightly. A bad daughter. The words were nonsense, they'd be lost quicker than it had taken to speak them, no doubt, but they stuck to Besca like paper-mâché. A bad daughter. Quinn knew a lot of things—more than she thought she did, about things no one ought to know about—but she had no idea what it mean to be a bad daughter. She never would. Just wasn't the kind of girl she was. A sigh let the air back into her lungs. "No," she said as soon as she could. "No, hun, you're not. You're a great daughter." It made her almost sick to say it. The Loughveins had done unspeakable things to this girl, and from day one Besca might have been absolutely certain they had no right having any children, and they certainly hadn't deserved Quinn. But that didn't matter now—not right now, anyway. What mattered was getting Quinn to sleep, and making sure she survived the ridiculously terrible hangover waiting for her once she woke up. "All you gotta do now is close your eyes, yeah? Just close your eyes and breathe, and it'll get better. You need a lil' rest, that's all." She let Quinn hold onto one hand, and brought the other up to keep brushing through her hair. "Go on, you're all safe now. I'll make sure."</s>

<|description|>R.I.S.C. Runan Isles Savior Corps --- Established in the wake of Westwel's destruction, the Runan Isles Savior Corps is by no means the most impressive program on Illun, but it's well-funded and well-run by a few survivors of Westwel's own Corps. Character Info Name – Besca Darroh Age – 35 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Originally from Westwel, Besca Darroh has been around Saviors her entire life. Her grandfather had helped fell the Modir who would become "Dragon," and her father had headed Westwel's burgeoning Savior program. She met dozens of pilots, watched as their connection to the Modir ate away at their minds and bodies. Other nations treated their pilots like a resource to be burned through, kept at arm's length in all but public affairs. Besca, however, went out of her way to engage with Westwel's pilots and even piloting candidates, caring after them with a degree of humanity which was, frankly, missing in the programs of other nations. Her methods were derided as frivolous and naïve by her peers, but the pilots appreciated it, which, to her, was all that mattered. She lost many things in Westwel's fall; her home, her father, her friends, and no small piece of her faith in humanity, but ironically enough she didn't lose her job. When Runa took in her country's refugees, and subsequently acquired their first Savior, they came to the last living member of Westwel's program for help in founding their own. Nowadays, Besca doesn't often involve herself in the politics of the program. Technically speaking she isn't even chief of operations—a position occupied by the Runan government—but rather, her duties revolve around "pilot maintenance." While she hasn't lost her desire to make life easier for the pilots, she isn't nearly as incorrigibly optimistic or sunny as she once was. Character Info Name – Dahlia St. Senn Age – 18 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Dahlia was a toddler when her home was destroyed by the Modir, spirited away from Westwel in the arms of a family friend. She spent the first fourteen years of her life in the quiet, lakeside town of Hovvi. She was, like many children, absolutely enthralled by the Saviors, so when she tested positive and was whisked away into orbit, Dahlia thought her dream had come true. She missed her friends, and her adoptive father, but this was her opportunity to do something important. This was her chance to help. She had no idea. Runa's Savior, Dragon, had not been phased by a single pilot until Dahlia entered the cockpit. With its potential finally unleashed, she was able to end invasions within minutes—which was crucial, because she couldn't remain connected for much longer than that before the giant's neural regeneration reached critical levels. Dahlia has become Runa's WMD, and as such, she actually doesn't pilot as much as she did before R.I.S.C. acquired its two other Saviors. Besca has become rather protective of her, not wanting to risk putting her in situations where she may be forced to over-exert herself, or risk being overtaken. Character Info Name – Hadrian Ghaust Age – 38 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. Hadrian Ghaust is Helburke personified. He is strong, unrelenting, stoic to a chilling degree, and utterly devastating in the cockpit. Ghaust is also a veteran pilot, having commanded the Savior Marrowman in service of the Helburken crown for 20 years, and despite a phasing speed so slow that he rarely deigns to use his magic at all, he was well on his way to becoming one of his country's most accomplished pilots. However, Ghaust's priority has always been the fight against the Modir, and Helburke's clamor for political power is something he viewed with silent disdain. To him, using Saviors to settle diplomatic disputes isn't just wasteful, it's shameful. So, when Helburke ordered him to bring Marrowman to bear against the newly-risen Runa's Dragon, he refused. When, then, he was given the ultimatum of going through with the duel or forfeiting his rank and position, he looked his general in the eye, ripped the pilot's medal from his collar, and left his home behind. Overnight Ghaust was made a Pariah in Helburke, and his home turned against him. He was forced to leave, and though several foreign programs sought him out, Ghaust denied them all, even passing up a pilot's seat in Eusero. Instead, he went straight to the burgeoning program in Runa, who was more than happy to take him. Character Info Name – Safie Calhan Age – 22 Affiliation – R.I.S.C. R.I.S.C.'s newest pilot, Safie has spent the past year earning her place at Dahlia and Ghaust's sides. Born and raised in Runa's largest city, Queenshand, Safie was one of countless starry-eyed youths who dreamed of the day she'd get to step inside the cockpit of a Savior. A positive connection-test put her on the path, but it was the months upon months of personal training, rigorous study, and nights spent running sims until dawn that pulled her ahead of the other aspirants. With a phase potential speed just above average, she was a perfect fit between Runa's other two pilots. While Dahlia has accrued something of a heroic mythos about her, she's often reclusive and hesitant to make many public appearances. Safie on the other hand loves to meet the people she's helping, be that with personal visits, answering fan-mail, or simply getting her hands dirty cleaning up after the messier invasions. Some see her approach as distinctly Euseran, but Safie didn't become a pilot for the attention, she became a pilot because it was the right thing to do. Character Info Name – Lucis Abroix Age – 25 Affiliation – Casoban, on loan to the R.I.S.C. Casoban's sole effort to save Westwel, while ultimately futile, planted the seeds of goodwill between it and Runa. Casoban has always lived in the influential shadows of Helburke and Eusero, but allied with Runa, the two manage a strong presence on the world stage. As a show of solidarity, Casoban has even begun sending a Savior of its own as backup to Runa's invasions. Enter: Lucis Abroix. Lucis is perhaps one of Casoban's most beloved pilots, despite having only a handful of deployments to his name. Handsome, personable, with a poetic flare and the voice of an angel, many people back home already consider him the face of Casoban's Savior program—a role he is more than happy to play. Lucis makes regular public appearances, seemingly never missing an opportunity to espouse his love for the beauty of the world, and his burning desire to protect it from the Modir.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. There was silence for a little while, punctuated by little, aggravated grunts as Quinnlash proceeded to stumble towards the rear of the boat, having seemingly not heard her. She wobbled onto the seat, leaned strangely sideways as though she thought it might propel her back to her feet—which it did anyway, of course. She mumbled, "This sucksh," and turned back to Quinn, face scrunched up like she'd smelled something foul. "Forget?" she said, incredulous. "'Course you din't forget. Think some ssssssssstupid drink s'gonna take our memories away? Need those. Mmh. Need those." "why am I thinkin' these things about her?" Quinnlash threw up her arms. "'Cuz she's mom. Duh! That's what she did. She got in, she put herself into our head, deep as she could, like a worm, but hey," she hunched down low, at-eyes with Quinn. "Look. Watch. C'mere…" Twirling around and nearly falling over again, Quinnlash walked right off the back of the boat and into the water. Or rather, onto it. Her feet made contact with the strange waves and sunk no further than an inch in. With each step, the water flattened and hardened like sand, and when eventually her imbalance got the better of her and she flopped down onto it, it didn't splash so much as rustle like grass in the wind. More grumbling, more pushing herself upright again at impossible angles. As she rose, she flung her arms like she was slamming a door shut, and the whole world followed that motion, smearing entirely out of focus one way, and then snapping back into clarity the other. They were no longer on the lake, but overlooking it from high above. Quinn still sat in the boat, which now rested in the grass of a cliff—though still rocked as if upon the gentle waters. The lake was below, complete with its smudgy surface and poorly-rendered reflections. Off to the distant, lower side was the dark blur of Hovvi, dotted with lights that were clearly meant to be coming from inside the buildings, but more than a few simply hung in the air, attached to nothing. Around them, the cliff was empty, but right away Quinn would know that was wrong. It shouldn't be. There should be something here. There was something here, she knew it, even though she'd only ever seen it the one time. They were where her house had been. In the vacant grass Quinnlash stood triumphantly with her hands on her hips. "Lookit this. She's gone here. They both are. Plucked'em out. This is where we forget. But out there, where it's real, we need to remember. We need to remember so we know who to hate."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein It was disorienting, the way that Quinnlash shifted the scene. Disorienting the way that everything seemed off, even though Quinn knew why it was. Disorienting the way she talked about their mother, and the way she...got deep into their head and stayed there. Disorienting, the way it felt to once again look out over the lake from the cliffs, like everything had moved back to the start again, almost like nothing had ever happened. But most disorienting of all was the undisturbed grass. She knew, of course, that the house wasn't here in the dreams. She couldn't see it from the boat, Quinnlash had told her that it was gone, even, that she'd taken it away because their parents were takers. But it was one thing to know something, and quite another to experience it. Though the boat was still moving like it was on the water, Quinn slowly, almost meditatively, walked out the back and set her feet that were all of a sudden barefoot on the grass, felt it tickling her feet, not at all considering that she'd never walked barefoot on grass and that this was probably not at all what it felt like in the waking world. No, she was preoccupied, as she meandered almost in a trance to the very edge of the cliff and sat down, staring out at the wildly shifting lake from far above it. On an impulse she reached her hand out as though to touch it. And even here, in this dream where she felt so much less, her heart burned like fire as she looked out over what Hovvi used to be. "...But out there, where it's real, we need to remember. We need to remember so we know who to hate." She finally tore her gaze away from the false town and looked back over her shoulder at the tiny self that stood there, little hands balled into fists. And by way of response, she let her shoulders sag and lay back, looking up at the stars decoupled from the sky. She sighed. Her voice, when she spoke, was heavy as lead and quiet in the evening gloom, filled with a nameless futility. "...Can you help me hate them?"</s>

<|message|>R.I.S.C. The sky above her righted itself, at least partially. Patches of blurry umber snapped into focus, and there the stars were crisp and vibrant against the black. But it wasn't stable, it didn't last; if she looked closely she could practically tell where Quinnlash's focus was, where she meant to put things back together, and where they slipped from her grasp. Far away, the stars dripped from the sky in shooting strands of silver, falling clear past the horizon, and then lapsing through it. "Incredible, right? All the things we lost. All the things we never had to lose." The moon high above began to quake, pulling at both ends as if it meant to split in half. Instead, gradually, it became two overlapping discs, still vibrating in the distant, imaginary void, and it was impossible to discern which one lay atop the other. "So long, alone. Trapped. What they did to us…what they made us into, taking away all we could ever be. They stole love from us." There was a heavy sound, a long-delayed splashing of water as something cleaved through the lake. A great shadow was cast over the cliff. Standing at the edge, tall enough that its head was level with them, was Ablaze. Quinnlash stood before it, her back to Quinn, but her tiny voice was as clear as it might have come from her own mouth. "Hate…all they left us was hate," she said, and with a rumbling sound, Ablaze's eye burst to life, washing them both in dark cherry light. "It was always inside us, wasn't it? Confused, looking for purpose—but we found that too, just like we found love. No, I…I can't teach you how to hate them. We already know how to hate them. We were just…we weren't ready, before." She turned to Quinn, practically a silhouette. A crackling like ice. Her horns split suddenly into forking branches, and a dark liquid dribbled down her scalp. The dreamscape sagged, the grass beneath them fractured and sank, the moons dropped like coins into the lake of pitch. All that remained was the bloody tide of Ablaze's eye, and the dark figure of Quinnlash, reaching out to her with a look of joy so pure, so eager, Quinn might not have recognized her. The girl's hair shimmered white, just as it had the night before the duel with Roaki—so brief as to be almost imperceptible. "But we will be." Then the light vanished. The void enwrapped her again, cradled her, held her close to its endlessness as if she were something precious. In that emptiness, Quinn felt the weight of a promise sink her down, slowly, gently, until she could be absolutely certain she would never be alone. And then she woke up.</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein It was all so overwhelming. Not in a bad way. Not really. On the contrary, Quinn loved all the (very loud!) sounds, all the sights, all the delicious-smelling food (she had no money, did she...?) that she had no way of identifying, the crush of people, no matter how perhaps rude they were...it was all wonderful, and she found herself popping out of the thick of it with a smile on her face that she'd never worn anything like before. But still, overwhelmed she was. And the stage, with all the lights and music...was just a little too much for her And that was when she saw the sign: RISC PILOT INTERVIEWS, and the smile on her face grew even wider. She didn't know what interviews entailed for RISC. And she didn't know what "compatible applicants only" meant. But That didn't mean she couldn't find out, right? There was a little line waiting in front, so she took her place, looked up at the puffy clouds in the blue sky, and advanced whenever she heard the line go forward. People were muttering all around her. She barely even listened to what they had to say—sims? Qualifications? There was that word 'compatibility' again—and what she heard, she didn't understand. So she tuned them out, looking at the town where...she guessed she lived? Hovvi, right? It was really pretty, so colorful, so far unlike the four white walls she'd look at for...forever. The road under her feet was rough, and she laughed to herself as she scuffed her feet against it. It was one of those foot-scuffs that tipped her off balance, sending her forward with a yelp and subsequently bonking her head into a doorframe. "Ouch!" She took a moment to recover her footing, rubbing her forehead and laughing, before she properly aimed herself the door and into another building. Following the line still, she walked through an other door, this one labeled Administration. What was a community center anyway? It didn't seem like it was at the center of the community, and it wasn't something she'd ever looked up before. Maybe like a city hall? But it didn't seem big enough. What were they administrating? "Here, young lady." She jumped, knocked out of her thoughts by an older man with silvery whiskers. She'd somehow come up to a desk-booth-thing without noticing. He'd slid a clipboard and pen underneath the clear glassy wall, giving her a nice smile. "Fill this out, the interview comes later." "Oh. Okay! Thank you!" Holding the clipboard in both hands, she trotted over to a seat and sat, looking over the paper with the pen in her hand. Name? Quinnlash Loughvein! Age? She was sixteen, right? Sex? Female! Date of birth? She paused, looking up at the ceiling. She'd never had a birthday party or anything. She thought it was maybe in the summer? But she wasn't sure. So she jotted down The summer, I think and moved on. Address? Uh...hmm...she...she really didn't know. She lived in the house on the cliffs, but that didn't seem like a proper address. She chewed on the back of the pen for a moment (it was oddly satisfying to gnaw on) before shrugging and writing, I dunno. Contact Information? Oh. She didn't have a phone or anything. She didn't have an email. She'd never needed one, she'd only talked to Mom and Dad, and they'd only been a room away! Another chew, and she answered, I don't have one. That would be fine, right? Not everyone had one. But maybe she should get one someday. That sounded cool! Oh, there was that word again! Compatibility Status? Honesty was best, right? So she wrote in her messy, slanty handwriting, I don't know what that is. Medications? Nope! She'd never taken anything like that! Emergency Contacts? Oh, that was easy! Mom and... She paused. No. She couldn't write Mom and Dad's names. If they knew she'd snuck out, they'd get really mad, and RISC getting in contact with them would definitely let them know! But they were the only people she knew. So she just wrote, I don't have any. Handicaps? N—oh, never mind, she almost forgot! Missing my right eye. And there was the line for a signature! She swished through it with a flourish, then marched back up to the man behind the counter. It had only taken her a few minutes, and she was excited for what came next. "I'm done! Do I sit down again?" He looked at her strangely "Yeah, kiddo. Take a seat, they'll call your name when your interview's up." She waved at him, then plunked herself back down, content to wait and smile still glued to her face and ignoring the glances that came her way. She didn't mind. They'd all gone through what she was, right? They should get it! More time passed. She didn't quite know how long, but she spent most of it thinking about what she'd seen and very pointedly trying not to think about going back home. She knew she'd need to, but she'd like to stay outside as long as she could before she had to go back into her room. She hoped she could remember the sights and smells, whenever it happened. It had been so nice to breathe the fresh air. She'd never realized how stale it was at home! "Ms. Quinnlash Loughvein?" She jerked her head up, then hopped to her feet. "That's me!" This would be fun!</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Besca dumped her clipboard on the counter, tossed her RISC coat off, and punched out on the tablet. Done. Finished. An entire day in this building talking to every flavor of yokel aspirant and city-slumming, wannabe celebrities. She'd written down the five or six that seemed genuine, and was confident the suits above her would ignore them. Fine. Whatever. She'd be mad about it later; right now all she wanted to do was get her hands on some street food and relax, maybe catch the tail-end of Lucis's show, or swing by the marina and see if Colm had taken the girls out fishing yet. She could do with a beer and a quiet drift on the lake. "Doctor Darroh." One of the employees approached her holding an application. Volunteer tag, not RISC. "Uh—yep, yeah, no. Doctor Darroh just left, actually. Yeah. Damn, just missed her. If you scan in whatever you got there, though, I'm sure she'll check it out first thing tomorrow." He gave her an odd look, but when she started walking away, he followed. Damn. "There's uh…we were told to come get you if there were any, uh, weird things." "Weird things." "Just…" he held the sheet out. "Just look at this." Besca shut her eyes, tried not to imagine the 'sold out' signs on all the food carts, and took the sheet. A quick scan didn't find any problems; no empty fields, decently-sized answers where there ought to be…and where there ought not to be. And, actually on second sight, there were empty fields, they just had answers in them anyway. Date of birth—summer, I think. Compatibility status—I don't know what that is. Yet she'd come to a pilot testing interview. Ah, there it was. She'd skimmed it the first time. Age—sixteen. "So, uh…what's the plan? Do I just kick her out?" "Yeah—no. No, uh…no, I'll take care of it. Thanks. Room four? Right, good." Besca left him there and made her way back down the hall. She knocked, waited, then went in. "Quinnlash Loughvein," she said, feigning like she was still reading the sheet. The girl sat at the desk inside wasn't much to look at; she was on the short side, and a tad scrawny. Her hair was long though, and her eyes were exceptionally yellow—oh, wait, no, not eyes. Besca tapped her own eyepatch. "Hah. Twinsies," she said, and took the seat opposite her. "You know, I gotta say, I've been reading a lot of these applications today, and this is definitely the most interesting one we've gotten. Really good stuff here, funny, seriously. So what brings you down?"</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein As she was led back into an interview room, Quinn was left on her lonesome, sitting down in the chair, bouncing a little in excitement. A few minutes later, a woman with an eyepatch—just like hers!—walked in, started talking, and sat down across from her. Her smile brightened. "You can just call me Quinn, if you want!" This woman intimidated her for some reason. The eyepatch—it was nice to see someone else with one, really. And the 'twinsies' did seem like she was trying to put her at ease. But something about her made Quinn feel like she was being judged. Well, of course she was being judged. It was an interview, after all. Being judged was the whole point. But...judged judged. So for the first time since she left her room, she let herself slow down a bit, and collect her thoughts a bit more. And she tilted her head a bit at "funny," let that bright smile dim slightly. Did she do something wrong? She didn't want to be yelled at. "Well, it's my first time outside, so I was wondering what was happening in town. I've never been, and it looked like a lot of fun. Then I saw a sign for pilot interviews! I don't know that much about pilots or Saviors or anything, but I..." She trailed off. She didn't really know what the question was, but that felt like the wrong answer. What should she say to this woman? Ah, that's what the judge—y was reminding her of. It was kind of like the way Mom looked at her, every once in a long while. She definitely reminded her of Mom, at least just a little. But she loved her Mom. She frowned. So why did that look make her feel so ill at ease? "...I—I don't—I'm not used to all these people, and the dock was really busy and loud and kind of overwhelming, so I thought this would a little quieter?" That wasn't the right answer either. She looked stupid. This woman was going to get mad at her, she knew it sure as she'd ever known anything. Her words started to stick in her throat. "And I—well, I still don't know much about pilots, but I guess I've—" No. No. That answer was bad too. She was starting to feel a little bit dizzy and lightheaded. Her stomach felt...strange. Off, somehow. Like it never had before. She couldn't explain it. It didn't hurt or anything. It just felt different, a twinging feeling from right down in the pit. A deep and elemental fear began to build in her. Maybe this woman was hurting her. She acted nice, but why else would she feel like this? Maybe Mom and Dad were right and the people outside were going to hurt her. Maybe they were right, and it was going outside at all that was hurting her. It was making her sick. She never should have disobeyed them. She could feel her breaths turning shallow in her chest, and her heart was pounding in her ears. Her hands clenched into tight white fists on the table in front of her, and she stared at them. She thought she was about to pass out. She thought maybe she was about to die. "Sorry," she muttered, voice shaking like a leaf. "I don't—feel quite right."</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein The woman's voice echoed down to Quinn like it was moving through deep water, almost hard to hear over her heart thundering against her eardrums. Having a panic attack. Breathe. She watched the woman's deep, exaggerated breathing as though from very far away, and started to follow suit, trying as best she could to stop the fevered pace of her breaths and bring them in line with the woman—Besca. She started to feel better—not a lot better, but a little better—and the faraway look in her eye slid away some as she focused on Besca's own. She was nice. She was really nice. She'd never heard anyone talk to her so gently, and for some reason she couldn't understand, it made her heart hurt. "Where are your folks?" For just a moment, she was caught between concern and dread, and her breathing hitched. Something really was wrong with her. Mom and Dad loved her. Why was she so scared thinking of them all of a sudden? It didn't make any sense. They loved her. She knew they loved her. They told her they loved her, and they kept her nice and safe. She loved them too. But for some reason, the thought of them coming home made her feel like she was going to choke. She screwed her eye shut as she tried to answer. Her voice wasn't shaking as much as it had moments before, but it was still a long way from steady. "I—they're scientists. They went to..." Where were they going? "They went to do a...science...thing. I don't remember where. Or they didn't tell me." They didn't tell her. "I—" She was all alone. "I—" She was a bad daughter. "I shouldn't—" Her breaths started to catch— She remembered what Besca had said, and forced her breathing to slow down. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. It really did help, didn't it? But still, the words tumbled out faster than she could stop them. "I shouldn't have snuck out, and I know that, and they're going to be really mad at me if they find out, but they left the door open and...I guess I just wanted to see what was outside." Her eye opened, and she looked down at her hands again. They were still trembling, but they were relaxed now. She felt a little better, not so much like the walls were closing in on her. In. Out. She tried smiling. Her lips twitched, but it didn't quite work. She felt the rising tide of panic gripping at her legs again, but she ignored it as much as she could. "...Your name is pretty too."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Well, that raised more questions than it answered, but fine, answers were secondary. For the moment it looked like Quinn wasn't going to combust from panic, which was at least something. As for her parents' absence, and that odd bit about sneaking out—it was beginning to sound a bit like she was dodging a grounding. Fair enough, Besca thought. If she lived in a place like Hovvi, and got grounded from the biggest social gathering the town had ever seen, she'd probably have snuck out too. "Well," she said with a shrug. "You didn't put down any contact information, so, looks like even if I wanted to rat you out, I couldn't." She folded up the sheet and put it in her pocket, then got up from the desk and stretched. "God. You know, I've been stuck in these rooms all day—they're kinda stuffy, right? Been wanting to get out into town but, honestly? You're right. The dock's crowded, the streets are even more crowded. So I was thinking about heading down to the marina, actually. I've got some friends down there fixing to head out onto the lake, go fishing, relax on the water. I don't think anywhere within a hundred miles of here is necessarily 'quiet', but it's probably as peaceful as it gets." Making her way around, she opened the door up and nodded to her. "Not a big boat, if I recall, but plenty of room if you wanted to come along."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein All at once, Quinn's mind ground against itself, spat out a few sparks, and stuttered to a stop. She blinked once, twice. There was no way this was really happening. There was no way. It was impossible. Besca was—she was—it didn't make sense. Nothing about it was right. This couldn't—it wasn't—she blinked again. A fourth time, still sitting in the chair and staring like she'd seen a nightmare. Besca was—holding a door open. She was HOLDING A DOOR OPEN. FOR HER. "I..don't understand." She shook her head, like she was trying to clear fog out of it. Doors weren't supposed to be held open like that. They were supposed to be shut all the time unless Mom and Dad wanted to give her food or talk to her. She was using the door wrong. But before she could open her mouth, the vivid image of the door to her room standing open flashed behind her eye. "I..." Was...was this what it was like to be...invited somewhere? She reached up a hand to ball her eye, not really believing what was happening. But when her hand fell again, Besca was still there. She blinked one more time before her lips turned up in an unsteady smile. "I think I'd like to go. If your friends are all as nice as you, I think I'll like them a lot." Then, from a part of her deep down that she didn't recognize, she added, with just a pinch of vehement energy: "I don't think I like being stuck in one room very much either." Her stomach felt odd again. It felt like something inside her was...coming unknotted, maybe?. She huffed in a tense breath through her nose, then blew it slowly out. In, out, just like Besca said. It'd pass soon enough, right? She hoped it would pass. The panic still nibbled at her feet, but the breathing was helping. It was helping a lot. She loosened the muscles in her legs that she hadn't known had been straining, and with a bit less energy than before, she hopped to her feet. She hoped Besca's friends were nice. Then she smiled again, and walked out through the door.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Besca led them out the back, and onto the crowded streets. She hadn't been to Hovvi since the year after Dahlia got picked up, and then it was only a brief, subtle affair for the girl to see her father. She'd been born in a place like this; her home had been on the Gideon Sea, though she only spent a few years there before moving in with her father. From then on, it'd been Westwel military bases, and eventually the Aerie. When she let herself be optimistic, she liked to imagine retiring somewhere like this, spending her days fishing and drinking that hoity-toity sparkling water 'cause by then she'd have given up booze, again, and for real. When she took her head out of the clouds though, she knew hardly anyone that got involved with Saviors retired. The day was turning to evening. Besca felt a rumble that she couldn't hear over the crowd. She took a detour, ushering Quinn along with her, and came up to a food cart selling something that smelled as good as it looked unhealthy. Fried sweets of just about every kind. She ordered the cook's choice and charged it on the company card, which she would continue to do until they extended lunch breaks. She handed a paper basket with fried cookies dusted in sugar to Quinn, along with a cup of water. Licking her lips, she plucked one up and popped it into her mouth. "God, they don't serve stuff like this up there. I mean, they shouldn't, we'd all keel over from heart disease, but damned if they couldn't splurge on some decent desserts now and then. Go on give'em a shot." Stepping onto the boardwalk, Besca led them behind the rows of people standing before the screens. Lucis's show was over, or on intermission, or something. They were showing battles now, ones that mainly showed off the prowess of Grauritter, Jubilee, and Magnifique, like she'd suggested. Some intern had tried to slip in footage from the Dotsockett singularity, where they'd lost Safie's predecessor, because it was the first time he'd seen Dragon in action and it was special to him. She'd nearly thrown him in the airlock. The further they went, the thinner the crowd got. The marina wasn't far, but she couldn't spot anyone yet. "You like the water? To be honest, I'm total crap at fishing—too antsy. But I like being out there, just sitting. The rocking, the little waves hitting the side of the boat, the open air. It's nice."</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Happy to follow Besca (who seemed like she knew where she was actually going), Quinn tailed her down through the streets, panic falling behind as she craned her head around. There was just so much to take in. The sun was going down over the lake, and the whole sky was starting to flame with brilliant reds and oranges. Quinn stared openmouthed. It was just so beautiful. She'd seen pictures and videos of sunsets before, obviously. But that was evidently no substitute for the real thing. The puffball clouds overhead had changed from white to a pretty dark gray—she pulled her braid out from behind her for just a second, comparing the color intently—limned with fire. She almost forgot where she was going before she almost bumped into Besca, as she turned onto a side street. It was evident where Besca had been heading, as she stopped by one of those food stalls that lined the road, paying with a fancy credit card like she'd seen online. As she spoke—Quinn didn't really get what she was saying—she handed Quinn a little paper basket filled with round brown food. They looked kind of like pancakes, but...thick. Whatever it was, she seemed to be enjoying them. So, mimicking her, Quinn picked one up, turned it around to look at it, then crunched down. It was like nothing she'd ever tasted. So sweet! So tasty! She couldn't imagine anything in the world being so delicious. Before she could really process what was happening, she'd chomped down a few more, disregarding the drink for a time. She didn't want to wash down the flavor quite yet! When she started really paying attention again, they'd passed the stage where the music had been playing earlier, and the crowd was smaller. She took a deep breath. The people were nice, but it was also good to have room to think. As Besca asked her about water—ah, if she liked being out on boats! She wished she could say she had—she turned her attention to the drink. As much as she loved those cookies, they were kind of gumming up her mouth and it felt weird. She looked down curiously, then scrunched her brows together. "Um, Besca?" She swirled the water around, quirking her mouth to the side. "Is there something wrong with this water?" She flicked the side of the cup, then looked down at it again. "It's so clear."</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn cocked her head as she started walking again, her eye straying for just a second back to the cup in her hand. That was how water was supposed to look? That couldn't be right. Right? Every drop she'd ever drunk had always had a dark tint. Nothing major, but it had always been there. She'd seen water that looked kind of clear online before, but she always thought that it was just far away or indistinct so she couldn't see it clearly. And as much as she resolved to not look at it, she couldn't help it as they walked along. This was weird. Maybe it was just normal to Besca? She wondered if it would be strange to ask her friends. The people they passed were staring at her. That gave her pause too. Was she so weird looking? Maybe it was the eyepatch, or the hair? Or maybe they could tell that she wasn't supposed to be out here. Or maybe not. Maybe she was just that weird looking. So she looked out at them and gave as bright a smile as she could muster. Before she could really refocus her attention, she heard a voice call out from up ahead: "Besca!" She snapped her focus back forward and saw a pair of girls running at them. Or, one girl and one woman? One of them looked like a grown-up for sure. Something about the shorter one looked very familiar, but she couldn't quite place— She looked up at Besca as she accelerated. She was friends with Dahlia—um...Saint something? "Cool," she breathed. Besca and Dahlia talked for a bit, before she was motioned forward, laughing at Besca's introduction and waving with the hand that wasn't still holding the water. "Hi! I'm Quinn! Nice to meet you too, Dahlia! And you too, Safie!" They were just as nice as Besca. She really liked the taller one with the purple eyes, too. Safie, right? She stroked her braid proudly and made to respond before Besca stepped in. She was put out a little, but that faded quickly as Besca turned back to her, asking if she still wanted to go on the boat. Um, hello? Was that even a question? She smiled hugely. "Are you kidding? This is the best thing ever! And," she turned to Safie as she started moving, "I love your hair too! It looks so good with your eyes!" With that said, she trotted down to the side of the boat as it bobbed on the water, rolling her head with a satisfied sigh. So she just stepped down? It looked hard, and she really didn't want to spill the clear water. So she placed it gently down by the end of the dock, hopped off, and... "Oof!" ...Ungracefully faceplanted into the bench on the other side as the boat rocked under her. It was as hard as it looked. Her head popped up. Then she righted herself on the bench she'd collided with, almost tipped over again, and laughed the whole way through. The way the boat moved under her was really fun. It was like—well, she didn't really have an experience to liken it to. But it was really fun! Being outside was great.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Besca barely held back her laughter. Safie didn't, breaking into a fit of giggles and snorts while Dahlia worriedly scurried onboard. "Quinn! Are you okay?" but by the younger girl's own laughter, it was clear enough that she was. "She's just gotta get her sea legs!" Safie chimed. "Won't take so long. I grew up seaside, used to looooove surfing, and it never takes people too long to figure it out." As if to prove her point—or, Besca figured more likely, to be just a little showy—Safie hopped from the dock onto the narrow rim of the boat's hull. With impeccable balance, she walked the railing like a tightrope until she had made her way around to Quinn's side, then hopped gracefully down beside her. "See? That'll be you. You're spindly, like in the good way, you'll be like a fox." Dahlia eased, and threw open a cooler at the back of the boat. Inside were a wide array of cans and bottles, soda and water and a few plastic pouches of fruit juice. "Quinn, you want something to drink?" Daz finished with all but one of the moorings. He gave Besca a look, and she stayed put as he approached her, far enough from the boat to keep them out of earshot. "So who is she? he asked. He had a voice to match the rest of him, low, steady, gentle. "Local apparently—Quinnlash Loughvein. Don't recognize her?" Daz rumbled in thought. "Know the Loughveins. Science types, live up on the cliffs. Don't come down much, but nothing strange otherwise." He glanced back at the boat, brief but intently. "Didn't know they had a daughter." "Something's up with her," she said, and shook her head when Daz looked concerned. "Not bad, just…off. She's strung up, kinda. Needs a few hours of anything but what's going on back there. That alright with you?" "Not one of your applicants, is she?" Besca gave him a hard look. He conceded. "Alright," he said, turning back for the boat. "Good to see you again, Bess, by the way." "You t—" A buzzing from her pocket. She pulled up her phone and felt her heart sink into her stomach. She answered. "Darroh." Dahlia caught sight of her, watched Besca's brow sink, tried to parse out what she was saying. Only fragments. Now? …large? not….timeframe. Yeah… Then she hung up. Dahlia gave Safie a tap on the shoulder, nodded as Besca came over. "What's up?" "Nothing, nothing. No. Just, uhh, Aerie's got some readings they're not sure about. Can't check from down here, so I gotta run back up to the station, make sure it's all sorted. The pilots shared a knowing look. "Should we come with you?" "No, really, it's nothing. Just the universe smiting me down for daring to relax a few minutes. It's fine. You guys go on out, I'll try and be back down before the fireworks. Quinn, as the smaller, cooler me, it's your job to have a good enough time for both of us, got it?" Safie put an arm around Quinn's shoulder, her demeanor not at all withered. "We'll make sure!" "Alright, good. Good. I'll see you all later then." And with that Besca left them, marching off towards the outskirts where the elevator was anchored. Daz undid the final mooring line, took the wheel, and with a drowned humming noise the boat shuddered to life. Water splashed up from the turbine, the rocking steadied. They made their way out into the water. In the twilight sky, the moon began to shine.</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein As the shore receded and Besca with it, Quinn hummed with worry before throwing it from her mind. Besca was smart and strong. Whatever was happening, she'd be fine. She could handle anything that came at her, Quinn already knew with absolute conviction. So instead of worrying more, she leaned a little further into Safie, looking at out the lake as the silver glint of the moon started to flicker over the surface. She tipped back, secure in the arm around her shoulder, and let her own skate over the water. "It's so pretty out here," she murmured, voice taking on a dreamy quality. "I can't even believe it." She let her gaze wander up to the cliffs, then pointed to a fading white shadow. "Oh, you can see my house from here!" She stared at it a moment more, then let her hand drop as a cold shiver passed through her body. She wasn't sure why. Oh, she'd left the cup of clear water back on the dock. Aww. But...there was water in the cooler too, right? Shaking herself free of both the sight of the lake splayed out before her and Safie's arm, she stood up. She was wobbly for sure, but she managed to balance enough to slide down to the cooler and pull out a bottle of water, examining it. It was clear as a diamond. She stumbled again as she picked her way back to Safie's side, threading the top off as she sat. The water brimmed, almost overflowing, just in front of her. She was still thirsty from those cookie things, as tasty as they were. She glanced at Dahlia. She didn't see anything off, it looked like. She looked down at the bottle again, then shrugged a little bit. Just a little sip wouldn't hurt, right? She slowly brought it to her mouth and took a taste "Eep!" She nearly dropped the bottle, then covered her mouth and focused hard on it. It was... It was sweet. There was a bitterness she was used to in water that wasn't present here. It might have tasted like nothing, but to her, it tasted like...she searched for something to compare it to. It tasted like...that first step she took out of her house. That was it. Absolutely beautiful. Her eye darted between the two girls and the smile already on her face bloomed with untarnished happiness. She leaned back against Safie, taking another drink as she did. It was just as wonderful as the first. Okay. Clear water was nice. "Does water always taste like this?"</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Dahlia gave Quinn a quizzical look, and Safie burst into another fit of giggles. "You're funny, Quinn, no wonder Besca likes you." "Have as much as you like! We brought plenty," Dahlia said. She glanced over her shoulder to Daz, and something substantial but unspoken passed between them. She took a seat opposite Quinn and Safie, punching her straw through the pouch of juice. "Yeah, but if you take some juice, don't touch the melonberry—Deelie's like a fiend for that stuff." Dahlia's face flushed up to her ears, and she hunched into her pouch. "It's local! Theydontsellitanywhereelse…" Hovvi's lake expanded around them, wide enough that it nearly touched the horizon. The water, while not as clear as the bottle in Quinn's hands, was still sapphiric all the way to the bottom. Gloam painted the surface, cut the waves with sharp light. Far away, the larger ferries carved great wakes that leveled out long before they reached their boat, or the handful of smaller boats scattered around them. Daz pulled them to a stop near the center. Hovvi's shore was a thin, distant crust of lights and the faint humming of music. The cliffs were a rim to one side, and on the other, the elevator superstructure rose into the growing dark. The softlight cage around the platform traveled up until it was a pinpoint cherry dot, and then it blinked out of view. From a panel in the flooring, he retrieved a set of fishing poles and set them upright in metal hoops bolted to the railing. As he fixed their lines with hooks and bait, Safie sprung up to her feet and pranced to the back end of the boat. "Ah, gosh!" She said, peeling off her shoes and dipping her feet into the water. "Deelieeeeeee! I'm so jealous—Queenshand is great but the water there is so murky. If I'd have grown up here I'd never have become a pilot. Quinn! Deelie and I can't give this lake the attention it deserves, so you gotta!" Dahlia perched up on the railing while Daz cast his line out quietly onto the water, where it sank with a little plunk. "Have you lived here awhile?" she asked. "I used to think I knew most of the kids my age, but my memory is, ah, iffy nowadays. I'm really sorry if we met and I'm not remembering, I promise I'm not meaning to be rude."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein "No, no, you aren't being rude at all!" She turned her eye from the seemingly-endless expanse of water that soaked in the dimming light all around her, and nestled down on the bench again, fully engaging with Dahlia. "I've lived here my whole life, mhmm! I just never left my room, so you wouldn't have seen me." She trained her eye heavenward, marveling as stars started to speckle the darkening sky. "You're pilot Dahlia, right? I used to watch you online now and then. I didn't know that you lived here, It really is nice to meet you!" She looked over to the end of the boat where Safie was dawdling her feet in the water. Oh. that did look nice. She popped her own shoes and socks off, then slowly slid down next to her, letting her feet join the older girl's. She breathed a soft sigh. It really was comfy. She pulled her braid over her shoulder and then fell flat on her back, still enjoying the sky. Pictures really couldn't do it justice. And she didn't want to slip into the water. "You said you were a pilot too, right Safie? Is Besca one also?" Another moment passed as the heavens wheeled above her. She reached a hand up from where it lay beside her, absently stroking her hair. "She's the nicest. I'm really glad I finally went outside today." She remembered her doubt looking at the slightly ajar door to her room. What had she been so afraid of? This was so much fun, it felt ridiculous looking back. Her stomach was even starting to feel better. Oh, that reminded her, there was another thing that she wanted to do during her limited time outside. She tilted her head back, bending herself into an arch, until she could see Dahlia. "Dahlia—can I call you Deelie?—could I try the melonberry juice? I've never had it and it sounds delicious!" I'm sorry, Quinny, but you can't have it. Please stop asking. "Not that I want to take it if it's yours!" she added in rapid time, the faintest echo of panic creeping back into her voice as the sunny smile blinked out and she fell to her back again. "I don't want to take your things!" Have some water instead. How's that sound, sweetie?</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. "Ah, a homebody," Safie said. "Deelie's like that, too. She'd wear her PJ's in the cockpit if they'd let her." "It's nice to meet you too," Dahlia said, pointedly ignoring Safie's comment. She smiled, relieved that Quinn recognizing her hadn't devolved into an impromptu fan meeting. The thought made her feel ungrateful but…it was what it was. She preferred the quiet to the interviews and concerts. Lucis and Safie could have those. "You said you were a pilot too, right Safie? Is Besca one also?" Safie shook her head. "Nah. Besca, like—well she does a bunch of stuff, but mainly she just looks after us." "She's like our manager. Takes care of the schedule, monitors the missions. If we have a problem we talk to her, which is totally fine with me cause I don't really like dealing with administration. "Yeah she's great! When I first joined, and I wanted to have Jubilee painted, it was like feeding paperwork into a shredder until I talked to her about it," Safie said. "I mean, it was kinda a dumb ask anyway—do you know how much paint it'd take to cover a whole Savior? And if it gets damaged, like, the paint doesn't grow back so you'd just have to recoat it and—like I said, dumb idea. But she managed to talk them into some designs on the face! Those lines and stuff aren't natural, that's all me baby!" "Still waiting on your ideas for Dragon by the way," Dahlia teased. Her attention shifted down to Quinn, good mood wilting a bit when she saw what looked like genuine fear in the girl's eyes. "Wh—oh! Oh, no, of course! Safie was just joking around, it's totally fine!" She hopped down from the railing and fetched another pouch from the cooler, sliding across the deck to her. "I'm surprised you haven't tried it! They make it right in town. Used to be seasonal but it got so popular people buy it year 'round now. I always take a box or two back with me when I visit." "Some of which goes in the fridge, some of which gets stashed under her bed." "Safie!" More unfettered laughter from the older pilot as she pulled her feet out of the water. "No, it's cute! I used to hide snacks in my hoodies when I went off to sim camps. You do what you gotta do." She picked up one of the poles from the railing. "Hey Quinn! You wanna try fishing? It's super easy. You just reel back, and then when you flick forward you press this lil' button here to release the line."</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein A sigh of relief whooshed out of Quinn. Deelie wasn't upset with her after all. She shook away the memory, biting the inside of her cheek. Why had that come up? She didn't really get what the girls were talking about most of the time—or, well, she knew the concepts, but not very much how they all fit together—but she thought she'd gotten enough of a gist to kind of know what was going on as she reached out and grabbed the juice pouch, fumbling with the straw until she could poke it through the top, just like she'd seen online. If she thought the water was sweet, then this was...something else entirely. A different sweet from the cookies, too. It tasted a little bit like the fruit that her parents would sometimes bring her for a special treat, but not quite the same. Sweeter, fresher...could you call a drink crispy? She didn't know, but if you could, then that's what this was. It was crispy. Sweet and fresh and crispy and delicious. She'd never finished a drink so fast, squeezing the pouch because she just couldn't get it in her mouth fast enough. And before she knew it, she'd sucked the whole thing dry. "Oh my gosh! Dah—" She paused, giving her a renewed smile. She was smiling so much today, it felt strange. But good! "—Deelie, that was so good! I've never tasted anything like it!" They were talking about things she didn't know about again—what was a sim camp?—when Safie got up from beside her, picking up a long stick—oh, that was a fishing rod, right? Besca had mentioned fishing too, hadn't she? "Hey Quinn! You wanna try fishing? It's super easy. You just reel back, and then when you flick forward you press this lil' button here to release the line." She got up as well, careful to stay away from the gap in the railings where she and Safie had been sitting a moment ago, and took the fishing rod carefully, looking at it with an inquisitive eye. She'd seen videos of people fishing, but never up close. She swallowed. So all she needed to do to cast was reel up the string, then flick it and press the button? That didn't sound so hard. So, with an unsteady hand and a grip that was all wrong, she slowly reeled it in until the bobber was right by the tip. Now I just— She whipped it back, then forward, and pressed on the button. The lure soared forward and almost out of sight, falling into the water after its brief flight with a satisfying plopping sound. She looked back and forth at the other rods propped up against the railing, putting hers with them, then turned back at Safie, face positively alight, before she darted over—she was finding her balance a little better, she thought—and took hold of the bottle of water again, sipping it with unrepentant joy and triumph. It was getting a little harder to see, and she couldn't quite tell how far away she was from the others, and she looked around with open and blatant wonderment. So this was what it was like to be outside at twilight. Right then and there, she decided: Twilight was definitely her favorite.</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein She stood there. Still. Silent. Besca said she needed to sleep. And she was— She was going to be a pilot. So she should listen. She should sleep. But there was something to that crying. Something that touched a chord in her, that ripped open that wound in her heart and filled it with salt and sulfur. Something at once familiar and totally, totally alien. She took a tentative, shaky step. Her legs hurt, but the walk to the dorms had stretched them enough that she could walk on her own, at least. With some difficulty, but she could do it. It just hurt. The crying grew louder as she grew closer. She did her best not to focus on the label on the door. She knew if she looked at it for more than a second, she would be crying too, right away. Another few steps. Tmp. Tmp. What was it? Who was it? She knew it, and she knew she knew it. It was a voice that she'd heard. Her muddled brain struggled to put the pieces together as she laid her handle against the door with a gentle hollow sound. She knew the voice. But it hadn't been crying. It had been— Memories rushed in again. S'nice to meet you! Quinn! Are you okay? Quinn, you want something to drink? Have as much as you like! We brought plenty. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Her eye slowly widened. She knew this voice. She'd been the first voice she'd heard after Besca. She'd been the voice that had hunched over her juice pouch, embarrassed. She'd been the voice that had asked Quinn how long she'd lived there. She'd been the voice that had told Quinn to not be worried, she wasn't really mad, and she could have the melonberry juice. Her hand quaked, and she pressed it to her mouth. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god oh my god oh my god. She'd thought—she hadn't—she didn't know— Oh my god. All at once she threw herself forward. The door cannoned open, and she nearly collapsed as she stumbled through it on quivering legs. Her eye caught up with her ears, and her voice shook like a leaf in a winter storm as a single, trembling word fell from her mouth. A trembling name. A name she never thought she'd say again. But she was alive. She was alive. "Deelie?"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. It was hard to see much of anything in the dark, just the odd, vaguely furniture-shaped blobs, and the bed against the far wall. The carpet was soft underfoot, steamed, but the room lacked the same sterile smell of the medical ward. It seemed that someone had stopped whoever had come to clean it. Light from the common room struck in, carving a thin slice through the shadows, onto the bed. The weeping ceased, suddenly, sharply, as a figure looked up from the pillows. The light didn't reach them, but it did reach the jacket clutched tightly in their hands. Safie's jacket. Their eyes sprung to life with electric-blue light, scanned her for a moment. A small, choked sound reached her ears. "Q-Quinn…?" Dahlia crawled to the end of the bed, slunk down to the ground, practically dragging herself into the light. She looked awful. Her eyes were wide, red, set into dark pits that must have taken days to dig so deep—the artificial light in them flickered out, left them dim and puffy. Her face was dirty, tear streaked, her hair was dried and fraying. It fell over her like a tattered veil. She stared up at Quinn, held Safie's jacket closer. Unwilling to let it go, her face screwed up and she just leaned forward into her, head against her shoulder, then down to her stomach as she crumbled to her knees. "I'm so sorry I'm so sorry." She gulped down air unevenly, frantically. Her words dribbled onto the floor. "I should've gone I should'vefaster—I wasn't—I thought you were gone they didn't tell me you wereyouwereasleep theydidn't…" A violent sob curled her, her forehead dropped to the floor. "They're all gone everyone's gone Quinn everyone's—Lucis and Ghaust and, and S aa— " her fingers gripped the jacket so hard she could've torn it. "And my dad Quinn they killed my dad. They killed my best friend and my dad and they killed everyone. Everyone's gone. I wasn't fast enough. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. Pleasehghh—I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn didn't know what to do. She'd never done this. She'd never comforted anybody, and certainly not on something like this, on everything she knew crumbling around her. How could she know what to do? She didn't even know what to do for herself. Her throat was still raw from the screams. Her own eye was still red and puffy. What could she do? ...What would Besca do? As carefully and steadily as she could, she slid down until she was also on the ground, resting on her knees. Her vision was starting to blur, and she could feel the water brimming up. She was still hurting. The thought of Daz made her hurt more. But with an effort to move mountains, she didn't let herself break down. Then she gently lifted the prone girl's shoulders off the ground before leaning in and catching her in a deep hug. She was weak, and she hurt, and she shook with strain, but she refused to move, clutching her tight to her in what she hoped was comforting instead of suffocating. Was this okay? Was she helping? Was she making it worse? Tears started to run down her face but she didn't let herself sob. She couldn't. She just couldn't. No matter what, she couldn't break down, she couldn't break down, she COULD NOT BREAK DOWN. "No," she forced out through the lump in her throat and the lead in her chest, quiet, as soft and gentle as she could. "No, no, it's not your fault, it's not." Her tears were obvious in her voice, and her control was steadily slipping as she closed her eye to squeeze a new rush of tears out. No. Don't let yourself. You can't. "You didn't—you didn't hurt anybody. You—you're alive, and—" She held her tighter. "And—" It hurt to talk through the lump, and her voice was shaking now. She was trying. But it was coming, and she couldn't stop it. So in the last breath she had before she couldn't hold on anymore, she murmured through a voice clogged with tears, "And S—Safie wouldn't—wouldn't want you to be sad." The tears came faster, and still she held Dahlia tight. And for her sake too. Daz was dead. Daz was...dead. It seemed like such a foreign idea. It didn't make any sense. He was like a mountain, strong and dependable and immortal. He'd saved— The thought struck her like a bolt of lightning. He'd saved her. He'd saved her. Instead of running. It was her fault that he'd died. Not Dahlia's. Hers. Then she was sobbing again, just like that morning. Clutching, heaving, desperate sobs, leaning into Dahlia's shoulder in turn. "No, no, it's my fault. It's my fault it's my fault it's my fault! He didn't—he could've gotten out—but I—but he, he needed to—he saved me and he—I—I didn't—I'm—" Why? Why? Why? Why? WHY? "I'm sorryyyyyyy..." Any words that might have been left in her disintegrated, and she finally broke down. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Sleep came to her softly, like turning her head from one side of the pillow to the next. One moment Quinn was shuddering, palms ground into her eyes, so tired, and the next— Morning rose over the lake. Black waves lapped gently at the boat's sides, rocking it just slightly enough to be soothing. Dawn warmed the cliffs, yellows and oranges chased deep blues from the sky. Birdsong. The distinct feeling that, far away on the shore, there were people talking. The moon's reflection painted the water. Quinn lay on a spread of towels, it took a few blinks for the world to come into focus for her. To one side was a cooler, open and stuffed full with bottles and cans and pouches of melonberry juice. A sweet memory ghosted across her tongue, gone in an instant. On the other side, the fishing poles stood in their loops, strings drawn in. Their hooks were gone, replaced with dull weights upon which the bait could rest and be nibbled without fear of injury. In the distance there was splashing. Laughter. Two silhouettes swam a short distance away, splashing at one another, racing out to a buoy some ways away. Further, on the shores of a forest along the lake's rim, something moved. White fur and bone, gone into the thicket. Quinnlash She wasn't alone, and she could feel the moment that became true, like a cold breeze through the warmth of the morning. Behind her, sitting on the railing was a small figure, and as the shadows slipped from it rinsed dirt, and it turned to her she saw— Herself. Quinnlash, as she had appeared the last time. Ten or eleven, eyes black rather than shining yellow. Her face still bore the thin lines of blood from her head, where the glinting, modium horns which had sprouted from her hair had grown ever so slightly. Perhaps an inch or two taller, they caught the light much clearer, and at their tips they seemed to be starting to split. She still looked almost bored. Her feet kicked absently overboard. "Hello, again."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein This dream was different than the last few. It made... It made more sense, somehow. At least a little. She couldn't explain why. The little her spoke with the voice. She felt herself quaking, backing away, pushing herself back from whatever was happening here. The image of the lake suddenly grew thin and dull, like a huge sheet of printed paper. No, no, n— No. Stop it. She knew, sure as sure, that if she pulled away, she would wake up. She would wake up, and horrible things would happen to her. And then she would go to sleep again, and she would dream, and it would all just go back and forth and back and forth. So she didn't. She stopped, and looked at this little Quinnlash, really looked, for the first time. It didn't look angry, it didn't look like it wanted to hurt her. She remembered the sudden screaming panic in the cockpit. That feeling that things weren't right all of a sudden, when every other part of her wanted to fall into that feeling of strength forever. To sink. Her waking body felt ten million miles away, and so did all of its worries. When she spoke, her voice resonated strangely, bouncing and echoing off of walls that weren't there and coming back to her ears long after it should have, like the air it was traveling through was thick and sticky. You saved me, didn't you? And then, Who are you?</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Quinnlash stopped kicking. She tilted her head at Quinn, mouth pulled into a little bunch like she didn't understand her words. Or she was thinking them over. It must have been the latter because eventually she did answer. "I just talked. It was wise to listen." She looked back out at the water, took a long deep breath that she never seemed to let go, but still managed to speak as easily anyway. "I like this one. It's nice. Warm." Hopping down off the railing, she made her way over to Quinn. Her steps were light, bouncing; they left little black footprints behind like she'd stepped in ink, but they faded away before each next step. "It isn't perfect. I don't think the moon's supposed to be there, but the water's meant to be black, isn't it? I always thought so. Prettier, this way, anyway." She came up before Quinn, looking up at her with wide, colorless eyes. She pointed to the cliffs in the distance. "I left the house out." Sure enough, following her finger Quinn could see the Loughvein house was gone. "Doesn't belong here. Rotten place, full of rotten people. Hated it. What they did to us. What they took away. Take, take, take. They're takers. Just like the monsters, Quinnlash." She spun around on her heel, marching off to the back of the boat. "No takers, here. Only good people. Friends. We deserve friends, Quinnlash." Out in the water, the shadowed figures of Dahlia and Safie continued their race to the buoy. "Don't we deserve friends?"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Yes, she ached to say. Yes, give this back to me, I want to learn to swim, I want to go swimming with Safie, I want to be on this warm lake forever and ever. We deserve— She cut herself off. Stopped again. Tilted her head at her little self. The moon reflecting off the ink-water gave everything an ethereal sheen, and it all felt so unreal already. But still...we? Did it matter? She wanted to jump into the water. She wanted Safie to be there, and catch her, and laugh. But Safie—her heart hurt. She didn't want to say it, didn't want to think it— Safie wasn't there. Safie was dead. The corner of her lip curled up the echo of a snarl. Enough, she said, more forceful than she'd meant to be. Exhaling heavily—though she didn't know if she needed to—she stared out at the phantoms of Deelie and Safie as they touched the buoy and began to race back. She heard them laughing all the way from the boat. Ache. Ache. She wanted this so badly. Then quiet, calm, Enough. You didn't answer my second question. The faintest note of pleading entered her voice as she looked back at herself. She couldn't bear to look at the scene in front of her any longer. Please. Who are you? Who—who are—who are we?</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Enough. There was a flicker in her vision, like a half-blink, and everything stuttered. Out on the lake, Dahlia and Safie were swimming out again, away from the boat, back towards the buoy. The moon's reflection seemed like it was under the surface. Quinnlash frowned. She reached up, gingerly touched one of the horns on her head. "We…?" she asked, turning back towards Quinn. Her frown vanished, replaced with a tight smile. She giggled, and though it was Quinn's voice, it was someone else laughing with it. "We're Quinnlash! Silly. So silly. But that's better than scared, isn't it? Feels better. Feels stronger." She drew closer again, and the wind and waves shifted to follow her. "Those monsters. So big, so scary, taking from us, turning us into them. But we're stronger, we're better, and they know it. I changed that one. The beast from the lake. Changed it to be like us instead. It thinks it can take everything—our friends, our home, our eye—well I took its eye. Stupid thing. Vermin. Worm." Quinnlash moved past her, to front, up onto the bow. She stared out at Hovvi, and her hands closed into tiny fists. Quinn's vision faltered again, flickered. For the briefest of moments the sky was black and the town was fire and ruin and screaming so small and far away but so terrified. And there above it all stood the monster from the lake, a single red eye staring out at them. Then it was all normal again. "We're awake now, Quinnlash," she said. "So long in the dark. Alone. Locked away. Doors and doors and doors. But now we're awake, and we're free, and I'm going to hurt them all. We're going to teach the monsters to be afraid." The wind began to whip up around them. The waves grew choppier, the boat rocked violently but Quinnlash was unmoved. The shadows of Dahlia and Safie were gone, their laughter vanished, and in its place was a sunken groaning, loud and massive. In an explosion of water and steam and vicious roaring, a hand burst up from the lake, black as pitch and streaked with gray metal. It slammed down onto the forested shore. The earth cracked beneath its palm. And then Quinn was thrust awake.</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein When she awoke, she was screaming. Again. Her dream played in perfect detail through her head, feeling less like a dream and more like a memory. It thinks it can take everything—our friends, our home, our eye—well I took its eye. Thoughts whirled through her head like a blizzard. What did it mean? Took—it took her eye? The Savior. H—her Savior. Took her eye? No. That didn't make any sense. It had popped because she looked outside— ...But that made even less sense, didn't it? Doesn't belong here. Rotten place, full of rotten people. All these thoughts passed through her head in the time it took her eye to fully open. No. Something was wrong. Something was wrong. This wasn't right. She needed to—needed to—NEEDED TO— The blizzard turned to flame. Her hand flew up to her eyepatch, slamming against her face. Then heedless of anything, she bolted from her bed in a blind panic, stumbled, bashed into the wall, wobbled, bolted again and this time made it through the door. No. No. No. It couldn't be—it couldn't— —well I took its eye. What did it mean? She'd seen with both eyes yesterday. It still had two, right? Right? It thinks it can take everything—our friends, our home, our eye— Turning us into them. It needed both eyes. It NEEDED to still have both eyes. She skidded on the floor, barely stayed upright, then slammed through the ajar door to Besca's room and collided with her wall too, not far from the bed. Pain bloomed in her shoulder where it had made contact, but it paled against the fire in her head. No. No no no. It HAD to be a lie, it had to IT HAD TO BE IT HAD TO BE— "THE EYES!" She shrieked, pressing the ball of her hand her empty space where her own used to be. Hard. With her other hand she tore at her right arm, carving shallow scratches there just like she had done in the Savior yesterday. Drops of blood welled up along the torn skin. Her mind was burning. It needed to still have its eyes. It needed to. IT NEEDED TO! "ITS EYES! TELL ME IT STILL HAS BOTH EYES!"</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn's breaths came hard and fast as she moved, backstepping out of the way of Dahlia's punch. She'd had a lot of catching up to do as far as her physique was concerned. Still did, by quite an extensive amount. Turned out that staying in one room for your entire life did very little to prepare you for fighting. Who knew? Those first few days had been...deeply unpleasant. Both for the aforementioned issues with fitness, and for the very strong aversion to actually hitting her frie—her sister. She was still getting used to the concept, but the more time passed, the more and more right it felt to call her that. But after a month of long, grueling, and oftentimes somewhat painful practice sessions, she was starting to feel like she could...well, obviously she couldn't actually keep up with Dahlia. But she could at least feel the impact of her hits, and that was a kind of satisfying all its own. Warding another punch off with her own forearm, she snapped her leg out in a quick roundhouse kick and it slammed into Dahlia's padded hand. The report was like a gunshot in the relatively small gym, and it was a satisfying reminder of the progress she'd made in what felt like an exceptionally short time. The advice she'd just been given (again) in mind, she tried her best to see the whole of Dahlia, engaging proactively in the fight instead of reactively, moving in closer. Dahlia'd noticed fairly early on that she was favoring kicking rather heavily. But, she'd said, it wasn't always going to be feasible to space yourself to the point that kicking was practical. She was right, of course. And so every training session, Quinn had to throw some punches too. She even managed to hold her own for a bit on a good day. Today was evidently not one of those days. She kept her eye focused as best she could. But a momentary lapse let a fist into her blind spot, and telegraphed and eye-catching as the pad may have been, she couldn't stop what she couldn't see, and took a shot right to the side of the helmet. Straining to keep her composure, she closed the distance as fast as she could, trying to take advantage of her slightly smaller size and Dahlia's momentarily extended arm to sneak a punch in. But it was not to be; she just wasn't fast enough, and she struck only air. And though she recovered as quickly as she could, it wasn't quite quickly enough to stop the foam from thwacking into the ribs midway down her left side. She hopped back a ways and brought her fists up again, then straightened before opening them and holding up her hands in the universal 'time out!' position. "Gimme a sec," she gasped out as her shoulders heaved, "need a drink." Her muscles ached as she jogged over to the—her!—hard plastic water bottle by the wall. But it was a good ache these days. The kind that let her know she was getting better, not worse. Shucking off a padded sparring glove and unscrewing the cap, she resisted the urge to lean against the wall as she took a long drink. It hadn't stopped tasting sweet yet.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Dahlia joined her, panting, and showed no qualms about using the wall for support. She leaned back and slid down to a sit, peeling the helmet off her head. Hair was sweat-stuck to her face, she blew strands out of her mouth and took long draws from her own water bottle. It seemed like she was even more winded than Quinn was. Perhaps that shouldn't have come as such a surprise; Dragon wasn't a marathon Savior after all, it was a sprinter. "Good," she breathed hard between gulps. "You're getting quicker. S'good. Gotta watch the blindspot—if I hadn't caught you with that hook, I think you would've gotten me." These sessions had been good for Dahlia, too. Teaching was more difficult than she'd suspected it would be, harder than Besca or Ghaust made it look, and she was always anxious that she might explain something poorly, or unintentionally help foster bad habits. Her lessons weren't perfect, and were far more about instinct and reflex than anything else, but seeing Quinn improve so much in such a short time—especially with her particular background—gave her confidence. It also reminded her that one day, perhaps sooner than not, Quinn might have to put what she'd learned to use. That was much harder to square herself with, but she tried, if for nothing else than to make things for Quinn easier. There was enough stress in this job already. "We can call it for now, what are you feeling for lunch? Tohoki Grill? CB Danes? We could always grab whatever's in the mess, or something from the vending machines. Your call—I'm starved, I'll eat anything." It was true enough, but Dahlia and Besca had both been making efforts to give Quinn choices where they could. They kept the schedule as strict as the higher-ups commanded, but when it came to things like meals, or movie night, or even just what she did with her spare time, it was important that she felt she could choose. She got up off the ground, tossing her gloves and pads into the hamper. She gave her sister an expectant smile. "So? I'll text Besca once we're settled down."</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Ah. They were done. God, she couldn't chug down the water fast enough. She pulled the helmet off, readjusting her eyepatch strap where it started to slip, and spiked it into the ground—not the most comfortable, was it?—before shaking her braid back to the center. Her chest was still heaving, sucking in long, deep breaths. Still, she couldn't help but huff out an almost scornful amused breath, which was about as far as she ever came to laughing these days. "Hah, you and I both know that's not true. I'm still a looong way from beating you." She took another long drink. "Definitely gettin' closer though. Almost tagged you with that last one." She was...mostly satisifed with how she'd done. That kick had strained her a little more than she wanted it to, though, and it wasn't even a particularly high one. She penciled in train flexibility more on her mental docket. One last pull from the bottle and she'd drained it, dropping it to the ground and knocking it into the wall with a gentle tap. She always tried to catch it with her foot, but it almost never worked. One day, she thought. "Your call." As always, being able to choose sent both a warm thrill and a cold shock down her spine. Being able to choose meant being able to choose wrong, after all, and the last thing she ever wanted to do was disappoint anyone, especially her new family. As time went on, though, the feeling was starting to drop, and making decisions was starting to come more easily to her. "Been craving some noodles," she said, tearing the last of the pads off and sending them after Dahlia's, "and we've been eating at Dane's a lot the past few days. You okay with Tohoki?" Walking over to the exit and wiping off her forehead, she fished her phone out of the little mesh pocket by the door and slid it into her own. She still marveled at the sleek little dark gray thing sometimes. She owned a phone. Quinnlash Loughvein owned a phone! A month ago she never would've dreamed of having one, and now she slid one into her sweatpants pocket every morning. It was didn't even seem real. Kicking out the improvised doorstop, she yanked the door open—it was getting easier every day—and stood in the frame, propping it open. "Lead the way, Deelie." It wasn't just to be polite. Something about leading people somewhere, she'd found, dropped a ball of anxiety into the pit of her stomach. She was trying to get better about it, she really was. But today, she just wanted to follow.</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Follen's office was just as she remembered: safe, comfortable, small but in a way that didn't feel constrictive. In fact it was deceptively open. There were half-drawn blinds on the back wall, behind which a long, tall screen simulated daylight. He had the window partially 'cracked,' and from small speakers there was faint and arhythmic birdsong in the imaginary distance. Warm arm flowed in from the vents. Stepping in felt like donning a morning blanket. Doctor Follen looked up from his work, smiled just as warmly as the artificial sun behind him. "Ah, Quinn, what a pleasant surprise! I had a feeling you'd be by today, came to me while I was putting syrup on my waffles this morning. Come! Come, sit! We'll get started." He pulled a drawer open on his side of the desk, thumbed through a row of files and produced hers. It was already a finger thick, but Follen had assured her that it was because he found her so fascinating. And he did seem intrigued every time. Everything she told him, from her grief to her worries, to the stranger things, he never seemed judgmental, and he never treated her like she'd made a mistake. These are great, tangled knots, he had told her. Your complexity is not a curse, it is a gift, marvelous and beautiful. Never feel sorry for feeling, Quinnlash. Flipping the file open, he pulled a pen tucked behind his ear and clicked it. "So," he said. "First of all—tell me how you've been this week. How have you been sleeping? Eating? I've been monitoring the records from your piloting sessions—I'm very impressed. How have you felt these past couple times in the cockpit?"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn slung herself down in one of the comfy padded chairs, enjoying the warmth—both literal and metaphorical. She had quite the file. She'd asked him what was in it once, but he'd just said "notes." She was okay with that. It made her feel...seen, that might have been the word. How had she been the past week? It was a bit of a loaded question; so much had happened in the last month that each week felt like it dragged for a year. Kicking back, she half laid down. The chair was so comfy, god. It was her favorite. "Well...the cockpit's been alright, I guess. I feel like I've made a lot of progress for sure, so that's nice." A brief pause. "...The tug-of-war is still there, though." She'd described her first phase in detail last session. Mostly the "you love this/you hate this" dichotomy that she'd been slammed with. Or the tug-of-war, as she'd started calling it. "It's not as bad, obviously, I feel like I've mostly gotten a handle on it, but it's still happening, and the voice is still there." And here, she paused again. This time for a much longer time. She'd been exceedingly reticent about her dreams, and Doctor Follen had definitely noticed. She didn't want to talk much about them. She was ashamed. Incredibly ashamed. She didn't remember much, but she remembered them being treasured memories at the time, each and every one. And it made her ashamed. "And, um..." And she didn't want to mention Quinnlash either. She wasn't sure why, but she didn't. "You remember that voice that I've been hearing? Outside of the cockpit, I mean?" She took a deep breath. Still. She wanted to talk about it, at least a little. "It's been following me into my dreams now too. It's harder to escape it." She didn't mention that it had been in her dreams since the beginning, or that it wasn't just "the voice." Doctor Follen didn't need to know that, right? And she didn't want to say it.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. "Mhm. Mhmm," Follen muttered as she spoke. He did that often, nodding along, humming affirmative now and then, not obtrusively, but enough that she could tell he was engaged, listening. Sometimes he didn't make any noise at all though, just conveyed his attention in his eyes, hardly affording himself a blink as though he might somehow miss something in that split moment. When she brought up the voice, he was silent as the void outside the station. It had clearly been of particular interest to him—and, he insisted, it ought to be to her as well. At first he had tried to be reassuring, telling her that connecting to a Modir, 'taunting the circuit', could lead to some strange side effects. It was not the first instance he'd seen of a pilot hearing voices and feeling alien thoughts even after they'd left the cockpit. But when she mentioned that voice had been with her in Hovvi, his explanations fell flat. Normally that might have been cause for alarm, but the sheer enthusiasm with which Follen approached that information, the way he made it seem like she had nothing to fear—it was almost like she did have nothing to fear. As she described the voice following her into her dreams—her hesitation poignant enough that even she could tell he'd noticed—Follen's pen halted, and he gave her his complete, undivided attention. "And what is it saying to you in your dreams?" he asked. "You used the word 'escape'. Do you feel as though it's chasing you? Threating you? Does it seem to want something from you?"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein "Chasing? I...wouldn't say that, not really. It's not threatening me either. I guess I don't really feel the need to escape. It's...how do I put it..." She swallowed. Doctor Follen didn't usually stop the pen unless something was happening that was of particular import. She hoped he'd take what she said at face value. It was such an instinctual feeling in her dreams, even when Quinnlash wasn't there, that it was difficult to explain once she got down to it. "It's more like...there's something else in my head with me. And it wants to push its feelings and emotions into mine. Sometimes it bleeds a little too, and it's hard to tell where it ends and I start. But I don't know if it really wants something. It feels like she's just...studying me." "I've been sleeping well, though," she added hastily. "The last time I woke up screaming was almost two and a half weeks ago now." She wasn't sure whether that was because she was beginning to settle into RISC proper, or because of the hauntingly beautiful dreams that she could never quite remember. She could feel a sudden surge of disgust for Doctor Follen bubble out from nowhere and she stiffened. No, she begged, please not now. And besides...she liked Doctor Follen. What reason did Quinnlash possibly have to tear through the front of her head so suddenly? She shook her head. She was probably being skittish. She did have a tendency to overreact to things a lot. Don't worry, he's a friend. We can trust him! She didn't know if Quinnlash could hear her. She hoped she could.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Follen watched her intently, still as a salamander in the sun. It happened quickly—Quinn may not have even noticed—but when she began to elaborate, when she told him about what the voice did, how it probed at her emotions, tried to slot new ones in their place, his pen moved at the mention of a single word: She. He nodded appreciatively when she mentioned she'd been sleeping well. "Well, we could have you spend the night here, in the ward, to do a sleep study. It's not a painful or invasive procedure, but it's also terribly boring, and frankly I dislike the idea of dragging you out of the dorms to sleep in these crinkly old beds now that you seem to be adjusting so well to your own." He scribbled something down onto the topmost page of the file, and thought over a long Hmm before he went on. "So," he finally said. "Here's what I'd like us to try instead. For the next few days, or until our next session, I'd like it if you could write down your dreams for me. You can use as much or as little detail as you'd like, but try to get down what the voice tells you, if you can remember it. If it's talking with you, and you feel safe, perhaps you could try talking to it. You say you feel as if it's studying you—I find nothing inherently dangerous about curiosity. If it asks you a question, see what it does if you give it an answer—truthful or not." There was a sudden buzzing. Follen blinked, glancing around and patting his own pockets, until they both realized it was coming from her phone. It was a message, from Besca. -come to the war room quick. important. deelie already on the way.-</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn tried not to show her discomfort when Doctor Follen asked her to...write down her dreams, and try to converse. That disgusted feeling had fallen into the background a bit, but it still lurked just underneath the surface. She took a deep breath and nodded, then— It wasn't time for another reminder— She bolted up, staring at her phone with confusion and concern writ across her face, all thoughts of dreaming forgotten. She'd only been to the war room one or two times. It really was important if she was headed there. "Sorry. Something important just came up. We'll catch up later, okay?" She curved out of his office, this time keeping a quick jog through the halls of the medical wing, earning her a few irritated looks that she did her best to ignore. There was a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that she knew, and she recognized it with dread. Just like in Hovvi: a crushing certainty that something terrible was about to happen. Cutting across the plaza and weaving back and forth between people, she darted into the stairwell. It'd take too long to grab an elevator right now and that Quinnlash fear was still coursing through her. Taking the steps two, then three at a time, she blazed a path up the flights. By the time she arrived at the solid metal door she was out of breath again. Taking a moment to catch it, she heaved the door open and strode in, still breathing hard. Besca was standing there, a look on her face that did nothing to assuage Quinn's anxiety. Dahlia was there too—maybe she hadn't gotten into the sims yet when she'd gotten called—and her expression wasn't any better. Her voice only shook the tiniest bit when she spoke. She was pretty proud of that. "What's going on?</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. The war room was relatively small, an offshoot of the bridge proper, but it was very busy—not with people per se, but machinery, screens, and a general air of unease. These upper floors were much different from the rest of the Aerie; there was no effort here to make things seem organic, or comfortable, or really even habitable. It was sterile in a different way than the medical ward, not to be clean, but rather, to be primed. At the center was a round table whose surface was a screen, upon which were dozens upon dozens of smaller windows. Two or three other people sat on the far side, busy, blind and deaf to everything else. Besca and Dahlia were stood at the side closer to the entrance. They both turned to Quinn when she entered. Besca had her phone up to her ear, and conveyed her odd mixture of worry and 'I'm happy to see you' through a brief smile. Dahlia hurried over to Quinn, hugged her quick. "There's a problem with Casoban," she said. She looked a bit distressed, like she didn't have time to word what she was saying any more delicately. "Something about a dispute over trade routes with Helburke. Apparently it's a really big deal for them. They're dueling over it." Besca gripped one of the chairs and dragged it like she meant to throw it, only stopping herself at the last moment. "How did you agree to this!" she shouted. "How am I hearing about it after the press! I'm your f—I'm your commander!" Dahlia winced. "She's talking to the Board…ah…Casoban is losing pretty badly. They were going to accept an offer of aid from Eusero, but Toussaint intervened. It would have dissolved our partnership. He talked to our Board, got them to agree to let us step in as their proxy. But, uhm—I think…I think something's wrong." There was a sharp CRACK as Besca's phone impacted the far wall. Her hands went to her face, pressed hard, then she all but collapsed leaning against the table. "Everyone with a college degree get out. Now." She didn't have to say it twice. In moments the scant crew had cleared the room, and it was just the three of them left. Dahlia hurried over to her, taking her by the shoulders and coaxing her down into a chair. Besca's hands shook, she brought them back to her face and rubbed hard at her eye. "Quinn…" she breathed, voice quavering. "Quinn I'm so sorry…"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein "Quinn…Quinn I'm so sorry…" Quinn sucked in a pained breath. She had never heard Besca sound like that. She had never seen her act like that. She was acting like...like...her. But why would she be— He talked to the board, got them to agree to let us step in as their proxy. Toussaint had let them step in as a proxy. Duel proxy. But...RISC only had one pilot, right? And from what she knew, Helburke had tried and failed to beat Dragon on multiple occasions. So why would they agree to— Then that pained breath left her in a mangled half-noise. Because... Quinn…Quinn I'm so sorry… Because RISC had two pilots. She staggered backwards, falling almost limp into a chair herself. No. No, they wouldn't. The board wouldn't— Suddenly that deep fear she felt all made sense. Because they would. She'd seen footage of duels in the past month. Well, only in the past two weeks really, so her knowledge of them was pretty limited. But there were a few things that she knew very well. One, once a duel had been agreed to? There was no pulling out. Two, they were always unrelentingly brutal and painful for everyone involved. And three...someone always died in the end. "B-but..." Her teeth were chattering like they hadn't since that first horrible week. She clenched her jaw to try and force them still, but they just wouldn't stop. Her eye was wide and disbelieving. "But I...I haven't even d-drawn my weapon yet." Her voice grew frantic. "H-how am I supposed to—to fight a duel!?" It had to be some kind of terrible mistake. A terrible mistake, or a cruel joke of fate. Helburke...they had pilots prepared specifically for dueling, she knew that much. She had maybe a little more than one month of training. And she HADN'T. DRAWN. HER. WEAPON. YET. She was hyperventilating crazily and couldn't stop herself, and she hugged herself tight, digging her fingernails into her arms. Her eye was staring out at something she couldn't see in the distance. Just like that, she was right back where she'd started. Casoban was... "They're sending me out to die!"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. For a moment Quinn might have thought she went deaf. Besca and Dahlia were talking—their lips were moving—but there was only silence and a tinny ringing in the back of her mind. It was like she'd just disconnected; a brief flash of vertigo, the dark just at the edge of her vision, the lingering breaths between whispers she couldn't hear, but she could feel. Anger was offered, but it couldn't match her own fear. In its absence was an inner chill, and the sound of distance hoofbeats to shatter the silence. "…renegotiate! We didn't know the terms!" Dahlia's voice was too quiet for how loudly she actually seemed to be speaking. "…Board did. Said her phasing speed…don't know anything…" Besca was equally quiet, her words faded in and out. "…think Toussaint got played…deal with Eusero anyway…thin our numbers…" The ringing sharpened, not fair. Throwing us away. Supposed to be safe. No. No. "No!" Dahlia snapped, and suddenly the world became clear and steady again. "I don't care! I'll go down with her and I won't leave. They can agree to change the terms or they can concede." Besca was still deflated, slumped over in the seat with her head in her hands. "Helburke won't concede, and the Board would rather…they won't change their minds, either. It's House Tormont. You go down there and you're liable to have three or four other Houses joining them." "They can send as many as they want," Dahlia hissed. "I'll burn them all. I don't care." "Well I care, Deelie! I care! We are not breaking the Illun Accord for Casoban! Helburke will sink the whole country overnight, after they've mulched both of you anyway!" Dahlia balked. "You cannot actually be considering this." "I'm…" Besca muttered. "I don't know what else to do! If we refuse, this turns into another Westwel—then what?" "Then we figure something out!" "That...that's not how it works." "Quinn is our family," Dahlia said sharply. "You might not care if we lose any more of it, but I do." Besca shot up, eye wide and angry. Dahlia withered, briefly, but she kept her lips stiff and didn't back down. "Get out," Besca said through gritted teeth. "Dahlia, get out. Now." Dahlia frowned, but she seemed far more angry than sad. She looked to Quinn, eyes gleaming with held-back tears. "Yes ma'am," she said, and left. It was only two of them, then. For a moment it looked like Besca would run after her—she seemed to regret herself the instant Dahlia turned her back—but instead she sat back down. She looked older, suddenly, and tired. She felt both, immensely. "I'm sorry, Quinn…" her voice was thin and shaky. "I'm sorry. She's right. She's right, I—I can't let this happen. I have to think of…something. Something. I can't let you go. It's not fair, you're not ready. I won't lose you."</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Everything was falling apart. It was all falling apart, and so quickly. She closed her eye, bowed her head. Her whole body was quaking. She had just found a family, after sixteen years of a fake one. Sixteen goddamn years. And now because of the board, and Helburke, and Eusero, and ESPECIALLY Casoban, that family was falling apart before it could even really form. She was not going to be thrown away. Besca's voice reached her, and her head jerked up without warning, staring at the door where Dahlia'd just left. No. No. NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT. Her own shaking was starting to settle, and her chattering teeth finally stilled. The fear, the terror, was alloying with something else, something that turned her stronger. Her blood no longer ran cold. No. It was boiling. Her teeth stopped chattering because they were clenched so tightly together the jaw creaked. Her hands no longer clawed at her arms, balled as they were into tight white-knuckled fists. It was an unfamiliar sensation to her, half-remembered and only barely at that. A handful of brilliant red blooms in the endless night sky. But at that moment—with all this—everything falling apart—her sister and Besca suddenly at each other's throats—it felt so very right. Quinnlash was still afraid. But she was also furious. She shot up, pacing back and forth with a sudden blaze of seething energy. Besca didn't deserve this. Dahlia didn't deserve this. None of them deserved this...and she didn't deserve this. She'd run through hell on earth a month ago and come out on the other side. She refused to let this rip her away from them, and she refused to let them fall apart over this before it even happened! A growl built in the back of her throat as she reached into her pocket and yanked out her phone. Three contacts listed on the screen. She tapped on St. Senn. She answered on the second ring, and Quinn exploded. "Get the fuck back up here RIGHT GODDAMN NOW!" She hung up, then slapped it down on the table, a fierce and piercing eye like that of a bird of prey looking straight at Besca. Her voice was a snarl, bit out through clenched teeth. She had NOT come this far, through this much, to die to something like THIS. "How long have we got."</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Where there was an air of indignant anger, there was suddenly distinct feeling of satisfaction, and pride. The chill receded, she was content to listen. So was Besca, evidently, and Dahlia if the speed of her return was anything to go by. They both seemed utterly baffled, looking at her as though she'd torn off her face to reveal some stranger beneath. A glance passed between them, not of malice, but confusion—then, acquiescence. "Uhm…" Besca stuttered, averting her eye the moment Quinn's turned to her. "A week. It would have been longer, these were originally doubles-duels; Casoban set the terms to bench Yule though, so now Helburke is using that to bench Dragon. Now it's a one-on-one." She paused, hesitating to ask if Quinn was certain about this. Then she felt guilty. An outburst of bravery, warranted or not, wasn't going to squash her worry for the girl's safety. "That's not enough time, Quinn. I don't see how it could be. If we dropped you down today to draw out your weapon you'd still only have a handful of days to practice with it—and most of that would be in sims, anyway." She mustered up a bit of her own courage and looked her dead-on. "I meant what I said; I'll figure something out. We could get you sick, maybe. We could…I don't know, we could tell'em you fell into a coma or something, get Follen to put you down for a couple days 'til Casoban forfeits." Dahlia joined her, putting a hand on Quinn's shoulder. "She's right we can…" she began, but nothing came to her, so she just shook her head. "You don't have to do this. I…we don't want you to have to do this."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein The sudden bellows-blast of rage didn't last long, and Quinn slumped back down into a chair, looking vaguely sick. "...You don't have to do this. I…we don't want you to have to do this." Quinn laughed then, a thin flat thing totally devoid of humor or joy. A death rattle. "You think I'm thrilled about it?" She looked at her feet, and her voice dropped to barely more than a whisper. "But there's...there's nothing we can do about it, right?" She wasn't particularly savvy in politics, but she'd picked up a thing or two from Besca. "Fine, I get out of it. What then?" She left no time for responses before continuing: "We lose Casoban, right? And then what happens to the Aerie?" She shook her head and looked down at her hands. They were trembling again, but her mind was clear as it could reasonably be, under the circumstances. That bolt of pride—unexpected, but not unwelcome—that had punched through her mind from Quinnlash stabilized her some. Enough to keep her together, at least. "I'm terrified. You have no idea how terrified I am. I have no idea how I'm even speaking right now, when all I want to do is run back to my dorm, curl up under my covers, and cry until I wake up from this bad dream." A deep, shaky breath. Another. A third. Three deep breaths, in and out. "...But I—I can't. So..." she dropped her head into her hands. No. NO. She absolutely could not. There wasn't anything she could do, or anyone else. She turned to Besca. "...I'm drawing today." She blinked, and for just that moment she was that terrified child again. The one who'd woken up screaming. The one who'd latched onto Besca in a death grip, and begged her not to leave. The one who'd cried her eyes out into Dahlia's shoulder, apologizing for killing her father. Who'd barely made it through her first phase. Then she blinked again, and—at least for the moment—that child was gone.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. The cockpit was cold, and dark, even with the skullport open. As the elevator brought the unnamed Savior down from Aerie Station, Quinn could only sit and feel the odd, artificial gravity keeping her steady. The vents on the suit's collar warmed her face, but an eager chill raked its fingers down her scalp. Dahlia stood in the narrow opening. She wasn't suited up—Dragon was still docked in the hangar—but she'd thrown on a few layers of shirts and coats, and had a scarf around her neck. She still shivered even without being inside, but made no complaints. "It'll happen," she said. Her words were visible in the frosted air. "You'll get it, it takes a little focus at first but you'll get it. You just gotta reach out, physically and, y'know, mentally, too. Don't think too hard about what you want it to be, don't worry about not knowing what to do with it—it's all natural. It comes to you, from the Saviors. They know what to do with these things, so, so do you, if that makes sense." She looked down below, to the horde of engineers scurrying around the Savior's feet. Most were running last-minute diagnostics as the elevator closed the last distance to the earth. Some, she saw, were snapping pictures up at them—or more likely, at its face. Its eye still hadn't grown back. A month had passed, and the Savior's socket was empty—covered now by a metal plate. Dahlia had never seen anything like it before, which wasn't too surprising, because evidently no one had. All wounds dealt to a Modir short of destroying the brain would heal, without fail, in every single case. Except for this one. She tried not to think about it. It wasn't her area of expertise anyway, and whether the thing had one eye or four or twenty didn't matter to her. Quinn mattered, and Quinn seemed to do just fine with it as it was. "Alright, touching down," Besca's voice said over the comms. Sure enough the strange gravity waned, and with a slight shake the elevator came to a stop. "Slot in whenever you're ready." "Gonna be right here on the lift watching the whole time," Dahlia said. She scooted in enough to give Quinn a hug she'd likely barely feel through the layers, and then climbed back onto the lift outside. "Good luck, sis." As she descended, the view behind the open cockpit opened up. They'd come to a vast expanse of flat, dry earth, and miles in the distance the lip of a crater creased the horizon. The bed of a long-gone lake, perhaps—plenty of space regardless. Soon enough the door shut, and she was enshrouded. The eager chill returned. It told her she was ready.</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein She let her eye close. She didn't know why she always did; it just felt right. Then, just like always, that smear. Like someone fingerpainting onto a black canvas with a paint that was also black, but so much more. That moment of splitting— And there she was. She looked down. Dahlia was a tiny matchstick beneath her, barely coming up to her ankles. Life really was easier with only one eye, wasn't it? She shook her mammoth head. No. No time for that. She tried to remember what her sister had told her on the way down. They knew what to do with them, and so should she? She tried to remember how she'd seen it happen in recordings or in—no. In recordings only. They'd reached out their hand, just like this— Nothing happened. What hadn't she done right? She tried again, this time concentrating on it. Focusing on pulling out whatever weapon she'd get. And still, nothing. She groaned, and the Savior's voice—like gravel and boulders—echoed over the empty space. There was something she wasn't doing that she needed to. The press of time crushed down on her, and she tried again. The attempt was equally as fruitless. She resisted the urge to reach up and rub her finger over her eye. Last time she'd done that she'd punched a hole in it with the claw, and as much as she appreciated the eyepatch, being blind was not as fun. Don't think too hard. She took a deep breath and tried to stop thinking so much. Let her thoughts go quiet, and just for a moment, let the Savior's thoughts breathe too. Then slowly—a certainty in her movements that hadn't been there before—she reached out and closed her hand again. And this time it caught. It felt like...like pulling a sheet. A huge sheet. Dragging it backwards, bending it towards her. And as she pulled, it stretched. She knew instinctively that it was about to break. Then the space bunched up between her fist tore, and she ripped out a massive object. Blunt, rectangular. As long as she was tall, or maybe even longer. She hefted it in front of her, marveling at its lightness— In her ear, she heard a horrified choking gasp from Dahlia. And then she looked at it. It didn't make any sense. The weapon was supposed to be her. It wasn't—it was supposed to come from her and not the Savior, right? So then why was what rested in her hands a very familiar cannon? Her eye slammed shut, a black membrane falling for a moment in front of the red orb in her face. She felt her breaths seething through her body, faster and faster. The fire all around her the SUN looming in front of her she was RUNNING she needed to RUN— NO. STOP. She could not panic. Panicking was a luxury, and she didn't have any time for luxuries. So instead, she gritted her teeth and opened her eye again. There it was, a great block of modium running with burning white lines. And where was—there, there was the trigger. She hefted it onto her shoulder, and a part of her screamed. She hated this. So why did it feel so natural as she pointed it downrange? Click. A moment later the cannon kicked against her, and a searing, blazing ball of smokeless white flame raced away from her. And where it struck on the lakebed, there was a thoom that echoed for miles. When the dust cleared, a crater fifty feet across—at least—was carved into the hard-packed, sun-baked dirt. Another click, and another shot seared its way through the sky. She closed her eye again, but her voice over the comms displayed only a grim acceptance. "It'll do."</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn wasn't hungry. As much as she'd thought she was ready—at least as ready as she really could be—on the Aerie, she'd realized when she'd seen Blotklau, when she'd heard those mournful strings, when she was served what was in all likelihood her last meal—she'd realized with a flash of nausea that she wasn't ready. Wasn't anywhere near ready. Wasn't even close. The food smelled delicious, and from the faces of those around her, it seemed like it tasted delicious too. In any other situation Quinn would have been experimenting with everything there, trying to find what she liked best. But now? She picked at it, too nervous to put any of it in her gut in fear that it would come right back up again. Then that door opened. And through it walked Roaki. Quinn wasn't sure how she knew her so assuredly, even before she saw the pilot's suit underneath her clothes, but she knew as soon as she laid eye on her that this was the girl that she— That she— A wave of revulsion bore up her throat and she swallowed it down. At the same time, that spike of desire, of hunger, punched through her brain. —That she was going to— She kept her eye locked to the ghost-white girl, almost afraid to look away, as she (even younger than Quinn herself was, she'd read from her dossier with horror) stumped closer, the wood of her leg thumping sharply against the Parlay's floor, and finally sat down right across from her. "So, I guess you're next." Quinn jolted, she couldn't stop herself. Thoughts raced through her head. Whoever she'd expected her opponent to be, she was sure it wasn't this. A child whose arm and leg had been shorn from her body. And such vitriol in her voice. She found a distant part of herself wondering; had she lost her limbs like she had lost her eye? Or had they been taken by her Savior? But most of her still felt like she was going to be sick. And not only did she feel sick, she obvioiusly looked like she felt sick. Her mouth was twisted in discomfort, and she dropped the fork that she wasn't really using onto the nearly untouched plate with a gentle clatter. —that she had to kill. It took her a moment to find her voice, and there was a noticeable shake to it when she responded that she desperately wished she could keep out, at least for the moment. How did she talk to this girl, this creature who fought literally tooth and nail? What could she say to her, knowing that no matter what happened, one of them wouldn't going be going back home? "...I—" There was nothing she could say to make this easier on her. Nothing to make it easier on Roaki either (though she seemed like she wasn't in short supply of confidence). So she averted her eye, stared at her plate, and muttered quietly as she ignored both Quinnlash's needles of feeling and the horrible familiar twisting in her gut as best she could. "...Yeah. That's me."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Eyes fell upon the two pilots, in their corner tables, and briefly the Parlay quieted. Besca watched, tight-lipped and intent, but stayed where she was. Dahlia's leg bounced anxiously, and like Quinn she hadn't touched her meal, either—something that had not gone unnoticed by the Helburkans. Whether this was to be taken as a grievous offense, or a sign that their message was having its exact intended effect, was unclear. Roaki seemed annoyed by the silence. She held her fork like a dagger, slammed it down onto the meat hard enough for the metal to screech and the table to shake. The Helburkan side quickly resumed their own meals, and though she shot murderous glances to the Runans who continued staring, she eventually returned to her food. "Hate this shit, hate waiting," she grumbled, and having skewered the entire cut of boar through, she lifted it up and bit out a chunk. "Do it back home, too. Waste of fuckin' time. Why the fuck do they want us to eat together? Look at you, you're already scared shitless, so, what? Am I supposed to scare the shit back into you? Stupid." She barely looked at Quinn then, gray eyes focused down on her plate. Her cut was rare, almost bright red, but she managed to chew through it like wax. Blood and juice dribbled down her chin, stained her shirt. She didn't seem to care. "So why the fuck is Runa here? Didn't you guys just get mulched?"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein The silence grated against her ears, and she suddenly realized that everybody was staring. She managed to resist shrinking back and away, but only barely. Her finger twisted into the hem of the long black shirt that hung from her and held it tight. Then the fork slamming down split through the silence, and she jumped enough to knock her head on the backrest of her seat with a bonk. She hissed in a breath with a wince as Roaki continued talking. And the more she said, the more bile spat from her mouth, the deeper Quinn's brow creased. Her teeth clenched, and Quinnlash's anger tore through her like a purgative, setting her veins alight before collecting in her eye, a cinder ready to catch fire. "So why the fuck is Runa here? Didn't you guys just get mulched?" The fire flared once more, white hot and brilliant. But before it could ignite, the image of blood turned black by night running through streets lit with firelight and a boiling moon sheared down through it. A wave of dull grief sloughed over her, and the ember dimmed, then died. She slumped back into her seat. "Mhmm," she droned, voice steady now, but dull and dead. "A whole town. Which was my home, I guess." She knuckled at her eye, pushing the tears back before they had any chance to glimmer. "I'm the only one left."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Something within Quinn raged at her withering anger. So close, it was there at the surface, tingling in her fingers like it meant to ball them into a fist for her. It tells her she was right, that she should hate this girl, this Helburkan dog who would dismiss her so easily. Roaki Tormont didn't know who she was speaking to, if she did she would have thrown herself to the ground and begged Quinn for mercy. Too late. Too late for that. But it sank again, perhaps on its own, or perhaps the grief pushed it down. Roaki continued to eat, a glint in her eye at the mention of Hovvi's destruction. It wasn't amusement, per se, but there was definite interest. She hadn't bitten the hook, but she'd nibbled the bait. "That blows," she said. "People made it sound like you guys were untouchable. Guess not. Wonder what they'll do once you're dead, if, y'know, another one pops up." She dropped the meat back down onto her plate and took up a mug of something dark and frothy. Holding it to her lips and throwing her head back, she didn't stop drinking until it was gone. From the grimace that followed, it must not have tasted particularly good. "That how you lost your eye? One of the little fuckers get you?"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein "No," Quinn sighed, readjusting the strap of her patch. "I was just a kid when I lost it, don't really know how." Which, even if she didn't tell the whole truth, was true enough. She broke off eye contact, letting her eye roam across the Parlay. The Helburke flag, the crest of the Tormonts, the massive trays of food on the Helburkan side. On the Runan side, the board members—who she was none to happy with—and then... Dahlia looked so incredibly nervous. She hadn't eaten anything, Quinn could tell. She...Quinn breathed in heavily. It wouldn't be apparent to most, but she could tell: Dahlia was terrified. Terrified for her. Terrified of her. Of her Savior. Of her weapon. And of what she'd do if— Wonder what they'll do once you're dead, if, y'know, another one pops up. She sat up straight again, then turned her head back to Roaki like it weighed a hundred pounds. Her eye flashed, glinted like a chip of yellow ice. Her voice suddenly went hard and sharp as broken glass. "I guess I'll never find out what they'll do." She cut a piece of meat, brought it to her mouth, chewed, and swallowed, never once looking away. "I don't intend to die anytime soon."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Roaki blinked at her, and for a brief, triumphant moment she seemed almost confused by Quinn's sudden turn towards courage. It was clear she'd expected a glass child, already cracked, to shatter at the first few harsh words. As much as she proclaimed to dislike the ceremony, Roaki was still Helburkan, and intimidation was still their strategy. Then the moment passed. There was a flame behind Roaki's eyes that stilled, momentarily, and as Quinn stared at her, there was…well, it wasn't respect, in the same way she hadn't been amused before. It was interest, again. "S'not up to you," she said, as dryly as she might describe the weather. "You all think it is, but it's not. Not anymore." Her gaze drifted to where Quinn's had lingered a moment before. To Dahlia. Her tongue clicked, lip curling over a bloody canine. The older pilot was still watching Quinn, and with every moment that passed, it seemed to aggravate Roaki more. Her voice turned from dry to cold. "Got family?" she asked. "Friends? That your little buddy, over there?"</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein At that moment, Quinn's entire body tensed all at once. She didn't know what Roaki meant to get at by asking about Dahlia. About friends. About family. But whatever the intent, it filled her with a thrill of fear and unease. And that was vessel enough for the prickles underneath her skin—so briefly quelled by the crushing tide of grief and guilt—to blaze back to life with a new and renewed fire. Seething anger—she didn't know if it was Quinnlash's or hers, or even a melding of the two—coursed back through her. The liquid flame pumped itself back into her veins, flowing like lava beneath her skin as her hands clenched tight and her blood roared through her ears. She bared her teeth, only barely choking back a bestial growl as she lunged forwards. Her fist flew out before she could stop it, and she only barely had the presence of mind to pull it back, stopping it right before it hit. Then it unfolded, covering that last distance and coming to rest palm-first. She leaned in, face only a foot from the glass now as she dragged her fingernails like claws down the barrier. "Don't you get near her," she hissed through her teeth, keeping her voice as low as she could manage. "Don't you even look at her, or I'll rip that stick from your stump and break it over your head."</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. There was movement instantly, and the screeching of chairs being thrown back as every person in the Parlay collectively stood from their meals. No one said anything—only the barest gasp from Dahlia—as Quinn's hand came to rest on the glass, and she hissed her threat through it. For a moment nothing happened. Roaki had clutched the table tight when Quinn lunged, and her eyes had gone wide, but she'd not flinched, or reacted. Herr Donner seemed pleased in his unemotive way, cocking a brow at Besca. He cleared his throat to say something, perhaps the ease the tension, or condescend, or likely both. Then Roaki stood and threw her table over, splattering what was left of her meal against the divide before she lunged forward and slammed her own hand to the glass, right against Quinn's, with a dense warble. The impassive stare had left her. She grinned madly, her wide eyes held all the composure of a rabid animal. That fire in Quinn's veins flared at an alien stoking. A strong and sickeningly pure urge to Fight was thrust upon her. Fight, Quinn. Kill her now rightnowrightnow and it would not let up as long as their eyes met. "Do it! Come on!" she shouted, forehead pressed to the glass, staring up at her. "I'm gonna kill you—I'm gonna rip you apart, do you hear me? Slowly. Piece by piece. I'm gonna make them listen to you die" Her fingers curled against the glass, like she was trying to claw into it. Blood mixed crudely with the drool on her lips. "And then I am gonna come for them. I'm gonna start with that one, right there, and I'm just gonna keep going." This dog needs to be put down came a cry from within her. They all do. Herr Donner grimaced, marched over. He took hold of Roaki by the collar and pulled her away from the glass. She made motions to shake him off, but even she didn't think to strike someone like him. "I believe the meal is over," he said, and began to lead her away. "I'll kill every last one of them!" Roaki roared, still pulling, still fighting to get back to the glass, to Quinn. "And you know what's sad? You won't even be alive to thank me—!" The door shut, and as the rest of the Helburkans began to clean up, Herr Donner's words seemed to be true. The meal was over. Dahlia hurried over to Quinn, Besca not far behind. "I—I've never seen anything like that before." "Me neither. House Tormont has a reputation for brutality but good god, that's not normal." She stroked a hand through Quinn's hair, brow furrowing at how tense she seemed.""Hey, hun. Don't let her get to you. She might be loud, but she's almost as new to this as you are." Dahlia took Quinn's hand, the one she'd nearly smashed into the glass. "I should've stepped in. I'm sorry. Are you okay?"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn couldn't breathe. Her eye stared out at the door where Roaki had just been dragged, threats still flying loud through her brain and ringing in her ears. "---------------------------------------------------" "--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------" She heard Dahlia and Besca. But she didn't really hear them. Didn't really even know they were there. Everyone passed in a blurry half-light around her, phantom images that didn't quite register. And though her eye was fixed to the door, it looked past it at some faraway place, watching Roaki slaughtering everyone on Aerie station one by one. Watching her come to the pilot's quarters, tear down the door, then go into Dahlia's room— I'm gonna start with that one, right there, and I'm just gonna keep going. "—let her get to you. She may be loud, but she's almost as new to this as you are." Quinn finally tore her gaze from the imagined carnage and looked up at Besca uncomprehendingly. Painting her face was a look not of tension and worry, but of utter desolation. Dahlia grasped her hand. "I should've stepped in. I'm sorry. Are you okay?" Was she okay? No. No, there wasn't even a word for how not okay she was at that exact moment. There was no way any word, or combination of words, could describe what was running through her head. The horror. The loathing that seeped through her, choking out the last of that fierce bright urge. Loathing for herself, for that sickening urge, drive, desire to KILL. There were simply no words she could find. So she didn't try. Quinn's legs crumpled out from underneath her, and she collapsed into Besca, planting her face on her shoulder, and a wet spot began to form. Even then she was dead silent, like she'd had the mute button pressed on her remote. I'll kill every last one of them! Then Quinn shattered. And, wail after gut-wrenching sob, the silence shattered with her.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Besca caught it early, like she'd glimpsed Quinn's mind the moment before she broke, and grabbed hold of her. She felt the tears on her shoulder, saw the looks of the few brass and the Board's dumbstruck representatives. They pulled out their phones, dialed with unmasked and quickly-growing panic. Part of her was glad—they were about to tell the Board exactly what she had tried to tell them before, that this was a mistake. Part of her wished she could stick around to hear the shrill screams from the speakers, too. The rest of her wanted to get Quinn away. "Come on, come on, let's go. I got you," she whispered, walking her hastily to the exit. They made it out just as the sobs started, and Quinn's jellied legs nearly brought them both to the dirt. Dahlia came to her other side, helped how she could. "It's alright," she tried, but must have realized how shaky her voice was, and went quiet. They got back into the pavilion and all eyes whirled on them. Besca let Dahlia guide Quinn to the small, sectioned-off bunks as Toussaint came running over. "What the hell happened? Is she okay?" "No she isn't okay!" Besca snapped. "She's fighting a deathmatch tomorrow, and she only drew her weapon for the first time last week!" A look of shock came over Toussaint's face, and Besca found it absolutely enraging. "Don't you dare. This is your fault, Jaime." "My fault?" he spat, incredulous. "You're the one who insisted RISC couldn't afford to pay restitutions for Magnifique! You're the one who told me to find another way to keep our countries from splitting!" "Which I expected you could do without getting duped by your own people! Or do you think Casoban plans to pass up on Eusero after we get trounced here? I'd think you did this on purpose if I didn't know you were an idiot!" Toussaint's face screwed up in fury, but Besca only stepped closer. "I want you to send a message to your PM, Jaime. I want you to tell him that if he gets what he wants, and Casoban partners with Eusero, and RISC leaves here without Quinnlash Loughvein, that we're not allies anymore." She leaned down, so close she could feel his breath shallow. "I want you to ask him if this deal is worth every Savior you've got—because I promise you Dahlia isn't gonna be satisfied until she's mulched every last one of them. And neither will I." --- --- Dahlia had squared Quinn, sitting with her on one of the bunks. She hugged the girl tightly, mind racing. She should have been like this—broken, sobbing, dreading the fact that she was about to lose Quinn to something so absurd. But instead she was angry. Afraid, but also furious. Indignant. No, no she would not lose Quinn. She couldn't. Besca had been so adamant about the consequences of interfering but faced with the alternative, she was prepared to cut down every pilot and Savior on Illun if it meant keeping her sister safe. "Shh," she whispered. "It's okay. Quinn. It's okay—I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Look at me," she gently nudged the girl's face up. "Whatever happens tomorrow, I'm not letting her kill you. I…I might have been too slow at Hovvi. I won't be this time."</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein At length, Quinn's shuddering cries faded, and she released her deathgrip on Dahlia as she fell silent. Another minute or so passed. She remained still, unwilling to move. She felt...safe here. With her. Then, still unmoving, "Dahlia..." Her voice was nearly inaudible; weak and weepy, it came out in a thin rasp. "...I ruined it, didn't I?" Of course she had. She'd lost control, said terrible things. She had been so angry. And so violent. Those thoughts, running through her head like a broken faucet, pure and potent as water. Fight. Fight. Kill. Kill. Kill. She didn't know which ones were Quinnlash's and which were her own, and it shook her to her core. Was that the kind of person she was, deep down? Violent and angry? What's wrong with me? She shut her eyes tighter. Then, "Can I—" The bunks were small, she'd seen them earlier, not to mention being on one right now. They were barely big enough for one person to lie on comfortably, realistically. And it felt absurd to even imagine asking it. Absurd. Stupid. Childish. But imagining herself lying there, in the dark, awake, alone—knowing what was about to come—agonizing over it—it was almost enough to draw a renewed flow of tears out of her. Instead she squeezed her sister tight again, clung to her, fighting desperately to keep the tears at bay. "—can I sleep with you tonight?"</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein The black sky and the black waters rippled against each other. Just like before, everything felt a million miles away when she was here. Even then, there was an echo of that crushing sorrow embedded deep within her. Even here. But still... She stared out at the asymmetric moons. One above, one below. Different. The same. Shattered shards of the same coin, twisted 'round on itself. "I...I don't want her to die." She sat down at the edge of the boat, where she'd sat with Safie what felt like years and years ago, and dipped her legs in. They plunged out of sight, the inky waves consuming the light completely. "I don't want to die, and I don't want her to say those things about our family." She flopped backwards, staring up at the sky, a moment achingly familiar and yet so foreign. "But I also don't—" She stopped, collecting her thoughts. The broken stars wheeled above in a pattern that was at once right and wrong. Right and wrong. Right and wrong. "—I don't want to kill. It feels wrong." She sat back up, flicking droplets of black from her bare feet as she turned and pressed her knees to her chest, leaning up against one of the benches as she looked up at Quinnlash. "I know I need to. But...I don't want to need to. I might have to do it, but I don't have to like it." Her voice took on the ghost of an accusatory tone as she tilted her head at her younger self. "Why do you want me to make me?"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. As she looked up at the sky, the unruly stars whirled, it seemed, in tandem with her own doubts. They tilted, unlocked from the great void, and followed her eye like they thought they might find an answer in it. When she sat up, they all winked out at once—though the night did not get any darker. Quinnlash stared back at her, small face wrinkled in confusion, like Quinn had started speaking in Tohoken. "Because…" she started, and stopped, and started again with more certainty. "Because that's the way it is. That's what we do. We're a pilot. We…" She paced back, stood up on the bench and looked out over the water. "We should be killing monsters. That's what we're made for. That's our purpose," she said. "But they won't let us do that. Now they want us to do this and…and maybe we don't have to like killing always, but some people…deserve it. Some people deserve to die. Takers. People like Roaki, people like them." She didn't need to point it out. That cliff in the distance was still bare. "They're monsters. They'll hurt us, they'll hurt the people we love. And they'll like it. Killing them…we're doing the right thing. We're helping. That's why we should like it. If we don't like killing monsters, then…what's the point?"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein With every word that Quinnlash spoke—each wavering of her thoughts—Quinn grew stronger in her own. She uncurled, standing up to her full height, and joined her counterpart on the bench, looking up at the void of an endless sky. The stars had flickered and died. All that was left was... She let out a light gasp. A moment of revelation. "It's the same thing." Quinnlash glanced at her, mouth pursed in confusion, then followed her vision. "Distorted, broken, but still the same in the end. Right?" This time she was quiet for a longer time. Minutes passed as she looked out at the sickle crescent wavering on the black surface like a liquid mirror. Perhaps hours. She didn't know. She couldn't know. "They were monsters," she suddenly spoke again. "They hurt us in ways that I still don't understand." She took a deep breath. She still didn't know if she needed to. If she even was breathing, unless she did so willfully. The wind gusting by was growing stronger. "But...Roaki isn't like them. She's not an adult either. I think..." She picked up a piece of ice from the ever-full and unmelting cooler, then hurled it off into the water. It struck the moon, shattering the reflection into incomprehensible fragments of silver light. "I think she's a little more like us. Us," her voice sharpened to match Quinnlash's and she glanced sidelong at her, "If we were angrier." She sat down on the railing, meeting those black, infinite eyes. Her razor voice shook, but held. "She's us, once we enjoy it."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. The moon never reformed after Quinn shattered it. The water stilled, but the countless rippled-apart pieces remained with an inexplicable void between them. She could feel her words sinking into the lake, and if she peered down into it, might have for a moment noticed something odd—that it was not black. It was just a very, very dark blue. Quinnlash's hands balled into fists, but she turned away from Quinn's gaze, contemplative, almost ashamed. Instead, she looked out at Hovvi, and for a long time she was silent. "No" she said, and her hands were squeezed so tightly her shoulders shook. "No, she's nothing like us! Not broken! Bad!" With a sharp wince, Quinnlash curled. A hand flew to her head, clutching at a horn that had seemed to grow ever so slightly taller in those angry blinks. In the distance, a great shape loomed over Hovvi. Not a Savior, but much greater, much grander. It was the silhouette of a mountain. "Stupid Helburkan mutt! Taker! she shouted, and pulled her hand away. Blood like ichor dribbled down her face. "We're good! She's evil! Good kills evil! Good kills evil and we're gonna kill her! We're gonna kill anyone who wants to take our friends away from us!" Standing as tall as she could, the girl glared hard at Quinn. Quinnlash's voice boomed within her, as if it rose up from the lake itself. "Now wake up! Wake up and protect my friends!" And she was awake. An alarm beeped softly somewhere far away. There was movement outside the bunk's doors, and the sound of people. Dahlia was beside her, back turned with her neck-plugs exposed. She seemed to still be asleep. The realization hit Quinn—was given to her, without request: today was the day she would kill, or she would die.</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein She stared up at the ceiling for a time. Willed herself to get up. Tried to muster everything she had. It was hard. It was so hard. Her conversation with Quinnlash churned in her head. Roaki was...was so much like her. So much like her that it made her sick. Did she really— Yes. She really did. What other choice did she have? She looked over at Dahlia, sleeping peacefully. Then, nerves tearing at her skin, she reached out and—no. It could wait. Let her sleep for a little longer. So she levered herself up, slid on her sneakers, and walked out into the pavilion proper. Her stomach was tight against itself, and she remembered with a grimace that she hadn't eaten more than a few bites at dinner yesterday. She felt sick. But she knew she needed to eat, needed to fuel herself. It would be a trial. But it certainly wouldn't be the worst of the day. Following the smell of breakfast, she arrived at the mess. A buffet of tasty-looking foods was spread out on a long banquet-style table, people steadily shuffling down it as they waited their turn. As she passed by the tables, the conversation quieted. She hadn't changed out of her clothing from yesterday, but it didn't matter really, she'd be wearing her pilot suit soon anyway. Eyes baggy and sore, she picked up a plate and walked to the back of the line. It parted in front of her, and she groaned, rubbing her hand down her face. "Just take your food," she said tiredly, propping herself against the narrow end and refusing to move on. There was silence for another few seconds, but once she still made no move, the line reformed. She waited in it, glad of the momentary grip on normalcy. She knew it wouldn't last long. Piling her plate with eggs, bacon, sausage, and a bunch of assorted Casobani breakfast foods she didn't fully recognize, she scanned over the tables, searching with a questing eye before she finally found Besca, sitting near the back corner. Plodding over, she dumped herself in the chair next to her, put down her plate, then placed her face none-to-gently against the white tablecloth. "Morning."</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein She stared up at the ceiling for a time. Willed herself to get up. Tried to muster everything she had. It was hard. It was so hard. Her conversation with Quinnlash churned in her head. Roaki was...was so much like her. So much like her that it made her sick. Did she really— Yes. She really did. What other choice did she have? She looked over at Dahlia, sleeping peacefully. Then, nerves tearing at her skin, she reached out and—no. It could wait. Let her sleep for a little longer. So she levered herself up, slid on her sneakers, and walked out into the pavilion proper. Her stomach was tight against itself, and she remembered with a grimace that she hadn't eaten more than a few bites at dinner yesterday. She felt sick. But she knew she needed to eat, needed to fuel herself. It would be a trial. But it certainly wouldn't be the worst of the day. Following the smell of breakfast, she arrived at the mess. A buffet of tasty-looking foods was spread out on a long banquet-style table, people steadily shuffling down it as they waited their turn. As she passed by the tables, the conversation quieted. She hadn't changed out of her clothing from yesterday, but it didn't matter really, she'd be wearing her pilot suit soon anyway. Eyes baggy and sore, she picked up a plate and walked to the back of the line. It parted in front of her, and she groaned, rubbing her hand down her face. "Just take your food," she said tiredly, propping herself against the narrow end and refusing to move on. There was silence for another few seconds, but once she still made no move, the line reformed. She waited in it, glad of the momentary grip on normalcy. She knew it wouldn't last long. Piling her plate with eggs, bacon, sausage, and a bunch of assorted Casobani breakfast foods she didn't fully recognize, she scanned over the tables, searching with a questing eye before she finally found Besca, sitting near the back corner. Plodding over, she dumped herself in the chair next to her, put down her plate, then placed her face none-to-gently against the white tablecloth. "Morning."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Quinn had been right—the normalcy didn't last. As soon as her back was turned she could have felt the eyes return to her, and without much strain she could hear the whispering. Indistinct and worrisome, anxieties she might very well have felt herself, manifesting around her on the lips of people who were meant to be cheering her on. A screen overhead played the daily news. The volume was low, but the anchors spoke Casobani, so no one was listening so much as they were watching and reading the subtitles. A pair of minor singularities were set to open this morning, and Casoban's remaining pilots were split to tackle them one-a-piece. That at least explained why most of the Casoban crew were gone now—shipped out in the middle of the night, most likely. Toussaint remained, which was odd, considering he was allegedly the commander. Perhaps he wasn't anymore. He didn't look particularly happy. To be fair Besca didn't appear to be doing much better. She looked utterly exhausted, which, she was. She hadn't slept a wink, had spent all night online, searching desperately for anything that might help them. By the grin that split her face when she saw Quinn, she must have been successful. "Hey, hun!" she said, voice scratchy but her enthusiasm didn't suffer for it. "Listen, hey. I've been reading all night on this—on Tormont. Not a lot of publicly available information on the Great Houses, even less is translated, but some of the folks here—never mind, not important. Look." She slapped her tablet down onto the table between them. On it were dueling records. The first two Quinn had seen; they were Roaki's official duels as Blotklau's pilot. Besca pointed to some lines beside the word Synchronir. They'd been highlighted manually. "Know what that says? Sorry, dumb question, neither of us read Helburkan. It says, 'Subject was not observed phasing.' Remember how our info listed Roaki's phasing time as 'unknown'? I assumed that was just cause she was too new, and because neither of her duels reached the average phasing thresholds, so, you know, I figured she just phased average. But then I found these." Following the two duels were…more duels. Five. They were unregistered, unofficial in the sense that they hadn't involved a dispute with another nation. In fact, they weren't even duels with another Great House. Roaki had fought five duels against her own family. Besca's hands flew to the same word. Synchronir. "These duels were all over the place. One was minutes long. Two reached the average threshold. Another went way past the average, slower than Ghaust's. Way slower. And the last one…god, I've never seen anything like it before. She was connected for thirty minutes. And what does this say? 'Subject was not observed phasing.'" Besca's grin grew teeth, she tapped the screen manically. "Quinn, I don't think this is flubbed. I don't think she's slow, either. I don't think she can phase at all. That's why her duels are so fast. That's why she's so aggressive. She has to win before the other pilots phase because she can't just stall 'til she does too." Her voice dropped low, conspiratorial. "Hun—I've seen how you've been practicing. I think, seriously, I think if you can just get yourself phased, you can do this. You can actually beat her." Something in Quinn's chest thrummed excitedly.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein But just as quickly, Quinn remembered her dream, and the thrum died to a distant hum. Still there, but muted, dulled. She looked at the data. She—she really could win this. She could. She could win, and go home to the Aerie, and go back to eating at Tohoki Grill and sparring with Deelie, exploring the station, talking to Doctor Follen. It was everything that everyone wanted. So why didn't she feel better? "Hey, um, Besca," she started, surprising herself by how level and modulated her voice was. A pain beat through her, short but sharp. She wanted so much, so badly, to call her something else. But every time she tried, the word stuck in her throat, then died there. She stopped. She didn't even know what to ask, not really. Am I doing the right thing? It didn't matter, did it? She had to do it anyway. Do I really need to do this? Stupid question. The answer was obviously yes. That ship had sailed a week ago now. Once the gears had been set into motion there was no stopping them. And it was the day of. Why did this have to happen? Self-pity would only hurt her. It had no place today. So, thoughts tangled, she opened her mouth again. Closed it again. Thought. She wanted to ask something. She did. She just didn't know what. Her thoughts were disorganized, jumbled about. Not panicked, but certainly not the epitome of health either. But eventually, she settled on a question that she'd had for the last week, both of Besca and Dahlia. She hadn't asked either. But this was about the last chance she'd get, wasn't it? Before she needed to deal with it for herself. So she asked. "...Have you ever killed someone?"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Besca's excitement waned when it became clear that Quinn wasn't as thrilled by the news as she was, and before she got much of a chance to contemplate why, she was hit with a question that withered her mood instantly, and entirely. "...Have you ever killed someone?" How does she mean? was the first thought that came to mind, which was a guilty feeling. She ought to have wondered why, first, or considered how she must have felt to ask such a thing. Instead, Besca found herself wrestling with her conscience for a real answer. If she thought about it for a moment, put her own selfish self-pity aside, no, Quinn likely wouldn't count Safie, and Ghaust, and Daz, and the rest of Hovvi as someone she'd killed. Nor would she likely include the pilots before her. She carried those deaths all the same, but for this, she would carry them quietly. Instead, she addressed it how she imagined Quinn actually intended. "Yes." A hard lump had formed in her throat, and swallowing it took effort that almost choked her. "Four. I've killed four people. Three before you were even born. One the day Westwel fell." Even saying it out loud felt…odd. Like she was drawing on someone else's memories. She recalled them all through a haze, but at the same time they felt entirely, ineluctably real. Years of separation and callouses helped her to keep the pain from twisting her face, but it was still there, in her eye. She looked at Quinn, and felt again the unbearable weight of what she was being put through. The injustice. Why else would she ask that question? Why else would anyone ask it? "You're afraid. You…you don't know if you can do it, do you?"</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn dropped her eye from Besca's. She'd seen it, the pain that had just torn through her, the guilt and the pity. Somehow the last one was the worst. Besca was in pain too. She hurt just like Quinn did. But she hid it for her sake, didn't she? Or, for theirs. She didn't think about it, didn't let it show, so she—Dahlia—everyone on the Aerie didn't need to worry about her, didn't she? And now the guilt began to drip through her in turn for talking about it. It had upset her. She wouldn't let it show, of course. But it had. She had. And there was nothing in the world she wanted to do less than upset Besca. "You're afraid. You...you don't know if you can do it, do you?" Well...almost nothing. "No," she whispered, pain and confusion and horror warring in her tone. "I can't. I mean—" One. Two. Three. Three deep breaths. "How could I? She...she's not—not like them." Her voice grew leaden, filled now with a deep, deep sadness. "She's just a kid. We're both kids. Why does she—why do I need to—" She cut herself off harshly. No self pity. Any other day, and she might indulge herself. But not today. Absolutely not. "Sorry," she mumbled miserably, looking down at her untouched plate of food. She suddenly wasn't hungry anymore. "I just wanted to know..." A long pause now, as Quinn built up the courage to ask a question she didn't think she really wanted to the answer to. "...How do you live with it?" Then, hopelessly, "Does it ever get better?"</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Besca's excitement waned when it became clear that Quinn wasn't as thrilled by the news as she was, and before she got much of a chance to contemplate why, she was hit with a question that withered her mood instantly, and entirely. "...Have you ever killed someone?" How does she mean? was the first thought that came to mind, which was a guilty feeling. She ought to have wondered why, first, or considered how she must have felt to ask such a thing. Instead, Besca found herself wrestling with her conscience for a real answer. If she thought about it for a moment, put her own selfish self-pity aside, no, Quinn likely wouldn't count Safie, and Ghaust, and Daz, and the rest of Hovvi as someone she'd killed. Nor would she likely include the pilots before her. She carried those deaths all the same, but for this, she would carry them quietly. Instead, she addressed it how she imagined Quinn actually intended. "Yes." A hard lump had formed in her throat, and swallowing it took effort that almost choked her. "Four. I've killed four people. Three before you were even born. One the day Westwel fell." Even saying it out loud felt…odd. Like she was drawing on someone else's memories. She recalled them all through a haze, but at the same time they felt entirely, ineluctably real. Years of separation and callouses helped her to keep the pain from twisting her face, but it was still there, in her eye. She looked at Quinn, and felt again the unbearable weight of what she was being put through. The injustice. Why else would she ask that question? Why else would anyone ask it? "You're afraid. You…you don't know if you can do it, do you?"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn dropped her eye from Besca's. She'd seen it, the pain that had just torn through her, the guilt and the pity. Somehow the last one was the worst. Besca was in pain too. She hurt just like Quinn did. But she hid it for her sake, didn't she? Or, for theirs. She didn't think about it, didn't let it show, so she—Dahlia—everyone on the Aerie didn't need to worry about her, didn't she? And now the guilt began to drip through her in turn for talking about it. It had upset her. She wouldn't let it show, of course. But it had. She had. And there was nothing in the world she wanted to do less than upset Besca. "You're afraid. You...you don't know if you can do it, do you?" Well...almost nothing. "No," she whispered, pain and confusion and horror warring in her tone. "I can't. I mean—" One. Two. Three. Three deep breaths. "How could I? She...she's not—not like them." Her voice grew leaden, filled now with a deep, deep sadness. "She's just a kid. We're both kids. Why does she—why do I need to—" She cut herself off harshly. No self pity. Any other day, and she might indulge herself. But not today. Absolutely not. "Sorry," she mumbled miserably, looking down at her untouched plate of food. She suddenly wasn't hungry anymore. "I just wanted to know..." A long pause now, as Quinn built up the courage to ask a question she didn't think she really wanted to the answer to. "...How do you live with it?" Then, hopelessly, "Does it ever get better?"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. She'd been right. Of course she'd been right—Quinn was a kid, and for a brief and humiliating moment Besca had forgotten that. She didn't deserve to be here, fighting for her life against…god, another kid, who she'd been more than happy to spend all night planning the death of. If she had the time to allow herself to feel sick, she would have. But she didn't. Quinn cut herself off. It tore Besca's heart to shreds to hear her apologize, to feel guilty for having a conscience. But it was worse when she asked her next questions. ...How do you live with it? Does it ever get better? Besca froze, and this time the pain did reach her face. It was, without a doubt, the closest Quinn had ever seen her come to tears. It was also the quickest she'd ever recovered from it. She reached across the table and took Quinn firmly by the shoulders. She didn't know how she lived with it. She had no idea how anyone else could. But she did know one thing. "No," she said, and a hand came up to stroke her cheek. "No, honey. It doesn't get better. It never gets easier. And it shouldn't. If something like this has to happen, it shouldn't be easy, and it shouldn't feel normal. Maybe there are people out there who do like this, maybe Roaki is one of them. I…I don't know if I believe that, but maybe she is. What I do know, is that is not you. It never will be. You would never let yourself become that. I know that no matter how much it hurts to do this, no matter how sad it makes you, it won't make you a monster. Quinnlash, look at me. You are not a monster, and you never could be."</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein "Quinnlash, look at me. You are not a monster, and you never could be." Something inside of Quinn cracked. Nerves connected. Synapses sparked. Thoughts darted around her head like a swarm of bugs. She felt like her brain was foaming, fizzing and popping wildly. Things snapped into place suddenly, puzzle pieces clattering around finding their matches. She felt like she was on the verge of something stunningly important. Something life-altering, building up inside of her. All of a sudden, she remembered her conversation—if it could really be called that—with Roaki last night. She was a duelist pilot. Someone who only ever hurt others. She took that weapon, a weapon meant to save people, and used it to end them. And right then, she realized deep in her core: She and Roaki were eerily similar, it was true. She remembered as much from that last dream-conversation. She'd said so to that version of herself, and she still stood by it. But there was one thing that was truly, deeply different: that was not the kind of pilot she wanted to be. But then the question presented itself, naturally, whipping through her head like a desert gale. If she wasn't that kind of pilot...then what kind of pilot did she want to be? A pilot that fought the Modir? No. It was true—or, well, it would be true—but that was the means and not the ends. She didn't want to kill them just to kill. She didn't want to kill them for revenge. The didn't even really want to kill them. She needed to. Important, but it wasn't—she flashed back momentarily to Quinnlash's assertion: We're a pilot. We should be killing monsters. That's what we're made for. That's our purpose. Only no, it wasn't. A purpose wasn't what you did. It was why you did it. A note of protest rose from deep within her. She crushed it back down. No. Not now. Not today. A pilot that kept her family safe? Again, it was true. It was deeply, painfully true. She cared more about Dahlia and Besca than anything else in the whole world, and whenever they hurt, she hurt alongside them. She wanted to protect them so badly she could feel it in her bones. But again—though it wasn't wrong—it also wasn't complete. She loved them. She loved them with her whole heart, and staying there on the Aerie was why she first became a pilot. But somewhere along the line—the training, the study, the self-reflection—that had stopped. Or...not entirely. Her caring for them hadn't waned. In fact, it had only grown stronger. But there was a whole world along with them. What would she do if she kept Dahlia and Besca safe but Doctor Follen, the head chef, the nurses that had taken care of her when she was comatose died instead? What would she think? And there a world outside of Runa, as last night had taught her. Filled with people who she was sure were just like her, hurting just as much as she had. As she did. So no. Her family wasn't the purpose for what she did. It was the catalyst. They were why she had become a pilot. But they weren't why she was a pilot. So again...why was she? She looked up at Besca's eye, so grimly certain, but so kind and caring. She felt the hand against her cheek, wiping away tears that weren't even there. She felt the warmth inside her, glowing from the inside as Besca fretted over her. This. This was why she was a pilot. These things. These feelings. And not just for her. She closed her eye, memories of cold white walls enwrapping her. How many more out there had that kind of life? Alone, lost, couldn't find a way out? She could be their lighthouse. She knew it as soon as she thought it. This was why she was a pilot. Not for money. Not for fame. Not for personal gain, or to protect only those closest to her. No. Quinnlash Loughvein would be a torch. A burning brand, for people like her to find. People like Dahlia. A beacon to light up the world around her and keep everyone there safe. She opened her eye once more. Looked Besca straight on in hers. Her voice had gone through a change, somehow. It was still shaking, of course. She was still terrified, still had to kill. But there was something else there too now. Something nebulous, subtle. If she thought about it, she wouldn't be able to pick it out. But she knew it came from finding something. A purpose. A kind of pilot to be. Someone who would drag light with her into the future, no matter how dark. Who would set the night— "Can I still change my Savior designation in time for the duel?"</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn didn't say anything for the longest time. Minutes ticked by as she stared across at Roaki, the newly-minted decision she'd made on the brief walk up weighing her down. Not like an impediment to moving; if anything, she felt she had more energy than before. A weight in her mind, a burden that she knew she was about to bear on herself. This was already going to be rough. If Roaki had been closer, she might have seen her chest heaving as she tried to take calming breaths to stanch the fear that was bleeding through her. It was already going to be rough. So hard. So incredibly hard. Roaki would be trying her best to tear her Sa—to tear Ablaze apart, piece by piece. She wanted to kill. But as rough as it was already going to be...she'd gone and made it so much harder by handicapping herself. Handicapping herself in a fight that wasn't just "whoever got punched first" with Dahlia. Handicapping herself in a fight where losing meant she would never see her family again. She would lose them. And they would lose her. In the end, was it really worth it? But she couldn't stop thinking about that last conversation with Besca, and she hadn't stopped on the way over. And as she'd reached the first hill, she realized something. Roaki wasn't a monster. She knew it, deep down, and she finally fully realized what she saw of herself in her. Why she'd gotten so angry, so suddenly. What Roaki was, was hurt. Scarred. And she wanted to make everyone around her hurt too. So why should she die? Being mad at the world wasn't a capital crime. She didn't deserve death. Not on any metric or scale. And Quinn wasn't going to kill her. She'd heard the formal rules on the way here: the loser was whoever could not continue. Not whoever died. And that made all the difference. So it didn't matter whether she could or could not kill someone. Because the fact of the matter was, she wouldn't kill someone. She wouldn't kill anyone. And she certainly wouldn't kill Roaki. So, all those minutes later, she replied. Once sentence. Quiet, calm, self assured, filled with a newborn conviction. The sun played across the rolling hills, turning them—just for a moment—into the surface of a deep blue lake. "I'll tell you later."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Quinn was too far away to see the way her words effected Roaki, but the silence was enough. The other girl grumbled over the comms, then scoffed. "Don't think you're gonna be doing much talking," she said. The cruel grin was almost audible. "But you'll scream plenty." Above them, like a hundred holes poked into the sky, there hovered a swarm of drones. Some were doubtlessly from the camps, but most had been sent by news organizations. Casobani, Helburkan, Runan, likely even Euseran. This duel had stretched on for days, three pilots dead, with one more to follow. It was impossible for Quinn to know if the people of Casoban were aware of how new she was, but it was likely, and right now they must have been wondering why their Ministers hadn't taken Eusero's aid. Eusero as well must have been watching with a mix of dread and, perhaps for some, a sense of schadenfreude. They should have taken the hand. Now they drown for it. But if she thought back, thought about the Board, and the Prime Minister, and the Euseran higher-ups, Quinn would know that in the grand scheme, the only true loser was Runa. That Eusero was waiting, circling above the carrion of this field, ready to pull Casoban onto its deck, and let Runa struggle and sink until they took the hand as well. On the smaller scale, on the one that faced her now, she and Roaki Tormont were playing a game with no winners. If she meant to change that, first, she'd have to survive it. A beep in the comms, Besca's voice in her ear. "Time to roll, hun." Across from her, Roaki dashed for the cockpit. Quinn could hear a brief, discomforted straining in the Pilots channel, and moments later, Blotklau shuddered awake.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein The words had barely finished, and Quinn was already at the skullport. She tore the door open with one hand. A distant and fragmented part of her laughed at how hesitant she'd been the first time, how long she'd taken. But there was no time for that. Only one thing mattered now. Slinging herself into the chair, she felt her plugs click into place. It had become almost comforting. Familiar. A constant in an ever-changing series of troubles and trials. Her eye closed tight. And the darkness swirled away. Ablaze stood. Three deep breaths. Then she reached out her hand, grasped the sheet, and tore. The enormous cannon fell into her hands, and with an almost reflexive speed she spun it up to her shoulder. The white lines blurred at the edge of her vision, and she could feel the internal fire rumbling, waiting to be unleashed upon her target. It could keep waiting. Her mind raced. Her plan was half-formed at best, harebrained and futile at worst. But it was all she had. As much as it scared her...she needed to stay close. She needed to phase, it was true. But she didn't know how much time it would take afterwards. So she couldn't keep that distance. She was on a tight clock, and that fact beat through every inch of her colossal body. She couldn't take advantage of her cannon's range, like she'd done in every single sim. She needed to dance just outside of Blotklau's range. She needed to keep her chasing. And she needed to make her mad. A voice surged up within her, an impulse so strong it stole her breath. One word. And though she knew more would come, that first word was always the strongest: KILL. It was beating through her, thick as the ichor surging through her twisted body. KILL. And she snarled back: Go fuck yourself. Then, to Besca. Just two words: "Trust me." And then, finally back to the pilot channel. Across to the animal form of Blotklau, already starting to move. To Roaki. She let go of the cannon with her offhand—primed and tensed to move back at the slightest need—and stroked it down a braid that wasn't there anymore. The cannon was pointed out the ground in front of her. Very, very intentionally. Waiting for her to get close. Let's see if this works as well as it did in sims. Then she forced her voice into a high, lilting singsong like a little child playing. She hated what she was about to say. But again... ...She needed her mad. "Catch me if you can, little cripple girl~!"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. There were few words more terrifying to hear from a pilot than: "Trust me", but Besca didn't object, because there also few words that could make her feel as helpless. Trust her, she thought. Well I don't have much of a choice. She watched as Blotklau took a few starting steps forward, only to stop as Quinn…taunted her? Besca balked, she wouldn't have thought Quinn capable of insult. Then again, up until last week, she wouldn't have thought her capable of swearing, either. It was a crass jab, and, frankly, about as blatant a play as she'd ever seen anyone make. And it seemed to work like a charm. "Oh, I get it," Roaki growled in her head. "You think making me mad'll get me to kill you quick?" Blotklau hunched, her hands flew out wide and her claws tore unreal holes into the air. Swiping her arms across her chest, the axes flew into being, blades bursting to life with white fire. "Tough fucking luck! I'm gonna pull you apart slow and careful! You're not gonna die 'til I say you can die!" The girl screamed fury, but even with her voice in the comms, Blotklau's roar was louder. The Savior broke into a mad sprint, low and nimble, closing the distance with frightening speed. With only a hill between them, she reeled back one of her axes and threw it in a whirling arc for Ablaze's leg, poising to lash out with the other.</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn's right arm flew back to the cannon. She didn't want Blotklau—good GOD that thing was terrifying—to get caught in the crossfire. She hoped she had the trajectory right. Aimed at the ground. Aimed at the axe. And then, as it was nearly upon her, she pulled the trigger. There was a loud crack as a bloom of white light rent the soil, sending the axe screaming into the air. Clods of earth sprayed out, pinging uselessly against the advancing horror of Blotklau. But that wasn't the point. It all worked according to plan. The kick of the cannon—the sheer force of the shockwave—exploded so close to her that she was sent rocketing into the air. She spared just a moment to check behind herself and adjust for landing before looking forward again. Good, she'd only cleared a valley between two hills. Hoppping out of the crater she'd left, she huffed out a shaky breath and swore quietly off of comms. "I can't believe that worked." She'd taken some breathing room. But she knew from the footage she'd seen that Blotklau could cover that space in the blink of an eye. And the way it had run at her had only reinforced that. She clenched her jaw tight, jagged teeth scraping against each other with a sound like falling stones. She couldn't get too far away. Not until she phased. She'd even gone too far just then. The less she did that, the better. She tensed her muscles to dodge. Blinked. Recalled. Remember, don't watch my hands, watch me. Watch my body, watch my eyes. Don't try to figure out what I'm going to do, I'll tell you. You just have to listen. "You won't be killing anybody like that, kiddo. Who taught you to throw?" Keep her talking, keep her mad, keep her predictable. She hated this, and she hated herself for doing it. But it was better than the alternative. Anything was better than the alternative. She counted the seconds as they ticked down. Phase. Phase already.</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Taunts were forgotten. Plans were cast aside. The instant the axe buried itself in her, she lost her hard-won composure. It hurt. It hurt it hurt it hurt. She staggered as Blotklau flew at her. She'd messed up. Went too far. Didn't go far enough. Wasn't careful. Was it over so fast? Was she— IGNORE IT. FIGHT. She felt the pain dull. Just enough. An apology. Gratitude. Thank you. Blotklau roared, and Quinn's mind snapped back into focus. She abandoned her cannon, and it shattered into fading strands of white light. It would only slow her down now. Then she reached down, ducked a claw—almost, it raked across the back of her head and she bared her teeth—and ripped the axe from her leg, tossing it aside. Ichor drained in a thick stream. The pain was intense, even through Quinnlash's protection. But not quite enough. The lessons with Dahlia came flooding back. Just like before, she backstepped, brought her hands up. The claws came faster than her sister's fists ever had. But at least now they weren't slicing her to ribbons so effortlessly. She grimaced. Dahlia. She loved her. She needed to get back to her. And she wouldn't let this cosmic joke stop her. She ducked under a swiping claw, and found her opening. She still wasn't flexible. She still couldn't high kick without straining herself. But she knew the principle. And she wasn't Ablaze. As the hand soared past her, she popped back up. Backed slightly. Feinted a low kick. Then she swept her leg up, up, over her head and certainly over Blotklau's. She roared right back, ichor flying from her mouth in viscous strands. And with all the weight of gravity, all the force of Blotklau's own breakneck advance, and the considerable strength of a Savior, she slammed it down, right on the point of her enemy's shoulder with a sickening, juddering crack. Then she backed away. Fast. At least as fast as she could. She'd gotten her space, at least just a little. But she'd hurt Roaki more than she wanted. And she'd been hurt so, so, so much more. Her breaths came in ragged gasps. She was lucky. Very, very lucky. If that hand hadn't gone just the slightest bit wide... She jumped back further. Stumbled, but kept her footing. Quinnlash numbed her, just enough to keep her on her feet. She was close now. Two minutes. Less. But her whole body was ringing with pain. Those minutes felt like centuries. She had just enough time to pull her cannon out again before Blotklau recovered. She didn't dare try to launch herself again, not in this state. But when Roaki came at her again, those shots—those little bursts of movement (not directed at Blotklau, of course)—might be just enough to keep in front. The seconds ticked by. The clock ticked down.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Dahlia sat in the cockpit seat, hunched over the tablet, clutching it like a life raft in a storm. When the axe dug into Ablaze's leg, she gasped loud enough to echo in the cramped, dark chamber. She had been ready to throw the screen aside and connect, wouldn't have given it a second thought, but something stopped her. Not something she saw, not something she heard, but rather, something she didn't hear. She didn't hear Quinn scream. She heard her gasp, or grunt, maybe. She heard something but it wasn't the cry of agony she'd expected. And when that absence gave her pause, she saw Ablaze right herself, almost immediately. In a daze, Dahlia watched as Quinn dipped, ducked and deflected enough of Blotklau's assault to keep herself alive. Then, in a sweeping arc, Ablaze's leg came up, extended straight over her head like a clock struck noon. She might have been frozen there in that moment forever. The leg came down. Hard. The toughened shin and modium scutes slammed down onto Blotklau's shoulder with such speed and force it sent the Savior down to a knee, and the ground beneath her caved and the air cracked. Ichor sprayed the air, sprayed Ablaze, and Blotklau's outstretched arm went limp. Roaki screamed raggedly in the comms. There was unabashed pain in her voice, but it was quickly and violently overtaken by fury. As Ablaze backed away, Blotklau stumbled after her, tumbling down a hill and slamming into the next one as she dragged herself up it. Her left shoulder was crushed, caved in like the ground behind her. Bones black by nature or simply drenched in ichor splintered up through the flesh, and she could hardly so much as lift her forearm. It didn't stop her. "Fuck you! Fuck you!" She clawed after her, hunched, her sprint fast and loping. "You think you can hurt me? No one hurts me! No one hurts me! I'll show you—I'll fucking show you! I'm gonna gut you like a fish! C'mere!" Ferocious though her threats were, it took a long time for her to get her speed back, and by then Quinn had gained enough distance and momentum that, when she did catch up, did swipe at her, it was never quite close enough. Her claws skinned flesh, scraped modium, but couldn't find purchase. "Quinn," Besca said, and while the worry wasn't entirely gone, there was something equaling it now: confusion. "You have a shot. You have lots of shots, here. You gotta take one before she gets close again!" A breath in Quinn's chest, not from Quinn's lungs. TAKE THE SHOT. Roaki reached out her hand, and the axes tore into being. One she kept in her grip, the other she bit down on, held so firmly her jaw locked and her teeth cracked and shifted. Besca's warning was too late, she was already close again, and closer every second. But the seconds were up. A blackness crept in on Quinn's vision, enshrouded her. The voice within her took a deep, bracing breath, and together they passed a dark threshold. On the tips of her ears, just soft enough to be ignored, but too loud to deny, came whispers from somewhere else. Somewhere that felt like home. Somewhere she wanted instantly and desperately, so desperately to return to, to be again, to be whole again and— "No." "We are here." We. Are. Here. She was here. Here, on Illun, in Casoban. Right here, in Ablaze. It was like something had anchored her by the soul, and refused to let her go, refused to let anything take her away. Her eye burned, not with pain but with power. That red orb burst with white light, her cannon hummed and then roared with unbridled potential. Quinnlash phased.</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Ablaze hummed, pins and needles racing up and down her not-body, and she felt a renewed pool of power rising in her. The report of her cannon stopped. It grew bright, then brighter, then held. It was roaring. Not in her ears, not in her hands, but in her. It was part and parcel of her, and in that moment, nothing in the world felt more natural than holding that flame back. One last effort. Once last backstep. Just far enough away. Come on. Come on. Come on— Screaming both in her ear and in her brain, Blotklau leapt. A low thing, almost a pounce. The axe in her arm, the axe in her teeth, glinted with their sharp and wild light. They were on even ground. Her cannon was charged. And Roaki's feet had left the ground. Perfect. Exactly what she wanted. Now or never. She looked at Blotklau. Not at its axes, but at her, at the whole. She was moving low, but aiming long. She expected Ablaze to keep going. Keep moving back. Only one blow landed; why would she stop going now? So, brimming with an ocean of new energy, Quinnlash lunged forwards. The world seemed to pause. Time slowed to a crawl as she curled, tucking for a sideways roll upon hitting the ground. Blotklau's four red eyes slid back to her. Pain. Anger. Surprise. Confusion. Upside-down now, midway through the roll, she brought the cannon to bear. It was like an extension of her body now, a part of her as much as her own gashed arms and legs. Blotklau was fast. Too fast for her to get a sure shot in. But now? No changing directions now. And she was point blank. She allowed herself a smile then. A grim, thin thing, a twisted rictus splitting across her mauled face. Gotcha. Click. With a sound to eclipse thunder, a stream of blinding light blazed forth with enough power to tear through anything in its path. And it did. When she landed, tucked into that roll, her ear nearly popped with the sheer volume of Roaki's screaming, and she knew without even looking that she'd hit her mark. She hauled herself to her feet as fast as she could, even as pain ripped through her, and dashed back with earthshaking footsteps to Blotklau. Or what was left of it. Exactly where Quinn had hoped she'd be. Face down. Screaming. Axes forgotten. And with both legs rendered into smoke and ash from the knees down. The grass all around them caught alight, and fires rose to meet her as she planted her foot in Blotklau's back. Not hard enough to hurt. But enough to send a message. And then finally, she brought down her cannon's business end on the elbow of the Savior's last intact limb. A duel ended when the opponent could no longer continue, right? "Disconnect!" She roared through the microphone, drowning out even Roaki's horrified, raging, spasming screams. She bore down with the cannon's barrel until she felt something pop, grinding into the dirt. "Disconnect! Or I take the arm too!"</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Her hand trembled. Finger on the trigger. So close. So close. One shot. Clean. Pilot and Savior, both gone in the blink of an eye. It wouldn't even be painful. She would be doing her a favor. A favor. Still she hesitated. The cacophony filled her head. "You have to—" KILL HER. END her. End this waste. End it. END IT— "Quinn!" Easy. Finish her. Just pull it, Quinnlash, and— Her hand quivered—shook—tensed—so EASY— KILL HER— With a herculean effort, she smashed the cannon into the ground and let it dissipate. Took her foot off of the shattered wreck of Blotklau. And when she screamed this time, it wasn't the same roar she'd shown Roaki. It wasn't the shriek of panic, or the howl of pain. No. This was anger. Not Quinnlash's. Not whatever was on the other side of Ablaze. This was her anger alone, as she glared her one gleaming, cold white eye up at the swarm of carrion drones overhead. "Shut up! All of you, just shut up!" The numbness faded. The pain caught up, and she went down on one knee. Silence fell, both within her head and without. And still she carried on. "Does she look like she can continue? Sound like it? This duel is over!" Her long, clawed fingers cut furrows in the earth as she dragged them into fists, and the burning grass around her raked pinprick burns along her leg. Her voice rippled, vibrated, like it couldn't even properly contain her anger. And she couldn't. She'd done what they asked. Fought their stupid battle. And she was done. "I am not killing her! I'm not pulling that trigger, and NONE OF YOU can make me! Do you hear me, you sick heartless bastards? She's not dying! Nobody dies today!" She huffed. One breath. Two. Three. The anger flickered out just as quickly as it arrived, leaving her voice gray as ash; drained, hollow, and tired. "Now get me out of this thing." And Quinnlash Loughvein disconnected.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Besca stared up at the screen, watching as Ablaze dropped to a knee and the light dimmed in its eye. Voices picked up around her again, but this time there was no cheering, just wild confusion. She…hadn't done it. She hadn't killed Roaki. But it was plain as day to anyone with eyes—and anyone watching through the hundreds of eyes in the sky—that Blotklau was down for the count. Was this…allowed? It couldn't be. Besca had never seen anything like this. Ever. There had been survivors before, but they'd lived through fluke, not mercy. You didn't spare people in duels, it just wasn't the way things were done. And yet, it was done. Her eye wandered to another screen, the news where a handful of unfortunate reporters who hadn't gotten clearance to cover the duel were instead covering the minor twin singularities. Duds, apparently. They'd been open all morning and nothing had come through them. She'd never seen that before, either. What was that, then? Two miracles in a single day? She smiled. "Darroh!" Toussaint said, storming over to her. "Darroh what the hell is going on? What is she doing? It's not over!" "Yeah. Yeah, it is." "She's not dead!" Besca shrugged. "So then get back on the line with her and tell her to finish the fucking job!" "Nah," she said, and walked past him, turning her attention to the crew. "Oi, go get my girl out of there. She won. We're going home." --- --- The dark was cold and angry. It was thick, and tried to hold her down in the seat as if it had arms, as if the arms were hers. She could feel indignance from it, confusion, but mostly it was angry at her. How could she? How dare she? This was their purpose, this was what they had been born for. LISTEN TO ME it raged, but beneath that it was pleading. DON'T GO But Quinn went. She opened the cockpit's door, and the daze from her phasing paired with how long she'd been in the pitch made the sun an angry glare for more than a few moments. Her thigh stung, but she could tell it and the little sore knicks across her body weren't real, and with every moment the world grew clearer, the pain faded as well. She walked out onto Ablaze's shoulder, into a world of smoke and ash and dying ivory fires. And ichor. God, it was everywhere; splattered across her Savior's body, pooling beneath Blotklau, and strewn all over the hills. A rank smell, metallic and…brine? Brine, and home. Paint—white paint on four walls no windows no doorknob no— The shroud returned. It closed around her like a hug, grudging and unsatisfied, but present. It took hold of the burgeoning panic within her, as it had taken hold of her pain, and it sank. It sank deep into her mind, not to drown, but to tread water. With every moment, every breath she took, it grew more distant from her, and she more numb to it. It would be back. We would face it together. Staring off into the horizon, she could see little dots traversing the hills, drawing closer. They were coming to get her—to take her home. She'd done it. Quinnlash Loughvein had won her duel without taking a life. The drones swarmed above her, buzzing, excited. Something new had happened today, and it wasn't clear yet, not to her, not to anyone, what that would mean. But she'd done it. It was actually over. GET BACK INSIDE So clear, it was almost like she was still connected. The words came to her with dreadfully familiar urgency, only last time, they'd said something else. They'd told her to RUN GET BACK INSIDE QUINN GET BACK INSIDE. RECONNECT. "—Quinn get back in! Get back in now!" Besca's voice was frightful, panicked. But what? What was it? Blotklau remained still behind her, and there was nothing else but the drones and the approaching convoy. Except…except she couldn't see the convoy anymore. She hadn't lost it, she knew where it was coming from, but at the same time it was just…gone. No, not gone, hidden. There, some ways ahead of her, between her and them, the air was strange. Strange, and shimmering, almost mirrorlike. It flexed and undulated with liquid motions, but with every moment that passed she saw her own Savior's reflection there, hovering in thin air as the edges around it grew more and more real. THEY'RE COMING. GET. BACK. INSIDE. Ablaze's reflection changed. Its shape was different, its posture, and its eyes…red. Awake. The realization struck her then, on one side of the moment, that it wasn't her reflection at all. But it was familiar. So terribly familiar. And on the other side of that moment, the air shattered, and a Modir came walking from the void of a singularity. It was tall, and donned from its shoulders was an iron cloak that ran down one side. In its uncovered hand it held a blade with a sharp cross guard and a fuller blazing with white light. It was the swordsman.</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn stared. Numb. Numb again. Numb with panic. Numb with fear. But still again...Quinnlash urged her on. She was so tired. So, so tired. And she didn't want to plug back in, didn't want to feel those fierce ripping pains again. But...she had to. A beacon. To light up the world around her. And keep everyone there safe. So, eye still on the sword-wielding Modir—god, she'd never fought a Modir before—she ran through the still-open skullport. Slammed the door. Flashes of white walls echoed around her. She gritted her teeth. Ignored them. Keep everyone there safe. "I'm plugging in." A moment. "Send Dahlia up, get her in Dragon. I don't know if I—" She cut herself off. The exhaustion was still there in her voice, and now a desperate fear came with it. But it had tightened, tensed. She had to do this. She was the only one who could. But no, she knew. She remembered Hovvi. She wouldn't— And then as she clambered into the chair, suddenly—unexpectedly—her chest filled with joy. Unfiltered, unrefined, unwelcome. But there nonetheless. Because here, she didn't need to wait for the perfect shot. She didn't need to avoid shooting, taking care not to hit anything vital. She had no need to hold herself back, play on the defensive. Roaki wasn't a monster. This was. Quinnlash Loughvein reconnected. It hurt. A lot. The pain sliced back through her. But, tearing in sharp, ragged breaths, she fought through it and stood. Faced the Modir square on. Reached. Gripped. Pulled. The cannon dropped back into her hands. Everything was quiet, for just a moment. They looked at each other. Her heart quaked. No matter what she said...no matter what she'd told herself...she was so afraid. So horribly, horribly afraid. Then the cannon in her hands roared, and the flame seared forth. She began to circle around, limping, trying to draw the creature away from the camp as best she could. A sudden feeling of tranquility took over her as she prepared for another fight. One from which she was...pretty sure she wasn't coming home. "Deelie, are you there? Can you hear me?"</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn stared. Numb. Numb again. Numb with panic. Numb with fear. But still again...Quinnlash urged her on. She was so tired. So, so tired. And she didn't want to plug back in, didn't want to feel those fierce ripping pains again. But...she had to. A beacon. To light up the world around her. And keep everyone there safe. So, eye still on the sword-wielding Modir—god, she'd never fought a Modir before—she ran through the still-open skullport. Slammed the door. Flashes of white walls echoed around her. She gritted her teeth. Ignored them. Keep everyone there safe. "I'm plugging in." A moment. "Send Dahlia up, get her in Dragon. I don't know if I—" She cut herself off. The exhaustion was still there in her voice, and now a desperate fear came with it. But it had tightened, tensed. She had to do this. She was the only one who could. But no, she knew. She remembered Hovvi. She wouldn't— And then as she clambered into the chair, suddenly—unexpectedly—her chest filled with joy. Unfiltered, unrefined, unwelcome. But there nonetheless. Because here, she didn't need to wait for the perfect shot. She didn't need to avoid shooting, taking care not to hit anything vital. She had no need to hold herself back, play on the defensive. Roaki wasn't a monster. This was. Quinnlash Loughvein reconnected. It hurt. A lot. The pain sliced back through her. But, tearing in sharp, ragged breaths, she fought through it and stood. Faced the Modir square on. Reached. Gripped. Pulled. The cannon dropped back into her hands. Everything was quiet, for just a moment. They looked at each other. Her heart quaked. No matter what she said...no matter what she'd told herself...she was so afraid. So horribly, horribly afraid. Then the cannon in her hands roared, and the flame seared forth. She began to circle around, limping, trying to draw the creature away from the camp as best she could. A sudden feeling of tranquility took over her as she prepared for another fight. One from which she was...pretty sure she wasn't coming home. "Deelie, are you there? Can you hear me?"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. The answer to both questions was yes. "Quinn! Just hold on, I'm headed to the lift now, I'm—I'll let it take me low enough for a good angle and then I'm dropping down! Just keep your distance!" Strangely, that didn't seem like it would be too difficult. The swordsman turned its body sideface as Quinn's shot flew past it, exploding harmlessly on a distance hill. It matched her circling, and as the space grew between them it didn't swerve to chase her. Instead, it reached down and plucked up one of the axes buried into the ground, not yet returned to the void. It stared at Quinn silently, and clutched the axe's haft hard. White flames burst to life on the head, as though activated. Only that couldn't have been so—Modir never had two weapons. Did it mean to come at her with both? To make good on Roaki's promise to gut her, to tear her limb from limb? Evidently not. The flames on the axes grew brighter, spread from the blades down into the hilt, and burned deep. The swordsman's grip closed harder, and there was a metallic keening sound, brief but sharp, before the blazing axe crumbled into embers. Far away, its twin collapsed into dust. It was nothing at all like how weapons were normally dismissed. What on Illun had it done? She didn't get much of a chance to wonder. Strange task done it kept walking, still staring straight at her but not a step towards her. Why? It had obviously come for a fight, and with the camp so far away, she was the only one— It stopped over Blotklau, and before Quinn could even realize what it was doing, it lifted its sword high and plunged it down into the Savior's chest. The fuller flared, the ichor that poured out from Blotklau's heart burned and spewed silvery smoke. The swordsman tilted its head, pulled the blade free, and then repositioned it over the Savior's face.</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein No. It couldn't be. This couldn't be what was happening. For the barest sliver of second, Quinn watched. The sword rose. Slowly. Slowly. No. The cameras above zipped around like flies. What could she do? It was her fault that Roaki was there. It was her fault that Blotklau was crippled. And it would be her fault if— So what could she do? A cannon shot wouldn't be enough. Even if it hit the Modir it might not even have the impact to stop the inevitable descent of the fell blade. Dahlia obviously wouldn't be down here in time. She had only seconds. The axes had been— The axes. A memory played back in her head then, right at the beginning of the duel: Roaki throwing an axe at her, then dashing after it. Then another: Roaki's savior, arm hanging limp, still screaming, struggling on. The threads snapped together. Only a few moments left. She and Roaki were similar, right? That's what she'd said just a little bit ago. Similar enough that Quinnlash was disturbed by the assertion. Maybe it was time that instead of looking for the Quinn in Roaki, she needed to look for and channel the Roaki in Quinn. So clenching her teeth and hissing out an anguished half-cry, she dashed forward. Ichor still streamed from the wound in her leg. It still hurt like hell, but she ignored the pain, ignored it as best she could. The half-cry ballooned out in her chest into a full-throated scream, pain and anger—no, no you will NOT kill her I worked TOO HARD for this. And a second after she started running—no more, or there would be no time left, but no less, to build up that savage momentum—she twirled the cannon, holding it like a massive baseball bat, and hurled it forwards. It spun in a gleaming arc of silver metal and white light, cutting through the air with a sound like a helicopter towards the Modir as the blade reached its apex. And she careened with it. If she hadn't been in a Modir's body, tears would be streaming out of her eye. Her Savior's scream was already starting to die to a croaking moan that presaged haunting wails. But she still pressed forward. Nobody dies today.</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein There was silence in Quinn's head. Silence. Pure, dead, still, deafening silence. Her body acted almost automatically, reforming her cannon from the beyond that it had been split into. All the roars, growls, grumbles, fell silent. The only thing that came from Ablaze was the low, ragged breathing of an injured animal. Quinnlash. Loughvein. It knew her name. You. It spoke to her. That wasn't supposed to happen. She watched herself almost in third person as she skated backwards, ripping trees and stones out beneath her heels as she did. The cannon kicked in her grasp as one—two—three shots engulfed the air in front of her in a conflagration of white fire. The silence ached in her ears. I found you in Runa. I found you here. It had come there looking— It had come— It— The silence loomed. The mace blew through the fire and the Modir came after it, voice shaking the air around it as it swung in a heavy downwards smash that, should it have connected, would have crushed Ablaze's head with no resistance, and even less mercy. And then the silence broke. And the world came rushing back. She dropped, whirled her leg out as she did so. The Modir, already scorched with glimmeering embers where it had run heedlessly through her salvo, leapt over it. Obviously it wouldn't be fooled by such a stupid trick, right? It brandished the mace again as it turned— —And found itself facing a light like the sun. Even as Ablaze lay against the ground, its eye had incandesced, lighting up with pale fire as she phased, blurring—for that one barest moment—between halves. Her jagged mouth split. And then a horrible ragged thunder wrenched from her throat as the flame ignited again, a scouring, cleansing light that tore through the Modir like a knife parting paper. And when that light was just within the cavernous chest, as it began to shine through, there was an explosion that rocked the hills and sent whatever drones were left wheeling away out of sight and mind. The Modir ruptured, splitting apart like a rotten fruit. Steaming, boiling ichor splattered hundreds of feet in every direction, and the thing's ghastly face plummeted through the sky, cratering itself into the dirt near the crown of the nearby hill. The ruined wreckage of the Modir scattered, ash falling to the ground like snow all around her. Dahlia was still fighting. A half-turn over the shoulder confirmed that. She should help her— I found you in Runa. I found you here. —But the thought of talking to her, facing her, suddenly made Quinn—not Ablaze, Quinn—sick. Very, very sick. She was so tired. Everything hurt so much. But the stream of frantic energy that ran through her now gave her enough strength to turn. To heft her cannon to her cheek. Keep everyone there safe. And to keep. Pushing. Forward. To set the night ablaze.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Dragon was wild, possessed of every bit of bestial fury Quinn had seen in Roaki. Her long fingers swiped at the swordsman, and when she dipped or ducked his swings, her jaw would unhinge like a snake devouring an egg, and a beam of light would blast forth. But he was nimble, fast, he seemed to know what she would do the same instant she did, and every shot sailed past him. Dahlia could feel herself speeding towards the threshold. The Circuit always seemed so eager to meet her, to speak, to take. The two ends were hands on her head, pressing, squeezing to come together, pressure ready to crush her skull and finally make itself whole again. But she never slowed down. The Modir was good, incredibly so. But then, it had crossed swords with Ghaust and won, and when she had dropped down into Hovvi, it had fled before she ever laid eyes on it. Skilled, smart, fast. She couldn't outpace him, and she certainly couldn't take a hit from that blade. Her mind raced, as if employing the dead pulses of her Savior's brain to work in tandem with her own. She thought quickly, as was the way when you only had minutes in the cockpit. Not minutes now. Not even moments. She passed the threshold. The hands began to squeeze. Dahlia grit her teeth as the light burned in her core, radiated from her like sunlight through blinds. It poured from her eyes, from her chest, it made her horns glow molten. The swordsman must have known—of course he did. He whirled his blade and struck for her heart, perhaps expecting her to duck it and put herself out of position to unleash another attack. Instead, she let it run through her shoulder. The pain was blinding, the pressure on her temples was so strong she thought her ears might be bleeding. But she grabbed the blade near the hilt, and on the guard, and she held. Her mouth opened, a bouquet of flaming teeth and a maw as bright as the sun. The swordsman's grip loosened, his sword vanished into the air. His hands took hold of Dragon by the throat and he wrenched her to the ground, face-down. It took every effort in the world not to let the blast go, to let it turn her and him and everything within a mile into ash and void. Quinn. I won't lose Quinn. Dahlia swallowed fire for her sister. It was pain she'd only ever felt a few times, and as it traveled down her throat she knew it would push her out of consciousness. So with a final, furious scream, she pulled herself free of the chair, and Dragon went limp. The swordsman saw it, must have known she'd disconnected. He yanked her up from the ground and then threw her down again on her back. Dahlia slammed against the cockpit walls, crying out, tumbling against the seat and then down onto the floor. He dug his fingers into her mouth and ripped the Savior's lower jaw clean off. Then, reeling back his fist, he made to punch clean through the skull. That was when Quinn's blast hit him. It exploded against his cloak, sending modium and ichor flying. When the smoke cleared there was a crater in his shoulder, and his arm hung by black threads. He turned to her, red eyes furious—and when she looked back she saw only her own reflection. Before Quinn could fire again, the swordsman was gone. Vanished into the void. Escaped, again. The battlefield fell silent, for the battle was over.</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein All thoughts of guilt were gone. At least for the moment. Her heart pounded. Oh god. Oh god. Deelie. Deelie. "Deelie!" Her ears were ringing. There was no time to wait for someone to extract her. No time for her to rappel out, even if the rope and harness had remained in the cockpit for the duel. So what else was she to do but throw Ablaze down, resting the side of its head against the ash-and-ichor grass as she finally, finally, disconnected. The heat of her phase slipped from her, to be replaced with the frigid air of the cockpit. Her whole body was soaked in sweat. Her leg hurt like fire. Her leg, and her—her everything. It was all sore. She'd seen Dragon get tossed around like a ragdoll. The pains faded. The terror remained. Yanking herself out of the seat and falling to the wall of the cockpit, she bared her teeth, struggled up to the sideways skullport, and squeezed her way out. Half climbing and half sliding her way down the ravaged head of her Savior, her feet—tiny human feet—nearly fell out from underneath her as they stepped on soil for the first time in what felt like eons. And she did go down, stumbling, falling, cracking her knee on a rock. But it didn't matter. She ran. Frantically. Across the cracked, baked earth, hot air still rising from it. Everything was forgotten as she scrambled, barely staying upright, barely staying comprehensible. She wasn't even sure she could hear through the ringing in her ears. "Deelie, Deelie, Deelie!" As she passed the shattered fragments of Dragon's jaw, her voice escalated to a hyperventilating squeal, the voice of a desperate child who's lost something very important. "Oh god, Deelie!"</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Even as Quinn had said it, a deep, faraway part of her knew she shouldn't have. But she didn't answer right away. Couldn't, really. She— She looked into Besca's eye, searching for something. Seeking. Probing. Digging as deep as she could. There was concern there, and she realized it was concern for her. There was confusion. There was caring and hope. And beneath all of it was something else. Something she recognized, but couldn't say, couldn't think about, something that hurt just as much as she wanted it. But what there wasn't, was anger. Or hate. Or even indifference. None of it anywhere. She turned, letting the barest fragment of vision skate over Dahlia. She was sitting on the bed, looking at her worriedly. Worry. She was worried. She wasn't—Quinn didn't think she was angry. Dahlia would never lie to her. They didn't hate her. Her face crumpled and she fell back into Besca. She kept crying. But instead of the long, terrified sobs of before, it was a soft, gentle weeping. Almost serene. Her family didn't hate her. She didn't understand why. She knew it was her fault, deep down. She knew that it was her presence that had doomed Hovvi. And now...her family knew too. And they didn't hate her. The quiet crying lasted for several minutes as she buried her head in Besca, cut through with words now and then. Simple words, simple ideas. I'm sorry, and thank you, and why? But eventually, the tears stopped. She went quiet. She released Besca and slunk—like an animal still, but wary instead of hurt and terrified—back onto the foot of Dahlia's bed, where she leaned herself against the wall and pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "Do you—" She stopped, reached up, rubbed the tears away from her eye as she looked at Besca. "Besca, do you remember when—when I told you I heard a voice in...in Hovvi, telling me to run?" Even saying the word, there was something of that savage energy to it, that deep and primal urgency. Then she paused again, hesitant. It still felt wrong to tell someone about Quinnlash. But her family— The more she spoke, the calmer her voice grew. It was still halting, but no longer so sickeningly shaky it felt like it would shatter at any moment. Her family was there, and they cared about her, and didn't hate her. "It's—it's still there. And it's in my dreams, and she's a little me. Both eyes, but they're black. She has horns, they're modium." She realized suddenly how suspect that sounded, so she added hastily, desperate for her family to believe her, "But she's good! I promise! She told me to run in Hovvi, and she told me to get back in when the Modir were coming, and—" Her voice grew quiet. She hadn't told anybody this. Some of it to Doctor Follen, but not the whole truth, of course, not Quinnlash. She looked down at herself, wrung her hands where she'd clasped them in front. Fretted. Then finally, "—And when I phase, she's what—she stops me from falling in."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. As Quinn sat down beside the bed and continued to speak, a look passed between Besca and Dahlia. A silent agreement. As strange as the things she said were, as outlandish as the last few days—month, even—had been, after everything she'd done, they owed her the benefit of the doubt. They listened, and they did their best to do so with open minds. It was…difficult. Besca did remember the voice, and had, over time, come to believe it was a natural, albeit incredibly strained, reaction to the invasion. Quinn's instincts manifesting in her memories as a direct push for her survival. But then, she'd found out about the water, and suddenly it didn't sound so strange. If she'd been dosed with modium her whole life, perhaps it was possible she'd been experiencing Conduit delusions before having ever stepped foot in a cockpit. Only… "—And when I phase, she's what—she stops me from falling in." The meaning was clear enough, and it really was her mind, tainted, then why would it be keeping her from closing the Circuit? It wouldn't, she was certain, but until a few days ago, she'd been certain that Modir didn't talk, too. "Alright… she said. "So this…other you. This little you. What does she…do, exactly? In your dreams, what's she saying? She's not trying to hurt you?"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn shook her head, and her voice began to level out. "No, never. She's never hurt me. We just..." She paused. How would she describe what it was like talking to Quinnlash? She shrugged helplessly. "...We just talk. About all kinds of things. What I think, how I feel about stuff. And she really wants to know why I feel the way I do too." She paused to collect herself. "She talks too, about people mostly. My—" Her voice strained, "—them, she talks about them—the people on the station, Doctor Follen...all kinds of things." She looked between Dahlia and Besca and a ghost of a smile flittered across her face for the barest fraction of a second before it was crushed back down. "She likes you both a lot. She got mad." "Like the last time we talked, it was right before the duel, we talked about—" Her eye snapped wide like she'd just remembered something very important, bounced back between the two of them again. How had she forgotten? How could she have let herself forget? Another searing shot of guilt lanced down through her veins. Her voice, so recently settled, began to tighten again. "—Roaki! Is she—how is—did Dahlia—" Her head whipped back to Dahlia, mouth immediately dry. "Did you—oh god—where is she?"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. How did one respond to being told that an entity which might, or might not, exist within the head of your sister liked you? Concern? Disgust? Perhaps a bit healthy dose of alien confusion? There didn't seem to be a strictly correct answer, but for her part, Dahlia thought it was…cute. She wasn't a doctor, and the Conduit effects she'd suffered had never drifted so far into the psychosphere, but it did sound harmless to her. The idea of Quinn having someone in her head to talk to seemed comforting. She was intrigued, and could very well have listened to stories of these dream conversations all day. But then, with all the abrupt panic of a car accident, the topic changed. To the Helburkan. Dahlia couldn't help the flash of bitterness within her—didn't particularly want to help it. Her side stung from the rib implants, her two mechanical fingers were slow, still in their calibration phase. In the years since her only growth outbreak, she had begun to hope against hope that she'd avoid all that again. Stop. You were keeping your promise. "She's alive," Dahlia said. She knew she should say more, but she just…struggled to keep the edge out of her voice. Besca, saint that she was, picked the ball up. "Helburke decided to, uh, cut their losses. They were gone by the time we got you back to camp. Follen did what he could on the ground, but we ended up bringing her with us to handle the rest." She nodded, but seemed uncertain of what to say—or perhaps just how to say it. "There's been some…developments. She's still here. She's in holding."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein ---</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein "There's been some…developments. She's still here. She's in holding." Quinn frowned. She didn't like that. She didn't like any of that. From what little she remembered of Dahlia's rescue—god she was like a superhero—she distinctly recalled that Roaki was going to have to have—have her leg cut off. She thought. She had no illusions that people on the Aerie would like her, but... Frustration nipped at her heels, and her visible brow slanted with a barely-visible combination of irritation and confusion. "Why is she in a holding cell instead of in medical after what happened? That just seems...cruel." And that was an excellent way of distracting herself from the other thing Besca had said. Developments. What did developments mean? At least she was alive, but the vagueness was enough to set Quinn's teeth on edge. Her stomach dropped out from under her as the thought of something terrible happening—some horrible complication, a growth in her heart, something like that—bled through her body like dye. She freed herself from the wall and unwound herself, sitting on the edge of the bad instead, staring at the floor. The satisfaction and...glee that she'd felt when she'd taken Blotklau's legs off ricocheted through her head. A deep breath. Two. Three. When she looked up, her face was writ with sheer mulish stubbornness. Don't even try to change my mind, it seemed to say. "I'm going to see her today. Soon."</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein All the tension inside of Quinn's body drained out and she slumped backwards. She leaned against the wall at an awkward angle and there was a sharp clicking sound as her plugs rattled against the drywall. Somehow that sound—that feeling—had become familiar to her. Not even familiar; comforting. And something about that made her so horribly upset. "...Did I really?" She went quiet. Thinking about something. The expression on her face steadily became more and more drawn. Minutes passed before she pulled herself upright again, looking...not at Dahlia, but in her general direction. "Besca said she told you about the water." She took three deep breaths. Then slowly, almost meditatively, she picked up her braid and reached behind it with both hands, just above the main neural plug. Fiddled with something. "...They said it was because I looked outside." The fiddling ceased. The knot came undone. In dead silence, the eyepatch peeled away from her face and fluttered to her lap like a mourning ribbon, revealing an eye socket that was absolutely mangled. And not just the socket; her entire right orbital and then some was covered in ragged white scar tissue. Her one functioning eye remained downcast. "I don't—know what really happened to it. I don't think it was good." She grazed her hand over it, feeling the unfamiliar, uncomfortable skin. Thick. Callused. Almost numb to the touch. "I've never taken it off before. I've never even seen it." Then slowly, almost unwillingly, she raised her head and looked her sister straight on. Her eye—the one that still worked, anyway—barely held back a tsunami of sorrow and despair. "...Why did this have to happen, Dahlia?"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Dahlia gasped quietly when the eyepatch fell away. She'd never seen beneath it either, never felt the need to know what it looked like, never much wanted to. But she did suddenly realize that she'd never asked what had happened. Now that she knew about the water, and she was seeing the telltale signs of a growth outbreak, it made perfect sense. Every last trace of bitterness within her evaporated in an instant, burned away in the heat of something much stronger. She clutched the sheets, felt her new fingers squeeze so hard they clicked. With every word Quinn spoke, every sick revelation that came with it, Dahlia grew angrier. Her gut twisted in disgust, not at the ruinous state of her eye, but at the implication of its ruining. Dahlia had killed monsters. She had killed people. She had never wished violence on anyone. She wished it now. With a small struggle, Dahlia sat up again, met Quinn's eye and prayed she understood the fury in her own wasn't meant for her, because she could not contain it. "It didn't," she said, composure shaken. "It did not have to happen. They made it happen. They hurt you, because they're awful, horrible people, and they will never hurt you again." Like Quinn were a cave, Dahlia's rage resonated within her, and something deep inside echoed it back. Horrible. Unfair. Monsters. Takers. But the longer she looked at Dahlia the more that feeling settled. The more it urged her to believe those words. Believe she was safe, now. She got the sense that trust was foreign to it. All the same, it wanted Quinn to trust her sister.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn was almost knocked over by the sheer level of anger pouring out of Dahlia's face and the venom in her voice. There was a heart-attack second where she was absolutely certain that Dahlia was going to yell at her, she didn't know why. But it passed in a blink, and then the rage was less scalding, and more warming. Like a warm blanket on a cold night, Dahlia's anger scooped her up and held her close. She reached out as though to hug her sister, but remembered at the last moment that she had three ribs that needed to set. So instead she sat back down again, staring into Dahlia's furious eyes. "It's really that bad, huh," she murmured to herself before directing her attention back to Dahlia proper. "I know," she said quietly. "I trust you." A pause. A moment. The drawing of a breath, a tiny hesitation to gauge whether or not something was okay to say. Then, "...and she trusts you too." Picking up the eyepatch from her lap, she steadied her shaking hands enough to replace it, letting out a relieved sigh when she smoothed it back down over the scarred growth. Then, sitting there in silence, she felt the impulse to embrace Dahlia again. And again, she had to resist. This was going to happen a lot, wasn't it? "I'm going to keep a tally of all the times I can't hug you," she joked, forcing humor into her voice though her expression remained unchanged, "and repay it with interest once you're better."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Dahlia watched the fear in Quinn's eyes melt into understanding, and felt relieved. Her own expression softened, and reached out as well when she did, though Quinn decided against the hug at the last moment. "I'm glad. I trust you, too. I can't…help worrying. So much has happened, and none of it is fair. What's worse is that it's probably not going to stop anytime soon." She frowned, more to herself than anything. She was meant to be comforting Quinn, not preaching doom. "What I mean is, I'll always be there for you. Besca, too. Neither of us blame you for anything—you never did anything wrong. And even if you did, I don't care. I'm with you. That's family—real family." "I'm going to keep a tally of all the times I can't hug you, and repay it with interest once you're better." Dahlia smiled. She couldn't think of the last time Quinn had tried to make a joke, it made the room feel brighter. "You'd better," she teased. "Debts are the one thing I don't forgive."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn closed her eye lightly. You never did anything wrong. And she guessed that she hadn't done anything wrong. Or. Well. The only thing she'd done wrong was be. They still came to Hovvi because of her. it still lay at her feet. But at least Dahlia and Besca wouldn't ever leave her behind. She'd been silly to think otherwise. "You and Besca," she murmured. "I must be the luckiest girl in the whole world." She remembered she couldn't hug Dahlia this time (she still counted it on the tally, though). So instead she stretched out beside her, taking her hand gently, running her fingers along the unfamiliar metal contours. "I'm sorry for making you go in there. I promise if I could've, then I would have gone myself." Her words died away before any more reached her throat. It just seemed so blasé, whatever she was saying, whatever she was thinking of saying; incapable of trying to communicate what she was trying to say. So she leaned in, resting her head very lightly against Dahlia's, and hummed, "I love you, sis. You know that, right?"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Laying there, Dahlia sighed deeply as the anger and confusion fizzled out within her. She was content, which was a feeling that had eluded her for more than a week, and was only a visiting stranger in the weeks before that. But now the smile touched her eyes, shut though they were, and she leaned against Quinn and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. Love you, too, Quinn." She could have stayed like that for a long time, and been happy. But that wouldn't do, not for Quinn. She'd survived not only her first duel, but her first Modir as well—three of them, at that. She should be celebrating, or at least out enjoying herself while the tsunami of political fallout was still only on the horizon. There'd be time for business and fussing in the coming days, but for now they could breathe. It had been so long since she'd just...breathed. Not since before Hovvi—a lifetime ago, now. "You know, when I won my first duel, Besca and I baked a cake. I bet we've got all the stuff we need—we should make one for you tonight, too." She brought her other hand up, tousled Quinn's hair. "Go on, get out of here. Go relax, go hang out in the observatory. Go be happy. I'll see you guys tonight."</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein "Go on, get out of here. Go relax, go hang out in the observatory. Go be happy. I'll see you guys tonight." Quinn hesitated. She was happy here. But...she had been in medical for a couple days, and she was ready to go. So she slid away and out of the bed, headed to the door. Then, as she was reaching her hand out, she half-turned, looking over her shoulder. "Three hugs." Then she gave Dahlia a soft smile. It felt strange on her face. But it felt good too, and it seemed like the right thing to do. She was very used to navigating through medical by this point. Orderlies and nurses waved as they passed, giving her bright smiles. She blinked. She was a bit of a semi-regular resident of rooms in medical by this point, but that had never happened before. This was weird. She didn't quite put it together until she walked out into the central plaza, basking underneath the parasol of pastel leaves. It was like greeting an old friend. And she was suddenly surrounded by excited whispers. She looked around. People pointed to friends as she passed. Congratulation were called to her as she walked to the elevator. And everyone was smiling. It hadn't really hit her until that point, but she was...a real pilot now, wasn't she? A duel. A singularity. Both back to back. There were few people in the elevator. She supposed that made sense; it was after lunch rush, most people on the station were working. What time was it? She slipped her phone out of her pants pocket. A little past two, it looked like. She didn't even look as she pressed the button for the second floor of the plaza. She knew exactly where she was headed, and she let the tsubaki trees guide her like a beacon. Tohoki Grill was just like she remembered it (she didn't really know what she'd expected). The lighting, the false daylight, the amazing smell. People parted around her. Everyone...kinda loved her, didn't they? It was nice, all the crowds of people that seemed to her to follow in her wake. It reminded her of— Her mood dimmed. But it couldn't be totally repressed. She'd...she'd really done it. The head chef was talking to a customer. As she walked in, though, he excused himself, then gave her that huge smile and nearly jogged over to her, guiding her to the seat where she always sat when she ate here alone. She let him, gladly, then turned to him, face the absolute picture of sincerity. "I bet it was the salmon. Can I have it again?" She did. The yuzu soda too. It was just as good the second time.</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein At long last, Quinn arrived at the door to the pilot's quarters. From inside, she could hear music of a kind she'd never heard before, and a faint shuffling sound. Besca was still attending to everything Quinn's duel had wrought, she was pretty sure, so it could only be Dahlia. She'd spent the past few hours just walking around the Aerie, talking to the people that she knew and being gawked at by the people she didn't. It wasn't long after she'd left Tohoki Grill that she'd heard a voice that sounded familiar, then realized it was hers. Following the noise, she'd arrived at a pair of...engineers? She thought? She didn't know them...looking down at a phone held between them. Her eye had widened as she'd heard what the digital image of her was saying. So, that had been an interesting experience. She didn't know whether it was uncomfortable or amazing that she was suddenly being listened to by people on their phones on the Aerie. Maybe a little of both, she conceded, as she pulled open the door. It was almost disorienting being back in the dorms. That feeling of un-reality from earlier came back again, though she managed to squash it down this time. Being excited to come home was still a new thing for her. And there was Dahlia. She was rummaging around in the kitchen, putting together something for dinner. Whatever it was, it smelled absolutely fantastic. Though she wasn't a professional chef by any stretch of the imagination, Quinn found a special kind of comfort in the simpler meals that Dahlia cooked for her and Besca. The TV was the source of the mystery music, and she found herself nodding along as she trotted over to her favorite chair, a huge blue affair that nearly swallowed her whenever she sat in it. She lay back, almost melting into the fabric, then turned her head laconically towards her sister as she bustled about. Her stomach growled at the aromas wafting out of the kitchen. Walking around built up an appetite surprisingly quickly. "Some people were listening to the communications from the end of the duel," she said, in some bizarre amalgamation of fear and amusement. "Did I really sound like that?"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. "Hey hey!" Dahlia greeted as Quinn walked through the door. She stood stirring a ladle over a slow-cooker. Savory smells filled the dorm—chunks of tender beef soaking in a thick, aromatic bone-broth stock. Spices drifted in the air that, even after a month were still foreign to a nose like Quinn's, all of which Dahlia was careful to lay out and show her whenever she asked. "I asked Besca to prep stew for tonight, just finishing it up now! She ought be here in a few minutes." Quinn threw herself down into her blue chair, and Dahlia set out a few glasses on the counter. She was glad she'd changed the channel beforehand—it likely would have been weird for Quinn to hear strangers from other countries, or even just other cities, talking about her so animatedly. And, as if to prove her own point: "Some people were listening to the communications from the end of the duel. Did I really sound like that?" It wasn't the first time comms had been leaked, and it was no more surprising. Often the Board would arrange for certain snippets to land in the laps of favored news organizations now and then, if they felt it would lead to good press. With the storm Quinn's stunt had set in motion, they were likely trying to get ahead while they could. "It was pretty tense. You can get loud when you want to," she giggled. "That's not a bad thing. It's good, you know, that you stick up for yourself. Even to Besca." Setting the lid on the cooker down, Dahlia came over and threw herself onto the couch. "Besides, for a first leak, I thought it was cool. You know what mine was? They got me on the lift riding up to connect for the first time—ohmygosh, you could hear my teeth chattering—and I asked Besca where the bathroom was in the cockpit." Her ears went red, she rubbed her hands over her face. "Ughgod, it still comes up sometimes. I'll show up somewhere for an interview and they'll make sure they put me near a restroom. Kill me. At least this is something you can be, like, proud of."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Dahlia always knew how to make Quinn feel better. Her trepidation at the the oddness of it all, people listening to her without her being there, faded away. Dahlia had dealt with this for years. If she ever had a hard time, she could just ask her sister, right? And it was nice to know that having communications leaked wasn't a new thing, wasn't strange. She'd had enough of 'strange' for a little while. And as Dahlia discussed her first leak, Quinn felt an unfamiliar sensation welling up within her, starting in her stomach and spreading upward like bubbles. Something she'd felt before, but not for a long time. For a moment she didn't really understand what it was, and it dimmed within her. But it came back once Dahlia finished speaking, rushing up like soda poured too quickly and overflowing before she could even hope to check it. And Quinn burst out laughing. Not the weak chuckle she'd given two weeks ago, when Dahlia had knocked her on her ass just by stepping back when they were sparring, and certainly not the death's-head laugh from the war room a week ago. No, this was a full-throated laugh born from genuine happiness and the release of a terrible tension, and it filled the room suddenly and unexpectedly. She slapped her hand over her mouth in surprise, but she couldn't stop the giggles that leaked out from between her fingers even still. If there was one word to describe her expression, it was taken aback. But in a good way. She hadn't felt this way in a long time. And though the guilt bit at her heels still and a part of her knew that it always would, her sister didn't hate her, was there, and always would be. So Quinn was... Happy. She was really, really happy.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. It had been a long and mountingly frustrating day, and Besca was ready to scream. Really, she was ready to smoke. She needed it. God, she needed it. Just a minute or two away from everything, all the papers and phone calls, the memos from above laying out interview requests. And now, this business with Casoban and Helburke… She just wanted to step into the observatory, light up, and stare at the stars for a bit. For two minutes, pretend she was somewhere else, someone else, who didn't have to juggle one international incident after another. But on the way there her stomach growled, and she remembered that Dahlia wanted to make stew tonight. Two days laid up after losing chunks of herself to the ichor, and the first thing she'd asked to do was cook something for all of them to eat together. The small pack in her pocket lost its luster, and she swerved in the commons towards the dorms instead. And lucky she did. Two minutes would have been too many. She'd have missed the sound of them laughing. She opened the door to see both of them sat in the living space, cackling like mad. Quinn was covering her mouth, giggling through her fingers. Dahlia had her head pressed back into the pillow, barking laughter out at the ceiling. Suddenly Besca felt like she'd just woken up after the best night's sleep of her life. "What's so funny?" she asked, tossing her coat onto a rack and kicking off her shoes. "I told Quinn about the leak from my first practice" Dahlia said, voice pitching high. Besca grinned. "Oh, god. Yeah. Quinn, you should have seen the look on her face the first time we interviewed at Late Night with Laurel, and the PM scurried up to her and said they'd made sure to put her room near the toilet. Priceless." "Oh hey, stew should be ready, wanna grab some bowls for us?" "Sure, but if you don't get up here I'm liable to mulch the whole thing myself. Been thinking about this all day." Dahlia got up from the couch, came over to the blue seat and peered down at Quinn. "Well don't eat too much. You probably can't smell it over the stew, but I went ahead and started baking the cake so we could have it tonight." She plucked up Quinn's braid, dropped it down into her lap. "And this one's for you, so you're gonna decorate it however you want." She spun on her heel, and made for the counter while Besca poured them their bowls. Dahlia sat down on one side, patting the seat next to her for Quinn, and Besca took a seat across. A few bites were enough to make her forget everything, all the worries, all the stress. Right now she might not have been someone else, but that was alright. She didn't really want to be anyone else. Besides, sitting here, just the three of them, she felt a million miles away from the Aerie.</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Still choking back giggles, Quinn hopped up. She suddenly felt like she had more energy than she'd had in...in she didn't know how long, really. Like she was supercharged. Whipping the braid back behind her, she walked—nearly pranced, even—over the the table, sitting down next to Dahlia and plopping her braid down into her sister's lap in turn. She felt like she was walking on sunshine, like everything was a billion miles away. Or, not everything, just all the bad. Not like the dreams where she felt all disconnected, but like the bad stuff was shunted to the back of her mind because there were too many good things filling the rest of it to the brim. She tasted a bite of stew, winced a little as she burned her tongue—her hair flopped back down next to her—then blew on it a bit and slurped it up, even though it was still pretty hot for her sensitive mouth. She closed her eye rapturously. "If I could only eat one thing for the rest of forever it would be this, Deelie. It's so good!" As she spoke, she made sure to turn towards Dahlia, opening her eye and searching for an opening. Then, just as Dahlia swallowed and lowered the spoon back down into the bowl, Quinn lunged forward and caught her in a tight hug, squeezing her not too hard—mindful that she did still have ribs that had just been reapplied—but hard enough to really show that she cared. She only pulled back after...what, ten seconds? More? There was still a bit of a smile hanging on her face as she returned to her food, looking back at Dahlia as she did. "That's one!"</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein If there was one word that could be used to describe Quinn's response to Roaki's condition, it would be outrage. She bolted upright, grabbing at the narrow bars, and the words forced their way out of her before she could stop them. "What the fuck? How could they treat you like this?!" She hadn't expected Roaki to be treated particularly well, all things considered. But she'd expected better than this! How could the Board justify it? Fury surged through her, burning hot and white in her veins. Someone needed to put the fuckers in their places, and fast. This was unacceptable, and everything she was rebelled against it on a visceral level. She instantly dropped a hand to her pocket, tore her cell phone out, and called Dahlia, eye straying back to the horrible, pitiful image in the cell as she did. As soon as she picked up, Quinn hissed through the microphone, "You and Besca. Down here. Right. Now. You need to see this." She hung up immediately afterwards, leaving no room for response, and fought very, very hard not to spike her phone into the floor or smash it against one of the bleak concrete walls. Her voice as she spoke again was tight, tense, horrified. "I was going to come down and talk because I thought you'd like the company, even if you were just going to threaten to kill me, and I wanted to give you a piece of cake. But this..." Her whole body was seething with anger, and she made a strangled sound deep in her throat, halfway between nausea and blinding fury. With one hand still entangled in the bars, her other fist bunched tight at her side. It was cold down here for her already. She couldn't imagine spending more than an hour down here, let alone two days. All alone too, with only a thin blanket on a steel slab sticking out of the wall. "...This is horrible." It's disgusting, she went on in her head. How could they? She grit her teeth, hand clenching around the bar so tight it creaked. As unpleasant as Roaki had been at the Henkersmahl, she didn't deserve this. Quinn wouldn't wish this on anybody. "I'm getting you out of here, Roaki." She didn't know exactly what she would do yet. But she was doing something. She would openly defy the Board if she needed to. If they did this to someone, anyone, they didn't deserve to have power. "I know you hate me. But I'm getting you out tonight. And that's a fucking promise."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein ---</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Roaki flinched when Quinn lunged at the bars. She hadn't expected anyone would come down here, and she'd just about made peace with the idea of spending whatever was left of her life in silence. So, as much as Quinn's presence surprised her, what had made her flinch wasn't the anger in her eye, or the dull clanging of the bars—it was the look on her face. It was that, lurking beneath the rage, and the horror, was something a thousand times more terrifying. Pity. "…because I thought you'd like the company…and I wanted to give you a piece of cake. But this..." She was being pitied. By Quinnlash. "I'm getting you out of here, Roaki." She watched Quinn's knuckles whiten around the metal bar, speaking through a tight cage of teeth. "I know you hate me. But I'm getting you out tonight. And that's a fucking promise." Roaki's jaw clenched, popped. Every muscle was tense and sore and her bones creaked at the thought of moving but she did. Hunched, slow, she pulled herself along the hard ground. The faint warmth of inaction was shaken off like dust, and fresh, new cold found her. She ignored it. At the bars, she looked up at Quinn. She'd been short before, she was used to that, but this was different. She'd been brought this low, hers was the view of a worm, in every sense. Staring up at her, it was hard not see the one-eyed girl as a kind of hawk, or a vulture, hungry and circling. For a moment she was back in Casoban, looking over her shoulder at Ablaze, her arm pinned, burning. She felt that desperation again, the flashes of pain even in the leg she'd not had for years. Chiefly, she felt the fear. Quinnlash Loughvein scared her, and because Roaki had spent her entire life having her face smashed into the things she was afraid of, she reacted in the way she knew best. She got angry. She got really, really angry. With a lurch she pushed herself up, just enough to her her hand around Quinn's wrist. Half leveraging herself against the ground, and half letting the girl's weight pull her, she managed to bring Quinn down and herself up enough to be at-eyes with her. She held tight, hand wrapped in the dry-bloodied gauze that ran up her sleeve, all the way up her arm and around her neck to hide all the new fades from the modium extraction. Her nails dug shallowly into Quinn's wrist, but she wished, she wished so much, that she had the strength to snap the bone. She would. "I…" Her voice withered into a rasp, but she didn't fall silent because of the strain. Rather, she didn't know what to say. She was angry, and she hated Quinn; that should have been enough. It usually was. Of all the things Roaki had struggled with, articulating her anger—effectively if not exactly eloquent—had never been one of them. The longer she stared silently, the worse it got. Hate her, she thought. Hate her! Tell her how much you hate her! Tell how much you want to rip her apart! Get you out of here? She put you here! She— Ah. There it was. The realization was harsh and bold and would not be denied. No, she didn't. You put you here. Not an easy thing to admit, but a reality she'd been squaring herself with since she'd tumbled out of her seat in the cockpit. You lost, you fucking worm. This is your fault. You deserve this. Shame filled her. Blessedly her face was already reddened by the cold, so it wasn't as obvious outwardly as it was to her. Heat came to her, but it was in her eyes and she absolutely refused to entertain it. She had begged the pilot who had cut her out of the cockpit, and screamed with the doctor who had…excised her growths. She would not, under any circumstances, cry in front of Quinnlash Loughvein. "I don't…" Thankfully she didn't get the chance. There was shouting from beyond the distant door, which flew open to reveal two familiar faces. One was an older woman who had been at the Henkersmahl, and the other…damn the luck. They both came sprinting, their expressions a mix of panic and worry and, when they saw her, burgeoning fury. "Get away from her!" shouted the other pilot. She slammed into the bars, wrenching Roaki's hand from Quinn's wrist. There was murder in her eyes. Roaki fell to the ground with a grunt, dragging herself back from the bars. The other woman pulled Quinn away, looking her over frantically. She patted her down with gentle hands, and, evidently finding proof that Roaki was as ineffectual a warrior as she suspected, sighed with relief and hugged Quinn tight. Something within her burned to see that. She looked away. "What happened?" the woman asked. She was breathing raggedly, her words were thin and strained. "God, Quinn, you scared the crap out of us."</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein The flash of relief and hope that Quinn felt when the door crashed open and her family rushed towards her was quickly snuffed out as Dahlia rushed up and shoved her back, sending Roaki toppling to the ground. She didn't feel the usual warm happy glow when Besca hugged her; just a cold pulse of anger. And a moment later she extricated herself, shoving Besca back and backpedaling, putting herself between the two women and Roaki. Glancing at the cell, she at least saw that Roaki hadn't been hurt from the fall (she thought). But still, she sucked in an angry breath through her teeth, then delivered a savage and violent glare at the two in front of her. Principally at Dahlia. "What the fuck are you doing?" She half-turned, then flung her hand out to the cell. Her voice burned in a way that almost scared her as she spat, "Why would you do that? Look at her! Look what the Board did to her! Do either of you think this is okay? It's fucking disgusting!" She gripped a tight hand on the door handle, rattling it as though to prove a point. Her eye was glacial, a shard of golden ice, and her voice was flooding with both barely-contained anger and with heavy disappointment. Disappointment that her sister had seen Roaki gripping Quinn by the wrist with her only intact limb and not skipped a beat as she rammed her back. Disappointment that Besca had seen it and not done anything. Disappointment on a level that she didn't know she'd ever felt before. She pointed down the hall at the door. "Besca, get the keys. Dahlia, get a stretcher or wheelchair from medical." Her outstretched hand came back in front of her and curled into a tight, angry claw. "We're taking her to medical. Now. And they're going to treat her better this time, or I'm not getting back into Ablaze until they DO!"</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Both the pilot and the woman recoiled at Quinn's outburst, at first completely shocked and then, Roaki noticed with growing disdain, ashamed. At first she thought it might be the shame of someone caught doing something they shouldn't—no real remorse, only sorry that they were being scolded. And she could see that at first, especially in the pilot; that hate in her eyes, like Roaki had tried to steal something precious from her, never snuffed, only cooled to a simmer. But gradually she saw it shift into genuine guilt. They were sorry. Roaki didn't understand it, but she knew it right away, there was regret. Her own shame burned as Quinn pointed at her, talking about her like some wounded dog locked in their kennel. Perhaps not as far from the truth as she'd hope. At an order from her they both departed. The woman muttered an apology, the pilot looked about ready to cry, but nodded obediently and ran off. Who were these people that Quinn could order them around so soundly? The one she knew would be Dragon's pilot, though in reality she seemed so much more pitiful than expected. The older woman, she had no idea. She'd been at the Henkersmahl, but everyone had looked at her like she was someone important. Brass, maybe? But why on earth would she bend so easily to Quinn's will? What sort of hold did she have over them? Come to think of it, the Quinn standing before her now, angry and as cold as the air around them, was nothing at all like the frightened child from Casoban. Sure, she'd snapped at her, but everyone did that when their loved ones were threatened—that was the whole point. This was different. Maybe the girl was more savage than she seemed. She might not have killed Roaki, but was this fate any better? She thought about the duel, about waking up to the sight of her leg submerged in modium, and the slow agony of the growths sprouting from her marrow. No. No, it wasn't any better. It was so, so much worse. And now, what? Why come here—to gloat? To draw out her torture as much as possible. Perhaps her fear of Quinn wasn't so ridiculous after all. "I'm n-not…going." She hated the brittleness of her own voice. Hated how the quiet made her sound like a glass doll. "T-this is…where I…belong…" Her hand curled into a fist, slammed against the metal. Just bringing her eyes up to Quinn felt like a feat of strength. Why was it so hard to look at her? "S-should have k-killed me. Dead…a-anyway. Just l-leave me alone. Let me…die," she muttered, shivering down to a whisper. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't scream. "D-don't take…anything else…"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein As she watched Besca and Dahlia walk and run off respectively, Quinn's heart grew leaden in her chest. She suddenly felt terrible, and the way her voice had sounded rewound against her brain. She sounded so...so like— No. She couldn't think about that right now. She just couldn't. And at the thought, the storm in her head started to drain away. Her stiff grip on the door handle loosened, then released entirely. She closed her eye for a moment. She felt bad for talking that way to Dahlia, and she felt bad for pushing Besca. Both of those were true. But they also weren't really important in the moment. What was important was Roaki. And as she turned back to the cell, she could see that the girl was doing... Not well would have been a good way to describe her, if perhaps a bit of an understatement. She was so fragile that it made Quinn's chest ache. "I'm n-not…going. T-this is…where I…belong…" Wrapping her hands carefully around the bars again, she opened her mouth to interrupt. No, no, you don't belong here. Nobody belongs here, least of all you, she wanted to say, and please, I just want to help you along with it. But before she could get a word in edgewise, Roaki viciously punched the metal bars, setting them a-rattling against Quinn's hands. She looked down, eye wide in alarm, as Roaki continued: "S-should have k-killed me. Dead…a-anyway. Just l-leave me alone. Let me…die." And then one final sentence to freeze the blood in Quinn's veins: "D-don't take…anything else…" She froze and stiffened, eye widening more in horrified disbelief as another phrase, similar yet so different, played through her head. It was torn from more than a month ago now, but still just as vivid and horrible as the day she'd first screamed it, crying hysterically, in Doctor Follen's office: Don't send me back! Tears came to her almost reflexively and she collapsed to a sitting position. Reaching out nearly without thinking, she threaded her arms through the narrow bars (it was a tight fit, but she managed to slip them far enough) and wrapped Roaki's hand in both of her own before she could pull it back. Her eye now was nothing but tender. A lump had formed in her throat immediately alongside her tears, and she needed to fight through it to speak. But fight through it she did. "Roaki—god—Roaki," she murmured softly, squeezing the small, pale, and freezing hand tight, "I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry, who did this to you...?"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Roaki's whole body went rigid the moment Quinn seized her hand. Too slow, she was too slow, too cold to react and now she had it. A pit formed in her stomach, a rose up and choked her—spared her the indignity of screaming when her self-sworn oath was momentarily forgotten. Heart pounding in her chest, eyes wide and fixed on their hands, she felt again a memory of panic. It was as strange to her now as it was then, smaller in scale though only just lesser in strength. A feeling she knew not from personal experience, but from inflicting it upon others. This was what prey felt like. Her fingers twitched in Quinn's grasp. She's gonna take it. The thought came to her like a spear through the gut. She's gonna take it. She's gonna take it. She's gonna take my hand. But she couldn't pull away, she wasn't fast enough. If she tried, and failed, what would Quinn do then? That anger she'd wanted so badly to stoke out of her on the battlefield was suddenly the most terrifying thing in the world. As she sat there, shivering so hard and so deeply that she could not longer tell whether it was from the cold or the fear, she heard words in the back of her head. A wolf doesn't have to catch a hare, only outlast it. Their hearts are so small, the fear and the strain of a chase can kill them outright. Roaki had always thought herself the wolf, but she was sweating through the cold now. She shut her eyes tight, and waited to die a hare's death. "Roaki—god—Roaki. I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry, who did this to you...?" Silence. A long, icy silence. Roaki opened her eyes. Quinn's voice…there was something so sincere there, so raw that it couldn't have been faked. It was pathetic. She sounded like a scared little girl. She sounded like prey, and it was suddenly unbearably infuriating to Roaki that she was the one in the cage. Her heart slowed, and as the panic passed she realized the fear was only part of the reason she was sweating. At some point she'd begun leaning onto the stump of her lost leg, and the pain was finally beginning to reach her. In that moment she knew that Quinn wasn't going to hurt her. Yet. She yanked her hand away, the sweat made it easy. "I did," she answered. Pathetic as Quinn was, Roaki still couldn't look at her. She supposed that made her worse. "I d-did it…to m-me. I g-got in…I'm…" her lips curled, sharp teeth scraping her dry lips bloody. "I'm a pilot. I-I'm a p-pilot. I'm a pilot!" But the more she said it, the less true it seemed. She wasn't. Not anymore. They'd taken that, too, and she'd have given every ounce of flesh she had left to get it back. Now she'd crawl like a worm for the rest of her life. Something dripped from her face, dotting the floor. Sweat, she told herself. It was sweat, because she wouldn't cry for Quinnlash. She wiped her face against her shoulder just to be safe. "Wh…why? Why didn't you j-just…kill me?"</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein The hand slipped out from Quinn's grasp, and she squeezed her eye shut, pushing out the last few errant tears. When she opened it again she found that Roaki still wasn't looking at her. Her voice was shuddering, stammering, barely able to string words together, and Quinn felt a sudden sharp pain tug at her heart. She was crying, she couldn't talk right. Something horrible had been done to her, and now she was somewhere she didn't seem to understand. A long, slow sigh. They really were alike, weren't they? "Wh…why? Why didn't you j-just…kill me?" Another jolt of pain through her chest. Roaki... Quinn was beginning to realize that it wasn't some kind of act she'd put on, it wasn't a grave misunderstanding that the two had, nothing like that. As horrible as it was, it was sinking in that Roaki genuinely didn't understand why Quinn hadn't pulled that final trigger and ended her life. Why she was still alive. Though she didn't struggle to remember the searing pains that had ripped through her during the duel, there was no satisfaction in this. It hurt her, seeing the girl so beaten down, brought so low. After a few seconds passed, she retracted her arms through the bars again, wrapping them around herself. She stared at Roaki, tiny teardrops still beaded on her eyelashes. "Because..." It hadn't even occurred to her that there would be a question about this from anybody, let alone Roaki. She raced to find a way to explain it, rifling through the disorganized catalogue of thoughts that was crammed together inside her head. A second passed. Two seconds. Three. Finally, she took a long, deep breath. "...Why would I?" The bars flickered with memory, turning for just the barest moment into the surface of a black-blue lake, with two imperfect moons reflecting and reflected in each others' lights. She held up her hand to the lake and the memory dissolved, leaving her pressing her hand against the freezing cold metal bars again. "You and me, we're hurt, Roaki. Someone did horrible things to us, and now we're damaged." She dropped her hand, looking solemnly at the wreck of a child on the other side of the divide. "Killing you would've been wrong. And I only hurt you because I had no other choice." She looked down at her knees, resting on the freezing floor, and her voice lowered to just barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry."</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Roaki listened—what else could she do? She sat and listened and every word seemed like it had been spoken in a different language. Quinn was at once the most frightful example of a human being she'd ever seen, and something completely and unrecognizably alien. Pilots didn't think like this, no one who survived thought like this. Mercy was an insult reserved family and other contemptable rivals, and to be dolled out only when absolutely necessary. There was nothing necessary about this. Roaki didn't even know what the duel was fought over, no one had told her. No one ever told her, and she never asked. The needs of a fight were simple: there had to be a winner, and a loser. It ended there. She should have ended there. But she'd been spared—saved, and for what? There was hardly anything left of her to save, and what remained was of use to no one. No home, no family, no Savior, and a ruined body. Her heart lurched as she realized that she'd been wrong. This was mercy, in its truest and purest form. Punishment of the highest caliber, torture to shame a Great House Inquisitor. A great feat, a blow that would have been felt in her family for generations—had she not been so thoroughly excised from it. So why the fuck was she apologizing? "S-stop. Stop s-saying that," she hissed. "Stop saying y-you're…s-sorry. No o-one is s-sorry. Not…me. Not y-you. Not a-anyone. Never. L-look at us. You won…I lost." You're a pilot. I'm a worm. The doors opened again. The woman and the pilot returned, the former wheeling a wheelchair in front of her. Roaki grimaced at the sight of them, looking away. She wanted to argue, but she also wanted to plead with them not to take her away. This cell was cold, and hard, and it was exactly what she deserved, but if they took her back to that place, if they took anything else… But what right did she have to refuse, now? As a pilot she could boast and threaten and fight for the things she wanted, or against the things she didn't. Now, by all accounts, she was a corpse-in-waiting. Corpses didn't get to refuse. They didn't get to speak, either; it seemed she was just as good at being a corpse as she was a pilot. She'd had it wrong at the duel. She'd called Quinn "deadgirl", and now here she was. The woman—Besca, she thought she'd heard—unlocked her cage and stepped in. Roaki flinched away, and she saw hesitation in Besca's eye, along with a strange recognition. It was like she was seeing her for the first time. Carefully, she hoisted Roaki up and set her down in the chair. It was soft, softer than the slab and blanket, softer even than her own bed. A tension eased within her and she felt immediately too vulnerable, but kept her silence. "I can bring her to medical if you want, hand her off to Follen, then meet you two back at the dorms, or you can take her. Your call, Quinn."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Every word Roaki said made Quinn's heart bleed for her, more and more. Soon it was going to fill up and she wouldn't be able to take it anymore. It was horrible. So, so horrible. Win and lose...did it really matter so much? She guessed it did. But she was spared the steadily escalating pain as Besca and Dahlia came back. As Besca unlocked the cell and helped Roaki into the wheelchair, Quinn stepped over and gave Dahlia a quick hug and an I'm sorry for yelling at you. Then she turned back and walked in, gently nudging Besca aside and grabbing the wheelchair handles. She'd realized something midway through her hug; she'd spent the better part of the day being assiduously congratulated on winning the duel, and on "putting that Helburkan mutt in her place," a phrase that made her angry every time she heard it. The people on the Aerie would probably not look fondly on Roaki being there. And so, "I'll take her. If I'm with her then people might not get as angry with her." Then she looked up at Besca, and her face betrayed for a moment how nervous she felt. As much of a brave face as she tried to put on—and she was trying very hard—the thought of walking through the people up there with all the hostile glares and yells she knew they would get made her feel a little sick, and she quailed at the though. She hesitated. She didn't want to hurt Besca. She didn't want to hurt her sister either. But she wanted to be alone up there even less. So still looking at Besca, she asked quietly, "Can you come with me? I don't want the two of us to be alone." Taking the wheelchair and turning again, she jerked slightly. The plate of cake—little picture of a smiling Roaki still shining bright on top—sat in the hall corner by the cell, forgotten. She looked at it and a feeling of sorrow welled up in her. Looking over Roaki's head, she met Dahlia's eyes hopefully. "Dahlia, could you—would you mind taking the cake and putting it back in the fridge?" I'll give it to her tomorrow, she thought. Then, straining a bit against the unfamiliar weight, she headed back toward the entrance. Doctor Follen would take Roaki if Quinn asked him, right? It bothered and confused her that he'd been so quick to put her down in the cells when she clearly wasn't okay. He'd always been so nice, why would he do that? It didn't quite add up to her. Then, shaking the thought away, she continued on.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. In that brief moment during their hug, Besca heard Dahlia whisper down to Quinn: "I'm so sorry too." A relief, for sure. Besca was beginning to understand how well-warranted the outburst had been, but still, the last thing she wanted was to see the girls fight. Dahlia would never fight back, and Quinn would likely hate every minute of it. That the matter had been settled—or at least eased—without love lost, was more than her cynical heart was used to hoping for. That was, she was learning, the problem. "Can you come with me? I don't want the two of us to be alone." "'Course, hun," she said, and saw Roaki's face twist strangely when she did. Besca frowned. It had taken until she'd stopped, until she'd really looked at her to realize the girl was…well, just that. A girl. She would have thrown Roaki's application into the bin just as quickly as Quinn's. And here they both were anyway. Dahlia retrieved the slice of cake, and together the three of them walked out of holding and into the warmth of the station. They parted at the commons—Dahlia splitting one way, the three of them another—and continued on towards medical. Suddenly, she wasn't sure how she felt about handing Roaki off to Follen. The fact that he'd performed the amputation hadn't sat right with her, but he was the only—and, ironically, the best—choice at the time. Of course, the order for Roaki's imprisonment had come from on-high, and she'd gotten a stern word about wasting resources on an enemy combatant at all, but she wondered if he truly regrated sending her away. With so much modium in her system, had he the chance, he may very well have kept her in the ward, safe and sound. As they made their way up to the higher levels, Quinn's worries were proved true. Eyes followed them, jumping from commander to hero pilot to, finally, the girl in the chair who could only be Roaki Tormont. The looks were not kind. No one dared say anything out loud, not with both her and Quinn around, but the whispers were many. Phones came out, the recordings started. She knew by tomorrow there'd be all sorts of videos online, and shortly thereafter, a slew of articles. Helburkan Pilot Paraded through Aerie Station like Hero. Quinnlash Loughvein FORCED to Chauffeur for Enemy Combatant. RISC Diverts Funds, Manpower to Cater to HELBURKAN Pilots. God, Eusero was going to have a field day. Their turn into the ward brought them peace, for now. They proceeded down the curving hall in silence until they reached Follen's door. Three sharp knocks, and a short moment later it opened. There the good doctor stood. "Commander! Quinn, darling! What a pleasant surprise. What brings you—" He looked down, to Roaki, who seemed unable or unwilling to look up at him. "Ah. Is everything alright?"</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn's face was grim by the time they arrived in the medical ward. The looks they'd gotten on their way, she already knew, would stick in her mind for days to come. Looks of confusion, anger, vindictiveness...betrayal. Roaki hadn't really reacted much, but Quinn knew she'd be uncomfortable with it too. And discomfort was the last thing she needed. So she did her part by glaring (gently this time, more a warning than a rebuke) at people who came too close, or were too loud with their comments. She suddenly wished she'd asked Dahlia to come with them too. She'd never had a problem with crowds of people before today, not really, but so many unfriendly eyes made her skin crawl something fierce. She hadn't expected to be back in medical again today, she had to admit. And not for a good while yet, unless things got very bad very suddenly and for no good reason. But here she was. The orderlies and nurses were a breath of fresh air, after a fashion; though they were hostile for the most part, they also—medical professionals that they were—bore looks of horror and concern that hid behind that annoyance or disdain. The two of them didn't talk. The air was thick with...she wasn't sure, but there was some kind of unpleasant tension that was hovering there, as the wheelchair's axles squeaked faintly in the quiet. Before too long, they came to Doctor Follen's office. As usual, it was comforting to be here. But she was a bit more guarded than usual. It was still niggling at her, that sense that he could have done more for Roaki, and the fact that Roaki refused to look at him—a fact that didn't escape Quinn—didn't make it any better. "Ah. Is everything alright?" "No," she replied plainly, not bothering hiding the concern in her voice. "Did you see where they put Roaki? It was horrible." A note of accusation entered her voice and her eye narrowed ever so slightly. "You kept me here for two days for exhaustion. She got a whole leg cut off and growths removed from all over, but she was just thrown down there." She took a deep breath, steadying her voice again and taking that little bit of aggression out of it. "I know she's technically an enemy, but she's hurt badly, isn't she? She deserves better, and I trust you more than anyone to take care of her." A beat passed. She looked down at Roaki from where she stood above and behind her. Another beat. A deep breath. She knew this was asking a lot, but... "...And could you measure her for prosthetics too? You don't need to give them," she added hastily, "but just measurements don't hurt, right?"</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein As Besca and Doctor Follen talked, Quinn relaxed some, releasing her grip on Roaki's wheelchair. Unspeakable relief flooded through her like a balm to the twin burns of anger and suspicion. Doctor Follen had tried his best to help Roaki, he just couldn't because of the Board. And—he was going to take measurements for prosthetics. And to hear him talk, maybe he would even— But Quinn cut herself off there. That would be too much, right? It was better not to get ahead of herself. But still, Doctor Follen was doing so much, had already done so much even after they had tried to shut him down. She'd been silly to doubt him. He wasn't like that, and she was more confident than ever that he'd take good care of Roaki. So when he stood to say goodnight, she stepped in instead of out with Besca, slipped carefully between the wheelchair and the wall, and hugged him tight, tears already starting to fill her eye again. "Thank you," she squeaked out. "You're the best." She clung to him a moment more, eye closed, water seeping slowly into his shirt. When she released him it was sudden, and she once again rejoined Besca, gave him a wave with her eye dried. "Goodnight, Doctor Follen!" Then, "You too, Roaki!" But as the two of them walked back, she looked towards the ground. Not sharply, just a little bit, a pitch of her head slightly downwards as she mulled over something in her head. She'd made the decision to keep Roaki safe from that horrible place, and she'd thought that whatever the Board did to her would be worth it just so Roaki didn't have to suffer like that anymore. But what if the Board came after Besca and Doctor Follen instead? She hadn't thought about that. Thinking back to Roaki's face in that holding cell, she shuddered to imagine just leaving her there. She couldn't have. It would just be...it would be cruel, crueler than she could ever stomach. But would they get punished for what she did? She wouldn't have not helped Roaki. Couldn't have, or she would never have forgiven herself. But she was afraid now, afraid that something terrible would happen to two of the people she cared the most about in the whole world and it would be because of her. So right as they reached the exit to medical where it joined with the commons, she slowed, then ground to a stop, clinging onto Besca's shirt as she did so. Quinn looked up at her, searching almost desperately for approval and security in her face. "Did...did I do the right thing, Besca?"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Something lurched in Besca to see Quinn hug Follen like that. She trusted him so completely, and she knew it wasn't even because she was naïve. He had everyone fooled, and he'd made himself nigh inextricable from the program. Besca wasn't sure she could have fired him if she tried. But his years of contact with Dahlia hadn't changed her, and while she'd never forgive him for pushing Quinn into becoming a pilot, she also knew he wasn't looking for forgiveness. Quinn, however, seemed unsure. Did...did I do the right thing? They were stopped by the exit, and Besca found it almost impossible to meet the doubt in Quinn's eye. Had she and Dahlia put that there? Was it their own cynicism she saw there, nascent but so ready to grow into the same world view as everyone else's? The thought didn't just sadden, it repulsed her. She might very well be about to lose Quinn forever. So she took a deep breath, and Quinn's hand. "C'mere, hun. Sit with me." She led her to a bench by the exit, where their only company were vacant offices and an empty hallway. Still, she kept her voice quiet so that it wouldn't carry. "I was ten when I watched my first duel. My father wanted to keep me away from it, but I was stubborn, and just enamored with the Saviors. I'd watched them at singularities before, seen them mulch the monsters and Modir that came through. So I thought, hey, no big deal. I wanna see it. One night I snuck downstairs after he'd gone to bed, and I watched a recording of a bout between the champion of House Liedwald, Herr Raum—they called him the Warbane—and this Euseran Rookie, Dom Cade." She shut her eye, leaned her head back against the wall. She could almost see the TV, feel the dark around her. She'd kept the volume low so her father wouldn't hear, and scooted so close to the screen her eyes hurt. "Raum was a vet. Inherited his Savior from his mother, and in his first year he settled the Satsuma Dispute by putting her spear through the Savior of a Tohoken heir. Some people like to say wars averted by duels are wars won by the victory. If that was true, Raum had won three wars in ten years. Hard to say what the world would look like right now without him. "Cade was a kid, barely Dahlia's age. It was his first duel, and looking back I don't think he'd been in the cockpit more than a month. The ESC was using him as a primer—fodder, basically, to wear Raum down so they could send their ringer in afterwards to finish the job. 'Course, they didn't tell him that, and if he knew it, it didn't show. I mean, the rookies never care, they're all just excited to get their shot in the cockpit. They all think they're gonna be the next Janey Waylen, or Markus Gad, or…Dahlia St. Senn. "I'll give Cade that—he wasn't scared. They caught him on his way out to the Savior and he said a few words. Said he'd do his best, he wanted to make his mom and his little brother proud." She smirked. "I'll admit, I had a little crush for a minute. He was cute, charming. Heroic. Everything I thought pilots were supposed to be. Seemed like the whole world knew he was gonna die out there, but me? I was so sure he was gonna win. "He had this weapon like a ball on a chain, with spikes all over it. Cade was going for his head—bad form to try and mulch a Savior, but it'd made him famous. But Raum kept batting it aside, every strike, slap, slap, slap, like it's nothing. Toying with him. Then four minutes in, Cade suddenly whips the thing low, and Raum blocked high. The ball took out his knee. When he went down, Cade just…he just went animal on him. Tackled Raum to the ground, took the ball in his hand and wailed on his head. Over and over. The noises that Savior made…" And she heard it, faintly, in the back of her mind. It made her shiver. "I remember the comms got leaked a few weeks later. You could hear Cade just screaming bloody fury. Roaring, cursing. Like Raum was the most evil thing on Illun. "I didn't sleep for two days. Spent the next morning crying my eyes out. My dad thought I was dying—I was too embarrassed to admit I was just…sad. Really, really sad. I think it was a long time before I ever saw pilots as heroes again. Cade died the next year, killed by a Tormont or a Donner, I don't really remember. They took his Savior as recompense for Warbane's. Don't know what happened to it—don't even remember what it's name was, after." Besca looked down at her, smiled, but she knew it was too sad to be warm. "People are born old," she said. "They live their whole lives and the world doesn't change one bit. I watched every pilot I've ever worked with walk the same path Cade did. Even Deelie. They don't all like it, but they all do it, 'cause…they're old. They're tired. They don't want to fight the world and themselves, so they just stop trying. And I don't blame them. "I was ready for you to be another Cade. I'd accepted it. I think I'd have been okay with you being another Roaki if it meant you got to live. But you didn't cave. Maybe that's 'cause you don't have a lifetime of the world's pressure on your shoulders, maybe it's just cause that's who you are deep down. Maybe it's both. I don't care. I saw something happen that you're supposed to stop believing when you're still little. You made it happen." She put an arm around Quinn, pulled her in close and rested her chin on the top of her head. "So yeah, hun. Yeah, you did the right thing. You're my hero."</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn played the story in her mind as it was told. A little Besca hunched in front of a TV in the middle of the night, eye—no, eyes, she would've had both then—glued on the screen in fascination, then horror as the fresh-faced rookie Dom Cade slaughtered Herr Raum. She imagined her lying in her bed unable to sleep for days as images of violence flashed through her head. She'd had trouble sleeping after watching her first duel a few weeks back too, and Besca had been a lot younger than she was. After that her imagination ran dry, though. She couldn't picture Besca crying. She just couldn't. Quinn knew she must've cried at some point, even before she'd just been told point blank that it had happened. She'd been told all about Westwel, and she couldn't fathom a world where Besca wouldn't have cried at least a little then. But even so, she was having trouble fitting it into reality. Besca was just so strong. Too strong to cry. And then the story ended with Cade dying, just like Raum had. Everyone died in the end. It was a terrible story, and Besca's sad smile made it even worse. But then Quinn heard those magic words: "You're my hero," as Besca held her tight. Besca's hero? It was a foreign concept to her. Quinn looked up to Besca so, so much. Up and up and up, until she was like a brilliant star twinkling in the night sky and guiding Quinn home. She was Quinn's hero, more than she could ever describe. So how could Besca look up to her? It made her feel...it made her feel important. And not important to the world, not the way a pilot was important, because as a pilot it wasn't really her that people cared about, it was the Savior. But this wasn't like that, not at all. This made Quinnlash feel important. And she found that she liked that a lot more. Besca might have been too strong to cry like Quinn imagined. She might not. But Quinn, as she proceeded to demonstrate when she wrapped her arms around Besca in return, was...decidedly not that strong.</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. The eyes that followed them back to the dorms were less hostile now, but still curious, confused. No one approached them, and those that drew too close received harsh stares from Besca that kept them at arm's length. They returned to the dorms unbothered, but she knew come tomorrow there would be questions, and her answers would be unsatisfactory. "I've gotta go topside, try and preempt the storm of crap that's coming. I'll be back late, but I'll see you two in the morning." Besca hugged her again, and then left her at the door. Inside, Dahlia was waiting. She seemed a bit surprised that Quinn had come alone, but quickly forgot it, and came hurrying over. "Quinn I'm so sorry," she said, speaking fast and high-pitched and written all over her face was a novel of guilt. "I didn't—I shouldn't have done that I just…I was…I saw her and you and I didn't really see her but I should have stopped and looked and I was being so ridiculous. You were being so nice and I just didn't understand but that's my fault it's not your fault and—and—and—" She gasped in a breath, held it to think. This time she spoke slower. "I'm just really sorry. I've been…you just…you mean so much to me. I've been so worried about keeping you safe that I never stopped to think that I should be trying to learn from you. That's not an excuse, it's just…it's just how it is. I'll do better. I'll really, really try."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein The look on Dahlia's face made Quinn want to run into her room, hide her face in her pillow out of shame, and never look at her again. This was something that she had very much not expected. Though perhaps she should have, she thought bitterly. She'd yelled at Dahlia before today. Very, very rarely (once or twice), but it had happened. But this was the first time she'd ever been so...so mean about it. She had just gotten so angry, so fast, she hadn't been able to stop it. She had hurt her sister. And she'd meant to hurt her, even though it was absolutely her own fault in the end. The way she'd called, the way she'd hung up so suddenly, how she knew Dahlia thought of Roaki at the time; what else were she and Besca supposed to think? She swiped her arm across her face to wipe the remnants of tears from her reddened eye, then looked up at Dahlia. Gently, carefully, Quinn reached down and grasped her hands in her own, lightly rubbing her thumbs in a circle on her sister's palms in what she hoped desperately was comforting instead of unsettling. "No, Deelie, no," she murmured in reply, breaking off eye contact. She just couldn't bear it anymore. She released the hands, then sat down on the back of the couch, staring into the kitchen at the half of the cake that Dahlia had made for her, still sitting on the table. "You must've been so worried when I called you like that." She shook her head slowly in both denial and regret, voice turning melancholic. "It was my fault. You have nothing to be sorry for."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Of all the ways Dahlia had expected this to go, hearing Quinn apologize to her had not been one of them. But then, that was silly; of course she'd apologize. Not because she'd done anything wrong—Dahlia was vehemently sure of that—but because it must have felt awful. They weren't fighting, they weren't enemies. They were family, and there'd been a misunderstanding. "No," Dahlia said, following her to the couch to sit down beside her. "No, there is—and it wasn't your fault. Quinn, watching you win that duel was…I can't even describe how relieved I was. I was scared, really scared, and when you're scared you don't…you don't think of the thing that's scaring you as anything but…well, scary." She reached out, flipping Quinn's braid from behind her. It needed brushing—she'd do that tomorrow. "I don't. But you do. You did. You saw Roaki for more than just an opponent, you saw her for what she really was. And even when she was sitting on the floor of that cell, completely helpless, I still couldn't see her as anything but a threat to you. That…that was wrong. "There's something wrong with me, Quinn. There's something wrong with every pilot, and every program, and everyone that thinks what you did wasn't right, or that what's happening to her here is." She could feel it—her eyes growing hot. She held herself together though, even if she was admitting a mistake—perhaps especially because of that—she needed to be the big sister, still. "I don't ever want you to think I'm not with you. I don't ever want you to be disappointed in me. And if you are, that's not your fault, it's mine. So I mean it. I'm gonna be better. I might mess up, I might not be perfect, but a long time ago I wanted to be just like you, and somewhere along the way I gave up. Now I know I can still try."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein "I might mess up, I might not be perfect, but a long time ago I wanted to be just like you, and somewhere along the way I gave up. Now I know I can still try." Quinn blinked, and for a moment she didn't understand. Dahlia...wanted to...be like her? Her ears were ringing as she stared. Just like before, with Besca, there was a profound sense of disorientation and confusion. Besca may have been her hero, the person who lifted her out of her gray life and splattered it full of brilliant color. Dahlia couldn't quite fill that same role (though she definitely touched it a bit). No. Dahlia wasn't her hero. But Dahlia was the person she wanted to be like more than anything. She was strong, she was brave, she was kind and gentle and she always looked out for the people she cared about. Quinn wanted to be all of those things. She wanted to live up to Dahlia's example so much. And she didn't know if she ever would, but she'd always try. And now here she was, dazedly hearing her forever role model talking about how much she wanted to be just like Quinn, and not only that, how much she'd wanted to be just like Quinn for a long time. A heat began to build within Quinn, a tiny sun in the middle of her chest that spread out through her body, sending tinglies racing up and down her spine. It was incredible. Another feeling that she knew. That she'd felt fragments of over the years, scattered shards of sunlight, but nothing like this. it took her a long time to think of a word for it. How she'd felt deep down when she'd snuck out of her room for the first time, past the fear and the knowledge she was doing something wrong. The rush she felt when she'd solve a puzzle. The brilliant light that had shone within her when she'd cast that fishing rod. Oh, that's what it was. It was pride. She leaned over and wrapped Dahlia in another gentle hug, hoping that some of that wonderful sunshine would pass between them. It was only when she spoke that she realized how warm her voice had suddenly become. It was strange. So much that had happened today was strange. But she had never felt more like Dahlia's sister than she did right then. "Thank you, Deelie. You're so much better than I deserve."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. --- --- It had become familiar, this feeling, ironically so much like waking up. When Quinn opened her eyes that night, she was there again, laying on the boat atop the spread-out towels. The sky was pale blue, darkness receding from the edges eclipsed by the distant forests. Beyond the lake's cliff-faced rim, a warm orange light was beginning to rise. Though the sun itself wasn't quite visible yet, it was reflected there in the water, surrounding the boat like a glowing, red-orange pond. It was at once pleasantly quiet, but if she listened, Quinn could hear the sounds of people on Hovvi's shore, see little dots of them scattered about the harbor and the beach. Too far for detail, too far to have been heard, really, but there it was anyway. The shadows of Dahlia and Safie laughed and chatted out by the buoy. Behind her, there was a slight whooshing sound, and a distant splash. Quinnlash was sat on the railing, fishing pole in her hands. The line was cast out far, though no farther than Quinn could remember having sent her own that day. Even in the burgeoning daylight she looked gloomy, darkened by shadows cast from nowhere, as if it were still night for her. The only exceptions were here eyes, which were no blacker or lighter than they ever were, and the horns on her head. They'd grown again, ever so slightly, and had begun to branch at their tips. Like the rest of her, they were unaffected by the sun. Instead, they caught moonlight that wasn't there, and glinted and shimmered like polished white gold. She glanced sidelong at Quinn. Her knees came up, tucked in close to her chest, and though it should have thrown her wildly off balance back onto the deck, she just hovered there, only tangentially touching the railing. "You didn't do it…" she grumbled. "You didn't kill her."</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn took a deep breath of the lake air. It was far away now, but still so hauntingly familiar, and a part of her knew that if she wasn't so disconnected from everything in these dreams she would be crushed under the weight of her own sorrow. But she was disconnected. So instead, she walked up to the railing next to Quinnlash, picked up a fishing pole, and cast it into the lake herself, watching the blunted replacement for a hook zipping out of sight before it plonked into the water. She was silent then, gazing out in the predawn light at the cliffs where once stood a white house. In the distance she could hear Safie's voice along with Dahlia's, and it cut into her heart even here. There was a quiet certainty in her that no matter how much time passed, that wound would never scab, never heal. She'd never even gotten to say goodbye. "No," she said simply after some time, "I didn't." She shook her head. "You said before that she wasn't broken, just bad." For the first time since she'd sat at the railing, she looked back at Quinnlash, eye filled with genuine curiosity. "But you saw her in that cell, right? She's not a taker." The thing that might have once been a hook tugged, the bait that hadn't been there before drawing a fish that swam happily away. "She's had everything taken from her." Another deep breath. "Every time I think about it, I'm more sure that we the right thing." She unconsciously brushed her fingers, featherlike, across the top of her head where Besca's chin had sat during their embrace. "And they think so too. That counts for something, right?"</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein The first thing Quinn did after her eyes cracked open was yawn. Cavernously. The second thing she did was stretch, grunting quietly in satisfaction as her joints made pleasant popping sounds. The second thing she did was frown, still a little muddled from sleep. The TV? Why was the TV saying her name? Throwing on a gray t-shirt and the same black sweats she'd worn for her phasing test (she'd grown quite attached to them by now, given that they ranked among the first things to really belong to her), she padded over to the door and pushed it open. It was getting easier and easier every day. And her focus was elsewhere anyway. What?? She was on TV. And not just her Savior. Her, leaning tiredly against Ablaze's neck. A memory of the exhaustion she'd felt at that moment echoed through her and she flinched. Then it cut to a clip of her backpedaling frantically away from Blotklau as ichor sprayed from countless wounds. The newscaster was saying something about potential hostilities and certain political tension between Runa and Helburke, and she stared for a moment longer, horribly fascinated at seeing her Savior moving in third person. Even now, it still gave her chills. She turned her head then to Dahlia, cocking her head with an expression of vague worry on her face. "Why am I on TV, Deelie? It's been days, right?" She looked back at the news. There she was again, making that...surprisingly graceful, now that she looked at it...roll as her cannon blazed. "Is this normal?"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. "Mo-orning~!" Dahlia called, sing-song, as soon as Quinn emerged from her room. She quickly prepped a plate for her; eggs, sweet toast with syrup, a peeled orange. Besca had drilled into her the merits of a healthy breakfast long ago, and she'd come to find that even on the hardest and most grueling days, she never regretted a good start to the morning. She watched Quinn's focus shift to the TV, and frowned. She'd meant to at least mute it. Talk still hadn't died down, and while a modest singularity in Tohoki had diluted global attention somewhat, Runa itself was still very keyed-in on their newest, strangest pilot. "Ah…sort of, yeah. Usually it's a couple of days, then there's a singularity somewhere, or another duel starts, or there's a conflict brewing somewhere, and everyone starts speculating who gets pitted against who." Besca had showed her one of those 'Fantasy Duel' leagues before, where people drafted matches and bet on the winners. There was, evidently, quite a lot of money in it. It never sat quite right with her. "But things are pretty settled right now. Casoban and Helburke aren't happy, but we're involved in that, so the eye is still on you." She made herself a plate, sat down. "I mean, can you blame them? There's a lot to talk about, and once word gets out that we're still looking after Roaki, they're only gonna get more interested. People wanna…know, y'know? They wanna know about you, about the duel, about all that stuff. Actually, you might have to start thinking about your first interview. The Board'll prolly keep you in Runa, but you'll get to choose from a few of the big stations. Besca'll know more about that though—she had to go take care of something, said she'd be around later."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn watched the TV for a moment more before shaking her head vigorously to both chase the cobwebs that lingered from sleep out and divert her attention. Instead she turned and plonked herself down in the chair closest to the oven and stove, which she had steadily begun to consider hers and where Dahlia had put her food. Which, she reflected as she ate, was just tasty as usual. Dahlia had learned how Quinn liked her eggs roundabout the same time as Quinn had herself, and it had rapidly become one of her favorite foods. The main drawback to her post next to the range, however—well, not usually, but right now, certainly—was that she could see the TV just as clearly as before. The scene that was playing now was one that she knew, if she could still had nightmares, would appear in them: the swordsman impaling Blotklau, her own Savior roaring bloody murder as she dashed towards the two of them. A shiver passed through her body as Dahlia mentioned the Board. Anxiety was still burning deep within her, lighting a fire and setting her stomach to boiling. How they would react to her blatant disregard for their rules last night was a thought that she'd gone to sleep with, and it hadn't disappeared with the morning. She delicately placed the fork down on the plate, looking down blankly at the half-eaten toast and eggs (she'd eaten the orange first, because she loved them). Deep breath. One, then two, then three. If she'd learned one thing yesterday, it was that she could tell Dahlia anything, no matter how trite or awful, and be taken seriously, answered with honesty and compassion. "...Have you ever broken the Board's rules, Deelie?"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Dahlia saw Quinn set down her fork, breathe deeply, and knew that something was coming. She didn't know what she'd expected, but a question of rebelliousness had not been it. Then again, why not? It was a fair question, and the answer…complex. Likely to be disappointing, but at least not in the way Dahlia feared it would be. "No," she said, and it was a bit like admitting she didn't know how to ride a bike, or whistle. It felt…not quite shameful, but certainly embarrassing. "I've wanted to, but…there haven't been a lot. At least, not a lot that they've tried to use with me. I guess I've never made them mad, is more like what I mean. Yeah I've skipped training days, or played hooky on interviews, but nothing serious." She knew why well enough. She never questioned things, never caused problems—though saying it like that made it sound like Quinn was a troublemaker, which, technically she was. But what Quinn was doing was good trouble. Needed trouble. No one should have been mad at Quinn for what she did, not at the duel and not last night. They would be anyway. "I've never done a lot of things. Being a pilot kinda takes more opportunities than it gives you. But just because you've never done something before doesn't mean it's wrong—you're the proof." She crossed her arms on the counter, laid her head down on them to be more level with Quinn. "You're worried about what they'll do, huh? 'Cause of Roaki."</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn pulled her feet up onto her chair, wrapped her arms around her knees, and held them tight, making eye contact with her sister briefly before looking away. Even though the stove behind her was still warm from Dahlia's cooking, she suddenly felt cold, and she found herself shivering. It was a hard thing to feel, that frigid wind. It reminded her still of her first few days here, a blur of panic and screaming and tears and she felt her breath hitch before she quickly shut it down. But she was quickly knocked out of her reverie by Dahlia being...well, correct. But that just made sense, if she thought about it for more than a split second. Of course Dahlia would know what Quinn thinking, 'cuz Dahlia was the best. They'd spent so much time together that they were—well, that wasn't quite true. Dahlia was starting to read Quinn. Quinn, on the other hand, wasn't able to quite put together how other people thought in general. Not yet. But if she was close to doing so with anyone, it was definitely Dahlia, beyond a shadow of a doubt. She looked up at the ceiling, and her brow furrowed. "...Yeah. I don't think they'll do anything to us, I'm important now and you already were." She sounded almost dazed, still. The idea of her being important on the world stage would take some getting used to. She swallowed. "But what about Besca, or Doctor Follen? What about Roaki?" She sighed, long and deep, and a feeling of fear and anger that she was quite familiar with by now welled up within her. "I'm just afraid they'll take something from us that we can't get back."</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Love you too," she echoed as Dahlia left for sims. She was left alone in the dorms. As always, being suddenly alone came with a sudden spike of anxiety, though she'd learned how to manage it by now. Breathe in, breathe out, just like Besca had taught her. It always helped. So letting that anxiety fade away, she rested her elbows on the table and placed her cheeks in her cupped hands, trying and failing to figure out what was going to happen before it did. "...These requests are expected to hit the desk of the RISC's Board of Directors together later this evening..." And just like that, the anxiety came screaming back. Quinn wasn't an expert on international law. Her only education therein thus far had been a brief crash course on Casobani and Helburkan pilot culture in advance of the duel. But if Roaki were arrested and taken to Helburke for murdering five people...she didn't need a college degree to know what the punishment would be. And if the CSC got ahold of Roaki, well, there was certainly no lost love between her and Casoban. She'd just end up in Helburke in the end anyway. Eusero would use her as a bargaining chip and get her there too, if a little bit later. Just about the only safe place left for her was RISC. And that was the problem, wasn't it? Quinn felt a sudden knife stab down through her chest. She'd thoughts that she'd been taking a risk just taking Roaki out of holding, and had been worried what the Board would do to the people she cared about as a consequence. But the stakes had suddenly become so much higher. What would they do in the face of an international incident? She stood so abruptly that she knocked over her chair and it clattered to the ground behind her as she started pacing. What should she do? What could she do? She didn't want to fail Roaki. She wanted so desperately not to. The girl's haunted eyes from yesterday, her stammering speech, the horror that had visibly shot through her as soon as Quinn had touched her hand and her resignation towards death, they all played back in her head. If she let her go back to Helburke and be killed, she knew right away that she would never be able to forgive herself. The wound would remain within her for the rest of her life. She couldn't, she just couldn't. But it was becoming increasingly obvious to her how little choice she had in the matter. Her pacing slowed. She stared at the floor. Some hero she was turning out to be. Besca wouldn't be disappointed in her, would she? She jumped as her reminder alarm rang. Ah. That was right. She had to have her weekly evaluation with Doctor Follen in the next few days, since a few days of the week had been lost from the whole proceedings of the duel. It was almost funny to her, what with all the examining that he'd been doing of her in the past few days. She'd gotten out of the ward just yesterday, after all. But she'd already deferred the last one from her frantic training, and the absolute last thing she wanted to do today was to make the Board angrier by blowing off the schedule that they set for her. But she didn't mind, and she didn't want to miss it anyway. Doctor Follen was super smart. He would come up with something, maybe. And...he was important, wasn't he? Had some pull with the Board? Maybe he could talk to them somehow. She didn't know, but it was worth a shot, right? So mind made up, she picked up that chair, slid on her shoes, turned off the TV, and started off to medical. ...Again.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Medical was quiet by the time Quinn arrived, but there had been a general, visible unrest in the station on her way. People in the commons were talking, muttering about Helburke, and Casoban. It was beginning to seem like relations were souring on Runa's side of that partnership as well, though that could have just been the sentiments of the people who actually worked with the CSC. Towards her though, the faces were all smiles, all respect. Quinn was still the golden girl of the hour. Whatever ill feelings extended into a particular room of the ward did not reach her, and it seemed like they never would. Quinn's guilt over failing Roaki might be stuck in her mind, but it would linger in very few others. Whether they gave her to Casoban, Eusero, or Helburke, it wouldn't matter. In a few weeks' time her name would be forgotten. She'd be Blotklau, a footnote in Quinn's own newborn legend. Perhaps not a comforting notion. Follen's door was open, and he spotted her as she arrived. He had his feet up on his desk, scratching absently on a notepad in his lap, and when he saw her a big smile split his face. "Quinn, darling! Good morning. Please, come in, come right in." He brought his feet down, set the notepad down before him, and gestured to one of the seats. "How are you feeling? Here for the eval? Well, let's get right into it, shall we?"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Entering Doctor Follen's office was like stepping into a warm shower after a long, sore day, and Quinn immediately felt more at ease. The walk over was...weird. Being looked at like that was still so strange; she wasn't used to having any kind of notoriety. Of course, she was a pilot, but being nodded at by hangar staff occasionally was a whole different ballgame from what it was like now. Closing the door (almost) and settling down in the seat, she found herself in a strange predicament. One that she'd been in only a handful of times that she could remember. She was tongue-tied with Doctor Follen. The question that she wanted to ask was stuck in her throat, and though she tried to force it out, the harder she tried the less inclined it seemed to be to emerge. So instead she diverted her attention with one of the other things that had been bothering her. Deeply. Yesterday had been a whirlwind. She hadn't had time to think at all after being released, so she hadn't had time to thing of bad things. But now that things weren't so frantic, the guilt was beginning to seep back. So, she just needed to take it one guilt at a time. One that she'd only just remembered when she was already entering medical. A part of her was aware that she was just diverting herself away from the real things that were bothering her, but still. This did merit being said. And besides, the silence was growing too long, and Quinn had never been great at hiding how she was feeling. Her face had already twisted the same way it always did when she was thinking about something really unpleasant. "...I'm sorry I didn't do the dream journal." A deep, shaky breath followed. "Things got really busy and I just...forgot about it. I'll start one after today, I promise."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Follen never once pressured her to speak in these sessions. Sometimes Quinn came in ready to go, and would talk almost the entire time, in her own halting way. Others, they would for minutes, quiet, while she thought and he smiled, encouraging but not insistent. Now and then he would scratch something down on his folder, even when she didn't speak, as though he'd heard something anyway. This time he didn't, though when she finally did break her silence, and mentioned the dream journal, the pen did move. "Oh, well that's alright," he said. "'Busy' is certainly an understatement. I don't think you could be faulted for forgetting your own name in all this, ah, excitement—to make an understatement of my own." The light in the faux-window was still early-dawn, violets and bloody oranges. No birdsongs today—he sometimes forewent those when he had something that required his focus early in the morning. "Dreams are important of course, and I'm very interested to hear about them, but I believe the waking world has taken precedence these past few days, wouldn't you say?" He smiled again, knowingly, comfortingly. He so rarely asked her to speak on a topic directly, but now and then it seemed necessary to offer a gentle nudge. "Perhaps you would like to talk about what happened at the duel. Or perhaps you've had quite enough talk about that. Tell me, Quinn, darling: what has been on your mind, really?"</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Of course Doctor Follen would know that she wasn't being forthcoming. Even if she didn't wear her heart on her face, he always seemed to figure it out. Sometimes it hurt, because he knew how to get to what she was trying to avoid. But there was a kind of happiness that came with unburdening herself to him, even if saying what it was made her feel awful. And...she really did have a lot to talk about. It was just hard. "W—well," she began haltingly, nearly forcing herself to go past an almost inaudible murmur. She knew that Doctor Follen wouldn't blame her, just like Dahlia and Besca hadn't. And even though she'd told them, it was still burning a hole through her and she didn't quite know why. "When the swordsman Modir had the sword in the ground next to me, I—he—it—" She was stuttering now, struggling to get the words out. A part of her thought that he wouldn't believe her. That he'd call her crazy. She was half convinced that she was. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Doctor Follen would never do that. He'd never hurt her so deeply, she knew with the utmost conviction. If there was anyone she could tell outside of her family, it was him. Another deep breath. And finally, the inevitable third. "...It s-spoke. To m—me. "And—and you can ask Besca too!" She sounded almost frantic now. Despite everything, that feeling that he wouldn't believe her was still there. It still clung to her. And it just made it all that much more worse. "it joined the comms! She heard it too! You have to believe me!" A moment passed. That sudden energy deserted her, and she pulled her legs up onto the chair, just like before. This would be the hard part. The really hard part. It was like picking at a scab. It wasn't that bad to start, but it would just hurt more and more, and once it was done it would bleed for who knows how much longer. "It...it knew my name, Doctor Follen. It called me by name." One final deep, deep breath. And then the scab came off. "It said it—it was h—hunting me. That it had found me there. And that...that it had..." Her voice dropped to a whisper in earnest, hoarse and grating though it was. "That it had found me in Runa." She started shaking violently, more than usual, as the guilt tore back through her. "...It was at...at Hovvi." Her heart turned to lead in her chest and she squeezed her eye shut. Her voice steadily escalated, eventually building up to a pale imitation of a yell: "It's my fault, Doctor Follen. It's all my fault. They all died because of me. Just because I was there! It's all my fault!"</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein He was proud of her. That thought was enough to headstart Quinn on the process of collecting herself again. It took her some time after that torment of a conversation for sure. When she finally checked back in to reality, she was sweating bullets, and the tears had drawn thin, then stopped. She exhaled slowly, doing her best to slow her racing mind and heart. This had snowballed so far out of control that she'd nearly forgotten the thing that she'd wanted to ask him to begin with. And, encouraged by the warmth in his voice flooding back, she pressed on, voice stronger than it had been before: "Well, there's...there is one more thing I wanted to ask about." She rapped her fingers nervously on the armrest of the chair, and the series of sharp clicks from her fingernails seemed to be helping her a surprising amount. Something to keep in mind for later, she thought. "...I'm sure people have started yelling at you about Roaki by now, right." It wasn't spoken like a question, and it wasn't meant like one. Her voice steadily began to take on a bit of a rarer tone than most: she was fretful. She was worried over Roaki, and she certainly sounded like it. "I just wanted to ask..." She stopped her fingers' steady staccato, "...what do I do?" Emboldened by having finally asked and Doctor Follen's renewed warmth, she forged on with a hint more confidence. "I'm afraid that the Board will do something to Besca, or to you, because I'm not listening to them. So...is there anything I can do?" Nerves boiled in her gut as she waited for a response. After all, if Doctor Follen couldn't think of something—Quinn thought he was the smartest person she knew—then things were really, really bad.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Follen sat back down in his seat, thinking. It wasn't the same cold, statuesque contemplation as before; he hummed, he stroked his chin, his eyes lost focus in the air. "A good question," he mused. "Things have indeed already begun to…escalate, here. We had a small incident this morning. Besca handled it, and I suppose it's been quiet since, but I don't believe for a moment that's the end of it. Truthfully, I fear a schism may form here without the Board having to involve themselves much more, but I don't think that's our biggest problem. "I suppose you've heard by now, about the requests from Casoban and Helburke. I don't understand the intricacies much myself, but when two countries want something from you, it can be hard to say no. Thankfully, if I had to guess, the Board is quite tired of being commanded around by Casoban, and will have no real qualms denying Helburke anything, ever. Still, they might cave to a national ally—there's nothing in it for RISC to hold onto Roaki, in their eyes. "The best bet would be to turn her, I'd say. Make her an informant. I saw that she's wanted for some…grievous crimes, so, while she might be a pilot, I suspect she lacks the sort of fanatical nationalism we're used to seeing in Helburkan duelists. If the Board is convinced she can give us some sort of useful information, they may grant her asylum here, and then none of us—not you, not me, not Besca—would be in any trouble at all. However..." He leaned forward, hands clasped before him, and there was some amalgam of pity and curiosity in his eyes. "I went to check on her this morning, updated her medications, checked her for secondary growths. I even took some of those measurements you'd asked me about. She wasn't particularly conversational. I suspect she's aware of what's happening planetside. I believe she means to go willingly, and if she makes that known to the Board they'll gladly ship her out no matter what we do. " He sighed, shook his head. "No, convincing her to turn on Helburke isn't the issue, I don't think. Convincing her to live, however, is. Regretfully I don't believe she has much interest in it."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein With a sigh, Quinn rubbed her eye with her index and middle fingers. "Yeah. She was like that last night too." She lapsed into a brief silence while she thought over the issue before she spoke again. "Winning is important to her, I think. It seems like the only thing she thinks is important. Winning and being a pilot." Not for the first time, she wondered what it was that had been done to Roaki for her to think like that, and who had done it. She immediately jumped to how she'd stayed on the Aerie away from a bad family. But a moment later she dismissed the idea out of hand. The Board would never let Roaki be a pilot, not in a million years. And...it made her feel bad, but the idea of her in a Savior made Quinn a little uncomfortable too. So if that couldn't happen, then...what? Maybe should could ask Besca or Dahlia, but they wouldn't be back for a while and she was too antsy to just sit around and wait when the clock was steadily ticking to the Board receiving the notices. "Could I..." Hesitation again. She knew that the two of them had been seen by a lot of people walking through the Aerie, but it might still cause problems if she were seen— No. That was stupid. Roaki's life was more important than whatever reputation she'd started to garner. And the only people that would see her would be medical staff that had probably seen her last night anyway. The only worry was that Roaki still didn't like her, and Quinn being there would only make her more upset. But their...conversation last night had been both upsetting and eye-opening. Maybe she couldn't ask her family about her yet. But she could ask the girl herself. "Do you think I could see her?"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Briefly, Follen paused, though he seemed to be considering what she'd said rather than her request. "Yes," he said thoughtfully. "Yes, I think that might be a good idea. Here, he reached into his desk, retrieving a small key and handing it over. "That's a spare, her number's printed on it—104. Feel free to hold on to that, so long as you don't lose it. I'm not too thrilled by the idea of someone else having access." He smiled again, and every bit of that pride was in it. "You're a good girl, Quinn, darling. I'm more and more certain of that every day. Good luck." As Quinn left his office, she could hear the artificial birdsongs chirp to life behind her. The walk was long, but not solitary. Nurses and other orderlies shuffled by, busy with this and that, but all who passed Quinn paused long enough to look at her. The wonder was painted clearly on their faces. Wonder at their hero pilot. Wonder at where she was going. The closer she drew to room 104 the less wonder there was, and in its place was concern. It was within her, too. A slow, low simmer at the bottom of her mind, so wary of rising, but unwilling to stay sunken. Careful, came the warning, not vicious but soft, worried. Just…be careful. As she stood before the door, the feeling retreated. The anxiety in its wake still rippled the surface of her thoughts, but Quinn pushed through. She fit the key, opened the door and let herself in. From after Hovvi, to after the duel, these rooms seemed so clean, so safe, so confining. The sensation of an IV pushing fluid into her veins shuddered through her. Her neural plugs itched, briefly, like they were still new. No machines beeped, no radio played and the screen on the far wall was off. The ceiling light was off, there was only the dimmed glow of a simulated overcast through the blinds of the faux window, casting the whole room in gray. Roaki lay in the bed, covers pulled up to her waist. Her head was turned away, to the window, but it was clear she wasn't asleep. Her fist wound in the sheets, she took a deep breath. "What—" she began, only for her voice to wither when she turned to see Quinn standing there. Her dun eyes widened in their pits, and though her face was shadowed by a tattered veil of hair, panic passed through it, clear and quick, before it settled into a more subdued uneasiness. Her eyes instantly fell away. "Oh… she said, raspy and quiet, but at least the shiver was gone. "It's you...again." She shifted uncomfortably, like she meant to sit up. Instead, she seemed to just burrow deeper into her pillow. "What...why are you...here?"</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn shut the door. She was tense as she did; the room's four white walls immediately felt like a trap. But with how the station had reacted to Roaki, she certainly didn't want to leave a way open for other people to come in or listen in, no matter how small. That daunting task done, she took the seat that sat across the room from the bed, using the time it took both to calm herself down from the seething fear that briefly bubbled up behind her eye and to prepare herself for what was to come. Just like before, seeing Roaki like this was like a punch to the gut. Well, at least she didn't sound as openly hostile as she had. But on the other hand, Quinn might have preferred the anger to the panic that had flashed through across her face. Roaki...really was terrified of her, wasn't she? And though she obviously didn't like it, there was little wonder why, Quinn reflected. The first interaction the two of them had after Roaki went through something horribly traumatic—both at Quinn's hands and otherwise—had been marked primarily by Quinn's intense and violent anger. Of course, it had been anger at how Roaki had been treated, how people reacted to her, and not at her, of course. But a first impression was a powerful thing, and for someone who had been through something so horrible, that was...not the greatest she perhaps might've made. At least Roaki seemed less like she was going to crumple in on herself than she did last night. As afraid as Quinn was of the Board's retribution, one look at the girl in front of her immediately reaffirmed to her that no, there was absolutely no way Quinn was going to let her be tortured like that again, and neither was she going to let her willingly walk to her death if she could at all help it. So today—and tomorrow if she could, and the day after, and the day after that—she would be as comforting as she possibly could. It was the least she could do after causing all of this, and the poor girl certainly didn't anybody else yelling at her. Quinn didn't know exactly what had happened to her that would turn her into what she was today, other than a feeling of deep familiarity and creeping unease. Still, regardless of any of that, she knew if the first impression she'd gotten after she'd woken up on the Aerie was someone yelling at her, her life might've gone a very different and very unpleasant direction. She'd been given every chance and welcomed with open arms. It stood to reason that she should do the same for others. So although she didn't really know what to say, when she spoke, it was as calm, kind, and gentle as she realistically could be. "I thought that...maybe after last night you might like someone to talk to? And I'd like to talk with you too. It gets boring and lonely in here pretty quick with no company, right?"</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn shut the door. She was tense as she did; the room's four white walls immediately felt like a trap. But with how the station had reacted to Roaki, she certainly didn't want to leave a way open for other people to come in or listen in, no matter how small. That daunting task done, she took the seat that sat across the room from the bed, using the time it took both to calm herself down from the seething fear that briefly bubbled up behind her eye and to prepare herself for what was to come. Just like before, seeing Roaki like this was like a punch to the gut. Well, at least she didn't sound as openly hostile as she had. But on the other hand, Quinn might have preferred the anger to the panic that had flashed through across her face. Roaki...really was terrified of her, wasn't she? And though she obviously didn't like it, there was little wonder why, Quinn reflected. The first interaction the two of them had after Roaki went through something horribly traumatic—both at Quinn's hands and otherwise—had been marked primarily by Quinn's intense and violent anger. Of course, it had been anger at how Roaki had been treated, how people reacted to her, and not at her, of course. But a first impression was a powerful thing, and for someone who had been through something so horrible, that was...not the greatest she perhaps might've made. At least Roaki seemed less like she was going to crumple in on herself than she did last night. As afraid as Quinn was of the Board's retribution, one look at the girl in front of her immediately reaffirmed to her that no, there was absolutely no way Quinn was going to let her be tortured like that again, and neither was she going to let her willingly walk to her death if she could at all help it. So today—and tomorrow if she could, and the day after, and the day after that—she would be as comforting as she possibly could. It was the least she could do after causing all of this, and the poor girl certainly didn't anybody else yelling at her. Quinn didn't know exactly what had happened to her that would turn her into what she was today, other than a feeling of deep familiarity and creeping unease. Still, regardless of any of that, she knew if the first impression she'd gotten after she'd woken up on the Aerie was someone yelling at her, her life might've gone a very different and very unpleasant direction. She'd been given every chance and welcomed with open arms. It stood to reason that she should do the same for others. So although she didn't really know what to say, when she spoke, it was as calm, kind, and gentle as she realistically could be. "I thought that...maybe after last night you might like someone to talk to? And I'd like to talk with you too. It gets boring and lonely in here pretty quick with no company, right?"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. This was a trick, Roaki knew it right away. People called her stupid, but she had nose for this sort of thing. Schemes, plots, strategies—the tools of weaklings who never knew what to do when their plans fell through. But that was the shit of it. She wasn't dealing with a weakling, she was dealing with Quinnlash. Roaki followed the girl's shadow as she stalked from the doorway to the chair across from her bed. She didn't look at her face. Couldn't, still. It was pathetic, but she couldn't. That golden eye burned in her mind, more monstrous than the red gaze of any Savior. If she looked at her, somehow, Roaki knew she would see Ablaze staring back at her. The muscles in her arm twitched at the thought. Her leg ached even below where it had been cut, still, despite the pills these nurses had crammed down her throat. In the cold, at least she'd been in too much pain to think. Now with the unnatural warmth and comfort of a hospital bed, even with the exhaustion still lingering behind her eyes, all she could do was think. Think. Think. Fuck, it felt like she could hardly breathe. Her hand kept a firm grip on the sheet. She didn't know why, it wasn't like she could fight her. She couldn't fight anyone. All she could do now, and for whatever was left of her life, was sit and hurt and fucking think. And talk, apparently. Roaki chewed her lip. Of course, she should have seen this coming. This must have been why she wasn't dead yet, why they'd stuffed her in that icebox and now, why they'd thawed her again. They wanted something. Quinnlash wanted something. "What…" she started, forcing herself to sound at least somewhat like a person, and not a frightened worm. "What do you want to know?"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn linked her hands behind her head and leaned back, hmming as she pondered what to ask. A deal of it, though not all, was putting on an act, though. At least to an extent. She knew what she wanted to ask. She'd known what she wanted to ask since last night. She was less wondering about that, and rather pondering how to ask it. What she wanted to know was what had happened to Roaki. Hell, she was almost desperate to know what had happened to her. Why she was like this. Why she'd already been missing limbs. What had been done to her, and who had done it. But asking it directly...she knew that if someone she didn't know asked her about her childhood, she would have a bad response, and she had no reason to think Roaki would be any different. So instead, she needed to take a slightly more indirect tack and hope that it didn't blow up in her face. Her hmm ended, and she let herself fall back forward until she was looking at Roaki again. Again, not directly—she seemed to have an aversion to meeting Quinn's eye—but that general direction. "Honestly, Nothing in particular. I just don't know anything about you as a person and I never really got the chance to ask." She lapsed into a momentary quiet as she thought. Roaki was so scared of people taking from her that it seemed almost paralyzing. She remembered in crisp and horrible detail her own terror of being left alone or sent home those first few days, when everything felt so tenuous; like anything she did wrong would get her sent away from the Aerie and Besca. Roaki was...she wouldn't think of an innocent line of questioning, Quinn was sure. She didn't know what Roaki would think, but she didn't want to take any risks. "You don't need to tell me anything if you don't want to. And..." Her voice caught. It had seemed to innocuous just thinking about it. But saying it was...it was scary. She could feel her body tensing and the instinctual and elemental part of herself, deep down—perhaps Quinnlash as well, perhaps her alone—wanted her to close off, to ignore the rest of the world and stay safe and secure inside of her head. But the rest of her knew that if she did that, she would never reach Roaki. Never, never, never. And the thought of that hurt more. So she fought off that animal within her and finished the sentence. "...And anything you want to know about me—anything—I'll answer as best I can, 'kay?" With any luck, that would be enough—if only just enough—to get her to open up, even just the smallest crack.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. "…I just don't know anything about you as a person and I never really got the chance to ask." Too late for that, Roaki thought bitterly. Not talking to a person anymore. But that didn't change anything. She was at Quinnlash's torturously inexplicable mercy—what she thought of herself now didn't matter. Person, pilot, worm, all of it was meaningless. She was a bundle of answers, waiting for the right questions. These, however, did not seem like the right questions. Was it a game? Toy with her, make her divulge her life's miseries on her way out? That seemed appropriately merciful. But then, the girl had also offered to lay her own secrets bare. Tit for tat? Smart, if she thought about it. Roaki would be taking them all to her grave, anyway. Of course, normally she wouldn't have given half a shit about knowing who Quinnlash was as a person. She'd never cared to know any of her enemies, and none of them had cared to know her. That was the way things were—or at least, how they were supposed to be. But laying there, Roaki couldn't help it. There was an almost animal curiosity within her. Quinnlash wasn't just another enemy, Quinnlash had beaten her. She was terrifyingly strong, and bafflingly cruel in ways that Roaki didn't even understand, ways she had never seen and never dreamed of. How could she not want to know, even just a bit? She fidgeted, lips pressed tightly together in a last ditch effort to maintain what little dignity remained. Don't play her game. Die silent. "…What happened to your eye?"</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein "…What happened to your eye?" Quinn sucked in a sharp, pained breath. She should've expected it, she really should've. But she somehow didn't, not so early out of the gate. She hesitated, her last breath half in and half out of her throat. Her eye flickered for a moment with...not with terror, per se, but certainly with some kind of deep discomfort, like a poison that lay beneath her had floated briefly to the surface. Still, her hands were already behind her head. So she could at least cut that agonizing part of the process out. "I did mean what I said at the...Henkersmahl, I think it is? I don't really know what happened to it." She paused, rewound. "Or...no, I know what happened to it. I just..." She finally managed to untie the knot and, for the second time in as many days, let it flutter down into her lap like a windless flag. This time she resisted the urge to run her fingers across the scar tissue, to see how expansive it was. She just sat there, hands clutching tightly around the strip of black and yellow fabric. "I just don't know why." "I was...twelve? Thirteen? Something like that, I'm never quite sure. And it just...went. Burst right out of my head." She shuddered and, forgetting her resolve to not, dug her fingernails lightly into the sleeves of her t-shirt. She hadn't thought of the sheer pain of that moment for some time now. Tried not to think about it. She could practically hear the shrill screaming, all the pain and the heart-stopping terror, ringing through her ears. "My...parents dug it out and bandaged it up, then gave me the eyepatch and I've been wearing it ever since." After a few shaky breaths, she let the arms down again and rebalanced her voice, purging the tremble as best she could. "I've never seen under it myself. Too scared to look." "What about you? How did you lose your arm and leg?"</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Roaki wasn't sure what she'd expected. No, that wasn't entirely true. She'd expected a lie, like the one back in Casoban. Maybe that she really had lost it in Hovvi, or during training, or that someone had gotten to her young and gouged it or popped it or something. She'd expected—hoped, even—to catch a glimpse of the hidden truth that someone had managed to beat her in the past. That she wasn't an invincible, unbreakable champion. That she was weak. Then again, would that really have made it any better? Would she rather have lost to Quinnlash the monster, or Quinnlash the weakling? Well, she'd rather not have lost at all. Roaki could read people well. She was good at sniffing out fear, and even without looking her in the eye she could tell that Quinnlash was afraid even before she admitted it. Maybe this really was the truth. She didn't know, it had just happened and that was that. It was so tempting to look, to see the proof of that fear forever marked upon her face. She couldn't. When Quinnlash asked about her lost limbs, Roaki shrank back into the pillow. An old and familiar anger flexed instinctually inside her. She'd hurt people, badly, just for looking at her arm, just for seeing her slip the prosthetic on. Her teeth gritted together, an ache shot down her leg, all the way to the foot she didn't have anymore, the one she'd lost in Casoban. How much of her had Blotklau eaten before it died? Not enough. "I…" her voice withered. She squeezed the sheet so hard her nails dug through the fabric and into her palm. Speak. You lost, now you speak. "I can't phase, she rasped. She didn't have the strength or the will to lie, and she was never very good at it anyway. "I tried, when I was old enough. I got in before the scars were even healed, and I tried." She blinked, and in that darkness she felt the cold cage of the cockpit around her. "I stayed in the whole time, like I was supposed to. I never disconnected—not until they made me. They said I almost completed the Circuit." How disgusting. "My arm and leg were…part of it," she said quietly. "They had to cut me out." Roaki stared at the sheets, how they fell flat just beneath the stumps of her legs. How disgusting, he'd said. Only half a daughter, but a full measure of failure. She'd almost proven him wrong. "Why is Dragon's pilot afraid of you? she snapped, before she could dwell on those memories a moment more. "Why does she do whatever you say? She's one of the strongest pilots in the world. And that woman, I heard her this morning—she's the commander. What did you do to them?"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn opened her mouth to say...something. She didn't know what she'd say to that, what she could even possibly say to such a horrible thing. Her mouth went dry as she realized that she really, truly had nothing to give. Luckily, Roaki saved her from that with another question. Quinn almost smiled; that snapping voice, one she'd been so afraid of just days before, was almost comforting somehow. She sounded a little bit more like Roaki now. But any chance of that smile was lost with what she'd actually said. And a grim and foreboding question it was. It truly seemed like she just...didn't understand how...no, it wasn't even not understanding how 'love' worked, or friendship. It was more that she just didn't understand relationships as a whole. A strange mixture of dread and anxiety began to bubble up within her, along with a tiny seed of anger that was slowly germinating, despite her best intentions "I wouldn't say," she began carefully, "that she's afraid of me, or that I did anything to them. Deelie—" Should she say this? Was it a violation of Dahlia's privacy? She didn't know, but she had no way of stopping now that she'd committed. Only way to go was forward. "—well, Hovvi was Dahlia's home. When it burned down," a shard of guilt dug into her, edging into her voice, "she lost everyone. She lost her dad, she lost her home, and she lost her best friend, all her friends." The guilt was joined by a low note of grief, forming a horrible harmony which spat out, "And all she got in return was me," with no small amount of spite. "...When I made it out of Hovvi, I was..." She swallowed heavily, anxiously running a hand down her braid. "I was destroyed, both physically and mentally. I spent a week comatose. By the time I woke up I had the implants, because it was the only way I wouldn't be—" She nearly choked. No. Dragging up all the memories of Hovvi and the immediate aftermath was already crushing her enough as it was. She wouldn't be able to hold it together if she...no. She wouldn't acknowledge it. She couldn't. Not right now. A few seconds passed before she felt like she could properly speak. "—I could barely walk. It was weeks before I stopped waking up screaming." "So we started to lean on each other. And Besca took care of us, so we both leaned on her." A deep breath. She tried to dig out those fragments from her heart, and was met with...minimal success. They would be there for a long time now, she knew. Her voice was starting to thicken, just a little. She knew that she was going to cry today. She was going to cry for a long time. She just hoped it was after she'd left Roaki's room. She shrugged helplessly. "We're a family now, that's all."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. It was strange, the more Quinnlash spoke, the more she revealed about herself, the less Roaki felt like she knew her. There were gaps in her story, but they didn't feel intentional, they weren't lies like she was used to, they were omissions of…grief? Anger, maybe? She didn't know, she wasn't used to seeing people act like this. She'd heard them break down over comms, she knew what pathetic sounded like, and while Quinnlash certain didn't sound like the warrior she'd been in Casoban, Roaki couldn't bring herself to see this display as weakness. What she did recognize was self-loathing. Roaki hated Quinnlash, instinctually in the way a hunter hated its prey, but also deeply and personally. She knew hate, she was good at hate. She'd clocked it perfectly at the Henkersmahl and she was reading it just as clearly now. No one hated Quinnlash Loughvein more than Quinnlash Loughvein. "So we started to lean on each other. And Besca took care of us, so we both leaned on her." "We're a family now, that's all." Roaki sucked air through a tight cage of teeth. Days in the cold, too tired and beaten to muster anything more than a glower and curt words, had dulled her. It was whole moments before she realized just how furious she suddenly was. Fucked that she didn't have the energy—or the means, really, anymore—to do anything with it. She could still hardly sit up without the aches and exhaustion laying her out flat. It should have been great news. Quinnlash was doomed, hopelessly and completely. It might take weeks, or months, or maybe years, but if what she'd said was true—and more and more, Roaki was starting to doubt that Quinnlash knew how to lie at all—then there was no avoiding it. So why did she feel so compelled to warn her? "You're a moron," she spat, unable to stop herself. Idiot, you're helping the girl who killed you. But she went on. "They don't need you. They hate you. They'll turn on you the second they get the chance, and if you let them do it because you think you need them too, then you're a moron. You don't need them." It was true. Quinnlash Loughvein didn't need anyone. Roaki was so sure of that. "You're strong. People are afraid of that—even if they say they aren't. If you let them, they'll take all that strength away from you. Know where you'll be then? Six feet under. Or worse, you'll be right where I am. Fuck's sake, don't…" her jaw clenched so tight it popped. "If you're gonna beat me, don't be me."</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn sat stock still, frozen in place, stunned by the sheer force of the fury that was now pouring out of Roaki. And anger rose to match it within her. Both her own, and the deep and seething rage that she recognized as Quinnlash's. How dare she say that about her—their—family? The sudden surge of fire that burned bright and hot through her body drew a harsh gasp from her during Roaki's speech. And it wasn't just anger, but a complex cocktail of anger, self-loathing, searing guilt, and—even worse—a nagging doubt. Maybe it was true. Maybe they didn't need her. Maybe they were lying to her, and they really did hate her. She fought to wrangle it all down, but it was stubborn and would not be silenced quickly. For the first time she was glad that Roaki wasn't looking at her, so she couldn't see Quinn's face struggling to settle itself against all her instincts. But fought it she did. Struggle to settle it she did. This wasn't like the Henkersmahl. This wasn't Roaki trying to provoke her. By the time she'd finished speaking, Quinn had managed to force the anger back down into the pit in her head that it so desperately wanted to crawl back out of, ignored Quinnlash's boiling resentment. And though that powerful urge drained out of her, the rest—guilt, fear, doubt, self-hate—remained. Then the last thing Roaki had said seeped in through the cracks: If you're gonna beat me, don't be me. So it was Roaki's family that had done this to her? Quinn couldn't think of any other reason for her to react so violently to just the mention, just the thought, of the word. Another painful piece of kinship between the two of them, it seemed. That hurt, that scarring that they each bore on their shoulders, it all came from the same source, didn't it? Why? Why did these things need to happen? To her, to Roaki, why, why, why? It wasn't fair! Trying to ignore her inner turmoil, Quinn's voice when she spoke was quiet, so quiet—a stark contrast to Roaki's—and only shook the smallest bit. "It's my turn to ask a question. Remember, you don't need to answer if you don't want to." And now, finally, Quinn got the chance to ask the question that she'd wanted to ask since the beginning, the one that she'd tried so hard to work around to, though now she was almost afraid to know the answer. "What do you mean, 'be you?'" Her clamp on the storm of negativity inside her was creaking and straining, and she could feel heat building around her eye as her voice's trembling grew stronger. Still, she kept it as gentle as she could. "What did your—what did they do to you, Roaki?"</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn had been a bit a bit...off since that first visit to Roaki in the medical ward. More off than usual, even. It seemed almost like she'd gone backwards, fell back down a little ways into the hole that she'd fought so hard to claw her way out of; that crushing sense of desperation she'd felt when faced with a closed door and four white walls had really gotten into her head. And so, for the past few days she'd been more emotionally unstable than she'd been for a good while now, and she'd certainly been clingier. She was actually afraid of being alone for the first time in quite a few weeks now, and so she'd spent as much time possible with company, whether Besca, Dahlia, Doctor Follen, or Roaki. Unfortunately, Besca had been extremely busy—mostly because of her, she acknowledged with no small amount of guilt—while Doctor Follen had his own work to do and her relationship with Roaki was extremely odd and awkward. She'd therefore been spending as much time with Dahlia as she could reasonable get away with. So sitting together with her at lunch for a while suited her just fine. And besides...she really was nervous about the interview. She thought she knew what it was mostly going to be about, but...talking over it never hurt, right? So, sitting up from the sim seat—she hissed quietly as her plugs disengaged—she swung her legs over the side and faced Dahlia. "I...think I'd like to talk about the interview." She lapsed into silence, rubbing her eye with the ball of her hand as she tried to banish the mild disorientation that always came with connecting or disconnecting, no matter the situation. As comforting having one eye always was, it had its share of downsides. "I think that I...that I've had enough of sims for now."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Dahlia smiled gently. "Yeah, you know what? Me too. How about we hit up Danes? I've been dying for a milkshake." She helped Quinn down, throwing an arm around her shoulder and staying close. The past few days Quinn had been…more dependent than usual. Not that Dahlia particularly minded—she didn't need any excuse to spend more time with her—but ever since she'd started going to see Roaki, she'd been decidedly off. It was tempting to ask, and even more tempting to just assume the Helburkan girl had done something to upset her, but whenever she thought that way, she remembered her promise. She wanted to be better. She wanted to be more like Quinn. Besides, she'd kept visiting, and would have told them if anything truly bad had happened. Maybe it was just the state Roaki was in that was bringing her mood down. Quinn had asked her and Besca for help coming up with some way to convince the girl to stay. Dahlia would have been lying if she said she'd given it a tremendous amount of thought, and that did make her feel guilty. Besca was up to her neck with work and worry, and all Dahlia did all day was the same thing she did every day. This was important to Quinn. She resolved to put more effort into it, starting right now. Danes was comfortably busy when they arrived. Where Tohoki Grill was dim and gentle and had the feeling of an old tavern, Danes was bright, excited and warm. Its faux windows were opened and their screens rolled footage of a sunny beachside afternoon. Long, sandy shores stretched endlessly either way, scattered with people laying on towels or under great big umbrellas. More played out in the sapphire blue water, splashing and laughing, or waving out to sailboats rocking gently in the distance. Upbeat, tropical music played over the speakers, as though from a band not too far outside. A series of screens on the walls were tuned in not to the news or the Savior-obsessed talk shows, but to sports and campy daytime shows. Normally she'd have gotten them a seat at the counter, but today Dahlia brought them to a booth along the wall, where the AC blew fresh air only just tinged with the hint of a salty breeze. The tables were wooden, and weathered in the same way designer jeans were weathered—artificial, but convincing. Taking one of the menus from the tabletop stand, Dahlia thumbed to a selection of burgers. "Oh boy," she said, cheery. "I am about to destroy a pineapple burger." She held off asking Quinn what she wanted, let her have a little more time to think today. Instead, she turned her attention to the faux window, smiling out at the ocean. The water was too dark to be a Runan sea, so she guessed it was somewhere in Eusero. That'd be a nice trip, she thought. Me, Quinn, Besca. Just a day laying out on the sand. "So how're you feelin' about the interview? she asked lightly. "For what it's worth, Mona's always been super nice to me. You talk at a table over some food, and it's really casual. Kinda feels like eating in the dorms. She loves pilots, so I bet all she really wants to do is get to know you a bit!"</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein For as much as Quinn loved Tohoki Grill, she also adored CB Dane's. For a very different reason, though, and one particularly relevant to the past few days. Tohoki gave off a gentle aura kind of like tranquility, and though it was nice, it wasn't quite what she really wanted today. Dane's was just...happy, an unrepentantly cheerful place to eat. So she nodded as Dahlia took charge, leaning subtly into her when she wrapped her arm around Quinn's shoulder. Snuggling into her, almost, as the two headed to lunch together. When they arrived, it was just as welcoming as Quinn remembered. She'd only sat at a booth here a handful of times. Usually she loved the bar; though she still hadn't tried anything from the intimidating assortment of bottles that lay in neat rows behind it, talking to the people that ended up sitting next to her was always fun. But, she reflected, very conscious of the looks that were coming her way still, maybe not so much now. So she picked up a menu, flipping idly through it. Just like Tohoki Grill, she still wasn't through trying everything on the menu. But she didn't really want to try something new today. She wanted something that she knew she liked. "I think I'll get...um..." A brief spike of anxiety shot down her nerves, mild but pervasive, as she tried to make a decision. She shook her her head, keenly aware how pathetic it was not to be able to even choose what she wanted to eat and trying to clear the anxious fog from her head. "Or maybe I'll..." Thankfully, Dahlia's question served to distract her for a moment, and she lifted her head from her arduous task to meet her sister's eyes. "I'm...I won't say I'm not nervous," she said tightly. Immediately after, the tension leaked out of her voice, replaced with...not hopelessness, but more...resignation. "It's just...all she's going to talk about is the duel and Roaki, I know it. It's all anyone talks about." Perhaps it had been unwise for her to watch a bit more news in the past few days. It certainly hadn't made her feel any better about how people talked about her, both on and off the station. She returned her attention to the menu, trying to decide what to eat and coming up empty until she just...gave up. Rubbing two fingers into her eye, she let a quiet sigh filled to the brim with disappointment slip out of her and folded the menu before looking down at her lap. "Deelie, can...can you choose for me today?"</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein It felt like there was a storm cloud in Quinn's head. Thunder and lightning and rain and wind all mixed together into a howling cacophony that rushed through the rest of her too, locking her in place like she was paralyzed. Like she was chained down in front of an oncoming train that knew she was there and didn't stop. Like she was at the bottom of a deep, dark well and floundering desperately as she slowly, surely sank below the surface. It made it hard, so hard, nigh-impossible, to think. To articulate ideas, not just to Dahlia, but even to herself. And each individual word that Dahlia said to her was like a pebble dropped into the well. They echoed down to her as though from a great distance. A faint plop, plop, plop, as she sank further, barely even audible above the deafening thunderclaps inside her. Broken, broken, broken. But that wasn't right, was it? She wasn't broken. Not really. Being broken meant that something had been there before to break. She was like—she was like a puppet. She wasn't putting herself together from shattered pieces. She was trying—trying, failing, succeeding, failing, trying again—not to fix herself, but to make an entirely new thing out of whole cloth. Figuring out who and what she really was past the layers and layers and layers of trauma and pain. Who was she? She didn't know. She wanted so much to hug Dahlia. But her legs had turned completely to jelly, and a part of her knew that if she tried to get up to move to the other side of the booth she'd crumple before she even made it halfway. So instead she squeezed Dahlia's hand in the one that she'd taken and gently laid her head on the table, staring with nigh-unseeing eye out at the virtually actualized beach. When she spoke her voice was weak and weepy and hard to understand through the still-flowing tears, but that utter defeat still filled it. She clamped her eye shut. "They—they d—didn't take anything f—from me. I'm...I'm just a d—doll."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Dahlia didn't know what to say. Seeing Quinn wither further and further was absolutely crushing, and every last atom screamed for her to do something, but she just…didn't know. She had nothing, no answers to give, no comfort to offer. Nothing she could say or do seemed like it could ever be adequate. She just couldn't match that fear. You're not enough. Again. Stop trying. You're making it worse. So she just sat there, squeezing Quinn's hand while she continued to cry. She called herself a doll, and though the mere suggestion sickened Dahlia to her core, she couldn't bring herself to argue. Maybe it wasn't her place to. Maybe it wasn't the time. It was hard to know anymore. All she could really do was hope, and right now, hope seemed utterly worthless. Whatever remained of Dahlia's will to smile died. Burned to the roots. "We should go," she said softly. "Back to the dorms, or the gardens. Somewhere else. Somewhere quieter. This…this isn't good for you."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein In the midst of a breakdown enough to eclipse nearly anything else inside her, Quinn was suddenly given direction. "We should go. Back to the dorms, or the gardens. Somewhere else. Somewhere quiet. This...this isn't good for you." There was something so intensely pathetic about how comforting it felt, how natural it seemed, to be told what to do. She hated it. She hated it so much, she knew that she should hate it. But in that moment, there was something so normal about it, so soothing. Like a deep breath after surfacing from the bottom of the well. She hated it. She hated it more than anything. She loved it anyway. So, lost and confused and head full of thunder, she latched on. Dahlia was right. It was loud in here. Or maybe not loud, so much as overwhelming. Crowded and busy and people were staring at them. With a great deal of effort, she hauled her head up from where it sat, doing her best to wipe the tears off even as they kept flowing. "Dorms," she somehow whimpered and whispered at the same time, squeezing her sister's hand a little harder. "Let's go back to the dorms." She was still shaking, but she managed to keep her eye open now, and she thought that maybe her legs had steadied themselves enough for her to walk now, at least enough to get back to her room. "I want to lie down for a while."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. --- --- In the dream, Safie sat with Quinn at the back of the boat, their legs dangling in the water while Dahlia and her father chatted idly at the bow. She told her how proud she was, or would be, if Quinn became a pilot; it was hard to tell even in the moment whether she was speaking prospectively or of some nebulous present. The idea of working together was exciting, and Safie was absolutely certain that Quinn would love Tohoki Grill. She described dishes so vividly Quinn could taste them on her tongue, and a chef who sounded so familiar she could hear his jovial voice wishing her well. It was a warm afternoon. The sun was silver upon the waves. Eventually Safie pointed out to the forested shore, where a great white deer rested. Its antlers were tall and branching, and trickles of blood leaked from they sprouted on its skull. It seemed to know they were looking, and bowed its head. "See?" she said, smiling bright. "Even the stag believes. You're meant for greatness, never let anyone convince you otherwise." And before that warmth could turn to confusion, Quinn woke up. --- --- The haze of her dream faded, only a pleasant comfort lingered. There was a weight beside her on the bed, and fingers brushing through her hair. As the bleariness of sleep cleared, Quinn could see Besca sitting next to her. "Hey, hun." Her voice was soft, her smile gentle. "About an hour 'til the interview, time to get ready. I brought you some new clothes—tried to pick stuff I thought you might like. Just for tonight, in case you don't like'em. Next time I'll bring you shopping and you can pick out the stuff yourself, promise." She nodded to the end of the bed. Laid out there was a simple pair of pants, a solid black shirt, and a steel-gray jacket with a pair of golden stripes angled across the back. "Go ahead and get dressed—I'll be right outside." Besca left the door cracked on her way out, but a feeling lingered within Quinn like she wasn't alone. Even once she was well and properly awake, it stubbornly refused to leave. It came to her not like a chill down the spine, but rather, like a hand on the shoulder. Ready or not, she had herself.</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn lay there for a few moments more, staring at the open door, as what had happened at CB Dane's played back through her head. She cringed as though she could cringe away from herself. With the benefit of hindsight and the comfort from her dream, no longer trapped in her own head as it careened out of control, she could vividly hear the pain in Dahlia's voice. And replaying the conversation, if you could call it that—or what was left of it in her mind—through her head, she could see why. She would need to apologize to her later on. It must have been horrible. But she needed to make it through the daunting task that had been set out in front of her before she even thought about talking to Deelie. They weren't letting her come down to the studio, and they wouldn't have time to talk beforehand even if she saw her before going down the elevator. Nerves dug fishhooks into her skin as she levered herself out of bed, shucked off the clothing that she'd fallen asleep in, got dressed in the new stuff that Besca had gotten her. She latched on to the jacket to distract herself from the nerves. With the dark gray and yellow, it was just like her hair. She liked it a lot, actually. She'd definitely keep wearing it after today. Speaking of her hair, she really did need to rebraid it. As she finished dressing herself and zipped the jacket up, she grabbed a hairbrush from her nightstand, plucked the elastic from the end, and started unpicking the braid, brushing down it as she did. Shoving the door open—those few inches really did make all the difference, didn't they?—she walked out into the common room, still brushing, wincing here and there as she caught a knot that she worked out. A moment later, she held the brush out to Besca, picking up a strand of her now loose hair and fiddling with it. She never really got used to it, and she thought it was kind of funny how strange it felt to have her braid undone. She'd do it up herself fine, it wasn't like she didn't know how to braid her own hair. Learning how was one of the only things she had to do for sixteen years straight. But... Her voice started raspy with sleep and the remnants of tears. "Can you brush out the parts by my legs? It'd take me a long time to do it myself." By the time she went quiet again, though, it had smoothed out enough to resemble what she usually sounded like.</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn lay there for a few moments more, staring at the open door, as what had happened at CB Dane's played back through her head. She cringed as though she could cringe away from herself. With the benefit of hindsight and the comfort from her dream, no longer trapped in her own head as it careened out of control, she could vividly hear the pain in Dahlia's voice. And replaying the conversation, if you could call it that—or what was left of it in her mind—through her head, she could see why. She would need to apologize to her later on. It must have been horrible. But she needed to make it through the daunting task that had been set out in front of her before she even thought about talking to Deelie. They weren't letting her come down to the studio, and they wouldn't have time to talk beforehand even if she saw her before going down the elevator. Nerves dug fishhooks into her skin as she levered herself out of bed, shucked off the clothing that she'd fallen asleep in, got dressed in the new stuff that Besca had gotten her. She latched on to the jacket to distract herself from the nerves. With the dark gray and yellow, it was just like her hair. She liked it a lot, actually. She'd definitely keep wearing it after today. Speaking of her hair, she really did need to rebraid it. As she finished dressing herself and zipped the jacket up, she grabbed a hairbrush from her nightstand, plucked the elastic from the end, and started unpicking the braid, brushing down it as she did. Shoving the door open—those few inches really did make all the difference, didn't they?—she walked out into the common room, still brushing, wincing here and there as she caught a knot that she worked out. A moment later, she held the brush out to Besca, picking up a strand of her now loose hair and fiddling with it. She never really got used to it, and she thought it was kind of funny how strange it felt to have her braid undone. She'd do it up herself fine, it wasn't like she didn't know how to braid her own hair. Learning how was one of the only things she had to do for sixteen years straight. But... Her voice started raspy with sleep and the remnants of tears. "Can you brush out the parts by my legs? It'd take me a long time to do it myself." By the time she went quiet again, though, it had smoothed out enough to resemble what she usually sounded like.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Besca took the brush from Quinn with a nod, and led her to the couch. She stood behind, pulling Quinn's curtain of hair over the end, and got to work. Long, easy strokes, pausing when she reached a knot to straighten it out gently. She still hesitated, still made mistakes here and there, she was certainly much better at it now than she had been before—even if she couldn't quite manage the braid yet. "Deelie told me about lunch," she said, and her tone was very deliberate. She'd had time to think, and time to make sure she didn't convey even an ounce of disappointment or frustration. Only measured concern, and understanding. "She wanted me to tell you she loves you, and that she's still proud of you. I am too." Finishing up, Besca set the brush aside and came around the couch. She knelt down in front of Quinn and took her hands. Small, and there was a cold there that she couldn't feel, but that she knew anyway. She'd been thinking about this, too. "You're Quinnlash. That's who you are, that's what you are. If I have to remind you of that every single day, I will, because it's true. You are not a thing, you're a person." She reached up, gently thumbed the dried tear streaks on her face. Smiled. "You're one of the most important people in the world to me. You'll never be anything less than that." She wanted nothing more than to keep Quinn here, to just let her be and decompress, but it wasn't her call. Patting the girl's cheek, Besca got up and went to grab her coat from the kitchen counter. "Alright hun, we're due at the elevator in a few minutes. I'm gonna be right with you the whole time; I've been on the set before, it's not too big. I'll be right off-screen, I'll even stand behind Mona."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein As she deftly twisted her hair into the long plait that it had become so known for on the Aerie, Quinn almost started crying again. But it was a different kind of 'crying' than before. Besca and Dahlia. Her family. They were so nice to her. So, so nice. She had never imagined that anybody could be like this before. Never, in all her wildest dreams and fantasies. They helped her when she was at her absolute worst. No matter what she did, how she messed up, they were still always there to help pick her up when she fell. They made her smile. Dahlia had even made her laugh. They were the best family anybody could ever ask for, anywhere. And for one delicious, impossible moment, Quinn let herself believe she deserved it. She was quiet as she finished the braid, bringing it around the front to check it before she snapped the elastic on the end to tie it off. Satisfied, she flicked it behind again, settling it against the jacket until everything sat comfortably. The nerves were still tearing at her. Anxiety was still bubbling deep inside her and setting her heart pounding. But Besca would be there. And she and Dahlia were both proud of Quinn. She would pin it to her chest and wear it like a badge if she could. You're one of the most important people in the world to me. "Um...Besca?" She took three long, deep breath. One. Two. Three. Then she stood, moved to the door to wait, and turned, looking at Besca as she plucked her coat from the counter. And she put a smile on her face. It took so, so much effort. It was fragile. It trembled as she tried not to cry. But it was still a smile. And it was still there. "You're, um, really important to me too." She paused. "And...thank you. For...you know."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Besca hugged her as she walked past, quick and tight, and only mumbled a quiet: "I know, kiddo," on their way out. She kept close. When they reached the hangar, they found only a skeleton crew at work, along with the relatively small escort that would be accompanying them down. That was Caster's doing, she guessed. A stalemate and begrudging understanding didn't mean he wouldn't still skimp on her where he could—besides, his people probably expected him to retaliate somehow for her overstep. It was ultimately meaningless—and she figured he knew that, too. Local PD would have the whole studio cordoned off anyway, and here on home soil Besca doubted there was any real danger. If he tried pulling something like this in Casoban or Eusero, then, well, there'd be words. A smaller railing sprouted up around a smaller, inner section of the great elevator, still more than enough for the dozen or so departees. The replacement had been designed for compartmental decent, which was honestly refreshing. This way, they wouldn't need half a mile of clearance every time they wanted to send down less than their entire force. A series of checks from the control room. Loud buzzes, clicking. Green lights flashed along the railing, and with a decompressing hiss, they began to descend. The hardlight channel was not red this time, but almost entirely translucent, like they were dropped through a glass tube. Mona's studio was in Dorsey, a smaller city encircled by hills and spiderwebbed with thick runs of pastel trees. Even with so many leaves fallen, the world below them was a soft blur of pale blues and gentle pinks. Pockets of seafoam and amethyst dotted the brushy veins, wind lifted and twirled the fallen leaves, made the earth a rippling kaleidoscope broken only by the rises of a few tall buildings. Besca leaned against the railing, smiling wistfully. "When I was little, my mom used to tell me how beautiful Runa was. Her grandparents were born here, and she always talked about taking me and my cousins to see their old home in hills outside of Queenshand." Her eyes turned to the horizon, to the setting sun and the sky so vivid and contrasting to the pastel world below. "Even on the hardest days, when I look down here, I get a little reminder of what it is we're fighting for. What we're really fighting for." She looked back to Quinn. "What you're helping protect."</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn had only ever ridden the elevator when she was on Ablaze. The only thing she'd ever seen was the cold darkness of the cockpit, and the only reason she'd ever gone to begin with was training, again and again and again. So she was completely unprepared as the elevator platform dropped down beneath the rim of the Aerie, and the hardlight sheath opened up around them. For just a moment, she was looking through the window of the house by the lake again, and she leaned over the railing, holding out her hand, barely a foot left between her fingers and the channel, almost like should could touch the spreading colors and twirling leaves. "Woooowwwww..." A moment passed and she regained her balance, eye glimmering as she stared out at the world that was arrayed beneath her. Another unfamiliar feelings flowed through her. She'd been afraid of so much, and for so long, that she'd almost forgotten the feeling that she'd only really felt on one warm afternoon, almost two months ago now. She was nervous, yes. She was nervous, scared, worried. But... What I'm helping protect... Descending into the whirlwind of pastel colors as autumn took hold, she felt the heady rush of excitement as well. The flowing, swirling, erupting colors bloomed beneath her, almost like...like... She hugged Besca tight, and felt a warm tear roll down her cheek as she did. And there were some tears in her voice, it was true. But despite that, it was more than evident that she was undeniably, irrefutably, and deeply happy. "They're like fireworks, Besca."</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein As they descended past the pastel trees, Quinn suddenly took note of the crowd. Tons of people, cheering, taking photos, waving signs with her Savior printed on them. It was very strange. Not unpleasant, really, but certainly disorienting. She hadn't been outside around normal people other than Hovvi, and even then, she'd been mostly invisible in the crowd. Not so here; here, all eyes were on her. The enthusiasm was almost infectious. She took a deep breath, and as she walked with Besca towards the entrance of the building, she lifted her hand in a cheerful wave. The noise of the crowd swelled as she did. It was almost deafening, and she found her normally solemn face curving into the start of a smile, though there was certainly an element of faraway blankness on her face. It was nice, but also weird. As much as she liked being around people to some extent, though, having so many looking at her was still just a little uncomfortable. The people on the Aerie hadn't prepared her for anything like this, not at all. So she breathed a sigh of relief as soon as they walked into the hall. People were still looking at her, but they were also going about their normal business, not stopping to cheer for her. It was a little bit more what she was used to. It was nice. Plus, the head chef was there. And she had a hunch she knew what he was cooking. She really could eat it all week and never get tired of it. There was just something so— "Oh my gawsh!" A moment later, she was swept up by Hurricane Mona. Despite herself, she found that fragment of a smile growing to—well, it was small and faint, but it was still a real smile, and she almost unconsciously ran a hand down her braid. "You've probably heard this a lot recently but I am a huge fan!" And there was the word. As Mona beckoned her to sit down, she followed suit, taking a seat opposite her and watching as the world went on for a moment more before looking back at her. That elsewhere look in her eyes faded as she, nearly stupefied but still wearing that little smile, softly asked the question that had been on her mind since she'd walked off the elevator outside: "I have fans?"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. "I have fans?" Mona burst into laughter, high and cackling, but not in an unpleasant way. She had the sort of laugh that people found contagious, unique but not grating—the perfect fit for a talk show host. Of course, when she realized that Quinn hadn't been cracking a joke, and was in fact entirely serious and very visibly confused, her laughter settled. She kept her smile though, a match for Quinn's own. "Oh—oh wow, you really mean that, don't you? Sweetie, you're a pilot, you had fans the moment your name hit the net. And you know, that was pretty recent all things considered. It was impossible to find a single picture of you that wasn't from some blurry drone—but that's alright, people love the mystery. And you know what? You're just cute as a button in person. After tonight that crowd out there is gonna look like a puddle compared to the ocean of fans you're gonna have." She waved off-set, and a few moments later someone came over with glasses of water for each of them. "Oh, what'll you want with your dinner? Just that? Pop? I'd offer you something more fun but I wanna stay on Bessy's good side." She barked out another laugh and sipped from her glass. "Plus, I've got a rule—no alcohol on the first interview. I had Renny Falsam on thirty years ago. He wanted these huge steaks, I mean big as they get, and just a little bit of whiskey. Well, twenty minutes in, that boy is slurring and cross-eyed and he's laughing at jokes he's only said in his head. Wow! Talk about a disaster. Yep, no alcohol this time, but maybe down the road." Nudging her glass aside, Mona leaned onto the table, head rested on her hands. Her eyes were big behind her glasses. "So how'd you adjust to living up there? Coming from such a quiet little town and moving into space. That must have been so weird, right? Do they shut the gravity off? Do you all just float around everywhere? How do you know when to go to bed? Gawsh, that'd mess me all up."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn hadn't realized how thirsty she was until she took a long drink of the clear, cold water. God, but it was still so good. She didn't know if she'd ever fully get used to it, but she got the feeling that she took a lot more pleasure out of just water than most people did. And so, "Just water is fine, thanks!" She was still stuck on the 'fans' thing. She supposed it made sense, really; Dahlia was such a household name that she'd even heard of her back in her—back in the room she grew up in, and she was well aware by now how many unwritten rules she'd broken by not pulling that final trigger. It stood to reason that she would have people who followed her because of that. But still, it was intimidating somehow. Like suddenly her every move was going to be watched. And she didn't know how much she wanted the whole world to see her breaking down like at lunch today. As Mona went on, Quinn tensed visibly and reflexively at the mention of Hovvi. Her smile trembled briefly and threatened to break, but she managed to keep it on her face. "It was..." She swallowed down the lump that was starting to form in her throat, taking a deep breath. "S—sorry. It was really, really different for sure." True enough, even if it probably wasn't for the reasons that Mona assumed it was. Her smile came back renewed as she continued, voice lowering suddenly to a conspiratorial stage whisper as she found her footing a little better, "Just between you and me, I'm pretty sure the Board speeds the clocks up at night so we're as tired as possible." She could count on two hands the number of sincere jokes she'd ever made. Hopefully that one would land.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Mona listened carefully, like she thought she might be learning some deep, dark secret. She didn't, but even still, she let out a delighted snicker and nodded. "Oh, honey, I hear you. I run almost every last inch of this show, but sometimes I feel like the producers have got me on the world's smallest leash, like I'm some kinda yip-dog. Business," she made a disgusted sound and waved her hand dismissively. Her eyes softened somewhat, and she brought her own voice a bit lower, too. "Oh, and just so you know, we won't be bringing up any of that uh…well, that whole situation. 'Course, you have my deepest condolences, I just don't want you to worry about our talk turning into the tragedy hour. Like I said, we have fun, here." "I usually like to keep things open-ended, but when I was your age I hated being thrown into something blind. You know, when lil' Deelie came through here, I let her pick almost all the things we talked about ahead of time." Mona sat back, a wistful smile on her face. "She was such a sweetheart, too. Would love to catch up with her again. But anyway—figured you might feel the same way, so, anything in particular you want to talk about? Anything you wanna avoid? Don't let the wrinkles fool you, I'm a nimble thing, I can adapt." Someone off-set held up their hand, fingers splayed. Mona gave a thumbs-up back. "Dinner's about five minutes out. Bessy really talked this guy up, said you love this salmon. I don't eat a lot of Tohoken food but that smell is divine."</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn sat back, silently proud of herself for actually telling a joke, and having it actually work as a joke. She nodded slightly as Mona quietly mentioned Hovvi again, how she wasn't going to talk about it, and said a quick thank you. And then there it was. The things not to talk about. She did her best to gather everything in her that was brave, everything in her that was Roaki and Dahlia and Besca, everything that wanted to say, don't talk about my family. But...she wasn't Roaki. She wasn't Dahlia. And she definitely wasn't Besca. The words died in her throat before they could even be born. "I—" The smile blew out like a candle in a sudden squall. "I don't—" It was hard to get the thought out. It was so hard to get it out. It was impossible to get it out. Without really knowing it, she grew quieter, withdrew slightly. And no matter how she tried...it just wouldn't come. So eventually, she just mumbled out, "N...no. Nothing." Calm down. Calm down. Three deep breaths. The intense self-loathing receded some, hiding underneath the floorboards, and she managed to relight the candle and force the smile back on her face. The breathing always seemed to work. Still, only five minutes. It felt at once much, much longer, and like no time at all, and her nerves were already fraying. She let her eye flicker sideways, searching for Besca. It seemed that she hadn't come out of the kitchen yet. Still figuring out everything with the chef. At the thought, the smile's hard edges softened and it felt a little more natural again, though it was quite a bit more subdued than it had been before. And as soon as Mona spoke again, she latched onto the new idea and did her best to forget about her...her par—about her last thoughts. "It's really, really good. And I ate it right before the duel, so now it's lucky too."</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Deep breaths. Deep breaths. More than three this time; just 'however many she could fit before the clock ticked down.' Deep breaths. Bury what was left of the panic so deep down it couldn't find her. Quinn was glad Besca was there. Mona was nice, she really was, but this place was still so foreign to her. Besca was like a grounding wire, keeping her from spinning out of control. She really wanted to start eating. Desperately. Chef Akihiro had come all the way down her to make this for her, and wow if it didn't look and smell just as good as always. But she restrained herself; it seemed like eating before the show started wouldn't be a good idea. And she really, really didn't want Mona to be angry with her. As the beep of the camera sounded, Quinn jerked slightly, taken aback. Oh wow. It was starting. She was...she was on TV! Some of that anxiety leaked out of her, and it was replaced with a kind of nervous energy. She smiled a lopsided smile as she looked at the big center camera that Mona had gestured to. She'd never talked in front of a camera before. So she took one more deep breath, reminded herself that Besca was right there cheering her on, and waved like Mona had, trying as hard as she possibly could to draw out that cheer that she'd lost. She could already feel that nervous energy and anxiety balling up in her stomach like a chunk of lead, but she kept the enthusiasm on as best she could. So many people were watching, and Deelie was definitely watching, and Doctor Follen was probably watching too. So, pulling up everything she had, she let her voice go. "Hey, I'm Quinnlash Loughvein, buuuut you can just call me Quinn! I'm the brand new pilot for RISC, and I'm super excited to be here!" She was almost surprised at how...happy she sounded, and how natural it all seemed to feel, despite being so alien an experience. Was this what she'd been like before?</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Mona grinned, clapping excitedly. Behind her, Besca was almost slack-jawed at how bright and giddy Quinn sounded—how enthusiastic, how normal. She'd heard her happy in the lulls between personal apocalypses, but this was so much…different. She hardly recognized her voice. "That's right, folks!" Mona said. "Quinnlash Loughvein is here with us tonight, and I could not be happier, let me tell you. But first things first—the entre to our entre. We had another guest join us earlier, a chef from the Aerie Station, mister Akihiro—am I saying that right? Akihiro? Well he came down and whipped up this salmon for us tonight and, folks, if I could just…" She brought the plate up to her face and took an exaggerated whiff. "Oh, my gawsh. I don't know a whole lot about Tohoken cuisine, but if this doesn't just smell like heaven, then nothing does. Quinn, honey, I know you're the star here tonight but I am almost as excited to dig into this as I am to talk to you, and it's your favorite dish so I can only imagine how you're feeling. So why don't we kick things off here with a few bites, hm?" Mona twirled her fork between her fingers and speared a small chunk of fish up. She popped it into her mouth, and her other hand came up over her lips while she chewed. "Good god," she mumbled, swallowing and turning briefly around to Besca. "He cooks up there for you all? Are you hiring? Oh, I don't think I ever need to ask another Runan why they want to be a pilot again." She took a few more bites, and whatever idea Quinn might have had that the questions were coming soon and rapidly would quickly melt away. Mona hadn't been lying, she seemed just as interested in the dinner than she was with her. Eventually she did manage a question, unceremoniously covering her mouth to speak while she chewed. "So, Quinn, I gotta know—what do you do with that beautiful braid while you're all set up in the cockpit? You know, when you're running and jumping and blasting and all that, is it in there flapping around? Does it, like, smack you at all? I've heard it's hard to snap a pilot out of the zone, but that thing looks hefty. I mean, it's so cramped in there, isn't it? And I wake up if I turn the wrong way at night. I couldn't imagine having a flail come at me in the dark."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn kept that smile as she settled back down. It felt...weird. It felt weird, and off, and not quite real, like it was more part of a mask than it was her real face. But, she knew, she needed to keep that mask on in front of the camera. This was important. The Board was already upset with her, she just knew it. She didn't even want to think about what they'd do if she messed up her first ever interview. So she needed to try really, really hard. Of course, it wasn't entirely an artifice, and it grew even less so as she took a bite of that salmon that she loved so much. She closed her eye rapturously for a few seconds as the flavors exploded in her mouth, and it took all of her self control to not destroy half of it in two bites. "You know," she said offhandedly, "they've got yuzu soda up there. I don't really know what a yuzu is, but it goes super good with the salmon!" A moment more of chewing and then another question came at her. She couldn't help it; she laughed a little at how unexpected it was. Not the kind of laugh that she'd affect if she'd had the choice; it was underscored with tension, with the same worry and pain that tended to lie beneath her voice most of the time. She cut herself off quickly, hoping it wasn't too obvious. Still, what a question. She'd expected a bunch of questions, but never one about the hair. So she took another bite, looking up at the ceiling as she thought. "You know, I've...never actually thought about it." She reached around behind her head and tapped on the topmost plug. "I need to pull it out of the way so I can plug myself in, so I usually just..." She picked up the braid and lifted it over her head a few inches before it fell backwards again, "Pull it up so it falls over the back of the chair like this." Leaning back, she made a show of thinking before going on. "But I guess it must flop around when I'm connected, huh?" She laughed again. This time she covered all the messy stuff up. People didn't want to hear that. It sounded a little strained, but nobody would notice, right? "Guess it's lucky that it's never come undone up there, huh? It'd get everywhere!"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Mona laughed along with Quinn, it seemed, sincerely. She leaned back in her seat, daintily yet expertly picking out pieces of the salmon with her fork. The wine glass had taken up permanent residence in her other hand, swirled gently around when it wasn't brought to her lips. If she noticed the change in Quinn's voice, she didn't show it. Besca did notice though. She was used to the frayed nature of Quinn's laugh, never quite right, like she didn't really know how to keep the other emotions out of it. This was much different. It was clean, happy, almost curated. On the one hand it was elating to see her in such control of herself. On the other, it was so blatantly unnatural—at least to her ears, though no one else seemed to notice—that it almost didn't sound like Quinn at all. "So, honey," Mona went on between bites. "You know I'm so curious—before RISC popped up, I talked to all sorts of pilots, from all over. Now, some of those programs run things pretty strict, pretty hard. When I had little Dahlia on her she said things were definitely a little high-energy for her. And that I get, you know, she's the Dragon and all that—but what's it like for you? What do you do all day up there? Do you like it? It's gotta but such a jarring change of pace for you, I'm sure. I mean, compared to what life must have been like before. I guess—what's the biggest difference been, joining RISC, becoming a pilot? Me personally, I get anxious whenever I have to change hairdressers. I couldn't imagine upending my whole life like that, it must have taken a little getting used to, hm?"</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein I mean, compared to what life must have been like before. Quinn's smile froze on her face like brittle ice. "I—" Compared to what life must have been like before. Her voice hitched a bit, and she carefully put the fork down on the plate. "It was—" What life must have been like before. She started to feel a little heat building around her eye. No. No no no. She couldn't. She needed to...she needed to focus on the good things. She closed her eye for a moment, taking a long, deep breath. When she spoke, her voice had changed. Reverted. Not fully, but the almost...vacant quality to her voice tapered off. That chaotic emotion was bleeding through her now, and she couldn't quite hold it back anymore. "After—well, after—after what happened...it definitely took a long time for me to get used to life up there." "It was...really really different. Back..." She swallowed heavily, carefully picking and choosing her words. "Back...home, I mostly just...stayed inside. Being a pilot is waaaaay different." She tried to push some of that enthusiasm back into her voice, but it was only barely effective. She let out a heavy breath that she didn't know she'd been holding and relaxed the hands that she suddenly realized had been incredibly tense. That was the hard part. The hard part was over. "It's—it's busy up there, you know? I can't really train on the ground with Deelie—Dahlia," she hastily amended. "We both phase so fast that by the time we got going we'd have to stop again. So it's a lot of sparring hand to hand in the gym, and man it's a lot of sim training!" "Still, it's not bad. The people on the Aerie are all really nice, especially Besca and Dahlia. It's..." She hesitated. She knew that Besca was supposed to show professionalism, and she probably shouldn't jeopardize that. But she was important to Quinn. She was going to say it! "...It's like having a whole new family, you know?"</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn had been so worried about being asked about the duel during the interview that she'd talked to Deelie about what to say. And it was still enough to make her twitch, certainly. But after the last line of questioning, it was...almost a relief. She clenched and unclenched her hands a few times, took a deep breath. She was proud of the fact that her hands were only slightly shaking. She opened her mouth and... ...And her mind went blank. What was it she had talked about with Deelie? What had she said? How had she responded? She realized that the silence was starting to drag out, and she filled it as much as she could by picking up her fork again, taking a bite of the salmon. It turned to ash in her mouth. What was it? What had she said? "I..." Her tongue was quite thoroughly tied. She had no idea what she'd say. Something about...? She didn't—her breathing started to accelerate as she fought to figure out what to say. Oh god, oh god, her mind had gone completely dead. What would she— A memory came unbidden to her mind, then: Oi, deadgirl. The fuck is Ablaze supposed to mean? I'll tell you later. "I..." She swallowed heavily, looking intently at Mona. Her voice shook like a leaf, but she managed to string words together, at least. "I guess I should explain what Ablaze means, huh?" She closed her eye tight, trying to focus on keeping her voice contained as the previous exchange kept its hooks digging into her mind, steadily pulling it apart. "When I—during the duel—or, before the duel—I was thinking about the kind of pilot I wanted to be." Unlike when she'd spoken with Deelie before, her voice didn't stabilize as she went on. If anything, it worsened. "I want to—to protect people. I want to k—keep everyone safe around me." She pulled in a harsh, shuddering breath. Her self-control was loosening more and more as time went on. "Like...like a torch. I want to be a torch and—and pull light along after me. And—" She opened her eye finally, looking straight into Mona's. There were definite tears that were threatening to come out; too subtle to come out on screen, but more than enough to see in person. She could only keep the eye contact for a moment before she dropped her eye again. "So that's...that's why I didn't p—pull the trigger. I want to keep people safe. I learned to f—fight to h—help people. Not to hurt them." She looked down at her lap, voice dropping low. "So it just...would've been wrong." She leaned back up, pressing her hands briefly into her face as she tried to get her thoughts in order, only just barely succeeding. "After that..." Her voice was muffled through her hands "Roaki got—she got—" Her voice broke off and she dropped her hands from her face, leaving her staring at the ceiling. "S—sorry. Just...just give me—give me a second. P—please."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. This was a nightmare. Besca stood there, watching as Quinn collapsed into the beginnings of a breakdown. The hard swallowing, closing her eye, the way her voice shook and how she palmed at her face like her mind was wet clay that wouldn't stay in form. The emptiness. Her phone buzzed. She declined the call. God, and she'd managed to swerve the question about her life in Hovvi so well, too. She'd managed to do everything so well, so far, considering how badly things had gone for her this morning. Besca wasn't sure if it was the question about the duel itself that had done her in, or if that was just the last straw. Maybe it was a bit of both. It didn't really matter. Another call. It took a sincere effort not to hurl her phone into the wall. "Of course, honey, of course," Mona said gently, and turned to the cameras. "Folks we're gonna take a quick commercial break now, and we'll be back with you in a moment. Stay tuned for the rest of the interview!" She gave a brief wave before there was another beep. The crew scattered, though there was a certain awkwardness to their shuffling as they went about preparing for the end of the break. Besca hurried to the set, ready to grab Quinn up and bolt for the exit. Fuck this. Fuck the interview, fuck the Board's ridiculous demands, and fuck everyone who was going to see what just happened and judge Quinn for it. But she couldn't. Not only because she'd never get away with it, but because her god damned phone rang again. Incensed, Besca whirled around and pulled the phone from her pocket. Through gritted teeth, in a whisper strangled with anger, she answered: "Someone better be dead." Back at the table, Mona refilled Quinn's glass. "Everything alright, sweetheart?" She asked, and surprisingly her voice was absent any frustration or annoyance. She seemed genuinely concerned, if a bit confused. "Did I say something wrong? You didn't mention not wanting to talk about the duel so I just figured it'd be alright. Are you feeling sick? Do you have a headache? We can probably push the break an extra few minutes if you need."</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Staring up at the ceiling, Quinn tried her best to breathe steadily. She was met with...middling success. It wasn't as bad. But it was still pretty bad. "N—no, It's...not the duel," she bit out, doing her best to force her voice to come out evenly. She picked up the glass of water, swirling it momentarily before— Have some water instead. How's that sound, sweetie? —Before her arm jerked and she rammed it none-too-gently back onto the table where the rest of the salmon lay forgotten, staring wide-eyed at it like she'd seen a ghost. The water that had spilled over in her haste soaked into the tablecloth, and her already pale face went white as a sheet as she shrank back. "Just—I—you—they—" She didn't know quite what to make of what was happening. Disoriented, confused, and hurting, she could only reach her hand up again to swipe the burgeoning tears out before they could spill over. How did she explain this? How could she possibly explain this? She didn't know. All she knew was that she was ruining it. She forced herself to uncoil, sitting back down in a normal posture, though she was obviously very tense. She was messing it all up. But for some reason Mona wasn't—wasn't mad at her. She didn't know why, but it made her just comfortable enough to find her voice. "I mean—sorry. I'm s—sorry." Another heavy swallow, trying to choke back the lump. "It was—it was home." An honest-to-goodness shiver passed through her body when she said the word, and she closed her eye again for a moment, like she couldn't bear to look. She was ruining it. She was ruining everything. Like she always did. She looked down at her hand. It was shaking. Her whole body was shaking, in a way it hadn't in weeks. "They—I don't—please—" Then she dropped to a dead whisper, barely enough for Mona to hear, let alone anybody else. "...Please. Don't—don't talk about—about home, or about—about—my—my fam—my parents. Please. Don't. Please. I didn't—I couldn't say—I'm sorry!" As hard as she tried, a thin trickle of tears was threading its way down from her eye. She hated it. She hated herself for it. All she had to do was not do that, and she was messing it up. The taut tension started leaking from her voice, and she picked up a napkin from the table, dabbing her eye with it in a futile attempt to look like she wasn't one frayed thread from snapping. "Just...please. Don't."</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Everything suddenly happened so fast. She was just barely starting to recover from her near-catatonia as Mona calmly, quietly talked her through it. It was a little like talking to Besca, the way her eyes the way she looked. No anger, no frustration, no judgement. She wasn't quite as sweet as Besca—little more jokey—but that was okay too. Her tense muscles started to slowly unbind themselves, and though she still trembled, it was no longer nearly as bad. She didn't respond, didn't want to interrupt, didn't want to hear her voice shaking anymore. But maybe she should've, because right as she was finally about to— "WHAT?" She jerked along with the cast and Mona, eye immediately wide with worry again as Besca nearly ran up to the set, then just as quickly started out. What? What was going on? There wasn't a singularity, nobody was in danger, but...then what was so urgent that Besca would pull her out. She looked at Mona and mumbled a quiet "I'm sorry," before following after. It took her a moment to catch up; Besca wasn't moving slowly, and she certainly wasn't waiting. The trembling returned, and she slid her hands into her jacket pockets and clenched them into tight white fists. "Besca," she asked softly as they approached the door, "What's going on? What's wrong?" And even though Besca had already said that nobody was in danger, she couldn't help but follow it with a shaky "Is everyone okay?"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Besca was silent until they were outside, and the soldiers had formed around them. They mirrored her tension, shuffling hurriedly to keep up with her. The crowd was still outside, behind the barricade, and their cheering took on a confused twinge when it was clear that Quinn was leaving in a hurry. "I don't know," Besca muttered, and then realized how poor of an answer that was. "I mean—no, no one's hurt. Everyone's okay. I just…I don't know. I don't know what's going on." As they made their way onto the elevator, and the hard light barrier sprung back to life, Besca scooped her phone back out. They began to ascend. "Hey," she snapped. "Get Dahlia up to the briefing room. And get ahold of Caster—double the guards in the medical ward. No, no one moves Tormont. Just the guards. Have the info prepped and I want the room clear when we arrive, got it? Good." Stuffing the phone away again, Besca suddenly realized they were out of the public eye again. As if by reflex, she snatched Quinn into a tight hug. "Forget what happened down there," she said, burying her face into Quinn's hair. "I'm proud of you. I'm proud of you, and that's not gonna change." Eventually she did let go, but for the rest of the ride up, she held Quinn's hand. The pastel world blurred below, and the evening sky darkened to a cold, black void as they finally docked back in the Aerie. The railing lowered. Still holding Quinn's hand, Besca waved off the approaching crewmen and hurried for the lift. Eyes followed them, as did the confused whispers. The TV screens about the station were mainly tuned to Mona's show, where the woman was now explaining that something had come up and the interview would be delayed for later. "Everything is fine," she said. "No one is in danger." The briefing room was empty, just as Besca ordered, save for Dahlia, who jolted at the sight of them. "Hey! she squeaked, and bolted over. She threw her arms around Quinn, then hugged Besca. "What's going on? No one told me anything—why are you back so early?" Besca didn't answer her right away. She went to the center table and checked something, stared for a long time. Eventually she snapped up, and brought an image up on one of the larger screens. It was a man, perhaps in his thirties. He had swept black hair and a short beard, which was parted down one cheek by a long scar that trailed up to split his eyebrow as well. There was growth scarring on his neck, trailing down beneath the collar of his dark uniform, beneath which was the tip of a pilot's undersuit. The picture was clearly old, and had been taken of him while he was on the move, half turned away. His eyes were earthen but bright, like gold under a thin layer of dirt. He did not look pleased. "Quinn," Besca said, staring at the picture. "Do you know this man? Have you ever seen him before?"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn had to actively fight to stop herself from shrinking away from the stares of the—of her fans. She didn't want to think about it. She couldn't think about it. So instead of waving like before she dropped her head slightly, whimpering oh-so-quietly, inaudible over the noise. But it didn't last long. The creeping fear and panic that she'd felt back in the interview room was falling away, to be replaced by the burning worry of the uncertain fate that awaited her. As they boarded the elevator, Quinn counted the moments until they could ascend and get out of the stares. As she did, though, she heard something that quickly disrupted that count. Tormont? Double the guards? Was something happening with Roaki? No. Besca said everyone was fine and nobody was in danger, and she believed her. But that little nugget of unease buried itself deep inside of her and took root. The rushed ride back up the elevator was blurred, disoriented. Quinn had ping-ponged back and forth between emotions so many times today—good, bad, good, bad, fear, pride, guilt—that her nerves were absolutely shot, and this wasn't helping matters. But what was in focus was the way Besca held her, the words that she whispered into her hair. She was proud. Even after all that, she was still proud of her. And suddenly the world felt a little bit less unfriendly. Quinn hugged her back, just as tight, and buried her face into Besca's shoulder. There was a sob in her voice when she responded with a muffled "thank you," but it didn't go any further than that; she managed to hold back the tears that wanted to spill out so desperately, forcing them to stop until the urge abated. When the finally arrived back in the hangar, she made a beeline—though never getting far from Besca—straight towards the briefing room, relishing the hug from Deelie. She'd only been away from her for a moment, but she'd been so worried and so stressed that it felt like years, and now everything in the world felt right, if only just for the barest fraction of a fraction of a second. But unfortunately, it was not to last. As the two of them separated, the image of a man popped up on the big screen. At Besca's question, Quinn tried to think back. But nothing came to her. And perhaps not surprising, considering her upbringing. She she only shrugged helplessly. "N—no," she responded. "Should I have?"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Besca paused, something like restrained relief passing through her, before she shook her head. "No, no you shouldn't," she said. "He's been dead for two hundred years." She brought up another picture of him, this one much more in focus. He stood in a group of seven, five men and two women. He and the young man beside him seemed to be close in age, and looked quite similar to each other, though the other man had longer hair, and was the only one in the photo smiling, aside from one of the other older men. "Eain iofkin Aridea. He was heir to the empire before Aridea broke the Illun Accord. That's his father, his mother, his uncles, his aunt, and his brother," she said. "Shortly after the empire glassed Kestren, Eain turned on them. He killed one of his uncles and fled with his wife—who was the head of House Tormont. That got the Helburkan resistance going, and, really, it's what ended the war." Another picture, this one of Eain shaking hands with a man who bore the Euseran flag on his uniform. They stood in the ruins of some large town. The hills burned behind them, and just at the edge of the screen was the massive foot of a Savior rising out of frame. "Helburke and Eusero pushed Aridea back to its capital on two fronts. The day the empire fell, half a dozen singularities opened up, and Modir came pouring out—nearly broke the assault. Eain pushed in and faced down his brother, Lauthric, right on the steps of the Aridean Palace. There's not a lot of footage left from back then, but reports say he and Lauthric dealt mortal blows to each other, and Eain hurled them both into a singularity before it closed. "Helburke likes to rest most of the glory on House Wolghast, for bringing the largest force to the resistance, and the country doesn't tend to look fondly on traitors no matter the intention. But history remembers Eain as a hero, if you dig deep enough." She looked back down to the table, frowning sharply. "This was his Savior, Dammerung." A final picture appeared of a Modir. Tall, slim. Its mottled gray-and-black body was striated with modium along the arms, and about the chest as if to mimic a ribcage. Its flayed grin was sharp and clamped tight. Its red eyes stared ahead like it could see all of them. In its hand was a long blade with a sharp crossguard, and a fuller filled with bright, white fire. Dahlia gasped like she'd been struck in the gut. Besca's frown curled into a grimace. It was the swordsman.</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn could feel it. Quinnlash could feel it too, she just knew it. Something really, really important was coming. Why else would Besca talk about this man from hundreds of years ago? Why else would it have interrupted a major interview, her first interview? Whatever it was, it needed to be big. She hadn't learned that much about Aridea, all told. She hadn't even heard of it before she left her own personal hell, and she hadn't had much time to study up about it afterwards. She knew a little, but not nearly as much as Besca was telling her. But...why? Why was it so crucial that she—they, Dahlia was there too—know the story of a long-dead prince of a long-dead empire? It just didn't make any— And then it did. Quinn's perception narrowed down to the tiniest point as the image of Dammerung appeared in front of her. She could feel her heart beating within her chest like mad. Every other sound was muted, and her eye was wide with barely-restrained horror. A sound like choking burst from her as she struggled to fix her eye on what she was seeing, and her pupil shrank to a pinprick. The last time she had seen the swordsman—could she still call it Dammerung? She didn't know—it had been pulling back a fist to crush Dahlia like a bug. It had nearly killed her. It had nearly killed Roaki. It had nearly killed Quinn. And the images of that horrifying day flared before her eye as she stared. She was paralyzed again, brain barely firing as it refused to accept what was right in front of her. She was silent, staring, and without realizing it, she dug her fingernails into the barrier of the jacket sleeves on her upper arms. All that came from her mouth was a strangled "what?"</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn shivered as Besca went on, Dahlia's hand in her own a comfort, but still not enough to dispel this horror, not nearly. Quinnlash's retreat left her with a strange feeling of absence that she had trouble explaining; like even when she was alone she hadn't really been alone, but now she was and it hurt. She squeezed Dahlia's hand tighter. She didn't like it, the idea of people being turned into Modir by completing the circuit. It filled her mind with images of Dahlia in Dragon and Roaki in Blotklau and even of Safie in Jubilee, pulled into the dark wherever through the singularities and then coming back and all she could do was fight them and kill them. It hurt. It hurt really bad, deep down in her chest, a throbbing, pounding pain that came from the furthest reaches of her heart. She didn't want to think about it anymore, but she just...couldn't stop herself. She closed her eye for a moment in an attempt to compose herself that was met with dubious success. As soon as Besca mentioned him—it—Dammerung?—it talking to her, she knew exactly where things were headed. So she had time to tense, squeeze Dahlia's hand tighter, and brace herself before the voice poured from the speakers. "It cannot stand..." Despite the bracing, Quinn couldn't help it; she let out a terrified little squeak and shrank backwards into Dahlia, like she could find some way to run or hide from the voice as it filled the small room. She didn't move or speak until the voice finally fell silent and the audio file closed, when—if her reaction hadn't been answer enough—she said quietly and oh-so-tremulously, still holding tight to Dahlia's side, "Y—yeah. That's...that's him—it."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Besca's head slumped down between her shoulders, and she nodded slowly. "That's what I was afraid of," she said. "'Cause I have absolutely no idea what this means." With a tap she killed the screen, a few more saw the files resealed. The only eyes that needed to be on this now were hers and the research team—and even they'd need to be kept in the dark on most of this mess. There wasn't much to keep from them, but what secrets there were, were necessary. She stood back upright, cleared her throat. "Focusing on what we do know—this is gonna break soon. Helburke probably already knows that's Dammerung, and it won't be long before some history buff gets a stable frame from whatever footage survived, and figures it out as well. That's all…fine. Like I said, Saviors have been reclaimed before, and there's no reason for anyone to assume that's not what's going on here. The only people in the world who know that thing spoke to you are us, and Follen, and for now I think we need to keep it that way." "But…" Dahlia muttered, face pinched in thought. "We can't just do nothing. He's—its—hunting her." "And it's not gonna get her—not unprepared. Quinn, hun, for the time being you're staying on the Aerie. If you go planetside it's gonna be in Ablaze, alright? Hey," she came over to Quinn, placed her hands on her shoulders. "I watched you take on a pilot and a Modir on your first fight. You're…" Push through it, she thought. She needs confidence, not regret. "You're good, alright? You are. The next time this thing shows its face, you're gonna make it wish it hadn't." It twisted something inside of her to compliment Quinn's piloting abilities. The whole idea was still revolting, and she loathed the idea that Quinn might begin to believe this was what she wanted for her. Besca hugged her, pulled Dahlia in as well, and then broke away. "Okay, she said, heading for the exit. "I'm gonna go lie to the Board. Starting now, I want you two to prioritize sims in your training. Dammerung might be a Modir now but it still fights like a Savior. Deelie, she's in your hands." "Y-yeah," Dahlia said, managing only a small wave as Besca left them in the room. She sat down at the table, face still a mangle of confusion and worry, and squeezed Quinn's hand. "You…you okay?"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein "No. I—I don't think I am." The world felt very small, and very far away. She was being chased, hunted, by an Aridean prince. On some level, she knew it wasn't really Eain. Like Besca said, it was just...an echo of him, a Savior that had gone back to the other side where it came from and come back again. She knew it. On every level that mattered she knew it. It wasn't Eain anymore. It just couldn't be, as a simple fact. But still... Then why could it talk? She didn't get it. And it made her want to think of it as a person. The Modir spoke with his voice. It fought like a Savior. It fought with his sword— Quinn's heart nearly stopped. What was it that Dahlia had said at lunch before the duel? Before she discovered that she was being hunted? That it was all her fault? The weapons are supposed to be— "Deelie," She spoke with a new urgency in her voice, and both she and her voice were shaking as she put her hand down gently on top of the table, wishing that she could bring up the image again, just to make absolute sure. But it wouldn't have changed anything, because she...she was sure. She would never, could never, forget that sword. The way the fuller had gleamed like fire as it hung above her head, and the crash as it slammed down— She was hyperventilating now, and she closed her eye, steadying herself on the table and doing her best to stay in the present moment. "Deelie, our weapons are supposed to be us, right? Not—" She cut herself off again, wishing that she wasn't about to ask the question that was dancing on the tip of her tongue. It felt important. Very important. Important and scary, because it meant something was wrong, something was really wrong. A familiar dread was welling up from deep within her too. The other her was...was really afraid. And that just made it worse. "But if the weapons are supposed to belong to us and not the Modir, then..." "Then how can it have Eain's sword?"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Dahlia's face went pale, Quinn could feel her hand beginning to clam up. Her mouth opened but when no words came out, it shut again. She shook her head. "I…" her voice dribbled from her lips, muted and unformed. Why did it have Eain's sword? "Maybe…" her mind raced—no, more scrambled—for an answer. There ought to have been one, she figured. Centuries of history and research had gone into studying the Modir, so surely, surely this had happened before. There had to be precedence, and she just wasn't well-read enough to know it off-hand. Get it together, she thought, harshly. You're going to scare her if you don't get. It. Together. Dahlia took a breath. "Wherever…wherever the weapons come from, you know, when we pull them, or when we send them away—we don't really know where that is. And the Modir do have weapons. Could…could be that they just…waited 'til Eain was dead. It's a good sword, isn't it? Could be they waited. Or…" She let go of Quinn's hand, but got up to stand beside her instead. "Maybe it just…thinks it's Eain, still. There's probably studies on reclaimed Modir, but…well, you know what it feels like in there—with the Circuit. How could anyone really know what happens after? If we get absorbed, well…part of us has to still be there then, right? So, yeah, it…maybe it thinks it's him. Or it's fooling the weapon. Or…" She sighed, suddenly and inexplicably frustrated with herself. "I don't know. But you know what, Quinn? I don't care." She looked down at her, eyes hard and reassuring. "Swordsman, Dammerung, Eain—I don't care who or what it is. It can't have you. You're my sister, and I made you a promise. So it can't have you, and that's just the way it is. Besca's right; it better think twice about showing its face again, cause if it does, we're gonna mulch it like the monster it is. Together."</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn looked up at her sister, at her silver eyes that were so flinty and jagged, but so warm too. Deelie was right, as usual. It didn't matter. It wanted to take Quinn away, away from her family and away from her home, and just the thought sent a thrill of fear racing up and down her spine in wave at once freezing cold and burning hot. It didn't matter. And every one of the reasons Dahlia gave made sense. But still, the thought stuck in her mind like a burr, and wouldn't be shaken loose so easily. She reached her still-trembling hand out, clutching onto Dahlia's again as she sat down with a thump. She squeezed her eye shut tight and dropped her head into the remaining hand, resting the elbow on her knee. Deelie's hand had warmed up again. The clamminess was gone and her voice was sure. She would keep her promise. She always kept her promises. God, so much had happened today. Too much. She'd visited Roaki. She'd had a nightmare at lunch. She'd had good dreams with Safie. She'd gone down to the interview. She'd messed the interview up. Now this. It was all just...so overwhelming. She was tired. So tired. And in the sudden silence, the sudden stillness, the past few months finally managed to catch up, and blew over her like a hurricane. I just want to sit here, I don't feel so good. I think I might be sick. Her breathing grew heavy and ragged. DON'T LEAVE ME! Tears suddenly poured from her eye as her heavy breaths turned to shuddering sobs. Did I...did I do good? One after another the images came and the words and thoughts chased after them, cramming themselves into her head so hard she felt like it would burst. She squeezed Dahlia's hand tighter, tight enough to hurt, and leaned into her as she cried. Her first phase. Realizing that they had lied to her. Her family. How hard it had been to hit Deelie the first few days. The grueling training. The dreams. Pulling the cannnon. The duel. Roaki. The swordsman—Eain—Dammerung— The staticky thoughts finally trailed off, and she was back in the briefing room again. Her tears were still running fast down her face. She hadn't realized it, but she'd been running towards the future so fast the past—even the present—hadn't been able to catch up. But sitting here with Dahlia and Besca, looking at the thing that had nearly killed Roaki, her sister, and her— It was all just...too much. And so she kept crying. At some point Dahlia must have sat, because her head was lying on her lap. But it was all such a blur it was hard to understand what was going on. She cried for a long time.</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn could still hear Safie's voice faintly in her head—trust me, Quinn, you're gonna do great things!—when her door was pushed open, and Dahlia nearly lurched in before coming to settle in next to Quinn and near-instantly passing into dreamland. For a few moments, Quinn was tempted to just lie there. To snuggle in with her sister, forget the rest of the world, fall asleep right next to Dahlia, and go back to the lake with Safie, where it was safe and cozy. But then the chill passed over her again—more insistently this time—and she acknowledged it was past time for her to get up. Shimmying gently out from under the covers, she picked her way to the foot of the bed and crawled over it, careful not to disturb Dahlia. The more rest she got the better. She'd been pushing herself like mad for the past week, barely eating, hardly sleeping, and when she did it was in Quinn's room most of the time. It didn't take a genius to figure out why her sister was doing this, and that knowledge filled Quinn once again with a deep, cloying guilt. Just another one to add on to the pile. Once she'd managed to extricate herself without waking her, Quinn walked quietly through the open doorway and gently closed it behind her, leaving it a few inches ajar, as was habit. She still hadn't gotten used to the commons being quiet when she awoke. Usually it was filled with the sound of Deelie cooking, and probably humming as she did. But she'd been spending so much time in the sim pods Quinn rarely even saw her anymore unless she crawled into Quinn's bed before or just after she woke, as with today. A sharp pang of loneliness bit her in the side. She missed her sister. She should be making more of an effort to get her out of the sims, or to make her food in the morning the same way she always had for Quinn. She still couldn't cook very well, but even just toast and jam and some fruit would be better than what she'd done so far, which was nothing. Selfish girl. Some minutes later, a silent breakfast of buttered toast and poorly-cooked eggs passed by as she forced herself to eat instead of just picking at them. A quick glance at the clock on the wall showed her that it was a quarter past six, and she suppressed a groan. She should be grateful that she'd managed to catch Dahlia awake, not lament the early hour. Taking a few minutes to shower and roughly double that time if not longer amount to dry and braid her hair, she crept back into her room to pick out clothing for the day, donning it stealthily before taking the jacket that Besca had given her from the hook on her door and tossing it on to complete the look. So then, she thought as she threw the door to the commons open and stepped out into the hall, what was the first thing she needed to do today? She needed to have her eval with Docter Follen at some point in the next week, but maybe not today. Or if today, later, when she went to visit Roaki as usual. She would've liked to spar for a bit, but Dahlia was obviously indisposed, and she didn't know how confident she felt sparring against members of security, or how comfortable they'd feel about sparring with a teenage girl, even if she was a pilot. She needed to...yeah, that was probably the first order of business. For the past few days, she'd been making nearly compulsive checks on Ablaze every day, just to make sure it was always ready just in case she needed to drop right away. She didn't know what she expected to find; it had always looked just the same, and it probably always would, but still, the hangar called her name. At the very least, she'd started to learn more about hangar staff. It couldn't hurt to say hi to them when she was there. So, mind made up, she started off towards the elevator. No need to put on her pilot gear today, at least.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. The ride down was quick, quiet. Rarely was her presence in the hangar a good omen, but then, perhaps the recent days of her new habit were enough to help her forget that. Perhaps they weren't. As the doors opened, she was given the chance to find out; Ablaze had been moved, and when Quinn exited the lift's hallway, passing by the pilots' locker room, she found her Savior standing directly across from her on the other side of the hangar. From here it looked fine, which was to say, it looked like a monster. An array of braces, like shackles, helped keep it upright, and even, even with the light in its singular eye out, the beast radiated malice. Every person that passed below, every vehicle beeping by its feet, it regarded them all with the same hungry, flayed rictus. To see it in such stark light was an equally stark reminder that these things were not dead, only subdued. Subdued, and angry. Less malevolent were the smiles and waves she received on her way over. The crew's numbers had been greatly reduced from the incident at Hovvi, and the river of applicants had been dammed until Quinn's duel against Roaki. Only in the past week was the Aerie really beginning to restore its personnel, and even then there weren't many in the hangar to begin with. She saw familiar faces; this shift was small, and most of the people moving through the hangar weren't technicians. Those present seemed glad to see her, and throughout the tumultuous weeks that had not changed. True, there were some among the security staff, and in administration whose opinions of the girl were more mixed than they once were, but here, in the hangar, Quinn was still the rookie hero, out to change Illun for the better. As she drew closer to Ablaze, Quinn would notice something…odd. A figure was crouched by its foot, lab coat bunched up into a puddle. They were scraping the steel carapace of the Savior's organic greaves with some kind of tool, and collecting the shavings onto the plate of another device. It beeped, sharp and loud, overshadowed only by the person's own bubbly giggling. Eventually they noticed Quinn approaching, and as though they'd been shocked, they jumped to their feet so abruptly, they nearly fumbled the—presumably expensive—equipment onto the ground. "Quinn! Quinnlash!" In a mad dash, they made their way over, and Quinn could see that it was a young woman. Tall, even hunched, and lanky, with her hair pulled back into a messy tail that still left strands hanging over her face. Wide eyes behind wider, round glasses stared down at Quinn with frankly alarming intensity, though it was somewhat disarmed by the enthusiastic smile. "Quinnl—uhm! Ms. Loughvein! P-pilot Loughvein! Hi! Wow, you—oh!" Awkwardly shifting the equipment against her chest with one hand, she struck the other out. "Hello! I'm Tillie Tomm, I'm, uhm! I'm the new intern! W-well, I mean, sorry, I'm a new intern, not the new—nevermind. Sorry! Wow, gosh. Look at you! I'm actually talking to you!"</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein The hangar had become a...strange place for Quinn in recent days. Until very recently, it had been a place of abject fear and pain for her. Her disastrous phase test, the traumatic drawing of her weapon, the horror of what had happened in Casoban; if she was in the hangar, it usually meant that things were going terribly wrong, and it was her job to make sure they went back right. But the recent visits had slackened that off a bit. She'd started talking to the staff more, getting to know them on a deeper level than "the ones that manage my Savior." So when she walked through the open door into the cavernous interior of the hangar, she took a deep, calming breath. ...Before she was poleaxed by Ablaze standing and staring at her.e A shudder ran up and down her spine, and a thrill of fear jabbed claws into her mind. It had been two months and change since Hovvi. Long enough, however long it exactly was, that the sharper edges of the memories were starting to wear themselves down a little. But no matter how often she saw Ablaze, a part of her was still lying on that street crying as Jubilee stood headless above the wreckage of a town she'd never known. She took long, deep breaths, bringing herself forward in time again and doing her best to calm herself down as she began the long walk across the hangar to her Savior. It looked okay. Nothing was wrong with it, as far as she could tell. The searing eye was dead, staring unseeing out. At her, it almost felt like, and breathed away another shiver as she remembered the last time it had looked at her. The yellow metal plate was fine; all the scratches it had accrued had been buffed out and it looked like it had just been recolored. It was as she was approaching—wondering whether or not Ablaze was equipped with a lift platform at the moment for her to look at the cockpit—that she noticed the figure crouching by the Savior. She walked over, curious what was going on, what this person was doing, when they—she—turned and nearly sprinted over. Quinn's eye went wide in something like alarm as she started spouting words like a broken spigot. A new hangar intern named Tillie, and, uh...from the way she was talking, she was probably...a fan? Though she was aware they were out there, Quinn had never actually interacted with any of her fans as yet. It looked like that was about to change, as she stood there and suddenly realized she had no idea what to say. She stood there for a few more seconds, feeling like an absolute idiot as she tried to put together words of some kind. Somehow this person managed to be intimidating without any attempts to do so. Her throat had gone dry. "I...um, can...can I call you Tillie?" She paused for a moment as she collected herself, and a smile—pale and wan, but probably more genuine than anything Tillie had ever seen out of her—came to her face. "And, uh, just...Quinn is fine. If you want." She stole a curious glance at what Tillie was carrying, whatever device was now holding some shavings of her Savior and beeping aggressively. It set her teeth on edge. What if it meant there really was something wrong with Ablaze? A distant part of her knew that was absurd, but it still dug into her. "So, um," she motioned to the plate, hating how unsure she sounded, "is there something wrong with my—" My Savior. It still felt wrong to say out loud. "—with Ablaze?"</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Tillie's eyes magnified behind her glasses, making her look somehow more excited than she already was. "Really? I can? Okay, uhm! Quinn!" she giggled again, high and staccato in a way that drew passing eyes. Her hand remained extended until Quinn drew attention to the equipment she carried. With another jolt, and a sharp, Oh!, she fiddled with the plated machine until it finally stopped beeping. A thin screen displayed a green light and no other information. The shavings she'd taken from Ablaze's foot were sealed inside an inner chamber with a transparent lid. As with all things removed from Saviors, they had begun to break down into the bubbling, black ichor of liquid modium. While normally being so close to it would have been extremely dangerous, Tillie's nonchalance suggested that the sample must have been safely contained. "Wrong?" she asked, though as she studied the display and the sample it sounded more like she was asking herself as well. "Mmmmnope! Nope it looks good so far! I was just—well, the section heads noticed you were coming in a lot, thought maybe you found something wrong yourself. They ran a full diagnostic on it, didn't find anything, but well, you're a pilot! You spend more time in that thing than anyone so, if you're checking it so much, then it must be important! That's what I told them, anyway. "I sorta study modiology. I mean, sorry, uhm! I do study modiology. So I sorta-volunteered-sorta-got-assigned to monitor Ablaze! You can think of me like…your assistant technician!" the idea got another, softer chitter out of her, but it was quickly snuffed. "O-or! You know, I don't have to be! I can totally stay out of your way, only draw samples when you're not around—it's no problem! Whatever's better for you, Miss—uhm! Quinn!" Tillie tried to salute, but she had to hunch low to keep from dropping the equipment again. Her smile turned nervous, expectant. She seemed ready to be yelled at, but something told Quinn that even that wouldn't deter the woman.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Ah. So that's what Tillie was doing here. Volunteered-slash-assigned to be Quinn's technician. Not a bad idea, and the more she thought about it, the more she warmed up to it. Though she could do without the container of ichor in front of her, it was hard to understand Ablaze sometimes, and a modiologist would be a big help, she hoped. ...Not to mention, Quinn was starting to get lonely. It'd be nice to have someone to talk to when Deelie and Besca were busy. "No, no no, don't worry about it." She tried her best to make her tremulous smile warmer as best she could, to be met with...debatable success. "I'm not...upset with you or anything." She sucked in a long, deep breath as she kept up calming herself down. "And I don't really think there's anything wrong. I'm just...stressed, is all, so I just want to make sure everything is okay. Being a pilot is..." she hesitated. "Well, it's nerve-wracking a lot. So I'm, um, sorry if I sound mad or anything." A moment passed and she pitched her head slightly downward. "'Course, I might not be the best to talk about it. I'm still new at this." Another delay. She picked her words carefully, a little like she was talking to Roaki. There was an instinctive understanding in her that whatever she said was going to be picked apart and dissected to its finest pieces by Tillie just the same way. "What I'm trying to say is—" her smile grew warmer, but also somehow sadder as well. "—I have no idea what I'm doing, and I'm tired. I'm glad you're here." A sudden idea popped into her brain, followed by a soft "oh!" as she peered between the Savior's massive legs to spot the platform that was indeed there. She cleared her throat, feeling intensely self-conscious as she awkwardly waved towards it. "I was about to go check the cockpit to make sure everything is okay." Pause, and she started slowly walking towards around the side of the Savior to the lift while she spoke over her shoulder, "You can come if you want."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Quinn received an ecstatic shriek in reply, devolving into another giggling fit "See the cockpit? Really? I've literally dreamed of it!" Tillie said, near breathlessly. "Yes, yes! Uhm! Please yes!" She stepped out of the way and followed along behind, practically hopping. She deposited the equipment on a table near the Savior's ankle braces, and the two of them proceeded through Ablaze's legs, to the lift situated along its spine. The ride up gave them a scenic view of the mottled back, and not much else, but Tillie looked very nearly as fascinated as Quinn had on her ride down to Mona's. "They tell you about how big they are, and, you know, you see them on TV all the time, but this…wow. Uhm! I never got to go to any of the singularities growing up. Dad never liked them, didn't trust it. Duels too. Couple years ago I thought I'd never get to see one up close like this, let alone work on them. It must be so cool, huh?" Eventually they reached the top, where the neck-brace was extended into a wide, flat platform that spanned Ablaze's shoulders. There were more tables up here, tool cabinets and tables cluttered with equipment that looked like it might be meant for reading as much as mining. Tillie scurried over to a little console and swiped her nametag over its sensor. "I-I saw your fight in Casoban!" she said over her shoulder. "You really surprised everyone, even me! Uhm! I mean, not that I didn't think you wouldn't—well, maybe I didn't, a little. But I was rooting for you! Ever since they first started talking about you. Actually, it's kinda why I signed up." As Quinn approached the back of Ablaze's skull, she felt that chill again. It had been coming to her more often, and unfailingly each time she'd come to check on the Savior. The cockpit would be frigid, she'd know, but it was almost as if that cold darkness was reaching out to meet her. Tillie sidled up beside her again, hands clasped together. "Are you sure this is okay? I mean—I don't want to assume or anything. I know some pilots are really particular about this stuff. Should I close my eyes? Turn around?"</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein As they rode the elevator up, Tillie kept talking. About never having seen how big they were. Quinn had mostly gotten used to it at this point, but yeah...they were pretty huge. A tiny thorn of sadness buried itself into Quinn's heart the same way it always did when people talked about their parents, but she ignored it as best she could and kept listening to this excitable new person in her life, occasionally throwing in a comment. "I don't know if it's really cool, but it's nice to be able to make a difference." She smiled an awkward smile; the smile of someone who hasn't smiled a lot, and is still trying to get used to the sensation. As they finally reached the top—dear lord, the trip up always took forever—she slowly took the standard trio of long, deep breaths to offset the anxiety that always started bubbling inside her gut when she got up here, and the hangar floor that dropped a hundred feet away. It wasn't exactly a point of view she was unused to, but being outside of the Savior made it feel much more keenly dangerous. One more long, shuddering breath as Tillie walked over to a little console, and her mouth kept moving. "I-I saw your fight in Casoban! You really surprised everyone, even me! Uhm! I mean, not that I didn't think you wouldn't—well, maybe I didn't, a little. But I was rooting for you! Ever since they first started talking about you. Actually, it's kinda why I signed up." Quinn couldn't help it; a laugh burst from her, nervous and trembling and frayed around the edges. "Don't worry," she said when the laughter abated, "I didn't think I was going to win either." She would've kept talking, but the chill rolled over her body again and she tensed up. It felt a little like when Quinnlash was giving her feelings, but there was something deeper and more alien to it. Something totally devoid of any semblance of humanity. She shivered. Actually, on that note... She turned to where Tillie stood next to her and shook her head. "No, it's fine, really." A moment went by that felt much longer than it really was. "But, um...you've never seen inside a cockpit before, right?" At least she had a lab coat on. "It's really, really cold, I'm more used to it and even I can't stay in without my suit on for more than a few minutes." One last deep breath. "And...there's no walls or roof." She fished her phone from her pocket. "Or lights." Then, as ready as she was ever going to be, she turned her phone flashlight on, pulled open the skullport, winced at the absolutely frigid air, and dove into the darkness. By the time she even made it the few steps to the chair, she was already shivering. The air was filled with the scent of lemon and vanilla from the two small tablets taped to each side of the chair, and she was grateful for them; it made it a little less painful to breathe. She checked the surface of the chair first, running her fingers along the padded grooves form-fit to her body and the suit plugs, and trying to ignore the brain of the Modir softly pulsing around her, coated with a glistening shell of ice. Nothing was wrong with the chair; all the plugs looked right, nothing was out of place. She was shivering hard enough to nearly drop her phone now as she knelt down to check the stem of the chair, where it had attached to the floor. Where Roaki's had broken off and— She sucked in a calming breath, though the effect was lessened by the fact that the cold was like a knife to her throat. "Welcome to my cockpit, Tillie."</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein The skullport vanished, and Quinn immediately felt better. That's not to say she felt good. Not in any way whatsoever. But with the immediate reminder gone, she found herself able to—with the support of the long table that ran alongside her—haul herself to her feet and give Tillie a genuine, if weak, smile again. "N-no, nothing. It all looks fine." That's right, Quinn. It's fine. It's all fine. Stop worrying about it. Hangar staff would obviously catch any fluctuations or problems right as soon as they happened. There was no reason for her to come here like this, go through the torment of opening the port, diving into the cold, lonely, enclosed dark, and endure the Modir pressing in all around here, all alone. Thank god for Tillie. Without her there, Quinn would've just had a breakdown, she just knew it. She swallowed heavily, wiping the remnants of the sweat off again. It wasn't usually this bad. She opened her mouth to thank her for being there so she didn't completely fall apart— Before she stopped. Did she really want to make Tillie feel responsible for her? To layer her with Quinn's problems when she had nothing to do with them and no obligation to help with them? No. Deelie was pushing herself to hell and back because she was afraid for Quinn. Besca was working nonstop—she was surprised she'd even gotten a response from her—day in and day out because of what Quinn had done. The population of the Aerie was still a fraction of what it used to be, it seemed like, because Quinn just had to be at Hovvi. So everyone else had more work. She didn't want to be a burden on Tillie too. So instead, she kept that lame smile pasted to her face as inside, she screamed. "I'm...glad you enjoyed it. I'll tell head of hangar security that you can come up here any time you want." After all the trouble and pain she'd caused, making her new technician happy was the least she could do.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Tillie recoiled at the offer, cast a furtive glance back at Ablaze as if it had caught her doing something she shouldn't. "O-oh, gosh, that's—well, I appreciate that. I'm thrilled to be working on it, you can bet I'll be hanging around all the time. W-working, of course! Strictly working. Thank you! Uhm! Really!" A nervous giggle escaped her. Left unsaid were the silent laws of a place like the Aerie, the hierarchy of the staff, and the expectations laid upon those who could only newly call the station home. Quinn's offer was kind, but Tillie's bosses weren't going to let someone as green as she was have free reign over a Savior, blessing or not. If she showed up here unscheduled she'd be planetside with her junk packed in a box and a resume that would function better as kindling after RISC was done with it. But, of course, she wasn't going to say any of that. Not to Quinnlash Loughvein. Quinn, even! The girl seemed so nice, and even without the weight of their unspoken social dynamic heavy on her shoulders, she could never bring herself to reject a gift. For now, she would ride the high of sitting in Ablaze's cockpit, and being friendly with her favorite pilot, and that would carry her plenty far. Tillie checked her phone, let out a small, excited sound that she'd find time to be embarrassed about later, alone. "Oop! I've gotta log my results then check in with my supervisor," she said, making her way back onto the lift. "You wanna ride down together, or do you need a bit more time?"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein "You wanna ride down together, or do you need a bit more time?" "Together!" Quinn's voice came out just a little more vehement than she'd intended it to, and she took a moment to breathe deeply, heart pounding in her ears in the silence. She could feel the great bulk of Ablaze looming behind her, feel its malevolence only barely suppressed. Quinnlash was trying to cut the pressure before it reached Quinn's head, she could feel it. But there was only so much she could do for Quinn, standing so close to the restrained bulk of the Modir as she was. Her mind suddenly shot back to Hovvi, to the hunger she'd felt looking at the creature in the demolished store, and she shivered despite the dull warmth Quinnlash was enwrapping her in. If Tillie left her all alone up her, she didn't know what she'd do. "We'll ride down together," she repeated, voice more tempered, at least by a bit. The ride down passed more subdued than the one up, as Quinn stared dazedly out into the distance. As they stepped off the corrugated metal to the hangar floor once again, farther from the brain and thus the pressure, Quinn had a sudden thought. "Ah... Pulling her phone out of her pocket once again, she tapped the screen a few times, pulling up the camera and turning to Tillie. "I can take a picture of you, right?" Met with an enthusiastic approval, Quinn snapped a quick full-body picture of Tillie, plain hangar wall in the background. A moment passed, and she waved awkwardly. "Ah, uhm, I'll...see you later, Tillie, okay? With that said, she retreated back towards the elevator to the dorms, eager to escape the ensnaring presence of Ablaze. As she went, she kept her phone out, tappa-tappa-tapping at the screen. Just before she entered the hallway, she tapped the send button. A moment later, an image would pop up on Besca and Dahlia's phones, followed by a brief caption: this is my new technician tillie. you guys should meet her, she's super nice</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Quinn got an answer from Besca before she'd stepped off the elevator. – o yeah ! saw he r resume very samrt! glad u like her wil try 2 meet her soon ! :o) - From Dahlia there was still no word, but once Quinn had made her way back into the dorms it made sense. Everything was just as she'd left it. Through the crack in her door there was only silence, and Dahlia still flopped down onto the bed, breathing quietly in the dark. How long she'd sleep was unsure, and had varied from day to day. Sometimes it was a mere two or three hours, even less, and others she was dead to the world for half a day. "Day shmay," she had said once, teasingly. "We're in space! No horizon up here!" To her credit, if not comfort, she was right. Unfortunately for Quinn, that meant there was still no one around to assuage her loneliness. These moments were exceedingly rare before, but more and more each day, circumstances were forcing independence upon her. As she stood in the commons, it became clear that, unless she continued to stand here for hours, there would be no one to come make the decisions of her day for her. This had been true of all the recent days prior as well, and if the trend continued, it would be true tomorrow. An alien revulsion at the idea of simply waiting tingled beneath her scalp. Ultimately however, the only thing that could move Quinn now was Quinn.</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn stood in the middle of the common room, staring at the cracked door that Dahlia slept beyond. And once more, a razor-sharp shard of guilt buried itself in her heart. She was doing it again. Trailing behind Dahlia. Causing problems. Hurting people. Just like at Hovvi. Even now, making her own decisions cut her to the core sometimes, dug into that piece of her that she knew would always be there to some extent: the ignorant child, patiently waiting for mom and dad to come give her dinner. A bolt of anger shot down her spine, and her lip curled up into a sneer filled with self-disgust. Wasn't she supposed to be a hero pilot now? So, what? She could fight Modir, and Roaki, and Casoban and Helburke by extension. She thought that she could maybe beat her sister in spar now. She already beat her in sims as long as they turned phasing off. But still... The lunch she'd had before the interview with Mona played back vividly in her mind, and as she felt her stomach turn, she made her way over to her favorite blue chair and sank down into it, closing her eye and letting her body go limp. She'd made Dahlia order for her. Then she'd hurt her. Why couldn't she ever do anything for Dahlia when she was hurting? Especially when it was Quinn's fault anyway? Why was she like this? Her thoughts slowed. Why was she like this? And...why? What had happened? She knew her parents had fed her modium ichor for some reason she couldn't understand. She knew that somehow she'd lived though ingesting ichor, and been...fine, if sick. She knew that she had a smaller her within herself, that had been there for who knew how long. So, she asked herself again: why? She pulled in a long, slow breath. In.......out. Another. One more. And her eye snapped open. There was something she needed to do. But first, breakfast. Quinn wasn't a particularly good cook, and she knew it. She messed up everything from eggs to soup. But, as she'd reflected that morning, even someone like her could make some toast, butter it, slather it in Dahlia's favorite jam, and cut an apple into slices that she arranged next to it. Into the fridge the plate went, and upon a discarded piece of paper, she wrote: I made you breakfast, Deelie. It's not as good as yours, but...it's the thought that counts, right? It's in the fridge whenever you want it. Underneath, she drew a heart, then slid the paper underneath her door so Dahlia would see it when she awoke. That done, she took another long, long breath. Her heart was hammering in her chest, even harder than it had in Ablaze. Quinnlash was screaming in her head, some blend of fear and fury. But she ignored her as best she could. For months, she'd just...walked after Besca and Dahlia. Giving them more work, dragging them down. She wanted to be better. She wanted to figure out how she could keep moving forward without them, and so how she could walk alongside them instead. But to do that, she wanted... She wanted answers. This was a decision that she came to. That she alone could make, and she alone could carry out. Something that she couldn't wait for Besca and Dahlia to do for her, because she knew they never would. Something entirely her own. So, nestling back down into her chair, she took her phone slowly out of her pocket, and tabbed over to the internet browser. Hand shaking so much she had to restart and delete several times, she finally tapped out what she wanted to search. What she needed to search. And so, heart heavy, blood already freezing in her veins, and taking one last breath, she searched it. Because she didn't want answers. Not really. She needed them. Mr. and Mrs. Loughvein</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein As Quinn scrolled through her phone, she could hardly believe her eyes just how much people were talking about her. How much garbage they were spewing. There were some things that made her wince, like all the speculation attached to the duel and Roaki. There were some things that made her roll her eye, like the three different eyepatches, none of which actually looked like her eyepatch. There were some things that made her chuckle, and she tapped on the link for the pilot quiz. She'd take it later and see if she got herself or Deelie, or...or Safie. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. And there were some things that made her eye shoot open in sheer astonishment at the audacity. Secret relationship? Fad diets? Product endorsements I've never seen? Born on the MOON? She kept scrolling, and the results grew wilder and wilder. Until, finally, she saw it. Locke and Sansean Loughvein... And just like that, they had names. Locke and Sansean. And they were...they might be...they could be...dead? They might have died in Hovvi? Even imagining was...completely alien. Just...just the idea that mom and dad were...dead? Even now, it felt like breaking some kind of universal law. They had been her whole world, her whole reality, for so many years. It was almost hard to fit it into her brain. And something else smacked into her brain along with it, forcing itself in. Like a punch to the face, a lightning bolt to the chest, sending her reeling. Her breathing hitched. No. That had to be wrong. Deep, sharp breath. Hand shaking more, she reached back up to the search field. Missed it at first, scrolling past meaningless articles. When her trembling fingers reached, she typed in, Sansean and Locke Loughvein. Article after article filled the screen. Those about her came first, of course. But they were few and far between as she scrolled down, met with something else entirely. Genius Modiologists Presumed Dead? Loughveins Missing After the Hovvi Disaster Still No Word From Loughveins in Wake of Quinnlash's Duel and Absence - Are They Still Alive? More and more, and each one she read delivered that same bolt to her chest. She stared at the screen for another moment, then tossed it to the floor and dropped her head into her hands. She hated her parents. She knew she hated them. They'd done awful things to her for reasons she didn't understand and the search had made no clearer. They'd kept her locked up in one room for her whole life. Fed her poison. By all rights, she hated them with every fiber of her being. The thought of them dead should satisfy her, and she felt Quinnlash's satisfaction and even glee, certainly. So why, then did that that bolt strike her? Did that thought punch her in the face? Why did the thought of them dying make her so sad? And at that thought, her confusion and frustration found their voice and she let out a raw scream, letting her palms muffle it and dull the sharp edges: "Why do I care?!"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. The presence that haunted Quinn faded, satisfied, confused, and soon she was left with silence. Quinnlash didn't have any answers for her, it seemed, or at least none she thought would help the situation. It was clear enough where she stood with regards to the Loughveins. If an article was posted tomorrow revealing their bodies had been found, there would be a party in the dream that night. The last, lingering thought left in her wake was the word she so often used whenever they weaseled their way into conversation: Takers. The quiet didn't last long. From Quinn's room there came a raucous thump, a muted, mumbled alarm, and then the hurrying of footsteps. A moment later, Dahlia came bursting through the door. "Quinn?!" she yelped, eyes wide and heavy with bags. They locked unsteadily onto her, and with steps just as shaky she scrambled over. "What is it? What happened?" Her hands pulled Quinn's face up, inspecting it, patting down her arms, searching wildly for some sign of injury. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?" She wasn't, not that Dahlia could see, but that didn't settle her any. She spied the phone discarded on the ground, but didn't bother with it. The room looked fine, no damage anywhere. No alarms blared. No attack. Still the worry stuck with her, and she looked to Quinn expectantly.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn hadn't really thought of Dahlia when she'd given vent to her frustrated scream. But, she reflected, she should've. As she met Dahlia's eyes with her own, another shard of guilt buried itself in her heart. She looked so tired. So stressed. So worried. Unable to keep eye contact any longer for the stabbing hurt, she dropped her head shamefacedly. "Y⁠—yeah. I'm...I'm fine. Just..." She hesitated for a moment. Didn't want to put more on Dahlia. But looking up into her weary silver eyes, she felt herself throwing herself into her sister's arms before she really even realized it, hugging her tight in return. Her eye closed, and she felt a thin stream of tears leaking out. "I just..." Another moment of hesitation. Another moment of thinking that she shouldn't burden Dahlia with this. Another moment of self-loathing. But being near Dahlia drew the hurt in her out like nothing else, stripping away the hero pilot, the burdened celebrity, and everything else, and leaving what lay, buried deep, deep down, at the core of Quinn: the lost, scared child. So when she responded, there was a hint of tears in her voice. "Deelie, they⁠—they could've⁠—they might've⁠—died in Hovvi." She squeezed the hug tighter, burying her face in her sister's shoulder. "They might be dead. They're probably dead. I'm free of them." She screwed her eye tighter. "So why⁠—" And then thickness in her voice turned into sobs. "Why does it make me sad?"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Dahlia stood bewildered for a moment, reflexively returning the hug. Quinn was okay? She was okay. She was crying—normal, sometimes she did that—but she wasn't hurt. Scared? No, sad, she heard sad. Sad. Not hurt. She let out a breath that made her whole body rattle. Relief, mainly, but also the exhaustion catching right up to her. The fog in her mind had parted long enough to determine her sister was alright, and now she could feel it closing again. Quinn was sad about something. Something vague, at least to her, but that was okay. Dahlia was sad about things too. She wanted to say that, but she couldn't connect those wires quite right. She wanted to ask her what was wrong but couldn't articulate that, either. Instead, Dahlia patted Quinn's head, and resisted the urge to shut her eyes when she leaned her own against it. "No, it's okay. It's okay. No one's dead," she said absently. Didn't sound right. Felt right, but the words were mumbled and directionless, and part of her knew she was responding more with the intent behind them than the words themselves. "No one's dead. Promise."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein For just a moment, a beautiful, fleeting moment⁠—her sister patting her head, leaning against her, the hug so warm and comforting⁠—everything was right with the world. And then Dahlia spoke, and the comforting warmth started to burn lower. Just being there near Dahlia⁠—and the way she was talking, comforting, soft, like a real older sister⁠—was enough to cushion Quinn's pain. But...but the words she was speaking...they didn't sound right. She didn't sound right. She was exhausted. Exhausted. And it was all Quinn's fault. The warmth burned away, leaving only fading embers, and her sobs stilled then, to shuddering breaths that she could speak through. "Deelie...Deelie...please..." She squeezed hard enough for her arms to shake, like Dahlia would vanish if she left go. "You..you need sleep, Dahlia. Please. I know..." Her shuddering voice calmed to merely quivering. "I know you're worried about me. That's why you're pushing and pushing and pushing yourself." And then her voice went through another change. Went still, and flat, and hollow. "I'm hurting you again. Again and again and again, I just keep hurting you." "I'm...I'm sorry..."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Another change then, Dahlia could tell. She felt it in the strength of Quinn's hug, heard it in the way her voice lost its panic, and then lost everything else with it. She knew it was guilt, even if that realization didn't quite reach her consciousness. Quinn felt guilty about something, about her. Hurting her. Hurting her? Silly. Utterly silly. "No, no," she said, glancing stability for just a moment. "Didn't hurt me. Never hurt me, Quinn. Nuh-uh. I just…forgot, s'all. Just forgot. No biggie. Sleeping fine, just a lil' weird." She pulled herself away, just enough to look Quinn in the eye. Red, wet-cheeked, stricken with guilt or worry or grief or all; a part of her stung knowing this was the most familiar of her sister's faces. Dahlia wanted more than anything these days to see her smile. To make sure she was safe enough to smile. She smiled—like this, see?—and squeezed Quinn's shoulders. Her eyes ached. "Never sorry to me. I'm not sorry. I wouldn't change anything. Made you a promise. 'Cause I wouldn't change anything."</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Dahlia pulled away a little bit⁠—not far enough to leave Quinn's desperate embrace⁠—and smiled. "Never sorry to me. I'm not sorry. I wouldn't change anything. Made you a promise. 'Cause I wouldn't change anything." Quinn stared up at her, almost uncomprehending. Didn't hurt me. Never hurt me, Quinn. And just like that, the fervent energy that she gripped her sister with wilted and faded, and she just about collapsed into her, resting her face on her shoulder once again. Closing her eye tight, clenching her jaw, she tried her absolute hardest to not cry again. And she almost succeeded. Almost, but not quite. The love that Dahlia showed her. Her burning, cloying guilt. Her...her parents, and the new news that she'd been burdened with. She couldn't hold it forever. And once the first tears came, the floodgates opened, and she wept. Even so, she kept trying to force words out through it. No matter what her sister said...she still wasn't doing enough. So she kept going, voice small and tremulous, like the pathetic child that she was, deep down. "I⁠—hic⁠—I made you⁠—sniff break...breakfast. 'S...hrrkkkg...'s in the fridge." Her hug once again turned tight, but less out of desperation this time. It was more out of... "I⁠—I⁠—I love you, Deelie. I⁠—heugh⁠—I love...love you so much."</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Dahlia stayed put, smiling even though she heard Quinn continue to cry. She'd come to know the difference between her spirals and her moments of simply being overwhelmed, and even with the fog closing around her, that sense of panic was abated. The air was warm now, and calm. "Mmh, breakfast…s'so nice of you. Can't wait," she said, laying her head against Quinn's nest of hair. The hug was comfortable, like a heavy sheet, and she swayed to some pleasant, absent breeze. "M'you too. Promise. You too…" Long moments passed and Dahlia showed no signs of letting go, though her arms did slacken a bit. Eventually Quinn would feel a bit of weight against her, hear the humming above her fall into gentle breathing. Now and then something loosely inspired by words escaped Dahlia's mouth. Nothing was intelligible. Her sister had fallen back to sleep. She stood upright, still swaying rhythmically, a contented smile on her face. Dahlia didn't really share her dreams—if she had any at all—but if she was dreaming now, Quinn could be certain it was a happy one.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn wasn't a bodybuilder by any means, but the past few months had certainly been rigorous enough for her to pack some muscle on. Enough, at least, to gently wrap Dahlia's arm around her shoulder and carry her into Quinn's room, where she'd been before. She laid her ever-so-delicately down on the bed, being sure not to wake her. She stood there afterwards, looking down at her sister taking long slow sleep breaths, and her heart jerked in her ribcage. I'm sorry, Dahlia. I'm really, really sorry. And it was making her training a little more difficult too. Dahlia and her sim spars had never been the most useful things, but now she found herself missing the kind of outside-the-box thinking you only got when you were fighting a real person instead of a collection of ones and zeroes. They still could spar; but she would never ask her sister to push herself more than she already was, and looking down at her sleeping form only made that feeling keener. I wish there was another pilot on the Aerie for stuff like this. Well, no point wishing for things that she couldn't change. She turned and left her sister, gently closing the door ajar. And she didn't really want another pilot, because being a pilot was painful, and she didn't want anyone else to need to be. Speaking of sims, actually, she had her own to attend to today as well. She was already stretching the Board's patience. Better not their schedule too. So, shaking her jacket a little bit to resettle it back on shoulders properly, she left the dorms once more. She was already in the commons when she realized that she was a little hungry, and should've eaten in the dorms. She could go anywhere she wanted, really, but it wasn't the same without Deelie and Besca. Another pang of that sharp, hungry guilt bit into her heart, sinking deep and twisting as she thought about what their lives would be like if she'd never come here. As she thought, she continued towards the sims, until she finally raised her heat to meet the hallway to... ...Medical? She'd gotten so used to coming here in recent days that her feet had just taken her here on her own. But, she thought, if she was here...she fished the key to Roaki's room out from the chain around her neck. Might as well, right? Really don't want to miss a day, after all. As she walked through the sterile looking-and smelling hallways of medical, she was barely given a second glance by those around her. She'd become such a regular fixture here, she was more or less expected. Still, it made it easier to get where she was going, at least; everybody knew already where she was going and that dissuading her was a really bad idea, so they just...cleared out of the way along the path to Roaki's room. ...Into which popped, after a moment's consideration on the other side of the door. "Hey, Roaki!"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Not much had changed over the weeks in this little room. Artificial sunlight still glowed through the blinds in the window. The TV was off, as it always was, and the little table over the bed was pushed aside. Roaki had meekly, bitterly refused any sort of distraction, be it book or phone or cards. She ate scarcely, supplemented by nutrients either in the IV or through vitamins; she wasn't quite withered, but she'd gained no weight since she'd arrived. What she did when Quinn wasn't around was anyone's guess, though when asked she would shrug, and insist she either slept, or just lay in silent thought. The anger had gone from her. All of her words were blunted, either mumbled or spoken with a softness in shocking contrast to their encounter at the duel. She didn't' call Quinn names anymore, didn't insult Dahlia or Besca. Still she had not met Quinn's eyes, and rarely did she ever offer conversation of her own will. But almost dutifully, whenever she was questioned, she answered. Even to the rest of the medical staff, who it seemed had inherited her deference to Quinn by proximity. She'd stopped asking to die. Perhaps Quinn saw that as a step forward, or perhaps it was simply a lack of will to move at all. Today, like every day, she lay with her head turned to the faux-sun. When Quinn shut the door behind her, she looked up to the ceiling in acknowledgement, before sitting up and turning her eyes to the sheets. The fraying gray curtain of hair fell over her face. "…Hey."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn took a long, deep breath as she walked over to the chair that she had become a constant tenant of in the past couple month or so. As it always was, the air in here was thick, stifling. Not physically, of course. But Roaki's soft monotone mumbling dug into her heart every time she heard it. And her thoughts still being stuck on her parents' possible untimely death didn't have her feeling any better. So, unlike usual--very unlike usual--when she sat down, she didn't talk for some time. Instead she just...looked at Roaki. Look at her, and wrestled with her thoughts. When she finally spoke, it was after almost five minutes had ticked by. Through the conversations she'd had with Roaki, there was one question that, no matter how she was asked it, she always skirted around. She'd talked about her parents, of course. She'd talked about being kept locked up in one room for sixteen years, never allowed to leave, never even allowed to see out of it. She'd talked about the compact operating table being wheeled into her room, and being put under, only vaguely recalling anything about what had ever happened. She'd talked a lot, at Roaki's questioning. Answered every other question she'd had. Except one. What she'd never talked about was...the water. But it was on her mind now. And she couldn't get it off. When she spoke, her voice was most unlike its usual state as seen by Roaki. Gone was the bounce in it, the cheerfulness. There was no anger or sorrow. All that was left was a deep melancholy. "You asked me a while ago why my parents kept me locked up, why they operated on me, and I never told you because I said it was too painful to think about." She hesitated. It was still hard to talk about. So, guiltily, sadly, she redirected it outward, in a strange kind of delaying gambit. "Do you still want to know?"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Something was off, Roaki knew it right away. Usually Quinnlash came bursting in loud as anything, eager to talk and pretend—for whatever nebulous reasons she had—as if they did not despise each other. Sometimes it was only for minutes, sometimes it was an hour, sometimes early, others late. She didn't know what time it was now, but as the silence, usually disallowed to last a handful of moments, stretched into minutes, she knew something was wrong. Her hand squeezed the sheet in a fist. Is this it? she thought. Had the mask finally slipped off? Had she finally exhausted Quinnlash's seemingly-endless patience? Or perhaps over the weeks she'd simply gotten everything she needed. Roaki knew silence, knew it well enough to know nothing good came after it. Were these people finally going to start treating her like the enemy? Evidently not. When Quinn spoke she sounded different. Sad. That wasn't anything new. Quinn had cried plenty—Roaki remembered because it infuriated her every time, reminded her she'd lost to a crybaby, that she was worse. This sounded less like ridiculous guilt or sympathy, and more like…nostalgia. The pain of memory. Roaki had become privy to many of Quinnlash's feelings, none of which made her any easier to understand. But this—pain. Pain she could understand. Perhaps this was an opportunity, and if she listened closely, she might discover the girl's true weakness. Or she's messing with you, you fucking idiot. That, she decided, was also a possibility. Weeks spent waiting for the other shoe to drop; was this gravity at work? She supposed it didn't matter, really. She didn't have much use for shoes anyway. "Okay," she answered. "Sure. Why'd they do it?"</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein "Okay, sure. Why'd they do it?" Quinn went quiet again, though this time for only a few moments, as she screwed up her courage, forced herself to think back to Hovvi, and her life. The discovery that water was supposed to be clear was a memory as crisp and clear as it was painful to look back upon, and she sucked a harsh breath in through her teeth. "When I...when I was a girl--a kid, I mean, or, a few months ago, before the Hovvi Incident." she started slowly, voice stopping and starting as she fought to string her words together properly. "...I thought water was supposed to have a dark tint." As she went on her voice grew more constant, but also unsteady, shaky, like it always did when she was really upset. Yet she still forged on. "I had no way of knowing. My...my parents, they didn't tell me anything, they cut off almost the whole internet, they told me everything was normal. Including the water." She closed her eye, taking a few deep, shaky breaths in an attempt to calm herself. "It would've tasted funny too, though I didn't know it at the time, really. Bitter metal and salt brine." One more deep breath. One more long pause. Her eye grew hot and stung as she fought back tears, holding herself together as her voice quaked. "...Modium. It was modium." "They kept me inside so nobody would know and I wouldn't understand." She clung grimly on to her composure, even as her voice grew thick and tears started to build around her eye. "They cut me open to check if my insides were okay." She wasn't sure if that was true, but it was the only thing that made sense. "I didn't—" She stopped speaking abruptly, and finally, her composure broke. Her thin shoulders quaked. And she began to quietly cry.</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Roaki sat and listened quietly, as was her lot. It sounded like nonsense, honestly, and the more Quinnlash said, the less sense anything made. Modium? Did she really expect her to believe she grew up drinking modium? People died just being near the stuff, you didn't just drink it. This had to be a trick, then, another ploy to get something out of her. But what? What else was there to say that hadn't been said already? She had no crucial information for RISC, no deep, national secrets; Helburke wanted her gone just as much as everyone else, no one had ever told her anything she didn't absolutely need to know. She considered it might be that strange, miserable sort of cruelty she'd suspected Quinnlash preferred some weeks ago, but if that truly was the case, its purpose had yet to be made clear. IF the rest of her life was really to be spent listening to her enemy complain she wished she'd been back in that cell—at least there the cold would have killed her by now. Failing that, she had to consider the distant possibility that Quinnlash was telling the truth—or at least that she thought she was. Roaki didn't believe it for a second. She was well acquainted with the effects of modium, more than most people alive, she wagered. If Quinnlash had really been drinking it her whole life, she'd be dead. She was certain of it. But, again, if it was true—why? The possibilities to that question were fractal and endless and made her head hurt. Roaki quickly decided that she didn't care why. If someone had done that to her, she thought, she would have ripped their kidneys out with her hands. Quinnlash wouldn't, though. She had a special sort of weakness, and if her persona were to be taken at face-value, then it wouldn't be at all surprising to find out that she never did anything about it. God, fuck. But if she'd only stop fucking crying. "…Okay," she said, when the silence was long. "Your parents poisoned you. Why would they do that?"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Another long silence followed Roaki's question, with no answer immediately forthcoming. For a brief time, there were only Quinn's soft, hiccupping tears. Then, a bit later, she gritted her teeth, swiped her arm across her eye, and spoke huskily, "I don't..." The word know was on the tip of her tongue, when she cocked her head to the side as a thought struck her. Because she did know at least a little now. "Or, well...they're, or they were, modiologists. Really, really good modiologists. The most famous in Runa, I think." And maybe more than that; she thought she'd seen some articles in Casobani when she'd run her search. She rubbed her eye and socket with her hands, and when she pulled them away, she looked down at the floor and spoke softly, giving voice to the thought that had been lurking in the back of her mind since she discovered their modiology: "Maybe I was just a science project." She wished she could talk about this kind of thing with Besca and Dahlia too. But Dahlia was either asleep or in sims, and she was awake—as seen today—she was certainly in no place to help Quinn work through her own problems. Besca was in the dorm to sleep for three hours and then leave for the bridge before Quinn woke up; they almost only talked over the phone now. So Roaki was...she gave a weak, weedy chuckle. Roaki was her only confidante, and there was something sadly funny about that. She shook her head vigorously then, doing her best to banish the thoughts. "I didn't mean to lay all that on you." She forced another laugh, still pained but a little less so. "It's just...on my mind today. Sorry."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Modiologists. Roaki was familiar—she didn't like them. When she was little, and weak, and had to be excised from her cockpit by scalpels rather than bonesaws, it was always the modiologists who operated on her. She glanced down at her hand, her arm, at the ghostly splotches scattered upon the skin. How many times had it been? She'd sworn she would remember every cut, but eventually there'd been so many, and they'd only hurt more as time went on. She'd lost track, it was shameful, so instead she'd just vowed deathly vengeance upon all scientists. The idea that Quinn had spent her whole life gulping down poison was still ridiculous to her, but if someone was going to do that, it would be fucking modiologists. Roaki felt herself getting angry again as Quinn apologized. Why did she keep doing that? There wasn't anything to forgive, you didn't get to have grievances as a loser—though, in her experience, that was undeniably due to the fact that dead people didn't have grievances. Was she supposed to forgive her? Roaki couldn't even imagine herself in the other seat, seeking forgiveness from someone she'd beaten. Though, again, dead people didn't forgive. "It's…fine," she said. Regardless of her feelings, it was clear Quinn wasn't going to leave it at that. This was the topic of their discussion today, and so like every other day, Roaki would bear it—and try, just a little, to sift something useful from it. "But why does it…matter? Wasn't everyone mulched in Hovvi? They're dead. You won. You can forget about them. The quicker you lose their names, the better."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn closed her eye as Roaki spoke. When she responded, it stayed shut, and it took on that same melancholy that it'd carried earlier, something that was becoming more common to hear from Quinn. But it was a bit different this time; it was underscored with a taut, bone-deep tension. "The problem is..." She didn't want to admit how she'd felt before, that awful feeling of hoping they were alive. Hopefully she'd just forget it with enough time. "...They weren't in Hovvi that morning, the only reason I could leave cause they left my door open by mistake. They'd gone to do some...science thing in Queenshand." She sighed heavily, then leaned forward and opened her eye. "Until today, I was sure they were alive. But the stuff I read said they were going back when they learned the singularity would hit. So I don't actually know if they were there or not." She smiled lamely. "And not knowing is so much worse. Dumb, right? But," she went on after a beat of silence, "what do I do about it? Now that I know, I wish I didn't." Her voice dropped to a whisper then, and she pulled her legs up, resting her feet on the edge of the chair as she curled her arms around her knees. "And...I don't think I can forget them. Could ever forget them. They'll always be...there. They're, like, burned into my head." She made a muffled sound of distress, but didn't start crying again. She'd promised herself that. No more crying today. "See?" She motioned towards the door, held slightly ajar, forgetting Roaki wouldn't look at her. "I still can't do doors."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Things were quickly becoming complicated again. Ugh. So they weren't dead, but now, actually, they might be dead after all? Roaki didn't know how utterly wrecked the rinky-dink town had been after the attack, maybe they just couldn't identify all the dead people. There was a chance still that under all that rubble were the itty-bitty pieces of her parents. But that wasn't the frustrating part. It was the fact that Quinnlash seemed unwilling to just fucking let go that got her heated. She had to remind herself this was all likely bullshit anyway, but the part playing along wished she had the will to scream. That was why the door was ajar? This was why Quinnlash was the way she was? Unbelievable. "So just fuckin' kill'em," she said flatly. "You know you can do that, right? You're a pilot, you're allowed to. Even if they're fancy pantsy scientists, you're still the bigger fish." Fuck's sake, she almost looked up at her. Her eyes got as high up as Quinnlash's neck before darting back down. Frustrated, yeah, but in the back of her mind, like a leash, the word worm kept her heeled. Fine, no yelling. She'd just talk like some stupid fucking civvy. "And it's not totally forgetting," she said. "It's more like…Look, I had five siblings, and two aunts. I killed them all. And I guess, before I actually did it, I was…kinda like you. I didn't know. Most of them were shits, couple of'em weren't. Maybe I wanted to kill them, maybe I didn't. But when I was done, I did know, and it was better. "I didn't just suddenly forget them. They're…I…remember. But they're the past. So, if your stupid ass parents are still alive, and you see them again, just kill'em. Make them the past. That's when it gets easier."</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn knew already that Roaki had killed her family. She'd fought duels against them, after all, and duels (almost) always ended with someone dying. But still, the plain admission had her hiss in a breath through her teeth, and a part of her wanted to yell at the younger girl for it. Her own family—the real one, at least—was so important to her that just the idea of killing family drove a stake into her side. But Roaki was talking, and she shouldn't interrupt, she'd asked the question after all. ...And besides that, there was a part of her—not Quinnlash—that yearned, that urged upon hearing Roaki's words, to beat her parents black and blue before squeezing their throats until they stopped struggling and turn them into past tense if she ever found them alive. But every time she tried to picture it, tried to want it, all she could see was Her mom looking lovingly down at her as she pricked the IV into her arm. Sitting with Quinn and smiling as the little girl excitedly talked about all the places she wanted to see when she was a grown up. The way she gently stroked her hand down her braid when she had a nightmare. I love you so much, Quinny. Then, before she even realized it, she was on her feet with a sudden burst of dry-mouthed panic. The chair crashed to the ground behind her as she lurched violently upward, eye wide in horror as she held a hand over her mouth with a vague panicked gagging noise, using the other to steady herself against the wall. Bile crept up in her throat, and she thought she might be sick. "I—" she choked out as her stomach churned, "I—I didn't—I—she—it's not—" And she got no further before she turned, stumble-ran into the bathroom, and emptied her guts into the toilet.</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Seconds passed like they were minutes. Minutes like they were hours. The stream of awful acid muck poured from Quinn in a way that was horribly, blindingly familiar, and, when it finally finished with her—when her stomach finally stilled—tears were pouring from her eyes again. And the memories were still there. She wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball in her bed now and do nothing for the rest of the day. But she couldn't. She just couldn't. She had so much to make up for. She had sims to do. She had to help Dahlia, whatever happened. She had to try and cause as little trouble for Besca as she could, and ignoring her training wouldn't do that at all. So she just had to...she just had to keep going. She stayed kneeling there for a few moments longer, closed her eyes to the world. Then she spat the rest of the stuff into the toilet, blew it out of her stinging nose, flushed, wiped her eyes, and slowly walked out back into Roaki's presence like there were a thousand pounds on her back. She righted the chair just as slowly, like all the energy had been sapped out of her. Sat down heavily, and placed her face firmly in her hands. Her voice was muffled when it came out, but it was clearly not happy. Not miserable, perhaps, but if not, then very close. And filled with pain. "Sorry," she mumbled, pulling her hands away, sitting up straight, and looking at Roaki, trying to distract herself from the memories that were still lancing through her head."I was just remembering—something—I—" She dropped her head again. "Never mind."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. It was minutes before Quinnlash returned, but she'd wished it was longer. Roaki's eyes found the sheets again, she couldn't tell if the shame was bearing down on her from without, or bursting from within, but it was heavy and burning all the same. Was she meant to say something? Should she throw herself down and apologize for what she'd said? If she brought herself low, as she had in the cockpit with Dragon's pilot had cut her apart, would that satisfy them? Would it end, then? She was surprised to find she had enough pride left to refuse, but not by much. She could take isolation, she could take insult, she could take pain, none of those had ever struck her as deeply as revulsion did. She hated being looked at, she felt disgusting. Worms belonged in the dirt, why didn't they just— Quinnlash is speaking. Well, Quinnlash was trying to speak. She did this sometimes, too, stuttered and stumbled and eventually gave up. Often the silence would last until she either tried to continue, or decided to call it a day. Roaki hoped for the latter. She needed to be alone. She wasn't going to cry—never again, not for any of them, she swore—but the cold and empty inside of her was suffocating. Every breath was a bit shorter than the last, a bit more strained. It was panic, almost, or aspiring to be. Another weakness she had no desire to degrade herself showing. "They're gonna come draw blood at some point," she said quietly. "Do you want anything else?"</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn stared hopelessly down at the floor. If Roaki could've met her eye, she would've found not revulsion, not hatred, but pain. Deep, burning pain that ate at her newly-empty stomach and withered her lungs before breaths ever found them. "...No. I'll...I'll come back later. I don't—I don't feel..." She let herself trail off, and hauled herself to her feet, plodding to the door, pushing it the rest of the way open, and sliding out before shutting it behind her. As soon as she did, she fell against the wall, making her way wearily back through medical like she'd just been awake for fifty hours. I'm sorry, Quinny. You can't go outside, you know it's dangerous out there! You can go when you're all grown up, okay, sweetie? Her breathing hitched as memories kept seething up from the depths of her mind. She closed her eye tight and just stopped for a moment. This was a new pain. A different pain. A pain that stole her breath away. A moment after, she opened her eyes again and kept moving, managing to resume her feet proper this time. Aww, Quinny, it's summer! You're going to get dehydrated, sweetie! Drink it all up, okay? All these memories. They wouldn't go away. They kept playing back, over and over and over. We're just worried about you, sweetie! Dad and I just want to keep you safe, make sure you healthy! So lie down for me, please? Quinn had never, even right after Hovvi, wanted to forget something so badly as she did in that moment. So...how do I forget? If she thought about it for more than a moment, the answer jumped out at her. She'd read online that people drank alcohol to forget. Besca wasn't drunk often, but...when she was, she always seemed so happy. Quinn didn't know exactly what the process was, but she knew that it couldn't be too hard. Just drink something alcoholic, right? For a moment, she paused, and wondered if this was really a good idea. But then another memory tore through her mind, this one of her mom telling her a bedtime story. A painful twist jolted from her heart. And then her mind was made up. Skulking around the edges of the station—she didn't want people to see her in this state—she passed through the commons, and eventually found herself at one of her favorite haunts: Tohoki grill. It wasn't noon yet, so it was completely empty, as far as she could tell. Everyone was at work, or at CB Danes, which was a bit less of a sit-down place. Chef Akihiro turned to her with a smile, but it quickly turned into a confused frown at the way she was carrying herself. And, as she slung herself down, the frown grew a little more concerned. "I'd like a yuzu soda," she said tonelessly. And a moment later, she waved behind the counter, where a dizzying array of bottles was pressed up against the wall. "And put one of those in it, please."</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. Akihiro hesitated. It had become very clear that Quinn had found a place among his favorite customers in her short time aboard the Aerie, and thus far things had been friendly between them. He knew her favorite meals, down to the ingredients she liked in some dishes, and others she didn't. He had on occasion crafted specialties for her, when time and supplies allowed, or had her taste-test potential new additions to the menu. They shared few personal things—though Quinn tended to wear her emotions on her sleeve, and so was not particularly hard to read—but there was an undeniable sense of understanding there. Besides, Akihiro had been working on the Aerie for years. He was used to being around pilots, and while the previous lot was gone, he had forged relationships with them as well, ranging from the strictly professional, to the respectfully distant, and, of course, the familiar. All of that aside, the difference between him and them was always stark. He was a civilian, after all, and no matter how friendly they were, they were pilots. They outranked him socially, and professionally. When they asked something of him, regardless of how much it sounded like a suggestion, or how much he would rather refuse, he could not. So, when Quinn asked him for alcohol, he followed it like an order. He picked a nice, albeit not overly-strong bottle that would mix well with yuzu, and whipped up a glass for her. He didn't know whether or not she'd eaten today, but she looked ill to his eyes. When he served her the drink, he slid a small bowl of soba noodles along with it. Then he bowed, went to fetch another cloth from the kitchen, and before he returned to the front, he sent the Commander a message, informing her of Quinn's whereabouts. There was no response, of course; Commander Darroh was a busy woman and likely wouldn't see a message from him for hours. By then he hoped Quinn would be finished, and sleeping, perhaps. She looked like she hadn't slept. These too were thoughts he kept to himself as he emerged back to the bar. "Would you like a menu?" he asked, and set one down near her. "Delivery day was this morning, so everything is fresh."</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn eyed the glass that Akihiro had set in front of her. She'd seen him pour a bit of a clear liquid into it from one of the bottles, she couldn't read it from here. Picking it up, she swirled it a little, watching detached as the pale green liquid sloshed around the sides. It looked just like the usual stuff, really. Didn't look like anything had been mixed with it. So, just like those months ago when it had been a bottle of crystal-clear water, she lifted it to her mouth and took a tentative sip. She blinked. It tasted like...like yuzu soda. There was a vague burning aftertaste to it that she couldn't place, but it wasn't too bad, and it wasn't strong either way. So by the time Akihiro had come back with the menu, she'd already drained half the glass. Nothing happened. Maybe she hadn't had enough to drink, or maybe she needed to wait. Maybe both. Either way. She picked at the noodles, idly wondering whether or not she should, or could, eat them. Took another drink. Idly flipping through the menu that Akihiro had set beside her, she closed her eye gently to his gentle gaze. She felt like she was suffocating. Drowning inside her own head. Falling back down in that well that she was trying so hard to crawl out of, and had been for so long. Enough that stringing words together came with some effort. "No, I'm—I can't—" A long pause. "I—she—" No more words came out. Her head dropped. She took another drink.</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn kept sitting there, looking at the bar, as the memories bit and snapped at the back of her mind. Akihiro's noodles—usually a point of love for Quinn, she'd never pass up an opportunity to scarf a bowl or three down—sat in front of her, glistening in the light of the faux lanterns. She'd just finished her second glass of soda, and a third one had been brought to her. She heaved in a long, sighing breath. Then, as she looked up, she found her eye seeming to...lag behind itself. She blinked suddenly at the strangeness of the situation, putting the glass back on the counter after a long drink. Her blinking felt suddenly...clumsy? Was that the word to describe it? She somehow didn't know. She shook her head suddenly, like she was trying to shake cobwebs loose from it. Once. Twice. Her eye didn't seem like it was focusing right, and she blinked rapidly a handful of times. Nothing came of it. She picked the glass up, took another—smaller—sip from it. Was this what being drunk was like? If it was, then it wasn't working. Her mom stayed lurking behind her, rubbing her hand slowly on her back to calm her down when she was upset. Her sharp inhalation echoed around her head. Blink. Another moment passed. Or...was it a moment? The people around her had shifted around, she though. Someone hadn't been sitting in that booth, had they? Maybe they had and she was just...remembering it wrong. She felt...off, somehow. Slower, muddled. Like waking up after a long, long sleep. But... Blink. Blink. It seemed brighter, somehow. Like the lights were blurring together into a bigger light above her. She was swaying in her seat now. Why was she swaying? It felt like her thoughts were passing through deep water to get to her head. It felt like something was wrong. Something was really wrong, though she didn't quite know what it was. She tried to stand, but lost her balance and slumped back down into her seat before she even really got to her feet. And yet... She lay her head down on the bar. She might've groaned. Had she? She wasn't quite sure. Her hand was wrapped loosely around he half-empty glass as she stared down at the wood. She couldn't see quite right. Everything had gone vague and...and blurry. Not just what she was looking at, but everything. Everything in her eye, in her ears, and in her head were all mixed around and together, blurring into each other like smudged paint. The memories shifted and melted in her head, and she was left only with a background of pain and fear, horrible and awful but mercifully free of any specific image. Or...less free of the images, and more...every time she thought of one, it skated off her mind. Though they were still there, and she could feel them, she couldn't really see them. And everything felt like she was hearing and feeling and thinking it through cotton, so she didn't know when she'd started crying, or how loud it was. She didn't much care.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. The mood in the restaurant had changed quickly. The few early diners had either finished or ignored their food to gawk at the pilot sobbing quietly at the bar. Whispers abound, phones were drawn and videos snapped. Lucky the day was young and most of the station was on shift, or this might have turned into a much larger spectacle. Akihiro decided it was time for a break. He apologized to the customers and told them he had to close down for a little while. No one gave him grief—hardly anyone outside of security ever did, unless it was the weekend, where everyone was equally likely to be a problem. He handed out dinner vouchers and took down names to remind himself who would receive extra portions when they next visited. Then he locked the door and went back to the kitchen. His cook was also Tohoken, so he spoke quietly in their tongue. "I'm stepping out for a minute," he said. "Watch her until I get back. If she asks for more, mix some tonic water in with the yuzu, she won't notice. If she asks for food, make her whatever she likes." Done, he returned to Quinn at the bar, donning a jacket over his apron. "I'll be right back, Quinnlash, I forgot something in my room. If you want another drink, or you get hungry before I get back, my cook will take care of you." He doubted she heard him, or if she had that she understood, but he intended to be quick. He left the Grill. Commander Darroh would be on the bridge, but considering she was likely busy, there was simply no way someone like him could get up there, and it was clear she was not going to see his message any time soon. Thankfully, he knew someone who could get ahold of her. It was a brisk walk to medical. "Ah, chef Akihiro," Doctor Follen said, plainly surprised to see him at his door. "Good morning, are you feeling well?" "I'm sorry to bother you, doctor. I need to get in touch with Commander Darroh and I'm afraid I don't have the clearance to interrupt her during a meeting." "I see, what's the matter—if you don't mind my asking?" "It's about Ms. Loughvein." The doctor's interest was piqued. Akihiro relayed the situation to him, and waited patiently while he sent a message to the Commander. After that he shut and locked his door. "You said she's in your restaurant?" "Yes sir," Akihiro said, though he was confused when Follen followed him out of the ward. "You're coming too?" "Certainly. She's my patient, after all, and this sounds like a rather significant event." Akihiro couldn't argue with that, though he felt strange bringing someone else along. "Did she say anything?" "She mumbled, but I couldn't understand her." "Hm." There was a lilt of intrigue in the doctor's voice that did not sit well with Akihiro. But soon enough they arrived at the Grill. Commander Darroh came half-jogging down the commons. There was stark concern on her face, tainted by a barely-concealed annoyance when she saw Follen. The doctor only smiled and nodded to her. She ignored him, gave her attention to Akihiro. "How much has she had?" she asked. "Two cocktails, not particularly strong, but she ordered no food and I suspect she's eaten nothing today." Besca tried to peer in through the tinted glass door. "I'm sorry I missed your message." Akihiro dismissed the apology with a wave. "I will be in the back, please take as long as you need," he said, and went back inside. The Commander and doctor Follen did not follow yet, so he left the door unlocked. As he passed the bar he took the mostly-full glass with him and disappeared into the back. Outside, Besca paced in front of the door. Rubbernecks did their best to eavesdrop but she shooed them away. Still, even alone she dropped her voice low. "You can go now." Follen scoffed. "Don't be stupid." "She's clearly dealing with something right now, you fucking animal." "And as her doctor, it behooves me to be here to help her through it." She grimaced. "You know the sooner you stop pretending like you give a single shit about her, the sooner both our jobs get easier." "What an unsurprisingly limited point of view." He reached for the handle and she snatched him by the wrist, held him there. Besca glared hot contempt into his eyes. "We're not in primary anymore, Aldous. I could throttle you." He smirked, infuriating her. "I welcome you to leave as many wounds as you're comfortable with explaining to Quinnlash on our next meeting." An electric moment passed. The smug expectance left his face, and Besca knew this conversation had already ceased to interest him. Part of her wished she could be so inhumanly detached. She let him go, but shouldered past him to enter first. They made their way across the dim, quiet restaurant, and came to sit on either side of Quinn. She shot Follen a warning glance, and he sat back. Quinn looked rough. Exhausted. Her face was wet she wobbled unevenly in her chair. Besca draped an arm around her to hold her steady, leaned in to speak softly and quietly. Easier to keep the abject worry out of her voice that way. "Hey, hun. Hey, it's me. Missed you this morning, just wanted to stop by to see you," she said. ". How you doin'? You okay?"</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Quinn's mind was full of fog. Thick, sticky, sickly black fog, crawling down her throat, choking her from the inside out, smelling of brine and metal. The world swam in front of her eyes. Akihiro was gone. Everyone else in the restaurant was gone. Everyone was gone. She was alone. So awfully alone. Alone with the fog in her head. She dimly realized that she was still crying. The door opened behind her. She wanted on some level to check why and who, but for some reason the thought couldn't quite cling to her mind, and her body wouldn't cooperate anyway. When she blinked, her eye felt thick, gummy. Then a warm arm wrapped around her shoulders. Quinn—jumpy as she tended to be—usually would've jerked at the unexpected contact. But instead she just let it hold her tight, steady her. She didn't feel quite right, and it was...nice, to let someone else hold her up instead. "Hey, hun. Hey, it's me. Missed you this morning, just wanted to stop by to see you. How you doin'? You okay?" Her head moved laconically almost without guidance, and she found herself staring blurrily into Besca's face. Her eye wasn't quite focusing properly, and it was plain to see in how she squinted up through her tear-stained face. The devastating loneliness that had been festering at her core for the past few weeks slowly began to wither. Her voice, when she spoke, was slurring, and wobbling with unrestrained tears. "...Beshca...?" She stared for another moment. Just stared. And the pain was more than evident in her eye. Then she heaved a long, drawn-out, agonized sob and collapsed into Besca, wrapping uncoordinated arms around her and grabbing on like a life raft in a hurricane. Things that sounded like they were supposed to be words rushed out along with the crying, but they were half-formed mumbles at best and totally incomprehensible through the slurring. Here and there, though, and infrequently, some things managed to be coherent, just enough to understand. ...dn't wann' rem'ber... ...hurt her... ...feel...shick... ...cn't go 'ome dn't wanna...</s>

<|description|>Quinnlash Loughvein R.I.S.C. Dossier --- Age 16 Physical Evaluation Quinnlash is a young woman, five foot three, average build, and slightly underweight. She has very long hair (dark gray streaked with bright yellow) cut into sharp, straight bangs in front, and typically tied into a braid. When tied, it ends at approximately hip height. Untied, it falls nearly to her knees. She has extremely pale skin, unmarked with the exception of scarring around her empty eye socket (right), over which she wears a black and yellow eyepatch. Her remaining eye (left) is brilliant yellow. She has a sharp chin and jawline. Her muscle mass is slightly beneath consistent with regular exercise, and she is somewhat clumsy. She has a tendency to stumble if she isn't watching where she steps. Psychological Profile Quinnlash has some very strange psychological markers that nonetheless make sense when her history is taken into account. She is very much 1) Outgoing 2) Friendly 3) Cheerful and 4) Supportive, as well as 1) Anxious 2) Emotionally volatile 3) Prone to attention-seeking behavior and 4) Highly competitive. In addition, she seems to bear a great deal of attachment issues (for more information, check her background information). Background Information Neither we nor Quinnlash herself know exactly where she was born, but all she can remember is the house she lived in for sixteen years in Hovvi. Specifically, she remembers her own room, as she only left it—without permission, I might add—twice in her life. She was kept completely isolated by her parents, researchers on Modir and modium, and was only aware of what they allowed her to be. The only notable incident throughout her life was, as far as can be told, two or three months after she snuck out into the living room and saw the outside world for the first time. Her right eye spontaneously burst (very likely a result of sudden modium growth) and was subsequently removed. The second time she snuck out was fully, immediately before meeting Besca, which was the first time she actually left her house. She was intimidated and fascinated, and the world seemed to stare at her very strangely. The only known survivor of the Hovvi Incident, she was removed from the town's ruins and taken to the Aerie, where she was subsequently tested for compatibility and given a modioscory to interface with a Savior. There are a number of strange medical anomalies present in Quinnlash's system, such as her bright yellow eye and the hair being naturally yellow. More pressing is the unfeasible level of modium present in her entire system when she was first retrieved post-Hovvi Incident, and the filed and maintained seed growth of modium in place of her missing eye. Interim-Commander Darroh has taken over care of the child's training as a pilot, and should be contacted for any inquiries. Savior --- Designation Ablaze Body Tall and lean, Ablaze is on the thinner side for a Savior. Long scutes of modium not unlike those found on some aquatic organisms run along the arms and legs, forming a sort of natural armmor-weapon combination. The fingers are long and end in sharp claws. At the pilot's request, its right eye has been covered with a thick plate of metal. Weapon Ablaze's weapon, suited to the name, is a cannon as long as long as Ablaze is tall that fires explosive blasts of fire. The mechanism by which it produces this fire is unknown. When phased, the cannon gains a charge mechanism, allowing her to charge a shot for up to five seconds to increase the destructive yield considerably, up to approximately twice the size and intensity of the blast at full charge. In addition, the cannon shots can be detonated on command, or detonation can be delayed as a form of trap.</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. There was silence for a little while, punctuated by little, aggravated grunts as Quinnlash proceeded to stumble towards the rear of the boat, having seemingly not heard her. She wobbled onto the seat, leaned strangely sideways as though she thought it might propel her back to her feet—which it did anyway, of course. She mumbled, "This sucksh," and turned back to Quinn, face scrunched up like she'd smelled something foul. "Forget?" she said, incredulous. "'Course you din't forget. Think some ssssssssstupid drink s'gonna take our memories away? Need those. Mmh. Need those." "why am I thinkin' these things about her?" Quinnlash threw up her arms. "'Cuz she's mom. Duh! That's what she did. She got in, she put herself into our head, deep as she could, like a worm, but hey," she hunched down low, at-eyes with Quinn. "Look. Watch. C'mere…" Twirling around and nearly falling over again, Quinnlash walked right off the back of the boat and into the water. Or rather, onto it. Her feet made contact with the strange waves and sunk no further than an inch in. With each step, the water flattened and hardened like sand, and when eventually her imbalance got the better of her and she flopped down onto it, it didn't splash so much as rustle like grass in the wind. More grumbling, more pushing herself upright again at impossible angles. As she rose, she flung her arms like she was slamming a door shut, and the whole world followed that motion, smearing entirely out of focus one way, and then snapping back into clarity the other. They were no longer on the lake, but overlooking it from high above. Quinn still sat in the boat, which now rested in the grass of a cliff—though still rocked as if upon the gentle waters. The lake was below, complete with its smudgy surface and poorly-rendered reflections. Off to the distant, lower side was the dark blur of Hovvi, dotted with lights that were clearly meant to be coming from inside the buildings, but more than a few simply hung in the air, attached to nothing. Around them, the cliff was empty, but right away Quinn would know that was wrong. It shouldn't be. There should be something here. There was something here, she knew it, even though she'd only ever seen it the one time. They were where her house had been. In the vacant grass Quinnlash stood triumphantly with her hands on her hips. "Lookit this. She's gone here. They both are. Plucked'em out. This is where we forget. But out there, where it's real, we need to remember. We need to remember so we know who to hate."</s> <|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein It was disorienting, the way that Quinnlash shifted the scene. Disorienting the way that everything seemed off, even though Quinn knew why it was. Disorienting the way she talked about their mother, and the way she...got deep into their head and stayed there. Disorienting, the way it felt to once again look out over the lake from the cliffs, like everything had moved back to the start again, almost like nothing had ever happened. But most disorienting of all was the undisturbed grass. She knew, of course, that the house wasn't here in the dreams. She couldn't see it from the boat, Quinnlash had told her that it was gone, even, that she'd taken it away because their parents were takers. But it was one thing to know something, and quite another to experience it. Though the boat was still moving like it was on the water, Quinn slowly, almost meditatively, walked out the back and set her feet that were all of a sudden barefoot on the grass, felt it tickling her feet, not at all considering that she'd never walked barefoot on grass and that this was probably not at all what it felt like in the waking world. No, she was preoccupied, as she meandered almost in a trance to the very edge of the cliff and sat down, staring out at the wildly shifting lake from far above it. On an impulse she reached her hand out as though to touch it. And even here, in this dream where she felt so much less, her heart burned like fire as she looked out over what Hovvi used to be. "...But out there, where it's real, we need to remember. We need to remember so we know who to hate." She finally tore her gaze away from the false town and looked back over her shoulder at the tiny self that stood there, little hands balled into fists. And by way of response, she let her shoulders sag and lay back, looking up at the stars decoupled from the sky. She sighed. Her voice, when she spoke, was heavy as lead and quiet in the evening gloom, filled with a nameless futility. "...Can you help me hate them?"</s> <|message|>R.I.S.C. The sky above her righted itself, at least partially. Patches of blurry umber snapped into focus, and there the stars were crisp and vibrant against the black. But it wasn't stable, it didn't last; if she looked closely she could practically tell where Quinnlash's focus was, where she meant to put things back together, and where they slipped from her grasp. Far away, the stars dripped from the sky in shooting strands of silver, falling clear past the horizon, and then lapsing through it. "Incredible, right? All the things we lost. All the things we never had to lose." The moon high above began to quake, pulling at both ends as if it meant to split in half. Instead, gradually, it became two overlapping discs, still vibrating in the distant, imaginary void, and it was impossible to discern which one lay atop the other. "So long, alone. Trapped. What they did to us…what they made us into, taking away all we could ever be. They stole love from us." There was a heavy sound, a long-delayed splashing of water as something cleaved through the lake. A great shadow was cast over the cliff. Standing at the edge, tall enough that its head was level with them, was Ablaze. Quinnlash stood before it, her back to Quinn, but her tiny voice was as clear as it might have come from her own mouth. "Hate…all they left us was hate," she said, and with a rumbling sound, Ablaze's eye burst to life, washing them both in dark cherry light. "It was always inside us, wasn't it? Confused, looking for purpose—but we found that too, just like we found love. No, I…I can't teach you how to hate them. We already know how to hate them. We were just…we weren't ready, before." She turned to Quinn, practically a silhouette. A crackling like ice. Her horns split suddenly into forking branches, and a dark liquid dribbled down her scalp. The dreamscape sagged, the grass beneath them fractured and sank, the moons dropped like coins into the lake of pitch. All that remained was the bloody tide of Ablaze's eye, and the dark figure of Quinnlash, reaching out to her with a look of joy so pure, so eager, Quinn might not have recognized her. The girl's hair shimmered white, just as it had the night before the duel with Roaki—so brief as to be almost imperceptible. "But we will be." Then the light vanished. The void enwrapped her again, cradled her, held her close to its endlessness as if she were something precious. In that emptiness, Quinn felt the weight of a promise sink her down, slowly, gently, until she could be absolutely certain she would never be alone. And then she woke up.</s>

<|message|>Quinnlash Loughvein Everything was dark, and still, and quiet, and empty, and void. Quinn floated through it in a haze; half awake and half not, she was embraced softly by a wonderful senseless ataraxia. There was something comfortable about the eternity that she was bathed in, something beautiful and certain, in a life where nothing ever was. Like a warm blanket on a cold night, wrapping her up, keeping everything soft and still. A part of her subconscious mind—a part that was slowly but steadily growing—wanted to stay there. Stay in that perfect peace. Suddenly an image flashed through her mind. There and gone in the space of of half a blink, or maybe longer, it was impossible to tell. The image was impossible to tell as well; no rhyme or reason in the brief space her mind had to breathe before it was slowed down again. It was...it was white. It was all white, with—with some silver-gray, and— In the waking world, Quinn's body shifted. She floated again. At peace. But then another image blurred past. She caught some of it this time; it was a person, a person with brown hair, but that was all she could tell. And then after that, another. Again, almost no rhyme or reason, just a woman with brown— Besca. And all at once, that brief eternity between dream and reality was filled with flashes of blazing colors, pieces that didn't fit together. It hurt. It hurt, it hurt, her almost sleeping form began to thrash, and standing above and behind it all was Quinnlash, outlined against the bloody red of Ablaze's single blazing eye as her horns split and contorted and thick black liquid began to drip where they were attached to her head, her look of joy, then—then—As she unconsciously gasped in frantic breaths of air— "Nnnnnnnnhhh—" "AH!" Quinn cannoned upright to a sitting position, and the short, sharp cry spilled out of her room and rebounded through the dorms. Her eye was wide with disbelief and fear and filled with tears. She had just enough time to realize she was hyperventilating madly. And then her body caught up to her brain. Her own scream felt suddenly like someone was pounding nails into her skull. And it was immediately followed in rapid time by an intense and powerful nausea, enough that she could barely hold back another round of vomit as she flopped back down, pulled her cover over her, and curled up in a ball. As the minutes ticked by, the images blurred, and the instinctive terror abated. Her heaving breaths turned to shivers, and a long, feeble groan dribbled from her mouth before trailing off into nothing: "Ughhhhh..."</s>

<|description|>Name Jack Leroy Daniels Title Daniels, Doctor of History, and Linguists / Doctor Daniels Specialization & Training One of the leading experts of linguistics and archaeology in his field, speaking no less than 23 different languages, Jack graduated with honours and upon obtaining his Ph.D. he started an esteemed position at the International Museum. Several years were spent where he travelled the globe, studying ancient languages and cultures as well as writing and publishing papers on his discoveries. Discovering and cataloguing the history of mankind has been his greatest passion and goal, so when he was recommended for a position aboard the SC Calypso, he was hesitant but ultimately accepted. Yes, there are some aspects of human history that he'd never be able to discover now, but this position not only allows him to preserve human knowledge and culture on another planet, but to be present at the start of a whole new civilisation. The six months spent training for this mission was nothing short of gruelling - especially the physical aspects since he had never been the most athletically inclined - but he passed in the end with some new skills added to his repertoire. He's now able to hold his own with basic self-defence and hit a target while actually aiming for it(though he's still a ways of from managing a bullseye). --- Quick description of health Jack's vitals are well within the normal range for someone of his stature. Standing reasonably tall at 6'1", he has a narrow, somewhat gangly build and weighs 80kgs. He is caucasian with his genealogy showing roots in Scotland, France and the Netherlands. He's not very athletically inclined, but manages to stay reasonably fit. Quick personality An open, friendly guy, Jack tries his best to always treat others with respect. He's very easy to approach and always happy to talk to others, except when he's reading - in which case, DO NOT DISTURB. He is also as loyal as he is petty - meaning very. He'd be the first to have your back in a fight, but if you get on his bad side...he knows how to hold a grudge. Backstory Growing up, Jack was the middle child of five children, with an even bigger extended family. The town he grew up in was small, the kind of place where everybody knew one another and had their noses in their neighbours' business. Though he loves his neighbourhood and his family, he had always been curious about the rest of the world and what lays beyond his small town. That was why he buried himself in books, he learned about the world, taught himself several languages and studied like heck, getting himself a full ride scholarship to one of the best universities. During his studies, he had an internship at the local museum and upon graduating with a double major and obtaining his Ph.D. he was recommended for a great position at the International Museum, where he spent several years working as an archaeologist, where he got to live his dream of traveling the globe and experiencing various different cultures. Having experienced most of the earth, seeing what a new planet had to offer just seemed like a natural step forward. Jack will miss his family, his friends and the life that he built, but joining the SC Calypso is an opportunity that he couldn't pass up and one that he doubts he will regret in the long run.</s> <|message|>Kiran Carter Event Post --- The Beginning. Randomly, people began to wake from their hypersleep chambers. Specialty or not. The electricity on the ship will continue to short circuits in the hallways and rooms that were not important to have backup generators and battery pack supplies on hand. Constant buzzing could be heard from certain parts of the ship, especially the hallways that stressed to light themselves, flickering off and on. Other than that static noise from the constant buzzing, the ship appeared to be eerily silent. Main doors were powered down from the decrease in energy supply meaning people would have to find other ways to get to different parts of the ship. One way to get anywhere was crawling through the engineer ducks, but you could easily get lost without a map or prior knowledge. There was a good chance one could slip and fall to their death if they were not careful in the tunnels. Places that would be fully powered in times like this are the med bays, pilot decks, and laboratory rooms that are adjacent to species bunks. This is to keep the species on board alive and healthy. Currently, the ship's power grid is running at 55% when it should be running in a range of 90% - 100%. The main powerline has been damaged in the lower levels of the ship, and two more are considered in critical condition in the mid and upper levels. Status of who should be out of the hypersleep chambers at this moment: Fourth shift. Some groups work in shifts together; each wakes up the next shift before being put into hypersleep again. If your character is a specialized person from shifts 1-10, excluding 4, they will be confused about why they're waking to no one and what is happening. Shift four characters have been out of their pods for 1-month doing their duties. Normal shift lengths are 3-months. Report There were twelve people on the fourth shift, and now there are only five. If you are one of those five, you have seen some things happening. You might have seen another member (NPC) of the fourth shift perish from unknown creatures, or you have been alone for a whole month. Anyways all living specialized members that have been released from hypersleep need to work together to overcome the current obstacles in their way.</s> <|message|>Kiran Carter Kiran Carter § Interactions/Mentions - None § Time/Location - Medical Bay 4th level, south. Unknown time and date. --- The decompressing sound of the chamber began to seep into his unconscious brain. A soft groan escaped his lungs while his eyes slowly opened, exposing those sap-green orbs. Dark eyelashes fluttered a few times before the instantaneous shock overruled his body. It felt like electricity was running through him and his body began to set into full panic. Sucking in the air through the mask on his face while grabbing at himself. The gel-like substance on his skin began to make it hard to grab anything, but he was ripping the I.V.s out of his skin and tearing the mask off his face. All of his muscles began to tremble and after the last I.V. was pulled from his flesh – SHuuT! Falling onto his hands and knees, he felt the freezing metal floor beneath him. Plummeting into the hard material caused his joints and palms to ache from the impact. He barely noticed. The shaking of his body was more than enough distraction from anything around him. It's cold… he was looking around and beginning to focus on the reality around him. The blinking lights in distant rooms were not helping his eyes to adjust after being asleep for at least 27 months. Gasping for air, his body was still figuring out what was truly happening at this moment. Struggling to focus on anything around him, he could only remember that he was on the 4th level of the ship near the end: the reactor, power grid, and other major life-line components. "Wha-ugh." he whined while grabbing his chest. His heart felt like it was racing out of his chest. Slowly crawling over to one of the stationary pieces of furniture nearby, he hoisted himself up, and he had to keep himself in the same area for a little bit. His muscles felt extremely weak, and his whole body felt like it couldn't handle anything. Closing his eyes and focusing on his breathing, he was trying his best to calm his body from leaving the safe environment in the hypersleep chamber. Kiran began to scrape the gel-like substance off his skin on the floor, the air around him was causing it to be cold, and it did not help that he was only in boxers. Looking around the chamber room, his vision began to focus on the medical bay adjacent to the room. His vision was still fuzzy, and his brain was running in circles, but he was beginning to come to it, "Wh-" putting a hand quickly to the side of his head, a searing headache came on all of a sudden "-Whe-ere is everyone?" he asked himself out loud as he was able to function better. He could feel his body begin to come down from the shock.</s>

<|message|>Name Jack Leroy Daniels Jack Daniels ¶ Interactions/Mentions - None ¶ Time/Location - Medical Bay 4th level, east. Unknown time and date. --- Waking up was nothing short of jarring. One moment everything was peaceful and Jack was still happily immersed in the embrace of his dreams, then he was literally shocked out of it. Feeling as if a thousand hand-buzzers were pressing in on him, Jack fought his way out of the sleep chamber. He doesn't know how long he was clawing at the gel-covered mask and I.V's inserted into him, trying to escape, but when he finally got the last one out and he was allowed to fall forward onto the metal floor and breath in the fresh air the relief was beyond words. His body shaking, he spent a good few minutes just laying on the floor and taking deep breaths until the chill slowly seeping into his bones forced him to return to reality. "W-worst wa-wakeup ever…" Not even bothering to leave his spot on the floor, Jack simply pulled himself into a slightly more comfortable sitting position, his arms crossed in front of his chest to try and preserve some heat. His dark brown eyes moved across the room taking in his surroundings as it became clear that he was alone. Where was everyone? Why was he waking up alone? Did something go wrong? Did his sleep pod malfunction? If so, why just his? Was it just his? Did the lights just flicker? The protocol for this was so not covered during the six months of training from hell. Running a hand through his light-brown hair, he scrunched his nose up at the feeling of the drying gel covering him and a heavy sigh escaped him. This situation was definitely not ideal…what he wouldn't give right now for a boiling hot bath and a good book. First things first, though, he needs to find somebody from the current shift – find out what the heck is happening, what the problem is and how to fix it. Then he can go back to sleep in his pod until he has a – hopefully better – awakening for the seventh shift. As well as pants…he's not about to search the entire ship in just his boxers. Standing up on slightly shaky legs, Jack leaned against the nearest wall for support. "Right. Pants and people. Let's go find some…" Preferably in that order…</s>

<|description|>Valerie Durand Gender: ♀ Dorm: Ra Yellow Appearance: Stands at about 5'8. Thin frame. Prefers black clothes and leather jackets when left to her own devices on fashion. Resting bitch face. Personality: Confident and composed, Valerie doesn't lack for self-esteem. She's highly independent thanks to her upbringing, and tends to be quiet unless she's approached or something interests her greatly. Her general demeanor appears cold and distant, but this obscures a sense of loyalty to anyone she actually manages to get close to, as well as a preference for dark and grim humor that borders on insensitive at times. Of course, it doesn't help that to the outside world, she seems to be lost in her own thoughts at times. To anyone in the know, however, that's simply because she's busy conversing with her Duel Spirit. Her constant companion has stuck with her throughout her life, and she always makes time for it. One of the only things that gets Valerie fired up and excited is being pushed in a duel. To her, the game is at its best when she's given a challenge. Her own deck is influenced mostly by her Duel Spirit's archetype, and she's been constantly updating her Dark World deck. History: The first time she touched Ceruli's card from the collection of booster packs she was given as a young girl, Valerie thought she was going insane. A tiny, wizened fiend appeared in front of Valerie with a raised eyebrow, and continued to follow her around whereever she went. The lack of reaction that anyone had to such as sight was all the proof she needed that she was the only one who could see the Duel Monster floating next to her, and so she kept quiet about it. Despite this, Valerie's childhood continued on as it always had. She was shunted from caretaker to caretaker and school to school as her parents continuously traveled overseas in pursuit of advancing their careers. Loneliness and a sense of instability accompanied her whereever she went, as Valerie had to change schools year after year when her parents dumped her off on another relative, family friend, or in one egregious case, her mother's secretary. Her one constant was the shade of Ceruli, Guru of Dark World following her wherever she went. The card spirit didn't seem to be malicious in any way, and was absolutely delighted whenever she played its card in playground duels. A few years passed in this manner before Valerie started hearing voices. Or at least, one specific voice in particular. It didn't take long for her to realize exactly whose voice it was. Valerie's own personal card game psychopomp explained that whatever spiritual ability she had that allowed her to see him in the first place had finally developed enough to allow her to hear his voice as well. Used to Duel Monsters-related nonsense from him floating around all over the place at this point, Valerie simply accepted this as a natural progression of the weird bullshit in her life. Ceruli never spoke much of himself or other Duel Spirits, with Valerie only catching him muttering spitefully under his breath about someone named Brron before he caught himself. Still, his presence did influence her into constructing her Duel Monsters deck around Dark World monsters. Valerie's sensitivity towards Duel Spirits was a major reason why she continued on playing Duel Monsters all through her adolescence, wanting to find out more about all of it. Of course, it helped that she had a genuine love of the game. While she was a slightly above-average student in traditional academics, it was more from her absentee parents pushing her to succeed in school than anything else. Thus, when she came of age to apply to Duel Academy, Valerie applied without hesitation. By the time her parents found out, she'd already gotten through the exam and was on the boat. Her exam results were clear: she'd missed entrance into Obelisk Blue by the slightest of margins. Her practical skill and general knowledge were almost enough to get her in, but a few slips on some of the more obscure parts of duel theory that even Ceruli didn't know meant Valerie was bound for Ra Yellow. Still, it didn't particularly bother her all too much. If she was that close in the first place, surely some actual instruction would have her moving up after a semester or two. Spirituality: While Valerie is capable of seeing most spirits, she's only really able to communicate with Ceruli in particular, thanks to being in contact with him for so long. Her ability to communicate with spirits is dependent upon how long she's been in close contact with them, though this could change as her spirituality develops with exposure to more and more Duel Spirits. Ceruli himself claims that through proximity to him, she's likely able to speak to other Dark World spirits without issue, but other monsters will likely take an adjustment period. Spirit Partner: Ceruli, Guru of Dark World Ace Card: Grapha, Dragon Lord of Dark World Deck(s): Monsters (20): Grapha, Dragon Lord of Dark World x2 Sillva, Warlord of Dark World x2 Goldd, Wu-Lord of Dark World x2 Snoww, Unlight of Dark World x3 Beiige, Vanguard of Dark World x3 Broww, Huntsman of Dark World x3 Fabled Raven x3 Ceruli, Guru of Dark World x1 Ash Blossom & Joyous Spring x1 Spells (15): Allure of Darkness x1 Dragged Down into the Grave x3 Dark Hole x1 Terraforming x1 Dark World Dealings x3 Foolish Burial x1 Mystical Space Typhoon x3 The Gates of Dark World x2 Traps (5): Call of the Haunted x1 Dark Deal x2 Dark Smog x2 Extra Deck (10): Fabled Valkyrus x2 Dark End Dragon x2 Chaos King Archfiend x2 Infernity Doom Archfiend x2 Stygian Sergeants x2</s> <|message|>Florian Pine "Oh, have you come to save me? You're a little late for that…" Pine scoffed and and rolled his eyes. And so, a tag duel began. Pine summoned his strongest monster, Tytannial Princess of Camellas. But she was soon destroyed… Or rather she was forced to tribute herself to stop another undesirable effect… He summoned Jerry Beans man, and powered him up to absurd levels, and he too was destroyed. Ugh. Still, he was able to use the effect of seed cannon, and he exerted all of his psychic powers to make sure every hit he was able to land hurt. Including every seed fired from the cannon. "You know, Haruko had nothing to do with interrupting your date. I may have… borrowed her monsters, but she had no idea what was happening. That was all me. You may asking yourself, but Pine why would you do that? Hmm, well why don't you use that brain and figure it out. You never even offered me a copy of Lost in the Labyrinth. But a pretty girl asks you out, and I guess I'm just left to fend for myself huh…" Pine rolled his eyes. "I've already had my heart broken once. I put that boy in the hospital for his trouble. I was a fool to think things would be different here." Pine would have continued with a monologue, but Pine was soundly defeated. His deck had betrayed him, and his partner was of no help. Pine had passed out from over exertion, and did not wake up after being freed.</s> <|message|>Cassandra Moore Cassandra Moore – Obelisk Blue When Cassandra next opened her eyes she was staring at the sky; a night's sky, visible through the sparse branches of trees above her head and with a small smattering of stars glimpsed through wispy dark clouds. The ground underneath her was lumpy and uncomfortable, something sharp was digging into the small of her back and the cold dirt was leeching the heat from her body. Her arm, lying across her chest, still had her duel disk active on it. But her eyes were open. She hadn't expected that to ever happen again. The last thing she could recall was losing the duel to the possessed Haruko, the darkness closing in on her and the reminder that she had been duelling for her life ringing in her ears. She had expected that loss to be… permanent, but apparently it hadn't been. Unless… Sitting up, Cassandra took in her surroundings, her eyes adjusting to the darkness to let her see a little further. The oppressive feeling of misery and anger had abated enough that though it still lingered in the air it was bearable and Haruko was nowhere to be seen; that was a good sign, but didn't give her any answers. What she did see were three other students, none of whom she recognised; a boy in Slifer red and two girls in Ra yellow. Idly, she picked a dried leaf from out of her hair and called out to the person closest to her, the boy. "Hmm, excuse me? What happened?" He turned to her, a frustrated frown of confusion on his face as he looked her over warily. "Honestly? Not a damn clue. I'm still waiting for someone to fill me in on that." Nodding, Cassandra pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs; it was still cold out and she had rushed out here in her pajamas, but she didn't feel like standing up just yet. "There were a lot of angry duel spirits in the woods; I think they were upset about being abandoned, discarded. They possessed that girl and… were trying to do something; gain power or… use power for something. I felt it from my dorm, so I came out here to help but… I lost. I've never lost before." The boy scoffed at her. "Spirits and possession? Are you serious? Are you sure it wasn't just… wait, you've never lost before?" He stopped speaking then, staring at her in surprised. She responded by shaking her head. His eyes dropped to her jacket then, the blue standing out less in the dark than his red, but still visible, and shook the thought away. "Whatever. Anyway, this was probably just some prank right? Spirits don't exist. Hell, you were a part of it; you started acting all weird after beating that girl…" He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder to one of the Ra's. "…and then challenged me a Kaison to a tag duel. Then we won and everyone just kind of… snapped out of it." Understanding lit up in Cassandra's eyes and she nodded at the boy's explanation, even though he himself still looked confused. "Hmm, that makes sense." She had been fighting for her life, but losing hadn't meant death or destruction, it meant possession; like what Haruko had been through. After losing to Haruko she'd duelled on the spirits behalf, defeating others before being defeated herself and apparently being freed. That meant this boy had beaten her. And saved her. "Thank you." "Er, you're welcome. I'm Leo by the way." Finally standing up, Cassandra patted some of the dirt from her pajamas and deactivated her duel disk. "I'm Cassandra. Nice to meet you." She patted her pockets, making sure her deck was still there and pulling it out. All of her cards were still in her possession, including Gokibore, so she was happy; even if tonight could easily have gone much worse. "I'm going to go back to my dorm now." Still confused, Leo rubbed a hand through the hair at the back of his head. "Yeah, sure, er… do you need me to walk you there?" "Hmm, no, I'll be fine. I have my friends with me." With that, she turned and walked away, limping slightly due to the cut on her leg, more than ready to crawl into bed and get some sleep. ---- Leo Wilde – Slifer Red Leo watched the strange girl leave, glancing from side to side to try and see these 'friends' she has mentioned. He considered following after, just to make sure she made it back ago, but decided against it; she was a big girl after all. Well, no, actually she was tiny, but she was old enough to take care of herself. Instead he turned to leave, walking back in the direction of the Slifer dorm so he could try and get some shut eye before classes tomorrow. "Man, everyone in this school is so weird."</s> <|message|>Caleb Avis Caleb & Lexa Several minutes earlier... He ran over to the machine. He couldn't help his facial expression at the moment, pained and twisted up like he was watching his parents being murdered. He shut his eyes tight, then blinked the moisture away. He wasn't about to cry in front of Alexis, not when it was his fault. He addressed her without turning around. "Please tell me you know how to fix it." There was a certain desperation in his voice. He cursed himself for it. He'd never said anything about wanting to go back before now, but it was plain to see what was on his mind. "There's no way." That was it, then. She kept talking, though Caleb tuned her out, too caught up in his own thoughts. She was only going on about how it was impossible anyway, as if to make sure there wasn't any hope. It was pretty kind of her, he thought, to be so heartless. It'd only be false hope anyway. "Who did this? We weren't followed here, right?" "That should be impossible. I explained it before, right?" "Ugh. Multiple times." "Let's hope you remember, then, so I don't have to do it again. Come on. If you saw it, then others probably noticed it too. We should get out of here before they show up." Caleb sighed. "You're right." She always was, it felt like.</s>

<|message|>Valerie Durand Valerie opened her eyes with a groan, immediately registering Ceruli hovering worriedly around her shoulder. What the hell had happened...? Oh, right. The spirit she lost to possessed her or something. And then she'd lost a duel for the second time tonight. Damn. Possessed her didn't even get enough time to be a bitch, having bit her tongue more than once because her tag partner had been pissing and moaning about being passed up for a date or something. Ugh. Prick didn't have something better to complain about? "Valerie?" Ceruli asked hesitantly. "Are you alright now? I was afraid you'd not return to the land of the living." "I'm fine. You know, except for my pride." She sighed, picking herself off the ground. "Probably a good thing we lost that last one, but it still feels like it sucks." "I am still holding to that 'no help' stipulation you gave me years ago, you know." Ceruli pointed out as Valerie began to slip away, in no mood to talk to anyone else for the moment. "If I-" "No." Valerie said flatly as she trudged back towards the dorms. "I'll make some deck adjustments tomorrow and look into picking up some new cards. I can do this. Just need to play better." A resigned sigh was all the response Ceruli gave as they made their way back.</s>

<|description|>Valerie Durand Gender: ♀ Dorm: Ra Yellow Appearance: Stands at about 5'8. Thin frame. Prefers black clothes and leather jackets when left to her own devices on fashion. Resting bitch face. Personality: Confident and composed, Valerie doesn't lack for self-esteem. She's highly independent thanks to her upbringing, and tends to be quiet unless she's approached or something interests her greatly. Her general demeanor appears cold and distant, but this obscures a sense of loyalty to anyone she actually manages to get close to, as well as a preference for dark and grim humor that borders on insensitive at times. Of course, it doesn't help that to the outside world, she seems to be lost in her own thoughts at times. To anyone in the know, however, that's simply because she's busy conversing with her Duel Spirit. Her constant companion has stuck with her throughout her life, and she always makes time for it. One of the only things that gets Valerie fired up and excited is being pushed in a duel. To her, the game is at its best when she's given a challenge. Her own deck is influenced mostly by her Duel Spirit's archetype, and she's been constantly updating her Dark World deck. History: The first time she touched Ceruli's card from the collection of booster packs she was given as a young girl, Valerie thought she was going insane. A tiny, wizened fiend appeared in front of Valerie with a raised eyebrow, and continued to follow her around whereever she went. The lack of reaction that anyone had to such as sight was all the proof she needed that she was the only one who could see the Duel Monster floating next to her, and so she kept quiet about it. Despite this, Valerie's childhood continued on as it always had. She was shunted from caretaker to caretaker and school to school as her parents continuously traveled overseas in pursuit of advancing their careers. Loneliness and a sense of instability accompanied her whereever she went, as Valerie had to change schools year after year when her parents dumped her off on another relative, family friend, or in one egregious case, her mother's secretary. Her one constant was the shade of Ceruli, Guru of Dark World following her wherever she went. The card spirit didn't seem to be malicious in any way, and was absolutely delighted whenever she played its card in playground duels. A few years passed in this manner before Valerie started hearing voices. Or at least, one specific voice in particular. It didn't take long for her to realize exactly whose voice it was. Valerie's own personal card game psychopomp explained that whatever spiritual ability she had that allowed her to see him in the first place had finally developed enough to allow her to hear his voice as well. Used to Duel Monsters-related nonsense from him floating around all over the place at this point, Valerie simply accepted this as a natural progression of the weird bullshit in her life. Ceruli never spoke much of himself or other Duel Spirits, with Valerie only catching him muttering spitefully under his breath about someone named Brron before he caught himself. Still, his presence did influence her into constructing her Duel Monsters deck around Dark World monsters. Valerie's sensitivity towards Duel Spirits was a major reason why she continued on playing Duel Monsters all through her adolescence, wanting to find out more about all of it. Of course, it helped that she had a genuine love of the game. While she was a slightly above-average student in traditional academics, it was more from her absentee parents pushing her to succeed in school than anything else. Thus, when she came of age to apply to Duel Academy, Valerie applied without hesitation. By the time her parents found out, she'd already gotten through the exam and was on the boat. Her exam results were clear: she'd missed entrance into Obelisk Blue by the slightest of margins. Her practical skill and general knowledge were almost enough to get her in, but a few slips on some of the more obscure parts of duel theory that even Ceruli didn't know meant Valerie was bound for Ra Yellow. Still, it didn't particularly bother her all too much. If she was that close in the first place, surely some actual instruction would have her moving up after a semester or two. Spirituality: While Valerie is capable of seeing most spirits, she's only really able to communicate with Ceruli in particular, thanks to being in contact with him for so long. Her ability to communicate with spirits is dependent upon how long she's been in close contact with them, though this could change as her spirituality develops with exposure to more and more Duel Spirits. Ceruli himself claims that through proximity to him, she's likely able to speak to other Dark World spirits without issue, but other monsters will likely take an adjustment period. Spirit Partner: Ceruli, Guru of Dark World Ace Card: Grapha, Dragon Lord of Dark World Deck(s): Monsters (20): Grapha, Dragon Lord of Dark World x2 Sillva, Warlord of Dark World x2 Goldd, Wu-Lord of Dark World x2 Snoww, Unlight of Dark World x3 Beiige, Vanguard of Dark World x3 Broww, Huntsman of Dark World x3 Fabled Raven x3 Ceruli, Guru of Dark World x1 Ash Blossom & Joyous Spring x1 Spells (15): Allure of Darkness x1 Dragged Down into the Grave x3 Dark Hole x1 Terraforming x1 Dark World Dealings x3 Foolish Burial x1 Mystical Space Typhoon x3 The Gates of Dark World x2 Traps (5): Call of the Haunted x1 Dark Deal x2 Dark Smog x2 Extra Deck (10): Fabled Valkyrus x2 Dark End Dragon x2 Chaos King Archfiend x2 Infernity Doom Archfiend x2 Stygian Sergeants x2</s> <|message|>Helena Ries The next morning, Helena wasn't doing much of anything. She barely had any sleep, her thoughts still clouded by what had happened last night. The duel ended in the result Donte wanted, but the state he was in after… Helena couldn't stop thinking about the blood. Was he even going to be ok? Or did she actually end up killing him? She couldn't get the thought out of her head, and with how quickly news spread around the academy, everyone would know to avoid her like the plague. So much for making friends. She sat quietly at her desk, fumbling through some of the cards in her deck. Chosen didn't say anything, what could he say? You're not a murderer, you're just… No… Look on the brightside, maybe Donte's dad will lighten up? Maybe… He shook his head. Nothing he could think of would cheer up his partner. Maybe, he could at least get her to move around, get her thoughts on something else? "Hey… Um… Why don't you take a break from your edits and uh… Get some fresh air?" He suggested. Helena sat in thought and put her cards up. "Fine… But I'm not leaving the dorm area…" She said as she quietly got up and left the dorm room, if rumor did spread, than she didn't want to deal with everyone at the academy unless she had to.</s> <|message|>Leo Wilde Leo Wilde – Slifer Red His roommate was in the infirmary. Leo still didn't know the guy all that well; they barely spoke to each other, even though they shared a room, so Leo couldn't even say he felt particularly concerned about Donte's condition beyond the level of basic human compassion. They weren't friends, but there was no bad blood there either. The last he'd heard the guy was doing okay, but there was no word on when he'd be coming back and no one had bothered to explain what had even happened to him. All anyone knew was that that Helena girl was involved somehow. Normally, Leo wouldn't want to get involved. It was none of his business and no harm… no lasting harm had been done, so he wasn't going to harass the girl for now reason. But, well, he was curious what had happened. Donte was a big guy and while it wasn't like Helena couldn't have hurt him somehow he doubted that was what went down; especially since the teachers weren't doing anything to punish her for hospitalising another student. Whatever the situation or the reason, it probably wasn't the case that Helena had straight out attacked Donte. So something else had happened instead, something the teachers weren't telling them and also weren't punishing Helena for. And, you know, he'd just come around to the idea that weird, magic duel monster spirits existed… Were they dangerous? "Hey, er, Helena?" It wasn't often that Leo got sheepish around people; even girls. But then, it also wasn't often that he found himself approaching them out of the blue and asking awkward personal questions of people he barely knew. Well, he'd done it twice in as many days now, but still. "This might sound weird but, er… do you… see things? Like, I don't know, do you ever talk to your cards?" Angel</s> <|message|>Helena Ries Helena was just resting by the stairs of the door when she was approached by someone. She was caught off guard for a moment before realizing it was another Slifer Red. Leo was it? Was he coming to bug her about the incident with Donte? From the way he was acting it seemed like it, until he actually asked his question. "Um… What?" Chosen glanced at him. "And what if she does?" He said standing in front of Leo. After a moment, Chosen tilted his head in confusion before realization hit him. "Why would he ask that? He clearly can't see me…" he mumbled. Helena thought for a moment, maybe he didn't hear what happened? Or maybe he doesn't know she was involved. But the fact that he was asking her about duel spirits was curious, especially since it seemed like he couldn't. "Well… I can… But… Why do you even want to know? I'm… Not the best person to ask that… Especially right now." She said in an honest, quiet tone.</s>

<|message|>Valerie Durand "Roché and Miles are missing!" Well, that explained some things. Like why her roommate wasn't back even at this late hour. Valerie sat at her desk, finishing up the last of the day's homework as she mused to herself. Eh, Roche was probably fine. Really, she didn't take the girl for the sexually active type, and Miles wasn't exactly in her own strike zone, but Roche was weird enough that being into really cunty guys wasn't exactly out of the question for her. "You should probably be a responsible roommate and go look for her, you know." Ceruli cut in, staring out the window as he sat in the spare chair that Roche wasn't using at the moment. "I really, really don't want to walk in on my roommate screwing someone in the middle of the woods. Plus, Sartyr's probably called campus security by now." Valerie replied instantly, packing her schoolwork up. "And the poor girl will face disciplinary action should security retrieve her before you manage to. Do recall that you're supposed to be living with her. It would do you good to get on her better side." "The first thing she did when we met was come at me with a utility lighter." Valerie said flatly, before sighing as her Duel Spirit continued to stare her down. A few moments later, she gave in. "Fine, fine. If I walk in on them cuddling, I'm coming straight back." A pause. "...She's been gone for hours. Would've been back by now if it's what they were actually up to." With that settled, Valerie stood up, slipped her Duel Disk on, and left her room out the window. No sense leaving after curfew through the front door. Time to go find her erstwhile roommate.</s>

<|description|>Mina Hākā (English Name- Lucy Harker) Her Theme- Mein Herz Brennt Gender ♀ Dorm: Ra Yellow Personality: Mina has been known to be very eccentric around those around her. Wanting to be the best duelist in the world, she does not take losing very well. When she does loses she will go into a catatonic-like state, walking away to her safe place to recover. Acting jovial and cheerful around people she considers "friends", and being overly protective of people she considers close. Using this positive outlook to try and mask the trauma of her past. She also has quite a sadistic side to her, finding pleasure in humiliating other people in and outside of duels. During duels much to her determinant, she would prolong the duel, so that her opponent will suffer longer. History: Mina's parents were well-known and skilled duelists in Japan, although time and time again they were humiliated by The King Of Games. They were determined to beat him, eventually using their daughter to complete their goal. Her father used his impressive computer skills, to help her daughter beat all kinds of opponents in every known situation. But when she would fail, which was quite often she would be abused by her parents. Mina wants the love and attention of her parents, she worked hard to be the best duelist in the world. Because of her parents wanted her to be the best duelist, she did not have many friends during her childhood. Hearing a voice one day, she found she could see and communicate with the spirit of her cards. The spirits of the monsters on her cards became her friends, talking to them even in front of people. Causing her to be further alienated from her peers and even her own parents. When she was old enough, she applied for the Duel Academy able to get placed at Ra Yellow. But this didn't bother her, as she knew she could get to Obelisk Blue pretty easily. During her time in the academy, she had gained a reputation for taking her opponent's most valuable cards. Using these cards either in her own deck, or selling them for money. So most people avoid duelling her, although she has been known to bully people to duel her. Or convincing them to duel as part of a high-risk bet. Spirituality: Mina is able to speak and communicate with her spirit partner. Although she could only see and communicate with her spiritual partner. Spirit Partner: Vampire Retainer Ace Card: Crimson Knight Vampire Bram Waifu/Husbando: Celtic Guardian Deck(s): Effect Monsters- x2 Shadow Vampire x2 Vampire Dragon X2 Vampire Drake X3 Vampire Familiar x2 Vampire Fraulein x2 Vampire Grimson X2 Vampire Lady x2 Vampire Lord x2 Vampire Baron x3 Vampire Retainer x2 Vampire Scarlet Scourge x3 Vampire Sorcerer Spell Cards- x2 Vampire Kingdom x2 Vampire Desire x2 Vampire Domain Trap Cards- x2 Haunted Shrine x3 Vampire Domination x2 Vampire Takeover Extra Deck: XYZ Monsters- x3 Crimson Knight Vampire Bram x3 Dhampir Vampire Sheridan Link Monsters- x3 Vampire Sucker</s> <|message|>Flynn Aspadana Flynn Aspadana --- Ra Yellow Dorm --- Flynn could only stand there, his face slowly blushing as he tried to find the words to express his bewilderment at Chris' audacity. Moments would pass before he would simply turn about and head for the door. "You won this round, giant boy." he'd state before heading out. Normally, Flynn would be quick to find a witty remark to deflect such a dumb bit but perhaps he was still tired from the boat trip. Since he wasn't gonna find peace in his own room at this time, he decided to just find the nearest piece of furniture and simply crash there. While it wasn't exactly luxury decor, the Ra Yellow dorm did have serviceable common areas. Surely the rest of the yellows weren't as weird as his roommate.</s> <|message|>Valerie Durand Valerie Durand It took some time, but with Roche's help, Valerie unpacked all her luggage. She hadn't brought all too much of it, but unpacking was still a pain no matter how used she was to the process. "Thanks for all the help." Valerie thanked her roommate after they finished, her staring in admiration at her Chazz Princeton posters for a moment. "I owe you, lemme get you something once I get some more DP to spend." She told Roche as she moved to leave the room, waving goodbye behind her. "Gonna head out for a while, look around. See you later, yeah?" As she started walking through the halls of the dorm, Val pulled out her PDA, idly checking her DP balance after her first win. Did they really need to use that acronym? Whoever came up with it really hadn't thought the whole matter through, considering it was for an island of hormonal teenagers. That, or they thought it was funny. Apparently their first day's food budget had already been allotted to their balance. "Divide by three per meal..." Valerie muttered to herself, doing some quick mental math. "Subtract the win...wow. One win doesn't count for squat." Her winnings were just a fraction of a third she'd allotted from the food budget per meal. It'd get her a light snack, at most. She'd check the card shop on the island later, but considering how much cards cost on the outside, it'd probably take her several more wins to afford anything beyond a single booster. Or if she skipped meals... "Girl, your expression reveals what you're thinking." Ceruli cut in, an eyebrow raised at Valerie's expression. "Do not think to skip meals to afford additional cards. Need I remind you that you're still growing?" Valerie just sighed and rubbed the back of her head, reluctantly shrugging. As much as she appreciated having Ceruli around in place of her parents, there were times when she was reminded of the downsides of having a constant companion looking over her shoulder. "Yes, mom." She groaned quietly, after confirming that there was no one else in the hallway to overhear her even whispering. Whatever. Time to keep moving. She'd work all this out later. The dorm lounge was already somewhat filled, with some people already out socializing. Valerie idly glanced over as she made her way to the vending machine, purchasing a bottle of iced tea as she tried to decide where to sit. As much as she knew everyone was in the same situation as her where no solid friendships had been established yet and they all had a clean slate in social terms, breaking old habits was still hard. She wanted a quiet corner. But the closest she could find to that was a block of seats where some gray-haired guy was sprawled over, looking half-dead. Screw it. Hopefully this guy wasn't a creep or anything. Valerie sat down a few seats away from who she didn't know was Flynn, opening her bottle of iced tea and taking a few swigs. After seeing that he wasn't going to initiate conversation, she figured she may as well. It was still the first day. Couldn't hurt to be sociable yet. "Dead already, huh? Was the trip over that bad, or something else? Roommate a bit too much?" Not that she was speaking from experience or anything. She was totally speaking from experience.</s> <|message|>Florian Pine Pine wished this school had a green dorm. Red was not his color… He also hoped that the school wasn't going to get on his case for adding a flower hairpin to his hair. After changing into his new uniform, he sat with the other students, and as he listened to the welcoming speech. It was the same old usual things. Pine did have to roll his eyes at the chancellors stupid joke about finding the rooms comfortable depending on your rank. Why was giving the shoddy accommodations to new and lesser skilled students funny? They were there to learn, why were they being punished for that? After everything was done, Pine walked to his assigned dorm. He was taking his time getting there, as he was busy admiring the flora that grew on the island. Along the way, another Slifer student proceeded to walk alongside him and talk his ear off about various strategies. As annoying as it was, Pine did appreciate that somebody actually wanted to talk to him… And it was a cute boy no less! We'll see how long that lasts… Pine wasn't about to get his hopes up on making friends here. When they finally arrived at their dorm, it turned out they were roommates. Kaison immediately challenged him to a duel. Pine blinked in surprise. "Y-y-you actually want to challenge a flower loving freak like me? I mean… um… I'm up for it…</s>

<|message|>Mina Hākā (English Name- Lucy Harker) Miles currently wasn't in the mood for a meet-and-greet with some random stranger, and while it was nothing more than delaying the inevitable, he wasn't in any rush to get to know his roommate. Maybe it was just because he ran into that guy Chris earlier, but a walk through the bizarrely prevalent forestry blanketing the island felt like just the thing to help clear his mind. Naturally, with luck like his, he eventually stumbles upon some random stranger sitting beneath a tree with both her arms and legs crossed. She hears him arrive, and raises her head just in time to lock eyes with him, dooming him into having to acknowledge her presence. By this point, Mina had stopped sobbing and shaking. Her spirit partner sat on her lap, or at least, he would be, if his body was tangible. Seeing the stranger looking at her, she uncrossed her limbs and snapped at him in a curt tone. "What do you want? Come to laugh at me?" Her words were filled with venom; her typical response when someone would try to comfort her after a loss. Without waiting for a response, she curled up again, placing her head against her knees. Bitch, what? "I wasn't before, but I guess I am now. What's so embarrassing that you decided to start doing cryptid impressions out here in the woods?" She didn't want to mention the fact that she was out here because she lost a duel, thinking that he would only make fun of her further. "I'm not here looking for cryptids, I just wanted to be left alone. Those idiots in the dorm were pissing me off." "That makes two of us, but 'lo and behold, some girl curled up like Sonic the Hedgehog started chatting me up." He shakes his head in mock exasperation. "What, you worked up over losing at a children's card game?" "No!" A terrible lie. A sinking feeling overcame her for a moment as she thought that he'd definitely figure out that she was the crying girl that had ran off towards the forest. Although, in truth, Miles was just oblivious. He wasn't in the lounge during Mina's duel and ignored the chatter on his way out. That being said, it was pretty obvious by now what had happened. This girl is actually crying over a stupid card game, he thought. Miles couldn't help but feel pity for her. "So you did lose. Welp, I guess you have no choice but to give up on your dueling career. Have you considered becoming a ventriloquist?" "I am not going to give up, I am going to keep going until I'm the best duelist in the world, no matter the cost." She looked up at Miles, staring at him dead in the eyes. When she said 'at all cost', she was dead serious about it. "Pfft." Miles held back a laugh. It was actually quite mean to be laughing at her aspirations like this, but the delivery was just so cheesy. "Why're you crying then? No one gives a shit about a simple loss. This is a card game we're talking about here, if you don't get unlucky eventually, you're either a cheater or your name is Seto Kaiba and you just printed a bunch of broken cards that you'll never release to the public." She took in what the young man was saying, perhaps he was on to something. But the trauma of her childhood made it hard for her to fully comprehend the concept. "Perhaps, but if I am not the best, then I am a nobody. A loser. I will be punished if I don't win. I do not know what to do, if I am not dueling." She sounded sad mentioning that she would be punished for losing. A horrid memory flashed in her mind, and she shuddered. Her hair was standing on end at the mere thought of it. "Punished? I regret to be the one to inform you of this, miss nobody loser, but your parents sound like psychopaths." She was now staring at Miles, feeling an inescapable sense of impending trouble encroaching upon him, but after a few silent moments, nothing happened. She looked around the forest, as if expecting her parents to come over to punish him, or her, but no one came. Her spirit partner was now floating around Miles curiously. "Perhaps he has a point. For you to become a better duelist, you need to learn from your mistakes and grow." Mina stood up, wiping some dirt from her knees. "Yeah, they're real assholes." Miles conspicuously eyed the black and white dog as it circled him. "I know we're on an island full of teachers who have done their damndest to pretend otherwise, but not everything in life revolves around a card game, you know. Learning from your mistakes and growing as a person isn't just for dueling." Again, Miles made a good point. Perhaps she could try to not be so transfixed on being the best and just enjoy duels themselves. …wait. "Wait a moment, you can see the dog floating around?" She was amazed that she was able to meet someone with similar abilities. Now he has grabbed her interest. Miles paused for a moment, though if he meant to keep it a secret, he didn't show any surprise or embarrassment. "...Yeah. I see him." Mina blanked for a bit. It was a lot to take in at once. She stopped to organize her thoughts and looped back around to the original topic. "...I guess I could just enjoy dueling for what it is, instead of just fixating on being the best." Her spirit partner was now floating behind her. "What is your name, by the way?" "Miles." "My name is Mina. How long have you been able to see these ghosts?" "..." Miles broke eye contact, and an awkward silence ensued. "I assume that you have been able to see or talk to 'em since you were a kid right? So have I. Anyway i think it's time for me to head back, want to come with?" Miles sighed. "Might as well." If he kept on his walk he'd probably just run into another girl crying in the woods. "Good. This place was starting to creep me out." With that, she started walking away, hoping that Miles would be following beside her. She didn't have to turn back to confirm it as he caught up with her, walking with her side-by-side. They walked in comfortable silence for a few moments before Miles asked, "have you ever owned a real pet dog?" "Hmm? No?" "I see."</s>