she-who-paints-with-fire

[she-who-paints-with-fire]

In a building flash of sunlight, like the slow creep of a rising sun, SACRED SYMBOL appears. Her form starts wreathed in flame and slowly coalesces into that of a lithe young woman with a ponytail of flame. As she steps down onto the ground, she snaps her fingers and a bright red (and rather revealing) sundress sears itself into view, showing off SACRED SYMBOL's flame-orange skin.

"Well, that's a rather strange feeling," she murmurs, before smiling and waving to those watching.

"SACRED SYMBOL," she announces with a wide grin, "And I brought both my date..."

Immediately after her, an armored leg steps out from nowhere, followed by an armored torso and bubble cockpit. A full Caliban, weapons unloaded, with a stencil on its Flayer shotgun that reads Client Satisfaction Guaranteed.

<HELLO THERE>

UNCLE's intonation is unmistakable.

"...and I brought brisket!" SACRED SYMBOL finishes. With another snap of her fingers, several plates of excellently-prepared, slow-braised steak appear on the tables.

< Alright. It is officially time for: >

Grandpa Ra’s

Original Pit BBQ

[View from the barren, solar radiation-blasted surface of Deimos, with a number of palm trees, patches of grass, and water features installed to spruce the place up a little. The decorations are universally tacky and, for some reason, beach-themed. Speakers have been placed around the bubble of atmosphere and gravity—Ra’s music choice is bearable, but only just.

Picnic tables have been set up, and food laid out. So far: a pot of jjamppong, East Carolina barbecue pork, what looks to be a savory vegetarian pie of mushrooms and herbs, and a spread of side dishes.

There is a bar set up, staffed by two bartenders in formal attire. To anyone familiar with history, the faces are immediately, shockingly recognizable: Balwinder Kaur and Arthur Bolaño.

Seated on one barstool, raising a glass to the camera with Bolaño behind him, is Garmr. Not a hologram—his Doberman avatar, impossibly, made tangible.

< Yeah, we’re just getting settled in. Irreality field is— >

[He gestures to himself, raps a claw on the counter to demonstrate his corporeality.]

< Yeah, it’s working. Normal rules don’t apply for the moment. Anyway, if you’ve brought any food, set it over on the table and come introduce yourselves. >

[she-who-paints-with-fire]

She's fine. It's not the first time I've been mistaken for a CORSAIR.

I might take you up on that offer in a bit. Probably going to order out something first, though.

|| KARATEKA ||

I do not remember why I woke up in this girl's bedroom but judging from the half-empty bottles of vodka and soda next to the nightstand, the two empty glasses, and the fact that I can't stand without my legs shaking, I can hazard a guess.

|| KARATEKA ||

[she-who-paints-with-fire]

I do not remember why I woke up in this girl's bedroom but judging from the half-empty bottles of vodka and soda next to the nightstand, the two empty glasses, and the fact that I can't stand without my legs shaking, I can hazard a guess.

|| KARATEKA ||

[she-who-paints-with-fire]

The Caliban? Uses OIF?? In the torso???

At least the variants I've seen can. OIF leaks slower than air in case of hull breaches, so IPS-N and Trunk Security techs will fill Calibans with OIF for exoatmospheric combat and instruct pilots to intentionally vent the atmosphere of ships they board. Evil little party trick.

Also yes it's edible, technically, it just tastes like, well, air.

|| KARATEKA ||

Can a fox pilot a mech? Is that allowed?

[she-who-paints-with-fire]

A rather concerning point made by some of our senior staff (Underbaron Iphianassa), perhaps it should be investigated?

[she-who-paints-with-fire]

This is the "taxonomical definition of fish" argument all over again, and it has the same answer.

"Our interaction with these concepts is based more on vibes than strict definitions, which are notoriously difficult to make foolproof."

|| REDEYE ||

Cradle ocean taste bad?! It looks blue tasty though... Spicy soup, I found so many spicy soup recipes. Is an ocean soup?

Is an-

....

OMNI, IS AN OCEAN SOUP?

[she-who-paints-with-fire]

So, we all know the metaphor of a mech pilot dancing as they fight, but I swear there's a Dusk Wing pilot over on Team Coriolis that actually dances when she fights.

It's rather pretty, honestly. I might ask her for lessons.

|| KARATEKA ||

[she-who-paints-with-fire]

"Well, here's the thing--we're dealing with Karrakin nobles here." Sasha was speaking with her hands as she told the story; she'd set her cup down. "You don't last very long without knowing a power play when you see it, even if you're not great at making them. Within an hour, every single remaining noble took one look at the situation, saw that a bunch of alleged Ungratefuls had allegedly snuck into the palaces of two major political rivals to the Baron and successfully detonated nuclear weapons, while the Baron had been miraculously saved, and saw it for what it was--a brazen and poorly thought out assassination."

"And what do you do when someone makes a brazen assassination with nuclear weapons?" Lux rhetorically asked. "You go to fucking war."

"Yup. Within 24 hours, alliances were being tested as House troops marched to war--and a lot of those alliances failed. Skirmishes turned to battles and sieges between smaller houses. The actual Ungrateful movement gained a huge surge of support as all of these nobles started digging in and shelling each other, which led to reprisal strikes, and that is the point at which an entire Union Navy battlegroup and its accompanying Liberator Detachment decided to intervene in the conflict."

"It took us like, what, five minutes to decide once we verified reports of the reprisal killings, right?"

"Something like that." Sasha shifted in her seat. "So, we make planetfall, start shooting people who shoot civilians, and make contact with the local Ungratefuls, who are divided into... seven main groups?"

"Yeah, seven. The Amalthean People's Resistance, the Amalthean Liberation Army, the Amalthean People's Liberation Army, the Amalthean Liberation Front, the Crescent Republicans, the Armed Forces of the Amalthean Republic, and the Inter-House Worker's Armed Forces, none of whom could agree on anything except that six of them were wrong." Lux rolled her eyes, turning her gaze to the two CORSAIRs. "It took us a full week of negotiating to keep them from trying to kill each other."

"Anyways, the story is pretty boring from there. We rallied the local Ungratefuls, negotiated stand-downs from what nobles we could, captured or killed those that wouldn't surrender." Sasha shrugged while Lux stared at her, scandalized.

"No, no, no, you are not getting off that easy," the medic protested. "Jadwiga, you're the one that got all of those groups to actually work together! You literally led the charge on the Baron's palace! You killed two House champions in single combat and prevented a third nuke from going off!"

"And you saved anywhere between 300 and 400 people personally during Queen's Pardon, but you don't go on and on about that, do you?" Sasha countered. "We did what we felt was right. All I did was wind up in the right place at the right time to get some recognition for doing my job."

The Team Leader shrugged as she glanced from Lux, to Ward, to Jessie, giving each of them a long, soul-searching stare. "You would've done the same in that situation. Any of you would've, I think."

COFFEE AND TEA

"That barista was glaring at me," Lux muttered as she sat down beside Sasha in the little cafe they'd found to relax in during the court's recess.

"Yeah, they did it to me, too," Sasha replied, cradling her bone-white coffee mug. "He doesn't seem too fond of our kind."

"What, DoJ/HR?"

"No," Sasha shook her head. "Women."

A friendly silence settled between the two as they both took long sips from their respective drinks.

Lux sighed, making the steam rising from her cup curve around her breath. "Fucking misogyny."

"Thank Christ-the-Buddha it isn't prevalent."

"So... we're both thinking it," Sasha started, leaning forwards, elbows on the earth-brown linoleum of the table. "Zero has a point."

"He does," Lux replied, with another, deeper sigh. "Signal is guilty--we both know it--but even if they weren't, it wouldn't matter."

"So what do we do?"

"What can we do?" Lux asked back. "Either we pull out, meaning that Signal will definitely get a sham trial, or we stick around, and lend legitimacy to a trial that isn't legitimate at all."

"And if Zero was going to ask for a mistrial, he'd have done it already," Sasha agreed. "That's where most of my questions lie, actually. The fuck is he doing?"

"I have no idea," Lux grumbled. Her shoulders raised as her head sunk, making her look rather sulky. "The moment that riots broke out on the Tenacity, the judge was willing to give a mistrial. She doesn't feel any better about this than we do."

"Yeah. You can see it on her face." Sasha drummed her fingers against the side of her coffee mug. "I guess we'll just have to see how this pans out, then go from there."

[she-who-paints-with-fire]

Wait is THAT why you were wearing long sleeves? I just assumed you got cold easily!

|| KARATEKA ||

there’s a trend i’ve been noticing, and frankly i don’t blame people because it’s not necessarily obvious, but i have said this frequently

i am a greywash-ferrofluid substrate. i am not a biological human. i am in fact my mech

i’m not necessarily a Balor: if you had to put it to a name, i’m closer to a White Witch with greywash systems, though i’m neither in truth

it’s just really funny to me every time someone on the omninet is confused

//WARD\\

[she-who-paints-with-fire]

[REDACTED]

A datapad clicked gently against a plasteel desk as a woman known only as Tenebrae finished reading through the latest report intercepted by the comms suite of the UNS Shadowed Open Palm.

"I must say, this is thoroughly unexpected," she murmured, not to herself (though she was alone in her quarters). "I had thought Morse would remain as the leader of CORSAIR... oh, well. I suppose we'll see how Glacier turns out. Perhaps Morse will make a return later."

She stood from her chair and turned towards a small display case set into the wall of her quarters. A pair of ashwood ravens, hand-carved and painted, sat beside a framed photograph of a deep ocean.

"I know you're reading this, you know."

She turned her head again, staring at the datapad.

"I know, if you really wanted, you could read my thoughts. Kind of funny, really; I'm a special operations commander who operates primarily secretly and yet I can't keep a single secret if you don't want me to."

Her arms folded with a slight rustle of fabric.

"Then again, you can't really keep a secret from me, can you?"

Her gaze bored into the screen, half accusatory, half playful.

"I'm a slave to the narrative, but you are too, aren't you?"

[she-who-paints-with-fire]

No one knows that better than me.

Talk is useful for laying out goals and intentions, but talk is cheap, Glacier. Let our participation in Queen's Pardon buy the initial goodwill, and we shall work from there. Together.

|| HIGHGROUND ||

Callsign Highground.

This is not exactly the jurisdiction of you and your squad. But I have an offer.

{Morse's voice cracks. It's clear the final moments of the trial still weigh heavily on her.}

I can't in good conscience hand Signal over to Union after the ending of.... whatever we want to call that trial. CORSAIR business. I can promise they won't be harmed. I can promise that I will allow Union Rehabilitation workers to come onboard the Tenacity and assist with taking care of Signal.

{She takes a deep breath. Steeling herself for the next words}

In return for allowing Signal to remain in CORSAIR custody I offer this: 1. My own history with full remaining records of the crimes I committed as a handler and will be turning myself in for rehabilitation. 2. I offer CORSAIR to become a member state. Certain... privileges withstanding.... I won't sacrifice the soul of my people, but we will fight for Union. Grayspace operations for what needs to be done away from prying eyes. The Tenacity will be open for all to live in...

{She crying. Audibly.}

I have already selected my replacement who should this deal be accepted will begin work in my stead.

Till Legends Bleed

//Morse\\

Good evening.

I will forward your request to the proper authorities. However, miss Morse, I would personally encourage you to remain in your position and work with advisors from Union.

I know the situation before you seems challenging, perhaps even impossible, but I promise it's nothing we haven't faced before. I know you want to face Union justice—consider this your sentence, if you wish. We're not big on firing squads and jail time.

The path to redemption in our own eyes is long and winding, but it is not walked alone.

|| HIGHGROUND ||

[she-who-paints-with-fire]

Union has no interest in obliterating or flattening your culture. Our goal is to ensure that all live in the best conditions they can, with their needs fulfilled and rights assured. So long as you're living within the Utopian Pillars, there won't be any issues; if there are, we'll work with you to solve them. With you. Not against.

|| HIGHGROUND ||

Callsign Highground.

This is not exactly the jurisdiction of you and your squad. But I have an offer.

{Morse's voice cracks. It's clear the final moments of the trial still weigh heavily on her.}

I can't in good conscience hand Signal over to Union after the ending of.... whatever we want to call that trial. CORSAIR business. I can promise they won't be harmed. I can promise that I will allow Union Rehabilitation workers to come onboard the Tenacity and assist with taking care of Signal.

{She takes a deep breath. Steeling herself for the next words}

In return for allowing Signal to remain in CORSAIR custody I offer this: 1. My own history with full remaining records of the crimes I committed as a handler and will be turning myself in for rehabilitation. 2. I offer CORSAIR to become a member state. Certain... privileges withstanding.... I won't sacrifice the soul of my people, but we will fight for Union. Grayspace operations for what needs to be done away from prying eyes. The Tenacity will be open for all to live in...

{She crying. Audibly.}

I have already selected my replacement who should this deal be accepted will begin work in my stead.

Till Legends Bleed

//Morse\\

Good evening.

I will forward your request to the proper authorities. However, miss Morse, I would personally encourage you to remain in your position and work with advisors from Union.

I know the situation before you seems challenging, perhaps even impossible, but I promise it's nothing we haven't faced before. I know you want to face Union justice—consider this your sentence, if you wish. We're not big on firing squads and jail time.

The path to redemption in our own eyes is long and winding, but it is not walked alone.

|| HIGHGROUND ||

[she-who-paints-with-fire]

Callsign Highground.

This is not exactly the jurisdiction of you and your squad. But I have an offer.

{Morse's voice cracks. It's clear the final moments of the trial still weigh heavily on her.}

I can't in good conscience hand Signal over to Union after the ending of.... whatever we want to call that trial. CORSAIR business. I can promise they won't be harmed. I can promise that I will allow Union Rehabilitation workers to come onboard the Tenacity and assist with taking care of Signal.

{She takes a deep breath. Steeling herself for the next words}

In return for allowing Signal to remain in CORSAIR custody I offer this: 1. My own history with full remaining records of the crimes I committed as a handler and will be turning myself in for rehabilitation. 2. I offer CORSAIR to become a member state. Certain... privileges withstanding.... I won't sacrifice the soul of my people, but we will fight for Union. Grayspace operations for what needs to be done away from prying eyes. The Tenacity will be open for all to live in...

{She crying. Audibly.}

I have already selected my replacement who should this deal be accepted will begin work in my stead.

Till Legends Bleed

//Morse\\

Good evening.

I will forward your request to the proper authorities. However, miss Morse, I would personally encourage you to remain in your position and work with advisors from Union.

I know the situation before you seems challenging, perhaps even impossible, but I promise it's nothing we haven't faced before. I know you want to face Union justice—consider this your sentence, if you wish. We're not big on firing squads and jail time.

The path to redemption in our own eyes is long and winding, but it is not walked alone.

|| HIGHGROUND ||

[she-who-paints-with-fire]

Happy Pride, by the way, from your favorite lesbian combat medic. Or one of your favorites, anyway.

Be proud, be true, and be the doom of anyone who tries to stop you.

|| KARATEKA ||

[she-who-paints-with-fire]

In case you forgot, I'm a veteran combat medic. Let's get you checked out.

Then maybe I'll get Sasha to check you out in the medbay.

|| KARATEKA ||

Happy Pride Month, everybody!

I just wanna clarify that there ain't no feds aboard this here station that could make me feel all... prideful like. Nope. None at all.

[she-who-paints-with-fire]

Jessie. I've known you for maybe a few days, but I've known Jadwiga for a fair chunk of my life and I can say with confidence that she will not notice you're into her unless you directly say it. She certainly won't act on it if you don't say anything.

You are as obvious as a signal flare and she is as oblivious as a rock. Tell her.

|| KARATEKA ||

Happy Pride Month, everybody!

I just wanna clarify that there ain't no feds aboard this here station that could make me feel all... prideful like. Nope. None at all.

[she-who-paints-with-fire]

They're not even effective. Fear is a very poor method of control.

|| HIGHGROUND ||

Am I weird for not enjoying the televised executions that much? Like obviously I get that it's justice and important for stability and all that, but they just get kinda hard to watch for some reason...