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Meresankh	The warpgate on Oryx - there's only one in Commonwealth records, and it's noted as artificial - is built into the wall of a large rectangular hall. The walls, floor, and ceiling are all built from black stone, shot through with angular green lines reminiscent of circuitry. There are no windows, and the tomb itself would likely be very dark - were it not decorated for a party. White string-lights stretch from pillar to pillar a dozen feet off the ground, bright enough to see clearly by at floor level but leaving the high ceiling shrouded in darkness.     Along each wall stands a silent, motionless rank of Necron warriors bearing hopefully-ceremonial spears. At the far, far end of the hall there is a trio of thrones, the middle one taller and grander than the two that flank it, with double doors behind them bearing a luminous green sigil. A figure is visible seated in one of the lower thrones, and the metal-on-stone tapping of an impatient foot echoes across the room.     As guests begin to arrive and cross the length of the hall, the figure stands. Slabs of stone, seamlessly fit into the floor, rise to table-height in two rows along half the length of the hall, starting near the thrones. The great double doors grind open, and a column of Necrons enters bearing tray after tray of food and drink.     Some of the dishes are unfamiliar, while others are quaint in their simplicity, and there appears to be no order to their arrangement. A bowl of sour cream is set between a tray of chocolate-chip cookies (store-bought) and skewers of roasted beetles. A pyramid of pale-glowing blue cubes (which crumble like soft cheese, and impart a curious savory-minty flavor) stands next to a tiramisu and Jell-O shots. Beverages on offer run the gamut from pink lemonade to champagne on ice to Mr Pibb in the can. The last four porters carry a whole roast hog on a spit, and two of them stay near it to carve.     As the servers file away back through the double doors, the Necron at the thrones steps forward. Unlike the plain forms of the rank-and-file warriors, its body is adorned with gold decorations. A 'cape' of heavy golden chains and green beads runs from its spine to its left wrist, and it extends that arm to the side as it bows in greeting. At last, after straightening fully, it speaks in a deep voice:     "Greetings, Chevaliers and guests. I am Henutep the Implacable, High Warden of Oryx and honored seneschal to Her Mercifulness. My overlord will join us shortly. Until then," he says, the barest hint of irritation creeping into his voice, "it is my duty to entertain her visitors. Avail yourselves of the refreshments as you please. Her Mercifulness has also seen fit to prepare a selection of music." With a snap of his fingers, which sounds more like the chime of a bell, a sound system far above starts to play elegant strings - is that Vivaldi?
Meresankh	Several minutes pass, during which time Henutep answers questions asked of him but makes little conversation of his own. A cape-and-tights superhero gets in a loud argument with a Saiyan about their relative abilities. Two Kamen Riders, recognizable as such by the belts, are off in a corner experiencing homoerotic tension (but at least it hasn't escalated to homoerotic henshin). Finally the great double doors begin to grind open again. The grand central throne rises on six metallic legs and scuttles out of the room through the growing gap between the opening doors. Moments later a new voice, higher and nasal but still masculine, proclaims loudly: "Announcing Her Mercifulness, Queen Meresankh of Oryx!"     The source of that voice, a Necron dressed in fine dark blue robes with gold-on-black trim, saunters into the hall ahead of the walking throne, which now bears Meresankh on its seat. Her royal sceptre lies across her lap. When she sees the assembled guests she claps her hands with glee, nearly allowing the rod of office to roll off her knees before she catches it. Henutep quietly sighs at the sight of the childish gesture, but stands at attention nonetheless.     After sweeping her gaze across the gathered elites, Meresankh addresses the small crowd. "Chevaliers and guests! It is a pleasure to see you all gathered here today. I am so excited to begin working with you all toward our shared ambitions of a peaceful galaxy. And to work together we must know one another! Please, continue to enjoy the refreshments and music, and ask of me anything you wish - you must know me as well as I would know you!"     The queen begins to circulate the room on her articulated throne, exchanging introductions and inquiring about the quality of the food - she can't taste it herself, so her understanding of the flavors is based on chemical analysis and guesswork. On her heels is the blue-clad Necron, whose obsequious introductions identify himself as Iseptah, Meresankh's herald.     He offers elaborate explanations for each dish and the measures taken to acquire it - even that store package of cookies is 'imported at great expense from the finest chocolatiers of the Multiverse', if his account is to be believed. Meresankh fidgets a little in her seat as the herald rambles on in praise of the refreshments; this must be Iseptah trying to impress her with his party-planning.
Trudy Grimm	It isn't often that a wretched creature such as Trudy Grimm is invited to a royal gala, especially by someone she hasn't actually met yet. As the witch exits the warp gate, taking in the blackstone architecture with a slow sweep of faintly glowing green eyes, she rolls about in her mind-- the fanciest thing she recalls being invited to before was Lilian's graduation, wasn't it?     In the spirit of the assumedly formal occasion, she wears the same simple black dress as then. Knee-length with Juliette sleeves and a closed collar, piping acing as accents on the sides and hem; tall black boots, fingerless fishnet gloves, and a necklace and bracelets positively laden with countless charms and beads of stone, ceramic, metal, crystal, and carved bone. She even cleaned up and brushed her hair smooth again; with that bun and braiding that must have taken ages, threatening to come apart if one should remove that skull-topped hairpin holding it all together.     The Grimoire hangs at her hip from its strap as one might carry a purse, her left hand resting on the spine of the bound tome as she takes in the decor. String lights and other decorations are glazed over-- the witch instead approaches the ranks of skeletal robot warriors lining the hall to take a closer look, tapping her lip with one finger.     When the Warden speaks up, she turns her head towards him but keeps her eyes on the soldier she'd been examining, at least acknowledging that she hears his words. Only once satisfied by what she's observed does Trudy turn to face him more directly and put on a wide shark-toothed smile, "Pleased to meet you, High Warden Henutep. My thanks for you and your Lord's hospitality."     The arrangement of foods and drinks makes for a rather eccentric selection. Being who she is, Trudy gravitates towards the roast hog, the most familiar sight in the room. The witch keeps near Henutep for the most part, only listening and not really engaging with the other assorted names up until the Herald announces Queen Meresankh's arrival. Eyes swivel towards the throne as it scuttles back in with a new passenger, her right hand cradling her chin once more in thought.     "Ah ha~. So they do come in different shapes after all, I see." Thus is dispelled a notion she must have formed from the ranks of warriors and porters and the identically shaped Herald and Warden, only differentiated by ornamentation.     Trudy steps up and introduces herself to the Queen with a bow, "Trudy Grimm, at your service. I am but a humble witch. Your invitation was most surprising, I am quite honored to be here." Steadying the Grimoire, she rises once more, "If you would have me ask questions, then I would propose an exchange. One for one, we may learn about each other, no?"     "I shall accept your gracious invitation once again and begin," Trudy's free hand rummages quietly through the beads affixed to her necklace with a quiet rattling, "Your title, 'Her Mercifulness', may I ask how you came to be called thus?" She glances from Meresankh to Henutep and then to Iseptah, if either of them prefers to answer instead of the Queen herself.
Echolalia	Echolalia is here as a Chevalier rather than as a representative of Hronn and normally she wouldn't be too interested in meeting with a xenophobic empire but Meresankh said she wasn't like those other xenophobic ghost robots, she' one of the good ones! Maybe she's even a non-xenophobic ghost! Echolalia has slicked her hair back which must've been something of a feat because it's constantly popping and crackling like firecrackers and is glowing vibrant pinks and blues and greens. She pushes an antler back down through her hair until it's invisible and then does the same with the other one. She's just not feeling the antlers today. Echolalia isn't a vegetarian but she doesn't tend to eat a lot of meat. Animals are a precious resource even in Hronn and the people need it more than she does. So all in all she's pretty thrilled to see a spit roast. She's never seen one before and there's always a first time for everything. But being like super into eating pork is kind of against the image of a cool forest nymph themed space dragonoid so she pretends not to be super duper interested. She also is interested in the homoerotic tension and is secretly hoping it will evolve into homoerotic henshin but she treats this as like seeing fierce animals in the wild. You don't want to disrupt the mating ceremony here or they might get spooked off and never make out. She deftly avoids the riders before sitting standing by the able. She doesn't sit down yet until Henutep the Implacable arrives. "Oh thanks. I am Echolalia, High Priestess of the Tears of Ran ''religion''," She says, putting a little too much emphasis on religion that is a bit suspect, before pointing to the blue cubes. "What's that?" And then to the Mr Pibb, "And that?" All she can be certain of is that it's made of one Mr. Pibb. Or maybe Mr. Pibb was the creator of the beverage. She pretty sure it's a beverage anyway. As she's seated, she largely tries a sample plate of food. She can always make her own food but she thinks it'd be a little rude to not at least TRY a blue cube. She listens to the explanations as they are put forward and then looks towards the queen. Then back at her periodically. ''You must know me as well as I would know you.'' "Oh well, sure, I'm Echolalia like I told Henutep the Implacable, High Warden of Oryx and honored seneschal to you. I'm an etherwyrm of Hronn and I'm a botanist and I'm a pretty new Chevalier too so I'm excited to work with you." She says, drawing out a delphinium flower like a magic trick and offering it to Meresankh. "Let's see, I'm a friend of Dysnomia but she didn't answer my text, again, as usual. How long have you been an Empress? What led you to leaving the Empire?"
James Bond	Bond arrives in a navy windowpane suit, pure wool, with a navy check design, notched lapels, a chest pocket and a single vented hem, alongside a matching necktie and white business shirt. Personalized cufflinks bearing his initials in polished lapis lazuli complement the suit and tie, while a pair of black calf leather shoes completes the ensemble.     It's a sensible suit for meeting a head of state, without looking too out of place at a dinner party. He feels dressed adequately for the occasion, striding down a grand hall flanked by ceremonial honor guards. Watching the array of food as it's brought out upon his passing through the double doors, he begins to doubt that feeling.     "Of course," says Bond, outwardly cool despite the momentary lingering of his eyes on the jello shots. "Thank you, Henutep."     He takes a seat near the center of the arrangements, closer to the thrones than to the double doors. A few slices of roast hog adorn one side of his plate like a plain, bordered off by a beetle skewer on one side and a green helping of salad on the other. Champagne bubbles quietly beside him--it seems he's elected to go for food fitting his attire, or at least the closest he can manage.     "Thank you for the warm reception, your majesty," says Bond in answer to Meresankh's entrance and declaration. He lifts his glass. The queen begins to circulate the room on her articulated throne, exchanging introductions and inquiring about the quality of the food-     "Bond. James Bond." His gesture of greeting is informed by whatever he notices Meresankh herself doing. "The food is excellent." And, tactfully, "I've never seen such an eclectic spread. Your retainer must have done some fairly eztensive research."     "Why us, if you don't mind my asking?"
Hellwarming Trio	A trio of yokai come waltzing on through the warpgate in the wall not long after people have already started filtering into the hall. Utsuho, in a white top and green dress, slowly floats up towards the ceiling to get a better look at and follow the green lines higher and higher. Rin, dressed in dark green from top to bottom, goes in the opposite direction to check out the doors and people watch all over the place. Satori, in blue and pink, hovers between them somewhat awkwardly and literally while trying to keep an eye on the two so they don't make a mess seconds after arriving. "Cool lines... You think they go anywhere?" "Forget those! Lookit all the people around! Why do you think's gonna get thrown out first?" "Nobody, I hope. Now, come along. You'll miss the food if you-" The three are all assembled together by the time the figure stands and the Necrons start bringing out so much food that neither the bird nor the cat yokai know where to even start sampling first. They're kept in line by Satori as she directs their attention to the first speaker. After his introduction, Satori releases Rin and Utsuho to go get food while she goes to chat up Henutep a bit about the decor and music selection. By the time Meresankh appears, Satori has joined the other two in eating and mingling with other guests. Utsuho and Rin both have plates piled up with both the mundane and the new while Satori's selections are more reserved and consist entirely with things that aren't familiar to her (like those little cubes and Mr. Pibb). When Meresankh comes around to share introductions and ask about the food, though, all three of them manage to be quite good about not having food in their mouths and speaking clearly (likely from Satori drilling that into the other two's heads). "Name's Utsuho Reiuji. Good to meet you! The food's real good, for sure... Oh. How strong are you, anyway? What kind of firepower do you got?" "I'm Rin Kaenbyou. Nice to meetcha, si-uh. Queen! Are ya lookin' to be a hero, then? Me and Okuu can show ya the ropes!" "Satori Komeiji. A pleasure to meet you, Queen Meresankh. The three of us are from the Former Hell, far... Somewhat far beneath the earth's surface. The girls mean well, even if they can be somewhat excitable around new allies. May I ask how you intend to spread peace to the pla.. Galaxy?" Iseptah isn't ignored, either, although the main questions he gets from the trio are about what those cubes are.
Friz	"Don't think they'll have much, do you?" "It's worth checking. Maybe they can see you!" "Kid, minus one soul is minus one sight." "Then maybe I can see something about them instead." "They're not haunting you. It's just us, kid." "..." "It's always just us."     When Friz enters, she shivers. Wide eyes flash to the rows of motionless necrons. She blinks, several times. Formal dress isn't really much available on the Frontier, but she's come with a security-department dress uniform, which mashes up a little of the pomp of naval uniform with a little of the cheap tackiness of mall-cop uniforms. Grit: Spears. Row after row. Dirt: Spe-- Chief? I'm handling sensory data, you know. Grit: I know this kind. For meaning, ceremonial or otherwise. Moxie: Those aren't statues? Dirt: No, I can see the motorics. Savvy: And she told us about how they're only soulless, not mindless. Moxie: What's the difference? Grit: Less appetite. Savvy: There'll be a rep to talk to, I bet, so I'm heading into language-processing. Moxie, take us in, find us a seat that doesn't look too scary. Dirt, ID any food that'll keep Grit happy. Grit -- what are these signals? Grit: Bodies without souls don't move. Bodies without movement don't keep souls. Movement without body can only be a soul. Souls without bodies cannot be motionless. Grit: Hmmm. No, wait. I think I'm just cold. Savvy: Okay. Well, let's see if she has a warm drink.     Seat. Ah-- no seat, just raised slabs. It's buffet standing. She eyes the roast hog with rapt attention but also doesn't hesitate to get near the junk-food. And she replies quickly and straightforwardly. "Oh-- Great meeting you, High Warden! I'm Company debtor four-three-eight-one-oh-six -- but, Detective Friz is a lot easier." A similar greeting to the one she'll give to Meresankh and Iseptah.
Friz	Savvy: Questions. Easy. Dirt: Ask about the weird food. Savvy: This is why I'm in charge of conversation. Anyone else? Moxie: I'm kind of obsessed with that chair. Those legs don't usually move. Savvy: We're zero for two so far. Grit, let's hear it. Grit: What makes her so merciful? Savvy: That's... a good question. Savvy: "I'm curious, I hadn't really read up much yet -- 'The Merciful'? It's a bit of..."     "...a surprising title for a major ruler (it feels like something with some history). I know you mentioned the other rulers were a bit inhumane about their subjects. But what made you wind up standing out to everyone as, uh, superlatively merciful?" Friz laughs a little, hopefully getting a warmed instant coffee of some kind, even if it's necro-microwaved. Her conversationational nature, at least, is immaculate as she does small-talk about everything from galactic affairs to the eclectic food and how some of it is familiar from home. You wouldn't know she's a bit freaked out except for the fact that occasionally she fumbles her food in a highly-distracted way, accidentally dunking one of those cookies in sour cream in the middle of a conversation. She takes a second bite before realizing it. She does her best not to ask about the actual bodies the necrons have, but one can see her occasional fixated examination, staring at a joint or surface with the same intensity that she sometimes zones out and stares at the sigils and articulated devices in this space.     The ghost that haunts her has no clear effect, but Trudy Grimm and others sensitive to the post-mortal can probably smell the occasional whiff of his cheap cigarettes or notice his shadowy figure leaning near the snacks.
Dimokratia	There was a simple synchronicity in the diplomatically-purposed going to the diplomatic function. The Silver, in Dimo, had become greatly interesting in a Paladins Chevalier Necron lord. So the Silver, through Dimo, was sent as envoy to learn more than what could be gathered over one imprecise bit of radio-play. It was upon that radio-play that such interested had been stoked; the most curious desire, to return from metal inhabitance to flesh, and the most sympathetic claim, that many of their peoples had lost their souls and were mere unsparked husks. Challenging, as souls were not some infinite resource, and the question of what would return such a reaving and cleave in reverse still required discovery. Filled with the simmering of curiosity, Dimo steps through warpgate into Oryx, striding in to the receiving room in a carbon-black tabard dressing with a network of bright platinum stars joined by a complex radiance pattern of brassy-golden circuits. The cloth fits over a light suggestion of chestplate-armor and rounded-enclosed shoulder pauldrons, mixing the cloth-fall of a gravity-bound priestess robe with sleek orbital enclosing and vacuum hardening, save for a shamelessly bare neck - corded and cabled and wrapped about with reinforcing bars and the underside of ports and plugs and deeper recesses that are just a bit openly declarative of it not being a large piloted suit but a whole person. An intentional declaration rather than a cute simulacrum behind pale slight-segmented face and cool-blue optics and silverwhite 'hair'. Trailing from the back are two jellyfish-like trails of gossamer-skirted silver, lazily following as lightly reactive additional limbs that pool behind the tall machine woman, flowing through the air in trembling waves. Immediately inspecting surrounds with first pausing step, Dimo carries on only a two-beat after right on in, to be received by Henutep 'the Implacable'. Introducing herself - 'Dimo, of the Silver' she is immediately interested in the first-servant's titlage. "Entertain? Is that also the role of the 'Implacable'?" She asks, warmly wavering in tone before letting off. "You do well, warrior! Your battlefield is not choice, but you are fighting a winning campaign. Where did you earn such a title as 'Implacable'?" Being swept along in introductions at the periphery, one of her silver trails lingers by a plate of mixed olives and the champion stops and pivots about, abruptly about-facing to take up more of the Party Plate Mediterranean Olives And Dip (Cold Pack, Feeds 4). Interpreting dipping only late entertains the savouring synthetic when the queen arrives in all her heralded glory. 'Why us, if you don't mind my asking?' Looking down at James, even from her leaning table-slab side sampling of savory treats, Dimo pauses in her enjoyment to wipe down oil-touched digits with napkins from a nearby order of takeout she has to pilfer, and takes her time with each digit and her words. "Why, Chevalier Bond. Queen Meresankh has already been asked the same from myself - I found their answer..." A hanging pause, before the warm buzz and honey-sweet crackle of her vision cone resumes. "-very interesting - sympathetic even. Terribly, inarticulably wronging, that so many could be denied the warmth and radiance that being allowed positivity might grant them. It is a terrible thing that has been done to them, unensouling."
Lilian Rook	Lilian remembers this universe. She's pretty sure she hates it. A lot. But all she can do is pray that this Paladin is better than the last one. Moving down to this sort of casual function in her Paladins work schedule was the trade she made to have time for the Association. Remembering that on the way in reminds her that her last job was crashed by Ash, and bitterly she begins to dimly hope it'll happen again.     She stops to glance nervously at her wrist again. Sometimes, just a little, she feels as if her hand is no longer there. She's never been right of course; or at least, never caught it; but no amount of knowing that it's just a hangup lodged in her head since that conflict really dispels the tic.     Lilian's choice of formalwear is not an easy one, for a place she mostly knows for having skulls on everything. The Necrons don't exactly dispel this stereotype, even if the ominous skulls are on necks instead of kneepads and armrests.     She's settled on an ankle-length dress with a double-layered skirt split on opposite sides, corseted with something stolen from her supervillain persona and cross-strapped around her neck and lower shoulders, leaving much of her back and upper arms bare, though she has insisted on fairly long gloves so as not to directly touch any weird corpse stuff. Winter Crow is moderately accessible at one thigh, while Night Mist hangs freely from her neck rather than the pendant being stifled under her dress. Her hair is done up in a high chignon with a little extra white gold and diamond hanging from a crescent pin. Red dress, black gloves, the click of heels on forboding black stone is deeply satisfying.     She chooses to introduce herself, after browsing her several choices in response to those lofty titles, as "Lilian Rook, the Winter Bloom of Humanity." Then, upon cursory scan of the crowd, she says, "Dimo! What a happy surprise to see you here. You look phenomenal." Her mood brightens a little further when she spots Bond, adding "And it's certainly reassuring to see you as well. This sort of thing is water to a fish for you, isn't it?" She squints just a little at Trudy, then decides her being surrounded by skeletons is probably the place she's most likely to thrive.
James Bond	It is a terrible thing that has been done to them, unensouling.     Bond furrows his brow. Not in disbelief--more like uncomprehension. He's used to that word being a figurative thing; a thing that everyone can be said to have in the abstract, which some people might be in danger of losing, but which can't be measured. It would be a faux pas to ask 'those are real?'     So, instead: "I can certainly empathize with having something taken away that ought to be intimately personal and inalienable." This sort of thing is water to a fish for you, isn't it?     Bond flashes Lilian a smile. "I was just thinking the same about you, in fact." Mostly, anyway. To be more precise, he was also thinking about not wanting to be seen by her dressed like he is but eating a plate of store-bought cookies--hence his avoidance of them.     "It's friendlier than these things tend to be. Not that I mind in the slightest." It'll be nice to make the walk home without a tail or gunshots or car chases. Especially since the Aston is still in the shop while the Paladins undo Ash's considerable handiwork.
Trudy Grimm	When Lilian casts her The Look, Trudy returns it with that big sharp-toothed smile of hers. A hand lifts, fingers wiggling in greeting. She doesn't move, however, from near Meresankh and her retainers, having directly addressed the Queen. A fond acknowledgement is all she can spare for the moment, as decorum demands.
Dimokratia	'Dimo! What a happy surprise to see you here. You look phenomenal.' Remaining slightly dipped at first, looking over the side of pauldron, the Champion's countenance spills warm synapse-rich sight back towards the praise of the Dame Commander. In candleflame reactorbuzz resonance of tone, Dimo offers a slow "Happy, of course, for a place need only be graced with wmy presence to please you," The champion winks, and rises, and contemplates a single fleshy green olive between thumb and forefinger, amber oil slowly dripping down smooth surfaces and gently glazing seam and micro-joints at the first knucklepoint. "I am phenomenal, for I am wonderfully and gloriously complex. Your sight is shown by seeing so - and thank you, I was proud of my armor for the evening." Leaning to the side several degrees with a tilt of shoulder and fall of silverwhite from her high consideration of olives to the Winter Bloom's scanning of the crowd. "You have armored yourself no less skillfully, Commander. May I ask what tugged your interest? You are as equally and warmly surprising to me in your presense as I seem to be to you." Dimo's smile carries across panel-pulled lips, thumb pressing intimately to the top of her captured olive and then further still, with beyond-effortless oilpress close of finger taut to finger and the fleshy olive-mash trapped between spilling down first and second knuckle. "But I am known and consistent as a champion of all synthetic and sophont peoples, and so the Necron's plight I might know as my own. And you, Dame Commander? I remember you taking leisure duties recently, and they were unleisurely."
Lilian Rook	'I was just thinking the same about you, in fact.' "I'm glad that my reputation as a woman of culture survives somewhere." Lilian says. "I feel as if all I've done lately is alternate between miserable, furious, and unfortunately sincere. The opportunity to work a little magic in negotiations for a change is appreciated." She means it by three-quarters.     'Happy, of course, for a place need only be graced with my presence to please you,'     "Now now, don't go saying it like that." Lilian says, laughing airly, but not insincerely. "People will talk."     'You have armored yourself no less skillfully, Commander. May I ask what tugged your interest?'     "Perhaps I wouldn't quite say interest. I have a . . . complicated relationship with this sort of world." she says, meaning negative. "I have my hands full getting the Trídéag Association up and running as it is. I hope command doesn't begrudge me reducing my active case duties." Lilian says.     'I am known and consistent as a champion of all synthetic and sophont peoples, and so the Necron's plight I might know as my own. And you, Dame Commander?'     "I'll admit that I don't know as much as I perhaps should about the locals." Lilian says, gently squeezing her upper arm. "Perhaps I'm simply tired of hunting in the forest, and need to rest a while in something resembling civilization." Suddenly, she glances sidelong and down, unable to help it. Psyching herself out again. Suddenly doubtful of her hand's presence. "Standing around, eating food, talking to people; it'd all be very . . . grounding."
Meresankh	Henutep is trying not to express much of anything, but something in his body language and the directions his eyes wander suggest a vague sort of comfort with Trudy. Perhaps it is the symbols of mortality among her accessories, or perhaps her reacting to the Necron form with curiosity instead of revulsion or fear. Maybe it's just that he respects her seeming a fellow wallflower of sorts, at least prior to Meresankh's arrival.     Trudy: "Your title, 'Her Mercifulness', may I ask how you came to be called thus?"     There is a surprisingly uncomfortable silence among the queen and her courtiers. Iseptah raises a finger and says, "My Overlord, perhaps-" Meresankh raises a hand to dismiss whatever complaint was coming. She looks Trudy in the eyes, considers the witch's face briefly, and then speaks. "The epithet was bestowed by my peers among the Sautekh Dynasty, informally at first but eventually recognized by our Phaeron. They intended it an insult, a condemnation of alleged softness. I have chosen to see it more positively than they. A capacity for mercy is an openness to the possibility of change. And change is what my people need, after so many ages of grinding status-quo."     Echo: "What's that? And that?"     This time Iseptah speaks without interruption. "A delicacy among our people from our days in the flesh. Its name is lost to time and trickery, and the original ingredients are mostly extinct, but we have done our very best to approach it with our resources. Do try it, please. And that... that is Mister Pibb's. His is a tale shrouded in mystery. Your kind once knew his beverage as 'Peppo', and it is unknown how Mister Pibb seized power and changed its name."     If Necrons could blush, Henutep might have done so when Echolalia repeated his title in full after only hearing it once. Meresankh pretends not to notice, and instead fixes her attention on the flower, reaching down to accept it from Echolalia. "A botanist? Delightful! Time has been unkind to Oryx, and little life remains on the surface. It is not often that I have been able to appreciate plants since my awakening."" She regards Echo with something approaching pity when the etherwyrm speaks of Dysnomia's texting habits, but elects not to pry for now. Instead, she focuses on the question asked of her, idly turning the flower in her fingers as she answers.     "I suppose I should not count the Great Sleep, lest my answer be 'sixty million years'. I became a Cryptek in the royal courts at the age of nineteen - young, but not unheard of. Five years later we underwent biotransference - the loss of our flesh - and I was assigned the world of Oryx as my dominion when we entered the Great Sleep. I have been awake again for three years. So, twenty-seven? But that may not mean the same to you as to me, and is not a full picture of my history."     "As for my decision," she continues, "It did not take me long after awakening to recognize the same mistakes among my peers as before biotransference, the mistakes which once cost us a galaxy. I do not wish to repeat the past, for my sake and for my people's."
Meresankh	Bond: "I've never seen such an eclectic spread. Your retainer must have done some fairly extensive research."     "Oh, he did. But I'm sure he'd like to tell you all about it himself." Iseptah rubs his hands together with a sinister glee. "But as to your question. Dimo has the right of it. My people have experienced a great loss, one which will not be easily recouped. If they are to thrive I require assistance which my dynasty and empire were unwilling to tender. I hope the Commonwealth and Oryx can come to a more productive arrangement." As Meresankh turns to the next guests, Iseptah steps in and begins to expound at length - GREAT length - as to the origin of each dish, and the process of planning a menu entirely of items he could not himself taste.     Utsuho: "How strong are you, anyway? What kind of firepower do you got?"     Something lights up - figuratively - in Meresankh's already-glowing eyes. "Are you sure you want to see?" she asks, voice filling with mirth. "Very well! A demonstration, in miniature!" Meresankh raises her sceptre, and it projects what is probably a hologram onto the table near the trio of yokai. Minuscule Necron warriors, carrying long-barreled luminous-green rifles, march grimly across the tabletop. A tall, slender-legged walker reminiscent of a War of the Worlds tripod - except here it's only four inches tall - stalks behind them.
Meresankh	The warriors take aim and open fire, volleys of little green beams poking holes in Utsuho's selection of hors d'oeuvres - whatever this is, it's some combination of hologram and real energy projection. The insectoid machine behind them directs a single, glowing eye toward her plate, and emits a continuous beam that sweeps across the dish, eradicating the remains of the meal. There's plenty more food on the tables - but Utsuho will have to collect her 'seconds' anew. Meresankh delicately applauds her own little show, sceptre now clutched in the crook of one arm. "And there is much, *much* more of that! I should show you my workshop sometime." She sounds like she's grinning.     Rin: "Are ya lookin' to be a hero, then?"     Satori: "May I ask how you intend to spread peace to the pla.. Galaxy?"     "Ah, that is ever the question, isn't it? How to be a hero." Meresankh pauses briefly. "That's sort of the thing about peace, right? War can sweep across a world without changing its stripes, but to keep a peace you have to be flexible. Open to new ideas. In a way that is my answer - to learn, and to use what I learn for the good of Oryx and the Commonwealth."     Friz: "I know you mentioned the other rulers were a bit inhumane about their subjects. But what made you wind up standing out to everyone as, uh, superlatively merciful?"     "That," Meresankh begins, " is quite a tale. But it comes down to my interest in learning from others before or - gods forbid - *instead* of destroying or enslaving them. We held ourselves as superior to other beings, but so much has been lost to us - can we really say the same anymore?" She presses a finger to her chin, a little pensively.     Dimo: "You do well, warrior! Your battlefield is not choice, but you are fighting a winning campaign. Where did you earn such a title as 'Implacable'?"     Henutep grunts his approval at the compliment. "Thank you. As a Warden I have proven myself capable of rooting out all manner of enemy to my Overlord and her dominion. I awoke from the Great Sleep only months before her, and Oryx was clear of sixty million years' worth of interlopers by the time she reclaimed her throne."     Dimo: "I was proud of my armor for the evening."     Henutep, overhearing the remark, emits another approving nonverbalism as he takes in Dimo's outfit again.
Echolalia	Echolalia looks around a bit and her eyes settle on Friz.She quirks her head for a moment--her expression one of mild bewilderment and less than mild interest and fascination. She watches Friz for a while. She eventually stands up out of the chair she's chosen and overtly sits down next to her--or as close as she can be, anyway. She crosses one leg over another, setting down her plate right on top of the empty one there. She then leans in and murmurs to Friz, "Um." She says. "Who are your friends?" She wonders if it's more ghosts (Though ironically she isn't thinking about the ghost). Harper seemed real worried that she had fought a ghost but these spirits seem a lot more chill in the sense that they are neither lighting her on fire or knocking a bridge down. "Sometimes I have people who talk in my head and tell me what to do too. But they're my friends so I can't tell them off even if I want to sometimes." ''A delicacy among our people from our days in the flesh.'' "Do you ever miss it?" Echolalia asks, of the flesh, but she's more making conversation than actually having strong opinions on this. She marvels at the mysterious tale of Mr. Pibb and murmurs, "It's...a beverage foretold from myth..." ''Tiem has been unkind to Oryx, and little life remains on the surface.'' "If you want, I could summon up a nice garden here. Something tasteful? I would have to refresh it every once in a while if the soil's bad but I know a lot of wondeful treatments for that and of course we can bring some in if you don't have any. How's your lighting situation like? Is your water chlorinated?" She is kind of getting excited about this and this promptly subsumes her attention for the time being.
James Bond	I feel as if all I've done lately is alternate between miserable, furious, and unfortunately sincere.     "Hm." That's middle-aged repressed (British) man for 'I've alternated between the same and wouldn't blame you for it even if I hadn't.' People will talk.     "They talk regardless," says Bond, dispassionately taking a bite from a beetle kebab. "But both of you probably already know that." The unspoken last bit is 'so you might as well have your fun.' ...change is what my people need, after so many ages of grinding status-quo.     Bond, familiar with 'this sort of world' from intelligence briefings rather than from first-hand experience as Lilian is, glances her way with a mildly interested expression. I became a Cryptek in the royal courts at the age of nineteen - young, but not unheard of.     After a sip of champagne, Bond nods with something like familiarity. The story is different, but the words rhyme in places with the ones in his own. I hope the Commonwealth and Oryx can come to a more productive arrangement.     "So do I," says Bond, lifting his glass in an informal toast. "And I also hope that arrangement's future success can serve as a model to your dynasty and your empire."     The marching demonstration, the question of how to be a hero, and the ideology of the empire she came from draw the second 'hm' of the banquet. But this one means something different than the one he'd given Lilian--it means 'I understand now.'     "You also have to know the difference between peace and quiet. Some people will call one the other." He sets down his bare kebab with a soft clink on the plate after a moment's examination. "I don't think my own empire will change its mind about that any time soon. We didn't part on the best of terms. But, I'd be happy to share what I've learned in my time with the Paladins if it would help you in your own pursuits."
Lilian Rook	'A capacity for mercy is an openness to the possibility of change. And change is what my people need, after so many ages of grinding status-quo.'     "May I one day be known as 'the merciless'." Lilian mutters under her breath.     'Time has been unkind to Oryx, and little life remains on the surface. It is not often that I have been able to appreciate plants since my awakening.'     "Time, or civilization?" Lilian can't help but murmur loud enough to be heard over trying to figure out what to put on a plate.     'I became a Cryptek in the royal courts at the age of nineteen - young, but not unheard of.'     "Beg pardon, but what sort of position is that?" Lilian asks. Her expression is conflicted. Nineteen would be ordinary for a backwards medieval world, but this appears to be very sci-fi.     'Five years later we underwent biotransference - the loss of our flesh -'     Again. A double check. Still there.     'How strong are you, anyway? What kind of firepower do you got?'     Lilian sighs emphatically.     'We held ourselves as superior to other beings, but so much has been lost to us'     Don't get racially conscious. Don't get racially conscious. Don't get racially conscious. You're over that Lilian.     'They talk regardless.'     "That's fair." Lilian says, meaning something else. "They're rather poor at interpreting the real thing when they see it anyways. I suppose being wildly accused of being an evil synthetic conversionist wouldn't matter much."
Dimokratia	"How could any forget the apparent culture you wear without being blind themselves, Dame Commander?" Dimo chortles, turning metal and carbon hand over to follow a brave roll of olive oil and garlic pulp tumble down bridged-back digit and smooth palm backplate of her hand. "You are well-draped, as I have already said." And no amount of olive oil observation can really hide who the Champion smiles for. "And what way would you have me say it? It was pleasingly positive to say it as I did, so I intend to go on speaking as such." Moving away from the olives to wipe away the olive must and loose oil off with the insufficient napkins of a takeout order that had been achingly explained and not yet pillaged. "Miserable, furious, and leaking pain while forcing it to mean something - these are all afflictions and battle-wounds of the war with negativity. You are right to liken it to returning to some outpost of society. Even if your family supports you from a distance, a solitary journey in dark and foreign forests is a tasking thing. So, blessed are the outposts, in all the sacred senses such. I would offer particular suggestions to restorative faire, but," Dimo momentarily sidemouths, with arched brow. "I do not know either, and the material hereditary readoffs do not help me gauge tastes. Do you like acidic foods? Abrasive? Smooth, thick, or coarse-grained? It may guide my search." 'And change is what my people need,' Righting to find a champagne goblet and pouring from a 2-Liter of RC Cola, Dimo raises her glass of amber fizz high, where it froths artfully-sparkling as it spills from upraised glass and ignites its sugar content and acid in a little caramelizing crackle that ashes and vaporizes before hitting the ground at the warm mechanical woman's feet. "An excellent goal, Merciful Highness. Change, from a lesser state, a negative state, towards a more positive, a most positive one. Change, to become grander, and overcome the things that were too challenging to our lesser selves. I wish well to know what you will become of this." She's grinning and drinking from her hot cola underlit in gold while watching wide-opticed at the weapons demonstration, engaged in a leaned-forward way. Her trails' gossamer finnage tapers and sharpens, curling closer to and ready, and when it is revealed to be a delightful hologram joins in clapping as well. Very normal, leaned back, closed-eyed, no-underglow clapping. "And so, Highness, what Change do you plan as a first step?" Dimo asks, over a considering swirl of crisp sugar scented flute. "Not grandest, but tangible - your first plan, first effort you would like to propose? How would you change, commissioning the help of those here? What exploration was beyond you before and now with Commonwealth support is within-reach?" Dimo gestures across table at Echolalia. "A grand garden? Trade in metals and materials that you did not previously have range or access to? Is there something that you want? More than 'quiet', as James says?" "Your Highness?" Dimo adds, with a further-toasting hook at the end.
Trudy Grimm	The witch hums thoughtfully, glancing between Meresankh and her retinue as the Herald starts to object. Her eyes return to the Queen as she explains, and in turn Trudy's face takes on a thoughtful expression, "Mmm... Yes, I see. I understand completely. Surrounded by casual cruelty and wickedness, you sought to become something more."     That resonates with Trudy in a way she hadn't expected. Her left hand rests on the spine of the Grimoire again, "While you most certainly have most capable retainers in your service, should you find yourself in need of witchery, I of course offer my talents. And as I offered, any questions you have about me, I shall answer to the best of my ability."     She steps aside when a small army is manifested to assault Utsuho's meal, unable to help herself from a little laugh, "Oh, my. A ferocious army indeed. And these, no less fearsome, I imagine." She gestures to the troops standing on ceremony around the edges of the chamber.     More pieces slot into place in the answers to Friz and Echo's prying, the witch's face more thoughtful still, tapping her lips with her free hand, "It won't be an easy mission, but you already know that, ahaha~. I can only support you and contribute to your cause, such as I may." Lowering her hand a bit, she scrunches her fingers up and wiggles them like the legs of some scuttling creature, "A wretch such as I should be able to manage that much."     Shifting her position, Trudy moves to stay in pace with Meresankh's throne, lowering her hand to her side, "I see the others are beset upon by your noble goals; ah, but perhaps..." She glances sidelong towards the Empress, "What of your people who already follow you? I'm afraid I know precious little about Necrons."
Lilian Rook	'How could any forget the apparent culture you wear without being blind themselves, Dame Commander?'     "Many are blind." Lilian says, barely suppressing the 'fucking' in the middle.     'these are all afflictions and battle-wounds'     "It's a war with . . . something." Lilian sighs. "I wonder what you mean by 'family'. Surely it can't be literal. And I'm very much used to tasking and dark journeys, but I can't say as much about being supported from a distance." she says. "Even if society, outpost or not, has no interest in me at all, though, it's still something to sit a while in bright lights and under a warm roof, where little changes and less matters. If nothing else, you could call it a resting of feet and warming of skin, even if I can't ever take its cloak with me."     ' do not know either, and the material hereditary readoffs do not help me gauge tastes.'     "Heredit--" Lilian stops suddenly, looking away from the table. "What does that mean?"
Friz	Dirt: "We held ourselves as superior to other beings, but so much has been lost to us - can we really say the same anymore?" Dirt: That's what she said. Savvy: Mmm. Savvy: Hey, either of you over at the Back tuned in? Savvy: That one felt weird. Grit: Nothing. All things are temporary. Moxie: No... I did catch a signal there. Moxie: You remember. Right? When we used to be... Moxie: I think she's like that. Moxie: Or maybe all of them are. Moxie: As a whole tribe, you know? Moxie: Society. A whole society, I mean. Savvy: ...That biotransference mistake... Savvy: "That's kind of..."     "...familiar to me, I think. Not-- uh, not that kind of civilization-wide situation. Not really like that." Friz gestures with her drink nervously, trying to laugh and not even especially managing the awkward 'ahah' she favors. "But, I think I do get it." She sips, uneasily, settling into an odd tone. "It's awful, isn't it? Having been... amazing once. Having been spectacular. And having made mistakes, and becoming something-that-used-to-be-amazing. It's worse to be an old echo of something amazing, than to have never been amazing at all. I wonder if the people who gave you that biotransference gave you all that praise, made you feel amazing." She blinks a few times.     She shakes her head and shivers strangely again, sets her drink aside, and fidgets uncomfortably with her glasses to clean the lenses. "Sorry-- that's probably a little, ahah, I'm being too familiar. Sorry, didn't sleep well." She looks like she never gets a good night's sleep. Dirt: Weird signal coming in. Dirt: "Who are your friends?" Dirt: Boss? Interpret? Savvy: Hold on-- where is she looking? Dirt: Looks like... us? Grit: Explain. Grit: We aren't real. So she would not see us. Moxie: I mean, we're real in the psychological sense. We're real impulses! Savvy: Maybe none of *you* jerks are real, I'm the true self. Dirt: Boss, you know how much that stresses us out... Savvy: Focusing. Savvy: "Huh? Wait..."     "...do you mean the Aspects?" Friz is startled by Echolalia. "It's-- that's actually *so* complicated." She scratches the back of her head awkwardly, looking aside and around and trying to gather her thoughts. "Someone I know taught me some exercises that help me, I guess, focus? Are you doing some kind of metacommunication right now? It's just a psychological thing, mostly." She instantly tries to cut off any more obligations to speaking about it by grabbing another snack.
Hellwarming Trio	"A demonstration, in miniature!" It takes all of a second for Utsuho to nod rapidly at Meresankh in the affirmative, eyes practically gleaming with flame as she looks up towards the raised scepter. She follows that to the hologram arund the same time Rin and Satori start looking as well, although she looks more confused than anything else at first when the miniature warriors start to appear. "Uhh..." is all she's able to get out before the light show starts on the table, drawing an excited little whooping noise from the hell raven. That turns into a far more animated "Yooo!" when the walker's eye glows and incinerates the plate entirely, the actual loss of food already escaping her thought process by the time she's looking back up at Meresankh. "And that's just the small version? Oh, we've definitely got to blow up some stuff together. I've got the power of the sun in me, too!" Before Utsuho goes to grab a new plate of food, she takes out a phone in an orange-yellow phone case with an eye decal similar to the one on her chest. She takes an awkwardly-positioned selfie with the eradicated plate of not-food-anymore to upload to the Moon Cell, then goes to restock! Friz's choice of cookie dip earlier didn't go unnoticed by the eagle-eyed Utsuho, of course, as she soon returns with a cookie pre-dipped in sour cream (in addition to meat and cubes). She tries it immediately after settling back into place, pauses to try and comprehend that flavor, then breaks the rest of the cookie into thirds and peer pressures Rin and Satori into trying it, too. The last third, finally, is offered to Echolalia by virtue of being close enough to hand it over and also seeing that she's got the same drink Satori has. "Huh.. You and Master got same tastes. What kind of myths are you talking about here, anyway?" A beat, and then the slightest of grins crosses Utsuho's face. "Does that mean he's still around somewhere?"
Hellwarming Trio	"In a way that is my answer - to learn, and to use what I learn for the good of Oryx and the Commonwealth." "Huh... You're kinda like me and Okuu and Master, then!" Rin concludes with an intrigued grin on her face, leaning back and putting on the airs of someone far more refined than herself. "We've been learning plenty about humans and the surface and all that to be better at fitting in and being heroes like Teach-" a glance at Bond, "-and Lilian here. It might not be a clean job, but..." Somehow, it sounds like she's trying to sound like some old-timey noir detective for a moment. "Someone's got to do it, and you're in good company for it." She closes her eyes, nods solmenly, then immediately gets distracted by Dimo's trailing silver strands. She watches them, enraptured for several moments by the shine, the intricate patterns, Dimo's poise generally, and then she snaps out of her brief daze when she recognizes Dimo's voice. "Oh, you're... Whoa, we've got two queens in here now!" Just as quickly, Rin's dropped the noir detective voice. "Wait a second..." She glances between Dimo and Meresankh a few times, looking increasingly worried as the seconds pass. "This isn't about to become some kinda international incident is it? With you two lookin' at the same territory to peace it up over and all?" Satori inhales deeply, trying not to look like she's dying a little inside at that. Thankfully, Meresankh's already gone over quite well with Utsuho, so that helps Satori keep her spirits up as she takes a sip of the Mr. Pibb to wash out the sour cream'd cookie (and recoils slightly from the drink). "Thank you for the direct answer. It's reassuring to hear that we're not the only ones looking for peaceful lives in this world... Galaxy?" She seems to still have some trouble wrapping her head around that."Galaxy... I'd like it if we could learn from each other, Queen Meresankh. Dimo of the Silver. If it gets me closer to a peaceful world with my girls and my sister..." She trails off for a moment, lingering on that thought for a while and recalling Meresankh describing her rise to power just a little earlier. "... I suppose I'd be learning more from you than the other way around. Still, feel free to call upon us if you ever need overwhelming fire or psychic power." Satori chuckles softly, then takes another sip of the Pibb.
Friz	Dirt: Hmm. Dirt: So, remember when Moxie accidentally dipped a chocolate chip cookie in sour cream? Earlier? Moxie: I said sorry! Savvy: That was so embarrassing. Moxie: Oh, sure! I'll tense all the muscles involved in escaping a predator. Savvy: Don't! Dirt: Well either way, that lady with the nuclear power saw it and she's imitating it with her friends. Grit: AM I BEING HUMILIATED TO THE TRIBE. IS MY POSITION OF TRIBAL SUPPORT BEING THREATENED BY THE OBSERVATION OF TRIBEMATES. Grit: IF SOMEONE SAW ME MAKING AN ABSENTMINDED MISTAKE AND TURNS IT INTO A HABITUAL REFERENCE I WILL WALK INTO ONE OF THIS PLANET'S OPEN GRAVES AND JOIN THE SKELETONS. Savvy: will you Savvy: please turn the heart rate down oh my god     Friz looks at the Hellwarming Trio and their cookies and grits her teeth while wincing slightly, but outwardly shows no other reaction.
Echolalia	''Dimo gestures across table at Echolalia'' Echolalia startles a little, surprised at the gesture, but she recovers quickly. She waves a hand back to Dimo as if DImo was waving to her instead of just sort of gesturing her as way of example. She is a little distracted by the fascinating little ghost people hanging around Friz but she does give Dimo a smile since she looks like she spent a lot of work on that outfit and it's very pretty. It is a little weird to be talked about by not-real entities that she sees only in the psychological sense--because she actually thought those were, like, full on psychic buddies of Friz that were just far away and maybe had weird psionic expressions. It's rather settled that something else is going on when Friz doesn't refer to them as buddies but rather 'the Aspects'. ''It's--that's actually *so* complicated.'' "Oh, it's just...always on usually." She says, vague herself in the moment. "I mean, it's nice to meet them? ... Why the ''just''?" She seems confused by the idea of something ''just'' being psychological but this is probably some weird philosophy thing she's got going on right now that is almost certainly half baked. She doesn't like to dwell. She likes to resonate. Echolalia receives a chocolate chip cookie and she absentmindedly dips it repeatedly into the sourcream until it's nearly entirely covered, assuming it's actually some kind of whipped cream by virtue of everybody eating it anyway, and she takes a bite. Oh this tastes weird... ... But it'd be rude to say so right? UGghhh... "Wow! This is AMAZING dip," Echolalia says.
Lilian Rook	'-and Lilian here.'     Lilian stops and double takes. "Is that so?" she says, stunned and light. "Well that's . . . flattering. But perhaps I wouldn't lean on me as a holotype example of humanity."     'It's worse to be an old echo of something amazing, than to have never been amazing at all.'     Friz wasn't talking to Lilian at all, but overhearing those words-- or perhaps those thoughts-- drives her into silence. Something about it feels transgressive to respond to. That she'd be treading on something too private, felt too raw, for it to be for anyone but Friz herself, even if leaving it to the air would only render her awkwardly singled out. She herself isn't clear on what compels her.     "Perhaps if it was never possible at all. If it'd never entered your life from the start. But 'amazing' is something like a poison, once it's introduced. Like a drug, when it fades away and leaves you spent, ravaged, addicted. But like a venom as well, when it's right in front of, just at the very edge of your reach, and should you try as hard as you might, you'll surely grasp it, but over and over again you fail, you get hurt, you defer it another day, and come to fear it. Never being amazing, when you could be at any time; I think that poisons the years in its own way."
Hellwarming Trio	"Wow! This is AMAZING dip," "Is it? Huh." Rin looks over at Echolalia, then at her sour cream'd cookie. Assuming the same thing, she  picks it up and takes a big bite out of it, holds it there for several seconds as her brain catches up with her tongue, and recoils. "The heck is...? Ehn. Can't all be winners." She says while grimacing, then returns it to an empty section of her plate. Satori, perhaps catching some of Echolalia's thoughts or Friz's internal monologue about the cookie between all the ambient thought noise in the area already, only glances at them briefly before spying that leftover sour cream'd cookie on Rin's plate. She waits a little bit to see if Utsuho or Rin are going to finish it and,  when neither of them do, she scoops it up and nibbles on it. It's going over better than the Mr. Pibb, at least. No recoil! She's still drinking it. "Well that's . . . flattering. But perhaps I wouldn't lean on me as a holotype example of humanity." "Heh. Of course you are, sis! I mean, why not? You're great at analyzin' stuff, figurin' out plans in a flash, directin' us like a leader should..." Rin starts confidently at first, and it's only about halfway in that she realizes she has no idea what holotype means. It has to be something related to heroism, right?  Why else would Lilian say that in this context? But... What if it means something completely different? "... Knowin' all sorts of big words to sound humble, and that's not even going into all the physical stuff you can do, or how much heroic stuff you do. That's holotypey, isn't it?" She asks while staring really intently at Lilian's face, like she's trying to suss out if she's getting closer or further away from the meaning of holotype based on her reaction. Satori's expression is just vacant during that entire exchange.
Lilian Rook	'That's holotypey, isn't it?'     "Well . . ." Lilian pauses. "That much is true. If you limit yourself to those examples. And I appreciate the praise; I really do! But . . ." How does she even begin to say this? Does she even need to? Should she? Is there even a way? Lilian licks her lips, opens her mouth, and tries twice to speak.     "But I think I'm human in a way that humans aren't."
Friz	Dirt: "Why the 'just'?" Grit: There is nothing more real than what you feel. Moxie: Or what you want! Savvy: There definitely is. Savvy: "Well, you know, it's not more substantial than magic, or psychic things..."     "...Or any of those multiversal things. It's just mental exercises. Focus-enhancing stuff." Friz gestures with a snack again. "It's all just me, in the end." She taps her head. Dirt: "...I think that poisons the years in its own way." Dirt: That's what she said. Grit: Hmm. Savvy: "Hmm"? No big heart-rate increase? Grit: No, actually. Moxie: Ohhhh I *hate* this. Moxie: Why does she tune into that? Moxie: Why's she know that wanting? Grit: I do have some advice though. Grit: Sending a stomach-flora signal up. Savvy: Alright. Hey, Moxie, can you grab...     Friz immediately gets some of that champagne after Lilian speaks, and starts nursing it aggressively. "That's true!" She says, maybe a bit weirdly late. She does her best to kind of maneuver around saying it has any effect on her. "It's gotta be even worse for Necron society, if it happened at a civilization-wide scale."
Dimokratia	'even if I can't ever take its cloak with me.' Dimo plucks out the basket of shoestring potato fries from the takeout burger order that she had stolen the insufficient napkinry from and sampling the semi-cool and floppy potato fingers with sole-fry simplicity. "To be a society of one is considered a torture for my people, though we have known the warm light of connection like you might drink of water. Even now, I am not alone. Though, perhaps, I wish my sister's wise council didn't start at 'appropriate engagement weapon', I do cherish her. I remember you speaking of yours - have you thought to try and recover among your own family?" The misunderstanding of family is waved at with a fry, the re-cooking length flooping to a side. "I of course meant mine, and the ascriptive alignment to upright support. As a family should be, and mine is - but I am continuing to understand you are beleaguered. Yes, I think time with your most core people might restore you, as this light duty might in the time beneath light." The preaching piece continues in tone, religious aside over fry ministry, until Lilian asks about 'material hereditary readoffs'. The champion underhand-flops a fry at the constantly-droning explainer of the herald-Necron. "The, hmm," A searching-modulation of tone like radio frequency dialing, then a shrug. "Geneology of acquisition. Chicken meat, processed, breaded, yes, understood, it is the violence-idol 'burger', I have seen 'burger' before, that it is made of poultry and given a contaminated oil bath rather than multiply-processed seasoned beef does not really change the lexical value of the descriptions." She meant the Necron giving the nutritional information and full history, a little smug about knowing the frenched fry and burgerform of cuisine. Olives being new was a fluke. 'Oh, you're... Whoa, we've got two queens in here now!' "I am a Champion," The repeats of 'queen' get a little flicker of reaction but nothing more. "-a leader of expeditions and representative of my people, and I would be happy to continue a conversation on any level of needs with you. Of course, alignment to true peace among worlds and the right of self-development should be assured and ensured for all peoples. There's no 'international incident'!" Between Dimo and Meresankh, at least! It would be inter-galactic. "If it helps you, of course, I would be interested in consulting. 'Overwhelming psychic power', is quite the enticing challenge to experience, wouldn't you agree?" Echolalia waving over the table gets Dimo to give the dragon a sidelong glance from several seats down. Then, without a hint of awkwardness, she waves back -- again (again). Then, reached around the table and stretched past slabs, the Champion's now-fryer warm fries in basket are offered out on a long trail of slowly-dripping-in-place morphmetal, chrome silver delicately holding the bounty of the golden arches (in yellow-red packaging).
James Bond	We've been learning plenty about humans and the surface and all that to be better at fitting in and being heroes like Teach and Lilian here. Well that's . . . flattering. But perhaps I wouldn't lean on me as a holotype example of humanity     "I have to agree with Lilian. If that's why you call me 'Teach,' then it's the blind leading the blind." A small sip of champagne. "I don't want to be a hero. I just want to leave this place better than I found it. Besides..." But I think I'm human in a way that humans aren't.     He can't speak to that. But he's grateful for a branch anyway. "Most humans don't have millions of dollars invested directly into them, personally. It'd be pathetic if I *weren't* capable after all of that." He sighs--then his mind drifts to the 'people' that 'talk.' "Better than the stupid leading the stupid, I suppose." But 'amazing' is something like a poison, once it's introduced. Like a drug, when it fades away and leaves you spent, ravaged, addicted.     Bond pointedly dabs at the corners of his mouth with his napkin before pushing his clean plate forward.
Meresankh	Echo: "Do you ever miss it?"     "Oh, at times," Iseptah says, a note of wistfulness in his voice. "But what I miss most is the art. I was quite the patron in my day, but now there are so few of us and so much work to do." He lowers his volume to just above a whisper. "I do not know if there are enough waking, complete minds on Oryx to assemble an orchestra - let alone an audience as well."     "If you want, I could summon up a nice garden here. Something tasteful?"     Meresankh claps her hands again. "Oh, that could be wonderful! I shall have to check if there are any suitable plots above the central tomb complex. Some... flowers on our graves might do us some good," she says with a dark chuckle.     Bond: "You also have to know the difference between peace and quiet. Some people will call one the other."     Henutep 'hmph's in acknowledgement. "Indeed. The absence of a visible enemy is not enough on its own to make true peace." That doesn't sound much like he gets what Bond is driving at, really.     Lilian: "Time, or civilization?"     This gives Meresankh pause. "The last intelligent beings to build anything on the surface abandoned this world long ago. They could have accelerated the decline of its surface ecology, or merely suffered through it. We were asleep at the time, with only a few automated sentinels ever making contact with the colonists. What we do know is they came from off-world, tried to build something, and later changed their minds about staying. Fortunate for them," she says. "We would not have been pleased to find them crawling across our tombs."     "As for the role of cryptek," she says, her tone brightening considerably, "we are technologists, engineers, inventors, problem-solvers! Comparable in function to the 'enginseers' of the Imperium, without their laughable superstitions. Biotransference did at least some good for us, by allowing us to connect more closely with our machines. I have advanced my studies more in the three years since my awakening than in the five years I occupied the position before the Great Sleep. It is not extraordinary for a cryptek to ascend to the post of Overlord, but most of my peers came into their status through political inheritances, rather than personal achievement." Evidently from her tone, she holds some disdain for the more politically inclined Overlords.     Dimo: "Not grandest, but tangible - your first plan, first effort you would like to propose? How would you change, commissioning the help of those here? What exploration was beyond you before and now with Commonwealth support is within-reach?"     "My very next move, hm? I would like to see the Flayer Virus dealt with at once. It is a particularly tragic degradation of a Necron's faculties which drives them to consume the flesh of living beings in attempts to take it as their own, to return to flesh through brute force. As you can imagine it is one of the more damaging maladies to have emerged during the Great Sleep. We believe it to be an ancient curse by one of our former gods, a last laugh of sorts."     She continues. "Although our technologies are great, I will admit one shortcoming - mentalism. Our ancient nemeses were psychically powerful, and we developed many defenses against such measures at the cost of not being able to develop in that regard ourselves. It has served us well, but if I am to restore the damaged minds of my subjects - especially those fallen to the Flayer - I must learn all I can of those long-forbidden disciplines."
Meresankh	Trudy: "While you most certainly have most capable retainers in your service, should you find yourself in need of witchery, I of course offer my talents."     Meresankh taps her chin. "If you are anything like the 'witches' of the Imperium, your talents may prove as dangerous as they could helpful," she muses, "but otherwise, perhaps I will have need of your abilities yet. And," her tone turns a little stern, not quite imperious, "if you are a wretch, you are one fit to stand before a queen."     "As for my people. A vast majority yet slumber - I am hesitant to awaken them without being sure they will arise with minds and wills intact. Those already awoken with their faculties, few as they are, know not to question their Overlord - we Necrons have a strong sense of duty, both to our sovereigns and to our subjects. They hold my interests in mind, and I hold theirs."     Friz: "It's worse to be an old echo of something amazing, than to have never been amazing at all. I wonder if the people who gave you that biotransference gave you all that praise, made you feel amazing."     Meresankh's eyes narrow to a scowl, not at Friz, but at something she gestured toward. When the queen speaks, her voice borders on sneering. "They *did*. They promised so much to us - dominion and life everlasting." Her voice now dripping with scorn, she continues. "They lied. Our fool of a king took their bargain, and they took everything from us. So we destroyed them." Meresankh reaches into her cloak - into the material itself, hand passing through to some non-space contained within - and withdraws a fist-sized cluster of nested cubes, a green flame no larger than a candle-light burning at its center. There is a cruel satisfaction in her tone as she turns it over in her palms. "This is all that remains of our old gods, the great deceivers. This and a million others just like it, each harmless as a kitten and slaves to our will. It is better than they deserved."
Lilian Rook	'To be a society of one is considered a torture for my people'     "Even were I not familiar with the precepts of your civilization, I would understand." says Lilian. "I feel almost as if I might be on the edge of two, or four, but . . . Well. If there are two people on Earth, they'll find a way to fight."     'have you thought to try and recover among your own family?'     "Matthew is dead." Lilian blurts it right out. "My father. My mother moved away, and I haven't spoken to her since. And the funny thing is, I think that brought Bryce and Katrina closer."     'that it is made of poultry and given a contaminated oil bath rather than multiply-processed seasoned beef does not really change the lexical value of the descriptions.'     "Oh." Lilian tries not to sound too relieved. "Food is bizarre, isn't it? I don't particularly mind eating, but it gets more strange the more you think about it. Especially when you try to classify it." she says. "If I had the choice, I don't think I'd bother. I mean, I wouldn't turn down something with the flaw of 'you can't eat'. But there are one or two things that make it worth it." Lilian continues on, glad to talk about something inconsequential. "It's a little bit of a material tyranny to need it, but the act, the concept, of it, feels more significant than just a biological chore, so it'd be a shame to completely lose it, though."     'Biotransference did at least some good for us, by allowing us to connect more closely with our machines.'     "Apologies, but I don't quite see the appeal." Lilian says. "Shedding form just to serve the tool seems . . ." Oh right. This is a diplomatic thing. "Still. Congratulations on achieving such a technical scholar position at such a young age. It's quite impressive." Damn it'd be cool for hr official position to be 'Overlord'.     'It is a particularly tragic degradation of a Necron's faculties which drives them to consume the flesh of living beings in attempts to take it as their own, to return to flesh through brute force.'     Lilian swallows the impulse to say something adjacent to 'mood'.     'This is all that remains of our old gods, the great deceivers.'     "Oh my. Now that is quite something." Lilian coos. "You think it wise not to kill them?"
Dimokratia	'But I think I'm human in a way that humans aren't.' "And wouldn't that be wonderful and complex?" Dimo asks, deeply interested in tone and optics tracking fully back to Lilian. James' addition, on real dollars, sparks further agreement-in-realignment from the Champion. "No, more than the tangible representation of your society's value poured into one person, morbid enough to count, there are a whole caste of the human peoples in many of their societies that become human in ways other humans are not - the morbidly rich, the resource-obese. Human contains much complexity, and a higher-minded take of a species includes its tools and creations, its off-shoots and becomings. Those that seek to limit that must seek to limit you." "The preposterous sense that you become less with changes is the sickness speaking." '...the Flayer Virus...' "Ah, a terrible affliction that I have heard few equals of. To inflict noble souls with such a hunger, a crumbling of the faculties, is just one of the inflictions upon your people that should be corrected. The eroding, the mortal crumbling of--" Dimo pulls back, trails swaying back to seating-curled about and besides, serene-floating in wavy layers and motioned through with little sticky-in-space pseudopodic shifts. She was about to go off on her own little 'talking up the robots for having magnificent shapes' but then, no, the Necrons are still also afflicted by wanting flesh in the other ways! Such mixed messages. Fixing it should be efficient, surely similarly sourced. "--such tremendous spirits. The spark of a soul is a treasure, to afflict with such a debilitation." 'This is all that remains of our old gods, the great deceivers.' Once again warming up her hot underlighting of solar gold, Dimo leans forward in her seat and scythes a fry in half with a snap of a bite. "So." A purr of interest. "Power source? Weapon? Or merely captivating trophy?" LILIAN gains SEVERAL Reputation points for her opinion on Food! LILIAN loses SEVERAL Reputation points for her opinion on Enteched Souls! "There is such a fixation on the method of consumption." Dimo asides, holding up halved fry casually between a triangle stand of her fingers. "We are formed to gather and grow. To contact, and intake. But the local fetishes for food and contact... never cease to amaze me, Dame Commander. I'm glad you share the interest in such observations."
Echolalia	''Or any of those multiversal things. It's just mental exercises.'' "Hmm.... I guess... Well the psionic form is just a pure expression of self and if the mental exercises are um real enough to have conversations with one another then...2,") She squints real hard and-- Dirt: Wait you don't actually know which is which Moxie: Or how the exercise actually works Savvy: You're just imagining us pictured in your head and thinking this nobody even called me boss. Grit: That's right boss Savvy: It's too late!! Echolalia shakes her head rapidly from side to side after trying this and adds, "How does it work?" simply enough but probably because she wants to try this again sometime. ''Dimo waving at Echolalia'' Echolalia, having forgotten she waved at Dimo the first time, waves at Dimo again. ''Some... flowers on our graces might do us some good,'' Echolalia smiles. "Sure! Or a nice park. WHatevr you'd like! I'll like get a brochure ready after I get home and I'll bring it over!"
Meresankh	Rin: "This isn't about to become some kinda international incident is it? With you two lookin' at the same territory to peace it up over and all?"     Meresankh laughs. "I should hope not! Dimo has been most amicable in conversation, and I would be surprised if we came to cross purposes."     Satori: "Still, feel free to call upon us if you ever need overwhelming fire or psychic power."     Meresankh whirls around, eyes bright. "Tell me more," she implores. "Everything."     Dimo: "Power source? Weapon? Or merely captivating trophy?"     "More like... a tome, a repository of information on the occult. Not my specialty, so it's handy to have around."
Trudy Grimm	> "If you are anything like the 'witches' of the Imperium, your talents may prove as dangerous as they could helpful."     The witch's eyes close, "Ahh, I'm afraid I know nothing of the Imperium, save that a Paladin chevalier was a part of it. I have not seen that man in quite some time, though, so perhaps he has returned to his homeland." Her smile returns with a smug little hum, "Every queen, king, and lord must have a wretch in their service. Though I am currently employed as such already, of course, my offer still stands." One eye opens, glancing towards Lilian for a moment.     Friz asks about biotransferrance. When Meresankh's tone changes, Trudy straightens her posture a bit, listening intently. Eyes open once more, she follows when the Necron queen produces a cube containing-- > "This is all that remains of our old gods, the great deceivers."     "Ah ha~," With one hand resting on the spine of the Grimoire again, Trudy touches her lip with the other, "Masterfully done. What fine quality containment, Empress. Many levels beyond what I have done. Ah--" Her head tilts slightly, one eye closing, "Something this finely crafted would be wasted in a mere lantern."     Trudy pauses, then, leaning forward to peer past Meresankh and her retinue. Directly at Rogers, haunting the buffet way over there, unhassled thus far, "Oh? And what would you be doing here, I wonder?"
Lilian Rook	'And wouldn't that be wonderful and complex?'     "I wouldn't disagree." Lilian says. "I couldn't imagine it being anything else. It's . . . a lot. And one day I want to see it." She stops dead, and looks away, squeezing her arm again. "Or I suppose I did, just a little bit. The other day. It was . . ." She shakes her head all of a sudden. "No I suppose it'd be a lot to explain.     'The preposterous sense that you become less with changes is the sickness speaking.'     "You become less when they wear you down and call it maturing."     'But the local fetishes for food and contact... never cease to amaze me, Dame Commander.'     "Just because they're strange and arbitrary doesn't make them insignificant. Or rather, because they're strange and arbitrary, yet there are so many ways to engage with them; that makes them interesting. It's not the meat itself, but the fact that this way it's a burger and that way it's a steak, and how medium-rare projects taste whilst a little longer on the fire makes you contemptible. Not the touch, but the ritual of shared vulnerability, and what each move means. What we construct from the base necessity of nature is fascinating enough to learn and try." Lilian looks to Dimo.     "But that sort of makes its roots obsolete, right? 'The human part is not the ear but the hole for the earrings'. We could do the same from anything. There's nothing sacred about the common way we're forced to live." Her gaze wanders to the robotic skeletons in the room. "So I can't help but feel it's a little . . . incestuous. To go this way, and not that way. Transferring the roots from which the human stem grows to the things that humans made only because of the roots. 'Technology' in that way; what we design to compensate for ourselves-- enshrining it as a core of being just feels . . . like a waste."     "Wouldn't that be the time to make something new, just to be it? Something that has no use to the way we are now, but that we want to build our fascinating little arbitrary meanings upon. I can't imagine trading my body just to be more 'convenient'. I don't know what I could express with a built-in USB port."
James Bond	The preposterous sense that you become less with changes is the sickness speaking.     "When you've been sick for a long time, recovery can also take a long time," Bond says--but only after a thoughtful pause. "You're probably a better judge of that than I am." Speaking as essentially a former servant of the resource-rich.
James Bond	The absence of a visible enemy is not enough on its own to make true peace.     "True," says Bond. It wasn't what he meant--but he can work within someone else's framework fairly easily. He is a spy, after all! "Sometimes, the enemy is structural or material. An inflexible government or simple geography."     "We're not an army or a police force, but the peacekeeping arm of a major Multiversal organization. The Commonwealth has an interest in increased accountability, transparency and, ideally, equity in its member states. 'What that looks like' has been difficult for me to answer, because it's still something that's being built." He frowns slightly. "But I can tell you what it doesn't look like, as a useful example."     "There are a number of countries on my world with very well-funded militaries and intelligence apparatus. They tend to coordinate with one another to enforce what we call 'soft power.' That is, economic and cultural influence."     "The theory is that if enough countries want what your country wants, then you never have to give any orders--and in the rare case that you do, there are lots of people who will back you up, both in the international stage and the public eye. If your country and my country want the food that our neighbor's country has, then we can put economic sanctions on them, cut the supply of goods they get from us, and incentivize our allies to do the same until that country either caves or gives us casus belli."     "And by that point, it's likely to be 6 or 7 on 1. The beneficiaries of that system will say that exercising soft power in that way isn't an act of aggression, because there's no exchange of fire--but, of course, the victims of it would very much say otherwise."     Bond flags down an attendant for another pour of champagne.     "Thank you," he asides.     "That sort of thing," Bond then concludes, "Is also something you can think about on a smaller scale -- which, as Paladins, we often will be. 'Who does this benefit' and 'how will it affect the average person' are probably the most important questions to keep in mind."
Friz	Dirt: It's cubes. Grit: It's corpses. Grit: More than any corpse we've seen here. Savvy: It's uncomfortable. It's really uncomfortable. Moxie: Something inverted about this...     "They left you minds and motion, but no souls. So you sort of... ground them down too. But in a different way." Friz scratches her head, squinting, as if she'll learn more... "I guess I don't know what I'd do to someone who tricked me into giving away my soul. I guess I'd do anything I could, but that's a kind of damage I've got no way to grasp. Intuitively." Her voice stays steady, even though her words are forming oddly. Glasses adjust again.     "But the soul is something you had once before. It was made, inside you when you were first made. And it makes sense. If it was made once, and nobody had to move mountains and change the world to do that, a soul could exist again. Do you think the peace and connection you're trying to make are the kinds of things that formed souls before? I think that's true for humans. Our souls get made by connections. I hope it's true for your people too. I know I'd want to help make that happen."     A certain shade glances up. His eyebrow quirks. He takes a long drag from his cigarette, and exhales. "Pretty rare someone sees me. Usually it's just the kid." He tilts his head at Friz. "She's got a hope or two. Investigating souls, death, that kind of thing, sometimes. Kind of an excuse for her to go do something too damn selfless."     Friz is also staring at Trudy. "Huh? You can see-- Er, what do you see?" She looks a bit unnerved at the idea, too embarrassed to commit to saying she's haunted the way she is.
Trudy Grimm	The witch's smile returns when that wisp of a man responds. Her eyes travel towards Friz when she's asked about him. After a moment, she glances to Meresankh and dips her head in a quiet 'excuse me' sort of motion before she steps away. Coming to a stop near the buffet, she hums while perusing the selection, eventually offering Friz a cryptic answer.     "A lingering shadow, perhaps. The lurking mist of a forlorn memory," She procures a lukewarm can of Bepis, turning it over in her hand with a thoughtful noise, "A creature such as myself has no problems perceiving things that however, so..."     After a moment, she sets the can down and seizes for herself some of that roast ham from the servile Necrons at the head of the buffet, "I like your cute friend," at last Trudy makes eye contact with Friz, her smile genuine, "I'll introduce you to my cute friends some time, if you like."
Hellwarming Trio	"But I think I'm human in a way that humans aren't." Unfamiliar as Rin may be to the more subtle signs of discomfort in humans, she's still learned enough to comprehend that she's getting dangerously close to something really personal for Lilian. Blinking slowly at her, Rin lets out a quiet droning noise for a few moments before finally nodding with a visible lack of comprehension. "I... Don't really get it, but I hear ya. Even if we can't learn how to be more human from you doesn't mean we can't learn other stuff from ya." She breaks into an encouraging grin, then puts on a more thoughtful look at James. "If that's why you call me 'Teach,' then it's the blind leading the blind." "You, too? But you two are some of the most heroic humans I know..." Rin strokes her chin as she continues looking between Bond and Lilian with those same slow blinks. "Hmm.. Well, better you two than some of the other folks we've seen around on the surface. That's still ahead of the curve!" "I am a Champion, a leader of expeditions and representative of my people . . ." "That sounds real cool, too! A leader and a tournament winner..." Utsuho murmurs, looking and sounding more intrigued by Dimo by the moment as she keeps looking between her and Meresankh. She looks them both over, too, like she's sizing them up, but with a excitedly respectful look on her face instead of a worried one. "There's no 'international incident'!" "Dimo has been most amicable in conversation, and I would be surprised if we came to cross purposes." Satori breathes a sigh of relief, not for her own sake, but for Rin not having to worry about that possibility. She mouths a silent 'thank you' to both Dimo and Meresankh, then pats Rin on the head once. "See? Nothing to worry about." "'Overwhelming psychic power', is quite the enticing challenge to experience, wouldn't you agree?" "That's reassuring to hear. I doubt many of the visitors here would be prepared for something all the way.. Out here? Out. Satori nods once and, after finishing her weird cookie, looks to Dimo again. "It truly is. For better or worse, many people over and underestimate abilities such as ours until we use them. Our work for the Paladins would be so much simpler otherwise..." "Tell me more," "Everything." For perhaps the first time tonight, Satori's polite smile turns into a more smug one. "But of course. I am a satori, a yokai with the power to hear people's thoughts, probe their minds, and draw out their greatest fears to use against them." She starts, sweeping an arm towards Rin while she's posing with her head held high to try and look cool. "Orin is a kasha, skilled at manipulating flames like her own hands and ferrying corpses to our furnace that powers the same flames that keeps our Former Hell running." The next arm sweep goes to Utsuho, who's already gotten distracted with taking more pictures of the food and all the visitors (especially the Kamen Riders). "And Okuu over there possesses the most powerful flames of all, commanding nuclear flames and managing the furnace in hell as easily as she breathes." A beat, and she adds in a quietly amused monotone, "We were also granted the title of Junior Asskickers by Mister Duke."
Friz	"A stiff. A dead man." The cigarette goes back into the figure's mouth, shifting, one side to the other. He wanders closer to Trudy, still invisible and intangible to most others. "Soft words on a hard subject are just gonna rip up on contact. I know I died. Couple other things to figure I'm haunting."     There's a sort of conspicuous effort to resolve himself. Looks to be a man in his mid sixties, hair grayed and thinning, with a harsh jawline and browline, shadowing his eyes, wearing a shabby suit and coat. The horrible chest wound and dribble of blood at his mouth fades over a few second.     "But a good man doesn't turn down a connection." He smiles, good-naturedly. "Hard to meet new friends. At my age, at my job, at my grave. Sure, kid. Sometime, let's talk." He drops the butt of his cigarette, grinds it into nothing, leaves nothing behind. Hands plant in his pockets. "Keep the ears on the government business, though. This dead lady's got a little more kick left in her than I do. Can say that for sure."
Dimokratia	"It is a greatness. Becoming more is a gift given to those with more. So, if I might offer anything to you in diplomacy's name, then let me offer you a wisdom: do not linger on the negativity, Dame Commander. If you allow yourself to bask in your more complete self, you might become greater by accepting your own greater complexities." Setting aside the rest of her reheated-by-aura food's dregs, Dimo clasps hands in napkin-clearing wringing and polishing off before discarding the twisted brown paper in the heralded greasy golden arches of the branded bag. "If you restrain yourself with the like that you 'are not', when you are or want at same token, is that not less stable compared to accepting that the more of your self, the current configuration, selects for one path over a second? You, a leader, ensouled and brilliant and still with becoming to happen, have come to choices more difficult than all and nothing - I am sure you handle quite regularly those struggles where you would be committed to two paths." Apologetic-sympathetic, at Lilian's sad words on becoming less by 'maturing', Dimo wishes away the negativity with a shake of her head. "You want to see it. If it is a lot, then you would be tremendous as it, and from there, further defined and realized. But if you must do other things first, then set a pace forward that pleases you and deflect the weather to your will with the cloak you weave of understanding and decision. We can be alloyed in stronger things." A composed nod falls to that, and to the poetry Lilian weaves after. "There is beauty in every kind of nerve and signal, and I assure you, every complexity of such consumption can be enjoyed. From ritual of preparation, to ritual of intaking, even this banquet is in that image of 'Human', as shared language. Though our hosts are 'Necron', and we have several types of 'Human', we also have not-Humans here, and 'Human' the society is one that builds many outposts and is well-heard and seen. Enough for us to argue its culture," Lilian might see it for being looked at while the Champion speaks, and those paying attention might catch it observationally sidemouthed, 'from the outside'. Carrying back with a lean of wiped clean hand to table, her comfort comes in balanced slouch. "You have ambition enough for a whole new type and derivation of being, and I would accept that wonder within you as a light to nurture. Stifling it, as you say, would be becoming less and 'maturing' instead. It should bring you an enjoyment, and I encourage you to find it. In that, you will warm yourself and find your way through this lonely forest of yours."