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Alkaid was the last person Vulcan expected to speak up for her. She watched, eyebrows raised, as the corrupt Senshi moved to put a wall between herself and WP.

'To her credit, I'm rather surprised to find her here. I thought I'd already killed her.'

Vulcan pressed her lips into a tight line, and reminded herself that she wasn't allowed to hit Alkaid anymore. Not until they knew more about Khetal's whereabouts. She glowered at the other woman, golden eyes shining like fire, and silently promised that she'd break Alkaid's blank face one day.

She'd known, when she'd opened her mouth, that she was asking for trouble. But if there were wolves lurking underneath all those sheepskins trying to pass themselves off as trustworthy Vulcan wanted to see them right now, right here. And WP's refusal to give her what she wanted only served to heighten Vulcan's suspicions.

To deny her the hostage, when they were supposed to be able to trust one another, was to admit to some kind of subterfuge.

Vulcan would risk insulting a thousand Negaverse officers if it meant saving the life of one sailor scout.

She maintained her defensive position when Bischofite approached, and could not help being wary. Fear wasn't the word for what she felt. Cautious suited it better. But her expression changed gradually from suspicious to delighted, even though he'd called her a child, when he offered her his name and proceeded to be positively interesting. It was easy for her to respect a man who would tie his own fate so utterly to that of one of the Lieutenant's under his charge. Vulcan smiled, glad that he'd taken off his mask, and agreed to meet Bischofite on the roof after the meeting.

"I promise I'll take good care of her," she said, earnest in her desire to uphold her end of the bargain. Gehenna was a good man. Vulcan knew that their Lieutenant would be safe with him.

Everything after that happened so fast that Vulcan scarcely had time to process. She was surprised by Zircon's outstretched hand, and immediately melted by the Lieutenant's display of altruism. If she'd had the chance, Vulcan would have shaken her hand, and asked for her favourite pizza toppings. So that Ghen could get the right kinds.

But Labyrinthite robbed her of that when he lunged at her, fingers curling in the front of her uniform like a vice. Vulcan's nostrils flared, the pink of Labyrinthite's boots reminding her of a Captain that she'd grappled with in the past.

"Ha," Vulcan spat at his mask, because she knew who he was. Not by name, but by scythe. "Nobody said anything about sacrifice."

According to her demands, the Lieutenant would be unharmed as long as she returned safe and sound. If Labyrinthite was so certain that the Negaverse would lose their agent, then Vulcan's cause was ******** justified.

She fell backwards after he released her, but was quick to right herself, fists raised. Chest heaving. She didn't think that she needed Bischofite's help, but was grateful to him for speaking up anyways, and refrained from breaking Labyrinthite's nose only because this was supposed to be a peaceful meeting.

"If you are all so adverse to negotiating on an equal level," she hissed, pointing fingers at the figures in masks, "I see no reason to trust you."

Labyrinthite didn't want to agree to her terms if only because he couldn't promise she'd make it out alive. He had no intention of seeing any of them die during the battle, but his priorities were for his fellow officers. "There will always be sacrifices in battle and in war," he hissed, backing up at Bischofite's orders.

He had watched, seething with concealed anger, as the general manhandled Zircon. It was rank, and rank alone, that kept him from doing anything. From saying anything in return. He knew Bischofite could be cruel, they'd witnessed as much right then and there, and his cruelty wasn't limited to their enemies.

Still, it took everything he had not to intervene.

He wondered, briefly, if that made him weak.

Bitterly he said, "yes, general," but made no move to actually sit. He looked back at Vulcan, gold eyes narrowed as he spoke. "Mark my words, after this whole thing is done and over with--" he didn't finish because Alkaid interrupted him. Gave him an order, pulled rank just like Bischofite.

It made his stomach churn, but he took another step back shaking his head at Vulcan to show her that they weren't done. Then he turned on his heel and returned to Alkaid's side looking down at her with accusation before settling into the seat beside her. "You and I need to talk after all this is said and done," he hissed.

God, why wasn't he a general yet?

When Wolframite exposed himself, Bischofite offered him little more than a glance. Given his missing eye, the feathered general wagered that he either met with misfortune rather frequently on the battlefield or someone made good on their vendetta. It didn't matter overall - Bischofite knew nothing of this general beyond his appearance and Napoleonic temper.

The ascendent general, however, produced nearly the amount of interest and curiosity within the misanthrope as she expelled energy into their surroundings. A fractured soul - outwardly akin to their corrupts, yet rumored as a true equivalent to generals in acceptance in the Negaverse. And Bischofite immediately noted the legitimacy of that lofty claim - unlike the whimsical, occasionally idiotic corrupt senshi that laced themselves like maggots within their ranks, the blonde exhibited an utterly composed control over herself - unlike the lieutenant and captain who both crossed his bounds.

Dishonorable, however... Well. Bischofite subscribed to a different line of thinking, one beyond talk of honor. He suspected the ascendant general spoke of such tawdry devices as a means to quell dissent, rather than legitimate belief in any honor he might possess.

With Labyrinthite now begrudgingly following command and Zircon dissuaded from further asinine conduct, Bischofite resumed his prior stance in discussing a tentative hostage situation with Vulcan. Down he leaned, lips a breath away from her ear, as he whispered darker words meant for her alone. "Should you choose to rough her up, to return her in kind wis' scars and bruises littering her body, you will find no qualms from me." However, he neglected to voice the reasoning behind his issued statement.

Astrophyllite would foster undying hate for their enemy one way or the other - and she needn't know who manipulated such outward derision into fruition.

"And you," he shot over his shoulder, feverish gold eyes settling on the fractured visage of a ghost. "Tell me your name. As peer to myself, I should like to know who supports my decisions." He spoke loud enough for Wolframite to hear, since the general was already familiar with his propensity to fluster. "Additionally, I would like to talk wis' you at a later date. Zis meeting, however, is not ze setting for such an exchange."

As far as he could tell, both Wolframite and Zirconia lacked further information to issue. Any further lingering totaled to irritation to a delightfully tenuous alliance.

For a moment, Zircon saw Vulcan reaching for her open hand, and she felt relief in that she'd helped to deter what could have been an explosive situation. After years of sitting on the sideline, Zircon was stepping up to the plate, ready to give herself to the cause, and for once, the higher-ups would recognize her as useful.

And then there was pain.

Strong fingers were at her throat again, holding her tight, dragging her somewhere, withholding her breath. She tried to scream, to even squeak, but the only thing that left her panicked lips was a squelched gurgle from the back of her throat. No no no no no no no. Her mind was instantly transported back to her fight with Thraen, to his nails at her neck, to the feeling of her consciousness sliding away. She clawed at Bischofite, seeking any purchase against the strength of his grasp, but it was no use, her legs kicking uselessly beneath her.

This time, there was no dashing captain to save her. This time, she really was going to die.

Her head hit the window with a sharp crack: while the glass held against the impact, the brittle plastic of her mask did not, shards of white falling to the ground beneath her. He breathed threats into her, but all she could feel was the hand at her throat, the collar tethering her to sheer panic. The sound of her heartbeat was like executioner's drums in her ears, and she begged for the mercy of blacking out. It never came.

Eventually, the General dropped her, and she fell unceremoniously to the floor, not even bothering to try and stand on her shaky, worthless feet. "...Y-yes, sir," she whimpered in her smallest voice possible, curling away from the General's impossible height. His point had been made: there would be no talking back from her ever again. As she pulled away, a tendril of her dark wig slid across her bruised neck, and with a shriek she snatched it away from her head on instinct, panicked that it might be some other form of tether seeking to choke her. Clutching the last remnant of her disguise in her clenched fists, she stared with wide eyes at the ground and breathed, forcing her lungs to remember that they still worked. Her facade was ruined and her face was a little cut up under the mussed tresses of her blonde hair, but the time for worrying that someone would recognize her was later. The time for obedience, for silence, was now.

A mocking 'oh' and feigned hurt was directed at Sessrumnir, but there was other action. If it had been another senshi and not a former Blood Moon Court member, Zirconia might've stepped in. Made another attempt at driving home her internal versus external threats and the need to band together to make sure there was even a planet and a universe to fight over.

However, the senshi demanding hostages was Vulcan and while the two had never been close, Zirc had, at one point in some way, been her guardian. In many ways, she still supported ideals of the Blood Moon or at least felt she owed it's still uncorrupted senshi an eternal penance for how she enabled Ares until the very end and a line was crossed in a way she refused to follow.

Refused to follow out of self preservation, not ethics.

And she she kept her hands folded behind her back, yellow eyes watching the exchange with energetic excitement while she made no move to interject or pick a side.

She willingly demoted herself to bystander and watched the unfurling escapade. A lieutenant was chosen, a captain disciplined and a general unmasked. Her lips were tensed into a puckered smile, being coy about the amusement she found in their organizer.

One second he's trying to cut off one of her limbs and the next they're rallying against the DMC together. Although the moment she saw Wolframite's face she couldn't stop a small, muttered comment of "Well I suppose that makes the most sense as any of it."

All this time and she hadn't bothered or cared to question WP's identity. She didn't need to, it wasn't of interest to her until now and only for her entertainment at the ironic circumstances. The amount of hatred she had for the mock mirror court was a dangerous tunnel vision that was going to be the end of her before something as mundane as general's blades.

She saw an opportunity and shifted down to a furry feline to weave her way over to Labyrinthite's ankle and settle with uninvited friendliness, although she made no comment. The gesture in following the captain after rank had been pulled in such a degrading way was an obvious attempt to ingratiate herself to him.

She would not pass up such an opportunity to schmooze her way around when she saw the potential for usefulness, even if it was a complete void of subtlety when she did.

Bischofite's cruelty had been tolerable against the disguised lieutenant, but when the disguise had been removed, the forest cat abruptly ceased her petty little attempts at worming her way into the captain's attention span and very notably tensed where she was.

Faceless agents in disguise had no meaning to her. Officers she spoke to and had indexed-- who had given her a piece of their time and information-- did. Out of fear of upsetting the already delicate and tense situation, she continued her policy of silence, but fur stood on end at her back and ears were alert as her claws tensely dug in beneath her at Zircon's distress.

And still she said nothing on anyone's behalf, but at least at this moment it appeared to physically pain her to do so. They were all assets she appreciated and she deeply wished they would harm each other when she was elsewhere and could pretend such things didn't happen.

He felt Penthesilea shift, when both their attention was drawn to the strangest corrupted they likely either had laid eyes on. Much of the rest of the room drowned out for a few breaths, as the woman spoke, as others spoke, the meeting drew on and his gaze was on the woman even when her attention was elsewhere.

Zirconia's utterance did not fall on deaf ears, though- wormed its way in and echoed there in the considerate dark. Broken dolls. Experiment? Is that all she is? Are they so accidental? It seems more likely that it would be some take of hideous necessity.

His own stance was shifted slightly as Penthe's, protective. Not that she could not likely take care of herself, but as a super he was more equipped (tawdry as that even was) to at least take any offensive first. But the Broken Doll did not, as her words and actions filtered in, seem one likely to be so rash.

Buddingtonite's voice, coiling around. Why must you still live.
Bischofite's voice uttering the turned version of his name in suggestion caught his attention, and full attention returned to the meeting. Machiavellian was usually given negative connotation in common argot, but from the General it seemed distinctively complimentary. He was distracted from agreeing, though, as more prohibitive foolishness broke out in personal vendettas and a return to declaring threats, ultimatums and distrusts.

"If an injury has to be done to a man-

And his heart hardened on the even vaguest success of the whole operation as strategy was replaced with 'volunteers' only. There was still ignorance of call signs or introductions to be able to coordinate with each other. Still so little management and awareness of resources.

Violence.
Orders. Screaming. A wig- blonde hair? The Blonde Lieutenant he'd nearly ended. Had not torn the flute of the songbird from her neck.

More yelling, the voice and pitch growing more and more familiar. The mask was abandoned. It was the Hanged Man (Wolframite).

-it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared.”

Garish, scar-smile frozen into a rictus, watching the lions, wolves and foxes here lay traps and tear at each other. He was surrounded by nearly all those he had broken and been broken by. Thraen did not raise his voice. They would hear if they wished. If not, they would not. Ever his eyes offered what flame was in his heart, but his countenance and tone remained cold. "We cannot, in our power, avoid danger. Prudence is calculating risk and acting decisively, not cowiing our strength wholly to suffer the action of others. Alliances of war are always tenuous. "

"But need not paralyzed by fear."

If they were led into an ambush by negaverse agents, there were enough eternals, it would be costly still. The agents left to die or turned on by the white moon? That ...woman-creature and generals would claim plenty lives as well. "We all know we go to a battle. Double-cross from either side or battle intended with the ambush of the Mirror and maybe....dissolution after. It doesn't change a thing, considering the strategy being discussed here is so simple if doesn't even categorize our strengths. "

"We could be discussing positions to overlap magical area effects, setting up stun-locks and how best to arrange the agents here to speedily slit throats and turn necks. Instead we're taking volunteers and sharing not even names to be able to call out to each other at need or to point out openings. "

" If there is no strategy, no side here surrenders any advantages. We just all show up with one agree target at the right time and place and try not to step on each others toes. "

"Details. The Mirror battle."

There were murmurs. People speaking, as if in another room, but Zircon didn't seem to notice at first. There was so much ringing in her ears, and even blinking seemed to take a laborious amount of effort. Inhale. Exhale. Slowly, her fingers began to uncurl from beneath her wig, which had, for the moment, been her only tether to reality. Her throat tingled, but the adrenaline caused by her brief flirtation with shock kept her from feeling the outright pain pulsing from the ruddy, bruising skin. It was with careful pacing that the lieutenant brought her shaking hands to her face, as if her own sudden movements might spook her and shatter her fragile existence. She smeared a palm across her cheek and felt something slick, though whether it was blood or tears she couldn't be certain. Somewhere along the way she'd started crying soundlessly, though the stunned expression on her face never changed. Idly, she wondered if she could turn off her tears. As it turned out, it didn't work.

When Vulcan addressed her, the lieutenant panicked, reeling away from the scone with an animalistic fear to her eyes. Covering the bloody part of her face from the crowd, she looked from the dessert to the senshi with a bewildered stare, and then all at once seemed to come into her own senses, her eyes narrowing into slits.

"Don't," she hissed, her voice dripping with venom tinged with desperation. She was still in Bischofite's presence, he might see the senshi's mercy as an act of defiance on Zircon's part, and the lieutenant wanted no part in that. Now that her head was starting to ring a bit less, she looked past her would-be sympathizer to the rest of gatherers, her eyes widening when they brushed past Thraen. Suddenly, she felt utterly defenseless without her disguise on, but it was of no use: the game was up, and her mask was in pieces anyway. If he hadn't guessed at her identity, then he was certainly aware now, and in her panicked state she began to feel like she couldn't breathe.

No. Focus.

She drew her gaze inwards and exhaled, reminding herself again that she could still fill her lungs with air. With a shaky hobble, the lieutenant pulled herself to her feet, stumbling past Vulcan's open hand towards the seated arrangements. Looking at what had been WP, she realized she was not alone in her unmasked state, which helped her to collect her composure somewhat. With as much nonchalance as she could muster, Zircon slid into a seat that was as far away from both Bischofite and Thraen as possible, settling for something near the V for Vendetta-masked man and the Ascended General, who still made her skin writhe but hadn't tried to toss her out of a closed window. For a moment, she tried to keep her posture tall, but it was hard to keep a countenance of pride while bleeding from an open wound at the brow, and so after a moment she slumped back down in her seat, cradling her face with one hand.

She didn't speak until Wolframite finished, his eyes settling on her. "I--uh--" she shot a glance at Bischofite to make sure she wasn't about to get throttled for opening her mouth, "My name is Li-Lieutenant Zircon. I think I would like to be in the rafters for the ambush...sir." She was addressing mostly the one-eyed general, but made another sweep of her eyes across the room as she spoke. So many enemies, and now they all knew her name as well as her face and her shame.

show spoilerhide spoiler

wuthering gee

Ivynian

nothing to see here doot de doo

Strickenized

MoonKitsune

Nuxaz

help meeeeeeee

Wolframite. Now there was a name and a face that Europa had neither heard nor seen for a very long time. With perfect clarity, she recalled the young lieutenant who she and Libra had tied to a flagpole with his own jumprope. She also recalled the captain who had struck a deep gash into her leg in a dream once, so deep that she'd woken up bleeding and still wore the scar. But that had been a long time ago, three years or more, and if he'd put the indignity of being strung up by his own weapon behind him then she could certainly overlook the scar.

At least for the moment. They were united for a higher purpose, after all. And she knew better that to get involved in the Negaverse's petty internal power struggles. Bischofite almost putting Zircon through the window did not seem like something she particularly needed to get involved in, and it only went to confirm Ganymede's telegraphed warning - watch out for that one. Leave the peacocking to the officers - strategy was more her forte.

"I can attack to stun," she volunteered, cuing off both Thraen and Wolframite's questions. "I create pressure. A single target with my most basic attack. A wide radius, and darkness, with my second. My third works well on tight groups to create fear and confusion. But I can't differentiate friend from foe in a mixed group like this. I would run the risk of catching your officers in my trap as well as the DMC and its allies."

Wolframite would have to decide if it was worth the risk, with or without auditioning her talents first.

"We can test things out in advance if you like," she added, trying not to seem like a total downer. "I can meet with you another night before the attack. I think I understand what my role here is to be."

All that remained was to learn who her squad would be - and for the moment, it looked like the vast majority of those assembled would be following her. A shiver ran down Europa's spine. She had not come here to be a leader, but Wolframite seemed intent on making her one.