This solo is backdated to July 25th, 2014

Her bedroom at her father’s house has a window that opens all the way, swinging out from the wall on a trio of elbow hinges. Through it, there is a postage-stamp sized roof terrace with a bench and a few potted shrubs, and it is onto this terrace that Gemma climbs. She pulls the guise of Astrophyllite around her, slipping her arms into the sleeves of her coat and smoothing her hands down the automatically-buttoned front. Closing her eyes briefly, she acclimates herself with her psychic surroundings - and feels darkness.

Boston has its own Negaversers, with their own rules and their own hierarchy and their own everything. Astrophyllite knows this. She would know it in her bones, even if Bischofite and Zinkenite and Avalon and Natron had not drilled it into her that their numbers are everywhere. But the presence she feels is close enough that there is no way it has not likewise sensed her, and it is powerful the way Bischofite and Natron and Avalon are powerful, and it speaks to her of smooth, polished ebony, and of cinnamon, pine, and something chemical she can’t quite place, a prickle of acid on the helixes of her ears.

She should not have come out here, Astrophyllite thinks, fingers curling around her ouija board. She should not have come here and she needs to go and she leaps, one of her terrified, blind leaps that leaves her crouched over a skinned knee in the space between two cars. Astrophyllite stands slowly, the luxury minivan to her right providing more coverage than the towncar to her left. The dark presence is still there. In fact, it is closer now-

There is a crackle of vacuum and a rush of air to her right. Astrophyllite does have to turn to know that the general is upon her, and it doesn’t matter, anyway, because before she can look, a surprisingly dainty hand grabs her by the collar and hauls her out from between the cars.

“You are out of bounds, Lieutenant,” says the general, throwing Astrophyllite to the ground. “This is a private residence under the Negaverse’s protection.”

Astrophyllite struggles in the gravel for a moment, then looks up at the woman standing over her. She is tall - beautiful, even, her high cheekbones made beautiful and cruel by the moonlight. Her hair cascades down her shoulders from a high ponytail held in a jeweled cuff, and a long string of jewels glitters around her neck. Her uniform is dark, dark plum, made of shimmery silk that glitters where it stretches tight across her bust.

“To your feet, Lieutenant,” snarls the general. “Or don’t you know who I am? What is your name. Who is your commanding officer, who has trained such an insubordinate lackey?”

Astrophyllite does not, in fact, know who she is - and she struggles to her feet, feeling that she might be about to find out. “Lieutenant Astrophyllite, ma’am,” she stammers, trying and failing to call her ouija board to hand. She can’t get her concentration together and it’s bad. “I’m assigned to General N-N-Natron.”

The general frowns. “Natron,” she says lowly, as if the name is unfamiliar. She calls her communication crystal to hand, says to it, “This is General Trixilite. I need General Natron to come collect Lieutenant Astrophyllite. She is out of bounds.”

Silence on the line. Astrophyllite looks down towards her feet. She has feared for her life before. She has faced Bischofite and Zinkenite and senshi. Nothing has prepared her for the shame and sheer terror of facing General Trixilite. A voice issues forth from the crystal: “I have no record of a General Natron, nor a Lieutenant Astrophyllite.”

She is sure this is the moment she will die.

“Very well then,” Trixilite says to the crystal. “She is nonetheless standing in front of me.”

“Perhaps she’s from another branch.”

And Astrophyllite wants to scream, yes that’s it I’m from Destiny City please don’t kill me I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to be here I live here, but her mouth refuses to work. Trixilite narrows eyes at her.

“You’re not very bright, are you,” she asks, and Astrophyllite shakes her head ‘no’ because she knows she is not. “I’ll see that whatever moron saw to recruit you is hanged for the offense… but I’ll let you live, provided I never catch you lurking around this neighborhood ever again. It is under my protection.”

Astrophyllite nods, worrying the edge of her ouija board.

“Now get out of my sight, you silly little girl,” snarls Trixilite. Astrophyllite does not need to be told twice.