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21
Main OOC Board / Re: Interregnum Season 2: 02-03
Last post by Pierce -
So I think I want to do the following:

Alana Pierce - Any that makes sense but need guidance where she might best fit.
Tessa Lance - Day 03 [ 1330hrs ] Back Channel Operations
Ashley Kerina - Day 02 [ 1100hrs ] Everything's Fine, So Far...
Lauren Pierce - Day 02 [ 1100hrs ] Everything's Fine, So Far...
23
Interregnum 02-03 S2 / Re: Day 01 [ 0700 hrs] The Salvage Job
Last post by Krajin -
[ Lt.JG Dominic 'Atlas' Winters | Wolf-10 | Outbound Lane Beta Near Starbase 234] Attn: @Brutus @Ellen Fitz @Dumedion @Nesota Kynnovan @Stegro88


Atlas had volunteered to fly escort and join the shuttles to hit the Cayuga with Wolf-10. He'd brought up the prospect of piracy being an issue with an abandoned starship out there in an unknown condition. His physical strength, size, and minor in engineering would be a benefit on the job when or if they boarded the Cayuga. Sure, he'd tried to sell himself on the job but the man got pulled along for it. Along with Shadow, whom he trusted despite the short time he had flown with the crazy lady.

Wolf-10 sat on the right flank of the shuttle convoy and stayed close, Atlas had requested that four launchers be fitted to Wolf-10. Two were loaded with Photon Torpedoes, and the other two were loaded with EMP. He listened to the comms between LTC Arnold and the Traffic Control Tower

"Gotta love a power tripping asshole in the tower. He can go sit and spin." Atlas put over the comm.

[Lower Shuttle Bay | Deck 21 | Vector 3 | A few hours earlier....]

Atlas had sat down on a crate in the shuttle bay with many others, Talia next to him as the two escort pilots for the job. Frank gave the briefing, and when the man mentioned the Valkyries flying in escort and patrolling the perimeter, Atlas raised his hand to wave at the others. His ears sat up, and his tail tip twitched lightly.

"If need be, we can land and assist as well. We have skills and talents outside of piloting. Depending on the condition of the ship eh?"

He left it at that and settled in for the rest until they were dismissed. He had his PADD out and had been working out his suggested loadout for the job. He passed the PADD to Shadow for her stamp of approval or suggestions. She might be crazy and an Ensign, but she outranked him in experience flying the MK 3. Plus, she might have interesting insights and he was keen to build a friendship up with her.

[Back to the present...]

Atlas' computer pinged indicating the shuttles were going to warp and so, primed his own fighter to do the same and jump in tandem with them. Flipping the Bird at the Starbase in the process.
24
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: EPI S: The curious case of Humpty Dumpty [Day 03 | 2330 hrs]
Last post by Ellen Fitz -
[ Ehfva Feynri | Main Sickbay | Biolab 2 | Deck 11 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy ] @Dumedion

She breathed. In, slow. Out, slower. The elders had taught the kits to do this when their bodies were at war with themselves — when the feral pulled one direction and the Vulpinian pulled another, and nothing agreed. You found the oldest part of yourself, the part that predated the argument, and you held to it.

The sounds of the lab came and went at the edges of her attention — keystrokes, the low consultation of two voices finding a shared technical language, the soft drone of the scanner working its way along her body. She let them be sounds. She went somewhere else.
The day the Freedom Fire came, the eldest kit in the colony had just made her first successful kill in her feral form. They were celebrating. Ehfva remembered the smell of the cook-fire, the sound of the pack in full voice. Then the ship's silhouette crossed the sky. She had known it would come. She had simply chosen not to think about that until the moment it was unavoidable. Her grandmother's paw on the back of her neck. Not comfort. Steadiness.

The crew walked down the ramp as one clan. Her mother in her natural Vulpinian form, ears up, tail moving with ease. An older brother, fully Vulcine, his pointed ears catching the light, his tail hanging loose at his back. Another in their feral form, simply sitting at the base of the ramp, waiting.

On Okashii Atama, you relaxed into your natural Vulpinian form only inside, only among family. The Vulcine form was something else — forbidden, a corruption of the true way, a capitulation to the desire to look like something you were not. She had grown up understanding this as fact, the way she understood that stars were fixed and fire was hot.

The Freedom Fire crew understood this, but they did not share the same beliefs. They were not being provocative. And into this strange world so "at war," with how her grandparents had raised her, Ehfva willingly walked, as it was the expected and right thing to do.

The first months were not something she often described to people because there was nothing useful to say about them. She had been wrong about things she had never thought to question, and that particular kind of wrong left a specific mark. Her siblings — her brothers and sisters from the same parents, the same ship, the same wandering bloodline — had not laughed. They had each gone through their own version of Okashii Atama's unwinding and come out the other side, and they left her room to do the same.

What she remembered most was not the forms but the technology. The humiliation of being unable to operate a panel that a kit of a different upbringing half her age navigated without looking. She had built "tools" from raw materials in her feral form since she was old enough to sharpen a rock. She had never needed anything she could not make. Now she needed everything. She went to the navigation array on the third day because it was the one station that made sense — angles, distances, the relationship of moving things to fixed ones. The elders had taught the kits to find their way home by stars. The technology was the same knowledge in different clothes.

She started there and learned outward, without asking for help unless she had tried and failed twice, and never in front of strangers. The Vulcine form came last, and badly, and in private. In time, she became the one the captain, her father, sent when the negotiation required someone who could read a room in the dark, because her feral form had taught her in ways all the others could not.
When news of Okashii Atama reached the ship, she had been in the navigation bay. She remembered the captain's voice — the specific flatness of it that meant the processing was already done and only the information remained. Survivors. Few. The colony, mostly gone. She finished the calculation she was running. Then she went to find her siblings.

Four had already decided before she arrived. Two more when she walked in. Her parents did not argue.

The Kyodai Obi Military was people with weapons and sufficient motivation, organized just enough to be more dangerous than a mob. She had been trained by elders who believed the most honest form of warfare was the one you won before the other side knew it had started. The feral form at speed in the dark. The natural Vulpinian form for the close work that required hands. The Vulcine form for the infiltration work, when you needed to look like something other than what you were.

The battlefield surprised her. Not the death. The sound of it — her own people in every form, turned entirely toward destroying each other, and she could not always tell which side was which until the fighting started, because they were the same people carrying different grudges.

The name came after the third mission. Ha'tIa. She had not wanted it. Names like that became the story people told instead of looking at you.
She had met him in her male Vulcine form because that was what the negotiation required. He had looked at her face and waited to see what she was going to say. Most people looked at the pointed ears and thought Vulcan, then noticed the tail and reassessed, then found the amber eyes and gave up on the catalog entirely. He skipped all of that.

He had lost his home in a way that rhymed with her loss without being the same loss. They had talked for three hours without agreeing on anything political and with complete agreement on everything that mattered.

Keokuk had already known her male Vulcine form — had known it longer than any other, had done business beside it and shared meals in it and trusted it with things he did not tell other people. What she showed him later was her female Vulcine form, and after that her natural Vulpinian form, and last her feral form, because by then there was nothing left to withhold. She wanted him to understand that the person he had been talking to for months existed in all of these, not one at a time.

He was from a Terran tribe that marked significant things. Many spirits, many selves, all of them real. He said it the way you say something you intend to remember. He had given her a name: Nicoma.
The lab sounds sharpened. The quality of the quiet changed — people finishing rather than working. She looked at the hypo in Leux's hand. She looked at her own hands — wrong, neither one thing nor the other, not anything the elders had a word for. She met Leux's eyes and nodded. When the hypo pressed to her skin she turned her attention inward, reaching for the most familiar pathway first. The natural Vulpinian form — as children, they learned it before any other. The first, the easiest. The one that should have required no thought at all.

It did not come easily. Her mind went down the corridor and found it blocked, turned, doubled back, turned again. She could feel the shape of where the shift should happen, and her concentration kept sliding off it like wet hands on rope. The hypo's compound moved through her, and she tracked it and tried again. Her body throbbed beneath the painkiller — present, insistent, the throb of tissues that could not agree on their own architecture.

The shift, when it came, came slowly. Not the clean unfolding she remembered from sixty years of practice. Something grinding and reluctant, her body arguing with itself about every increment of change. She felt it in her shoulders first, then the restructure moving down through her hands, and she kept her eyes closed because looking would cost her concentration, which she didn't have to spare.

An eternity passed. Possibly three minutes. She looked down. Paws. Her paws — her own familiar timber wolf markings, the fur the right color, the claws the right length. She looked at her feet. Matching. She lifted one hand and felt her muzzle, the elongated line of it, the teeth beneath her lips when she ran her tongue along them. Sharp. Correct. She tensed her shoulders, released. Tensed her haunches, released. Moved down through every muscle group the way the elders had taught, checking each one. Everything answered.

"Stable." Her voice came out rough, the consonants dragged over vocal cords built for a different phonology — growling at the edges, a faint hiss on the sibilants, but intelligible. "Shifted. Full form." She worked her jaw. "Sluggish. More pain than should be, as you said. Nothing past bearing."

She looked at Leux, then Hirek. "Thank you." She said it plainly. "The shift was not normal. I could feel the other forms already — present, waiting. As though they each had a claim on my attention and I was choosing between them rather than simply moving." She considered this. "This does not feel normal. But it feels stable." She did not attempt to stand. She sat on the biobed with her paws flat on her thighs, her tail hanging where it fell, and looked at them both.

"Should I return here in eight hours for the next shift? To do it in a controlled environment, where you can monitor what happens and confirm the implant is functioning correctly across multiple transitions." It was not quite a question — more the reporting of a logical next step, offered for their confirmation or correction.
25
Main OOC Board / Re: Interregnum Season 2: 02-03
Last post by Ellen Fitz -
I would like to send Ehfva on the Salvage Job as that was where she lived with her mate leading up to the Savi effing them over. However, if someone else from Medical is raring to go, I'm happy to step aside as well. Just thought it'd bring some closure for her.

I would also like to send Hirek to Romulus as his family is there, he was approached by the new Coalition to act as their representative onboard Theurgy and they're waiting for his answer, and thought it'd bring some closure for him as well. However, same with Ehfva, if others are wanting to go, happy to step aside. He's technically science, which isn't really needed in that capacity, but he could be good support otherwise.

Enyd is staying onboard so she can take part in the Maybe by Next Tuesday thread if anyone wants extra chaos (as that's inevitable with her).

And Cross is already heading up the Back Channel so he's spoken for.
26
Main OOC Board / Re: Interregnum Season 2: 02-03
Last post by Brutus -
Okay folks, we have plenty of opportunities for characters to jump into threads. Looking forward to all of us diving into the story so let's get a jump on it.
27
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: EPI S: The curious case of Humpty Dumpty [Day 03 | 2330 hrs]
Last post by Dumedion -
[LT Arven Leux | Main Sickbay | Biolab 2 | Deck 11 | Vector 2 | USS Theurgy] Attn: @Ellen Fitz
[Show/Hide]
There was something oddly – perhaps intentionally – difficult to follow about the Romulan’s speech patterns; the more Arven listened, the more he found himself struggling to passively comprehend what the man said. Perhaps that was the point; growing up on Earth with humans, Leux had grown accustomed to the easily recognizable way most of them went about communicating. Overall, most tended to be direct, polite, yet prone to emotional flavoring and usually projected far more with their bodies than whatever words they were trying to say. Over time, Arven picked up their habit for “passive” listening, too. By comparison, Hirek’s choice of words and sentence structure forced Arven to actively pay attention, which the Doctor found both an irritating and surprisingly novel experience.

Now wasn’t really the time to dwell on such nuances, however.

Recognizing when someone had chosen to turn their full attention and concentration away from conversation and into the task at hand, Arven nodded and moved on from over the Romulan’s shoulder. Questions and minutiae could come later; they both had work to do.

While Hirek threaded the programmed receptors into the device’s mechandrite array, Leux prepped the casing itself for implantation; coded to a Romulan’s physiology, it required a full molecular re-code of its surface area before implantation, else the Vulpinian’s auto-immune systems would attack - causing scar tissue, tumors, and all manner of complications. This was achieved easily enough with a simple submersion in bioimbudine coded with the appropriate antigens; thus treated, the Vulpinian’s immune response would read the implant as just another natural component of the body and ignore it.

Arven glanced at Ehfva as they worked. He tried to smile reassuringly but wasn’t entirely successful; thankfully, he couldn’t be sure she was even paying attention to them – her gaze seemed blank, turned inward, like she had devoted the entirety of her will towards managing her tormented body.

Leux turned his attention back to the screens, the holoprojections, and data analysis. They worked in relative silence from there, broken only by pertinent questions or confirmations, the audible tones of keystrokes, and the whirring background hum of the ship itself. Minutes passed, which turned into almost an hour. Coding continued, while Arven re-ran the simulation data, monitoring the failure rates and projected biological outcomes. The numbers had improved substantially, then plateaued; new developments surfaced with every step. Pain thresholds were calculated, both during and post-shift, and deemed unsustainable almost immediately. The mind could only tolerate so much agony before it broke, and no one had any wish to see Ehfva reduced to a permanent state of psychosis.

The solution, after a brief debate, was a neurological “shunt”, implanted with the device, to “shield” the Vulpinian’s higher brain functions: if successful, the pain she experienced during the form-shift would be reduced to (hopefully) manageable levels and prevent insanity. Unfortunately, due to the nature of pain itself (which was completely unique from one individual to another, and impossible to quantify) trying to simulate or predict its success rates was futile.

In the end, Arven laid it all out for Ehfva:

Yes, the device held the best possible chance of not only stabilizing her physical form but also granting her the ability for future form-shifts.

Yes, there were limitations; the amount of pain she’d be subjected to during a shift, even with the neuro-shunt, was dangerous.

Yes, there was a small percent chance she could literally lose her mind due to pain-induced psychosis.

Yes, she would have to wait for an extended amount of time between shifts, 8-12 hours was estimated but unverified; it all depended on her pain-threshold and circumstances beyond their ability to predict.

The Vulpinian nodded weakly, regardless.

“Alright,” Leux sighed with a nod of his own. “Let’s do it.”

Arven returned the gesture, glanced at Hirek, then moved to Ehfva’s side. In a smooth motion, without a hint of effort, he cradled her misshapen form in his arms and carried her towards the OR, knowing without having to look over his shoulder that the Romulan would follow.

[Operating Room 2 | Some time later…]

Leux sighed out as he pulled the mask from his face, violet eyes turning from his work to meet Hirek’s with a nod. The Romulan’s face was unreadable, but the biological data and physical scans he studied were not: Ehvfa lay unconscious, her vital’s steady (given the nature of what her body was going through), with both the stimulator and neuro-shunt successfully implanted in the base of her brainstem. In the other corner, Vi-Nine stood at a separate control console, digitally integrated with the operating bed’s biomonitoring systems and surgical apparatus.

“Implantation complete Doctor, ready to reinitiate patient’s cognitive functions,” the droid announced in the tense silence.

“Do it,” Arven spoke in a tired croak as he pulled the gloves from his hands while the familiar hiss of a hypo filled the air. He turned back to Ehfva as she came around, easing her back into consciousness with a faint, exhausted smile. He let the moments pass, patiently waiting while his mind re-worked and re-verified every conceivable consequence of what they were about to do. He felt confident in his work, in Hirek’s; they had eliminated every other possible option.

It would work or it wouldn’t.

“Welcome back. Take your time, slow breaths. Whenever you feel ready, we can begin,” he showed her the hypo in his hand, the one coded to activate the stimulator and initiate her shift, then looked at her gnarled, muscle locked hands. “There should be a few seconds delay before it starts. I’m going to isolate you in a level three field, just as a precaution,” he told her, then nodded to Hirek for confirmation.

Arven took a deep breath, then held the hypo against her fur-matted skin.

“Say when.”
28
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: EPI S: Two sides, same coin [Day 03 | 0930]
Last post by Dumedion -
[Colonel Hauq | Diplomatic Suite | Deck 2 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy] Attn: @Ellen Fitz

Hudson Marlowe, the Colonel echoed silently; the name meant nothing to him, yet its importance became evident as he listened to Madsen’s elaboration. Something very close to hunger reached Hauq’s eyes as he committed the name to memory; his duty was to the bodily preservation of the Chancellor, yes, but it was every warrior's oathed-bound duty to preserve the Empire – which was difficult to do if you were blind to that which threatened it. Reasonably reliable, he thought. Heavily muscled arms folded across his chest with a frown, considering, while he watched her. She knows, or suspects, much more. A hand stroked his bearded features before he offered a curt nod.

“It will be done,” the Colonel agreed.

Madsen bent to collect more stones as he turned away, only to turn back as she brought up another warning; Hauq didn’t try to hide his distaste at the prospect of dealing with more Starfleet on the home-world. He couldn’t imagine that going over well with Martok, and certainly not with the High Council – the political situation alone was already volatile enough. This was not the time for off-worlders to “poke around”.

They may find our hospitality somewhat lacking, he snorted.

“Friction,” Hauq barked a laugh, “they wont like it when we poke back. I’m sure your people will be briefed on the shitstorm they’ll be walking into; I will do what I can to aid them,” he replied, then nodded at her invitation. “That can be arranged, I’m sure. The Chancellor has an…extensive…private stock,” he flashed his fangs, then unfolded his arms at her approach – eyes dipping from her eyes to the offered hand and back.

There was no hesitation; his massive hand gripped her forearm, bringing them wrist to wrist in the ancient warrior clasp of respect.

“I am honored,” he paused, searching for the words he could say around the ones he shouldn’t. “You found the strength to survive the carpet after all, it seems,” the Colonel nodded, the corner of his lips curled for only a heartbeat. “Purpose drives us, Enyd Isolde Madsen; it sustains us. Remember that, before you consider melting again,” he nodded a final time, then released her.

“Hunt well,” Hauq added over his shoulder, before crossing the threshold of the door and returning to his duty at the Chancellor’s side.

~FIN~
29
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / EPI S [Day 03 | 2330hrs.] Lay Your Weary Head To Rest
Last post by Griff -
[Lieutenant Alistair Leavitt Intensive Care Unit | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | USS Theurgy ]  @Ellen Fitz @RyeTanker

[Show/Hide]

As Alistair moved around the ship, dealing with various tasks, he couldn't help but notice an malaise. Everything had changed, and processing the events of the past few days was proving difficult for many. Some of the more recent members of the crew were cheerful, all smiles, while the older crew were more cautious, uncertain, as if they were just waiting for everything to go crazy all over again. Alistair, meanwhile, was tired. Just tired. It was a bone deep level of exhaustion. The body was fine, but the spirit was flagging. He just wanted rest, for it all to be done. He'd done enough, right? Couldn't it be enough? Would it ever be enough?

Thus occupied. Alistair was a tad out of it as he entered Sickbay, needing a moment to remember why he was here.  A nurse looked at him in askance, but he held up a hand with a polite smile. Right. He remembered now. Alistair walked over to the recovery ward, with many of the beds occupied, most of the lights dimmed to help the patients sleep. Fortunately, the light above one particular bed was still on as the patient, a middle-aged woman with long blonde hair, typed lazily on an LCARS board that wrapped around her. Standing at the threshold of the ward, Alistair hesitated. There was something wrong with that image...something...

A bloodcurdling scream came through the comns, followed by shouting, disagreement, more shouting, more screaming.
"It's Conway! She's been...damn, cover me! Medic! She's lost her-"

Alistair hadn't been there, hadn't had the time to check on Conway. Now, he finally knew what she had lost: much of her right arm. His stomach squirmed. Nevertheless, with a deep breath, he walked up to her, and she clocked him immediately.

"Hi," she said brightly. Too brightly.

"Hi," Alistair said awkwardly, careful to keep his voice low.. "So...uh... "

"You look great?" Yvette said with a grin. "It's alright, boss. You don't need to do the whole rigamorole, you aren't my first boss to check on me. I lost a foot on Betazed, during the war. This is nothing."

Alistair exhaled, smiling despite himself. "You did a great job at Hobus. The star is stable. You'll probably get a medal after I file my report. The President might even do it herself. It's not every day that someone saves the Romulan Empire."

"She's really here?" Yvette asked. "I heard, but it didn't feel real, you know?""

"Real," Alistair said with a shrug, "I saw the president myself. I don't know much else, sorry."

Yvette shifted a little, pulling back up. "I guess a lot's been happening, huh? Hey, have you seen Lieutenant Zark yet?"

That threw Alistair off, swiping his hand over his bald scalp. "What? You mean she's here?" At Yvette's nod, Alistair's eyes widened in alarm. "That can't...I saw the casualty reports from Hobus, she wasn't-"

"She was hurt afterwards," Yvettle explained gently. "I don't know when or how bad, but she's in the ICU right now, if you want to check on her."

"Right. Yeah," Alistair said, clearly still processing. He hesitated, feeling a moment of real shock and guilt. Why hadn't he checked? Why hadn't he confirmed-

"Lieutenant Leavitt?" Yvette interrupted quietly with a small smile. "Please get to the ICU before I ask Security to carry you there."

Alistair smiled back, nodded in gratitude, then promptly strode over to the ICU, immediately identifying Zark. Unlike Yvette's biobed, Zark's space was packed with innumerable sensors and other medical equipment, all monitoring the patient. Lying on her back, unconscious or worse, Zark looked smaller, more vulnerable than her usual aggressive charm. Her white hair was a mess, a gown and blanket protecting Zark's (non-existent) modesty. Alistair looked up at the monitors, but struggled to parse them, save that Zark was in bad shape.

He sighed, hating seeing the normally vivacious Andorian like this. It just felt...wrong. Completely wrong. Alistair crossed his arms, bitter sorrow rising up from his gut. He  liked Zark, as did pretty much everyone, but Enyd loved her, in her own unique way.

Enyd...
30
Parallel Universes - "What if?" / Re: [2376] Entanglement of Chaos
Last post by Ellen Fitz -
[Ens. Enyd Isolde Madsen | Casino | Cardassia Prime] ATTN: @RyeTanker

Long enough.

Ryzit had been gone long enough that the possible outcomes had narrowed down to two: she was in, or she'd been caught. And since no alarm had ripped through the casino's carefully curated atmosphere, no Cardassian security detail had materialized with tense shoulders and hands near weapons, Enyd was operating on the working assumption that the Andorian cop had somehow talked, charmed, or bludgeoned her way through.

Which meant the next useful thing Enyd could do was make herself impossible to ignore from out here.

She'd just lost another hand—genuinely, this time, through no effort of her own—and she let it land with full theatrical weight. Her face crumpled. Her lower lip pushed out. She stacked her remaining chips into a neat, mournful little tower and stared at it with all the existential devastation of a woman who had never needed to learn the value of money.

"Oh, that's simply not fair," she announced to no one, loud enough for everyone.

The dealer's expression remained professionally neutral. The Orion bodyguards flanking a nearby table didn't react. Several other patrons did.

Enyd pushed back from the table. "Zark." She turned to look at her bodyguard with the particular pout she'd been privately workshopping since the hover car. "I want to dance."

Zark's face did something complicated.

"I want to dance," Enyd repeated, louder. She straightened her gown with both hands, something petulant and restless working through her posture. "I have just lost—" she checked her chips with exaggerated dismay, "—an unreasonable amount of money, and I refuse to stand here and be boring about it."

"Zark." Enyd widened her eyes. "I just want to dance with someone. Sexy. Is that so much to ask?" She let that sit for two full beats, then tilted her head with the air of someone arriving at a perfectly reasonable conclusion. "If you won't, perhaps someone here will."

She turned before Zark could answer. There was no strategy in the way she moved across the floor—that was rather the point. She drifted like a woman following impulse rather than intention, fingers trailing lightly across shoulders and elbows as she passed, offering up a smile here, a lifted brow there, a beckoning curl of two fingers at a broad-shouldered Bolian who seemed thoroughly delighted by the invitation, a Cardassian woman in an extraordinary amount of jewelry who laughed in surprise before setting down her drink.

By the time Enyd reached the edge of the dance floor, she had acquired something approximating a small procession. The music was the loud, driving variety that left no room for conversation and every room for spectacle. She walked into it like she belonged there. She danced badly for approximately four seconds. Then something in the rhythm clicked, the way it always did when she stopped thinking—and Enyd Madsen, Federation diplomat and professional catastrophe, started actually dancing. Her grandmother had liked to say that the body remembered what the mind forgot, and apparently what Enyd's body had remembered was that she'd spent three years at the Academy sharing a floor with a Risian roommate who had strong opinions about movement and no patience for half-measures.

People noticed. She encouraged this. Hips, shoulders, the slow roll of her spine—she let the music do exactly what it had been designed to do, which was make rational thought an inconvenience. The Bolian whooped. The Cardassian woman clapped. Others drifted in from the edges, drawn by the particular human chaos of someone refusing to be embarrassed. And then—because the opportunity was simply *there*, because the musicians' riser was unlocked and unguarded and just barely within reach, and because Enyd had good reason to emulate lack of restraint, she climbed up.

Not gracefully. She grabbed the edge of the platform, stepped on the bassist's monitor wedge with a murmured apology, and hauled herself up with enough effort that the maneuver was more earnest than elegant. But she made it. And she was up. The musicians, to their credit, didn't miss a single note. Enyd stood for one half-second at the back of the riser, looked out at the floor below her, and decided quite firmly that Ryzit was going to owe her an extraordinary amount.

Then she started moving again, and the crowd below shifted like a tide, and every set of eyes in this half of the casino swiveled toward the human woman making an absolute scene of herself on the musicians' stage.

Look here, she thought, arms lifting, expression radiant and uncalculated in a way that was entirely calculated. Look here, look here, look here. Not there. Not wherever Ryzit is. Here.
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