QUIETUS [S!5] [Round 3: Deluge]

Rachel could've throttled Robin there and then, even if the necrologist seemed no worse for the Sonoran wear. She hung in the corridor, eyes insolently closed and spinning gently. It was less ill-will toward Rachel and more the necrologist's inner ear telling her what exactly had just gone down (and around, and all the other directions) while she'd put 'em on ignore.

"You said." Rachel began, livid and luminous. "You said you were trying to contact an alien presence."

"I wasn't lying," said Robin, hoping her hover was coming off more relaxed than reflux. "I mean, if you wanted me to focus on whatever was living on this ship, I don't mind that either exactly but-"

"I told you Sonora was dangerous."

"And I gave your opinion due consideration. Then I made my own decisions, because we're both adults and your plan-" Robin grinned here, because we're all friends here, we're keeping it civil, definitely not because I feel like barfing and your modus noperandi is a big blithe ol' stroll in the park on a lazy Sunday but every damned day's a Sunday when you're immortal and incandescent and got nowhere else to be,

right?

Wrong. Not your intention at all, apathetic heavens forbid.

Rachel didn't miss it as Robin counted, eyes still closed, de-escalating from five.

"You just want to protect me," Robin should've said. "You have power - you had power forced upon you - so much more than any of the rest of us, and your first instinct is to protect those weaker. Despite everything you've been through. I get why you're cautious, but-"

- but,

mankind dreams of sending humanity to the stars, and it's to spread our humanity among that pristine and untouched cosmos

- not to find humanity among them.

"This Battle is bullshit, we agree on that at least. I won't judge you for refusing to participate while us mortals get consecutively gibbed like that worm, but me? I'm overhauling the concepts of life and death so comprehensively that Outsider's going to need a new hobby."

Robin's coat was doing its own vaguely-sculptural thing in the zero g's. Among the shadows thrown by the Rachel-centric lighting system, it had (up until half a second ago) done a great job at concealing the substantial punctures on its front and back. "...Is it worth dying over this theory of yours?"

"Universal truth, cosmic reform, pizza with my lactose intolerance," shrugged Robin. "Dying over something's been a pretty good indicator I'm doing the right thing."

Rachel felt a solar flare blooming in her throat, radiant and liable to severely disrupt communication. A sinking feeling. This wasn't worth it.

"Fine." And dink-dink-dink-dink fitful-blink, the lights along the corridor sputtered into life. "... Huh."

Robin scrambled onto safe footing as gravity generators eased in, giving the new ceiling a critical look. There was a not-too-distant "Oof!"

Rachel electroreceptored, for lack of a better analogue among the five human senses. "The gravity's been tacked on to the ship's existing power systems. Like they were waiting, I guess."

"Neat," said Robin, shoving her arm down a now-moaning vent in the now-floor, pointing to the identical vents in the sure-I-guess-ceiling and why-not-walls. "It didn't really look like this ship's operators were all that up with the concept of down."

"It's because we showed up, isn't it."

"... Shit." Robin stood up, went to open her backpack, then halted and looked at Rachel like she was expecting protest. She bolted down the hall with an afterthought of "take care of Anila for me!"

Rachel barely had time to yell at Robin before she heard footsteps somewhere behind her.

"Raaaaaachel hey! I found people! Or technically they found me, and now we're going to find you!"

---

Robin ran on nothing but a gut feeling, letting her boots pound a rhythm that she might focus on the ship's ambient noise. The place was showing signs of recent visitors, multilingual signs tacked to doorways and ticker-tape marking boundaries, territory, disorder.

It was Florica. It had to be. Enlisting local help would've worked if she had time, but they'd be just as likely to take an unhealthy interest in anyone who could power this place back up.

She ducked under tape labelled "WC" into a side room, ignoring the overhead glow of some edifice that was probably super-interesting or whatever. In more urgent need of attention was her laptop, to which she was probably voiding warranty by shoving peripheries before it was done booting up.

Robin wasn't thinking too hard just now on how her tech was even working, how her A-router was picking up arcanics and feeding it into a gently whirring palm-sized printer. She could've just booted up OraCall and let this locally-sourced arcanic energy into a pre-written script with her best description of Florica, but it was instead ultimately for the best that Robin paused

pulled a slip of paper from her coat

and typed a line in preparation:

msg>input1 (appel>Cathedral, my good man)
msg>input1 input1 <noparse=rhetoriq>have i got a job for you!</noparse>