Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Some mornings the locker room feels like the anteroom to the afterlife. I’m shedding my clothes and music is playing loudly, as if to get me ready for the next step on my mortal journey—music from elementary school, high school, college, from when my children were young. There are songs that I thought I’d completely forgotten, the one-hit wonders whose band members have gone on to careers in law…
(Part of a collab with the Mud Wasps, see Sal's perspective here)
There's a point where the drive to build has to meet the terrain of the old and negotiate what must remain and what must be struck to leave space for the new. It is a point of inevitability, a horizon that all that create must come to. In every new home an old one is razed. Nera, having dismantled the hydroponics bay on the first night she was left to her own devices in order to construct her own labyrinth of PVC and nutrient drips, has been avoiding the next confrontation with this point ever since.
(It's coming closer. She knows the central herb spiral she's been constructing looks painfully like a simulacrum of the one in her mother's garden, built of plastic and rubber instead of earth and stone. She has elected not to think of it.)
At least the new is a masterpiece. Nera does not know who built the bay before, but by all accounts it was a standard setup for a standard garden, rows upon rows of the same for serviceable crops done with standard effort expended upon the way. What's replaced it, so far, is the labor of a woman seeking to distract herself with the song of strained arms and meticulous planning, a chaharbagh with a central fountain a spiral topiary of herbs. For now it is still half disassembled, the sumac and juniper trimmed and relocated to basins along the edge of the room, with many of the smaller plants in temporary holding setups while Nera finishes the pipework and the planning, and the design on the eventual outer casings, and the—
“All personnel, this is your captain speaking. Please attend promptly to Habitation Deck Sub-Three. I repeat, all personnel, Hab sub-three.”
The dinny sound of Saleh's voice on the speakers catches Nera from her thoughts, midway through affixing some pipes.
She takes the second to get everything secure, wipes the sweat from her brow, and stands. There's an annoyance that forms, deep in her belly, on how Nera has no idea what this is for, but given the tone she's unwilling to assume this is optional.
She stops by her room on the way at least, to change into a top she hasn't already sweat through, and double check to make sure that she hasn't missed something scheduled on her slate. Nothing.
Nera considers not showing up.
Instead she finds herself in the doorway of the habitation deck, feeling as if she's been had.
The tableau beyond the doorway is positively tooth-rotting. Blankets and pillows are strewn about the room, with a pile of Mud Wasps against the wall opposite the doorway. Saleh is up front and the first to catch her attention, greeting her as soon as the door opens with a call of
"Nera! I wondered if the announcement had caught you at a bad time in your work."
But what Nera sees immediately is her hair down, being braided by Loulou, both of them propped up against a Cowie, who is laid up against the wall in an odd approximation of a couch. Nofie is also there, sitting atop Cowie's shoulder, and Agwe, waving at her, is sat on the opposite end, among her legs.
But her eyes are focused on Saleh, whose voice filters to her in Suldani and is translated via the comp/con in her ear.
“I guess I forgot that it’s your first time with this ritual of ours. I could’ve been more specific.”
Nera's first instinct is to turn heel and leave without even looking at whatever's projected on the wall next to her. Her second, which she follows, is to level a glare at Cowie's face, despite the fact that she knows her vision is not good enough to track Nera's eye movements. What is here has to have been planned well in advance, and she highly doubts that Cowie wasn't involved. Which makes the fact that this was left to her out of nowhere all the more of a betrayal.
Unfortunately, the expectation of staying is on the table, and the option of leaving too painful to conscience. A free space sits next to Saleh and Loulou, conspicuously open, denying any possibility of sitting apart from the pile. No doubt this trap was snared a long time ago, and tailor made to the quarry. Nera has no choice but to make her way to the free space and sit, although she finds herself sitting ramrod straight once she's there, perfectly calculated to avoid as much contact as possible.
Against the opposite screen is a projection, two beautiful women set against a quarry, speaking some dialect of UniGalComm that strains Nera's concentration and sets her hair on end. It's a purview dialect, and the sky blue bands on their arms has Nera starting to suspect, even more, that this is an elaborate prank.
“Welcome to (hell) yuri night, Nera," comes No Future's voice from somewhere vaguely behind her, echoing her initial read on the matter. “Eugh. Low-confidence on that echo, y’all, I don’t fuck with whichever one of (these stupid bitches) me spoke up there.”
“Mandatory attendance, always has been and it always will be.” Agwe, from the opposite direction, and confirming to her how complete this subterfuge has been. “We’ve got some new stuff on the docket tonight, actually. You haven’t missed anything.”
The others leave space for her to speak, she notices, another hole left open in presumption. She can feel Cowie's focus on her, a bass rumble that resonates with her bones, but no others speaking in her defense. She feels herself reflexively sneer at the screen before her.
"Maybe the echo is right," and she is speaking Ispahalari, knowing that at least Saleh hears her through the translation comp/con anyway, "I think whoever picked this might have it out for me."
"Do not say so before we've even started. I was recommended this on the quality of the romances above all else. Whether or not Harrison Armory, who we both hate, can live up to Ispasahlari or Suldani soaps is the test, and we must conduct it in good faith."
At least her needling has made its mark on the correct target, which Nera does revel in as she avails herself of the wine.
"I'm open to new experiences. That said, it's good to hear you haven't been insulted silent."
Nera starts speaking as a more direct communication settles itself in her ear, an overlapping moment where she says:
"I'm just surprised that you have chosen to induct me into this ritual by testing the merits of a mutual enemy rather than that of a friend. I have heard many good things about Sparri and Prosperan offerings, you know."
And hears, from someone her comms implant helpfully informs her is Cowie:
< not too straight for the jugular, is it? I can get crazy bored at the drop of a hat, just say the word >
“I am sure of their quality, but consider.”
Nera cedes her composure to the food in front of her to make it easier to hide subvocals while next to Saleh, availing herself of a flatbread covered in baba ghanoush,
< I would've appreciated some warning. Felt ambushed >
“This is our first time being able to commiserate in person. We know what is good, and having it would give this day no special impact.”
< It’s how we show love. She’s not just dragging you through the mud here. There’s a plan in motion. Just call me the E-brake. >
“So—” And here Saleh's hand gestures outward at the screen, regaining Nera's full attention again— “if we are satisfied, it is a revelation. If we are not, our ire extends in the same direction. You see?”
"It's elegant, I admit," she concedes, and lets her posture relax. At the very least she has a single ally here, and a way out should she need it. "But if our opinions differ?"
“That’s the best (possible world) outcome, sometimes.” Nofie again, and Nera must remind herself that he's not trying to irritate her more, “It turns into a symposium in here.”
“To spar with blunted blades. It speaks bloodless exertion.”
“Mm. Now come on, let’s keep to topic. Things are picking up.”
The conversation quiets and Nera is forced to turn her attention back to the show, which she has been diligently ignoring up until this point. It plays on familiar and uncomfortable tropes: the mining equipment and blue sashes worn by the leads and their clipped, proper Harrisonite Common clashing into a mix of vibes Nera's come to associate with only the worst of propagandistic slop, muted only by the fact that the hammer never quite drops. The world is reminiscent of but not the same as reality, the focus never quite lingering on the righteous use of violence on the Federal Karrakin forces or their backwards ways. The Ungratefuls quibble, but they do not do so in such a way that suggests that they need outside direction that the Armory is sure to provide.
The Federal Karrakin forces are sympathetic, if antagonistic.
This makes the whole thing more uncomfortable.
Case in point:
“I am not wholly sure what they are trying to do with us always breaking to the Tilimsani agent.” Saleh leans forwards next to Nera, peering a the screen with the intensity of a critic trying to find a reason to tear apart an exhibition in a gallery. “She seems very sympathetic.”
The agent in question manages to sit at an intersection of familiar yet upsetting that Nera doesn't know how to square. She's an agent of a fictional House that is clearly modeled on the Laurents, given a comical amount of competence but continually hamstrung by internal politics. Her name— Asteria— on its own invites bile to her and her alone, but the tensions she has within her house hinge on the familiar and her specific job reminds Nera of another.
“Does that even make sense for House Sand to be involved?” But Nera's ruminations are invisible, and some have taken to seeing her as an authority here, No Future among them. “I can’t tell if that’s a reach or not.”
“Wouldn’t feel realistic if Asteria was one-dimensional. But if this is some ‘she sees the light’ stuff, like… That’s gonna be cheap.”
Nera reaches for another glass of wine.
"I don't understand the appeal of her, actually," she says, feeling the soft lull of the drink both soften and draw out her anger, "But it does make sense to me, it is an open secret that Sand agents tend to be involved in counterinsurgent activities. What doesn't make sense is how isolated she is. Why send her in alone for a cell this large? It's clearly impossible."
”I gotta guess it’s like— the mythical elevation of the antagonist. Hyper-competent enemy force, right? It lets them put all their character work on her, too.”
“Wait, is she a love interest too? That completely went over my head.” Saleh makes a face. Nera wonders if she's reassessing the piece. “I don’t mind a star-crossed throuple, but the indications I’d look for are missing.”
"Remember, this isn’t a Ispisahlari flick. You can’t go off flowers.”
"It just feels like a missed opportunity. Every spy I have known has been deeply petty, the opportunity for a parallel in the same dramatic conflict on the Sand side could make her feel more real and get to their own propagandistic aims," Nera says, taking a stuffed pita with the wine in a moment of self-indulgent joy, "Although I suppose the sandmen as some sort of horrifying super spies suits their ends just as well."
She leans back, and immediately falls slightly further than she expects as she feels Cowie shift to lift her head up.
“How many spies you know? Now’s our chance to get the juicy elite secrets." Nera isn't looking at her, but she can hear her grin, all sharp teeth.
"At least three, though two in various stages of retirement." Nera says, "Possibly more, spies and all."
She looks over at Cowie, then, tearing her attention away from the screen. "You've met one of them, actually."
“I knew it!!” Cowie laughs, and their entire makeshift couch shifts and rolls. Nera has to catch herself before she drops her wine, and she hears Loulou make a sound as she's nearly thrown off. “Yeah, ok. Points to Nera for accurate critique, I wanna see ‘Fuckyou’ attitude on Asteria or I riot.”
“You are going to see nothing, we are talking right over the end of the episode,” Saleh says from beside her, “You are both going to be talking about a bitchy censor bar and we will miss Bannerjee getting stabbed or eaten alive or kissed or something.”
"I hope it's getting stabbed," Nera offers. "Or they finally do something with the constant teasing that she will burn herself on her kobold's slag lines."
“Well then, pay attention. Though they’re paying her far too much competence for that bit to resolve.”
Nera is rewarded for her patience five minutes later, just before credits, when her foresight is confirmed. The suspense in the room suddenly ruptures.
"Ah, see, I told you!" She says, pointing at the screen, "I know the bruise is being mock-sympathetic but they cannot resist the oldest trope in the book, especially when it means they can use it to make her confront her unwillingness to let Hazmin take care of her, yes?"
“But that’s cheap!!” Nofie yells, and her movements seem too quick for the ferrofluid. “What the fuck (what the fuck), that’s an obvious ploy!”
“Stories have pay-off for a reason.”
“Defending HA, are we?” Nofie says.
"Oh, okay, yes! Let’s terminate artistic critique at its root, I see.” Saleh's laughing at least, bright in the dim light of the credits.
"Oh, let's watch you complain when the need for care is turned into the sappiest will-they won't-they fluff," Nera laughs, "It's a good formula, who knows how else to make the firebrand bend?"
“And nothing for the noble defending her enemy’s technique?” Nera is mock-wounded for a moment, but Saleh forges on. “Alright, that is a sample. Are we wanting more, or is it a return to form for us?”
"Ah, I defend their technique because they have learned it from older masters, not because it is novel," she says, waving an exaggerated hand in dismissal, "Now, what is a return to form here? Are you suggesting we move on to something else?"
“I am saying we have a whole backlog, be it Ispisahlari or Suldani. The choice goes to the group if we are invested enough to continue with Ungrateful.”
Nera feels a trap here, a question that has been levied towards her, as no other has answered the question yet, but that has no correct answer. She feels her mood drop back into the mode she felt while bonding with her peers on Ispahsalar, where each small affordance of opinion is also a test: here either she can be the former noble who endorses the Harrisonite propaganda, or so stuck in her old ways that she cannot see quality outside of her small sphere.
"I'll yield to the opinion of the crowd," she says, a dodge that she hopes will be received with grace.
“Mm-m. Mud Wasps don’t do abstention.” Cowie nudges Nera in a veneer of playfulness, either playing off or not realizing that she has verbally scruffed her back into the deep. “We got an opinion, we share it, even overruled. I’ll cast my vote first, though— I wanna see if Nera’s right on the payoff.”
The votes roll in, splitting in a way that leads the part of her that is reading this as a noble social engagement to some conclusion that this is a conspiracy towards her embarrassment. Anger surges in her throat for a second, a desire to walk out, to stab Loulou as her vote comes in, but instead she takes a second to breathe. This is not the court of the Patronage, she can benefit from being honest here.
"I abstained because I've got a split opinion," Nera says, shifting in her seat, "On one hand, we already have momentum here and it's not horrible, but on the other, I think anything Suldani or Karrakin would have me less on edge."
“See, that is a fair predicament. I’ll accept that.” Saleh comes to her defense, which would also be suspect if Nera had not decided to ignore her paranoia for the moment. “I say we could do without unease, so that will be another vote for the change of gear."
Words follow, but Nera sets them aside to refill her wine and attend to snacks. Some conversation of what to watch instead, which she has already recused herself from. The churn has made itself present to her, a dozen small betrayals that has built up to something perhaps unkind and unwarranted but that has her wanting to lash out regardless. That she was called here without consultation, that her supposed friends knew and told her none of it, that she has been subjected to "bonding" that seems so pointed at her wounds, that Cowie, who had pitched herself as an ally, was the first to pin her back down when she attempt to wriggle out of the trap that had been laid.
It hurts. Perhaps more that she doesn't know how to swallow the anger.
What's happening on the screen passes her by. Cowie freezing and whispering a panicked
“Did I just hear the doors lock?”
Catches her attention again, and when she glances back up the title
SUPERSTAR ARGOS: PCV DREAMS DELUXE!!
Is smeared across the screen. Nera's frozen for a second, the absurdity finally getting to her. She glances over at Saleh.
"What have we done to you?"
”I have no idea what you mean.”
“Is this because of that drawing you told me about.”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
She's unreadable. Sipping on her wine. Nera takes a moment to collect herself, take a deep breath, and then.
"What drawing? Why are we watching the horrible shipgirl show?"
Seek understanding.
“You should ask your contact this.”
Thwarted, naturally, again. Perhaps there is nothing to learn here, right now.
dostoevsky said that 'people have beautiful things to say about you, but you must die first'
i cannot see my own reflection or hear myself so am i already not declared dead?
there's a poetic irony to having people not respond to you being called 'ghosting' when all you happen to be is a ghost haunting the lives of those around you
people celebrate the sobriety of others so when i find myself tossing razors into a grave no wonder the wind is the only one seeming to keep me company
stitches hurt more on secret but alleviate more worries in which spilling more blood lets others rest easier
melanin makes it harder to see bruises and eye bags so invalidate those darker than you as the world can never be harder than on one who watches others suffer
grok makes your tongue and lips numb the same as fire the same as acid so lie down in the cold and let it sweep you into the hoarfrosted fingers of death as the kindest thing one could be given is a peaceful passing o'er the river
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Marquess Nera-Montague, the Veiled Blade and the Returned Daughter of the House of Glass, Adjutant-Commandant of Les Fulgurites has been reported missing from her last known location on the Orbit of Glass, following an operation in the Grand Arc that left one dead and three others missing. Negotiations with the hostile pirates aboard the arc allowed the recovery of two of her comrades, but at the moment the location of Nera-Montague is unknown.
Given the total absence of all of her belongings at time of capture, including her mech, and examinations into the Arc, we have reason to suspect that she is still alive, and likely still held against her will.
House Montague will pay handsomely for any information that could lead to her rescue, and will bend any and all of our resources to see the end of those who hold her.
From the desk of Baron Ardio-Montague
Silvered Hand of the Patronage
ooc: EDIT: I knew I was forgetting something: commissioned this from Ares, who you should all check out immediately
(The following message is written in Ispahsalari Karrakin, but clearly without the use of an auto-translator or COMP/CON, and clearly not by a native speaker. The writer is obviously putting in their best effort, even if their best is not very good.)
Salute, Marquess,
I know we entered on the wrong boot last time. I wish to apologize.
Condolences also that my Ispahsalari is very small. I am better during Tall Karrakin. Excuse my wrong.
Rising up in the Purview does not grant one a happy understanding of Baronic space, but that life is far, far away from me now. I wish to evict the propaganda pressed upon me by my forebears. If my questions are unwanted because of the recent things which were bad, I am understanding. Don't feel like you must answer. I only hope it is clear that I am trying to putting you in an olive tree.
I was raised on tales of the Glass Homeworld being of tinfoil quality structure but these are surely lies. Is it truly as beautiful as I have heard your people say? Painted glass and large fountain and such all everywhere? Are rumors of Glass plans to create a World Circle correct? Is the girl and girl kiss media truly the finest in the galaxy?
I thank you and again apologies for before misconduct.
- Callsign: Wyrmling -
[IDENT:::OPHRYS]
[There's a long 15 seconds of just laughing attached to the top of this message]
Ah, Wyrmling, this was a delight. Thank you. If you wish I can seek to be more educational next time with my feedback, but I do not believe your goal here is fluency so much as connection.
I will speak in our shared tongue, though it is less fluid to me.
Ispahsalar is the most beautiful world I have ever seen. There are many old settlements scattered about its surface, thousands of years old. It was settled in 4725 BU, but the ground cities and estates of my home, Lanikea, would not be built until the 3000s BU, when expansion made it to the other side of the world. The buildings there humble me, built as they are from ancient machinery and stone, with the works of countless generations bent towards their upkeep. They have been continuously used since their erection, not made into the museum of the ruins of Earth. I remember there was a shop my father would take me for kulfi near the memorial square where the building was used for thousands of years, subsequent repairs built on top of the bones of old.
Most do not live down there now, though. As we grew we did not grow out, as the natural beauty of Ispahsalar's plains and forests and deserts was one of the bounties we knew of this world, but grew up, into great arcologies of glass and metal above the surface. This is where most live, with many of these arcologies also great and old but less so, and more often replaced with care. The Armory does not respect this, though if they were correct and our arcologies were built with tin foil then surely they would not have held up since before Ras Shamra was settled, would they? From the ground they glitter and cast rainbows over the surface, the careful light of Diadochi turning the entire world to art.
If by what you mean of the "world circle" is the Orbit of Glass, it is an old and troubled place for me, but it is there. We are also involved in the build of the ringworld on the Dawnline Shore, but it is not ours alone. Perhaps there will be one in the future, but I will not be involved in it.
Saleh would contest my assessment of the quality of Ispahsalari yuri, as she would speak for the art of Suldan, and I understand her contention, but I do think it is at least among the best if not the best. I have distributed the files before if you would like them, but I know my archive is now widely distributed on this part of the omninet.
