Responsibility, Loyalty, Simple Obligation

THE PROPER APPLICATION OF VIOLENCE is certainly the term for it. Minthara is clawing back her memories bit by bit, and she can recall ... torture, at the hands of a woman with shifting skin and pale eyes. Orin. And that violence terrified her. She would never want it repeated, and in fact, when Minthara fully comes to her senses, she'll want revenge.

But this. This is what violence was meant to do. To protect and defend, to conquer those unfit to wield power. Someone was standing in her way, and she cut them down — cleanly, without drawing it out or taking more pleasure in it than the fleeting moment it was.

And that smile. This is Minthara's savior. " You are breathtaking indeed, Lady Rakatak. And you have my deepest thanks. "

The whole time they're on the move, she makes a mental note to find a way to show Rakatak her fullest gratitude later. And now that she's coming back to herself, she's starting to think up some ideas that seem more than adequate. Or, at the very least, quite decent, if she says so herself.

It's a sharp sting to her pride that she has no AUTHORITY of her own now, that she falls under the wing of someone else with more power. At the very least, she does find Rakatak in particular radiant and is glad for the protection ; it's more to do with feeling powerless. Having to act powerless, and knowing it's not really an act. For once, as she follows along, faking at being pathetic, it's less deception than it would usually be.

Dead. She wants every last soul of this miserable fortress dead. She wants the place burned to the ground and their bodies buried under the ash, crushed by the rubble. It will come to that, soon enough. Ketheric and his men won't give up until they're rotting in the ground, which is where Minthara assumes Rakatak and her group intend to put them.

Once they cross the border out into the rest of Reithwin, Minthara spares a glance back only to ensure they aren't being pursued or eavesdropped on. When she turns back to Rakatak, she lets out a soft breath of relief. " It may, perhaps. But I intend to pay it back and earn my keep. Although I'm still feeling a bit fragile, I'm pulling myself together. You said you're planning to return for Ketheric. Would you avail yourself of my efforts to aid the fight, or would you prefer I stay at your camp ? "

"Through here... up these stairs... through the side door, here..." To her credit, despite her less-than-savoury aims, Rakatak is fully capable of stalking through the tower like she owns the place. Every once in a while a minor action is taken - physically holding Minthara back from passing in front of a doorway that would be inconvenient to be seen through, or casting an especially sharp glare towards someone who seems like they might be liable to ask a question.

But, of course, the goal is accomplished. As it must be. Despite everything that has happened and will happen, happen very soon, First-Among-All does not abide failure. Especially not with the stakes so significant. She keeps her eyes on the tower as Minthara speaks (out of turn, mind, but Rakatak is finding it slightly difficult to care at the moment), and only turns those yellow eyes to the face of the rescued once the question is out in the open air.

"Mmm. Good... debts must be paid, especially when incurred to me." A formal introduction is slightly more sensical now, but rather than answer the queries in full, the hobgoblin continues to lead. In a building abandoned to time and the elements, the party's camp can be found. Large enough for a measure of privacy, but not so large that it'd be indefensible in an attack. Smartly chosen.

When they do speak, it's in front of Rakatak's tent. Once rather stately and opulent, it's become... ragged. The weather has had its way with it, both in the Shadow-Cursed lands and elsewhere along the coast. It stands, perhaps not proud but certainly sturdy, while its inhabitant sets about cleaning herself up. The conversation is had partially over a washbasin that's already running red by the time Minthara approaches her.

"As to the matter of your place among us."

She's already seen the glances cast by some of the others and has worked, with the influence she still has, to quell their concerns. Eye contact is made, and held.

"I have two questions, both of import. First... I met your commander, if only posthumously. Dror Ragzlin. One of my own number." The last she might see again, she'd thought at the time, though a certain scholar in the Underdark had thankfully stopped that horrible thought.

"He ran an abysmally sloppy contingent... and dressed in rags. You are assured that his standard of warrior and mine are heavily different. To that end... I ask you: we will require discretion in our movements for this coming maneuver. Ketheric is working under the assumption that we are True Souls ourselves, sent to assist him. The information we gained from this leads us to the Thorm family mausoleum, and the Sharran temple beneath."

Rakatak speaks confidently for someone who's never stepped foot in it... but she knows it's there. She remembers what it looks like. It has been there before, and she only follows in its indefatigable footsteps.

For fuck's sake, this woman is exhausting. And Jack just met her like two minutes ago. She doesn't seem ... normal. Of course, Jack's not normal, but this bitch ?? There's something, like, especially not normal about her. As far as Jack feels, anyway. Weird.

" Wasn't bragging, " she snorts. She pours her coffee right from the carafe into a Styrofoam cup, fuck you very much. It's shitty coffee and that's how she likes it. All she cares about is the caffeine hitting her dome. " Just stating facts. The sky is blue, water's wet, and Jack Nought is a big, scary butch who can't catch a fucking break around here. "

Jack's tattooed hands throw open the cabinet once she's got her coffee on the counter, looking for snacks. Somebody always keeps something stocked in here and she's starving. Of course, once she hears Rachella LAUGHING, all the muscles in her body lock up. Oh. No.

"Mh... I suppose it's all relative, isn't it. Big... comparatively. Scary... after a fashion." Finally, the coffee is living up to its braggadocios advertising. A light smack of the lips, thoughtfully filing through the profile of her drink... and when Jack turns hard to berate her, Rachella's eyebrows rise.

Slightly. That smile doesn't abandon her face... if anything, the screed cements its presence.

"Oh, I do not know you. Not personally, but I have seen dozens of you. The... archetype of you, I would refer to it as. It isn't any shock that you get along with our own Ms. Invisigal, given you're cut from the same cloth..." Undeterred by the swearing and threatening, the CEO clasps her hands together, tipping her head as if a slight change in angle will confirm what she's assumed about the "reformed" villain before her.

Princess. Rachella almost laughs again.

"I suppose you are frightening after a fashion, but in the same way that one would be frightened of an ape. Unpredictable and violent in the way only a scared animal could be and only an idiot would be proud of."

One hand closes into a fist. She slowly, deliberately pushes her chair back and stands, that fist pushing against the table to bring her to her full, imposing height. Step by purposeful step, she stalks around the table, coming to a halt less than a foot from Jack.

Then, she leans down so as to meet the Psychotic Biotic's eyeline.

@warwaited sent: "Are you totally sure you wanna do this? Ashe told me you don't like fighting..." She's already kind of bouncing on her feet, though, not quite in a fighting stance but definitely letting the energy of a potential scrap start to flow through her. They're out in the open, making use of one of the abandoned roads in the ghost town near the hideout. Xue puts up her fists. "...I'll go easy on you. Because if I end up busting you up somehow Ashe is gonna freakin' kill me."

ashe is correct, bob thinks. he is not a fan of fighting, rather he's adjusted to it. therefore he nods affirmatively to xue's question. he would not have offered up a scrap to her if he considered it an all out brawl. more-so . . . the omnic knew of her restlessness and wanted to offer her an opportunity to burn some energy. ashe was simpler. he could throw targets and after an hour she'd be ready to call it a day. but ashe fought in a very different manner. in a back line. with her weapons doing the work.

besides, he was cautious enough to get some mats and strap them to his arms so he could block the blows. anything too intense would be mostly absorbed. and to assure her so he gave a somewhat smile, mostly indicated with his eyes as both large arms go up and he shields himself behind the mats.

hand gestured 'bring it on' quickly arose. if nothing else, he might need a few repairs after but this sort of activity killed two birds with one stone. maybe even three. one; for bob to understand xue's fighting style more directly (protective operative, in case she ever decided ashe's attitude was enough) two; help a friend release some aggression and three; kill an hour or so while ashe slept off another bender.

That bouncing only intensifies, one hand rising up towards her chin as Xue adopts more of a serious combat stance. Her eyes go over the preparations BOB has made - those mats are probably going to be necessary, though the little hothead can't help smirking a little. Big guy, big metal arms, but he still needs to be protected from the kind of pain she can dish out. Xue laughs.

"Ha ha ha, okay, all right. Well! That's really nice of you to offer... I'll try not to scratch up your paint, huh? You've got my attention..."

Clenched fists tremble, and she leans forward, the generator in her chest spinning up at the promise of violence. Violet light builds in her chest and spills out over her limbs, she laughs again, and points at BOB with both hands, wild-hearted glee mixing with cruel anticipation. "TRY AND KEEP IT!"

Thankfully, as BOB might be realizing about her, this display is mostly for show. Trails of flame follow her legs as she launches into her "floor routine", battering the mats with kicks, strikes and the occasional elbow. Xue leaps into the air and comes down with an axe kick - enough to send the big Omnic stumbling back a couple steps, but rather than immediately press the advantage, she backs off, taking a couple swings at the air before hopping up for a rather flashy jump kick at a distance.

Jesus, how pretentious. Jack's eyes almost roll back in her skull, but that would imply she gives a shit about this conversation. " What kind of dumb fuck question is that ? I don't try to be scary. I just AM. People take one look at me and how I act and go, ' oh, shit, she's fucking crazy ', and run in the other direction. "

The Empress, similarly, does not roll her eyes. That gaze is fixed steadfastly upon Jack's face - searching. Cataloguing, maybe, taking the measure of one of the people with which she's to work. "Well. One would presume that if you care enough about an aspect of your presentation to boast of it, you would take some action to properly embody that trait."

Another sip of coffee. Some South African blend that she's not especially pleased with, boasting notes of "chocolate" and "a deep body" that she's yet to encounter.

"More to the point. I am attempting to know you, as, I find, your ilk generally desire even if they do not wish to say so. Is that not what you want? To be seen, and heard? To be understood? For someone to..."

bent spine straightened; joints locking into place with a hiss of pistons.

"...yeah."