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Wo It had been a week or so, since the encounter on the high seas. There were some troubling details from back then; mostly, why the Fleet Daughters had sent such a heavy, and unusual, fleet against their own high speed transport squad. Further, why they had seemingly broken off their pursuit once they had sunken the targets of their conspicuously focused fire. Despite all those oddities, the important thing is that the mission had been a success, and the majority of the supplies had made it to the Abyssal, and Confederate, forward bases safely. There were two Elites to thank for that -- Taro, whom Wo had worked with in the past, and a known Fed. But there was another, seemingly more mercenary, individual that had shown up. Even without the promise of a meeting and a Q&A session as payment, Wo might have sought out Mirror. It's unusual for unaffiliated others, especially surface dwellers, to take the side of 'monsters'.

    If it had been expected for the meeting to occur in the rusted and decaying hulk of a large ocean liner, or a derelict sea base, or some techno-organic factory, then it's going to be a bit disappointing. Instead, the invitation comes to meet in Boston-666, a known neutral Earth city, and certainly welcoming of weirdness. Just about anyone can walk around openly, so long as they don't start trouble. While it isn't widely held, the Wo-class carrier actually has a condo here, thanks to Psyber's assistance on the paperwork. It's sort of a retreat, really, for her and some of her closest 'assistants'. It's the address that Mirror would have received, and the place is quite unassuming from the outside. It looks basically the same as the other units in the immediate neighborhood. Not quite upscale, but comfortable and with plenty of room.

    The sounds of a television program can be heard coming from inside, indicating someone is home, but that is about it for the moment. There is also a conspicuous doorbell button, for those so inclined, though an old fashioned knock would also likely work fine.
Stygian Mirror     'Monsters'. That's a word you could use, sure. Mirror, she might have employed the word 'brethren' instead. It was unusual for her to wander a city as large as Boston without having anyone pause at her animal features, or her strange look. Deathknights who wander about wearing bone and Soulsteel usually catch eyes even in the weirdness of Creation, but here it's unusually normal. It almost makes her feel like she could fit in.

    It's unsettling, more than comfortable.

    Without knowledge of what a doorbell is, the white-haired fox-eared woman knocks on the door three times, waiting politely for an answer. It's true, she'd expected something else. Maybe not a broken and decaying ship, but certainly not a modern condo. From the aesthetics of the Abyssal Fleet, she might even have expected something more homely to her. Something that'd fit in in a Shadowland. Dark, gloomy, poorly lit, certainly not within reach of a market, playground and school.

    Goes to show you shouldn't judge a book by its cover.
Wo It was more a matter of convenience, than taste, even if it does offer some advantages. When the I-class gets hungry, they can simply visit a local hardware store. Not having every other citizen give distrusting looks when you're trying to conduct your business is also helpful, even if it was admittedly difficult to grow accustomed to.

    Once the knocks come, it doesn't take long to receive an answer, though somewhat heavy movement from inside comes before the actual door opening. When it does, there is no need for the unfastening of door locks or deadbolts, instead it simply, and casually, swings open to reveal a relatively tall woman, looking in her very latest of teens or earliest of twenties. It isn't the Wo-class carrier, but then Mirror wouldn't know what she looks like, anyway. She does share the same rough appearance of the more humanoid Abyssals that would have been seen on that mission, however; skin with the palor of death. Her deadened eyes seem to glow, though with the daylight it's a subtle effect. This is a Tsu-class light cruiser, without her helmet, so rather than her face or features, it's her massive, gauntleted arms and hands that would be her most unusual feature.

    And yet, somehow, she managed a delicate task like fiddling with a human-sized door handle. She stares in silence for a few moments, before seeming to realize something. "...ah, the - visitor." Her monotone voice is similar to the radio contact Mirror had made in its structure, but it's clearly someone else, now. "Come in-side." With that, the cruiser steps aside, holding the door open, and trying to make herself as low profile as she can. It sort of half-works. On the inside, the television can be seen from the entrance hallway, and one of those shark-like creatures, though this one without the stubby legs, can be seen watching cartoons fit for more human children. Its body is resting on a beanbag chair.

    Further inside, a woman in her 20s, matching the standard Abyssal fleet aesthetic, can be seen seated on the sofa. She is wearing more casual, surface dweller-like clothing than she wears on actual sorties, though it keeps the same starkly black-and-white color scheme. Despite that, her black cloak hangs from a nearby wrack, and her flight deck -- the Wo-class' distinctive toothy mawed and exhaust port eyed hat -- rests on a nearby table, within reach. Her own eyes, more obviously glowing a teal green in the indoor light, glance over expectedly. "...a-pologies, there were some - matters, to sort out. Before your a-rrival." The fallout from the Fleet Daughters' newfound zeal for being on the offensive is an almost neverending middle management struggle.
Stygian Mirror     The sight of the pale woman with giant gauntlets doesn't seem to surprise Mirror. Pale people, oversized black armor, monotone speech. Now she feels more at home already. The sight of the shark-like critter watching TV is kind of endearing, making the woman half-smile. The giant hat on a table, the cloak on a rack-- she assumes, that second woman must be 'Wo'. By sound of voice she can confirm that. She wonders who the first is; she'll have to remember to ask.

    "It's fine. I understand being busy. I've been there before. Not... quite in your position, I've never lead naval battles before, but I've marched with an army or three as an officer." Skeletons, ghosts and assorted mortal servants made for a less interesting crew than the Abyssal Fleet's, though.

    "This is a pretty comfy place. Not at all what I expected. Is this the world you're from, then? It's pretty varied out there. I've never seen such a large city where anyone can wander without so much as the slightest judging glance."

    Oh, right, the second woman.

    "Sorry-- I'm Mirror. Reflection in a Stygian Mirror. Just Mirror is fine. You must be Wo? And who's the one with the big arms?"
Wo There are a few moments more of silence. It can be exhausting to say too much at once, even though Wo is further along in her development than the Tsu-class, or even the bulk of the Abyssal fleet. She also likes to take a moment to consider things, often. There's no mistake that the voice belongs to the presumed mercenary from before, though Mirror doesn't look quite as Wo had pictured, somehow, even if there is no trace such as a quirked brow. "War...is quite sim-ilar, even if - the tac-tics change." She's seen enough action on both land and sea in the multiverse to realize that, even if she often has to get creative when out of the water. Formerly perched across her lap, a piece of tarnished metal, that looks like it was shorn right off a long-submerged ship, is lifted up so that she can rest her gloved hands on it, like it's a staff or cane.

    "I am," she agrees. "--or, at least -- a Wo-class," comes further explanation, "I am not, the on-ly one. Slight, phys-ical differences. Person-alities. You saw, our I-class des-troyers, before." They seemed to be distinct, especially the one with the tiny legs that had given Mirror a ride on the battlfield, and away from it. The carrier's eyes pivot over to the Tsu-class as she's mentioned, the young woman so-indicated comes to a rest on her knees next to the I-class, and rests one of her gigantic hands on its back. "That is -- a Tsu-class, light cruiser. ...she has be-come, reliable."

    The last point she addresses, as she leans back against the sofa, seeming to grow a bit more comfortable after formal greetings are dealt with, is the topic of her origins. She gives a light, dismissive shake of her head. "No...not, this one. Though - sim-ilar, in some ways. The surface people...are more, ad-vanced, here." There's a pause, without Wo elaborating on what areas they are more advanced in, before she continues, "--it is, a good place to meet, o-thers. Though. Neutral...used to, un-usual visitors and, res-idents."

    And since there is little reason to keep 'secrets' in this context, though it wouldn't be hard to discover, "Psy-ber lives here." She says this as though his name would be widely known. "...his office, build-ing."
Stygian Mirror     'A' Wo-class? How odd for someone's name to also be their... well, job definition. Racetype? She's not sure, but then again that's part of the reason she's here in the first place, to find out more. Ships and people that sail under the designation of 'Abyssal Fleet'. Her lord wanted to know more. Who could blame him?

    Without comment on the matter of Boston, since she doesn't know who Psyber is, and trying not to make too big a deal on the idea these people name themselves after their ship class, which aren't even unique and must get confusing, Mirror moves closer to Wo, perhaps even sitting next to her on the sofa if there's room and if she'll allow her visitor to be so close.

    Then she'd inspect Wo, more closely.

    "I think I get it. So... Abyssal Fleet. Where's the name come from? We Abyssal Exalted just get out monikers from the fact we're... well, dead. Deathknights. Serving a Deathlord." It gets kind of edgy. "You might say the Deathlords offer us escape from death in exchange for servitude. It's better than dying, for sure. I'd never heard of an Abyssal Fleet before though. Not as a formal term, anyway. Some of the Deathlords have fleets, but they're just fleets of regular ships. Well... regular for us. Judging from the technology you fielded you'd probably find them pretty last-century."
Wo The thought of a fleet being last century to the Abyssal fleet, themselves made of ships mostly 70 to 90 years old, would be kind of amusing, if the resident ship-people had that kind of sense of humor. Nonetheless, Wo doesn't seem bothered by the close proximity. Up close, there are no distinct features that would reveal themselves that couldn't be seen from slightly farther away. Well, except perhaps that it's all the more obvious that there's no blood underneath that pale skin. Where faint traces of blood vessels can be seen, they appear to ferry a far darker fluid than that. The congealed oil leaks probably would come to mind.

    "...we, the rank - and file, have no use...for names," she explains, further, seeming to pick up on the pause that followed that. "We know -- one a-nother, in-stinctively. Our shared, voice...'song'." Her lips purse and a faint grimace shows through her otherwise very subdued expression, as she glances over at the newly seated Mirror. It's obvious that she's trying to put an unusual concept into what she would call surface dweller terminology. She'll have to just let it sit with that term for it, though, since it would be difficult to describe without being able to experience it.

    Probably the closest to amusement one will get from Wo shows through, with another slight tweak of her lips, and a softening of her otherwise monotone, "We are called -- Abyssal...for slight-ly more, prac-tical reasons." Then the moment hastens away, as she gazes toward where the Tsu-class and I-class are seated, now watching a different teen drama-type program for young adults. "Long a-go, we were...ships. Built, for a war, the sur-face dwellers fought. When, we were used up...we sank -- into the deep. For o-thers, they were...scrapped. But, the Abyss, wel-comed us all. And we slept, for dec-ades." But if that were truly the end, a humanoid ship wouldn't be seated across a sofa from Mirror, would she?

    She gets a far away look to her eyes. Well, more far away than the usual. "...dead, sunk -- I feel, we aren't that, diff-erent, then. Un-finished business, un-answered, questions."
Stygian Mirror     "Ships... so that wasn't just unusually themed powers and names. You're the spirits and lesser gods of ships." Maybe not fully accurate, but Mirror hasn't had time to adapt to the wide Multiverse and still needs to put things in her own terms. "More powerful, I should think. The ship spirits and gods I've met wouldn't hold a candle to your fleet. Or a mast." Well, Deathknights can have a sense of humor, too.

    Taking her eyes away from Wo's oil-filled veins, Mirror stretches and leans more comfortably in the sofa, her cat tail settling into her lap and fox ears twitching slightly, probably because of the televion. She'd seen one before, thankfully, but it's not something most people in Creation have. And even then, they're more screens than televisions, since there's not really any shows to watch there. Rudimentary computers, at best.

    "No, I guess we aren't. I took care of my unfinished business decades ago, though. Now I just live to serve my Deathlord, and one day help plunge all of Creation into Oblivion. Until then, seems he's taken a shine to this Multiverse, and so have I. Lots of things to do and learn. You mustn't have dull moments very often around here."

    But back on topic, she muses. "So... vengeful ships, misused and left to rust at the bottom of the ocean. The Abyss, what does it want? Surely it didn't give you a new life without some sort of strings attached. Things you have to do."
Wo The minor gods part is somewhat new, though Wo isn't so insular that she hasn't done some reading on common multiverse culture groups. It's really quite fascinating how often the surface dwellers of different origins still develop the same belief systems and glossaries for them. After a moment of consideration, and glancing down at her staff, in particular, Wo gives a nod of her head. "...think, that des-cribes it, well enough. Mirror. Think...I heard some, sur-face dwellers, say the same a-bout us. Vengeful, spirits." Why exactly they are vengeful will follow shortly, but first she absorbs the compliments, such as they are. She doesn't seem to be too influenced, one way or another, but at least she isn't bothered by it. As to their apparently advanced warfare technology, "The surface dwellers, called it -- their second, World War. Though...there could, be o-thers." Not likely immediately useful to Mirror or her lord, though certainly some reading material for later.

    What toll did the Abyss demand of them? "The Abyss...isn't an en-tity, in that respect," she answers, seeming to have that 'trouble putting it into words' hesitation again. "Or...may-be. Much re-mains uncertain, even...to me. When I a-woke, and even while, asleep. I heard it. The song. The voices of o-thers like, my-self. Want-ing the sur-face dwellers, to never forget, and to pay -- for using us." She makes it sound like, rather than a conventional Deathlord setup, a lot of negative energies surrounding these spirits just kind of manifested the concept of their own Abyss. That's certainly one way to go about it, and ironically, pretty aptly describes how their bosses, the 'Princess' and 'Demon' classes, became manifest, even if Wo herself doesn't know it.

    She takes a moment after this, giving a meaningful glance over to the Tsu-class. Without an audible word exchanged between them, the latter young woman rises back to her feet, gives a node, and wanders to the kitchen and dining area, where she can be heard pouring some water into something. "The Multiverse...has given, my kind, many new en-emies," she laments. "But also...new allies. Not everyone, sees our cause, as un-justified. For that, I am thank-ful." Also, having a relatively safe world to meet third parties is helpful. In her next bit of speech, it's she that wonders something, "--you had, close contact, correct? With...them. The 'fleet daughters'. The ones, that a-ttacked us."
Stygian Mirror     "Second World War... must have been pretty big if they gave it that designation. Bigger than any war I've seen with my own eyes. You hear tales around Creation of world-wide conflict, but that was a long time ago now. Almost nobody remembers." Mirror considers; there's a lot to take in, terminology to memorize. She won't succeed, but she'll just ask again if she ever has to.

    She listens, dutifully, to the explanation on the Abyss. The idea of a formless entity giving power like that is completely alien to her. The Deathlord and the Neverborn, though the latter are ill-defined, aren't like that at all. It almost sounds like their tortured souls unified and created their own divine power source, without meaning to.

    "So you don't take orders from anyone? You just roam the seas, enacting vengeance on the people who did this to you? Doesn't that feel... I don't know, empty? Not having guidance?" Then, to the question, she nods. "One of them, yeah. I didn't catch her name. She called herself a 'Big Seven'. Big cannons, an axe. I'd meant to ask you what a Big Seven even is, because she told me to read a history book instead of answering." ... speaking of. "... could I have history books from your world, on that subject?"
Wo "We have..lead-ers," she mentions. Rather than it being some kind of aquatic anarchist society. Her eyebrows furrow a bit, before Wo finally puts into words, "The Prin-cess, and Demon, classes...they are, strong -- and smart." Well, most of them are, anyway. "...but, they are -- still much like, us." On the topic of whether it feels empty or not, the first real notion of feeling anything but very muted emotions shows itself, as the carrier almost seems to fidget uncomfortable on the sofa. Should she be talking about that kind of thing with someone that's still relatively a stranger? She chooses to leave it at, "We have - our pur-pose. And, I have...mine. Once the surface dwellers, of my world...stop making war, on the sea. May-be, I can rest." There is a distance in her tone, yet again, as though she realizes how unlikely that dream is to be realized, especially now.

    Changing subjects to their most common enemy is, for once, a welcome shift. Even if it does cause her expression to visibly sour, slightly. "They are...the same, as us -- even if, they pre-tend not to be. They have...sided with, the surface people. Pro-tect them now." It's not quite a hateful choice of words she has behind her monotone, but it's clear that she still feels betrayed by the notion. "They think...we can co-exist, with them." She pauses a moment, both to catch her breath and recover from speech exhaustion, just in time for the Tsu-class to return, with a tray of freshly brewed coffee in those enormous hands. How does she do such fine motor tasks like that? It seems to be for Wo and her visitor, in any case, since she otherwise returns to watching television.

    "Na-gato," Wo presumes, since it is less likely Mutsu would have been on the front lines, plus the reports of the surviving destroyers. "She was...the 'original', that left us. And their leader." Without going into particulars, she also addresses the reason she was able to figure that out only from the 'Big Seven' comment. "...the, surface dwellers, before the war. --there was, a lot of, po-litical posturing. Treaties. One of them...limited the size, and amount, of na-val weapons. Nagato -- was one of those few, created under those -- con-ditions." At least, while that isn't her own memory, it seems to fit the historical references she's been able to locate in the multiverse.

    On that note, she actually stands up. Her thin frame does tend to look a bit undernourished, dare it be said deathly, though the more casual clothing hides it better than her combat attire does. She paces over to a nearby bookshelf, containing both coffee table style picture books and more scholarly and dry tomes. But, unsurprisingly, most of them are on that same historical era and subject. More than only books, though, she rests a black gloved hand against the shelf's wood, and recounts, "These are -- my mem-ories. ...what I have, to go on. But...you are wel-come, to use them. It is, the least I can -- do. For saving, those kids."
Stygian Mirror     "So there was a time when there were only seven of you ships, or at least seven big names, and she's one of them? No wonder she gave me a hard time." It explains a lot. She can make the natural guess that the Big Seven as the bigger 'champions' of the Fleet Daughters.

    So, Abyssal Fleet... vengeful ship spirits, led by Demons and Princesses. Opposed by Fleet Daughters, presumably ships that have either not been sunk, or not touched by the Abyss. Or cleansed. That's a possibility. Technology that borders the magical, naval combat supremacy. Sapient, but following vengeful feelings and goals above all. In the future, if naval power is required, definitely consider exchanges with them. They could learn a thing or two from Necrotech, and the reverse is probably even more true.

    Mirror gets up, following Wo to the bookshelf. She nods, respectfully. "I'll make sure to return your memories in the same condition you're lending them to me in. I don't know about here but in Creation books aren't something you can afford to throw in a fire, so I'll make sure not to damage them. Thanks, by the way. If you need more work done, you know how to get ahold of me. My ad's up on Syndicate boards."
Wo There were ones before them, and ones after, but Mirror's guesses on the Big Seven aren't quite off. They were certainly the most impressive war ships of their particular Naval Treaty era, after all. Wo has just, spoken a lot this afternoon and evening, and it would take longer to go into it, when the books will probably inform. Big Seven does have a nice ring to it, though, doesn't it? Kind of like having Four Heavenly Kings.

    While she is a bit tired, she doesn't let it show from her posture. Instead, she stands back, allowing Mirror to have her pick of whichever books look the most comfortable. They're all in English, for what it matters, though the diagrams and illustrations should be accessible in general. There is even a more recent and particular addition to it all, opposed to the 30s and 40s literature on both the war and the reference Earth's culture at the time, seeming to be a journal publication by a Confederate researcher on Abyssal fleet physiology. (Hint, lots of gross stuff, congealed oil and flesh over metal pieces, and that kind of thing. They might look human enough, but they're anything but. The more interesting bit is how they appear to regenerate when they return to their Abyss, usually.)

    "It's, no prob-lem," she adds, and lifts her two index fingers up to the corner of her mouth to lift them into a vague and forced semblance of a smile, since her face itself doesn't work like that. "...good to have, the com-pany. To break up, the rou-tine." Not that the Tsu-class is bad company, but always interesting to establish new contacts. "Syn-dicate. I'll remember...Mirror."