2022-03-09: Whither Wander Well

• Log: Whither Wander Well
• Cast: Nanai Miguel, Sayla Mass
• Where: Sweetwater Colony, Side 4; A Warmer World Beyond Time
• Date: 2022-03-09
• Summary: Sayla is eager to learn more about the man they call the second coming of Char Aznable, but Nanai's emotional state means the answer comes in an unexpected way.

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<Pose Tracker> Nanai Miguel has posed.

The meeting hadn't turned out to be much of a meal for either Sayla or Nanai. There was a particular symmetry to the group: those who felt a weight in the discussion seemed to lack any appetite, while those who did not, did not. It's said that a career soldier knows that they should take any presented opportunity to eat or sleep, because they never know when they'll next find a chance. The political arena seems to lack such directives.

Nanai leads Sayla out through the front of the restaurant. She nods to one of the cooks in the kitchen as they pass the open walkthrough, and then she exits through the front and into the street. By now, this involves a stop-and-go dance to weave between waitresses and customers and pedestrians. Courtesy of the evening crush between first shift and second shift.

Once they're out on the street, Nanai slows her pace so that Sayla can come more aside her. She turns her head slightly to attempt to gauge the other woman's position in the corner of her eye. The soft, mixed lighting from illuminated storefronts and dimming colony environmentals plays harsh tricks on her angular features.

"I know a place. It's a short walk, but it's quiet."

<Pose Tracker> Sayla Mass has posed.

Sayla tends to be a dampener on fun, friendly events anyway. Better to leave it to others. It's also pretty clear, that this matters extremely to her, and she doesn't want to discuss it in front of Chibodee. You know, one of the heads of the Shuffle Alliance.

Sayla follows as best she can, through the crowds, but she's not as adept at this as Nanai. For obvious reasons. Once she gets to... an appropriate following position, close but still letting Nanai lead, she... doesn't ease, exactly. But the tension changes from 'we are surrounded' to 'I am concered'.

"...Right. I'll trust your judgement." Something Sayla that seems a touch rare but... this *is* Nanai's turf. She's just a little single minded right now.

<Pose Tracker> Nanai Miguel has posed.

The press of working-class people -- poverty class, by some metrics -- is different from the press of a dinner party or charity ball. Each has their threats. Whatever they are here, Nanai must be schooled in them to have survived this long.

The tawny-haired woman slows a step further as Sayla nears. No, not slows. It's a faltering in her stride. For a weightless breath it seems like she's going to... what, collapse? Nothing that dramatic. But if she had strings, the scissors would be resting gently against them, waiting and sharp.

Nanai's face flushes and she squeezes her eyes shut, turning away. The path she carves through the crowd grows that much more efficient.

It's not the kind of place to have a conversation. Many do, of course, and the pleasant babble is one of the reasons why. For a time, Nanai and Sayla proceed down the main street, bound by the severity of their subject.

A cross street, less populated but with more loiterers sitting on stoops or in plastic chairs, eating or playing cards or talking over music. Another main street, courtesy of the classic urban colony grid. Down, side, up, side, down...

At times the crowd seems like they're not saying words at all. It's like a pull of whitewater, rushing around one's ears. At times. Gone too fast for it to be anything more than a vertigo moment. Gone too fast for diagnosis.

It's over ten minutes later that Nanai pushes her way into the front lobby of a hotel. It's a charming establishment built in the amalgamated 'European countryside' style that was exported to so many of these early colonies. The lobby is a parlor, with broad, curtained windows and comfortably shabby furniture.

"Do you have any call rooms open, Finlee?"

The long-faced man behind the counter looks up from leafing through a booklet and doesn't immediately respond. His eyes flick from Nanai to Sayla, and then he straightens out his slouch.

"We do, Ms. Mesua. Do you need me to send anyone back with refreshments?"

"No," says Nanai. "Thank you."

She's already walking down one of the carpeted halls. There's no one left to push through, and yet her speed hasn't dropped.

<Pose Tracker> Sayla Mass has posed.

Sayla has her walls fully up now, trying not to receive, trying not to send. And for all she tends to interact while people in those classes, it's always as a visitor now, often protected and surrounded. When she was younger, it was much more common. How things can change.

But it's a good reminded of *how* crowded Sweetwater is, how desperately it needs space, fellow colonies, money, jobs for those who want them and can, and support for those who can't and don't. It's too many people in too small a space, and indicative of... exactly what the Federation does to refugees.

Tamp it down, Sayla. You have enough to concern and distress right now as is, and if this dam breaks, people might feel it. Well. One person. And she's leading you through the colony like she knows it by heard. She might by now. Syla's trying to not look as obviously suspicius as she is, glancing around.

She follows Nanai into the hotel, taking it in. This would have been before the colonies were combined. She knows she's getting observed, but hopefully by one of Nanai's people and not someone elses. The federation seems to have already lost interest, though.

The last time, Sayla was asking questions and trying to converse. Not this time. Given the speed Nanai is moving at, she doesn't seem... eager to talk either. As for Sayla She doesn't care about Laplace's Box, to be honest.

Just about what's under the mask.

<Pose Tracker> Nanai Miguel has posed.

Nanai is already a fair distance down the hall by the time Sayla turns into it. It's a short space, likely with access to offices and utility rooms rather than guest-facing rooms. Nanai opens the door at the end to reveal a snapshot peek of the room beyond: a table, a some chairs, a comms terminal.

Nanai's poise breaks.

Her shoulders slump and her body leans forward, one arm catching her weight as her hand grips the table edge. The other reaches for her face, hidden as it is by her back facing Sayla. For anyone else, it would be a little dramatic. For someone as controlled as Nanai Miguel, it's unusual.

The sound behind Sayla drowns out to numb nothingness. No people. No elecars. No colony. Water pounds against outside. The wood veneer buckles. The hallway tilts and stretches long. There is no going back.

"I'm sorry," says Nanai, through labored tension. Her voice sounds louder than it should, even when she whispers. Like she's the only person in the world.

"You look so much like him."

Water runs in rivulets through the cracks, seeping into the carpet, collecting in streams to flow down the way toward her.

<Pose Tracker> Sayla Mass has posed.

Seeing Nanai supporting herself on the table, Sayla suddenly moves forward. Even stressed, she's a doctor. And Nanai can't tell her anything if she collapses. Things start to get quiet as she touches Nanai's shoulder to try and help her into a chair.

Nanai's voice echoes, and Sayla doesn't have to imagine what Nanai means by 'him'. She doesn't verbalize it but now... She's in Nanai's space... Her memories, like she was in the manor, but more literally. She can feel the water as it gathers towards Nanai.

Sayla's never had a moment of such intensity before. With Riku, it was memories without presence. With Kamille, it was just a space where a connection could be made. And with Amuro... well. It had been mild, they'd been in each other's presence so long.

Until it was intruding on a conversation with a dead girl, neither of them aware you were there

This feels real and bizarre and false all at once. She feels like an intruder again, but this time the one she's intruded on knows she's there. "...Nanai?" Is the other woman still with her? Is Sayla still with the other woman?

<Pose Tracker> Nanai Miguel has posed.

"I still remember you..."

Sayla rushes forward to place a steadying hand on Nanai's shoulder. She is still there -- warm and alive, but a shiver runs through her. The rushing water rises in volume behind them.

A word. Her name. Nanai turns toward Sayla's touch, even as the pressure of the waves comes crashing in.

"...in his locket."

The walls collapse, the waves collapse, the world--

--Sayla's fingers brush against Nanai's empty coat. It rips away from her in a current, leaving her floating alone in an ocean that disappears into blue darkness in every direction. She can breathe. That perhaps makes more sense than anything else happening now.

"I never thought I would meet someone who cares like you do."

Her voice -- Nanai's voice. Far away, echoing. A rush of current slides through Sayla, roiling bubbles obscuring her view, and then she is elsewhere.

Standing in a quiet bedroom in the dark, save for the lights of the colony. Sweetwater's lights. The view out the window is familiar to her, for it was the building where she first met Nanai.

Only now it isn't ruined. Now, a younger Nanai sits on the edge of a bed, dressed in a pencil skirt and a sharp blouse, her heels kicked off nearby. She gently runs her fingers through the blond, wet hair of the man sleeping next to her. For Sayla, it feels like she's still trapped in that ocean, unable to move against the current, unable to call out through the water.

"All the pain you've seen, all the pain you've felt, and you still believe..."

He moans, soft and feverish. His legs kick under the sheets.

"...thank you for loving me."

"...Lalah--... Amuro!"

His voice. Nanai's silence.

She is frozen, her hand on his cheek, her eyes wide, emotion drained from her face.

Slowly, her hand withdraws.

And then she looks up, and she sees Sayla, and she startles.

"You--"

A crash of waves. Elsewhere again.

Nanai sits on the open, horizontal hatch of a GM-type mobile suit. A Canard training suit, Sayla might recognize. She is young. Mid to late teens. Her knees are drawn up to her chest with her arms wrapped around them. The training suit she wears makes it clear she was the pilot of her now-idle machine. Before her is the smoking remnants of another Canard, which has been reduced to limbs and shrapnel.

They're in a field, somewhere on Earth. There's a bunker in the distance made notable by a plume of smoke rising from an exposed missile launcher.

"It took them a long time to send people out to get me," she says. "None of the scientists wanted to come out themselves, so they had to wait on a security team. We have some time to talk."

<Pose Tracker> Sayla Mass has posed.

She's still there. That's good. That's- "His locket?"

And then Nanai vanishes and Sayla is in the sea. She's floating, but can't swim. The ocean is all around her, but not moving her. It's difficult not to panic... but Sayla doesn't panic like that, does she? She tries to keep afloat, and not let the darkness sweep her away. But the current catches her and she's...

Somewhere she shouldn't be. That bedroom, in a better time. Her eyes glance at Nanai, then look past her. At the man in the bed. She'd never been able to meet in him in that time. The last time they saw each other in person was A Bao A Qu. This is the closest she will ever get again. In bed with his lover is not what she had ever hoped for. Still, the words rile her. She can't hold her walls in the space. She wants to shout that he doesn't care, he hasn't cared in so long. You're being used.

But you can't change the past by interfering with a memory. And then he mentions the names. The pilot of the Elmeth... The woman whose name Amuro called out in his nightmares. And Amuro himself. Sayla's eyes widen, and distress is on her own face. "Were you really still obsessed with them?"

And then Nanai looks at her. Sees her. Speaks to her. She startles herself. She's not just observing.

She sees Nanai in the Canard, much younger still. And... the remnants of the Canard. You don't survive a blast like that, do you? "The scientists? A security team?" She pauses, and shakes her head. "Am I talking to the person I entered that call room with?" it's a weird question... but she's scene two Nanai's in here now. "Or that teenage girl?" This is... this is absolute conjecture on her part. Mainstream newtype research doesn't cover this. But if Newtypes leave ghosts, what else do they do?

"...To talk about him? Your memories? Or about this new Red Comet and Laplace's Box?" She's not really sure what she'll get out of this, and she may be wasting precious time. But there's too many unknowns. She needs more to go on.

Still, one things obvious: Sayla's belief that the new Red Comet isn't her brother isn't based on evidence. It's based on hope, and denial, and a refusal to mourn him a fourth time.

<Pose Tracker> Nanai Miguel has posed.

Nanai, or the girl Nanai was, or something in between, looks back over her shoulder toward Sayla. Her sad smile is still the same, all these years apart.

"It's me. I'm here because I was here. You're here because you know me. Like a relay..."

She doesn't elaborate. Instead, she turns her gaze back to the destroyed mobile suit before her.

"This is Augusta in the late 80s. We're wandering beyond time. I didn't think you would come with me. I must have underestimated how open your mind is. You keep a low profile."

She sucks in a heavy breath to the bottom of her lungs. Her back rises with the effort, and she dips her head to exhale toward her knees.

"I wanted to explain to you about the man they're calling Char, but..."

...but seeing you brings back memories I can't escape.

"I can take you to a place that will show you. But, I have to warn you: I don't have all the answers, and you can't stay here, not even if you see happier times."

Nanai rises to her feet and turns to face Sayla. She cuts a coltish figure. Another girl put in a cockpit before she could know what it meant.

"I'll try to keep you on track."

She extends her hand.

<Pose Tracker> Sayla Mass has posed.

This is...It's hard to comprehend. Even with all the incomprehensible things that she's encountered recently- Triple Zero, Tsutsujidai, Riku's Origins- for all she told Guy that she would just accept the truth her told her then, she still struggles when she can't understand something. Make sense of it. But she has to just accept it. It's the only way to keep going.

"I try to." Sayla says, quietly. She walks toward the younger Nanai, to help if she can. Even now that's the instinct she wants to lean on. But that takes work too, to choose one instinct over the other. Her feelings regarding Nanai are complex at best. Maybe this will simplify matters, or churn them one way or another."

"The Newtype Labs. They were on Jamil's radar." She never knew if the Freeden got there, though. They were one ship, even with the previous Shuffle Alliance.

But? Sayla wonders what the issue that goes unsaid is. "...I don't know I fully understand. But I can't turn away from the world for memories. Even if I want to." She takes the offered hand, and braces herself. She doesn't expect the transition to be pleasant.

<Pose Tracker> Nanai Miguel has posed.

Sayla says she can't turn away from the world. Nanai lowers her gaze.

"I thought the same."

Her hand tightens around Sayla's own, and the current takes them both.

Sayla watches over a table. A restaurant somewhere, maybe? There's people seated around a table set to eat, and it doesn't seem like a house. A private room.

"Is the captain... seeing anyone?"

A young girl, twelve, thirteen, asks this of a slightly older girl. The younger girl is wearing glasses and has her tawny, blonde hair in a cutesy, complicated style probably copied from a magazine with plastic barrettes; the older has pink hair cut in a retro wedge.

"What?" the older girl says, instantly flustered by the question. She glances around the room at the older men and women talking, but none of them seem to notice. Both of their gazes go to the blond man in sunglasses lurking in the doorway, speaking in quiet tones to another man in a Federation pilot suit.

"No -- no, he isn't," the older girl finishes.

"Oh," says the younger girl. "It seemed like... you and him, Lady Haman--"

The girl in the glasses pauses with a look like someone's walked over her grave. Her gaze rises subtly toward Sayla.

The current washes through.

"Axis beyond the drop point!"

"The Ra Cailum isn't backing off!"

Nanai in a normal suit, her hair up in a ponytail. The bridge rocks to the side. The illumination briefly flickers to emergency lights, and then back. Nanai thrusts her arm forward to gesture.

"Order the mobile suits back! Give the Cailum our starboard and tell the teams to approach port!"

The crew is in a flurry, a half-dozen voices relaying her orders through comms stations. Nanai sinks back into her chair and squeezes her eyes shut even as the Rewloola is rocked with explosions.

Captain, come back, come back, come back--

NANAI, DON'T INTERRUPT A BATTLE BETWEEN MEN!

Nanai jerks her head up in another startle that is by now becoming familiar. This time, when she looks across the bridge to Sayla, she has another sad smile for her.

'Almost there,' she mouths soundlessly.

When the waves take them again, everything is quiet. They're sitting in a finely-appointed room somewhere that is all to reminiscent of the now-infamous Zabi mansion in Zum City. It's not that, but it's close, and it's in a colony somewhere. Things just feel like a colony.

Nanai is in her red uniform but the dark circles under her eyes make her look anything but sharp. She is sitting on a baroque red-and-gold sofa, her legs together and her hands in her lap. She's drawn in tightly to herself. Small. Tired. A dire figure in the happy light streaming in through the enormous windows.

"You know what I'm asking you."

"I do."

The middle-aged man who posed a question to her is standing and smoking a cigarette. He's a few years younger, but Sayla has enough political knowledge to recognize him: Monaghan Bakharov, Minister of Foreign Affairs for the Republic of Zeon and a leader of the Space Revolutionary Party.

"We can secure a sample of the psycho-frame if that would help. But you have his data on record, don't you."

Nanai doesn't meet his gaze.

"I do."

Monaghan watches in a long silence. He takes a drag off his cigarette and exhales before continuing.

"Tell me it's possible."

Another silence stretches on, this time at Nanai's hands. Her fingers knot into the fabric of her pencil skirt.

"It's... untested. We never determined the parameters."

Monaghan gestures with his cigarette, pointing it in accusation.

"Your own papers said something like this could happen. Newtypes form conceptual/relational bonds and the psycho-frame strengthens that behavior. Your words. If this is too delicate for you, you can instruct someone else. You want him back, don't you?"

A shudder runs through Nanai's body. Her head dips low. She can't keep her composure in front of this man, and the shame of her lack radiates like silent thunder.

Finally, she speaks through a tight throat: "We don't know. He and Amuro left. The psycho-frame may have just been a medium to them. Just tools, nothing to leave a link. Do you understand?" Her voice rises, cracking. "It was their choice!"

Monaghan exhales another lazy cloud of smoke. He glances away with dispassion.

"It doesn't matter. Your brain scans are complete enough that we can condition a candidate. The Federation's own newtype labs proved that process."

Nanai lifts her head and tear-streaked cheeks with the slow, venomous certainty of someone who has suddenly remembered to be angry.

"You're still shaken. Think about it," says Monaghan. He walks over and stubs his cigarette out in a crystal tray on an end table, and then turns to leave.

Nanai watches him go. It's only after the clicks of his dress shoes on marble flooring vanish down the hall that she looks over to Sayla, freeing her from the current.

"I knew he was going to kill me. I ran with my people. I don't know what they did. It's... possible they took something from the psycho-frame. I can't rule that out, no matter how unlikely I hope it is. But I know that man isn't Char."

<Pose Tracker> Sayla Mass has posed.

These are not places she should be. She's intruding on Nanai in a most indelicate way, even if she's being guided. But these memories involve him. Of course they dod. A young Nanai, with a young Haman Karn, if she's right. Was this really how Casval worked? Planting the seeds that early? Or was it just by chance that this all occurred? ...A mix of both, probably. Still, that young Nanai looked happier, even then. But that's the way of it? The Universal Century has made it it's work to rob so many of their happiness.

"You met him that young?" She can't help but asking. It heps distract her from a thought she doesn't want to realize. But the memory moves forward and-

She's on the bridge of a ship that's targeting an old dear friend. In the battle that cost her two of the people she cared about most. Sayla does not want to be here. She doesn't. 'Happier times', were they? But Sayla can push through. She can't let herself be vulnerable here, in this mess of emotions. That's what got her through after the Ral's deaths. The years since Axis. Just keep being 'too strong' and get through.

And then white hot anger surges through as she hears Casval's voice. "...A battle between men!?" She can't hold it back. "What the hell are you thinking!? Is that what this was!?"

But they move, again, in an office. And she has to recenter herself, looking at the sad tired Nanai and the man opposite her. She knows of him. She moves in some of those circles. And she keeps an eye on spacenoid independence groups, to see which she might be able to get away with supporting. She tries to follow it, initially, but there's too much she's missing. Until Monaghan Bakharov says it, and Sayla's anger peaks.

"...They were trying to bring him back?" She asks, quietly. "Or clone him?" There's so much pent up there, but it's mostly anger. But even the Shuffle Alliance can't hurtle into Zeon, punch out his guards, and drag Bakharov into space without a normal suit. Some of them would try, though. For a moment, she seems lost for words, like she can't work out what to do.

"Those idiots. They should never have tried something so careless and stupid." She would be pacing, but it doesn't feel right. "...This doesn't change much, though. Whoever he is wearing that mask, that man needs to be stopped. Most likely permanently." There's pain and grief in those words as she looks down. "But this makes it easier. Even if I'd had to... I wouldn't have wanted to pull the trigger."

"Someone impersonating him, I have no qualms about that." She looks up. "The legacy of Char Aznable should have ended three years. The name of Zeon zum Deikun should be in the history books, like Astraea tor Deikun and Artesia som Deikun, not being used to rally desperate spacenoids behind a poisoned name that the Federation can turn against them in a second. The selfish actions of the Zabi family should be long behind us, not still rippling forward and closing off the future."

It's now, in the midst of that impassioned speech that the tears in her eyes should be obvious. "You should be allowed to put his memory to rest and move forward. And I should be allowed to put my family to rest, and do the same, without worrying as to whether some maniac is going to dig them up and use them to kill again because they refuse to see another path forward than another year of hateful salutes and horrible atrocities!" That rage, that despair, that hurt all boils over again. Despite their best intentions...

...it seems the two of them are able only to bring up pain in each other.

<Pose Tracker> Nanai Miguel has posed.

Bring him back? Or clone him? Nanai nods mutely, agreeing to both without distinguishing.

As Sayla begins her admonishments of Bakharov, Nanai glances down to the stubbed-out cigarette in the crystal tray. Her thoughts seem to wander.

But Sayla continues, lifting her eyes to space above. Nanai's attention is inexorably pulled to the other woman. She watches in silence, lips parted as if she is going to speak, but words never coming. Nanai hears Sayla's sorrow, her despair, her hurt, and--

her hope--

The wind blows. The two of them stand in a countyside yard, wild and beautiful and dotted with white flowers. At the top of a bank overlooking the lake is a house that belonged to Jimba Ral.

Or... belongs?

The paint is bright the windows clear. There's the tree that Casval -- douard -- would climb. No larger than it was in memory.

There's no ocean current holding Sayla here. She is gently deposited by the wind, and a warm feeling comes over her. It's odd. It's like she's herself... but... not quite. A previous self, and new. Nanai stands frozen off to the side, dressed as she was when they entered the hotel. She, for once, looks perplexed.

There's voices around the corner of the house. An older man, and a younger man. They must be--

Nanai lunges forward to grab for Sayla's wrist with a purposeful grip.

"There is a colder world waiting for us," she says, with more harshness than she means.

And then the lights brighten, too bright to see, blotting everything out.

It's like waking up from a dream. The mind doesn't come back all at once. Nanai is still hunched over the table, and Sayla still has her hand on her shoulder.

After a heartbeat, Nanai reaches up to put her hand on Sayla's own.

<Pose Tracker> Sayla Mass has posed.

The wind, and not the ocean. Sayla looks out at the field. The flowers etched in her memory. The green grass. The lake they used to swim in in summer. That house, where she spent a happy six years. She can see the inside vividely. She feels younger, somehow? A her that was, that cheerful, soft girl who would offer help wherever she could. Is that what Nanai felt? It's strange and weird, being a you that was, without the years weighing on you. Her eyes scan to the tree, that her big brother could climb up easily, but was always a chorse for her when they were older. And then she hears the voices.

It turns out, it's easy to say you can resist in when it's not right there, in front of you. She starts a few steps forward, her voice coming out. "Edouard! Father!"

And a hand wraps around her wrist, and Nanai pulls her from it. Sayla turns to to look up at her.The words cut through her as Nanai reminds her of what she said. It's harsh but... Sayla simply nods. "Yes... You're right."

If you live in a memory, you can't change reality.

But a good memory can give you drive to change reality.

When they come back to reality, it's a ittle slow. The eyes wake up, but the mind follows a few moments later. Then the realization of where you are, what you're doing. She takes a second to look around, and realizes where her hand is and... leaves it for Nanai to reach up to.

She had intruded on some of Nanai's most personal memories and almost all of them unhappy. Whereas Nanai had simply seen a world in which she might not have been alive yet, happier days, like she had said.

"Are you alright?" Sayla asks, quietly. "Should I get anything? Call someone?"

<Pose Tracker> Nanai Miguel has posed.

"No," says Nanai.

For a time, it seems like that will be all she says. The tawny-haired woman politely guides Sayla's hand off her shoulder, and then pulls out a chair to sit down in front of the media terminal. She stares blankly ahead.

Then, finally:

"In the psycho-frame's light, I was reunited with everyone I lost. Everyone except Char. He and Amuro... they went somewhere in that warmer world, with her."

She doesn't say the name. She doesn't need to.

"I don't pretend to know what it all means. The psycho-frame guided me there, and guided me back. It's... humbling. It almost feels blasphemous to use the experience in my research."

Nanai looks up and over to Sayla again. There's a similar look in her face as the girl she was. Only now, the weight of responsibility lurks in her eyes.

"Bakharov wants to use the Red Comet's name, and Laplace's Box, to enact a plan that Char declined to pursue. I don't know what's in Laplace's Box. Neither does Bakharov. But, it scares the Federation. It can be used to blackmail them. Bakharov thinks he can use both legends to create a new power in space, one that can slowly choke the Earth to death."

Nanai glances into the distance.

"Char thought a battle was more honest."

A beat. Nanai uselessly reaches up to fix her glasses, which are already fine.

"That's a high-level summary of what I know. In a sense."

<Pose Tracker> Sayla Mass has posed.

Sayla steps back when her hand is removed, giving Nanai space. She supports her self on the desk, as she listens. What she says is... Sayla's read heavily on newtype theory since the one year war, but the shift towards newtypes as weapons has drowned out most room for this. Her trepidation around the psycho-frame only builds. But whatever that place was, it felt... Sayla shakes her head. Not the time.

But the look on her face when Nanai describes Bakharov's plan... Or what she knows of it, anyway. "That's..." A plan to choke Earth, "...disgusting." Indeed, she could go at length about what she hates about it. "But that's what the Sleeves are looking for, whatever it is."

He probably would. Sayla will never actually know.

"Thank you, for telling me this. This lets me start co-ordinating counter actions. An eye for an eye isn't a solution. It's paying pain forward." She pauses. "But it seems Bakharov doesn't care about reducing pain. So he and this new Red Comet can't have what they want."

She pauses. "...I don't what to do regarding Laplace's Box, so I would welcome your counsel, in the future. Thank you again." Sayla walks towards the door. Now she's resolved the matter, she wants to get out again. Last time, she was in a place that had been Char's. Today, though...

She stops at the door. "...I'm sorry. For trampling through your memories again. Please inform me should you wish one of my subordinates make contact in the future instead. You don't have to decide in the moment." That's the kind thing, right? To stop pushing into Nanai's world. To stop bringing up that hurt. For both of them.

But she's not going to close that door herself, as she steps out of the call room.