After many hours spent in the heart of Nova trading intelligence and strategizing with Commander Ghalt and Kleese, Deande had requested escort to her private quarters for rest. That in itself wasn't a total lie. It was just that the rest Deande required was of a mental sort, her status as a member of the Sustained meaning that physical recharging was very rarely needed. She was shown to her room by Nova's holographic bust and, after warned that she would be airlocked if she tried anything crafty, the door hissed to a sealed close behind her. Deande stood there in the semi-darkness of her bedchamber for a long moment.

The Spymistress felt bowed beneath the hostility and scarcely veiled hatred that she felt practically emanating from the walls with her as the subject. And she wondered, quite simply, to herself why she was at all affected. Certainly Deande had anticipated as much. She couldn't begrudge the negative opinions that the members of Ghalt's band had for her. She had very much earned them for even Deande's mind - woven from and mired in secrets as it was - couldn't fail to be objective: though her actions were borne of feigned loyalty to Rendain, and she actualized twice as much to counteract those made at Rendain's request, she'd still done those things. She was still at fault.

To distance herself from the problematic avenues her thoughts were prowling down, Deande turned her focus onto the chamber around her. The minimalist, futuristic motif bespoke of the LLC origins that Nova - as a craft and Magnus AI - boasted: a queen-sized bed with pale silver coverlet and matching pillows occupied a slight recess in the right wall, framed by two bedside tables; paneling surrounded it, shallow grooves indicating where countless drawers and cupboards for storage lay waiting; on the left wall, a portal with no door showed a restroom currently unlit; the far and outer wall hosted a floor-to-ceiling window. This alone was a feature of LLC technology, for Deande recalled that to her memory the exterior of Nova had no such windows, yet the expanse of space she witnessed was no hologram or illusion.

Deande's grey eyes roved. She took in the offered storage and smirked sardonically. Not only did she board Nova with nothing whatsoever in the way of personal effects, but the simple idea of filling those compartments with material things seemed laughable to her. After all, it was highly likely that life in the plainest sense would cease existing in a few short days. Deande strode to the bed and scowled thoughtfully down at it. Well. Perhaps she did have one (or, more correctly, two) items of personal import. The Jennerit produced the slim forms of her folded Tessurim war fans. She regarded them, turning them this way and that in the partial light, and then with an air of skeptic experimentation, lay them on the nearest bedside table.

For a few breaths, Deande observed them. Then she groaned at the sheer absurdity of her situation and the awkwardness that she was floundering beneath in Nova. The universe itself was headed on a collision course with total annihilation, and she had somehow found it in her to despair over something as petty as how uncomfortable she felt beneath the glares of her inexplicable peers. The Spymistress made a noise of disgust at herself. She snatched her fans from their place and returned them to their hiding places among the curls of the skirts pinned up about her hips. Sparing just one heartbeat more to reflect on her own discomfort, Deande exited the room she'd so recently been shown and retraced her steps back to the heart of Nova.

There she found a largely empty room, with the former LLC Sciencer Prime, Kleese, as the only occupant, plying away at the consoles. Greatly disliking the notion of having any interaction with the eccentric fellow without Trevor's supervision, Deande followed the curve of the hall before she could be spotted. "Nova," she said conversationally. The AI seemed suspicious that the Jennerit knew she was being watched. "Well, I was a Spymistress until just recently. Besides, you've already assured me you'd monitor my every move while aboard. I believed you." Nova conceded to this logic, albeit reluctantly. "I was just wondering if there was a venue where I might go through some exercises of a martial sort. I find it relaxes me when I'm... anxious."

Nova admitted that there was a sparring room on one of the lower levels, and directed Deande to it. When the Jennerit finally arrived, the doors opened to allow the sounds of familiar grunts and practiced vocalizations as paired with certain motions filter through. Deande looked onto the expanse of the sparring room to see that not only would she have company, but she had history with them. "Verod Rath," Deande said, unable to keep pleasant surprise from her intonations or expression. The Jennerit swordsman standing before her was a relief to behold. The last she'd heard, Rath was at ground zero, fighting against the Varelsi on Penarch. Since then Deande had been so busy setting up the sabotage of the Heliophage she'd been unable to stay entirely appraised of events. "I confess, you're a sight for sore eyes. I thought that everyone on this ship would rather see me dead."

At least with Rath Deande knew better: if the former Keeper of the Blade wanted her dead, then dead she would be.

(OOC: I tried to keep my NPCing of Nova vague and minimal! Hopefully it worked)

Tag: Rath