Lestari

"Are you familiar with the use of thorium as a substitute for uranium and plutonium?" Khün ventured, figuring that would probably be the best place to start. "In Uriankhai, we have developed a liquid fluoride thorium reactor design that produces thirty five times the amount of energy that enriched uranium does, with several times less the risk due to its extremely low pressure functions, stable coolant system, and passive decay heat cooling. Hell, the design doesn't even necessarily need to run on thorium-- beryllium, lithium, nickel, a wealth of elements that are all more abundant and more easily acquired than uranium and plutonium, can be substituted with almost equal efficiency." She shrugged her broad shoulders almost faux-modestly. "I'm told it's one of the more advanced alternative energy designs we're aware of, but I'd rather let the design speak for itself."

"That would be deeply appreciated," Khün returned with a gracious nod of her head. She paused briefly, mulling over a thought that had only just come to her, before adding, a slow and deliberate drawl to the hard rasp of her voice, "In fact, in the interests of better facilitating this-- and perhaps future-- deals, would Novak be interested in considering a trade agreement to promote and then expedite economic industry between our nations?"

"Five P-8s, twenty B-2s, and twenty five E-8s is the total tally of our prospective order, as far as the aircraft are concerned," Khün intoned.

Khün smiled, the wry expression tugging at the one corner of her thin lips that was not paralysed into dispassion. "We are a nation by, for, and of indigenous peoples-- of people who have for centuries been trampled and oppressed by foreign tyrants. We fought a revolution to wrest our right to exist from those tyrants' hands, and now that we have for the first time in ages carved a nation of our own from the steppe, I am ill-inclined to say we intend to let it collapse." She shook her head. "But perhaps I'm being overly verbose. That being said, the sort of weapons we're looking for are a fairly narrow menagerie. I have received Novaki Military Industries' list-- thanks for that, by the way-- and it has much that's of interest to us. P-8 Poseidon crafts, B-2s, and E-8 Growlers would particularly be priorities, as well as the Aster and Patriot missile systems."

"Well," Khün began shortly. "Uriankhai is a nascent nation, and though our industry is already quite potent, I feel we may still benefit from using the necessity of munitions in these uncertain times as a springboard for diplomatic relations. Therefore I ask, would Novak be interested in procuring a deal with Uriankhai regarding the purchase of military munitions?

This whole 'cliques are responsible for everything bad that ever happened ever' thing is getting kind of tired. That being said, I propose that we eject not only all the 50k+ nations, but also all the 50k- nations. I'm telling you, you won't be hearing any more whining after that.

Yeah, and probably one that's completely full of shit.

After about half an hour of slapping her videocom device, turning it off and then back on, accidentally taking at least three photos of her furiously flustered expression with the stupid thing and then inadvertently emailing them to Taraa, cursing under her breath, and at least at one point vowing to hunt down and purge every last person involved in the creation of this infernal machine, Khün managed to get the damn thing working, and shortly thereafter, upon taking the necessary time to chill out and such, called Admiral Aviv Kochavi. "Hello, Admiral Kochavi," she stated by way of greeting. "I hope things are going well in Novak. Uriankhai has made few diplomatic overtures since its advent, and-- if you'll forgive the pretense of flattery-- I figured it would be appropriate to reach out to one of the more evidently sensible powers in our region, especially given recent events."

I'm contesting Mogar's depiction of one successful and one failed spy roll. That's an absolutely bullshit way to roleplay the failure of a spy roll, in that it completely circumvents the 'failure' part. His spies didn't try to conduct espionage and fail; they didn't conduct espionage at all. This is nothing more than a means of circumventing the failed spy roll in such a way that doesn't allow for the person on the receiving end to counter, the way a failed spy roll should.

"Hey, dickbrain, fuck off and shove your random observations up your scaly dragon ass," a voice seemed to come from nowhere and to someone in particular. And that was all it said.

"Aw, stop it you, will ya? I'm blushin'." In point of fact, Ao was not, indeed, blushing; she was much too preoccupied with preparing the syringe for injection-- the typical process of swabbing the injection site with alcohol was simply not a concern. After all, soon enough, Khatun would reign supreme over all other forms of life on Earth; a petty infection? That was hardly cause for worry. Once the syringe had been properly readied, Ao turned back to Khatun, unable to help a deviously eager smirk upon her lips as she held the syringe out to her test subject. "Take your destiny, champion of our people," she whispered. "And conquer." And with that, deciding waiting around for Khatun to take the syringe was pointless, Ao simply reached over, grabbed her arm, pulled it towards herself, and with a bizarre combination of precision and unbridled energy, rammed it to the hilt into Khatun's arm. The effect was immediate-- the chemical was bonding directly into Khatun's blood even as the needle was pulled away and the syringe discarded-- changing her, enhancing her, rending to pieces that which was human and reconstructing in its place something so much more than that. The animal skins that clothed Khatun's body burgeoned and stretched taut to contain the musculature swelling at her arms, at her chest, her abdomen and her legs, at every part of her-- shoulders broadening with muscle, biceps and triceps alike expanding and hardening, until what was left was what could have appeared to be merely a testament to the might of a human being, lithe, sinewy musculature outlining the champion's frame. And yet, Khatun could feel it-- could feel that the mere flesh and mortal muscle the chemical had lend her body did not even begin to belie the might that she now commanded. She could feel it in her knuckles, in her hands, in every fibre of her body, could feel that with a single motion, she could crush the pathetic form of a human being like a pomegranate seed-- effortlessly, callously, with the ease of a superior being extinguishing a lesser light. And she could feel along with it the urge-- in that moment, as the chemical bonded to the cells of her blood, the aching need, like a twisting, writhing spectre of violence wrenching at her very guts-- to use that might to destroy, to crush, to conquer and leave nothing in her wake but the broken, battered carcasses of her adversaries and the triumph of those whom she fought for. Visions of the slaughter-- of the slaughter to come, and of slaughters conducted in years past by conquerors who would soon pale before the visceral brutality of her rampage-- flickered across a mind newly rendered superhuman, a mind that processed more in that single second than a mere mortal mind could have in its entire lifetime-- the mind of a conqueror. The mind of a Dog of War. "Go now," Ao smiled. "And win."

"Make me into that champion, Ao, I beg of you!" the woman cried. "Let me serve the people who I love so dearly and who require the hope and dreams of a conqueror!" Ao smiled. And said, "No." She hopped on off of her desk, hands clasped behind her back as she took to pacing around Khatun, speaking steadily as she did. "I lied when I said I would make you into a champion-- I will not. I cannot make you a champion any more than being handed a blade makes one a warrior." She stopped, and turned on her heel to face Khatun once more. "To be a champion demands something nobody can be given-- something they must find within themselves. Do you feel you've found that within yourself?" Ao gave the woman no time to answer, for she merely dismissed the very question with a wave of her hand. "Let me answer it for you: you were a champion from the very first moment you became determined to give yourself wholly, mind, body, and spirit, to the cause of our people. Your dedication, your charisma, your ability to lead-- these are things you already have at your disposal, things neither I nor anybody else can provide you. I can equip you only with the weapons-- tools that no mere human can command." She turned, and stepped towards one of the many worktables that lined the walls of the laboratory, piled high with clutter, with instruments, with data, with records. She reached a hand down to the drawer of the work table, and pulled it back, revealing a small rectangular metal object that at first glance betrayed no opening or seal. However, when Ao slid a finger gently, almost lovingly, along the spine of the object, it split open down one of the narrow faces, and cracked open to reveal a syringe, full to the brim with an oddly viscous-looking sanguine substance. Ao took it tenderly into her hands, all but cradled it as one might a beloved child, and turned to walk back to Khatun. "This is the fruits of my research," she explained. "A chemical means of turning a mere human into something more-- a being that thinks in dimensions humans cannot comprehend, thought processes so swift mortal senses cannot keep up, a being that commands with her own two hands the might of an army. This, champion, will be your weapon-- the lance with which you direct your armies and crush our adversaries." She smiled. "Pretty fuckin' cool, eh?"

Ao's smile widened, and her legs, dangling off the precipice of her desk, swung about in brewing enthusiasm. "I'm sure you know all there is to know of Genghis Khan, and his conquests throughout the Asian continent. But perhaps you don't know-- many people don't-- that Genghis Khan's empire was not the fruits of his sole efforts. He had at his disposal four soldiers, four generals, whom he trusted so implicitly that he awarded them the title of his four 'Dogs of War'. Khubilai, Jebe, Jelme, and Subutai: four warriors so notoriously skilled in the ways of war, as formidable on the front lines as they were back in the commander's tent, that the general populace believed them to be more than human-- to be, in essence, superhuman." The biophysicist shrugged her shoulders, and added, "But of course, they weren't: they were just ordinary mortals, ordinary men, whose reputation exceeded them-- as reputations often do. In the end, they were just that: human." That wry twist at the corners of Ao's lips grew all the more impish, the heels of her swinging feet tapping an almost warlike beat against the surface of her desk. "But that was a long time ago. And today, Uriankhai no longer needs mere humans to champion its cause. You, young Khatun... you can be made into the first true Dog of War-- a warrior truly beyond the scope and might of even the most notorious of mortal soldiers, whose name is whispered in hushed tones across every corner of the globe, who has earned her reputation for exceeding humanity. You can be made into the champion Uriankhai deserves-- and you will at last serve the cause you so desperately wish to serve."

"Dr. Ao--" "Silence, cretin!" Manjagir Ao snarled furiously at the assistant who had taken it upon herself to intrude upon the good doctor's work-- from which Ao did not bother glancing up as she dismissed the assistant. "Don't you see I'm in the midst of some important business that will soon revolutionise the scientific world?" "Dr. Ao, you're stacking ferrets on top of your head." At last, Dr. Ao turned from the little box of ferrets on her desk to rest her scathing glare upon the assistant, swiveling around in her chair, the ferrets already piled atop the wiry shocks of her hair scrambling upon one another to avoid tumbling to the floor. "Do the words 'important business that will soon revolutionise the scientific world' mean nothing to you?" "I-- I'm sorry, doctor," the assistant excused in exasperation, holding her hands up as if in surrender. "I'm just not sure I understand how exactly this is supposed to revolutionise anything." Ao scowled indignantly. "I cannot be held responsible," she declared stiffly. "For the fact that lesser minds cannot comprehend the gravity of the current situation." And as she turned around in her chair to resume her business of changing the world of science in ways that even Curie and Einstein themselves could only have been in envy of, the assistant scrambled to add, "Uh, but-- Dr. Ao, I came up to tell you that somebody's been brought here by some Directorate agents! Somebody by the name of... Khatun?" The name had clearly struck a chord with Ao; she froze stiller than death itself, before slowly, almost mechanically turning to face the assistant again, the solemnity of her expression rather at odds with the still frantically scrambling ferrets perched atop her head. "Did you say..." Her eyes narrowed, and there was a certain sharpness to her voice as she finished, "Khatun?" The assistant scratched the back of her head. "Should I tell them not to let her in?" "You kiddin'?" Ao's face split into a hearty grin as she took to vibrantly spinning around in her chair, sending the poor ferrets on her head hurtling about in all directions. The assistant stood by for about five minutes, watching the doctor spin and wondering if she was actually going to say anything more than that, before at long last Ao came to an abrupt stop. It was another thirty seconds of blinking and dizziness before she finally concluded, "Naw, send her up. She's here for a reason." The assistant left, and proceeded down the many flights of steps that led to the ground floor (she'd suggested time and time again that they install an elevator, and Ao had damn near fired her for having the audacity-- apparently the stairs were 'instrumental' to the laboratory's 'ambiance'). Once she arrived, still breathing heavily, at the entry room in which the woman named Khatun stood waiting, she ground out, "The doctor will see you now." She turned and glanced back up the flights of stairs she was gonna have to go clambering up again, and then amended, "... in a minute." Eventually, they did trek up the stairs once again, and the assistant led Khatun to Ao's office, rapping her knuckles against the door. "Dr. Ao? Khatun is here." "Show her in," came the ominous reply, in a voice that was distinctly not Dr. Ao's: at a guess, the assistant would have estimated the doctor had run her voice through some sort of distorter. The fuck does she think she is, Darth Vader? she groused silently, before stopping short and realising that sometimes, she really couldn't say with certainty that that wasn't the case. Either way, she sighed and shook her head briefly before opening the door to let Khatun in, and shutting it behind her. Whatever was about to happen... well, the less she knew of it, the better. At the other end of her (suddenly menacingly dark) office, Dr. Manjagir Ao sat at her desk facing Khatun, her hands clasped before the shadowed features of her face, surreptitiously holding something in front of her lips. "Welcome to my dominion, civilian," she greeted in that low, distorted voice. "To the lair of modern science's greatest mind, the domain in which the very boundaries of human thought are torn apart and reassembled, to the kingdom-- nay, the queendom-- of none other than--" There was a quiet click, and then the rest of the sentence emerged in a high-pitched whine. "Dr. Manjagir Ao!" Ao frowned. "Shit, sorry," she grumbled in her own natural voice as she glared down at the little toy in her hand and flicked the switch back. "This thing's got like three different settings, but only one of them doesn't sound buttfuck retarded. I mean, I'm not surprised, since it's the kinda thing you find in a children's store, but shit, that one mode totally sounds like Darth Vader, so I just had to have it, y'know?" Ao set the little trinket down on her desk before bouncing up to her feet, the lights dawning back into bloom as she bounded over to Khatun enthusiastically. "So, you must be Khatun!" she exclaimed, all grins. "How was your trip down here? No no, don't tell me: I'm just going to assume it was wonderful and you're going to recommend all your friends make the trip as well. That's not important. Here, sit down." With surprising strength for a woman of such little (evident) muscle, Ao seized the woman's arm and tugged her over to her desk, where another chair was placed on the other side of it. She pushed Khatun down into it, and then perched herself on top of the desk itself, smiling down at her visitor. "I'm told you're eager to serve Uriankhai and the cause of the Turkic and Mongolic peoples, but have been denied the opportunity." Ao's smile took on a certain devious undertone. "But I have a means of equipping you not only to serve Uriankhai, but to be its champion. What do you say?"

-

-

Don't get all indignant now, just a bit of confusion.

In light of the EAI's retraction of their claims to the former Amur-- which I believe consisted of the provinces of Khabarovsk, Primorsky, and of course the Amur Oblast-- kindly add that to the Uriankhai Confederacy. ... once I do my seven posts, naturally.

-

You could probably fill an entire book with quotes about nothing but how small the world really is, when you come to realise the sheer scope of the universe around it. Indeed, the late Carl Sagan, an astrophysicist of whom Dr. Izel Mérida was rather fond, had written an entire book, Pale Blue Dot, discussing the gradual shift of humanity's place in the universe as its comprehension of science and the world around it evolved: from center of the universe, around which the sun and all celestial bodies revolved, to little more than a pale blue dot, relegated to the orbit of a rather nondescript star out somewhere on the fringes of a galaxy that wasn't especially interesting all on its own. Suffice to say, those old quotes did not need repeating: everybody knew by now the humility of their consummately mundane place in the universe. And yet, Alex had to admit, when you had a view of the entire planet right outside your window, it was hard not to stare. The translucent pane of the window that devoured the entire far wall of the bedroom allotted for Izel Mérida and Alex Martinez drew the former soldier's gaze like a moth to light; she stood before it, watching a lonely little planet of rock and water languidly rotating on its axis, host to all the tragedy and triumph of the human experience. Behind her, Izel lay nestled amidst the gentle embrace of soft bedsheets, the dense curls of her hair restrained (however fleetingly) into the confines of a bun. She was still sleeping-- or at least, as far as Alex was aware, she was still sleeping; on second thought, Alex shot a quick glance back Izel's way. It would have been just like the impish little engineer to lie there watching Alex stare off into space (literally, actually), and probably snickering under her breath all the while-- but no, Izel was on her side, her back to Alex, the slender curve of her shoulder into her arm and body rising and falling gently with each dozing breath. She allowed a smile as she admired her lover's sleeping form, before turning her eyes back again to Earth. Below her-- or perhaps more accurately, far, far before her-- lay South America, the skin of the face the planet turned to meet her gaze. Ten years ago, that had been home. Ten years ago, that had been many things to her: her ward, to protect and defend; her dominion, to rule and to safeguard; her battlefield, to conquer and take. But a lot had changed since then-- South America was no longer any of that, not to her, and... and she was not the same person who had lived and died, again and again, on that tiny little continent. Alex Martinez gazed down upon it, and no longer felt the burden of its weight upon her shoulders, not the way Alejandra Valverde had. She really had become... this. This skin. This face. This name. Alex Martinez had formed memories all her own, memories that belonged to her alone and were not shared with the sullen spectre of her predecessor; she had come to love another, perhaps the only other person she'd ever truly loved other than the aunt who, for all she knew, was long since dead and gone forever. She had carved out a new life and a new identity for herself... and for the first time since she had consciously realised that, she did not feel guilty about it. She did not feel guilty for being liberated from Alejandra Valverde's umbrage at long last-- did not feel guilty for being able to say that this was who she was, and that was no longer who she was, and never would be again. But if that's the case... should I feel even still that I'm lying to Izel? That devilish fiend of a woman-- whom Alex couldn't possibly deny she loved more than all the sappy rom-com cliches in the world could ever describe-- she knew nothing of the person Alex had used to be. Was that wrong? If this truly was who Alex was now, then surely it was not a sin for Izel to remain ignorant of things that were no longer relevant-- and if it was, then it was merely a sin of omission, not so much an obfuscation of reality so much as a validation of it. And yet somehow, Alex felt that if she really did love Izel, if she really did intend on spending the rest of her life with the jaunty Tikalese scientist (and she did-- you'd better fuckin' believe she intended on it), then it would only have been right to tell her. The thin line of Alex's mouth pulled taut into a scowl. Gee, wonder how that conversation will go down, she mused scathingly, rebuking herself as one might a petulant child. 'Hey, Izel, see the entire northeastern chunk of South America down there? I used to rule that right up until I embroiled an entire nation in a massive civil war that ended with me escaping into Tikal under the guise of a Colombian security officer and eventually becoming an entrepreneur and mobile suit pilot. Anyway, while we're sharing, got any secrets you wanna get off your chest?' Somehow, she really didn't see that working out too well. So the question, then, was... well, if she wasn't going to tell Izel now, would she always feel like she was lying to her? Would she even be right to think she was? Was it really such a bad thing to simply let herself sink wholly into the person she was now, let Alejandra Valverde die once and for all, and-- "SWEET FUCKING JESUS ON A--" Alex leapt about ten feet into the air as she felt something touch her shoulder, only to wheel around and find herself face to face with a smirking Izel. "Fuckin' hell, Izel," she breathed, placing a dramatic hand to her chest as though fearing her heart might have been about to burst out of her breast from the shock. "What've I told you about sneakin' up on me? "I dunno what you've told me, but I've certainly learned that you come up with increasingly amusing profanities to bellow out whenever I do it," Izel retorted cheekily. "Speaking of which, what's Jesus on in this particular one? I won't be able to sleep until I find out, y'know." "Won't be able to sleep?" Alex fired back. "I've been up for a good hour now watchin' you lie there sleepin' the kinda sleep even the dead would be in envy of. I don't think you're in danger of insomnia any time soon." Izel smiled tiredly, and shrugged her shoulders as she reached back and extricated the hairband from her hair, releasing the thick mane of curls the little elastic band had only barely succeeded in curtailing; they cascaded about her shoulders, down to the small of her back, irrepressible and ebullient in their refusal to be quelled. She stepped forward to stand beside Alex, and for a moment, they merely existed, side by side, looking out through the window onto Earth-- Izel stood a full foot and some shorter than Alex, and her slender, shapely physique paled beside the immensity of the former soldier beside her, but in that moment, perhaps more than in any other before then, there was no sense of larger and smaller, no sense of one greater than the other; in that moment, they were more than ever before two equal halves of a whole. "Put that way," Izel murmured softly with a wry smile. "It sounds almost intolerably cliched." Alex glanced down towards her with a raised eyebrow. "Whatever the voices are telling you, let me just make it clear right now that I will get the fuck off this station if this turns into some 'The Shining-- In Space!' shit." "All work and no play makes Izel a dull girl," the engineer intoned in a drab monotone, and Alex admitted a dry little chuckle. "You almost make a better Jack Nicholson than I'm comfortable with, but I don't think you're in any danger of becoming 'no play' any time soon either." "Hey, who knows?" Izel countered. "People change." So they do... or is it that people don't change, they merely become different people entirely? Maybe there was no difference. Alex turned her gaze back down towards the face of South America, and couldn't help but breath in a wistful sigh at the prospect. Izel did not fail to take note of it. "Something's on your mind," she ventured-- somewhere between a question and a statement, lingering in that ominous grey area. Alex merely shrugged, eyes locked on the image of the earth as it spun about idly beneath her gaze. Reluctantly, she added, "... just life. Life, and people who are here, and people who are long gone." "What do you mean?" "I guess... I dunno. Looking at the planet now, from out here in orbit... you kinda come to terms with the fragility of human life. This is where we live. Until you Tikalese came along, it was the only place we lived. The whole of the human experience is limited to this single rock drifting listlessly through space, every single person's life playing out in one particular place in one particular moment. Kinda makes you realise just how fleeting you and everything you hold dear really is, I suppose." Izel smiled. "Funny how just lookin' at the damn rock'll turn anybody into a philosopher, ain't it?" Alex laughed again. "Yeah, I'm just a modern-day Socrates, aren't I? Gimme a little more time by this window and the next thing you know I'll be tellin' you the meaning of life and saying simple things in needlessly complex ways in order to flaunt my sagaci--" "Hey, Alex." Alex blinked at the interjection, glancing down to meet her lover's gaze beside her and finding that certain all too familiar impish quality in Izel's heavy-lidded brown eyes. "Yeah?" "Quit rantin' and marry me, will ya?" Alex imagined there must have been something profoundly amusing about her immediate reaction to the words, because Izel's face split into a helpless grin even as Alex's brain came hurtling down into the depths of a full system shut down. Indeed, Izel pressed her hand to her mouth in a vain attempt to stifle the giggles that came tumbling from her lips, and she had to all but plead with Alex, "Look, I know all the functions up here--" She leaned up to gently tap Alex's head with her index finger, prompting no shift in expression or responce from the stricken ex-soldier. "-- have just hit critical mass, but at least wipe that expression off your face, eh? You look like Kunio Okawara himself just proposed marriage to you and not your girlfriend of two years." The little jibe seemed to do its work in bringing Alex back down to earth (figuratively speaking, anyway)-- she drew back the slack-jawed astonishment of her mouth into a thin, uneasy smile, though she still couldn't help stumbling over the words a bit as she returned fire, "Well, I-- I gotta admit, I kinda doubt even that old fuck would have proposed on a whim in his pajamas, for what that's worth." Izel's smile took on a certain knowing hue to it. "Would you have preferred I stuff myself into some dress worth more than the gross domestic product of the entirety of Japan, dump half the budget of the mobile suit project on a ring with enough diamonds on it to serve as a deadly weapon, and spend lavish amounts of money taking you out to some restaurant where you've gotta reserve fifteen years in advance?" Alex opened her mouth to admit defeat on that point, but Izel silenced her with a single motion, stepping forward until she was all but face to chest with Alex, reaching her hands up to rest upon Alex's broad shoulders. "In love, nothing is eternal but the beating of two hearts entwined," she murmured, gazing up at Alex as one of her hands drifted down along the contours of her shoulder, long slender fingers tracing down until her palm pressed against the hard muscle of Alex's left breast, feeling the frantic pounding of her heart. "We-- this strange and indescribably beautiful passion we share-- were born of impulse. Don't you remember the first night we spent together? We didn't think about it. We didn't talk about it. Neither of us planned it. It was what felt right at that single moment, and we simply did what felt right-- that night, and the night after that, and every night from then on. And right now, it feels right just to tell you that I want to be with you." Her hand fell from Alex's chest, and pulled back to rest against her own. "I want the whole thing," she whispered; Alex thought she could see the thin glaze of tears sheathing the overcast brown of her dark eyes, the wry joviality so congenital to those eyes nowhere to be seen-- only the sincerity of open, honest, overwhelming, ardent want. "A wife, a quiet home somewhere secluded to have all to ourselves, your name beside mine, children-- but above all, I want this thing that we have to last forever. The completely fanciful back-and-forth banter, the little jokes we pass back and forth just because we can, the fun we have simply being with one another... I want that to last to the very end. And if someday my breath forsakes me and it comes my time to discover just what the deal is with this 'other side' business that people love to wax poetic about so damn much, then... well then, I want the last thing I ever hear to be your voice, telling me just one last joke." Alex felt her own eyes moistening, unable to help as the film of tears betrayed the weight of Izel's words; she bit her lip, and reached a hand up to rub away the tears. "Shit, Izel," she managed to get out shakily. "You sure know how to lay on the sap, don't you?" Izel smiled almost contritely. "Even I can set aside the jokes for some good old-fashioned maudlin mushiness when I'm properly motivated to do so. And I know you can too, so..." She wrapped her arms around the thick trunk of Alex's torso, pressing skin against skin and heartbeat against heartbeat. "How about it?" she whispered. "Will you make me Dr. Izel Mérida-Martinez?" Alex's strong arms drew tight around Izel as she pulled her lover up into them, holding her close, their faces so close they could feel the breath of the other against their skin. "There is nobody in the world I would rather do that for than you," she promised softly, pressing her forehead against Izel's gently, just before her brow suddenly furrowed and she pulled away, a look of deep thought flitting across her features. "Well, I guess that goes without saying, actually," she mused. "I mean, I don't think there are even any other Dr. Izel Méridas in the world to begin with, so my options on that front are kinda limited." Izel smirked. "Shut up and kiss me, you dolt," she teased tenderly. And Alex did-- because it was what felt right, what she knew to be right-- what she knew would always be right, no matter how uncertain all other things seemed.

I'm already readying the nukes.