Tasha isn't shaking. Even though she wanted to, back in the Med Bay where she learned that Layth and Blammo only suffered a few minor bruises from the buck's fall and landing. Even as she talked and smiled, the Vartan was rethinking her moves, wondering why she hadn't just cupped Melchior's hands instead of holding just one out, and any number of other things that might have prevented the accident. But now she's back in the hangar with the Titan, standing beneath the cruel, metallic beak and translucent eyes. She can see the multitude of lenses behind them now, giving the machine an alien presence.

Once the young woman is sure the pressure doors have closed behind her, and thus she is alone, she slams the side of her right fist in to a supply crate in an act of pure anxiety and frustration. Her weight then shifts to lean on that hand as it braces her, the other reach to rub her forehead as she shakes it in disgust. "Damn it," she curses a moment later, and with a shove she pushes herself off again and wills herself to keep moving forward. Her failure isn't going anywhere, and she has things to do.

The curse echoes a bit in the large room, but is broken up and largely lost in the noise of the crate being hit.

Things to do, Tasha reminds herself as she finds grows more irritated by the sound of her own frustration, the noise like mockery to the upset woman. Focus. Getting mad and feeling sorry for myself won't change anything. It's a bitter pill to swallow, knowing she simultaneously almost killed her friend Layth, looked incompetent in front of the whole crew, and now can't even vent her anger. But Tasha has changed a great deal since she started her journey, and she is able to control her anger as she proceeds to board the Melchior.

Now the access from the Gryphon's back drops straight down, although the cockpit itself has rotated so that the pilot saddle is horizontal now.

The Vartan woman regards the seat of Melchior's control for a silent moment, crossing her arms as best she can wearing her suit of powered armor. Her face is an unreadable mask of disapproval, but her scent broadcasts the convoluted mixture of emotions that roil inside her. "Oi, I guess even if I fail, I can keep trying," she murmurs to herself. She shrugs, then walks forward and lays down on the control bench. "It sure beats the alternative."

The robotic arm makes contact with the back of Tasha's skull… and the world fades out to the fuzzy, hazy virtual realm that she experienced when she first connected to the Titan. Melchior's avatar is there before her again as well, saying, "You are upset. Synaptic activity in the limbic system is preventing a full connection."

"I am," Tasha agrees, knowing hiding it here is pointless, and that she wouldn't anyway even if she could. "But we have things to do, and I can't let that get in the way anymore. Whatever happened, I won't let it interfere with our mission. Not again." She folds her arms again, brow raising and head tilting. "Will the system prevent me from piloting?"

"You may engage in simulation mode," Melchior notes. "Piloting is not recommended in this state. Do you wish to have your mood suppressed?"

Tasha considers that. She actually wasn't aware the Melchior could do that, and is a little unsettled by the idea of it, but she has to admit being angry will just interfere with her search. On that reasoning, she answers, "Yes. I cannot let my emotions get in the way; I've spent enough of my life letting them do what they want."

"Very well, beginning cerebral virtualization," the Vartan-avatar states, and Tasha feels her body grow… distant. Or fade into the background, really, while her mind seems to expand. She can't be sure, but she might even be thinking faster.

"This is a unique feeling – or lack there of," the young woman, really just the young woman's brain, admits. For a woman who spent most of her life being ruled by her emotions, being split from them is an entirely bizarre experience. It's not a bizarre feeling, because she barely feels anything. It's just her mind, now, floating free and without most of the emotions the rest of her brings along. "I think it will do," she adds a second later once she's recovered a bit more. "Engage simulation list, and bring up the objects marked 'Origin Markers' contained within my datapad."

There are several categories of simulations; Piloting, Combat and Review. The images of the Origin Markers float in space off to the side.

"In order to locate potential embedded information, we will proceed through simulations until we have either run out of time, or have exhausted them. Embedded information will be analyzed for content, recorded, and cross-referenced with available sources. We will begin with the Review category; list Review items and prepare to engage inter-simulation search. As your system may prevent you from recognizing relevant information, I will also search manually. Begin," says Tasha in a clear, albeit emotionless tone, voice.

Only two items appear in the Review section, listed by timecodes. Still, Tasha can tell they coincide with her cargo-moving mission and the one she just completed.

"The information will likely not be here. I will review these later; they are not of immediate importance." The cerebral virtualization mode does help, Tasha realizes. She also realizes she isn't happy about it, nor sad. It's simply an observation of a status that proves beneficial to her task. She also realizes she would feel disturbed by this lack of emotional reaction, if she could actually feel it. The strange interplay of non-reaction followed by introspection also proves a distraction, so she pushes it from her mind. "Proceed to Piloting."

The Piloting options are… numerous! Aside from the initial training simulations, there are mazes, foot-races, rescue missions, missions focusing just on hand-eye coordination involving construction and even delivery missions. There's also an empty slot at the end.

"Unfortunate I cannot replicate myself via gestalt simulation," Tasha observes as her eyes scan the list. So many – this will take a while. Thankfully, frustration and boredom are also something she can no longer feel, although she is acutely away of her own time and bodily limitations. When her eyes reach the empty space at the bottom, they settle on it. "Melchior, do you have any records on the empty space listed at the termination of this list? And if possible, execute the simulation present at this point – I know there doesn't seem to be anything there."

The black-and-gold Vartan turns to look at the empty space and seems to freeze. "What is the geometry of creation?" he asks instead.

At first, Tasha is at a loss. Then it comes to her, a flash of insight sped by an unburdened mind, "The hexagon is the geometry of Vartan creation."

The virtual sky turns gold, and the menus vanish. A glowing hexagon appears instead. "Do you have the Marker?" Melchior asks next.

"We are locating the Marker. It has been taken from Orpheus and may be present on the Ark, or transferred to the surface after the Ark made planetfall," Tasha answers, her expression as emotionless as Melchior's. The thrill of discover, it seems, is also blocked: the other edge of the sword of emotionlessness.

"All Three must be present for the Vault of Creation to Open," Melchior states… and then everything goes back to the way it was… the gray electric sky, the images of the Markers and the Piloting simulation list.

Tasha stares at where the outline had hovered for several seconds, but otherwise shows no reaction to its arrival nor its departure. Then, her head cocks to the side.

"Melchior, open a secured channel to PersoCom Mathers, PersoCom Kohler, and Captain Akkers."

"Channel open," Melchior replies, and several voices ask, "Is there a problem?" "Are you in trouble, Tasha?" "Is… is this really secret?"

"Captain, I have confirmed a connection between the Melchior and the Progenitor Cults. Mariel, Fred, please cross-reference, "Vault of Creation,"" Tasha sends. If any of the parties decide to bring up her visual, they get her simulated talking head; it's just as emotionless and even as her voice.

"Well, I'm sure the PersoComs will do that better than me," Gabriel comments. "I've never heard of it."

"I'm not finding anything in Belle's database. But then, Progenitor Cult stuff wouldn't be part of it anyway," Fred says.

"Still searching the Orpheus records," Mariel announces, referring to the data bricks Zerachiel and Layth recovered early on.

"What did you find out, Tasha?" Gabriel asks.

"Unsurprising. The information was hidden within the Melchior. I executed a hidden simulation." Tasha pauses, but not because she's thinking. It's a simply a means to provide a gap between addressees as she switches to them. "The hidden simulation requested a passscode, which I provided. I was then prompted for the Marker, which I do not have. I was then told, "All Three must be present for the Vault of Creation to Open," and then the simulation terminated."

"Vague," Gabriel notes. "The Vault of Creation could be anything. A place, an event, an artifact… "

"Yes. Due to a lack of information, only speculation can be provided. More details may be provided when the Melchior is presented with the artifact Marker. However, we do now know it was created for a special purpose and, given the difficulty and technology required to create it, we can further deduce that the Fleet was indeed infiltrated by Progenitor Cultists. Conjecture: infiltrated may not be accurate; directed by may be more accurate." It's all said with bland, unTasha-like logic. She even looks unexcited, despite the strong interest provided that morning.

"Are you okay, Tasha?" Gabriel asks, "You sound a bit… robotic."

"Yeah, it's freaky," Fred adds.

"I have engaged cerebral virtualization mode; all emotions have been suppressed by this system.," explains Tasha. She even adds an almost indifferent sounding, "Please do not be alarmed."

"Tasha," Mariel says, "I can't find any direct reference to a Vault of Creation. The closest match I can find is to something referred to as the Hall of Souls, located in the Seventh Heaven, which is supposed to be the source of all souls."

"Please elaborate," prompts the red woman.

"Well, it's an old legend from ancient Terran religion," Mariel notes. "It may also be referring to the body of an… original being. Something supernatural and omnipresent, created by God. But it fell short and sinned somehow, and was broken up into flesh and blood, mortal creatures that all carry a piece of its soul. It's very old, and just a reference to something that's not actually in the database."

"Interesting," Tasha says in that bland tone, not sounding very interested at all. "Where did you locate this information, and can you please forward a copy to my cabin console?"

"It was from a book on ancient mysticism, I'm transferring it now," Mariel says.

"Thank you, Mariel." Measured pause; it's even nearly the same amount of time as the last one. "Captain, do you wish to be kept up to date on this project, or would you prefer I not inform you unless I discover threats to this ship, its crew, and/or its mission?"

"If it doesn't impact our launch, then I can deal with it later," Gabriel notes.

"Understood. This ends my report, Captain." Tasha says.

"Do you wish to close the channel?" Melchior asks.

"As there are no further communications, yes. Close the channel Melchior," Tasha confirms. As with all else in this mode of being, Tasha's emotions of talking with the crew were subdued or absent completely. Love, camaraderie, friendship, family … All distant, or not there at all. There was only the knowledge they exist, that she is bound to them; that their welfare is important. "Given the discoveries so far, I believe further investigation is no longer necessary. I will return at O-six-hundred hours tomorrow to commence review and practice, as I have previously. Surface depth; initiate pilot exit."

Tasha feels her mind… shrink… until it's all back inside her skull. She feels calm at the moment, probably because all she's learned hasn't triggered any emotions yet. The connection is broken as the interface arm retracts, and she finds herself back in the cockpit, straddling the pilot saddle once more.

Sitting up, Tasha reaches a armored hand to rub her face as her emotions return to her. She begins to feel elated at her discovery, followed by irritated in remembering why she initiated cerebral virtualization in the first place. She thinks about talking to the crew as well, and is inwardly taken aback she actually spoke to them that way. Even having done it, lived it, she still finds it hard to believe she could be an emotionless creature now that her emotions are back.

"Oi," the woman breathes as she pulls herself to her feet, heading for the exit. "Blammo. Right." And then she's off to locate the man.

Surprisingly, Blammo is still where she left him, in the Med Bay. Layth is already gone, probably to see Fallen-Star and repair her holo-communitor device. P.C. Caravelli is trying to run scans on the big wolf, and seems to have convinced him to stay still by giving him some sort of drink. Blammo drinking through a straw is an odd sight, to be sure.

Tasha's muzzle splits in to a grin as soon as she sees the straw-sucking Blammo, giving her another moment of post-emotionless insight that makes her twitch. Oi, right, joy, that's what that is, she thinks wryly to herself as she steps inside. "Ahoy Doctor C., ahoy Blammo. Thought I'd stop by and check in, maybe ask a few questions here and there," she explains in a much more Tasha-like friendly tone.

"Ah, how are you feeling, Tasha?" Dr. Caravelli asks, smiling to the woman. "Any odd side effects from piloting the Titan?" Blammo wags his tail a bit, and wrinkles his nose – a hint that Tasha probably smells a bit strong. At least her armor kept the Titanian from smelling her mood earlier.

"Oh don't give me the stinky face, you're one to smell!" Tasha admonishes Blammo, wagging a finger and grinning more. She then turns to the Doctor and answers, "Other than anger and a sense of failure? No, nothing like that. The cerebral virtualization mode was very helpful in allowing me to concentrate on my task, even if I did end up feeling like a computer."

"Ah, I've heard of that," P.C. Caravelli notes, a bit somberly. "Proscribed technology on Terra and Zion, but very powerful in combat use."

"The Terrans and the Silent-Ones forbid cerebral virtualization? Whatever for?" Tasha starts walking as she talks, until she hops up on the bed to sit next to Blammo. "I would think it would interfere with emotional, limbic response reactions."

"Well, it's unclear if the process is essentially turning the pilot's mind into an Artificial Intelligence," Caravelli explains. "It's a very blurry line. And we don't like the idea of A.I.'s making combat decisions."

"I'll admit, I did feel like a computer. Well, I felt like I would have felt like a computer, if I felt anything – which I really didn't! It was very peculiar; happiness, sadness, anger … All gone." Tasha glances over to watch Blammo, brow arching. "I guess, in a sense, I was a computer. How about that! I see why the Silent-Ones forbid it; they always seemed proud of their mortality and 'humanity,' using the Terran term. Conceited too, but there you go."

"Well, it is a moral issue with most races," Caravelli notes. "No civilized people want war to become cheap, efficient and painless."

"I'm glad we're not at war, then. I'd probably have to use the Melchior in combat, and I'm not sure I could handle that without that system," the young woman admits. "Anyway, how's the Big B?" Leaning over and up, way up, Tasha rubs the Titanians head.

"Mrrf," Blammo complains, and makes a rattling sound with is straw. "Oh, he seems fine," Caravelli notes. "Titanians have ridiculously tough skeletons and dense muscles."

"That doesn't surprise me at all." Tasha lowers her hand, then shifts to lean her back on the big man. She takes a deep breath, then admits, "I used your advice, and tried not to let my anger get to me today. It's probably obvious, but I was doing my best to hide how upset I was over the whole Layth-Blammo disaster. I've tried to press on, but it's hard. Did I do the right thing, Doctor? Am I doing the right thing?"

"That depends," Caravelli says, after getting Blammo a fresh drink. "Did you determine what your mistakes were, and learn from them?"

"I decided I wouldn't fully review my mistakes until the morning, and if I have a problem with anger, re-engage the cerebral virtualization system to analyze them without emotional distraction," Tasha explains, nodding. "But, I think I already know parts of the problem: I didn't anticipate the impact reaction of Layth's suit; I used one hand instead of two in order to obtain maximum height, which was less important than stability, surface area, and a retaining wall; I was overconfident because I wanted to do well, but I don't think that was as major this time as other times – I was being careful. Really, my mistake was in not foreseeing or expecting a critical error and not preparing to eliminate that." The woman inhales deeply after her long reply, letting out a short breath after. "I'm still dealing with the emotions, though."

"When you review, I urge you to not engage the virtualization system," Caravelli says. "Emotions are a critical element of memory, and I don't know how effective that system is when it comes to remembering anything when it's disconnected."

Tasha's eyes widen. "Do you think so?" She runs a hand through her hair, pursing her muzzle. "I … Guess that makes sense. I won't, Doc." She gives a little smile, then says, "Oh, I've been given permission by the Captain to head my own research in to the Progenitors, their cults, and related artifacts. And, it's had me thinking about the connection between the three species of Progenitor manufacture, and their places. Want to hear me out, Doc? I could use your insight as a medical professional and psychologist."

"Well… sure," Caravelli says, sitting at the edge of a bed. "I've done all the tests I need to on Blammo here; so we should have a baseline medical profile for Titanians now."

"Oh, that reminds me too … I am half Karnor right? I'm not half something else, like … ," she thumbs towards Blammo, looking quite serious.

"My mother probably wouldn't know the difference," Tasha admits. "Between a Karnor and a Titanian. A lot of people on Sinai don't. I didn't until I walked with the Expedition a while."

"You are most certainly half-Karnor," Caravelli says, grinning a bit. "I don't know if a Titanian-Vartan hybrid is possible."

Blammo seems about to comment on that… but then he'd have to stop slurping on his milkshake (or whatever it is the doctor gave him).

"Well that answers that! Thank you Doctor; I bet my mother would tell you she didn't think a Karnor-Vartan was possible, though!" The young woman laughs, then ruffles Blammo's arm, since she now can't reach his head. "Anyway, one of my other thoughts is this: I think each of the Progenitor species is defined by a role. Vartans are the warriors, strong and mobile. They have no technology because that was not their role. Titanians are the engineers, responsible for maintaining the Progenitor systems – or maybe as a last attempt to maintain them when they could no longer do it. And last, my thought is the Khattans are the third of the Triad. The Khattans are overseers and … the majordomos of the Progenitors. Their role is to organize and make hospitable. They're also the ones who use Vartans, which puts them firmly in the right place in my theory."

"And what of the other races?" Caravelli asks. "If I remember from my Philosophy courses, the Progenitor Cult claimed the Silent-Ones, the Nagai, and the humans as all being created races."

"My current research only suggests three species, due to the nature of the Magi and information I recently discovered. That doesn't mean there aren't more, just that I have no indication or information that the organization whose steps I'm following believed that," Tasha answers. She purses her muzzle again, then spreads her hands, saying, "They may be earlier creations that are generalists. The difference is they each have a home world, while the three I list have no known home world. They also don't exhibit specialized roles. That makes me think they, if what you say is true, were placed there and not meant to act as servitors. The shape of the Origin Markers does suggest there may be earlier species, too. Given the numerical indications on the stones, I'd put Vartans as sixth, Titanians at seventh, anyway."

"That would make the first and second races have unusual markers," Caravelli points out, "but then, they may not have markers."

Tasha nods to that. "Yes, there might have been no need to provide Markers, if the Progenitors didn't expect Markers would be needed. After all, if your maker is still around, why do you need obscure Markers to tell you so?" The woman rubs at her arm, then tilts her head. "We may be looking at Markers intended for the last species, because they were the newest, and they served. The Markers may be intended to help these three accomplish something."

"I don't know much more about the Cult than what I've mentioned," Caravelli admits. "Historically, they had little impact. The pre-space Terran versions were mainly schools of philosophy trying to interpret religious scriptures from different cultures to find some universal truth or order."

"I admit, I don't know much more than what I've said. I do now know the Progenitor Cult was embedded in the Fleet, that they created three TL2 Magi Titans, and that these Titans were connected to specific origin Markers. I also know these Markers are for use in opening something called the "Vault of Creation," although I have no idea if that's an actual vault or if it's simply a metaphor," the red woman relates. "I was hoping Blammo would know more, actually."

"Mmmm?" Blammo goes, pointing to himself.

"I don't know for certain if Titanians even have a culture, beyond a common language," Caravelli admits, looking to the Titanian. "You've been on their ship… did you see anything like… well… writing?"

"Yes you," Tasha says, also pointing at Blammo now. "You seem to know a whole lot about things, and now I'm curious. Where did you learn all of that? Did the Dainty Mauler find something during its travels?

Releasing the straw for the first time since Tasha arrived, Blammo says, "Stories, yah? Tell lots. Listen lots! Good stories remembered, new stories worth loot."

"Hmmm," goes Tasha. "And just who tells these stories, anyway? The Expedition Fleet species here on Abaddon? Or, … has the Dainty Mauler been able to leave the Sinai System?"

"Elders tell stories," Blammo says. "Stories from Spotties, from others. Sometimes find new ones on Caltrop! Holo-shows, with 'splosions!"

"Caltrop?" Tasha's ears perk, the woman leaning forward interestedly.

"Caltrop Station!" Blammo barks. "Through Star Sea, on way to Spotty World. Good food, drink, fights! Get thrown off lots. Is big crystal thinger, in sky!"

At that news, Tasha's jaw just drops.

"I haven't heard of it," Caravelli notes. "Something founded since the Expedition, or… discovered," he guesses.

Seeing the wide-opened mouth, Blammo assumes Tasha is thirsty, so offers her his drink.

"And he said … said the Spotty World," Tasha says with an air of awe, glancing at the Doctor. When she looks back and finds the straw near her face, she shrugs and takes a sip!

It's that same nasty drink she had when she came out of the stasis tube. Titanians must not have very refined tastes.

Tasha's muzzle wrinkles as she leans back. "Oi, I'll stick to Vartan beer," she complains. Taking a deep inhale to clear her nose of the smell, she asks, "So, Caltrop Station is … on the way to the Spotty Homeworld? Zion? Or is this another world?"

"Uh… stop there, not… " Blammo's face screws up, as if he's reached the limit of his Standard vocabulary. "Not straight. Don't go straight lines. Star Sea is curved. But Sigh-On is farrrr. Stop Caltrop first. First… first place to stop. Err. Closest! Closest to Grggraga Space."

Tasha's ears perk, but slowly wilt until they're totally askew by the time Blammo finishes. She look to the Doctor and asks, "Do you have any idea what that means? Unstraight space and … Grggraga?"

"Nobody knows how the Titanians travel faster than light, but they are notorious for being able to show up out of nowhere," Caravelli says. "What I think he's saying is that this Caltrop Station is at the border of Sifran Space and… Known Space. Where the races of the Expedition hail from, and where the laws of physics are consistent."

"Wow." Tasha breathes after a moment of taking that all in, running a hand through her hair again. "That's … Hm. It does all suggest a Progenitor angle, too, but … Hm. It would mean that we could potentially make contact with the Fleet homeworld, maybe even reach them." She then turns to look at Blammo, giving him a suddenly contemplative eyeballing. "Blammo, could I go with you all, some time? To Caltrop Station?"

"Yah, but… rilly rilly 'spensive," the Titanian says, and rubs his thumb and forefinger together. "Tough trip through Star Sea. Hard to sell Biguns there. Easy here. But trade good junk there too."

"I'll pay my way, don't worry. The JEF will likely support sending a single person to see what's what, anyway. And if not, I'll find a way to pay for it as part of my private research. Somehow." Tasha smiles. "And by Biguns, you mean Titans? They don't use Titans there?"

"No, BIGUNS!" Blammo says, spreading his arms wide! "Swim in Star Sea! Good eatin'. BIG!"

"You don't mean … ," and here Tasha holds her arms out wide, too, " … Space fish, do you??"

Blammo gives Tasha a weird look. "No fish in space," he explains. "Fish in Star Sea. Space Whales a story."

"Ummm, oh. Sorry," Tasha apologizes, hands lowering … and theny the pause. She reaches over and gives Blammo a hug, just because. "I'm sorry I was too upset to say it right, but I'm glad you're okay, Blammo."

"Ow," Blammo says. He may be okay, but that doesn't mean he isn't sore. "You silly, Tasha. Make a good pet!"

"Ha, maybe I would – don't get any ideas though! I'm the Captain's pet," Tasha says as she leans back from the hug. She smiles at the Titanian a moment, then turns and tells Doctor Caravelli, "I guess I didn't really tell Layth, either. I mean I did, but I didn't. Sometimes I think we're growing apart, he and I. It doesn't help I almost killed him, he probably thinks I'm the old reckless Tasha. It's sad, aye? But that's how it goes, right?"

"You could bake him a carrot cake," Caravelli suggests.

"I'm no good at baking," Tasha admits, head shaking. "I'd probably just almost kill him, again. I was thinking of asking Fred's help and making him some things, though. It would be good practice, and I have some ideas what he'd like. Even though we're growing apart, I'd like him to know I care; I may not see him again if I keep chasing mysteries."

"I chase cars, but mom made me stop!" Blammo claims.

"Well, a gift you make is a gift you make, even if it's not a cake," Caravelli rhymes, in a sort of sing-song voice.

"Mom's wise." Tasha gives the Doctor an odd look. "You mean, if you make it it still matters because you made it for someone?"

"Yes," Caravelli says. "I just always suggest cake, because I like cake. Most Karnors favor pie though, because you can bake a meat pie. Nobody's made a meat cake yet though."

"I'll have to try that for the Captain. He likes my cooking, which I'll also have to tell my mother, because she always said I'd never get a man with it unless I killed him first!" The half-wolf gives a cackling laugh, then slides off the bed. "Ha," she wheezes, "well, I'd best stop bugging Blammo so he can rest. Instead, I'll bug my sister. She'll be a good test of seeing if I can keep my cool."

"Nora?" Caravelli asks. "Or have you adopted Mariel as well?" he asks with a grin.

"Yes, Nora. Let's see if she drives me off the ship again." Despite the reminder of another major screwup, Tasha smiles. "As for Mariel, well … " Even though the fur on her neck is starting to slowly come back, Tasha is still vulnerable to showing a blush. She does now, although she tries to hide it by rubbing her neck. "Actually, I'm a little attracted to her and I'm not sure how to manage that. Asking Nora to be my sister helped me sort out my relationship with her, though, at least partially … I wouldn't mind at all if Mariel was my little sister. I like her a lot."

"I'd love to analyze your family someday," the doctor notes.

"Well that's easy, since the other one is just my mom," the young woman admits. "And you said it, too. I combine the pack instinct of a Karnor with the family instinct of a Vartan, making me some kind of sentimental mess, I guess?" Her tail wags a little.

"Almost human in self-contradiction, I'd say," the Karnor claims with a big grin. "She's probably in the crystal bay, with Fallen-Star."

"Oh great, I have to think about being human too, now? Vartan, Karnor … Those were hard enough! Now I'm an AI now and then and I have to think about being human too!" Tasha throws her hands up in mock-exasperation. "And here I thought you were supposed to be helping me!" She laughs, then lets her hands fall, patting Blammo's leg on the way down. "I'll get going, though. I'm too exciting to be in a place of recovery. If you need me, I'll be fighting with my sister." And with that Tasha turns and heads out, with a wave over her shoulder as she walks.