Mara D'Lessio Merrill
The Lesser D'Lessio
Adulthood had turned out to be less than it was cracked up to be. The job ate her life, the risks were heavier or at least she understood them better, and she hadn't seen her mother in months. That gnawed at Mara somewhat, the recognition that she was letting her connections and friendships and relationships slide out of sheer inertia. Of the old Brat Pack, she was in contact with Micah and Kaili Talith, and that was about it. Her friends were work friends, her crew to be precise, and she was their employer and had to manage that plus this whole Foundation Trust thing-
On some level, she knew that the cure for craving simplicity wasn't always a return home. No indeed. But this needed to happen.
The Bullet Time slipped into the atmosphere of Q-27 at night and burbled its way under the waves to join the Daragon. The Gypsymoth wasn't here, nor was the D'Lessio, so Dad wasn't home. That made it easier, sort of. She at least got to interact with Dad through Underground chains of command. Coarse contact, but better than, well, none.
She'd flown here solo. She trusted her crew -- Styr, Mukami, Kolatta and the rest -- but not with the secret of Q-27. Normally the little ship was dense with breath and murmured conversation, but the silent flight had struck her as oppressive. She welcomed the rush of water and, once she surfaced, the roar of waves on a beach that had never known war. Soaking wet, Mara shouldered her bag and spear, and headed up the sandbar toward home.
[member="Alna Merrill"]
On some level, she knew that the cure for craving simplicity wasn't always a return home. No indeed. But this needed to happen.
The Bullet Time slipped into the atmosphere of Q-27 at night and burbled its way under the waves to join the Daragon. The Gypsymoth wasn't here, nor was the D'Lessio, so Dad wasn't home. That made it easier, sort of. She at least got to interact with Dad through Underground chains of command. Coarse contact, but better than, well, none.
She'd flown here solo. She trusted her crew -- Styr, Mukami, Kolatta and the rest -- but not with the secret of Q-27. Normally the little ship was dense with breath and murmured conversation, but the silent flight had struck her as oppressive. She welcomed the rush of water and, once she surfaced, the roar of waves on a beach that had never known war. Soaking wet, Mara shouldered her bag and spear, and headed up the sandbar toward home.
[member="Alna Merrill"]