2138/Different Without You

Different Without You
Date of Scene:	23 August 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Indigo, Angela, Gothic Lolita

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Indigo has posed:
    The wedding is on Xandar Prime, Viridian's home world, on the beach of a small island near the luminescent coral reefs that grow in the equator. Peter officiated, wearing a tuxedo tee and Bahama shorts. Indigo's vow made Viridian burst into tears. It was all very nice, in a just-this-side-of-dysfunctional kind of way; so, a Guardians wedding, in other words. The party began immediately thereafter, with Viridian taking a place of pride at the front of the table and Indigo, as soon at the necessary greetings were done, bustling about to serve people the fifteen-course meal she herself cooked. It was odd, but, well, like already established. Guardians.

Angela has posed:
There's no pomp or ceremony, when she arrives. No announcement, or attempt to make herself known. She knows how to slip in, after all, how to blend in until she wants people to know she's at hand. Usually, that's when it's already too late for them.

This, however, is very different circumstances.

In the end, it's hard for her to go completely unnoticed; she arrives looking just as she always does, that flaming red hair wildly flowing about her, golden armor gleaming in the daylight of Xandar Prime, ribbons coiled comfortable around her. But you'd be surprised how easy it is even for someone as memorable as her to slip through the cracks. But some things don't change: she's there, like she never even left, same as she's always been -- staying relatively separated from the rest of the events, disconnected like someone watching events unfolding from afar rather than taking part of them. Arms crossed over her midsection, leaning against a comfortable post, she just watches. The only thing different, really, is the presence of that small smile -- inscrutable in its nature, but there haunting the corners of her lips all the same as she lingers.

Indigo has posed:
    As soon as everyone's appetizers have been served, Indigo makes a beeline for Angela. That discretion subroutine she wrote prevents her from showing all the enthusiasm she feels, but she's quite sure she can get away with a little bit at her own wedding. Draped in an off-the-shoulder folded robe in purples and pinks, she strides up to Angela and seizes her in a big hug, smile threatening to split her face. "Angela! Welcome, I'm so glad you could make it, I've missed you, this wouldn't have been the same without you, I--ah!" she cries as words become unsuitable to the task of explaining her delight. "Why are you standing by a post? Aren't you going to sit, eat, talk, dance?" The eagerness in her eyes is naked, and outweighed only by her joy.

Angela has posed:
She doesn't laugh, or exclaim in joy, or anything else -- but it's always the little things with Angela. The simple fact that she readily and unhesitatingly returns that sign of affection by wrapping Indigo up in a strong hug speaks volumes in and of itself -- even moreso, the affection that tinges the edges of her smile when Indigo speaks on and on in her excitable delight. She is not nearly so wordy -- she just listens as Indigo reaches that stumbling exclamation of an end point, her right hand running fondly through the gynoid's hair before she finally loosens her arms around her. "This isn't the kind of dancing I do," is her first answer, as if content to focus on the most important point of contention. The rest... well, those aren't really her either. "You look well." She considers, before shaking her head, as if dismissing that thought entirely for something more fitting, more honest: "You look beautiful. Happy." She hesitates visibly, looking aside as if trying to formulate the right words; the sentiment is ultimately a simple one, but for her, it is more challenging than the most daunting of hunts: "I wouldn't miss seeing you like this for anything. I... missed you, Indigo."

Indigo has posed:
    Indigo nods at the explanation about dancing and guesses in a serious tone, "Do you dance on the heads of pins? Because I'm sure I could find one..." She waves the thought off and listens with a big smile on her face. "I am happier. I'm happier now that you're here, of course. I missed you very much, Angela. Oh, Viridian says hi and hopes you'll come visit her before you go." Viridian is a hundred feet away.
    Indigo steps in for another hug (<<You're pushing it,>> her discretion subroutine warns), gives it, steps back again to beam at Angela with delight and concern on her face. It's an odd combination, but a sincere one. "I have a little time before the salad course is up. Tell me where you've been and what you've been doing, Angela," she invites, fingers laced together in a stirrup hanging below her waist; a posture of patience.

Angela has posed:
"... On the head of a pin...?" Angela asks, brows furrowed inward as if in serious consideration of the question. And all things considered-- "... it's possible, but it'd e pointless. What purpose would that serve--?" --she probably is. Still, the logistics is forgotten as quickly as they come up when Indigo simply waves it off, the curious wonder of pin dancing forgotten as those white eyes slide over Viridian's way. Just a hundred feet away. "... I'll see what I can do." And all things considered, with her delivery as level as always, it's hard to say just whether she's making her attempt at a wry joke or not.

Still, discretion or not, it's forgotten for the moment in favor of returning that hug with the light squeeze of her arms. When the gynoid falls back again, Angela lets her stance loosen just a bit, pushing from that post to stand tall next to the bride. White eyes fall on Indigo for a moment, watching that expression mixed with excitement and worry. She offers her best look of reassurance she can before her gaze shifts skywards. "I thought I found a lead on a way to get back home. It wasn't. I was just being played for a fool. A scam, they call it? They happened sometimes in my realm, too." It probably didn't go over well for them. Her eyes shut, and she shakes her head. "It's... frustrating."

Indigo has posed:
    Indigo takes Angela's hands in her own and squeezes them gently. Her grip is as tender, warm, and smooth as it ever was. "I'm so sorry, Angela," she commiserates, before letting them go. "You know, I never offered to help because you never asked... and because I don't want to lose you to another realm, yes, I'll admit that... but seeing you like this is heartbreaking. Can I help you find your home, Angela? You shouldn't have to be alone. Ever."

Angela has posed:
Her hands taken, the wingless angel's pure white eyes shutter in a brief blink. They peer down towards those warm hands in her own, so soft, so familiar -- like two anchor points for her to latch onto. She remains silent for a time, her hands still in Indigo's... before they slowly and carefully turn around to entwine fingers with hers in a careful but secure grip, strong and insistent as if remembering the last time she held them like that. "It's... nothing you need to apologize for. It was my own foolishness," she ventures, at first, working through the convoluted mixture of feelings. "I didn't ask. I didn't have payment to offer in return." It's a simple reason -- but for her, there's no more precious reason in return. But when that question is asked, she hesitates... and then squeezes her fingers around Indigo's.

"You should be allowed to enjoy your wedding day," she answers at first, offering a rare, gentle smile. It lasts only a moment before she looks aside toward the reception. "We can talk about it later. I promise." And here, she lapses into thoughtful silence for only a moment before she adds, "Right now, I am not alone."

Indigo has posed:
    A quick inhalation at the way Angela holds her hands, a glimmer of moisture along her lower eyelashes, a gentle squeeze back: these are the ways Indigo whispers to Angela she means more than she's saying when she promises, "I am enjoying it. Very much. You're family, Angela, and you're not just welcome, you're wanted." Another squeeze, for emphasis.

Angela has posed:
Thumbs gently stroke the back of Indigo's hands; for as terse as she can be, Angela has always said volumes more in body language. Most of the time, that language just speaks to violence. Right now, though, it comes out as something much more tender, and much more warm, as she holds Indigo's hands in that strong, protective grip of hers. "I'm glad," she says, sincerely. "I'm simply sorry I could not have been here sooner. It seems everyone is enjoying themselves. Though whatever manner of thing the Lord of Stars is wearing is an abomination." This, she states as plainly as saying the sun is hot.

Another squeeze given, another squeeze returned. Her gaze looks over the reception quietly for a moment, before she ventures, tentatively, "So, things have been well? Not simply the wedding." She considers how best to put it for a moment. "The... everything. Since I've been away."

Indigo has posed:
    A little shiver of pleasure, a little parting of the lips. The conversation is pleasant, though. "Peter has no sense of fashion at all," Indigo agrees fondly. "It's one of the things that makes him him. I wouldn't change it for worlds." She smiles up at Angela, nose crinkling. "And yes, things have been very well, thank you, dear. I've been sprucing up the Milano a bit to make it more homey; we've done some jobs to help me repay my debt to Peter; I've even made a few friends. We recently picked up a gynoid who was kidnapped from Earth by the Collector, actually, and you should meet her. Her name is Gothic Lolita. She's the one over there with the very wide, very frilled skirt."

Angela has posed:
"It's something I can overlook," is all Angela says on her feelings of Peter's sense of fashion, which, really, is about as close to a sweet sentiment from her that most people get. Her thumbs drift with the slight tilt of her hands, gently gracing the underside of Indigo's wrists as she looks upon the gynoid. "Redecorations? Is that part of your repayment to the Lord of Stars as well?" she asks, voice tinged with curiosity. "It was in dire need -- such services shouldn't be rendered for free." She's just about to mention that she'll go talk to the tuxedo shirt wearing outlaw in question when Indigo, thankfully, distracts the wingless angel; she blinks, white eyes tilting in the direction the gynoid indicates with a curious tilt of her head. "Another one? Is she related to you...?" Her head tilts just a fraction more. "... 'Gothic Lolita'?"

Indigo has posed:
    Indigo's shoulders are soft and her gaze is steady on Angela's eyes. From someone as perpetually shy as Indigo, it's a remarkable state to achieve, and one that only two people are able to provoke from her with any regularity. She smiles at Angela's question and shakes her head. "No, the decorations are for everyone, me included. I consider them less services than morale improvements." Her nose crinkles with her smile. "And... you know, I could explain Gothic Lolita's name, but I think it would be more confusing than illuminating. Let's just say it's a reference to a particular kind of Earth fashion."

Angela has posed:
To Indigo's explanation on the redecorations, Angela's brows crinkle inward faintly. To her words on the nature of Gothic Lolita's name, those brows just crinkle in all the further until they become a knot of consternation above the bridge of her nose. "I'll never understand Earth," she declares simply to both, as if it were all hopelessly alien to her. Eventually, inevitably, the former huntress just shakes her head, returning her gaze to Indigo's remarkably rare, level stare. It's a simple sign of trust that brings an equally rare softening to Angela's features, before she adds, simply, "... I would like to meet her, sometime, however. It'd be good to get the chance to meet more of your kind. And she looks strange." It's blunt. But not really an insult, from the tone of her voice. "And your memories? Have any returned yet?"

Indigo has posed:
    Indigo shakes her head, unconcerned. Her arms start to swing lightly at the shoulders, in and out, in and out; the motions of her arms joined with Angela's mimics slow, even breathing now as she continues chatting cheerfully and delightedly. "No, but that's alright. I'm not concerned about it. Who I was isn't who I am, and who I am is very happy right now." Her smile is shy, and her cheeks have the faintest purple tinge.

Angela has posed:
"I see," Angela says at first, her hands swaying lazily back and forth; the lack of resistance in her arms to that motion is likely more relaxed than the woman has ever been for most of her life, simply flowing from side to side like the slow and steady slosh of waves on the shoreline. "Good. Moving forward is what matters," she decides simply with the firm nod of her head afterwards, her voice layered with a gentle kind of approval for Indigo's shy smile. She looks down for a moment, hesitates, and then leans forward to quietly kiss the top of Indigo's head. A small gesture -- but one so very profound for her. "Who you are is the Indigo I am happy to be with."

Indigo has posed:
    Indigo shivers from that kiss, even if it's just on the crown, and takes advantage of her face being obscured by the fall of Angela's hair to whisper quickly, "I love you forever." Then the kiss is over, and it's nearly time to start serving the... well, technically the fourth course, since the wine that followed the appetizers was its own course, but before anything else happens, she pauses to turn her pink eyes up to Angela's white ones. She won't rush a thing today.

Angela has posed:
Within the coppery veil of Angela's cascading hair, the wingless angel hears those words. They elicit a blink of surprise from the woman; it's muted... but the reaction is more clear in the way her ribbons sway behind her, like the happy wag of a tail. Silence passes within that brief moment. Her lips part.

"My love is yours for as long as you'll have it."

And with that, she pulls away gently, her hair falling back with the tilt of her head as if parting a curtain to the rest of the warm, sunny world beyond them. Serving time approaches. But as Indigo looks her way, Angela's gaze lingers on her own, offering warm, affectionate reassurance. A match of silent stares that say so much without the words to say them. "Go on," she urges finally. "I'd like to enjoy your food, with everyone." With family, goes unsaid. She can't find those words yet, but... at least it's there, in the warmth of that gaze.

Indigo has posed:
    Indigo rapidly blinks away tears (thank god the ablative coating in her skin prevents makeup from congealing properly: since she can't wear it, she has no mascara to ruin) and turns away without a word, taking one hand from Angela's, but only the one. The other is firm as she leads Angela to the reception. "Sit anywhere you like," she offers, her voice low and meaningful, throat thick with emotion. She won't lead Angela to the bridal table in case Angela feels uncomfortable there, but if that's where Angela chooses to sit, Indigo will be thrilled.
    Then she's bustling away to serve food, to check on her guests, to trade cheerful conversation and kisses of affection. When she returns, it's with a wide bowl, white with blue filigree around the rim, warm on the bottom and filled with a clear, brown broth which steams aromatically. Roasted fowl, diced shallots, chopped celery, ground white pepper, and nefetha mushrooms bob in it in a somehow friendly manner; tiny beads of orange oil float on the surface, hinting at its richness. Indigo's fingers brush Angela's as she passes her a small, silver spoon with which to eat. "Enjoy, but don't worry about finishing it all. There are so many courses left to come, and it's tradition to donate the leftovers to the needy."

Angela has posed:
Angela already knows where she wants to sit; for however bad she is at expressing herself, she's at least good at just doing whatever she wants, whenever she wants. And right now? Right now, where she wants to be is clear from the easy and undaunted way she simply slips into one of the available seats at the bridal table and makes herself comfortable, and content. ... After taking her time to shed all of her many weapons, because wedding or no, Angela is who she is.

And so Indigo will find her, one leg comfortably crossed over the other, in a seat at the bridal table -- not necessarily talking, but at least also not exactly radiating her usual levels of intimidation that come so naturally to her. Running a hand through that wild mane of red hair to push some of those thick locks backwards, her white gaze lifts to peer curiously at the food as it comes. Her head tilts. The mentioning of that tradition, of course, is simply one Angela can't really wrap her head around, but she nods regardless. "I suppose I can find them again later if I must donate to someone," she decides, which might be enough to inspire some kind of worry -- but her words down stop the way her fingernails gently scrape across the pads of Indigo's fingertips as she pulls that spoon away. She dips that spoon within the brothy depths of that bowl, ladeling it carefully into her mouth to taste it as it rolls along her tongue. "... It's good," she declares, like someone offering an assessment rather than praise -- but that tone is matter of fact, too, as if she's only come to expect that best from the gynoid. "Thank you, Indigo. It is delicious."

Indigo has posed:
    Viridian concurs, as do a man and woman who look like Viridian--her parents, one can assume--and Indigo just smiles, pleased. "Thank you all very much." She glances over at the serving tables arranged out in the sand like a buffet, where Viridian's roomba-bots monitor temperatures and times, and decides she has time to sit before moving on to the second appetizers course. The seat she takes is next to Angela rather than her wife... but it's also next to Viridian's mother, with whom she's conversing earnestly and even dotingly, her shy gaze often focused on the older woman's neck.
    "It's not so odd she's not sitting with me," Viridian explains Angela from a couple of seats down, voice pitched high enough to hear but low enough that she's not shouting. "I'm a technopath. My mind is linked to Indigo's. She and I are never apart, so I don't have to feel alone or jealous or anything like that." She smiles over her soup at Angela. "I'm very glad you could make it. You're very important to her, so you're important to me too."

Angela has posed:
When Indigo settles next to her, Angela blinks, expression turning towards the questioning in a brief, understated kind of way. It doesn't last terribly long, not when Indigo's attention turns towards the older-looking woman to the other side of her; unfamiliar though she might be with how things are outside of Heven, she can put together the clues well enough to have a decent guess as to the woman's identity. And so she simply settles back into her seat and returns to her meal, taking a few, simple sips of the stuff before simply pausing to peer at her distorted reflection within its rippling, murky surface, losing herself in thought, until...

"Hrm?" Stirred from her reverie, Angela looks up Viridian's way. Her brows furrow inward, for a moment. "A technopath? ... oh yes, your constructs." Never apart, she says, and Angela's eyes shut for a moment. "So it is like two minds, sharing space." That, at least, is easy for her to wrap her head around. A moment passes before the huntress simply shakes her head to Viridian's sentiment. "Of course. I slayed a space whale to get here. And I would have slain a thousand more if necessary." Which is more or less her way of saying all of this, and Viridian's importance to Indigo, is important to her, too.

Indigo has posed:
    That's a conversation-pauser for sure. Indigo turns to Angela, eyes wide. "Wow, that's not your usual bad traffic! Tell us about it?" she invites, then immediately stands up to go fetch the next course: when she comes back, Angela will discover it's white wine flavored of peppers and goslingroot, acidic without being the least bit sweet, a strange drink on its own but an excellent complement to the soup. She squeezes Angela's shoulder on the way past, explaining, "Don't worry, Viri will keep me up to date on the story until I get back." She smiles at Viridian, nose crinkling, and twiddles her fingers at her wife in a sweet little wave before vanishing to get the wine.

Angela has posed:
"There isn't much to tell," Angela says, in what might have been mistaken for humility if her tone wasn't so matter of fact. "But I'll tell you the tale, in exchange for this food." Because, to her mind, it's too good not to be giving something in payment for it. As Indigo brings out that wine and squeezes her shoulder, though, she pauses to look the gynoid's way, offering a quiet nod of understanding before she takes that drink to give it a testing sip. Letting that acidic taste wash over her tongue, she leans back, one hand folding over her stomach and propping the elbow of the hand currently holding her wine as she speaks. "I needed to secure safe passage back here. It would have taken too long under my own speed," which seems like it was the lone thing keeping her from doing just that. "A group of traders -- miners, from that dead god's head you call Knowhere -- offered me passage, but explained that recently they had been having their trade routes waylaid by a patrol of creatures called 'Chi...tau...ri.'" Her brows furrow as she slowly enunciates that word, as if trying to guess at the sound of it. "So as compensation for their transport, I agreed to wipe out the patrol." She says that, however, as naturally as if she was talking about the weather.

"They had a large, metal whale with them. It tried to eat me. I taught it why that was a poor decision to make." Curt as ever, she sips that whine again, savoring it with an enjoyable sigh. "It was a nice challenge to pass the time on the way back, at least."

Indigo has posed:
    Viridian's parents gape, but Indigo just nods as she catches the tail end of the conversation (and busses the soup plates to replace them with the cheese course; bare, almost genuinely flavorless crackers spread in a fanning circle on a silver dish, with five jars of soft, spreadable cheeses that range from salty to slightly tingly on the tongue). "Chitauri near Knowhere? I hate to think of what they'd do with the materials they could harvest there. Thank you for stopping them, Angela." She turns to her in-laws and smiles at them. "Mom, Dad, a friend of Viridian's and mine wanted to meet Angela. Do you mind if I?"
    Their affirmative is not fast enough to be rude. Indigo thanks them both and leads Angela over to a table where a smallish gynoid in an elaborate, lace-bedecked dress sits, cuddling a robotic koala. "Gothic Lolita, this is Angela, one of my dearest friends and part of my family in the Guardians. Angela, this is Gothic Lolita, who if I'm not mistaken has just been made a Guardian herself!"

Gothic Lolita has posed:
    For much of the reception thus far, the other petite gynoid has been people watching. She's never been to a wedding before, much less one off the planet she was constructed on, and she finds it fascinating on so many levels, watching the proceeding with a soft, thoughful smile, almost bemused, like she's seeing a sort of humor in the world all around her. There are so many interesting people here, so many ties bringing them together, all to celebrate Viridian and Indigo pledging themselves.

    Luckily, today she remembered to actually bring a hankerchief, because her newly updated personality engram is throwing out some decidedly unbalanced reactions to her own emotions. She pretty much gave up on not crying out of happiness for the two during the ceremony, but luckily she's more or less got it back under control. Well, at least where she's no longer sniffling. Skitch cuddles (that being the koalabot) have helped with that. Also it keeps him out of trouble.

    As Indigo and Angela approach, Lolita immediately refocuses on them, then gently sets Skitch down for a moment so she can stand, then gracefully curtsey to Angela. "It is a pleasure to meet any friend of Indigo's." she says in a pleasant, soft voice. "And yes...Captain Quill has decided I am worthy." Which was basically her asking Peter, Peter looking thoughful, then shrugging and saying. "Sure." Thumbs up!

    It lacked a bit of gravitas, but Loli's happy nonetheless.

Angela has posed:
Looking up from her soup at that offered gratitude, Angela just dismisses it with the shake of her head. "There's no need to be thankful. It was suitable compensation for a service of great importance to me." She pauses for a moment then, before offering, tentatively, "... But... you are still welcome."

She then continues to dine, only to pause, look at Viridian's gaping parents, and add: "Don't worry. I made sure to bathe thoroughly before I arrived here," as if assured that could be the only thing that has them looking so shocked.

She's about to start explaining the very unusual particulars of the stench of a Chitauri Leviathan's insides when, mercifully, Indigo speaks up with that request. White eyes flicker in a blink as she looks up towards the pink-haired gynoid, head tilt. "A friend--?" she utters, before realization strikes her. "Right. Excuse me. I'll tell you the rest later." And with that damning promise, Angela rises from her seat, gives a curt nod of her head, picks up and straps in her weapons anew and - of course - tucks in her chair before she follows in close behind Indigo. When Gothic Lolita rises to greet them, Angela turns that intense, critical stare of hers upon the other gynoid, lips pursing together in a softly pensive expression. "... Is that the confusing Earth fashion, then?" she asks, of both of them, as she looks over Lolita's dress. "I don't dislike it." Which might as well be glowing praise coming from her.

Regardless, soon enough the wingless angel is meeting that curtsy with the respectful bow of her head. "Angela, Hunt-Mistress of Heven," she greets simply, curtly maybe, before continuing on, her voice more hesitating as if sounding the words of an Earth greeting out for the first time. "I'm... enchanted to meet you." She frowns just a little bit, before adding, "Any friend of Indigo's is my comrade as well. As long as you're aboard the Milano, you will have my blades to rely on to help slay whatever you need." That sounds more natural and heartfelt, at least. "... The Lord of Stars did not try to make you do anything strange to prove your worthiness, did he?"

Not particularly trusting, Angela isn't. Probably for good reason.

Indigo has posed:
    Indigo takes each woman by the hand and squeezes gently, smiling at each in turn; Angela she looks in the eyes, but Gothic Lolita she only spares a quick, shy glance at. "So, Gothic Lolita, I was very pointedly not explaining your name to Angela up until this moment. Would you like to give it a shot?"

Gothic Lolita has posed:
    Lolita smiles faintly at that, before turning her attention to Angela. "I should be more formal. My name is Gothic Lolita. For my brothers and sisters and I, when we are activated, we are what we called a 'stem cell'; undifferentiated in personality, but with a particular design purpose." She touches her own chest lightly, fingers resting at her sternum. "I was built for heavy hand-to-hand combat, for example."

    She lowers her hand. "We also have the ability to alter our external appearance, since we were often called upon to infiltrate or get close to priority targets to gain information. In one of those, I was asked to become a gothic lolita." She gestures to her outfit. "It's a style of a country called Japan on my world. It refers to a refined style of dresses with frilly, ruffled skirts, usually knee-length, and headbands" She touches the one she wears gently.

    "Of course, I"m not currently perfectly dressed; but I saw this style was popular here, so I decided I would try to make a dress similar to it with some fabric we had, ah, appropriated."

    Her eyes twinkle. "But, as to my name, we choose names based on our preferences. I like the elegance of this particular style, and the many different varieties of dresses on a similar theme, so I decided to retain this appearance as 'normal' for me. And to take the name in question."

    Lolita hmms. "Though I realize that's a very roundabout way of saying 'it's a style I liked so I named myself after it." Her lips curve up in a playful smile.

Angela has posed:
Angela's hand slides into Indigo's easily without much of a second thought, fingers wrapping around it to return that squeeze with a firm if not warm one of her own. She looks down at the blue-skinned gynoid, catching her stare and offering a faint, brief smile before her head dips in a simple nod. "Most of the culture of Midgard confuses me. Mortals are strange, though they at least have more sense to them than the Asgardians. But the music the Lord of Stars listens to endlessly just muddies what I know further. ... Though there was one about bombs of cherry that was very striking."

Still, her musings as to the strange music of Earth quiets as Lolita makes that more formal, more thorough introduction. Her brows furrow inward as she digests that information. Some of it simply goes over her head simply due to terminology, but there is a slow dawning of understanding in her eyes.

"So, you have forged your own path and made your own name for yourself, and you're partial to destroying things and enemies with impunity," she offers by way of a very, very simplified summary.

And now it's time for Angela's pure white eyes to glint with something approaching subdued, if delighted approval. And for her own smile to blossom, small though it might be. "I think I like you," she declares firmly, looking Indigo's way. "You were right." Let it not be said that Angela has a very complicated criteria. Most of the time.

Indigo has posed:
    Indigo smiles to herself, then to both of you. This really couldn't have gone better if she'd planned it. "I thought you two might. Some day, the two of you might enjoy sparring. I know nothing can match your speed, Angela, but Gothic Lolita's ability to reshape her body has potential I think is extremely interesting." She stands up from the table to start bussing trays and bringing the newest course, but before she leaves suggests, "You might also enjoy Gothic Lolita's views on self-determination and the purpose for which she was built, Angela. But I don't want to say too much."

Gothic Lolita has posed:
    "A very succinct summation." Lolita congratulates Angela, that twinkle of humor definitely in her eyes now, then bows gracefully. "I am honored to have passed muster, then." She cocks her head, looking thoughfully back at Angela, then with a bit of surprise as she glances at Indigo as she brings up that particular topic.

    "I wouldn't be adverse to discussing such things." she admits thoughfully. "I don't know if they would capture your attention as much as they have mine, due to recent events. But, Indigo has tried to help me so I can..." She considers the right word. "...grow, as a person? To be honest, my creators never imagined that I would ever be off world, or having adventures in space. Careless of them, I'm sure." she says wryly.

    Lolita lets her eyes flick down, taking in the armor and the stance, her internal HUD providing a small tag over Angela's head. <LIKELY BADASS YET BODACIOUS>. "You are a warrior then? A soldier? Or are you more solitary?" the young gynoid wonders.

Angela has posed:
As Indigo lifts to start getting back to work at the party proper, Angela's gaze drifts over to her with the faint furrow of her brows. "You work too much on the day of your celebration," she says, almost admonishingly, which might be strange given her general mindset if she didn't follow it up with, "We guests should be cleaning up, to repay you for inviting us." ... which is probably more expected.

Stubborn as she can be, though, for once she won't press the point if Indigo is insistent upon it. Maybe she's just getting better at adapting to other cultural mores. Maybe, more likely, it's just because it's Indigo. Regardless, that white stare turns back toward Lolita, considering her words with the curious tilt of her head. "So you have never left Midgard before now?" she asks. "I have never left my realm until recently, either. Indigo has helped me much to adjust to things here, as well. I'm... grateful to her. It's a debt that I'll spend a long time repaying."

It's only when Lolita looks down that Angela follows her gaze, sweeping her stare downward and then towards herself for a brief moment. "A warrior," she explains, as he gaze rises. "The Hunt-Mistress of my realm. I've slaughtered many enemies of my people in thrilling combat. I'm..." A frown tugs briefly upon her lips. "... solitary, but not by choice."

She shakes her head at this, as if dismissing the thought altogether; her attention, instead, turns to Gothic Lolita with a curiosity-tinged stare. "So. What are these views of yours?"