"You're holding the knife wrong." Gretts slapped Donovan's hand as he attempted to peel the vegetable in front of him. "If you want to peel the skin off something you need to keep your grip closer to the blade. If you hold it by the heel like that it's going to wobble and you will have to go back to the stuff you missed."

He didn't much appreciate having his hand slapped while holding a razor sharp object in it, but he wasn't going to complain much. He had already butchered two of these carrot-looking root veggies already, and he would like to not do it again.

He said they looked like carrots, but that was a pretty long stretch. They were almost identical in terms of texture and size, but this one was much thinner and had a pronounced curve to it, a curve shared amongst every single one of them. They were fragile because of it, putting too much force into it when your knife gets caught on the little folds in the skin would snap it and leave you with an unusable piece of 'carrotish veggie'. 

snap

"Oh for FUCK'S SAKE!!!"

Yet another failed attempt, this time almost perfectly at the halfway point. The thicker part above the snap was still large enough to peel, but the third of the veggie by mass left in that thinnish stalk would just snap again if he tried to peel it, something he knew because he had already tried.

"You need to calm down and control your strength a little bit better."

"Yeah, I know, I've just never worked in a kitchen before. Are you sure it's okay for me to continue like this?" Gretts looked over at him while peeling, perfectly stripping the veggies of their skin without even paying attention to them. He was envious of her skill in this arena, but he imagined that this should only be expected for someone who had worked in this sector for so long. "Is there something less delicate I can prepare?"

"Do you know how to work a stove fire?"

"I do not."

"Then the answer is no. Everything else is already chopped up, and there isn't a chance I'm letting you prepare the bird if you can't skin a root. Nose down and focus on the task at hand."

Donovan shook his head and picked up the fat piece of carrot to peel the rest of the skin off. He should be safe from further splitting it, should be, but he wasn't taking any chances. He had already embarrassed himself enough, and the recipe having somewhere around the right amount of ingredients. Would it taste right even if it did? He had no clue, but Diana had expressed a desire to eat some chicken noodle soup.

Diana was going to get her fucking soup. 

- - - - -

"Do you need help undressing, Lady Diana?"

"No thank you Cherry. I can handle it myself."

"Would you like help washing?"

"I'll be fine. I just need to soak."

Even in her depression, Diana could not bring herself to snap at Cherry. She was too sweet, though attempts were still made to turn her away. Diana just wanted to be alone. Well she wanted to be alone with Donovan, but he was out and about making her some soup. The bath was her next choice, the bedroom not feeling right during the day.

"Okay. Call for me if you need anything!"

"Thank you, Cherry, but I will be a while. Go get something to eat in the mean time."

"Mhm."

Diana remained quietly seated on the bench until the sound of Cherry's heels faded with distance. She did not for a second believe that Cherry would go against her wishes, Diana just wanted to make sure Cherry wasn't wasting her time. Diana planned to sit in the bath for a long time, or at least as long as it would take for the soup to finish. This was not meant to disparage the ability of the cooking staff's ability, they were experts at their craft. She just understood Donovan to be, well, less than capable with regards to more domestic tasks.

Sure he might be able to make a bed so neat and tight you could drop a coin on it and have it bounce, but cooking? Her grandfather barely trusted him to properly reheat food in the microwave. Okay, maybe that was a little hyperbolic. Donovan was not incompetent, he could follow procedure better than any other, he just failed to recognize that cooking was just as much an art as it was a science. You needed to make judgements about the quality of ingredients and how they would interact with others as you prepared a dish, deciding how much of which spice would be necessary to bring the best flavors, that sort of thing.

That wasn't to say that Diana was a master chef herself, but she could cook most basic dishes without issue. Donovan would struggle to get an omelet right.

Rubbing her cheeks to get clear those thoughts from her mind, Diana shifted to begin peeling off her clothes. They were the very same clothes she was wearing the night before, her clinging to Donovan throughout the night made it impossible for him to remove them, so she was feeling a little bit sticky. It didn't actually mean they were sticking to her, she just felt sticky, which she supposed was a difference.

Were her thoughts a little random right now? Definitely. Was that on purpose? Probably. As much as she loved Donovan, one thing he unfortunately reminded her of was home. Not his fault really, but it did make her that little bit more depressed whenever he wasn't there for her to snuggle. She had to guide her thoughts somewhere else. Given her biases at the moment, random was more likely to yield positive results than anything else so . . . 

"Brr-"

A biting chill spread down her body as the water followed the path of least resistance. She was looking forward to the hot tub, er, hot bath, but she recognized that a wash needed to be done first. Diana wouldn't say she was smelly, unless that smell was Donovan's, but she did not feel clean. Believe it or not, being hugged by that hunk of a man while fully clothed and crying all night could make a woman sweat. 

"Hm!"

The worst part was when she had to splash it directly on the back of her neck. Incredibly unpleasant, but necessary if she wanted to make it an inviting spot for kisses. Hygiene could never be taken half-assedly for her. Even if illness was so unlikely to the point of a practical impossibility, Donovan was a stickler for it. Well, he was a stickler for it everywhere but his own body. Diana didn't know why, but it seemed like he payed little attention to his odor.

He didn't smell bad, Diana quite liked it, but she could recognize that its strength might grow to offensive proportions if left unchecked. Was it time for her to consider investing in some cologne for him? Once Arc got the proper facilities online it might be possible to synthesize some deodorant or anti-perspirant, but it was looking like the pungent smell of testosterone would have to be masked until then.

Diana dipped her foot in the warm water, chastising herself for somehow, somehow, coming right back around to Donovan not even a minute after she had told herself not to. Was it really that hard to do? Did he really occupy that much of her subconscious attention?

. . . 

. . .

. . . 

"Probably . . . definitely."

Yet another flaw, a complete obsession with Donovan. Diana knew on some level that it was unavoidable, she was violently attached to him, but it hurt her (just a little) to realize that maybe her attraction was hurting her performance.

"No." She shook her head. "That's not right."

She had it backwards. The best measure of her performance was not her diplomatic ability and the boons she reaped from it. In the grand scheme of things, those were just nice little bonuses that gave them boosts and made Donovan's job easier. Diana's primary purpose was NOT to be a diplomat. 

The real measure of her performance was her body. More precisely how many bodies she could put out. Her primary purpose was to mother as many children as possible to ensure the continuation of the Terran race, a purpose she had been struggling to put a real marker of value on. To this point it sort of held a similar rank to her diplomatic escapades, but that wasn't right.

She wasn't going to hold such a mistake against herself, in the moment diplomacy was definitely more important, but now that a sufficient base of diplomatic trust had been achieved they could just coast until their industrial and military sectors were sufficiently developed as well. Diana found she didn't really need to be proactive anymore, she could put the requisite amount of effort in to strengthen that diplomatic trust while focusing everything else on developing what was needed to ensure the safety and prosperity of her children.

"Mm." Diana shook her head a little. Now was not the time to be thinking about such things, much less making decisions about them. For all she could tell that was the sadness speaking to her, trying to get her to make excuses for being lazy. Being lazy was comfortable.

Seeking new forms of stimulation to keep her mind off of Donovan and the ever present sadness, she scanned the bathroom for something interesting, some piece of art or craftsmanship she hadn't marveled at before. Her head turned around at a glacial pace, trying and failing to find something interesting. The woodwork was nice and all, but there really wasn't anything to it beyond the aesthetics. There wasn't a story there, nothing for her to theorize or imagine, just intricate carvings. 

As her gaze continued to wander across the wall and ceiling, an all too familiar pair of objects found their way into her peripheral vision. Stifling a groan, Diana lifted her head from the head recess in the stone floor so that she could bring her field of vision down.

"Good morning Titanyana."

The Nekh princess had sunken herself down into the bath, nose blowing bubbles in the water. Her ears, much like her eyes, were alert and focused directly on Diana, the emerald orbs scanning her with great curiosity. The black fishhooks underneath her eyes, the same souvenir Diana had received from the Great Csillacra, almost glittered in the steam. 

". . . it's well past noon . . ." Titanyana probably wasn't trying to sound mean, such a disposition towards Diana was likely impossible for her at this point, she just innocently drew attention to just how off Diana's perception of time was. 

"Is it now?"

Both of them then sat in silence for a few minutes, one not in the mood to initiate conversation while the other tried to figure out how. Diana's poor mood definitely made it hard for the shy Titanyana to make a move, not that she really had to worry.

"Are you okay?"

Diana wanted to scoff at the question, one she had been asked far too many times in the past day. Of course she wasn't okay! Look at her! She was a mess, crying and moping and making a mess of herself about something she couldn't change! In what universe did that count as 'okay'? Be it through restraint or a lack of energy, Diana managed a sigh instead.

"I'll be fine."

. . .

"Are you sure?" Titanyana's ear flicked some water off, the room was awfully steamy.

"Yeah. I just need some time."

Titanyana remained still, face submerged to her nose, as she continued her observation. Diana found the constant surveillance a little it uncomfortable at times, but Titanyana's occasional blink or head tilt did wonders to alleviate that feeling. It was just too cute.

After some time Titanyana finally made a movement, not to get out of the bath like Diana would have expected, but to get closer to her. She kept her head at the same level in the water as she moved, leading to quite an amusing sight. She was like a shark or alligator stalking her prey on the surface.

Should Diana have had a little bit more motivation, she might have started to hum the Jaws theme as the little cat-shark (cat-agator?) approached. Titanyana wouldn't have a clue what she was singing, which would have been awkward.

"Can I help somehow?"

"Hm?"

"Is, um, is there anything I can do to help? I know it might not be my place to help you with this, but I feel like I've been a burden so far. . ." She didn't need to explain the rest of her position. Anybody who viewed themselves as a burden would naturally want to help alleviate it.

"Hmmm-"

Diana didn't mind her assertiveness, she just wondered if there was something Titanyana could even do. Even in this state Diana desperately wanted to get closer to Titanyana for reasons both selfish and selfless, but was there really anything she could do to feel helpful? Diana looked Titanyana, who had exited the water somewhat to sit next to her, up and down. Her most immediate thought was rather naughty, best summed up as 'sleep with Donovan and I in bed'. That was out of the question though.

Setting aside the miniscule chance of Titanyana agreeing, Donovan would likely be incredibly angry with her for deciding something like that behind her back. Could she force him to do it? She felt she had a chance, but that would definitely ruin the mood between them for years to come. Not acceptable for her, not now, not ever.

Diana found herself focusing on Titanyana's ears. Would she . . ? Maybe? No, never. Right? Unless? It couldn't hurt to try, could it?

"Um. Would it be acceptable if I, well, if I pet your head?" A violent ear twitch and a cocked head, Titanyana's reaction could only be described as shock. Diana would have to give an adequate explanation for this. "It's just that, uh, your ears are very similar to a certain companion animal we had back on Terra. Scratching behind their ears was linked to a reduction in stress and so I just thought, um, I thought that might help."

Not the best, but it could have been worse. At the very least she managed to get something intelligible out, not that such an achievement would guarantee it didn't make her look like a creep. How often did people ask to pet someone else's head? To stroke their ears? She couldn't imagine it was a terribly frequent occurrence. Titanyana naturally seemed a little bit hesitant.

". . . o-okay." And yet she permitted it, bending her head down a touch as she wasn't quite sure how to go about this. 

Diana remained motionless for a second, partially because she didn't really expect a positive response, but her hand eventually left the water. She took the liberty of drying it off on a nearby towel, wet hands might pull on her hair, however they were still damp in the steamy air. Titanyana's head probably wasn't in the best condition for pets either. While the top had been kept out of the water long enough to not be soaked it was still wet. The same applied to her ears.

The ears instinctually avoided her hand as she rested it on the top of her head. She made a token attempt to stroke Titanyana's head as she would a cat's, but as expected there was a lot of resistance. It looked like a few loose hairs came out as well.

"Sorry."

"Its fine. I can bear it."

"Did it hurt?"

"Not really."

Diana frowned. That was essentially saying that there was some pain, even if it wasn't much. This would not do, she needed to change her approach. Gently, she moved her hand to one of the ears, cupping it with her fingers right underneath the base. Mercedes loved this treatment, would Titanyana think the same?

cakeonfrosting

Pegasus is the glossary, replaced the teaser. Been thonking about land vehicles now, specifically which roles and jobs need to be prioritized. There is going to be a spaceship before that (can't mount an invasion without sufficiently escorted transports, can't have an invasion mounted against you if your shores can't be reached) but only one or two. They will also be small, because big boys aren't necessary yet. Ever heard of the Jeune Ecolle? That's going to be the prevailing strategy for the early years. Of course the reasons the 'Young School' is being used differ greatly from the influences and predictions that precipitated its development, but the guiding principle is the same.

You can cover a lot more space (figurative and literal) with an equivalent amount of resources by using small ships, especially if nothing that exists can threaten them or the anticipated damage sustained ratios when pitted against larger individual units lean towards the small ships' favor.