DARKSIDE STATION

DARKSIDE STATION-SEQUENCE TWO.

Sequence Two.

Sorry for any Inconvenience.

"You must attend your duty Commandite, they are your Terran people. I think this is a novel spike originating from the Outside." A stiff back softening to his past touch. The delay between word and body language, filtering through the transparent buffer curtains shielding the windows from the Plaza balcony felt somehow familiar and endearing to him.

"Strangeside lumens breaching from the Terran vector meridian, intersecting upon a linear plane." Tilting her head ponderously at the initial report of incoming appearing through the darkness.

"On a peculiar elliptic projecting a foreign, non-temporally aligned penetration of the Cutie Bubble." Pivoting into her next point in the preceding argument out on the balcony, she flared her spiked tipped Frilling plumage at his prior words, flinching, responding to his response, in the aggressive passive ways of her Voidwraith caste.

"Incognitos Decantatum, my flower." He watched his lips spill, his own callous words echoed at him as Quintallia met him on the Outside head on with a glaring slow eye roll tucking in her Frillings paired with exaggerated blinking of her nictating membrane.

Reflections of her fire breaching his defence's, raising a smile of concession on his right-side peripheral he watched as he waved a twirling, carry on hand, in an exaggerated imitation of pomposity.

In the current refraction he sat reclining, leaning back into the temporally neutral Thydrakon Lizzadirus skinned seating, watching her pacing in this, the prime timeline. He focused, listening to the novel vocalisations of his one true executor and Regent Bride through the Chronular synchronisation.

"Dollmother will not play well with these invading refracted facets that have infiltrated her influence. Sole Sines, disassociated, reflected, and reflecting from within the orb. That is a singular implication, and best left for the infinite baffle." She surmised, holding her palms up.

"But the conjoined, detached and unrelated conical lines somehow piercing our temporal orb of luminescence." Shaking her head, The House Diaphany Actuarial let the obvious implications hang unsaid, consequences linger unspoken.

"It is a cluster conical both atonal and discordant in its combination of individual ringing tones," A furrowed brow, "With triad chordal, resonating frequencies of, of a time." She stopped her pacing, shoulders slumped.

"Frequencies of a time of changing tides." He let her get to where they were going as she hung back, entering a moment after him from the balcony, tracing a finger, laced in ennui, along the extrusion railing, merging with the echo of herself at the Plaza end of her prime's pacing circuit, his penultimate self casually crossing, deep in the previous conversation, to take a seat and assimilate with himself.

His prime witnessed three figures flash by, behind a tertiary ping, shooting the flume of the contours emanating from the main Plaza of Darkside Station. Their butterscotch and berry fragrance lingering as they popped back into his line of sight, their coloured wings locking into a slower descent vector behind his lingering former self. The Tryptic formed a Tri phalanx, looked at each other briefly and dived.

Another lagging latency moved into his lenses, and he continued to watch himself with a jealous covetous eye as he stood in the warming emotional glowing harmony, and oneness of the central temporal LaGrange point.

Appreciatively watching himself watching the before and the three pretties falling away, reluctantly entering the penthouse assignment glitching, outshined and absorbed by his dominant freshly generated Sines and ascending energies.

An echo rang as they had entered flaring curtains. Him taking his position. Her pacing, wearing down the impenetrable Krasgool rug through to the shining obsidian black indestructible Dollmother subflooring.

A welling surge of reluctantly retreating corporeal static influence subsided, as the baffling curtains returned, resetting, dampening the Q-field pulsing from the Commandite suites crescent shaped balcony.

The open space they spliced into was a communal area and lobby for a half circle of executive level rooms. It shimmered from the push of their frames in two successive swamping chimes from their prime and secondary refractions colliding in a showering spray of temporal waves crashing upon its shores.

Quintallia flicked a glance upwards worriedly, subconsciously, at the custom-and-control hub, a level above. The only point closer to the Wayside.

She felt the shivers of unseen observation. In her feet. Looking down, she moved away from the Machina's Customs House and the disconcerting feeling expanding into a warm pool of dissipating Aethers, spreading across the custom-and-control hub floor.

A Terran group, all yelling as a pack, had turned up unannounced, on a tepid attitude, in Delilah's self-sorry opinion. Crying a breaching of the spire or some such nonsense and bother.

Terrans. Bah. The listless one fluttering her lashings, flexing her lesser appendages rhythmically, jumped, skating down the stair railing, dismounting and jogging across the canteen floor dodging fixtures.

She stuttered a timing shimmy, and extended two long steps, then a few hops from a chair, over tables sliding across the last, overturning drinks of those not fast enough to secure them, landing on the circle's inner railing.

Balancing at the top of her world upon the saddle point, she squinted her eyes scanning through the blur of the Allure, inspecting the inner tiers of crescents on the far side of the tubular Plaza.

A sigh and a leaping dive over into the tailing winds, and she dropped tucking hands at her sides turning head, body following, falling into a barrel rolling dive through the contours.

The battering of a cleansing wash of temporal waves soothed her, unfurling her wings she broke the inertia of the spin, locking into a gliding spiral, Quidian and Qaidiania pulled up, forming either side. She pulsed the report to them unredacted so they would not be as those struck in the unawares.

This was too important for the pact and the hive. Multiple presupposition's aligning and realigning, each with a unique trajectory triggering an avalanche of intersecting possibilities.

Syzygy of Tryptic Pack achieved, she cut wing, relaxing, accelerating into a death drop. Ever-faithful twins tucking chins, dropping-in unhesitatingly on her three and nine, tight at shoulders. Aerodynamic perfection, temporal fluidities in motion.

END OF SEQUENCE TWO.