Ianthe had squeezed her eyes shut as Darion began speaking to her, and kept them closed -- her only reaction a slight hunching of her shoulders -- as that disembodied voice echoed in her mind. Gradually, though, her breathing steadied from its panicked cadence, and the telekinetic blade in her hand shimmered out of existence. Finally, as if not entirely trusting her senses, she re-opened her eyes and studied her surroundings, only to scrub a hand over her face, wiping away sweat and tears, and then hoist her sub-gun back into a ready grip.<span style="color: teal">"I'm good, I think,"</span>she said, very quietly.<span style="color: teal">"I think I've walled off the... the images. At least for now. Fuck"</span><br/><br/>She favored Darion and Toi and finally Cypher with a quick, measuring glance, then keyed her comm open and subvocalized her opinion on the matter.<span style="color: teal">"If it came down to it, as a last resort I'd put a bunch of people in the tech wing out of their misery to save my own ass. But I am <i>not</i> going to leave Neymi with that thing, and let it do to her what it just did to me, forever, until it gets bored someday."</span>While she spoke, she ejected her Shadow Lance's magazine and replaced it with a different one -- this one loaded with hollow-tipped rounds -- from her belt rig.<span style="color: teal">"I can live with a lot, but not with that."</span><br/><br/><b>[ Mental Resistance: roll 15 + skill 9 = 24 ]</b><div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>