Quietly exasperated, Ianthe rubbed the bridge of her nose through the form-fitting helmet of her armor.<span style="color: teal">"Weapons wing,"</span>she repeated.<span style="color: teal">"Through the access tunnels. Right."</span>She moved forward after Neymi, covering the Goz woman's advance while darting between cover or, at least, concealing shadows. Meantime she was subvocalizing a confession and a plea to Toi on his private channel.<span style="color: teal">"Sweetie, I kind of put an idea in Darion's head that he should stay and protect us, protect Neymi, in the hope of trying to keep him from running off. Unfortunately these suggestions don't always work the way you plan them, and I guess he decided that he not only needed to protect her from whatever-the-fuck, the Sirens; he needed to protect her from you, too. That's my fault, and I'm sorry. I'll know better next time -- I'll just pin him to the deck telekinetically -- and you can take it out of my hide once we're back on the ship and safe. And I <i>do</i> care, Toi, and we do need you, even if Darion's too stubborn to see it. Stay with me, okay?"</span><div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>