[private] happy mother's day

[Ripley]

The feeling of lips against the curved armour of its head is not a sensation that it knows well. There is an instinct to bite and to snap wings and to snuff out the glowing light of any that would dare to come so close. But deeper instincts are reigning now, and for the first time in a very long time, there is an uneasy sort of peace in the armoured creature. It doesn’t understand, doesn’t even have the capacity to understand - but it knows. This creature before it, with her gilded wings and shining light, is family. As much a part of the monster as the daughters and sons, the clones and half-creatures. Something more than the bond with Anaxarete. There is no way for it to convey this, no understanding in those hollow black eyes when Ryatah speaks. Not verbally, at least. But it feels a need to respond somehow. It takes a step back, moving slowly, and turns to leave. A pause, again that clicking noise - calmer than ever, a near-cooing noise that it reserves for using with the youngest members of its family. They know that it would mean to stay where they were, though there’s no telling whether the meaning crosses languages. If Ryatah does move, the creature-that-was-Ripley will find her again before much time has passed - now bearing the severed limb of an unfortunate and slow deer. The hunt had been swift, as they are when the creature does not wish to play games. Its movements now are slow, careful, as though it is actually taking care not to frighten - or perhaps that reverence for the angelic mare just runs that deeply. Either way, it approaches before laying the bloody stump on the ground - gesturing to it and again that clicking-coo noise as it retreats a few steps. There it watches, head perked, to see whether its gift will be accepted. RIPLEY AND NOSTROMO twenty-eight eaten to date

@[Ryatah]