Valosterla has one highlight to her week as part of her position as the co-leader of the Talons: strategies to keep morale high and incentives to keep operatives loyal to the causes.

Or lacking that, a paycheck.

Unbeknownst to many, she hasn't always been a ruthless VP rising through the ranks, and had a prior career in many different flavors. She'd been a pretty successful warlord, and a head of a cult that had unfortunately Darwin awarded themselves collectively out of existence, and other less savory roles.

Killing people for money was a favorite. But it got boring when she was sent out to kill utter weaklings. They stood no chance against a Siberian hellkite who could turn a human into a running tiki torch with just the right amount of black flame. She can't help but hide a smile, they all screamed for mercy, or just just plain screamed while trying to put out the fire.

It usually didn't work. Unless, they landed in water. She considered that being a poor sport, and it ruined her fun.

Then she'd just hover there, and wait for them to run out of air and finish the job. Even more amusing were the few who continued to play the ‘holding their breath’ contest.

She won that game every time.

But the best job was in her younger days as a young artist, singing with a melodious voice gifted to her by her father. The one positive influence in her life, done in by her psycho mother, because he flirted innocently with the wrong dragoness in a bout of humor.

Mother was savage in dismembering him, and her children learned that happiness was not something they would ever have. So when a young Val left home to get away from the controlling sadist, song and theater became a pastime and a career for a while. Why waste such an amazing figure serving her lessers, when she could command a presence with it and inspire them?

Which is why Friday nights are reserved for song, dance, and motivation. It's the one time she emphasizes attendance optional, and everyone shows up. Ironic, that.

“Val, I should let you know, Zeke's team is having some interference at the Mount Syren–” her assistant Melissa Zelinski starts to offer politely.

“Melissa, the show must go on,” Valosterla purred as she put on blood red lipstick, and pursed her lips together for that perfect application. Her dress and figure is the envy of world leaders and captains of industry alike–mostly because there's barely anything left to the imagination with those curves, and she pulls it just a little higher. It's a bit of a tighter fit on her thighs, and it might look like it's a completely useless defense, but the arcane runes on it means she can eat a hit from a tank round and keep on singing. “Don't spoil my fun–or the rest of the team's.”

She glances back to the mirror, checking to make sure everything is in order. Her bright red, wavy hair with black highlights is tied back neatly, and her ruby red eyes almost shine with their own light, accented by her narrow cheeks, and pale color skin that is unmarred by blemishes–just the occasional faint battle scar, but those did nothing to detract others. If anything, some men–especially dragons–found it quite attractive. Even the narrow cheekbones and angularity of her face, like her dragon form, appeals to many, and suggests old-world nobility.

She learned from an early age she was an allure to many, and she used it to full advantage, and worked hard on maintaining this apex figure. Partially as discipline for herself, and partially to command attention on her terms. Even though she's shapely, that subtle musculature could cleave a man clear in half. And provided some notable endurance in all arenas.

Especially the bedroom. She smiles lightly, though Melissa doesn't get the context. Her assistant is a tall, spry woman with her black hair and green eyes, wearing a business suit like usual, and always on her secretary tablet. She's always assisting Valosterla with all her above-board daytime activities, and her clandestine private military activities. “What are you thinking, Val?” she says with a light tone, like someone laced honey into words themselves.

“As much as I love the appeal of conquest and ascension, it's the small bits I love the most,” she says with a contented sigh.

“I can't believe you used to do this for a living, before you became a VP of the largest mage corporation in the world. Doesn't it seem a little…regressive?” Melissa asks with reservation.

“Darling, you spend enough time in the world, you acquire many talents. You are a mere hatching, but so well rehearsed in many fields of subterfuge and Magitech complexity. And running a business! Imagine what you can do with a few centuries more. Humans made you soft, made you think less of your potential. I simply showed you what you can be, with the right tools and the right motivation.”

This is what she loves about Melissa. She always pays attention. Unlike her son, who is constantly busy obsessing over that stupid phone of his, and muttering about grudges against one kid who apparently beat him badly during a fencing lesson.

She should look into that. Or even better, his uncle Davos can. Unlike her now ex-lover, his brother was actually quite useful, apart from providing money and influence.

He killed people for fun and he was very good at it, even as a human. She wouldn't have believed his boast about killing a Maridian silver in that hulking armor he always wore, and certainly not solo.

The skull mounted on his mantle was the real deal though, in that little harem hall he kept for himself. She knew he wasn't lying. A shame, really. If he'd been born a dragon, he would have been unstoppable.

It's probably the best compliment she can give a human.

But those are later problems now. She's ready for this stage, and she can hear the raucous sounds in the theater. For having a secret base away from just about everyone, she has incorporated a few decent perks during its construction. A small band of Talons foot soldiers have put on a decent band as a pre-show. The piano man is quite decent on his warm-up for her set.

Maybe dragons didn't have the monopoly on top talent, she thinks with annoyance. Well, that is going to get fixed once she finishes her project with Crosomer.

Melissa has urgently been trying to get her attention again. “Yes?”

“There's a–”

“If you say there's a call or a problem that needs fixing, fix it. I'll manage it later. Do be a dear and take care of it?” She says with a hint of annoyance.

“I'll take care of it, Val.” She leaves the room, and talking angrily into a secure phone by the time she's down the hall. She's more focused on her prep, and goes through some practice notes. Pitch perfect. She's still got it where it counts, and she’s still early in her prime. She lets out a wicked smile when one of the men lets her know the set is ready.

One short walk backstage, and she is greeted to cheers, and a few catcalls. She’ll allow it. They all know she is the one who does the picking up around here, and they better beware that she is too much for any of them to handle. And they better not disappoint when she brings them to her quarters. Most are out of uniform, a few, perhaps just off their shifts and unable to switch over. Working a crowd is always fun, whether it's on the battlefield, or in a less visceral arena. She taps the small microphone, and they’re in awe. Even a few of the ladies. Hmm…it's been a while since I took home a redhead, let's see how this goes.

“Fellow soldiers, welcome, glad you could make it to our Friday night festivities! I can see you boys have been really busy out there!” She says with a wide smile. They're all here for her now, and she's got all their attention. Let them gawk awkwardly, even unsubtly. She's a goddess, whether she's in her scaled down human form, or in her mighty dragon form, and she commands this stage uncontested. “So, there were some…requests that came my way. Due to the last incident, we kindly ask you to keep your limbs a respectable distance from the stage. Wesley is still in the burn unit, and we warned him, too!”

Wesley also is an idiot, and got too close to a deadly Siberian hellkite who was having a good time, she thinks shrewdly. “So, who's ready for a good time?!”

Roaring applause permeates the room. She knows why most of them joined and it wasn't just a paycheck to keep their families fed. She knows the value of settling scores and doling out justice against the unjust. Even if it's all to serve her interests and solving one massive personal grudge she's got. “Louder!” she roars, and circles the stage, and the audience follows to the letter. They love this. They might also love her, but that part's inconsequential.

“Alright then! Let's kick off this number!” She gives a nod to the piano man, who starts up a chipper, upbeat note that echoes in the chamber. This rhythm is different from the battlefield, it is controlled, and the emotion flows across her in a tempo. Killing wasn't this methodical, and the pleasure is different, but it is on par.

And then she sings...

"When I was a wee young egg,

I was happy in my shell.

Breaking free, I came to see

A place that wasn't swell.

So I vowed to change it,

I worked and toiled hard.

Now I sit o’er my throne,

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and look out to my yard.

Minions all adore me,

They know I've done so well.

Those who see it different,

They all end up in hell!

So I quest for others

to join my noble cause.

Surely you will join me,

Or end up in my claws!"

She relishes this moment, when the piano man gives a wild sweep across the board. She breaks out to a boisterous tone, charisma and confidence exuding from her every fiber.

“The baddest dragon suka of the land!

Oh yes, that’s me! The greatest of the brand!

Shredding and slashing, tearing and biting!

You’re best to look out, oh I'm so frightening!

When my foes see me, they should all just hide,

'Cuz they know the end, they’ll just all be fried!

They all try to run, surely that won't do!

They all end screaming, torn by midnight blue!

Because I'm the baddest dragon suka!

It's a life of villainy, and ain't it GRAND!

The roar of the crowd is breaking out, and cheers are all she hears. It's easy to stride across the stage, flashing smiles in that brief pause. Her mother had a complete lack of love, so now she's making up for lost time.

“Boys, you've seen me in the trenches,

peeling spines and torching wenches!

Carving swaths of broken bodies,

on a path to golden lobbies!

Surely we have hit a hitch,

Someday soon, I'll kill that bitch!

So don't worry, leave the benches

The fool shills are out of wrenches!

“The baddest dragon suka of the land!

Oh yes, that’s me! The greatest of the brand!

Shredding and slashing, tearing and biting!

You’re best to look out, oh I'm so frightening!

When my foes see me, they should all just hide,

Cuz they know the end, they’ll just all be fried!

They all try to run, surely that won't do!

They all end screaming, torn by midnight blue!

Because I'm the baddest dragon suka!

It's a life of villainy, and ain't it GRAND!”

They love this. They love her. That kind of devotion, you can't get with a payment of coin. She's an acrobat on the stage, flashing her ferocious grin while the piano man plays an interlude, focused on his small but key part. Even Melissa is tapping and nodding along on the side, and the faintest hint of a smile.

“You've all been places rather dour too!

Some of you remember our Waterloo!

But we've come back, oh yes, with an axe to grind!

We’re the comeback kids, they better watch behind!

The Conclaves’ a speed bump, on a path to glory!

Go pack an umbrella, this’ll get quite gory!

Your baddest dragon suka has a plan!

Do join in, and kill them to a man!”

Pianoman is hitting those notes, and she's started to transform to her superior form for a show of force. They're all in awe, maybe even afraid, but they all respect the might of their leader. She surveys the crowd, stretching her wings and feeling that the dress transforms along her to something a little less flirty, and more commanding.

A sporty dress meant to show all her sleekness and deadliness, black and midnight blue scales and her blood red feather mane. Val prepares for her final note, all the power in this room seemingly flowing to her. It's absolutely divine. On her final set, her deeper tone carries might and authority, fitting for her well earned victories in the boardroom, and on the battlefield.

“The baddest dragon suka of the land!

Oh yes, that’s me! The greatest of the brand!

Shredding and slashing, tearing and biting!

You’re best to look out, oh I'm so frightening!

When my foes see me, they should all just hide,

Cuz they know the end, they’ll just all be fried!

They all try to run, surely that won't do!

They all end screaming, torn by midnight blue!

Because I'm the baddest dragon suka!

They don't have a chance, and it's oh so GRAAAAAND!”

Valosterla lets loose a gout of controlled blue black flame on her final note, illuminating the theater in a brilliant blue shifting light. It's a delicate motion, she really doesn't want to burn her own house down. Or anyone not deserving a torching, and the crowd is on their feet, cheering as she finishes with a final flourish, deadly talons clicking on the stage, and a ruffle of feathers as she bows. She lets out a wicked grin, because this is motivation. This is the power of influence. She might lapse a little on the battlefield, but here–here–she is in complete control.

“We love you Val! Let's torch those controlling pricks!” Someone shouts bravely from the crowd. A minor lack of formalities, but she’ll allow it. She's in too good a mood. It's followed by others, and she notices someone else off stage, clapping with marked restraint.

King? I wonder what brings him here. She gives her farewells to the bustling crowd, and shifts back to her more compact human form before she walks backstage. She greets him with a cordial smile.

“Glad you could make it King. Come here for the show, or...something a little more intimate?” She teases wickedly. This man has not one iota of sexual drive, even as she tries her best to entice him with just the right motions. It's almost a challenge to her.

But business is business. Better to not cross that line and make a partnership complicated. He's still wearing that grim look, and even Melissa looks anxious.

Something is off. “King, you look like you have bad news. It's Friday. This is the mandated day of relaxation and morale building. Pretend to have a good time for once, will you?” A gentle caress on his shoulder is met with that stony expression he wears that makes him quite unreadable, even to her. A professional, through and through. Even if it made him a bit of a square at a festive event.

“Your scuttling of Mount Syren has a problem. Someone beat us there. Data is missing. Men are injured. And I've got zero leads. Crosomer says he handled it, but you might want to talk to him in person.”

Her fingers tense like they would if she still had claws. “Get me a phone. Now.”

Her joyous mood instantly sank like a broad side to her psyche.

No one ruins her fun and lives.