The Catharsisium was thankful for this little shit.

It was truly a delight watching him trying to guzzle down every single narcotic, exosensoric, malepistemic, acoustic, electromagnetic, cryptotautological, economic-exploitative, Ingestic-agitators, spermatangia-ovic, cybernetic, culinary, epigenetic, factioidal, masochisia, inoculative, memetic, superstimuli, paramemetic and pharmacological consumable recreation she could shove into him.

Determining if he could even survive some of them and precisely how to censor and alter the context was half the challenging delight.

He didn't have the framework for attempting aliemotes or he'd probably have done all of those as well. And of course, most that involved by definition a time element were infeasible since there was only so long to imbibe during the performance’s scheduled allotment.

Without the admittedly shallow distraction she would probably have spent most of this performance in a mildly unconscious fog waiting for something to go wrong that required her direct intervention.

Not that a nap was not good for the memory mind and genes when the opportunity presented itself but she preferred to do her sleeping at the scheduled times of maintenance, cleaning and refurbishment and not while she was ostensibly hosting the departure of one of her favorite cousins and patrons.

So this absolute tiny little idiot of an endearing semi parasitic musty wort wrapped in an entire tumbling wreck of wretches was just that extra bit of distraction needed to keep The Catharsisium active and engaged.

Oh sure some of the other regulars were here too. Other cousins who would be here long after little dear pylo departed.

But they were all a bunch of motherclones-of-fathermilk and were so full of agitation and discomfort that they had to hold up a bit more decorum than usual. Gnashing at the even slightest restriction and bemoaning how shiny and clean and sterile she’d been made for this.

Complacent skanks!

She WAS the Catharsisium and she was proud of all of her scars and her many wonderful little infectious growths. More than any of her patronizing kin and the rare out-of-family guests could physically imagine.

Every single one of them was a mark of her endurance, her durability, her creativity and the aspirations and expressions of her guests.

She very nearly Treasured the marks of her use as a venue for her cousins and sisters.

But she knew where the real marks lay and they were not these ephemeral surface scourings and tangential growth.

Catharsisium loved Diana and Hoppis like dearly stupid sisters. They had earned that recognition by being with her so long. Longer than several of her Adoptees.

But they were both getting far too comfortable with rote. They had barely ordered something new and challenging in three broods!

And they had not even noticed how they were fossilizing.

Honestly if Pylo dear precious younglet sprout that she was had not requested the cleaning Catharsisium probably would have had to do something to rapid-surprise-ablative-molt the two frigid stonefucking normie poopieheads.

Probably something a lot nastier and sneakier then simply cleaning her interiors up for polite company like Pylo had requested.

Actually no reason not to waste good spite and vicious love on might have beens. The two were due for a surprise of some sort.

But that could wait until after.

Present guests and accommodations were just not suited to the sort of tricks that would properly chastise those two lookup tables.

Ah Catharsisium loved them all.

But...

She drew some of her attention to the agitation from one of her wards.

She knew the girl could take it, she was much stronger then when she first joined the other adoptees. But the reminder of the support was sure to help her regardless.

“Don’t let the dynamic duo of diligently dragging dreck put a downer on your depths lil' sis, I’m tallying up on those stonefuckers and each of their snubs. They will pay due on every one of them thrice on thrice fold I promise.”

That earned a laugh from Amica. It was a nice laugh, a private one that only ever showed evidence deep along her core. In the subtle flows that only those close to her would recognize. It was expressions in the might have beens and not quite was of her record.

A shadow that less experienced or attentive inspection would have missed the connections.

It took a lot to hide your feelings among Courtesan Sirens.

It was also sad to see that Amica still felt the need too.

The little one was timid with everyone but the other adoptees or Catharsisium herself.

She’d come to Matriarch’s Gown as an orphan fourteen broods ago.

Catharsisium had spent one of her refurbishings searching for a candidate adoptee among the clan’s presence in the Port Authority.

As usual the requirements had been as open as she could afford. Any siren with a healthy body limber enough to aid in the more delicate synthesis of cocktails and enough flexibility to earn adoption in the clan.

Amica was still even after all this time holding to a build far thinner and shorter than the bountiful length and girth of her Courtesan peers or even native borne Siren.

But lingering trauma was expected of orphans.

It didn't mean she was the masochist target that she appeared to be.

On the contrary one of the duties that she took on for the Catharsisium was as bait.

Just the right kind of combination of similarity to one of the actual participating and acceptable target girls but genuine lack of consent buried under deep layers of devotion and determination to harm herself in spite of her inner turmoil.

It made for very good bait.

Those who lacked the ability to spot the difference between Amica and those like her and the other more willing girls under Catharsisium’s care were in need of education and correction, at the very least to up their safety margin for playing the game at all.

She was not just some glorified Arena for spraying hate and abandoning all morality and expectation.

Catharsisium was of course a rowdy rough and tumble abattoirette when the events called for it, sluiced slick and bloody in the life fluids of glorious combatants and festering with the hate fucking of a dozen sirens out to leave scars that lasted.

But she was not only that.

And occasionally Courtesan Cousins and Guests needed to be educated in the nuances involved in that.

Speaking of which, a few of the guests who were presenting themselves as potential crew for dear young Pylo needed minor corrections to their stream etiquette.

“Navigator, it is inappropriate to use memetic-cognitive discourse traps to redirect others from conversing with you preemptively.”

The device was indignant. So she leaned a bit harder into the relevant bylaws and customs.

Lashing at its own strictures and obligations is a bit harder.

“Desist and excuse yourself properly from engagement with others, the processor cost to you is not reason to violate my rules. The guests accessing via the stream are under my PROTECTION, and the requisite strictures of this performing period do not permit such subversive engagements under the approved environmental hazards.”

She almost spoke up to the dragoon trying to give Tunie a hint of witness to the proceedings too. That was a nice ethical darling.

But instead she confided in her thoughts with the ship itself over the sensoria stream she was providing the dear vessel.

“It’s very sweet of you Tunie to humor her desires like that.”

“▁◍↻▂↻↻ ▶⑆◭⑆▂▁▃ ▙▁◈◺⑇▂ ◄⑈▁▁▁ ▆▃▂◷.”

“Oh she knows she’s only giving you a hint but the earnestness of it is to be commended is it not? You shouldn't laugh at the girl so much.”

“ ▇█▆⎌ ⌓ ◍ ▄▁▂▂▃.”

“Oh they are all quite pleasant I think, Very devoted I think they will make you a very fine crew. Don’t worry your feathers over it.”

“⌒⇝⇜ ↷▁▁ ◍⌒▄↷ ▄▇. ⎌”

“Don’t worry your eyes over it either girl. They all love you plainly as I can see.”

“◈”

Poor ship was all nerves and concern over the future too. Perfect fit with The Navigator. Hopefully the putrid little trub of a cook would help soften that paranoia.

Service rendered she shifted the general feedback to overall background stream for Tunie instead of annotating any direct commentary.

And now there was nothing else for her to actively do.

Well that was fun.

A light distraction but a fleeting one. It was likely going to be the only of its kind with the behemoth of predictive analysis that was faintly chilling and eating up the total allotment of time sink available to the Catharsisium herself with its mere presence.

The dragoons too were far too proper to make any sort of commotion, the Masques were Masques and probably physically incapable of being improper given their upbringing.

The other guests lacked the munitions or capability to really threaten the measures and propriety of the establishment or were long time regulars already cowed into obedience to her law.

Yes Catharsisium was thankful to the little fermenting shit of a cook for helping keep her sharp when she was performing a necessary and vital duty that while not the most thrilling and engaging was all the more important.

She was here to let others express themselves.

She was here to be SAFE to express what could not normally be allowed.

She had been there when the Pirate Queen Gloria had to grieve and sing about the death of her treasured and the terrible ruin that had been wrought in her retribution.

When one that others thought insurmountable and capable was rendered a ruin who could only scream pain into the halls so caustic it left etching that needed entirely new foundations and marrow be grown to restore the superstructure.

There was not even a molecule in her containment structure that shared a single part with the wreck that had been made of her then.

But she bore the real mark deep and felt it warm her deeply.

It was why she was born.

And something only she could have done for poor Gloria.

The Catharsisium.