[Amara]

Wow, okay, I'm going to be horrible, and give three examples from logs--  one for Jordan, one for Katriel, and one for the mini-plot I am running right now.

For Jordan, this happened in what remains to be one of my favorite plots:  The Athena and its crew are trapped on this asteroid of nightmares, and had to solve a series of puzzles to get themselves free.  This happens in the second puzzle--  Jordan has just picked up a sword that magically appears when some trees seem to develop more carnivorous and energetic habits than normally expected:

Jordan strikes to sever the branches threatening Volidana and Archilasalas, her movements oddly sure. Her face is one of grim determination and concentration, trying to keep everyone free of the things.

whatever Volidana has vowed not to do she has no reservations about trying to stop the branch from ensnaring her ankle trying to use telekinesis to force it back hoping to have better luck with it than with empathy

Volidana's telekinetic power pushes the branch back, but it does not stop it from trying again. Before it has a chance to reach the Light Singer once more, however, Jordan's attack cuts it off, eliciting yet another scream that seems to come from all around. The branches seeking out Archilasalas stretch at their limit, wiggling in desperation, but limited by the tree they belong to one the Centauran floats beyond reach. Those too fall prey to the female human's skill with the sword. Meanwhile, the main tree, the one currently on the road and able to move, swings itself against Cavanaugh, knocking off the path. Now it turns to Mazzonnoz.

~Strange bevhaviour,~ is all the Archi seems to note as the trees snap below him.

Newt's silent, though wide-eyed as he tries to keep track of every single branch that happens to be behaving in a non-branchlike manner. IF any come near him he tries to dodge them.

Mazzonnoz's eyes widen, and he ducks back towards the rear of the group. "Jordan!" He calls sharply, calling her attention to the tree attacking him. If he has any problems with hiding behind the woman with a sword, he does not reveal them.

Jordan swings back around to the main tree, slashing at it. Her hair is damp with sweat, but her movements remain sure and deft, as she searches for a way to stop the tree's attack. "Why- don't- you- pick- on someone- your own- size!" she tells it, eyes flashing angrily.

As her other senses continue to belie her psionic ones suggesting something every bit sentient, Volidana to tries communication "What angers you? Why do you force this fight upon us? We've no wish to harm you"

For a moment, as Jordan struggles to defeat the tree, everyone else may notice that she seems to change. At first, her images becomes that of a raven, striking at a lion.
Eventually, the young woman's insistence pays off. A single slash manages to cut through the wooden enemy, leaving a gash of light that soon enough expands in an explosion that destroys the foe. The sword also disappears. "Run! Start running!" Cavanaugh yells as he gets back on the path. The tree may be gone, but branches still try to assail the group. "RUN!"
                                 **************

The second is for Katriel, during the second half of the Arc I finale for OS:  New Journey's.  A small scoutship is trying to monitor a situation where a number of hostages may be executed--  Katriel is trying to keep track of the level of volatility from moment to moment:

A pull of the joystick backwards and the forward fairings part, allowing the ship's braking thrusters to blast forward, bringing the sip to a slow halt. banking, its turn tightens, until it holds for a moment above the crowd and their over seers. "Hov angry are z'ey nov, Katriel?" She takes a moment, to catch her breath, and hitting the holographic projection controls, tries to et a closer look at the Nall. She seeks their talons and their weapons. Are they drawn to fire, or to just be at the ready?"

They're really mad. They're especially mad now that the Gray Horse has arrived. Their guns - plasma rifles - were drawn and aimed at the crowd, ready to gun them down. But now an order is given: The rifles are angled up toward the Gray Horse.
Katriel freezes, the little mouse staring down at the cobra, and then says in a dry voice made whispery by fear, "They're really, really mad now-- they were gonna shoot them I think, but now, they're pointing those guns at us."

"Instructions?" Kit asks, her voice quieter though no less controlled than before, her eyes fixed upon the screens but her hands poised over the instrumentation, ready.
"Zey ruin my speshal paint job an I shall be angry ..." Innokentevna looks quickly back to Katriel. "Can you identeefy zee leater? Like rite nov?"

Katriel swallows, forehead wrinkling as she frowns and closes her eyes. You practically lose yourself in the dozens of Nall minds - alien minds. Cold minds. Angry minds. Calculating and vicious. So angry at the people in the Gray Horse. So furious. They are ruining everything. You must lunge at Kit.  There's a pause, a beat, and then her eyes fly open wide, and she lunges at Kit, a feral snarl on her lips, jerked back by the restraints of the acceleration couch.

This time, Kit's composure cracks quite visibly, her surprise complete as she reflexively tries to dive aside - only to be held back by her own restraints. Even before she registers what must have happened, her near hand is grasping at the knife stowed at the small of her back, position made awkward by her seated position, before realization steals over her features and she takes a deep breath, eyes wide. "Katriel!" she says sharply toward the Mystic as she quickly unsnaps her restraints.

"Oh hoop ... z'at deedn't vork." Innokentevna then decides, and drops the Gray Horse down, the landing gear snapping down and clattering into place just as the ship touches the commons ground, her landing jets shunting up a cloud of dust. She places the ship, as best she can, between the biggest knot of Nall and the Sivadian workers. She sets her teeth on her lower lip, keeping the outside still in the corner of her eye as she looks to the back of the cockpit. 'Kitt .. you okay? An ... hoop ... can you clear her mint?"

Katriel lunges again at Kit, face twisting in a feral grimace, a wordless scream tearing from her throat. And then she falls back, shuddering and shaking, and covers her face with her hands, broken sobbing the only sounds coming from her now.
                      **************

And finally, my villian and one of the PC's in the mini-plot get to have a conversation.  Of course, the PC is at a disadvantage, having just woken up from being drugged AND smacked on the back of the head, and currently tied to a hospital bed:  

There seem to be two entrances/exits, one at either end of the room. Mazz would appear to be right smack in the middle, and therefore the farthest possible from either one. All of his moving and muttering must've gotten someone's attention, because a cool male voice announces, "So, you are awake then. That's good-- we were a bit concerned for a time." The click of hard-soled shoes marks the even passage of the voice's owner, until a grey-haired man is standing over Noz, looking down at him. His expression is kindly, and there are laugh lines around his mouth and eyes. But gazing up at them, those eyes seem as cold and chill as the first frost of winter.

"I'm as surprised as you are," Noz says. "If ****ing up the dosage on your tranq darts by giving a Timonae a human dose wasn't enough, your agent insisted on pressing the issue even after I deleted her partner. That makes you one for three and we've just started playing you pain-in-my-ass." The Timonae cranes his neck to get a look at his captor. "I assume you kept me alive for more than just your own sexual perversions. If not, I hate to tell you most of the rumors you've heard about my kind are broad generalizations and largely false."

The kindly expression fades a bit, becoming decidedly unfriendly when Maz mentions 'deleting' the other agent, and then the man sighs. "Yes, well, she has been counseled on proper sedation techniques," he replies, with a quirk of his lips. "The loss of our second success is... Unfortunate, to say the least," he notes, measured voice staying emotionless. "You, however have had some experience with our work-- and made interesting use of it," he states, regaining his paternal countenance from the beginning of the conversation.

"If that's a success, you, sir, have low standards," Noz continues. "A two-bit stalker who did next to nothing to save his partner? Your other 'success,' as you put it, was lucky I didn't shoot -her- first. You do realize, of course, that you surprised a one-armed man on what I presume is your own home turf and had him kill one agent and nearly subdue the other - all under the influence of a heavy sedative?"

The man smiles, baring even white teeth. "Yes, I do realize that," he answers, pulling up a rolling stool and taking a seat. "You are a very resourceful man, Mr. Tylrannos. I'd like to put those resources to good use."

"I'm already gainfully employed, I'm afraid, and unable to switch jobs. Violation of my parole, you see." Noz shrugs as best he can. "I believe I'm up for appeal in a year or so, why don't we talk then. By then maybe your department will have a budget big enough to hire me?"

The man chuckles. "Yes, we are aware of your current legal status," he responds. "That is not particularly troublesome. In fact, it may be to our benefit. Ms. Roth was not exactly law abiding herself," he relates thoughtfully. "I know you are already familiar with our program here, Mazzonnoz, so I will not attempt to sugar coat things for you. If we want you, we will have you," he states, those last words finally taking on something other than pleasant blandness, in harshly pronounced steel.
     
Mazzonnoz looks squarely at the man, blinks, then bursts out laughing. "You? Listen, you prehistoric ape-descendant. From what I gather you've managed to overcomplicate a simple datajack operation on members of your own species into a procedure with a mortality rate so high it will forever remain a black op. And you expect me to believe you could 'have' me, in what I presume are other than carnal terms? Me, a physiology your doctors are completely unfamiliar with?" He chuckles again. "Listen. Why don't you can the threats until you've gone beyond banging rocks together. If you know as much about me as you think you know," Noz meets the man's eyes, "then you know that no matter how big a wall you build, no matter where you build it, I will find a way around. So far we've been fighting in your territory and I've been winning. Do you really want to bring the battle to my head?"

The man stares at Noz for a moment, and then grins. "Ah, but we have to branch out sometime-- and what better time than when it makes no difference whatsoever whether the patient lives or dies? Perhaps we are banging rocks together, as you so eloquently put it. But we will be banging them around your head," he notes cheerfully, and it is quite easy to see where all those smile and laugh lines have come from. "So, it behooves you to hope we have made improvements," he admonishes, wagging a finger back and forth in the Timonae's view. "In any case, sleep well tonight-- you'll have a very interesting day tomorrow, I am sure," he declares, pulling out a sealed sterile packet and opening it to reveal the components to put in an IV.

"Convict or not, my friend, my disappearance would anger several people you will definitely not want to meet. And they will give you lessons in your -own- anatomy." Noz smiles thinly. "Tell me, do you know what a Grimlahdi is?"

The man peers at Noz absently over the needle and tubing, swabbing his arm and then smoothly inserting the catheter. "Oh yes, I am quite familiar," he responds, pulling over an IV stand from near by and connecting it. "Where do you think Jordan learned all about the big wide universe out there, hmm?"

"I wonder if you've ever seen their claws up close," Noz says. "Or their teeth." He chuckles. "The price you will pay for your hubris ... mm. I have tolerated a great deal of human ignorance, and I will enjoy taking it out on you."

Noz’s comment is met with silence, as the man reaches into a nearby drawer and pulls something out.  His actions are hidden from the Timonae’s view for a moment or two, before he turns back around with a syringe in hand.  Popping off the cap casually, he injects something into the port on the IV line, and then discards the needle.  “Good night, Mr. Tylrannos,” he bids, before walking briskly out, not taking another glance back at his captive.


These are all, of course, from OS: