The phoenix doesn’t bother dignifying this with a ‘no’, or possibly doesn’t understand it; she continues looking at Isekura blankly.

"I'll think on appropriate names, then," she says. Then to the helpful biologist, "Is there anything formal I should do now that I have a familiar? Well, in your culture, I'll need to report this to my captain, of course."

“I mean, people here never get familiars unless they’re a few days old, or a sorcerer?” shrugs the helpful- chartreuse- biologist. “I guess our universe thinks that you’re a few days old, since you’ve only been here for a little while? You probably don’t want to throw a celebratory theme party with balloons and elaborate courses centered around the involved god’s associated foodstuff, there would be an unholy amount of red pepper.”

"Yeah, that doesn't really seem my style. Thanks for the information, though - and I really should report this right away."

Assorted medical and biological personnel agreeably wish her well. 

She thanks them for their time, and goes to find somewhere quieter.

"Captain," she says, once the call's through. "It seems non-natives can acquire familiars, too."

"I noticed," she says, from her position of 'losing a staring contest with one.'

The pomola that attatched itself to her is, indeed, rather good at staring: having eyes seemingly carved from flawless ice, and no obvious eyelids, helps.

"Any information on - I believe this is a pomola, given the earlier summary. Elk-headed eagles?"

Isekura will relay the question to someone who might know.

Sira, being rather excited about the research implications of adults acquiring familiars, has been excitedly flitting around: she eventually does so in Isekura’s direction, carrying a frankly enormous number of papers and binders and folders.

“Hello, dear!” she says. “Pomolas themselves have powers over ice and sound, mostly rather broad in scale, have horns which are really dreadful to be on the other end of, and command a certain level of personal space; their owners may perform comparable feats, although typically with swords in lieu of horns. Normally leadership types, sort of personally chilly, that sort of thing. Really, you can just look up a chart or something- and in any event would you nevertheless fill out this survey of immense scientific, thaumaturgical, and theological importance? I’ll need to pester Kadlawen into popping up to that ship of your’s and getting people there to fill it out, but- anyways- here you go!”

She rather flings a packet- labelled ‘A Survey on the Personalities and Histories of Those Subject to Adult Onset Familiar Acquisition” into Isekura’s arms, and then jumps into a nearby corner of the room.

“- ta-ta!” she says, gleefully knocking sharply on a nearby bookshelf. “Places to go and things to see, you know the drill.”

A trapdoor opens, in response to the knocking, underneath her feet; she falls down it, half-cackling. 

...She'll relay that information then, look up a chart, relay the chart, and then set to filling the packet out.

It is, unsurprisingly, a survey.

Rakaskem, meanwhile- and in a place entirely separate from the palace, lit by wall sconses and decorated by an architect who thought that beige was overbearing- is pacing. There’s a chalkboard, on the wall, with six words scrawled on it; his handwriting is large, and messy, and not particularly indicative of mental health. It says the following:

How Do We Destroy The System?

Rakaskem is, naturally enough, contemplating that question.

He’s made inroads; setting up a system where people within his polity could set up their own systems of governance, and implement them, wasn’t nothing. The Ruwien people have been ruled over by royal mages for millennia, on countless worlds, and the proclivities of those royals have been unchecked. To the average person, the idea of any other system of rule- of royal mages refraining from dominating everything in sight, of noble mages being mere citizens instead of leaders- is preposterous. Insane. Foolish.

Rakaskem might- he admitted to himself without reservation- be insane. Might be foolish. But he is not content to let Sira prance around as queen of a kingdom she did nothing to deserve and does little to help. He isn’t content to let Sasha routinely torture and rape the innocent and innocuous, or allow Bradaton to casually execute anyone who annoyed him, or let Arizvam anxiously mismanage everything from education to immigration, or let Lalvien casually waste uncounted resources on whatever had recently enthralled him. He isn’t content to let all of them enforce ridiculously restrictive gender-by-gender laws, restricting roses to medicine and chartrueses to academia, and- and browns to food preparation and service- Lalvien had made some efforts to be less restrictive, some efforts to be progressive, but not enough-

His inoffensive guise and high position have been assets. Kadlawen has been an asset, on occasion, without knowing it. His contacts have been assets, taking actions that he couldn’t do personally or delegate to the unknowing.

He had managed to create his ‘kingdom’- managed to lastingly assassinate a few particularly conservative nobles, managed to pull and prod and poke the world into being a slightly better place- using those assets.

They haven’t been enough.

If he can convince the interdimensional visitors that he’s in the right- well. It could be enough to get rid of the whole shebang, enough to move up his timetable by centuries...

He paces.

He makes a plan.

He scries, for a little while.

He makes a call.

”Call Sira,” he says, to a bamboo rod.

“-yes, Raka, whatever is it?” Kelsiran says, sounding mildly surprised and pleasantly surprised.

Okay, slip into ‘laidback, ordinary-ish teenager who definitely doesn’t operate a shadowy conspiracy trying to destroy life as we know it’ mode-

“I got the memo about all the aliens getting familiars and figured that you’d be all over it. Want to get Kadlawen to teleport us up to the weird alien ship so you can do whatever it is you’re doing more effectively?”

“Honestly, Rakaskem, have you ever managed a single moment of being considerate in your entire life- did you even hear Kadlawen squealing about his intended date today on that little group communique, or are you deaf, in addition to being oblivious-“

“If I wasn’t deaf before, I would be, after that ‘communique”. I know about the date. I think that this is important enough to interrupt.”

“Fine. But Raka, dear, if Kadlawen happens to complain to Sasha or Brada, later, this was entirely your idea and you get to be the one hit repeatedly in the face.”

“Sure. Go to the palace clearing or an equivalent, we’ll be by shortly.”

He hangs up. He calls Kadlawen.

Who is merrily holding hands with the best person in the world, having eventually resumed hiking through gorgeous foliage and lovely flowers and so on and so forth.

”- um, hello?” he says, flicking a bamboo rod out of (seemingly) nowhere with his- unoccupied with handholding- left hand, and giving it a slight twirl.

“Hey. Sorry to interrupt. Sira and I wanted to head up to the alien’s space ship, look around, do various familiar-base science. Are you willing to give us a lift?”

”Um! ... Um. Um?”

He looks at Ateshai, with the unspoken body-language version of ‘I adore you and will do whatever you want’ being even more apparent than it always is when he looks at Ateshai.

"I'm fine with that, assuming the captain is."

“Could you go ahead and ask them, then,” pipes up Rakaskem’s voice from the bamboo rod, “or should we?”

"Sure." And he calls the captain, quickly securing permission for the group to teleport in. Only so many people, and there's a specialized receiving bay for teleportation - the rest of the ship is shielded against teleports, though it'll be interesting seeing if that interacts with the local magic at all.