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Subdued cursing drifted out from within, soft utterances that included Spanish of some sort - bits and phrases of things he’d picked up from Hatsya dying their continued time spent together. As he fumbled for the door — swung it open and blinked emerald surprised eyes lined with shadows at — Jet — of all people.

Well then —- “Oh, a request?” wonder lost on a sigh as he kicked some fallen tomes further behind the door - offered Jet entry on a sneer. “Come on in, if you dare. The mess is…a work in progress.” whinged humm-haw as he waved the other General on.

There were chairs — there was a desk — somewhere beneath potted perennials that were a particularly strange color of green and a crystalline twig in a golden jar that glowed bright chartreuse.

He’d gone from nothing — quiet, niche and void, absent of people - of prestige - of an office. To brimming overfull with all those things plus a whole damn team, in less than a fortnight. He felt like he was drowning alive under three tons of dirt, when he didn’t feel like he was soaring.

His whole world had shifted, pieces of his home office that had been shoved into the new space. A myriad of furniture that needed to be moved, plants that needed to be potted. A bag of mulch and straw mixing. All which cluttered up the corners and stood cast askance along the dark bricked walls.

“This will all be settled — after. I’ve had to, mmn, rearrange a bit of my personal space topside…Poor square footage planning on my part, really.”

That he hadn’t realized how many bodies could be reasonably fit within rooms — that he’d be out an entire home-office to ensure his newest subordinates had a space to sleep, at least until they had memories and lives set well enough. Would be a shame to take them on and see them barracks bound — or worse…

"T e a c h e r - Jet. Teacher."

Pointed words and narrowed glance in answer, mirth that lay hidden in the corners of it. He found it almost cute, that Jet thought it exhausting. Could've explained that it was easier when one was paid to do a thing - to come up with words stacked high on pallets - like a warehouse - like Costco. Dolling them out in bulk because it was easier. With students, with plants, with - and communicating appropriately was the greatest challenge of all. Finding the right words, or small words, or descriptives that placed emphasis on the proper sorts of things...

Barely managed that, was made better at it by suddenly having a team shoved at him who needed it done in ways that worked for them. The talking didn't work without the listening though, without the long quiet and stillness full to burst. Stood looking into the middle distance and listened to all that Jet had to pour out onto his messy office floor.

"Regardless of the rest...you have my help. Even if I think you're stark raving crazy for planning to -- kidnap a princess? Is that right? Unless by subdue you mean 'end entirely' and that -- that may take more than two - or four - or.." tsk'd away as he ticked over details in his head. A Queens ask - after a Princesses' plot. Not a thing he would've turned down, no matter who did the asking, all the ways it sounded fun. Even with all the possibilities rolling out on how it all could've ended in complete disaster.

They were on a winning streak, and Jet? Jet seemed serious. Serious enough to risk himself, his subordinate...his...

"Is it so easy, I wonder? To beg an out and have it handed over wholesale...or have they simply gotten careless with how the years have gone on?"

Sidled his tablet into subspace, forwent it entirely, because data could be breached. Shitty penmanship and teachers scrawl, however? He searched his drawers instead, paper and pen, red on thin margin lines, all bound up in black leather with messy scrawls outside and in. Clean spaces between cramped words, shopping lists, endless doodles, a map -- that could've been a shopping mall or a space in the rift.

"Sit before you fall over - from exhaustion..."

Teased in turn as he cleared some lowbacked wooden seating, swept the piled contents atop it onto the floor in with a careless motion. So much of it would be mulch and shredded by the end, the important things were all in important boxes, the rest was simply sorting -- so much endless sorting.

"..and explain to me...how in the ever-loving ******** you intend to 'Subdue Ganymede?' Unless you have some very special aces up your perfectly buttoned sleeves. Do we know what numbers they'll bring in for this purification to 'ensure Cymophanes safety', will Aqua be healed up in time? What are we looking at forces wise - specifically - on our side?"

As sure as he was that Jet made the most beautiful of baits -- especially -- well - considering all things? The fact that Aqua had been hamstrung by one of their knights was worrisome. The chances that their enemies had technology that could hamper their one failsafe - 'get out of ******** up places free' - card? He didn't like it. Not at all.

Prehnites eyebrows climbed, ever so slightly. Traced a spiral and placed little dots inside. A tight cluster, a dotted heart. Ganymede, of passion, and a loyal tight nit pack that surely loved her. Loved each other. It was all going to be very interesting indeed.

It was all very interesting already. All the ways things fell into place.

How fortuitous —- for Jet to have stumbled upon plots that would’ve filled a vaudeville to the brim with buyers in stands, set on seat edges just to see it all play out. Chaos and beauty set to the soundtrack of battle.

“It’s about time — honestly — though why you’d choose to ‘subdue’, when ‘death’ is so cleanly laid out as an option?” Hummed soft, rhetorical, because he understood vengeance, even at a cost - wondered if there was more to it then that.

Not that there needed to be.

Jet had gone and asked his Queen’s permission - her leave - a women who had once been only that. A person. How chivalrous a thing for him to do. “Though I don’t know why I should ask — This is, how long in the making? How long have we been at it, and they been errant burrs in our heels? Two years, ten? A millennium? Laurelite should have something nice, a late Christmas present.”

Terse little sigh as he set his hip to the edge of a cluttered table top — nudged a succulent encased in amber across it. Thoughts that cool life’s as he scrawled a cloud of shapes that meant nothing in accordance with the names he knew.

“I am in, you know? Let me assure you of that. I’m happy to distract — to be a murderous nuisance if need be — though I’d like this all much more if it didn’t hinge on you getting caught and possibly ‘not killed’. They have - can - will. Trading captives and playing tortured versions of roulette are not new to either side, I’d imagine. Except last time…they chose people who couldn’t go much of anywhere, I think? And now.…” rhythmic taptaptap and abrupt blotchy stop.

If it came down to it and they couldn’t leave? If they had them all dead to rights with a thing that could’ve left them all stranded. I’m the mission. Beyond. The very whole of the Negaverse cut off or locked down by some abomination of a mechanism that they didn’t understand.

What were the Valencians and Maus for, if not this? Would’ve been interesting to have — to reverse engineer.

“Should we bring fodder? No, that is — feral youma — subordinates we trust? We may have sharp pointy things, but if they have ways to keep us? If those are completed and the Knight in question, threatening that, is to be there? Then I hope we have an out. I’m not so brave to risk my Iolanthe to a Princesse’s wrath…My girl Hatsya could be useful though…or..have you looked at any of the other thirteen, Ashanite? Faustites pet body, the one with the braids?”

Whatever Jet decided, whatever he thought they needed? If there was anything he could’ve supplied extra —- or maybe just being a body would be enough. He didn’t believe there’d be more time, more chances, better to go after it all as quickly as possible before it slipped through their grasp.

Secrets to dissuade mass paranoia and the mania that would inevitably ensue. Suicided missions embarked on for promises made to Kings -- to Queens. Out of loyalty, of love, to tie loose ends and ruin the plots of others. It seemed to be going around. The sorts of high end dealings that held simple paths towards maiming at their end.

"We'll be cautious, we'll handle our assigned ends. Quietly. We'll save you --- if we can." that would be the trick, as Prehnite had no doubt in his mind they'd take Jet up on his bid as bait over literally anyone else. He was too expensive a prize to ignore. Gold trimmed, priceless. Necessary to their cause with his foreword thinking and 'hopes'.

Though he seemed dead set on testing his luck with that.

"It'll be wonderful. Just one more thing, and this is a personal ask. Not that I don't love 'surprise last minute alliances'...but? A little forewarning about any changes would be nice. If at all possible." unbothered by not being able to tell anyone else anything. He'd never met with Axinite in his life, answered to Lepidolite whenever necessary, once before - rarely since. Understood Laurelite was the core of all things, a blackhole sun.

Yet? Her penchant for caution had cost them, or maybe just him? Personally. If not profoundly. Even as he remembered how he hadn't quite minded smacking the small pastel alien into the ground (she had shot him first after all). He did regret, ever so slightly, how many of their newly allied 'friends' had proven to be far less than 'friendly'. Which made it even more awkward now that they viewed him as -- well -- someone who'd attacked one of their own. A shame. He would've liked access to some of the mushrooms he'd seen her cultivating.

"....and please don't die, or purify, or..die." maybe if he said it twice, three times? It'd stick. Words, sentiment, though he doubted that. Sighed like wrapping vines instead, and gave a dismissive flourish of pen, twirled it neatly between pointer and thumb - let it tap. He'd jot the whole of it down as 'Lunar Lunacy' - or maybe - 'Moon Madness' - plant a garden of scribbles around the title so he could later smile at himself for the small bit of silliness brought on by his own private little pun. A title for a close quartered mess that would likely end worse than the Rift venture had.

Because Jet and those that followed him had value to them. An equal risk reward exchange, considering the prize. A balancing of the scales, as they chased something that could be their undoing. Yet all he could think of as he looked between Jet and his splotchwork of chickenscratch was *pleasedon'tdie* - like he suddenly cared, out of nowhere, after a decade of simply *not*. Decided that caring, ultimately, sucked. Especially when it was for near strangers from whom he would be so removed that if things did go assup, there wasn't ******** all he could do.

If there had been more than one of them, more than two? Maybe if there were ten - or twenty - or even...

"Secondary to that...I've little to ask, or to add. Everything else is arbitrary after the fact. Over-planning for a situation where the info is scarce. It'll only give us all gray hairs." and the pen and pad snapped closed, slid the clip of one into the binding of the other. Looked tired, for a moment, felt tired, for thinking about -- all the ways it would go well, or wouldn't. No inbetweens for these sorts of things.

"It's a good group though, Jet. Not that you need my approval. I still very much believe in you...when it comes to the betterment of, all this."

They had.

Survived their enemies swathed in names of service to the moon, but more importantly? They'd survived themselves. Outlasted so many of the old-guard and clung all the way through. Like weeds or redwoods. Like beings destined to become petrified forests, silent, sentient statues. Along with the rest of Metallias honored best that lingered eternal in the Rift.

He sometimes felt it was as much a miracle as it was a curse. Outsmarting a knight's puzzle boxes. Coming out triumphant from a time when murder of others - friend, enemy, civilians - was a dietary staple, a skill taught young. When Senshi were pets, and ones identity was sacred. A revelation that so often lead to fear of a swift demise. There were only so many starseeds to go around, after all.

Yet they'd remained mostly whole and sane. Somewhat sane? Somehow.

Prehnite wasn't sure if that deserved a pat on the back or a death sentence. Wasn't sure if he cared enough about himself to grind that particular thought down into meaning beyond 'Good, now make it better for the rest.'

Could've droned onto the masses about all the woes of ancients and before times. Except he'd decided Jet's path was the better one to place his vote behind. Make it all better. Better enough, that no one would ever have to hear of it. Remove entirely the obstacle that Little Red Henned their asses, every ******** time. They did all the work, just so a princess could come in. Swipe up what was theirs with false hope and a smile -- only to scatter it all to the wind like so much inedible husk.

So much bullshit.

Jet's mirth eased that knifepoint a tad, got him smiling back sharply, enjoying the sound of it. That he could be entertaining, whether or not it was at his own expense. He liked the other General. The little snapshots he'd received in minutes spent. He wanted him very badly to succeed...almost as badly as he wanted to bury a serrated blade in their enemies backs...

He'd simply have to leave Hatsya a note. Just in case. Ensure Iolanthe was left to someone worthy -- of which he knew no one, so....

He'd figure something out.

"Would you? I never put much stock in it, but if its the thing you'd like. Let's see you survive this. Preferably as yourself, because you'd look terrible in bright colors...or..gods forbid. Pastels."

Teased on end, like a sharp, pointed thing; because he didn't want Jet to worry for them. The man had picked well. They would be fine. Jet simply had to keep himself alive long enough. Buy them time....with body, breath, and blood. Such very costly time.

"Only then, you'll get it. All the approval I have. All my assistance even, without the lecture, hereafter. I'll pour it into a letter, put a seal on it, maybe a few 'Gold Star Stickers' and 'attaboys'?" gave Jet a real smile. Something honest with how it pulled at the beginnings of frown lines, how his eyes showed age where his face didn't quite yet.

Stood and shifted - eyed - a crate on his floor, and the dark blackcherry stained oak and brass of his desk drawers.

"Now - since we're not going to over-plan for everything we can't possibly predict, and since we have so little to go on that we are -- inevitably -- going to be rudely surprised. I do have...Homemade vodka, actually..Somewhere in here... Also ginger-beer, for some reason?"

"Is burning the place down an option?"

Would there be a concern of civilian casualties? Did he particularly care? So long as all of their own were out. He fleetingly wondered if Jet would've minded cremation over a burial proper. If any of those involved had gone so far as to consider -- Oh, how it would be a win or lose with little room for anything in-between. How brave it was of Jet to place their singular time round the sun, with their all too human mortality, up against a princess whose incarnations were nigh Eternal.

Brave..stupid...Was that what courage looked like? Brown curls atop a cape. Silver and teal liking darker shades of blue. The thought alone was worth having a drink over. Worth offering -- A pair of shot glasses pulled from an offcast end-table. That should've been in the crate, but weren't.

He set the pair atop the clearest part of his only available flat surface. Uncorked clear/green mixed glass of hair curling tonic. Poured each shot full, till the liquid threatened to spill over the narrow rim.

Prehnite had no explanation for why he'd purchased them. Except that at the time he'd thought the little glasses were cute. All adorned with budding cactus's and prickly pare iconography. The sort of silly chotchkie gotten from gift shops in other states and airport lobbies loaded with beaded bits and baubles, often perused just before plane boarding.

"Because, Jet. I will empty out an entire liquor store if it is?"

Alongside the set of drinkware he left the bottle set, recapped it. Added a pair of Ginger beers to the whole of what he nudged closer to Jet like an offering. A very peaceable farewell. Something Jet and his officemate could keep.

"Take just the one, and then take the bottle. Aqua might like it, also? Ginger beer is surprisingly good for you. The rest? Makes an excellent disinfectant on the fly. For wounds, and minds. Cure-all for the stressors that beleaguer every common person that ever was."

The words came paired like cheese and wine. Loaded with ample snark, raised brows. With offerings of tomorrows.

With a toast.

Just in case they didn't see each other again after.