Welcome to Gaia! ::

A thrum of knowledge that ran undercurrent with begrudging respect for the man before him; the king. Not fear, no. He was beyond that. He knew the Sovereigns power as well as he knew the Queens, had it in his chest - sensed it like an echo of a threat on the battlefield; he honestly hadn’t expected to walk out of Jets office unscathed, let alone with a concession to aid - not with how recklessly he’d come in.

If Jet didn’t find it in himself to end him privately….he was sure Aquamarine would. Someday. Maybe.

The pair of twin stars that they were, eternally revolving round each other, ever deadly. That was as easily observed as the sky being blue, or the Sun rising in the East. Could be inferred at a glance.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it. There’s no one else I’d ever dare to do it for…..” a lingering eclipses of thought, maybe he’d brave the ire of death or youmafication for Jet? For Hatsya? For Iolanthe - surely - but for her he’d have faced Metallia herself.

It was all different, vastly so.

Ochre was different. A dying breed - extinct - deceased. Prehnite missed him differently, felt that pain in an ever confusing barrage of concerning ways. Told himself he’d get over it, once it was all buried and done. He needed a proper end, surely — a solid and tangible thing.

“…..and there’s something comforting in assuming you’d never do the same for me. I suppose.” and the smile he wore was wane, weighty with the most frayed sort of joy. Mirthless, but respectful all the same.

“Now…is it alright if I come get you in a few days? I’m sure you’ve had enough of me for today.” It felt like a shame - a waste - heavy little curdle of feeling that he had to will away, because he was ruining something that could’ve been good - better. Oh to have an actual friend - like all the old silver and gold nursery rhymes running on end - droning on happily about nascent, impossible things.

If he’d simply come to have a drink. If he’d turned his brain off, he could’ve enjoyed a decent celebration, but he couldn’t - hadn’t - and Jet was too far removed to *understand*. A better agent than he could ever have been, truly.

It was a refreshingly familiar thing, like pulling on a favorite old sweater full of lingering smells. Scratchy in all the wrong places, perforated with holes and patchy unraveled threads. How his own sabotage always kept him complacently warm, at a cost.

He didn’t have to ask whether or not Ochre was worth it though, and that? Was something to live for, guilt free, if ever alone despite it.