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Maeve was being berated and taunted. This boy claimed it was opportunity to act, but Maeve still felt it wrong. She did not know if she was right or not, but felt that her experience lended itself to the more correct answer. Then a threat came from his lips-- one to remove her arm. A blink was her only reply. He wanted to go so fiercely, enough to threaten her, but this was coming from the same mouth that tried to rile her up earlier. He was strange... confusing, even. In such an intense situation, he kept poking and prodding at Maeve. Perhaps he was just an angry person, lashing out at Maeve when he could not lash out at the ones holding his Plague.

“If you intended to do anything, now would be the time,” a man piped up from the seat in front of her. Before any sort of reaction could be given, however, the man was already taking off for the stage. Bold actions, but ones of stupidity in Maeve's eyes.

A wave of talking and shouting further engulfed the stage into madness. So much was going on at once that it was far too hard to keep up with everything. The Emperor hurled and Guardsmen came to his aid, Plagues spoke and-- everything was too jumbled. The mercenary's eyes darted between the many scenes, but she could not form a coherent picture of all the goings-on. It seemed as though with the ushering of the Emperor out of this chaos, things would begin to wind down.

Compromises, political discussions, those who were in power, arrest warrants and-- too much. It was a sensory overload that Maeve was not expecting. Truly, things were coming to a close, albeit not that good of one.

The Council Mages which had so graciously teleported Maeve to the theatre in the first place, were now going every which way and making things vanish. More teleportation. The Plagues still on the stage seemed to be the first to go and-- her bandages vanished in an instant. They claimed it would be sent with her, and they damn well better have. Many things, and then people, were disappearing quickly.

A sudden push of her arm brought her attention back to the man beside her. She dropped it to her side without so much as a glare and listened to him speak. Lady la Chance was certainly something to be referred to, but in an obvious sarcastic and biting manner. He was continuing where he had left off before more chaos ensued-- trying to push Maeve. So very strange. Edgecrest? It sounded as if he wanted a chase, this thief. She didn't care who he was, but he kept trying hard to make her care. It piqued her interest at the very least. But before she could dwell on such thoughts, a Mage had sent him away.

"Merde." And just as easily, her hand was grabbed by a Council Mage accompanied by the simple tap of her wrist; Maeve disappeared.

The Plague General, too, had split from the Imperial General, her own Grimm, and followed alongside the freckled boy who was the Doctor's messenger and voice during this meeting. Grand Magus Estratus' eyes were locked onto Diedthelm Kunze as she stepped, noticing but not acknowledging the figure who rose behind her and began to follow behind her and the knight he was so taken with. Her stride was strong, catching up with her white knight and ascending to the stage the same as the others. A familiar flaxen haired Locos was still speaking to the Emperor, until His Holiness crumpled to a heap near his own vomit.

Was the young Emperor vomiting due to the Plagues, the attempt on his life, or the solidification that he had no power compared to his Audience of Advisers, the cloaks of red?

Sloane's eyes scanned the thinned group of remaining Plagues, mismatched eyes narrowed and alert, if not a little tired looking. The hostility of battle seemed quelled for the moment, and with a swift sing of metal the blade on his arm returned to nothingness. Silently he looked over all of them present, some familiar but most not, and strangely he thought back to Miss Elsie Crane and her plagued cup. Sage had told him the cup had become a Phasmas but he had never met the resulting Excito and now he had to wonder if either of them had been at this meeting at all and what might have become of them.

Brows knitting somewhere between worry and agitation, the Infitialis' swirled eyes came upon the familiar forms of the fiery Phasmas Nella, gaze meeting the dark eyes of the ashen Quietus, spotting the tiny colorful form of Blaithe where he had been unable before, the feathered Gryfalcon Hayat, and others. He watched as some Plagues were immediately reunited with their Grimms while some either delayed or did not approach the stage at all, not for Excito or Putesco.

Through his haze, he barely heard the silken voice of Lady Sanguine until she shuddered and laughed once more, Sloane's attention drawing to the Grimless Blood Lady. A mixed feeling of relief and pity washed over him, not sure what would happen to her now but at least grateful that her antagonization within these walls was complete. Or, it would have been, had the General not kicked her away like a filthy vagrant. Sloane nearly saw white, teeth immediately clenching into a tight snarl and face firmly changing to reflect the pulsing rage coming forth. Loud, thudding armored steps cut through most of the conversational din and he barely registered that Treatise had gone to Sanguine's side or that the Blood Lady had responded so pitifully to her abuse.

His armored fist clenched as he followed wordlessly after the General whilst he carried the Emperor away from the stage, to safety, and as he turned to enter one of the wide doorways Sloane felt his knuckles connect thunderously with the cartilage of General Kunze's nose and the firm bone of his cheek. If his Lady was already branded a traitor by her actions in the interest of Plagues then his own actions mattered not anymore -- he did not need to think of what would be considered prudent or acceptable in this "neutral" meeting place for no longer was it neutral but a den of chaos and anarchy.

Sloane barely hesitated to feel or watch the effects of his actions, turning on his heel and instead stepping towards Lady Sanguine as Treatise leaves her side for the center of the stage. He did not hear her words but a glance to his Grimm confirmed that she did, a tense look about her despite her reclaimed professionalism and outward detachment. He glanced, too, to Nella and Danylrein who had returned to her and though he did not smile as he might have normally when their eyes met, he gave the young man a firm nod of approval before kneeling down to stay with Lady Sanguine.

"Milady..." but what more was there to say?

The Grand Magus had watched her Plague's movement and done nothing to stop it. Her amber eyes glanced between he, the General and Plague General Treatise who also did nothing to assist her Grimm, tending to the fallen Lady Sanguine instead. The bloody Infitialis was certainly shaken, mentally wracked after this affair -- or perhaps prior to it. Was this break a long time coming, since the death of her Grimm? Before even that? Or was there something more at work here.

What, precisely, had happened to Lady Sanguine? She couldn't be sure but Grand Magus Estratus merely watched as her Plague gave the General a swift punch and nodded at Treatise's words. Her gaze shifted to the young Galdenin and his Phasmas as he collected her from Clurie, whom she also gave a glance. "I fear I may have unhinged the entire Fellowship this day," she sighed to herself, though she finally understood that it had become unhinged long before she had even learned how to first utilize her own magics.

The words of the white Quietus Erasmus only served to confirm her suspicions, a wry grin forming despite herself. Perhaps she would go down in history as the fastest Grand Magus to fail and be booted from her position. Yes, that seemed about right if she was now a traitor and had spoken directly against the Emperor -- nay, the Advisers.

Before her mask of neutrality broke entirely, a tortured expression threatening to push its way to the surface, Dean Kirkaldy spoke and and Treatise's blue swirls found her. Without missing a beat, whether it altered the discussion or not, Sage replied "My agreement is confirmed," before dropping out of the conversation entirely. What more could be done? Her ears perked and she turned to look upon them once more. August Cecil, was it? The one Sanguine called Waldgrave... His voice and accent thick with Shyregoedian influence had indeed reminded her of the late Grand Magus, Lady Waldgrave, who had taken her under her wing and thought of her as a daughter, and she a mother. However, she remembered all too clearly what Grand Magus Waldgrave had expected of her.

Complete unyielding loyalty to her and her alone, as if the Fellowship was the most important thing in the entirety of Panymium and she at the center of that importance. For a Waldgrave to answer to one of the Machaera Royal Family a second time, Sage wondered if August Cecil would also fall to Queen Valhalla's stalwart blade.

She bowed her head to Treatise, to Dean Kirkaldy and Sir Erasmus, to Danylrein Galdenin and his Plague, Lord Yizhaq and Lady Hayat, Georgie, if he would look, and though she hesitated, she even gave acknowledgment to the Clemmings Grimm and Plague before collecting Sloane. She did not know what would become of Lady Sanguine, here or in Colwe, she at least gave her a look of respect -- perhaps misguided -- for allowing her claws to taste the blood of cultists. That look as the last she gave and she and Sloane were gently tapped by the Council Mages and were transported elsewhere, the sword's last motion toward the Blood Lady a weak smile and reaching out of his claws.

Others had begun to approach the stage and retrieve their Plagues unchallenged, but Nicholas remained where he was, momentarily transfixed by the sight of the Emperor's fit. He'd heard that the boy was sickly, but rumors were one thing; seeing one's head of state collapse onto a pile of his own vomit firsthand was quite another. The doctor couldn't help but wonder whether he was prone to this sort of thing to begin with or if it had been somehow brought on by the proximity of the rifle-bearing Anhelo. Even as people shouted and rushed around him in a panic, Nicholas groaned inwardly at the amount of research he needed to catch up on. He had absolutely no idea what to expect with his own Plague, and given today's events, he rather suspected he needed to be better prepared.

That was, of course, if he was allowed to keep the violin to begin with. Nicholas listened to Erasmus and Kirkaldy's concluding remarks with a mixture of relief and dismay. He was certainly glad that he wouldn't be forced to give up his Plague today (ignoring the curl of disquiet at the pit of his stomach, the part of him that still wanted to be rid of the violin and all it represented, to avoid, irrationally, the horror of what it might grow to become); but if he were one day required to relinquish it, he would rather it happen sooner than later. Based on the current chaos, developing an emotional attachment to one's Plague seemed, if not inevitable, at least very likely, and Nicholas was nothing if not a lonely man. As long as it didn't turn out to be a complete monster -- he avoided thinking about the rogue Anhelos on stage, all teeth and claws and strange, skulking angles -- a friendship might not be out of the question. Nicholas wasn't sure whether he could bear losing everything he had a second time over.

He stood up, feeling suddenly very weary, and began to make his way over to his Plague as so many other Grimms were now doing. After all of this it wouldn't do for him to become separated from his violin in the confusion. But before he could get to it, a Council Mage reached out and touched it; it vanished. A protest had barely formed itself in his mind when the same mage tapped his own wrist and Nicholas, too, was gone.

(( reserving because i need to go to bed, oh gawd headache, post tomorrow. sorry guys ;;;;; ))

People were all around, rushing, swarming, screaming, swiping at all the little excitos that Clurie had come to collect and shove in a protective corner. At first, he stood against them, determined to protect the little ones before he realized that the people coming were no guards at all but Grimms, searching for their own. He stumbled to the side, breathing hard, sinking into the steady dizziness of his dwindling energy. All the transformative processes he had forced his body into had taken a toll on his stamina, the stress included, and he was sick with relief to find that the Plagues were getting swooped up into the arms of their rightful guardians or spirited away by the soft touch of a mage. He made sure to call out to some of the Plagues, to wish them farewell, or to comfort them with a stern "you did well, you'll be okay now, you'll be okay", but he soon, too, lost his breath. Clurie collapsed to his knees, his dark ashen hands losing shape, and he swung his head about, taking in the aftermath of the riot. It was getting easier to see as there were more and more people disappearing through the use of magic, silence moving in to claim the auditorium. Amongst them, he could see Wickwright disappear, whisked away into nothing, and he could see Sage and Sloane standing together before whisking away into nothing as well. Georgie and Adal had come to stand near, muttering with one another, before standing to talk with the nearby Grimms and their Plagues, announcing amongst them. Something had gone wrong with their plan, they had known about this council in the first place, somehow. What was it that the Malts did when the Clemmings were away from the caravan? Clurie blinked tiredly, still looking about at the distracting panic. He could also see his own panicked Grimm making his way towards him, pushing himself up from a crawl and onto his own feet.

With tears blurring his eyes, Chauhn ran to Clurie, seeing the other boy that he had recruited into running along with him veer off towards his own Plague. Chauhn fought his way to Clurie, dodging the mages about him that were pulling others from the threads of existence, and shouted for him. "Clurie! Oh, Clurie, 'ealth and livin' your arms! Don't worry, I'm coming for you!"

Clurie gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes, slumping and letting his head loll upon his shoulders and away from his Grimm. What a bother, he thought, how embarrassing. He could watch out of the corner of his blackened eye as the mage designated to the Clemmings chased after Chauhn, trying to catch a hold of his clothing, anything so that he could transport him, when Chauhn yelped and threw himself into a skid and a roll, effectively twisting the mage into a fall of his own. Chauhn didn't bother to turn around and see the bothered scowl on the mage's face, he had Clurie to attend to. Skidding onto his knees before his Plague, Chauhn forgot Clurie's personal boundaries and threw his arms around him, dragging him into himself as he spat out the last of the leaves from his mouth and over his shoulder. The Ash Anhelo wiggled in Chauhn's arms, groaning aloud, "CHAAAUHN, stop! Geddoff! Get off!! You big baby! Get off me!"

Chauhn only tightened his arms, burying his face onto his Plague's shoulder. "Clurie," he spluttered, "Clurie, it's alright, you're going to be alright..."

"Chauhn, you're embarrassing! Stop! I can't breathe!"

Finally allowing his Plague some space, Chauhn wrestled his hands at his neck, pulling his scarf free so that he could stuff it into Clurie's hands and towards his mouth. The boy was beginning to calm, make more sense, and he spoke with a quiver in his voice, "Here...Eat my scarf! Quickly, you're weakening."

"Okay! Okay! Just don't choke me with it, 'ealth!" blurted Clurie. He kneaded his fingers into Chauhn's scarf, the scarf that they had just saved up enough to buy, and he gave it only a pity's notice before he started stuffing it into his mouth. Weariness growled up in his stomach, pulling up at his throat to drag down the sustaining ash made from the destroyed bits of scarf, and he found himself overwhelmed with relief. No just for the scarf, Cluri was beginning to realize with quiet dawning horror, but for Chauhn as well. He had been scared for a moment, but now Chauhn was a comforting presence. As he ate, swallowing painfully, he let himself lean a little bit onto Chauhn's shoulder, and the boy kept his arms wrapped around his Plague, protective still even as the ruffled mage finally caught up to them and tapped their shoulders, transporting them into nothing.

The last thing Chauhn saw was the fleeting forms of Adal and Georgie, standing together, dismayed, disgruntled...Something was wrong with the Malts.

Scarlet was not amused. She did like the presence of Plagues, but like hell she would condone the taking of items and beings without permission. Some Grimms may have consented to it, but Scarlet Esposito refused to let even the Emperor take away her bow. She moved to protest further, but sealed her lips at the sound of gunfire. Eyes widened and she reached up to tug the hood back over her dust-colored hair. She narrowed her eyes at the Guardsman. Kill the Emperor? There was only further confusion when another Plague—the Plague General, was it?—declared the Plagues and Grimms within the guard opposed the decision. She held back an amused sigh at Erasmus’ and Kirklady’s words.

But then Adal pointed his rifle at one of the Advisors.

She quirked an eyebrow, her arms folded over her chest as she watched on with mild interest. It was like watching a play only the unfolding events were real and would ultimately affect Panymium one way or another. The question was whether for worse or better. All of the innocent amusement drained from her face when she watched a couple of Plagues assault an Advisor. Gunshots rang out, but the sound failed to register to Scarlet’s ears. What was going on?

The only thing she managed to squeeze from the next set of announcements was the command to return with or without Plagues. She shook away her daze and rushed for her bow, clutched in her protective arms. A rather disgruntled Scarlet gladly allowed herself to be teleported out, all too eager to leave the meeting and digest the information at a later time.