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After all its preparations, Malodore was finally ready. It was afraid, naturally, but it wasn't going to let that stop it. Absolutely not.

It had sent out its requests to Riley and Christof, asking them to meet it at the Advanced Hob Laboratories; Christof for emergency assistance, just in case, and Riley because she was Riley. It needed her there, desperately.

The plague doctor paced around the laboratory, trying not to get too nervous and partially failing. It looked strange now, its backblades entirely gone, and a cloak draped over its shoulders for modesty. Underneath that cloak, it was not wearing any sort of shirt or top covering at all other than its bandages, and even those would have to go when it was time for the implantation. Being so... well, so close to naked... wasn't reassuring in the least. That alone would have been alone to make Malodore nervous, let alone the rest.

The rest was... well. The slab, covered nearly with towel and tarp. The instruments, laid out with care. The distinct lack of any anaesthetic agent; the procedure was traditionally done without, and Malodore suspected any numbing might interfere with the bloodmetal's integration.

And, of course, the wings. The beginning of wings.

Malodore had worked hard on them; it didn't know much about forging metal, but the attuned bloodmetal had required much less coaxing to flow into the shape it wanted. What lay to one side, gleaming, were skeletal wings. They were very small - the foundation for what would over time become a much larger structure. Only the main structure was bloodmetal; the feathers were made from base metals, ordinary wire binding them to the bloodmetal. Over time, if Malodore's theory was correct, the bloodmetal would grow down the wires and integrate the feathers into the system as well, similar to how its tail and tailblade worked.

It took a deep breath. The wings were perfect, or as perfect as they could get at this juncture. It dared not make them any larger; even now, it had laid out linens to be used as slings to support the weight of the wings so they wouldn't tear themselves out of its back while its body healed around them.

... It was going to hurt.

Malodore clamped its beak firmly shut. It was going to hurt, yes... but it was also going to work.

Riley had been preparing for Malodore's big day in her own way. She'd spent several nights just thinking about what they were about to do, and her excitement warred with the sinking feeling that settled in her stomach once she realized she was going to have to purposefully hurt the one she loved. She didn't like that idea, and it kept getting in the way of her joy for the plague doctor. Even as she walked in behind Christof silently, closing the door before the patchwork had even noticed her arrival, her hands were shaking. That would not do, for this procedure, and she knew it. She just.. wished that she could have convinced it to perform the ceremony unconscious. Its reasoning was unquestionable, however - no matter how good of an argument Riley weaved, Malodore knew better.

She had nothing left to say about the matter.

She settled her hand on the shoulder of the patchwork in front of her to give him the heads up that she was there, and her eyes scanned the room, settling on Malodore for a moment before they found, and could not tear themselves away from, the wings.

Those long, sharp things were going in her Malodore.

The hand around the bag she'd brought tightened, almost maliciously.

Christof flinched as Riley patted his hunch, face flushing as he glanced from her to Malodore as it began it's briefing. He... he was to... to cut Master Malodore? S-screaming? He had no doubt he would do it well, cutting things apart was something he prided himself in, but if something went wrong? If he cut in the wrong place? What if he...

No, there was no reason to panic. Malodore trusted HIM to do this work, he would not let it down.

He nodded, nervously, in understanding.

I will do my best to be as quick and neat as possible, he mentally murmured to his Mistress, Please ah... let Master know that? His mental voice held as much anxiety as it would have if he had spoken the words, his palms sweating as he moved to examine the wings and tools.

"I will assist as much as I can, though... I believe it will have to be direction only, not actual hands-on aid," Malodore said, awkwardly. "I can turn my head, but moving my arms during the procedure will probably not help at all."

It blinked as Riley began relaying, then took her hand when it was offered, twining its fingers with hers. "It may affect the flow of FEAR, and I need that," it said, as gently as it could. I am afraid too, it offered, mentally, but I... I can do this. I will imagine every cut and every bit of shed blood is damage done to the Casa, not to me. I believe this will make it easier.... and this is truly the most difficult part, right now. This is the foundation. After this, we merely build.

Malodore sounded a bit like it was trying to convince itself, but there was also a core of steely resolve underneath the anxiety.

She wasn't trying to convince Malodore of the error of its ways - at least, not this time. She'd tried enough, and failed. She was resigned, and it showed. She tried to hang on to the image it told her it was using for comfort, but it was hard. Harder than anything she'd managed before.

And that meant it was a challenge.

Riley's slouched posture lifted to something more familiar, and she bent in to press her face against its beak. You're right. She murmured quietly. And it will be quick. I will be here, every moment. And it will all be worth it.

She needed to be strong, for Malodore. She would not fail it. Not now, and not ever.

Hand still entwined, she turned her head, chin tilted upward as she eyed Christof. I'm so grateful we have Christof to do this. I would have failed you, where he will succeed.

Christof swallowed deeply, his face red as Riley's words floated into his mind. She... she really had such faith in him? Hell's Bells, he BETTER not mess anything up...

But a chance to cut into something living? Granted, that something was a beloved friend, but even so... his heart was beating faster, and for a moment he wondered if his Master had put in a second one. He shifted, clearing his throat, hands trembling as he approached with the sharp instrument, his palms sweating.

There it lay. Malodore... wasn't really a ghoul, let alone a pretty ghoul, but it wasn't a boil either and... well...

His heart thudded in his chest.

Just slice through the bandages.

And try not to get too excited.

Concentrate on the job at hand.

Yes Master, he managed meekly. Er... cut the bandages now, Master?

"Yes, remove the bandages now, then find the scar tissue." It turned its head back around to touch the tip of its beak to Riley's cheek for a moment. "I know you have the skill to do this, Christof. It will be fine."

And it wanted this, damnit. Not the pain, no, but the pain was the path. The wings were the prize at the end.

Malodore took a deep breath, then steeled itself. It turned its head around and peered at its own back; plague doctor necks were fairly flexible, though it couldn't quite turn its head entirely backwards. "Yes." Another breath. There they were, sure enough, old scars, thin but visible.

Its grip on Riley's hands tightened. "Do it - and immediately afterwards, get the wings, both of you... per favore..." Its tail lashed once, but it pinned the thing under one leg.

"Farlo!"