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Obsidian was usually found in the Rift, which meant that attending his lord, reporting, or training, often ended there leaving Titan in various states of bloodied and/or confused. Today at least was one of the better occasions, the General's fickle moons swung generous with a good report and quota overfilled. Titan's body was lacking bruises, if not a set of delicate cuts along his jaw as a mark of favor where nails had drawn across in pleasure, blood dripping slowly down his neck and painting his dark collar a little darker. There was no use to stopping in the middle of the paths, in the off areas that watched fallen Citadels of the Earth- bandages didn't grow on crystal and weird things lurked in the Rift that may or may not consider a lieutenant food where a general was not.

Obsidian had made that purple-glowing-crystal clear.

Spires were coming into view, and Titan heaved a sigh of relief and slackened his long-shank strides from hoofing-it to just hurried.

Titan slowed his paces, seeing the sudden slink of a form along a crystal. Movement was a good forewarning that one should be wary, even if one could not completely see a source of possible danger yet. But walking froward, it looked vaguely like a person- at least so far as looking to wear something like clothing, be bipedal, have two hands, two eyes, two ears, and one mouth.

It could...speeeeeak. " I am finished reporting, to my lord. Now I go back to the surface, to do his will. He was my escort down. The path from his side to the door....it is a type of training, I think. He might be watching. I don't presume. But I must keep myself alive, and be responsible for making myself stronger. "

"You ...are unfamiliar to me. Do you have a name?"

What was this off-feeling, blue and scaled being?

Each step he took awoke old pains in his body. Despite the minute victories he earned in the debriefing with Howlite, it did little to quell the ache from his staged tussle with Pandora. The energy spheres mitigated some of the pain, but he was still subject to the normal healing processes of his body - as such, he'd sport bruises around the bridge of his nose, and a smattering of discolored injuries throughout his body for at least a week. He loathed that understanding; he yearned for instantaneous healing. Still, the Negaverse neglected to afford that kind of luxury.

Bischofite elected to take a walk primarily because his mind still brimmed with the excitement and adrenaline of battle, and he needed time to mull over the proceedings. He wondered about his current placement, the importance of his actions during filming, and

... What the ******** is that?

Bischofite stopped dead in his tracks, while he stared unblinkingly at the insectoid blue creature standing next to a presumed lieutenant. Was that supposed to be a youma? And what was it doing with the admittedly gargantuan blonde?

Their interaction piqued his curiosity. Perhaps he should investigate.

Bischofite approached as quietly as his battered body would allow, watching with unfettered interest. This beast sported vines across its body, and a relatively human appearance aside from its strikingly blue skin. It stood on what looked like stilettos, though they seemed as much a part of its body as the translucent wings buzzing on its back. As it stretched its hand out to the lieutenant, Bischofite caught sight of deadly claws on the tips of its fingers.

All manner of strange creatures were present in the Rift. This one was simply more unsettling than the rest.

Inwardly he feared the creature could smell the blood that caked around his nose.

The youma chuckled deep in his throat, a jovial sort of sound. "You have an odd way of talking, Titan. I like you." He gave the blonde a rousing pat on his gargantuan shoulder. While they were equal in height, Titanlåvenite vastly outranked Bazzite when it came to sheer strength and muscle mass. "Obsidian picked you out of lots and lots of lieutenants. I think he picked very well." Bazzite made a note to see if he could find out who Obsidian was. Perhaps Benitoite knew him. "And it is nice to meet you as well."

Speaking of Benitoite... The youma perked up considerably when the subject of his own lord was brought up, ears raised slightly higher than usual. "I have a General, Benitoite. He's small of stature but very intelligent. Blonde, like you. Wears a cape. Maybe you know him? He..."

The youma stopped quite suddenly mid-sentence to sniff the air. Bright blue eyes cast a glance over his shoulder to spy another agent. Ah, what luck! Bazzite had never seen so many at once unless it was for a meeting. The youma waved to the smaller, darker agent with a smile. "Ah, you. Lieutenant, don't be shy. Come over here. Let us get a good look at you too." Bazzite could easily outrun either of these two but had no intention of devouring anyone that evening. Unless, of course, things got... ugly.

The other agent coming into view was at first a relief and then an uncertainty- he didn't look at his top shape. Then he was talking and Titan's brows practically met with deep lines of uncertainty around them. What was this little one saying?

It was bad enough that he himself had a bastardized svenska/norsk accent to his English, but adding onto that trying to make out someone else's skewed pronunciation? 'You can crush something something something something, right?' My arm? Crushing. Talking about crushing things and indicating my muscles. Well, yes, I like to think I can crush a lot of things.

"Maybe?" it was a sort of neutral answer, he hoped enough to sound like he had any idea what the little one said. If he had enough time, he could get used to the accent and start sifting it out. If they both didn't get put on platters.


It was good the small one instinctively took a more guarded position somewhat in relation to himself. "I do not know Benitoite, except as a name...part of the Intel list. I am with the SpecOps, that follow Howlite."

Bischofite huffed when the blonde voiced his uncertain answer. Doesn't he know his own strength? Surely he could crush that monstrosity's throat, right? O was he simply too scared? The taller lieutenant obviously displayed the girth of the hulk, and his tight uniform only served to show off those thick cords of muscle, so why couldn't he commit to a definite answer? He certainly looked like he belonged to a gun show, to say the least. "You're supposed to say yes," he whispered, laced with irritation.

However, the youma's stated name drew his attention immediately. "Bazzite?" He echoed, his accent sharpening the consonants of the word. "Bazzite is dead. Benitoite killed him. What tricks are you trying to pull, youma?" As he spoke, he placed an admittedly spindly arm on his admittedly bony hip. Suddenly he didn't feel so tall anymore. "From what Benitoite told me, his captain died in ze middle of a promotion gone wrong. And if you still want to know my name after I'f called you out on your lies, it's Bischofite. I am wis' Benitoite in intelligence." He pronounced intelligence with a g-sound rather than a j-sound.

He stood in the shadow of two colossi; he didn't appreciate the feeling of being dwarfed so easily. "Lieutenant Muscles, what're you doing out here? Why are you talking to zis... sing?" He gestured toward Bazzite as if he weren't present. "We should leaf' before it decides we look appetizing."

However, the blonde could make for a wonderful meat shield...

Bazzite is dead. Benitoite killed him.

The youma tilted his head, face contorting into a monstrous version of concern and confusion. He certainly didn't feel dead. He still woke up when he was no longer sleepy. He ate. He slept when he was tired. All of those indicated he was alive. Why would someone presume he wasn't? "No tricks." came a simple reply. If anything, Bazzite hated liars. "I didn't die. Who told you that?" No anger, no hatred, just genuine curiosity.

Bischofite. He remembered that name. Benitoite mentioned it once, having a new lieutenant under his wing. Shifting his weight into an uneasy stance, the youma stared at Bischofite as if to see right through him. "Oh yoooouuu must be the newbie Beni has taken in. You living at the house with him? Did you take my room?" The youma gave the smaller lieutenant a toothy grin. Surely Beni kept his old room tidy for his return someday? The thought was comforting. Perhaps Beni missed him sometimes when the house was dirty or the weather was cold and his soul wanted soup.

Bazzite used to cook a mean soup.

Talking about him like he wasn't there pissed the youma off, however. Before Bazzi could even finish his telltale hiss (complete the with appropriate stretching of his mouth and jaw), Titan gracefully bonked the raven-haired lieutenant on the head. Hiss and anger forgotten, both Titan and Bischofite were treated to either the creepiest sound in the world or the most relieving - the sound of a youma genuinely laughing. "I like the way you think, Titan." said he between chuckles.

"What is 'zissing'? " There was a good chance it was some word he hadn't come across yet. His vocabulary wasn't massive, if broken into the independent languages he spoke. Not for any of the three. "Don't get so uptight. Meals are those who act it. "

"I will not believe in prophecy except of my own creation. So don't act like a meal, and don't let yourself be one." He looked to Bazzite, "Talk feeds the heart when the stomach is already full? They are both purses to keep stocked I think."

The going on about a room and death sounded harsh, whatever the mystery of one being the same as the other and the definitions of death or what was meant by it. This Benitoite must have had reason to say what he did and how he did. It was confusing to follow...unless...."You say 'z' for 'th'?"