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Captain Serpentine had arrived to the junkyard early to soak in the memories of this place for one last time. He had stopped by often since Buddingtonite had confided in him about his relationship--and falling out with--Bischofite. The twisted, burnt wreckage reminded him of the danger of the one he sought to destroy. In its desolation, it fueled him. To be smarter. To be stronger. To make sure that the one who had laid waste, not only to this location, but to his friend's self-confidence and to his own precious face, paid for the perversions he had enacted while seeking to hide beneath the banner of Chaos. It was not merely a professional duty; it was a personal mission.

As he crunched bits of broken glass and charred metal beneath his boots, he knew that this was the last time he would come here. His burning desire for revenge had cooled into a hardened sense of satisfaction. Bischofite had been appropriately stripped of his rank and all the powers and privileges that came with it. The punishment had come with an unexpected addition, and it was one whose poetic nature he could appreciate. Clearly, Serpentine had proven himself effective as a mentor through his strong partnership with Buddingtonite. To be granted control over Bischofite, with all of the perks and responsibilities such a role entailed, would have been an excuse for brutality and the most excessive types of revenge.

But that was not the florist's way. He was not the type to kill a plant if it stuck him, not when there was any chance of a prize-winning bloom emerging from it. No, he would be working to keep control. Control was important. Control was everything. He had been granted outer control from General Queen Laurelite, but inner control could only come from his own efforts. Oh, Bischofite would pay. He would pay in toil, in sweat, and perhaps in blood, but Serpentine would not torture or destroy him. However useless he may be now, however monsterous, this boy was his to grow and to shape into something worthwhile. The change was important. It would reflect on his abilities, on the abilities of Buddingtonite. There would be growing pains, and he would take some satisifaction in causing them... but he would not become a butcher.

Serpentine stalked towards the scent of tobacco, surprised that any smell could rise above the acrid stench of burnt metal. Addictive substances in general made him sneer, but now there was an obvious expression of disgust on his face. "Put that out and come here." His words were as sharp as any lash of his whip, and they were clearly a command. A command that they both knew Bischofite had to obey.

The lieutenant looked pitiful. Serpentine's gaze went from tired eyes to unnaturally pale skin. What he noted most of all was the lack of life. No smarmy retort. No baying at the moon under the mask of philosophizing. No mockery. No fight. In a way, it was more pathetic than Buddingtonite had been on his most pathetic days. Even at his most drunken, the confectioner at least craved liquor. This broken thing before him snuffed his nicotine filled vice without any protest. Right now, Bischofite looked ready for the Captain to rip the starseed from his chest and go peacefully to the next life.

There was no way that Serpentine would ever let him escape punishment that easily. No, Bischofite deserved to burn in the hell that he had created, to be pulled apart by the chains of suffering he had constructed. Here he would remain.

The proud man may have been the shorter of the two of them, but his personality had always made him the equal of those taller than him. Now, he folded his arms across his chest and spat another command, "Power down." He kept his gaze steadily on this sniveling remenant of a general and waited for his command to be followed.

It was a carefully chosen move. Serpentine did not know what face belonged to Bischofite beneath the glamour offered by the Dark Gift. Alois was nothing but a tabula rasa to his mind, a smooth face with no features. The Captain would not be able to pick his new charge out in a crowd, and it was a handicap he would not let stand.

It was also a personal means of leveling the playing field. Bischofite knew Serpentine's true face. He had seen it masked with pain, darkened with fury, and coated in blood. Seeing Alois, and not the raven-feathered beast, would humanize him. Weaken him. Debase him even further in the florist's mind, down to the level to which he had sought to reduce Krishna.

The single word hung between them, heavy in the air for all its quietness. A smile twitched across his lips. Apparently there was still something to work with, at least. Much easier to cultivate a sprout, however weak, than a dormant seed. This one was not growing in the direction he wanted, however, so he took corrective action.

With no announcement or warning, Serpentine's hand shot into Bischofite's chest. It was a subconcious action now, perfected with practice and enacted with indifference.

He did not grab for the starseed that lay within, but he could. He knew it. The lieutenant in front of him knew it. That was all that mattered. Serpentine knew that a threat could be more powerful than any beating. He moved his fingers subtly within Bischofite's chest, but no gleam of pleasure or disgust crossed his face. His expression was completely calm. "Rule 1. You will follow my commands. Power. Down. Now."

The Captain had his reasons for his commands, and he would share them. Whenever he was ready. Whenever he felt the lieutenant proved himself worthy of receiving them.

In all important ways, Serpentine and Bischofite were completely different men. They loved differently. They hated differently. They lived differently. Yet, there was one characteristic that they seemed to share: a desire for knowledge. The rainbow-haired Captain was not one to follow orders without question either. Knowledge was power that could allow him to decide whether or not to follow a command as given or whether to follow the intent, rather than the letter, of the command.

Of course, the difference here was that this boy had no choice. He was required by a force more powerful than either of them to obey. All the same, he answered the repeated question. "To see your face." It was a quiet, though stern assertion. There was no need for theatrics, for boiling anger or frigid disgust. The truth was a rich enough dish without additional garnishment. All the same, he used his free hand to push the taller officer down to his knes. Eye to eye, he all but whispered, "To know you, Alois."

The name was the sharpest knife in Serpentine's arsenal. Richard had gifted him the weapon when he heard about his partner's plan to iniate contact with his new charge. There was no boundary between Buddingtonite and Bischofite; each knew the other's look in uniform and out. Krishna did not need that much familiarity - but he did need to know the boy's face. It had never been merely professional. The moment Alois had threatened Richard... it had become personal. He intended to be at no disadvantage.

His rough fingertips brushed against the starseed now, and he repeated his command. "Now... power down. So we can continue."

The wince, as well as capitulation, showed that the blade had struck home. Serpentine stood perfectly still as the now Lieutenant's uniform began to fade away. No more face paint. No more uniform. No more glamour to mask the creature before him. He was not waiting with bated breath for the revelation, but he would be lying if there was not a touch of curiousity in his mind, a curiousity that leaked to his eyes. Who, or what, was this Alois - the base, truer side of Bischofite?

... this was it? The Captain's gaze examined the civilian form of the beast in whose chest his hand remained. This? Richard's tastes and his own had never aligned, but... this? A young adult, certainly, but seemingly stuck in that late high school/early college Gothic phase, if his black and gray clothing and queer jewelry were any indication - not to mention the multiple piercings that littered his ear like scraps of discarded metal here in the junkyard. The fluffed shock of raven hair, feathered much like General Bischofite's unifform had been, was now much longer to the point of shagginess. It lacked any of the ability to cause fear. No, it only made him look more like an edgy teen who had been caught moshing at some metal concert.

An unbidden frown crossed his face. Richard had let this into his home, his bed? The Negaverse had given this the Dark Gift and promoted him through the ranks? This rather unimpressive specimen was what he was expected to grow and to make flourish? How could he have ever considered this a threat?

Serpentine removed his hand from the boy's chest without any further touch to his starseed. He would not squeeze it or tear it out - not without extreme provocation. Such a punishment needed an equally large trigger. No, let the removal of his touch be seen for what it was. A retraction of punishment, if not quite a reward, for finally obeying his command. Time to move on and get to the rest of the rules.

In a few moments, green and gold faded away to leave the florist in his natural state. He had not dressed to impress because there was no need. He wore a simple yellow polo shirt and black pants, the same type of thing that he always wore at work - the only additions, really, were a leather jacket with a popped color and a scarf of purple, red, yellow, and black to combat the cold. "Krishna Dhawan." Now, neither of them had any way to hide.

The reason for his change became clear whenever he pulled a simple cell phone out of the jacket pocket. He paused for a moment to create a new contact - Alois Scholz. He then handed the phone to Alois to complete the rest of the entry. "Rule 2. You will come when I call."

Height held no intimidation for the florist. Let Alois look down upon him - what he lacked in height, he made up for in raw will and personality. Krishna had no problems when it came to self confidence. He did have a problem that, because of pride, vanity, and haughtiness, he was particularly sensitive to being mocked. The dry laughter that erupted from the youth's mouth? He was as certain it was mocking as he was certain that this punishment was his responsibility. While Krishna was willing to accept the latter... the former was unforgivable.

His brown cheeks were lit with a dusty pink, and his jaw tightened as he grit his teeth. Yet, he did not immediately strike. He waited until he plucked the thrown phone from the air. Then, with his free hand, he punched Alois in the gut as hard as he could. Mockery, Krishna would not stomach. Nor did he have to - at least not from Alois. Not anymore. He thumbed the call button and, hearing the phone ring, thumbed it to hang up.

Now, it was the florist's turn to be amused. A thin line of cold mirth cut across Krishna's face. In this particular instance, he loved being the bearer of bad news. "Actually, you are. In uniform and out." He slid the phone back into his jacket pocket with one hand while uncurling his fist to hold up three fingers. "Rule 3. You will work free at my shop." Then, he added a fourth finger, the warmth of amusement slowly fading away as he moved back to more serious territory, "Rule 4. You will have a doubled energy quota, but are to pull no starseeds."

What was Alois to do at Padma's Bouquet? Well, even the florist was not exactly sure at this point. He did not know what, if any, practical skills the youth possesed. With the holiday rush coming, however, there was always a need for extra help. This aspect was partially to make up for the money he had spent--and during a time where he had precious little to spare--to acquire the necessary materials to treat his injured face and the burns with which he had been plagued after their first two meetings. It also gave him a way of keeping tabs on Alois, even more than the tether of the phone.

The increased energy quota would mean that the lieutenant was doing more than his part to support the Negaverse and its causes--but Krishna purposefully denied him the act of killing. Bischofite had caused enough death, as far as he was concerned. More importantly, he felt in the marrow his bones that the former General enjoyed it. Enjoyed the power, the suffering... in ways that the florist genuinely could not, and did not want to, understand. Someone who had once been general should have enough ability to keep from getting himself killed, even with out being able to kill himself. Besides... Krishna did not intend for Alois to go off and do anything on his own. But that was a future rule.

Speaking of, there were only two more rules to be given, but he did not give them immediately. Krishna spun away from Alois and motioned for him to follow. "Come. I will show you my shop." He thought it best they keep moving - he had the nagging suspicion, the more he looked at the youth, that he was on the brink of falling asleep. The twenty minute or so walk to the flower shop would give them plenty of time to finish covering the rules and to keep the Goth awake.

Krishna listened, honestly rather surprised to see the ease with which his new charge remembered most of the rules he had been given. With the listless manner in which he spoke, the hooded look of his eyes, he had thought Alois was not absorbing anything. Add to that the sluggish, almost unnoticable affect of his punch, and the florist was pretty sure that the youth was high. So, perhaps it was not too surprising that he had managed to forget one.

Yet the acid behind that Germanic tone, something trying to chip away at him, as though he had made a mistake? Krishna snorted, shaking his head. "No, I did not." His refusal was flat, as terse as any other statement he made. He offered no smile, and not even a glance towards Alois as he reminded him. "When I had my hand in your chest - Rule 1. You will follow my commands. Had you forgotten?"

The collection of burnt, twisted metal that they passed on their way towards Easy Street meant nothing to him, now. Like the fire that had destroyed this area, confronting the one who had tried to kill him left Krishna clean, free of the mental garbage that had clouded his mind for some time. That he was stuck with the source of said fire, said garbage, was nothing within his control. Laurelite had given him this task, much as Zinkenite had given him Richard. He more than accepted it; he relished it. To prove his worth, to reclaim his proper place as top Negaverse officer, to restore Richard's normal life. All perfectly good reasons to respond with another shake of his head, "Difficulty does not frighten me. Since when has life been easy?"

The smooth, silent steps on the side walk was a welcome change from the crunch of metal and ash of the junkyard. As they headed towards Easy Street, it seemed an appropriate time to get to the last couple of rules. Or would have been, had Alois not asked him about his shop. Krishna blew into his hands for warmth before rubbing them together. He did not like the cold, but he would do whatever he could not to show weakness.

Still, there was no denying the pride and the hint of warmth that entered his tone when he spoke of his business--and currently, his home. "Padma's Bouquet is my floral shop, although I sell all forms of plants and plant supplies. I specialize in unusual arrangements and requests. The shop has been in business for about ten years. It is across the street from Sugar Shanty, on Easy Street."