Welcome to Gaia! ::

Are we Home, Barbary? The other General let hair slide from a roped-grip, the skull attached to it bouncing a little on the roof tar while a uniform melted off it to the aether. The Youma pawed for the starseed like a kitten for broccoli. She did not oblige, tucking the winning into breast pocket in exchange for the communicator that chirruped familiar timbre and cadence. " 'In wine there is wisdom, in beer there is Freedom- ' Is this a catered event? Don't trouble of common stores, I can stop by my collection. I have two Balblair 99's, and I can bring our own smokes since that's got more body and sweet in it than Uigeadail. Anything else, luv? "

"Just at tidy up. " Travel was fast-formed, dawdling minutes cut away like machine-mold tabs. Certain supplies were kept ready and stocked, and the keycodes meticulously managed. There was even a three-bottle, custom leather carrier from a Maker's meet some years before that was an old soldier at its job of impromptu fun-picnics abroad. Fifteen minutes from start to finish and Schörl's steps came echoing along the Negaverse halls once Barbary slunk from her shoulders to secret himself in his corner cracks.

"Knock, knock."

"Excepting that we all tend to go to the same tailor, if the Sovereigns be so much, it might make a mind wonder what way Laurelite's intentions towards you lie-" Schörl crossed the last few steps to make a slow walk around the display. Many uniforms in the war lacked practical applications, such as armor. The angry pale of the scar across the other woman's bust, prominently on display over her...prominences...spoke more to warning of the problem than what may have been an attempt at lioninzing the wearer. Showing scars had a long history of intimidation. Showing skin as a distraction had its place as well. The Sovereigns never seemed to have much sway in the creation of lieutenants, compared to just Generals. Was the image a reflection of internal consideration? Of Metallia's? The variation between they two alone made it difficult to pinpoint exacts.

The green general reached out, tracing fingers lightly under the collar of the coat to see if the bodysuit was strapless beneath. The eyes being the window to the soul, the marking of sclera rose questions of how far or how the youmafication had progressed in with the rise of rank. Details. "Pity I've never seen a leaning towards the bedroom from her at all. Maybe you have a chance on that score."

"It certainly shows of your ample qualities and challenges them. I would worry if someone less invested in actual martial training was so clad. You'll still manage to break faces. It IS a boon to have more population, and helpful sort, in the command of the Special Operations. The mantel of chaos wears well on the outside. What of inside? "

She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to each of Cinnabar's cheeks in a greeting and welcome. Then held up and put the carried with whiskeys onto the desk. "How do you feel?"

Or 'serve' a soveriegn as implications run. "If by fire, Of sooty coal th' empiric alchymist, Can turn, or holds it possible to turn, Metals of drossiest ore to perfect gold. " It was more or less assured that Paradise was Lost on Cinnabar, Ariel Mishnah, or any other incarnation of the woman, maiden, or child the creatue represented in this life. Book learning, or the application of it, wasn't her prime intelligence. She had other virtures, now come to their supposed fruition as any General raised.

There wasn't much more to say for Baal, after all. With how fallen the creatures were, it was a marvel that so many seemed to contest with the agents they attempted to inhabit. A broken soul trying to overmaster wholly a whole one made little sense of hope, but they still tried. Infection, yes. Manipulation, yes. ' Hope never comes that comes to all; ' But they still in some mean way and occasion strain and reach and try in these half-pities. At least Cinnabar is less splenetic of the affair as the last.

"You'll miss your cats all over again, without the snarling inside. Pity they're no good for here, unless of the Sneech variety. So few, few as Generals-ranked. There will be so much more to accomplish- you can sponsor and bring in broods of your own cubs now from the kine as Lieutenants. You can create objects that will drain from a distance and add en masse to the cell of the Queen. Whole training regimen, mission initiatives. The Special Operations has needed active hands. It is still early."

"First hours. But had you thought of what you wanted to chase first?" Schörl scanned, gathering ice to one of the glasses and then looking to Cinnabar in a wordless question of on-the-rocks or not. Then poured the whiskey three fingers to each and offered over one glass. "In toast, new Mother of Gold and Crimson Chaos. "

"A special forces unit so well in tune with each other that they work on muscle memory, reacting to situations and carrying out their aims as many hands, one mind." It had been two years, but the memory of the tenants of the team charter the green General had once set out for others to have a look at was clear as crystal. There was a reason that 'real life' militaries organized and trained in small units, then larger ones. There was a reason that platoons had identities, and the officers within them call names, well established roles and strengths to play off of. There was a reason that the lone wolf bullshit of the White Moon, and that the Negaverse was deteriorating into, was exactly that.

Schörl crossed, sipping at her drink, while taking a seat companionably by. "It isn't a matter of my personal interest, I'm afraid. "

"Other officers are put off by my approach, philosophies, manner...a cocktail of aspects that makes my direct involvement or attachment to any project a deathknell. Of similar significance-" The dragon cane appeared to the lifted, free hand at a thought. "Metallia's armament and purposes for me do not appear best suited to active field combat. I want to help you, Cinnabar, and your goals. And a team, should that be your next move. I do not think my purpose is in the hunting, but in the healing of our wayward sons and daughters. I am the gaoler, and my place...it seems more and more clear that it is in the Dark Kingdom and in the Rift. What the SpecOps collects, I can re-purpose and resuscitate. You would gain more ground, I expect, without my name attached to yours formally. "

"As a general, though, my ability in tactics could still be reliably called on- large scale draining, item creation for your team to disseminate, providing teleportations, or acting at need as an operative in hemming enemies for round-up. Two Generals working together can accomplish a great deal. Behind the scenes, alliance and working together for the greater good."

I don't care what they think, either, but it's more a matter of efficiency than personal preferences. The attestation was an interesting choice from a fellow, likewise a General. It spoke better of relations and efficiency than what had seemed rampant infighting, glory-seeking and competition in most of the time that either of their names had appeared on the rosters. Their kind came together for the large missions, but little else. At least there'd not seemed any overt sabotage, but no well greased engines, either. "I'm impressed you have difficulty of that nature, but so it goes. Children are apt and drawing lines in the sand where they'll quail to cross- they'll murder each other with aplomb at blood and fists, but the bloodless starseed is taboo. They'll command Youma to tear through civilians, and keep the things as pets, but an officer who has merged with one is somehow frightening. "

"The trouble of the training regimen. The lack of one. Military structure without boot camp to give them the proper mindset. Pol Pot was far more efficient with his children. " It was possible Cinnabar wouldn't get the historic reference, but it was in her court as a General to research pertinent aspects of training subordinates.

Schörl made no move to reclaim that hand, taking in her own beverage with practiced relish. "Lazarus progresses slowly, sullenly as always, but progresses. It is a good lesson in patience, to not ruin the recipe. The heart is one of the strongest motivators, though, and he hasn't found his attempt to escape with it yet. But he will. And that will make a final end of it. He's earned his way to working at the DCBC, so he's getting more socialization. I think he'll do well transferred to Infos or Infiltration. He's good at putting on pretty faces. "

"Have you give thought to bringing in any new recruits yourself? Either in a general sense, or for your ideals as a team? If the pieces you want are not on the board already, as a General you have the ability to make your own. "

"That may well be. I'm not certain that the hierarchy makes the best light of partial youmafication. There certainly IS the proof of it's place as a teaching mecahism or a mark of a past failure. But it hasn't been fully explored. It could be used to shore up weaknesses in agents. Lost limbs can be replaced and bettered with living ones; wayward agents could be reconditioned and monitored with symbiotes...I've even managed the latter with a lieutenant already. A wonderful Youma I found in the rift...serpent like and helped for a tithe of starseeds. Intelligent. Effective. "

"It will be an interesting experiment, if you decide to choose all willing conversions or recruitment. It is...a different perspective. " Chaos does not need willingness. It is inefficient, in a short term sense, to have that bleeding wound. And yet....

"It is all a war of attrition, when one need not ask permission.
And what point the offered hours, smothered softly all the watchers not the soldiers,
solder on the pieces and parts and do not bother with these others not brothers. Not daughters. Not sons. Water them then, in the blood of the wound and slaughter. Slaughter. " Schörl leaned forward, smiling, putting lips to Cinnabar's glass to take a drink. But it wasn't swallowed. The green general leaned more, shifting up onto knees and pressed mouth to mouth to let the whiskey heat between their tongues.

Enough of business, then, with the ideas matched to see how they will come out. Let's celebrate.