Some blades were so sharp that they could cut an inattentive opponent clean, leaving them unaware of a wound or a severed limb for many long seconds after it had been carved. Others were meant to ignite the nerves in blistering agony. Schörl was, in general, an expert in either style of wordplay, each blade she threw singing into whatever target she held in her sights of a moment. This one, however, needed little expertise to improve its impact: it had an audience that had carefully learned the value of attentiveness, especially attentiveness to her.
This shot told with little difficulty. Quartz had failed to advance to even the second round of competition, even paired off against what he considered to be a sloppy, unprepared opponent (an opponent, after all, not trained by Schörl). There would be consequences -- hardly a surprising decision on her part, but nonetheless one that sank like a boulder in his stomach, all the weight of well-learned dread.
"As the general sees fit," he acknowledged softly, presenting no argument. Fools argued with Schörl. Fools and pampered favorites. Quartz had no aspirations to the former category and no illusions of the latter. He folded his hands behind his back and stood at his place a step behind Schörl, a dog at heel.
"Participation was spotty, considering the size of Destiny City's troop roster," he observed, thinking of all the people who hadn't shown up, all the files he wouldn't get to update with his observations. "Cinnabar seemed to have a good voluntary turnout among her own, at least -- perhaps she's improved her recruitment technique."
Schörl hadn't entered the lists herself, despite clearly having had the availability to do so. Many of the generals hadn't. Quartz wondered why there'd been a Generals' category at all, in fact, considering there were so many reasons it was better not to have included it.
More concerning, though, were the large number of lieutenants who hadn't just failed to participate, but elected not to show up whatsoever. It pointed, as ever, to the deep flaws in the various ambush styles of enlistment processes the Negaverse favored. Morale was s**t.
It wasn't his place to interpose himself into however Schörl chose to respond to Ceraskia's performance; she'd already have decided what mixture of encouragement and criticism she intended to level at her newest soldier. Quartz had no desire to cause problems by interfering. His only role in Ceraskia's performance in this moment was as Lazarus Klein, who remained her massage therapist and the person responsible for assessing her fitness to take the stage; thus, he kept his commentary to the blandly clinical where she was concerned. "You won't need any major interventions to get you back into dancing form," he offered his assessment. "Except cosmetically. If you want to avoid energy spheres or starseeds, cupping would mask some of the bruising."
