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Quartz stood outside General-King Axinite's door turned out in the best that his uniform could manage: hair freshly washed and brushed, boots glistening, both sleeves pulled on as properly as they would go. He had little desire to interact with the General-Sovereigns more than necessary -- the proximity of them made his stomach churn unpleasantly -- but that didn't mean he didn't appreciate the value of making a proper impression, such as it was. He'd shown up sober, taken his work seriously. The final version of every report he'd ever filed had been submitted with seriousness and care, attention to detail: just as Schörl would have it. His work was a reflection on her efforts, which meant he was answerable to her if his work didn't reflect what she wanted it to. That meant it mattered very much how he comported himself, even if it wouldn't have otherwise mattered to him.

He did his best to be a good agent as a matter of survival, of comfort; although he had no love lost for Metallia's cause, he had more than enough regard for his own skin to do what was necessary to preserve it in the long term. This was what was necessary. He had to perform his job as a Negaverse officer. If he did that, he got to live. If it did it well, he got to live less uncomfortably.

So he did his best to do his job well.

Quartz knocked on the door with one hand. The other hand held his copy of the evaluation form Axinite had provided, completed and ready to be turned in, rolled up into a scroll within his hand.

"Captain Quartz to see you, sir," he announced himself after the mannerly rap of his fingers. "I believe I'm expected."

Quartz saluted smartly, then followed Axinite into the room once he was granted entry. He took a minute to assess the space: dangers, weaknesses, points of egress, places one might take cover -- details it might reveal about Axinite's character, too -- and signs of any previous tenants. That done, he waited as the General-King circled his desk and found a seat.

Quartz didn't follow his lead in seating himself. He hadn't been given leave for that. Accordingly, he remained on his feet -- a good soldier, if he could help it.

"Thank you for seeing me, sir. I'd hoped to drop off my feedback form with you, completed as requested -- and to discuss the matter of my work within the Negaverse with you. Confidential informants, as you might recall."

Quartz made a careful note of the way Axinite filled his space: where things were personal and where they weren't, what things seemed to have been his priorities upon moving in. It was contrived, perhaps -- a calculated image that conveyed the idea of a personality, but nothing too committed -- but then again, Axinite was a person just like anyone else. It was entirely possible that his careworn chair was nothing more than that: a comfortable chair that he liked. Not all things were calculated. Not all things were more than what they seemed.

It was information for later, at any rate. Nothing he needed to dwell over in the moment.

Quartz nodded at Axinite's insistence that he could seat himself. A guest, he thought, keeping the drollness of his reaction to himself. I'm anything but. Is that the attitude you're trying to engender in this branch -- everyone's a guest invited to your teatime? You brought crumpets to our last meeting. An interesting choice.

He sat, though not in the casual way he might've sprawled in his own shitty office chair: instead he perched with straight posture, sitting only on the front third of the seat.

"I have a small network of Order-side informants who've agreed to provide the Negaverse with information in exchange for their safety. So far, this has been reasonably profitable -- I've been able to fill out some of the lacking files we've had on several Order-side targets as a result of this information. Unfortunately, I've come up against a problem in the course of my work. As you know, sir, some of our operatives are -- zealous in their work, especially those who've spent any amount of time in the Special Operations branch. They don't always take my informants' word that they're working for us. Unfortunately, a captain's authority carries very little weight, and few people outside our branch see much value in our work."

He watched for Axinite's reaction. Was he concerned about the Intelligence branch's standing in the army's mind, or -- like Hessonite -- would he simply hold to the notion that what the other branches did and thought wasn't worth taking into consideration? And what was more -- would he help? Or did he lack the clout among the other General-Kings to get them on board with respecting the Negaverse's agreements with their confidential informants? He seemed outwardly to be the softest, the most biddable of them -- but did he have a steelier spine when it came down to getting things done?

Quartz nodded briskly. "Of course, sir," he agreed with Axinite's assessment. "All espionage carries with it the risk of being fed deliberate misinformation." But good, reliable intelligence often spared many lives on the side of the army that possessed it -- and wars were won and lost by virtue of spies and their information. Surely Axinite didn't think he needed to be told that . . . unless the General-King was actually trying to warn Quartz to be careful of his own welfare . . . ?

Surely that was absurd, from a General-King, or else part of the man's ongoing milk and cookies mission to seem like he cared about his underlings. Surely no General-King reserved that much actual concern for the well-being of a single soldier undertaking the sorts of espionage that spies the world over had engaged in for centuries.

Perhaps he really did just think Quartz was dense. That was fair enough, he supposed: most Negaverse agents were, in Quartz's estimation, stupid. It was a reasonable baseline for a commanding officer to start from. It was certainly more believable than the notion that he was worried for a captain's safety.

"I wouldn't need much materially," Quartz put in, already prepared for this question. "Something simple for my informants to wear -- something like a pin, something they can keep hidden in their clothes and show as proof that they're working with us -- and easily destroyed if they don't hold up their end of the bargain." He lifted his eyebrows, coming to the more serious point. "And a message from you -- I wouldn't presume to bother the Queen -- to the entirety of the Destiny City contingent of the Negaverse army -- explaining that knights and sailor soldiers wearing our pin are confidential informants aiding the Intelligence division, and should be spared without calling attention to them whenever possible. A memo would do -- if it carried the weight of your rank, rather than mine."

Quartz inclined his head in what he hoped was a proper enough show of respect. General-Sovereigns couldn't help but put his nerves on edge, especially when he didn't have Schörl's lead to follow, but had to speak on his own behalf. It was the powerful way their energy saturated the air, ever reminding him of Laurelite's cool voice, her hand slithering into his chest like a diver into water, lancing him through with horrible, stinging pain.

They were all capable of it, even the quietest of them, even Axinite. Laurelite had been quiet, too, after all. It made no difference.

Even knowing there was no particular reason that he should be fearful of anything like that in this moment, the tension stayed with him. If the fiasco of the tournament had demonstrated anything to him, it was that trauma was perilously difficult to banish from mind and memory. He'd have to work harder to shutter himself to it.

"All spies are unpopular, sir," he agreed. "Among their allies as much as their enemies. I'd be grateful for your protection if things go south -- and I'll do my best to bring you actionable intel to justify my work."

Quartz reached into a pocket and withdrew a small sketch, done in blue ball-point. The picture appeared to have been rendered on the back of a cocktail napkin, and though it lacked any excess of artistic skill, it was competent enough to express the idea: a long stickpin topped with a bundle of grapes on the vine, and next to it, a circular image that, upon closer inspection, appeared to depict a basic design for a pocket watch.

"I thought something wearable to keep the pins in would be best," he explained. "A pocket watch, or something like that. Something I could wear that wouldn't be mistaken for a weapon." He slid the cocktail napkin drawing across the desk, and left the matter of further questions in Axinite's hands.

His responses to Axinite's survey still lay in a rolled-up piece of paper, currently resting in Quartz's lap.

"Thank you, sir," Quartz said succinctly, relieved. He'd be glad not to have to deal with any more near-disasters with the likes of Xenotime and Cinnabar -- or any other agent who was inclined toward the Shoot 'Em All, Let God Sort 'Em Out approach to combat. With a General-King behind him, people would think twice before sticking their hand through the chest of a confidential informant.

That out of the way, he unrolled his response to Axinite's questionnaire and set it on the desktop that lay between them. "My responses to your survey," he put in matter-of-factly. "I was able to attend General-Queen Hessonite's Special Operations meeting after yours. I'm sure you're aware it was . . . " Quartz raised an eyebrow and said, diplomatically, " . . . dynamic. As you'll see on the survey, my observations there led me to think some restructuring might benefit the . . . health of the organization."

Quartz was, in general, pleased with how the meeting was going. It was a bit disappointing to find that the General-King didn't think there was much hope of getting Internal Affairs split off from Special Operations -- but, fundamentally, not something Quartz cared much about, beyond his ability to demonstrate his thoughtful observational skills in pointing it out. If his superior officers thought of him as rational and dispassionate in the face of problems, a clear-sighted thinker, that was what he'd hoped to accomplish in filling out the survey at all. He didn't particularly care if the Special Operations branch crashed itself into a smoking crater in the Earth and was never heard from again. Let them fail, if they had no use for the sort of information the Intelligence division could provide. Let them choke on their own hubris.

So, Quartz thought, listening to Axinite provide his feedback, he's fixed other Intelligence divisions before. Stepped away from his own well-functioning division to turn around a failure -- and now he's here to bring this operation up to snuff, too. That's interesting. He's a fixer, then. Cleans up messes.

And he wasn't above looking into moving Intelligence's energy quotas over to General Ops, that was promising. It was some of the best news Quartz had heard all day.

It was Axinite's question, though, that he answered with a small smile. "Ah. It's meant to create a humanizing element by demonstrating that I have a sense of humor -- but a productive one. People will be more likely to show up and do their paperwork if there's a weekly catered sit-in. At least from what I have access to, the database files are woefully behind where they could be."

From what Quartz could tell, it seemed like Axinite was lacking in dedicated underlings to help him with his work. It was a mistake, he thought, to have brought him into the branch and not let him bring along one or two people from his old location that could be counted on to do legwork for him.

Quartz supposed that meant there was room for upward mobility. Room to improve his own ability to stay alive by becoming more valuable to his superiors. He had a general desire to remain alive, and if that meant bringing Axinite his coffee or running the occasional errand for him, it was a better option than most.

"I look forward to it, sir. Thank you for agreeing to see me. Will there be anything else I can help you with?"