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It had been some time since Cinnabar's dismissal -- it's not a dismissal, Poppy reminded herself, it's her making sure she doesn't hurt her subordinates - but it felt like a dismissal, anyways, it felt like Cinnabar saying she didn't want them anymore.

Not that she knew her brothers-in-arms all too well. Jet was a general now, Bayldonite seemed to be doing fine on her own and was sort of her recruit anyways...she'd heard tale of Violane, heard tale of Idrialite -- but it was so much time and effort to meet someone new who wasn't a senshi like her, too many rembrances of failed reach-outs as a Super echoing in her mind. Schorl had seemed suitable enough, though; she'd seen the woman in action at Scholomance's failed corruption, tall and capable and commanding even in the face of unknown resistance. She wanted to be like that. She wanted to learn from someone like that. Quartz was always so dutiful -- any General who could make that out of a subordinate was surely something special.

She patted down her uniform skirt (she'd arrived in her school uniform, because it was the nicest thing she really owned; crisp and organized and clean) and fiddled with the purse that clinked against her hip, her henshin pen hidden inside and slowly opened the door to the studio, swallowing hard, clicking her fingertips against each other. If General Schorl -- no, Stroud Marinus -- was here, was in residence, Poppy was prepared to plead Chrysocolla's case. If she was not, then Poppy would return tomorrow, or next week, or next month -- eventually.

"Um," Poppy murmured, very eloquently; her eyes roamed the space with an artist's glint, taking in the carvings, taking in the texture. If nothing else, she found pleasure in that, design given form -- it provided a point for her to reference back to, if the conversation went in directions she didn't know how to manage (which was, in truth, most of them). But if nothing else, she knew Stroud's meaning; she had studied the name she wanted, the name she'd taken, for long hours to make sure it would fit. That it would be proper, for her, and of who she was.

"I wouldn't consider myself a false emerald, ma'am," she smiled meekly, "but yes, to plead the case. Your loft is lovely...did you design all of it?" She felt persistently underdressed, constantly and forever, but Poppy reached forward to take Stroud's hand with calloused fingers and shook it hesitantly. "I'm sorry to intrude..."

Poppy, still, had the look of a girl very out of her depth; she bit her lip, trying to make sense out of Stroud's words, and then seemed to catch herself mid-biting down and rearranged her mouth into a hesitant smile. She followed behind Stroud without any complaints, stepping quietly, stepping neatly; she didn't tread on anything that would have moved with her added weight to the fabric, instead taking a seat across from her conversational partner -- ankles crossed, hands twisted in her lap, shoulders drawn inwards.

"...Poppy Anania-Sedgwick. I would consider myself a follower...but, um, as I'm sure you know, our -" her fingers twisted, cricked, uncricked. Tangled in each other. " - mutual friend in red has -- stopped directly teaching others. Commanding. I've seen you work before, and you were...strongly suggested to me as a new superior to follow." Poppy was short, unassuming, tired-looking; dark circles under her eyes, dirt and ink streaked under her nails. Her knuckles were white, where she clenched her hands together so tightly it felt like her bones would break.

"I work best with someone else's guidance. I'm -- requesting to become your subordinate, in fewer words."

Poppy -- blanched, might have been the best way to put it; she was hardly anywhere close to pale, but it felt like she'd gone sheet-white. Clearly the conversation was going ways she didn't want, hadn't thought it could go; she hadn't thought she'd be asked for her opinion, her choices, after -- Cinnabar had never asked, if she wanted to be independent; and with Umber it had always been such a relentless stream of worthless, useless, weak and he'd put a worm in her head and she'd gotten her nose and jaw broken. She'd kill him, one day, one day. It was a hope, it was a promise. For someone clearly an adult to ask her about her choices, her desires, her needs -- suddenly it all felt like a bad idea.

Her hands tightened. Twisted. Her nails dug pale crescents into the meat of her palms.

"I - don't feel comfortable being in positions of command. I have no experience with it. As it is, I currently have custody-of-a-sort of Lieutenant Faustite and Lieutenant Bayldonite; but both of them are younger than I am, and we can commiserate as friends. I'm Faustite's only support, as it stands, and I won't abandon him to someone who expects equal capability out of a teenager and a grown adult with years of experience." She wet her lips. Swallowed.

"It's easier, to take commands. I don't have to worry about as much that way." Poppy's hands desynced, detangled, straightened themselves on her lap. "I don't make good decisions when left to my own devices. With a superior officer I trust, I feel I would be a more effective officer. That's all."

"I'm seventeen, ma'am." Poppy kept her hands in her lap, frozen; no eye contact. Even this almost felt like too much. The cushion was the most interesting thing in the world; thread by thread by thread overlapping, crossing, twisting into a full piece of furniture without any hint at the underlaying support structure. Fabric and thread to create a full object. It sounded so incredible, like that, she could almost pretend it was something worth listening to. "I'm a junior at Romano's Constitutional Haven, and I was recruited at fifteen."

"Lieutenant Faustite," Poppy said, quiet, soft-voiced, "was expected to deliver all of his waking life to the Negaverse, despite the fact he would have been better suited in a less combat-intensive role due to his family's social standing. As far as I understand, judging from his injuries, General Umber was effectively holding him - without any allowance for his age or potential familial problems or lack of experience - to the same standards he would hold a Special Operations General. Because of this extreme push, and disregarding the fact Faustite had a student life to attend to -" her teeth slid, harsh, against each other. So white. So white. She felt a little light-headed. "I. Um."

"I feel comfortable taking a mentoring role for officers who are younger than I am. It's...not the same as a Commanding Officer. I don't want to tell them what to do, I just want to make sure they know what to expect if they don't."

Tense. Untense. Tense. It was rhythm, one-two one-two, her hands aligned in her lap. Just a little thing for focus, just a little thing, she barely even knew she was doing it -- one-two, one-two. "Faustite requested my help after his youmafication." Poppy's voice was soft, soft; not any quieter but somehow less sure. "I'm helping transport and train him until he becomes a Captain, and can teleport himself. He's not here because he wasn't one of Cinnabar's officers - I don't know if they ever met - and I didn't think that it'd be important." Now she just sounded ashamed. She'd been so stupid about that, so stupid -- obviously Stroud knew better than she did; she was a child playing at important things, she was, it was better this way. She wouldn't need to --

That was -- her head hurt, a little; half-remembered pulses of how the youmaglia had felt when she'd had a thought of disobedience. But aside from a tensing of her shoulders, Poppy didn't let it show, for once.

"I don't -- know." Her tongue was heavy. Thick. The words felt like molasses. "I don't want him dead. I can't make decisions as far as value. His life is gone, what can I do about it? I can't -- I don't know what's appropriate."

Poppy swallowed. Her throat was so dry, suddenly.

Soft, soft, soft. "...I make sure Bayldonite keeps her quota up. We're classmates at school. If she ever ceases to fill it, I'll make sure she starts again." She wanted to be so small. She wanted to disappear. Stupid, stupid, stupid. "I'm sorry. This was -- this was a bad idea. I'm clearly not up to the task." She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't cry, she was better than that. Desdemona would be disappointed, Elex would be disappointed, Cinnabar -- Poppy was almost eighteen, next year, and she would never be an adult ever ever ever. She was a child. She'd always be a child playing dress-up, trying to fit in with real adults, trying trying trying

Her eyesight blurred, briefly, and she blinked away the beginning of tears. "If it's from General Umber -- I promise I've never been awful to anyone else, never even questioned the orders or instruction. He is." Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. "Not the sort of person who is well-suited to a command position in an urban area. I would assume that at least one report would -- come after I found him exercising extreme brutality on a Senshi who was very young. She posed no threat, and could have been used as an informant. This was our disagreement. I said - even if he decided to kill her - he could have just taken her starseed. He didn't need to smash her skull in and 'leave her as a message'. It was pointless."

Breathe in, breathe out.

"I want to help. I don't know if I can, if I'm even useful at all, but. I want to help."