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 Posted: Sun Mar 20, 2022 9:16 am
It had to be done this way, Faustite told himself.
He was late in asking, he knew. But now that he found a margin of payoff in his ignorance, and now that he had another angle to address their captive Princess, he now needed to know more. He told himself that it was the difference between Special Operations and Information, but he knew better than that.
He'd had Headache send Jet a courtesy message as part of Headache's training on a tablet. Its content was straightforward: it explained that he wanted to discuss Ganymede, and that his youma would be coming with him as part of its 'sensitivity training'.That message was delivered an hour ago, and now two copies of the burning General sauntered slowly up to Jet's office door. One carried the shadows of bruises and a wrist brace to match. That one projected the violent aura endemic to the boy, though neither compared to the domineering vastness of Jet's aura, now so potent at their proximity to him.
"Behave," he warned Headache with a sharp look askance. "Get you a starseed if you mind yourself."
Turning to the door, he rapped his knuckles on it in a curt pattern of three, and waited to be bade entry. Once granted, he let Headache fumble with the intricacies of door opening, until he grew impatient and opened it himself. He entered first, followed by his near perfect copy. He pointed for Headache to wait by the door, then approached General King Jet's desk himself.
"Fancy office," he remarked, his attention casting about. He was reluctant to seat himself; often, offices were full of flammables. "Does it suit you? Or are you ready to take up baking with Axinite at the midnight hour?" It was a severe temperament's approximation of a jest, punctuated by a hand on his hip as he looked to the Negaverse's newest Sovereign.
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Posted: Sat Mar 26, 2022 11:44 am
“Fancy bruises,” Jet quipped back, not entirely sure what to expect from this meeting that Faustite requested. Yes, he was aware that he wanted to discuss Ganymede, and that his youma was doing something about sensitivity training, but why him he was still trying to figure out.
Jet’s office had been decorated impeccably by Aquamarine. None of that Ikea furniture, either. He’d gone all out and bought Jet a sturdy wooden desk and had matching shelving installed. There was other furniture there, of course. A comfortable but modern looking couch was just part of the small sitting area that had been set up. There was scenic artwork displayed, along with drapes over the stone walls to keep the cold out. And it was all carefully designed to compliment Jet’s teal and new purple in his uniform.
“I think it suits me, yes,” he agreed as he set his own tablet down. Reading up on what their Velencian allies were up to was exhausting. Too technical for him. He would rather just start working on things than read about it, but he wanted to be thorough.
“So what was Ilse’s lie? You never included that in your database entry.” He figured if Faustite was going to not get straight to the point of being there, then he could do the same.
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Posted: Thu Apr 07, 2022 5:34 pm
Shock wore more plainly on the General's face than surprise. He stared at Jet, reading countenance and posture, while he waited for his mind to catch up to what he was hearing.
Had Jet stopped there, he could have recovered the meeting. He had been used to stings; Schörl kept him seen-but-not-heard with her frequent barbs, her disposition toward him, her castigations. He could close up, discuss the necessities, and move out of Jet's way.
But Jet hadn't stopped at insulting him, and it was for that reason that he cast his hand to the side, which dismissed Headache from the space.
Then he himself vanished, leaving only the last growing rivulets of smoke.
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