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Ransomite knew that this moment would come, sooner or later. He couldn't put it off forever. When Prehnite mentioned the concept of advancing to captain to him, and of recommending him for such, Ransomite hadn't had anything he could think of that would convince Prehnite not to do that.

At least, not that wouldn't be incredibly suspicious.

Shouldn't he want to be promoted? Shouldn't this be a happy occasion?

It should be.

'For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope--'

So now he was here, having been let in, and was looking at General-King Faustite in the not-quite-eyes. He steeled himself, noting with distant curiosity that the sense of Faustite's aura, though heavy, was not a bad one. "Good evening, sir. I understand General Prehnite recommended I come here."

Ransomite had done as instructed of him, taking a seat in a chair on the other side of Faustite's desk. In the face of people who were unambiguously his superiors, of course he was obedient. It was how he worked in his day job, and it was accordingly how he'd expected things to go in the Negaverse ever since he had first been awakened by...

Oh, it had been a long time-- Zircon, that's right.

The quiet snort came anyway at 'good boy'. He buried the retort, however, knowing it would be inappropriate for the situation. Had it been Zebulon, he would have probably 'woof'ed sarcastically. The thought of Zebulon, Tobias, and Diryas made his chest hurt. How long had it been, now?

Ransomite pushed those thoughts away with a purely internal vigor.

"I'm glad he thinks so." Was he? The answer to Faustite's question came immediately, easily. It was what was expected of him. He was good at that, at least. "Use it to influence more civilians. Bolster and support my fellows." He hadn't had the power to awaken anyone as an agent himself, but he'd done what Prehnite had asked in funneling him information on promising new potential recruits. He'd avoided recommending Zebulon, so far.

"What would be expected from me?"

Stay seated? He could do that. Even so, he sat straight in his chair, hands folded mildly in his lap. It was a good, neutral posture. Polite, but not rigid. He had been on missions the General-King led, but had interacted with him directly precious little.

'Expect you to make something of those Godites you shepherd around.'

He should have known it was coming, but it was through extensive practice with a neutral affect, with not reacting, that Ransomite kept his surprise off of his face. Prone to brainwashing? Something in him rankled at the description of his vocation being 'brainwashing', but instead he nodded as Faustite began summarizing the responsibilities Ransomite would be expected to fulfill upon promotion. They made sense. The Handbook mentioned was something Ransomite had perused a few times--it was easier to keep his head down if he knew how exactly to do so. Easier to keep his discomfort with the idea of exploiting his vocation from reflecting on his face.

He had practice.

He knew there was a reason he'd never been moved from the church he ministered at, and he knew why there were always multiple senior priests there with him. While the priest--always the same one, easier to manage that way--he went to confession with could not do anything with what he told him, the fact remained that he wasn't celibate, and that he was non-celibate with men at that. His senior couldn't do anything per doctrine, but he could always conveniently watch him to make sure he wasn't letting his sinfulness affect his job. And so he had gotten very good at making sure the different parts of his life did not overlap.

This would start to erode that--

These thoughts all came very quickly, but he still needed to make sure that he was paying attention as Faustite rounded the desk. The fact that it was going to hurt didn't surprise him as much as he would have thought it should. Then again, Faustite was on fire.

"Yes, sir."

Ransomite's own thoughts had been carefully neutral. He was pretty sure that touching his starseed wouldn't give Faustite the ability to read his mind, but... couldn't be too careful. But that didn't stop the thrill of unease up and down his spine as Faustite came closer. His breath held on reflex as Faustite reached toward his chest.

Oh.

Oh that was not... Oh, that hurt--

The discomfort wasn't entirely able to be kept off of Ransomite's face, and he tried not to think too hard about 'if I turn you into a youma'. It would solve a lot of his problems fairly neatly if he was turned into a youma, he guessed. A moment passed, and he was able to bring the veneer of neutrality over his features again. That wasn't too bad...

Just in time for the power to lance into his body, into his starseed, to burn into it. The black colour of the bolts betrayed the white-hot searing that caused Ransomite's breath to hiss sharply through his teeth. His fingers formed a white-knuckled grip on the fabric of his pants, his pupils constricting with the pain.

But with the pain came power. And with the power came a thrill of another sort, a thrill of wonder, even as he could swear he heard distant laughter. Something in him welcomed hearing that laughter, both terrible and exciting all at once.

Captain Ransomite blinked once, twice, as he brought himself back under control.

Ransomite relaxed as Faustite removed his hand from Ransomite's chest and he felt a little less like the wrong move would send him into cardiac arrest or turn him into a youma. What happened if he sneezed and caused Faustite to jerk his starseed the wrong direction? The presence of a General-King still made Ransomite formal on impulse, even if Faustite was now three steps above him instead of four.

It was still a pretty scary three steps.

'Congratulations, Captain'.

Ah, right. "Thank you, sir," left his lips automatically in the same intonation--level, respectful, painfully polite--he might use to speak to the Cardinal. He had never met the Cardinal directly, however, and a part of him earnestly hoped to keep it that way. His ordination had been done by the Archbishop serving as his diocese's bishop at the time; Destiny City's size warranted it, but it also warranted the Cardinal using it as the seat for a lot of his work.

Eventually, that Cardinal had taken over as the area's serving archbishop and bishop. Father Isaac generally kept his head down after that. It was easier to keep his stubbornness from getting him into trouble. It was easier to keep things under wraps.

He took the dismissal for what it was, getting to his feet with a dip of his head and making sure to close the door carefully behind him. Captain Ransomite let out a sigh of relief, then, tinged with unease. He could still swear he heard echoes of the laughter from earlier, but all of it had surely been his imagination. He was under a lot of stress.

Retreating to his room at the rectory would help clear his head.

'Hail Mary, full of grace--'