The nature of being a professional gossip-hound- or, in more formal terms, the eyes of Valkhand Aethril herself- was that Umbriel traveled a LOT. Most frequently to Draco, which was hardly a problem at all. But she couldn't favor The Chaos Forge, even if they were the only actually productive group in the caves. And the infection of Gemini, Canis, and Eridanus meant frequent trips to all three, while taking great care to avoid infection herself. The largely successful efforts to cleanse some of these caves was a great relief- not only did it mean she had less to worry about, but she could travel more freely without risking Order's hideous infection. Suddenly, it felt like she had room to breathe.

Unlike some of Vargas' wretched hounds, Umbriel would not break herself with work simply to prove that she could. She knew very well when she deserved a well-earned break. Like right now.

This grassy knoll was one of Umbriel's favorite spots in Cepheus. It was a excellent vantage point within short distance of Tunnel F, great for someone as nosy as herself.

Currently, she was curled up under the shade of the everblooming tree. What had started as a neat loaf had gradually melted into what can only be described as a 'sploot.' A blanket of petals across her back indicated she had been lying here for quite some time. Occasionally her ears would twitch at a particularly loud noise, and one piercing white eye would crack open to lazily squint at the source.

@Aethril

Umbriel wasn't the only one hard at work today.

Aethril returned from Canis smothered in dust and muck and melting frost from the tunnels. Briefly she saw Umbriel up on the knoll as she passed by-- but she offered her creation nothing more than a quiet, affectionate blink before vanishing into the Palace for a longer time. She knew, too, that even gembound needed to rest on occasion. And Aethril needed a bath.

It was an hour before the Valkhand showed face again; an hour of quietly bathing and drying her hair, picking out a dress (today, a smooth, blue-black dress with a fur collar) and visiting Nedies. When she exited the Palace again it was with a tray of snacks in her hands, a whole, cooked rabbit wreathed in bacon for Umbriel and some soft pretzels for her.

She set both the tray and herself in the grass next to the Valkhound and leaned back on her palms with a long sigh. "Order has been purged from Canis," she told Umbriel. "Don't go back there for a few weeks. Dontacael's presence and anger was very... strongly felt."

Pale eyes glinted. Umbriel was a good, loyal thing. She would rampage if she lost her to the Hive, of all things. "Let Vargas's lot patrol the place in case they try to come back."

@Umbriel

The first time Aethril passes, she is regarded with a slow, sleepy blink. The second time, she perks up- first at the sound of Aethril's approaching footsteps, and then at the scent of food. She sits up, folding her wings, her long tail sweeping lazily across the grass as she watches the Valkhand attentively.

Her ears perk up at the news, but her beak clacked softly at the caveat. What was the point of finally cleansing Canis if they were just going to cower in fear of what their enemy might do in retaliation? Not that Umbriel didn't understand and respect the threat Order could pose. She just, perhaps hubristically, refused to fear them. "I'll be sure to avoid Canis until we're sure Order won't try to reclaim it." And then, because she just couldn't help it, "But I am fully capable of fending off their influence, if I have to."

She'd reach down to untangle a piece of bacon from the rabbit, chewing it thoughtfully before speaking again "What exactly happened in Canis? Other than your obvious success." A nosy thing like Umbriel just had to know- it was literally what she was created to do. Even if her real job was to feed information to Aethril and not the other way around.

@Aethril

Aethril hummed.

Pale eyes watched a blackened beak pick at the bacon. Briefly she wondered if she had remembered to instill a sense of fear in her creation-- though creating things wasn't exactly her job, she did pride herself on being relatively careful when she did so. Even things that were made from Chaos needed certain things to live: a heart to pump blood, lungs to breathe, a digestive system and kidneys to cleanse it with. These were physical things something needed to survive with, but there were a list of mental attributes that a creation would be a failure without. Hunger, for instance-- despite what you may think --is one of most base emotions. Pain, too. They make for good incentives.

Fear is the ultimate incentive. It is all fine and well if your hunger tells you to raze a village; if pain from pitchforks drives you to leave no survivors. It is another to be too brave and foolish to know when to turn and flee lest you otherwise get killed.

Maybe Umbriel simply had no idea what she should be afraid of-- but that would mean further confronting Aethril's own failures as a creator. Damn it, she thought, spitefully.

These thoughts were at the forefront of her mind for more than a few seconds, her eyes following the snap of Umbriel's beak. The Valkhand's lips twisted into a little frown as she considered, for a moment, very carefully. "Do not risk it, Umbriel," she told her at last. "It is not their influence that you would have to defend yourself against."

The fungi were one thing. A horde of drones, on the other hand, was another-- drones that could easily outnumber and overpower a creation. That crawled and killed and infected and repurposes for their own uses. She hated the thought of it. She'd hate to see her own creations ripped apart and rebuilt, 'purged,' perfectly symmetrical, cleansed of all oil and personality. Fucking Dontacael, she thought. My next creation should be disgusting just to spite her.

Her teeth ripped into a pretzel. She tried to will herself not to think about it much harder: twenty seconds had ticked past since Umbriel asked her question and all Aethril had done was sit on the grass with a sour expression.

Fucking Dontacael, the thought repeated, hollow and echoing.

And then, finally, she responded. "Ruby-Beta called for aid. Scion," she added, in case Umbriel did not recognize either name. "From the Chaos Forge specifically-- though it seems like only one or two actually responded. It had rounded up random Gembound spat out by the Natural Order instead."

She wondered, distantly, why Vargas hadn't been the one to order it instead. Perhaps he was much like Isra, who didn't seem very worried about it at all. Perhaps it wasn't a problem until the drones were on their dootsteps. She continued, "It was only about five or six there cleaning up. There were no Drones that I saw, but I do not know if they had all been cleared or if Dontacael had ordered them to move out at the first sight of trouble." Either was as equally possible, really-- and Aethril hadn't found it necessary to ask Scion at the time. "We had no issues disposing of the spores."

"The thing that worries me is that her presence was still felt even after the spores were gone," she said, an octave quieter. "She was keen to share with us her anger before it faded; I don't know what she's planning." A part of her didn't want to know-- but most parts of her didn't want to be in the Nest anymore. "Scion left to report to Master Vargas. I told it to tell Vargas to send patrols."

Like it'll do anything, if the Hive really put their mind to it. Better them than us.
A beat of quiet, then, again-- a moment of Aethril eating her soft pretzel with a furrowed brow. "Have you ever considered asking Master Vargas if he needs anything done?" She asked. "I have no idea what you desire, but if you seek rewards, I hear that he often rewards people that do his bidding for him."

She glanced over Umbriel. "That said, I'm uncertain what he could offer you," she added as an afterthought. "What do you desire?"

@Umbriel