He leans into her touch and breathes- deep and calm and distant, now. He stoops to pick up his sword and stays down there, kneeling, hands resting on it's pommel as the last of his turmoil drains away at Mother's behest. Its okay. He's okay. The past was unkind but he is safe and loved and surrounded by family, now.

"-is that Piano alive?"

There is a polite, wordless plea for clarification? He'd prod at one of the praetors present for a glimpse into the room, and... yep. That was a piano. He was familiar with the piano in Cepheus's palace- this grand, ornate thing of polished wood and ivory. This one looked fairly similar, but how could it be alive??

The music was very nice. He would've complimented the [apparently alive] Piano if he had been physically present.

The conversation resumes despite that brief distraction. Of Course. There is little hesitation. He trusts Mother- she always knows best, always wants the best for her children. And anything that would allow him to reconnect to his own children, to explain everything, to make things right- well, he'd give anything for that.

But there is a slight note of worry. What if they still do not trust me? What if they think you are plotting something sinister? He looks down, at the chitin-gauntleted hands holding his clearstone sword, I have changed, since they last saw me. He slowly rises to his feet, stretching, now newly aware of the body Mother had remade for him. It enhanced his function, removed the flaws of his previously asymmetrical, marred form. But neither of them had seen him since his reformation. Would they even recognize him?

MOTHER

First, Mother addressed the Piano and Collector, if briefly. "My child compliments your music," she informed the former, passing Cyneweard's brief conceptual thought as a message. "Now leave. You--I will consult the Hive. Wait." This the rat--Mother--directed at the Collector himself.

Algol glanced to The Piano, and winked one red eye, lifting his hand and snapping a finger dramatically. Likely the finger-snap wasn't strictly necessary, but appearances were everything, and the release of The Piano from his magic--awaiting an end to any ongoing music first, of course--had to abide by that certain sense of drama.

The Collector would have to compliment it himself, next time they met: in his estimation, aside from the forgiveable blunder of speech, The Piano's performance had been perfect.

The magic tethering it here reversed, returning it to wherever it had been before the summoning had drawn it to the Hive. Then the Collector nodded at the rat, and waited in musicless silence.

MOTHER

She had, of course, already consulted the Hive, but there was no reason not to complicate things with misinformation. Let him think it was a busy affair, one that required her full focus, silence, and time. It did not. He did not need to know that.

She did, however, continue her conversation with Cyneweard, albeit in silence.

"If they are suspicious, you may assuage that suspicion. I do not ask you to recruit them to the Hive. Outside allies are every bit as valuable. Simply pretend I have fully muted our link, nearly severed you. Not completely." After all, she didn't want to get caught outright in a total deception--but to mislead? That was perfectly fine. She added, with only brief impression and concept, that it would be fine to act distressed, or barely to mention it. She would leave the details to her Knight. Then, with another warm flood of reassurance--this time truthful--she continued. And for once, there was a real hint of empathy there, though whether felt or simply learned was unknown. "Do not concern yourself about details. What is important is that they wish to see you."

For her drone, it would be a chance to reconnect, to reestablish bonds that had been broken, to repair that which caused him distress. For her, and for the Hive, a chance to gain further allies.

And... whatever the Collector was now offering. The rat addressed him again.

"You will trade us this information on a weakness, a time and a place. In return, Cyneweard will seek out this Horizon and speak, and I will sever him temporarily from the Hive. Not completely. But enough that he may speak and perceive of his own accord. I agree."

She was lying, at least in part. She wasn't going to sever anything, completely or otherwise. She'd let him focus and have his own conversations, but that was something no one seemed to understand about the Hive: the members were not forced to do anything.

Not unless she required it, at the time.

He'd be free to make his choices, to pursue his goals, his desires, as always--as long as it benefited the Hive.

Algol shuffled through the three contracts, selecting one, and slid its dirtied ribbon away. He unfurled it carefully, and stood, stepping forward with the click of hooves on icy rock. The Praetors stiffened, but the rat-who-was-Mother waited, staring at him with the fearless gaze of one who could not die, here.

He knelt. He laid the contract before her, staring at the rat, then spun it to face her. "Just sign here," he said, his voice a soft and hypnotic purr.

MOTHER

If she sensed any trap, her pride did not allow her to dwell on it. Let him try her. She was not lying outright. She would adhere to the contract... loosely, and roughly. But she would gladly break any that she signed, and let him try to enforce his terms. He would die in the attempt, and perhaps she would recreate him in Her image. No--in His.

Ahh.

A rat's paw, placed on parchment; and did that count? It was not truly Mother. She did not know, and did not care. Instead, as the little pawprint went up in black smoke, leaving her false mark upon the page, she lifted greedy eyes to meet his own.

"The contract is sealed," he crooned, and the rat's whiskers twitched in what was almost fury.

"Now tell me what you know."

The Collector stood with grace, rolling the signed parchment up and tucking it away. She hadn't read the fine print, he noted. She hadn't even read the contract.

Confident? Cocky? Stupid?

He smiled beneath the hood.

"In..." and he calculated, mentally, for a moment--"A little over three cycles' time, much of the forces of Chaos will be summoned for a war. Not all of them," he warned. "Not those who work behind the scenes. But if you have not noticed... there has been an influx of new Chaotic life. Hmm?" He smiled again. Or perhaps he'd never stopped. "Now, if I were you, I would not risk all-out war. The Masters will remain, as will their puppets. But many of their existing soldiers, and most if not all of the new ones?"

He lifted a hand. Swept it off to one side, as if flicking something off of a chessboard. "Gone. You have time to prepare... whatever it is you'd like to do." He paused, studying the rat closely. "Will that suffice?" he asked.

MOTHER

Mother was silent, for a moment. The rat's whiskers twitched.

Was this information she could really use? A weakness was good, but this wasn't really that. It was... an opening. Which was what she could make of it. And that, in turn, depended on how much of an opening it really was.

She'd need to send out feelers, then. Find out how many of them would be gone, and for how long--she assumed forever. The soldiers rarely came back to this nest, one way or another.

The Queen was under no illusions regarding her role here. She wasn't going to kill The House of Chaos itself. She was merely here to hamper things; a wrench in the works and did this count as a few extra pieces thrown into the gears?

"Perhaps I can make use of it. You may go. Do not return without invitation."

She then, mentally, dismissed him. Her mind went instead to the Hive. "Withdraw," she instructed--all of them. Any who were out seeding Order. Any still struggling to defend the dregs present in Eridanus. No. Return, hide, go to ground. Under no circumstances could the Valkhounds find out that the Hive now knew.

It was time to plan.

When her attention returned to the room around her dying rat, the Collector was already gone.

@The Piano and @Cyneweard (for visibility)

The Piano practically glowed at the rat queen's praise. It didn't take offense at her eviction notice; all respectable Organizations had secrets to keep, after all. It drew its music to a close, then lowered and raised its lid in an imitation of a bow.

It caught the Collector's wink and the alien script on its side twisted, imitating the motion (badly) back at him. Then, with a snap of his fingers, it was returned to its own business. Probably browsing the sheet music library in Cepheus or whatever. It felt a sense of almost loss at the sudden separation from the other two dramatic figures. It would have to seek out the Collector again sometime soon.

exit