Just after the Margrave's arrival among his fellows, something of a scene erupted not too far away.  One of the major villains apprehended by the capes appeared to be in some distress, some sort of critical anxiety about the method by which he'd been captured causing his composure to melt and leaving a gibbering mess in its wake.  To the toymaker's disappointment, the senior heroes did not so much as hesitate to lend him a hand.  [i]Now I've seen it all—capes coddling a killer.  It must be some cosmic joke to have given such power and status to such fools.  For his crimes that man deserves worse.[/i]

The Margrave's emphatic smirk, borne of a job not only well done but one acknowledged by a superior as such, persisted for a few moments before it s leftmost edge began to twitch.  Though mere feet away from him and surely in range of his smug commendations, neither Alessa nor Lillian nor Tulpa, nor anybody else other than Inkscape with his no-doubt canned words of congratulations, so much as acknowledged his existence, let alone his words.  Furthermore, a couple of his fellow Wards seemed to be communicating in a semi-intimate fashion, totally uncaring of the Margrave's proximity.  For a few moments the toymaker's mouth hung open a bit, a stream of words washing through his mind in a furious torrent.  Was it because he hadn't taken an active role in taking down the pitiful curmudgeons?  Because he didn't throw himself at the wounded Wards in an overt display of sympathy and goody-two-shoes team spirit?  Or was it because he was, simply, the Margrave?  After a brief time, his jaw clamped shut, lips pressing together as his eyebrows furrowed.  [color=8F9779]“As if the inimitable, invisible overlord that is me needed -or even wanted!- so much as a gaze from one of these self-absorbed cretins,”[/color] he growled under his breath, turning his back.

With the incident resolved, and in a manner that glorified the heroes so thoroughly, the public did not hesitate to swarm the convention building and its tights-wearing defenders.  Citizen and press alike converged on the capes and Wards, smothering them in questions and requests.  Through the human flood Elliot made his way, not even bothering to pull down his cap.  No bright smiles met him, no desires for autographs confronted him, and no questions stymied his unremarkable advance.  After a couple moments he cleared the thick of the crowd and walked free, hands in his pockets.  [i]This is my fate,[/i] he repeated in his mind as he headed for the Wards' van.  [i]This is my curse.[/i]