Salem's response provoked a chuckle from the Fodder Baron. “Pardon me, I meant no insult. Merely that more experience and maturity might better suit the task at hand.” The word 'orphans' bounced right off the bespectacled man with no effect, and he gave an appreciative nod of his head when Salem praised his idea.

Negotiations among the Chapter Keepers as to who might offer the best package for scouting the village came to an abrupt halt as an unwelcome voice expressed itself in an unpleasant tone. Rolling his eyes, he allowed his gaze to settle on its source, being none other than that vermin Chuunitrix. In what could only be considered a tragic display of lacking gravitas, she dismissed their talks before giving each a piece of her mind. Her words soured the mood in the room, raising hackles and baring teeth, not stemming from any real wounds caused by her words but instead the sheer impertinence of it all. Placing both hands on his cane, Graft heard her out with half-lidded eyes, his manner mocking. After spewing her insults in a show far more childish than anything Graft had seen Salem conjure up, she took a potshot at Rodias before storming off in a huff. Shaking his head, the businessman clicked his tongue. Bad enough that the shrew impugned upon Rodias' good nature to litter the ground with dangerous toys and [i]threaten[/i] her allies, but his tolerance seemed to have gone straight to her head. Well, no matter. A farmer did not heed the braying of the ass. More now than ever before, Graft wondered exactly why Lady Traptrixx made her creation this way. A cruel joke, perhaps?

With that disruption out of the way, discussion could resume. Gromgard seized the chance to passive-aggressively reassert himself, hypocritically calling out the others on trying to suggest plans of action while extolling the abilities of his green-skinned grunts. Clearly, he would not see sense. [i]Balderdash. His creator should have saved a few points for intelligence, at least.[/i] Sighing, Graft resigned himself to the necessity of an arbitration from Rodias. Aera the cleric said as much, taking a holier-than-though stance while also managing to demean the words of Graft and the others as bickering and screeching. [i]Screeching?[/i] he mulled over the word. [i]Perhaps there's too much fluff in those ears of hers.[/i] Chuunitrixx might be gone, but plenty of sniping remained.

A moment later, Rodias came to the rescue to save his underlings from their doldrums. That startling humility, it seemed, would be coloring all his interactions henceforth. Graft made note that Rodias didn't want to see his employees arguing, then -as the Sable Lord addressed Gromgard in a manner that indicated his goblins would be utilized elsewhere- permitted himself a slight, smug smile. When he made mention of a plan, Graft seated himself to listen with bated breath.

As he suspected, violence would be a last resort. That made sense, and his pronouncement of who would be visiting the village worked well enough. A delicate touch would be necessary, and Graft supposed that he might be a little much for ordinary townsfolk at the moment. At the very least he would not want for work, since Rodias seemed to have a plan for everyone. The director nodded understandingly. “Naturally. I can scarcely wait.”

In fact, Rodias presented his job first, as the second part of a collaboration with Salem. The pairing made sense, given their shared proximity, mutual affinity for objects, and the relation of their creators. Salem received vagueries, but Rodias delighted the director with a specific order. Bowing along with the Sable Lord, as if to a business partner, he declared, “I'll begin straightaway. And sir?” He endeavored to meet Rodias gaze. “Scum thrives on the complacence of its betters.” That said, he whirled away in a flurry of cloth to get to business.

His mind raced, driving his body to act. Holding an empty palm to his ear, Graft opened a Direct Line back to the Factory, and spoke through it in authoritative tones. “Papillary, fire up the machines. We have a new order. Navigational and surveillance instruments, compasses, telescopes, and the like. But don't go overboard, I've already got a few ideas to do one better. Why, the very moment I am excused, I will come straightaway to the laboratory...” A voice came back to him through the communication spell, garbled to anyone but him. Graft's brows furrowed, and his mustache twitched. “Are...you quite certain?” Another burst of chatter. “Well, whatever's in there, we have a job to do. Once things are in motion we'll check it out.” He cut the line and stood up straight, having been hunched over for privacy. 

By that time, Rodias was gone, so Graft began making his way to the elevator to meet him. Salem floated along beside him, striking up conversation. His tone, somewhat less impulsive than normal, went observed but unremarked upon while Graft heard him out. “If you recall, I am already making dolls as per our creators' agreement. In fact, we've got a whole room dedicated to it: Junk for the Toybox.” He drew his arm horizontally through the air, palm out, as if dedicating the plaque above the room's door. Speaking matter-of-factly, and with no trace of ill will, he continued. “So between us we've plenty of inventory. I could sell them, certainly, but poor villagers haven't the money to spend on frivolities, and I fear unusual products in the Chateau's vicinity might arouse suspicion in a period we are to be discreet. However...” he tapped a nanoflesh finger against his chin. “I reckon such curios would do just fine in a city, where interesting commodities can reach a wider audience, provoking rarer curiosities. Yes...that could work.” A glance at Salem revealed a face alive with excitement. “These are invigorating times. I'm afire with ideas. Resonant imaging...electromagnetic shielding...adrenaline shots...vocal repetition! So much to do, and so little time!”