There were five of them, in total. One with the coiling body of a snake, painted in iridescent colors that physically swam across the surface of her scales. One riding atop a writhing mass of emerald tentacles, steadily walking a circle from floor to ceiling and back again. One that was, primarily, eyes. One that was not a human, but who wore the suit of one, and held the spear of one, and laughed with their voice. The last carried a pair of jagged shields, and in her other pair of arms, carried him. The only one who introduced herself was his carrier, when she knelt before him and asked permission to carry him back to his quarters.

There were no further words to him than that. He must’ve understood, in his current condition, that he would be far more of a hindrance than a help in this crisis. No one would take heart from the sight of a crippled sheep. Everyone would be better off with one less VIP to protect from an Assassin. The Captain ought to be somewhere safe, and he would look kindly on them for not wasting his time with explaining what he must’ve already known. 

So he didn’t say anything either. Not through the length of the trip back to his chambers. Not when they set him on his wheelchair, and took up positions in and around the room, keeping sightlines on each other and him. Only when his carrier turned to take her post did he clear his throat, and ask her to deliver a message to Ramses once this was all over. If she were to inform him of the first day when Captain Dolce, the Ram of War, was to appear on set, he would like to be in attendance for filming that day.

Of course she would carry his message, sir. Didn’t her shoulders straighten, with the promise of yet further favor, and what she might buy with it.

Silently, the Captain took to his desk. The Tides would need new leadership. He would need to learn who, then learn what they needed from him in turn. Vasilia would return from the union negotiations with the Hermetics. They were loud, very loud, and not afraid to be loud if it bought them their privacy. But the Coherent needed them, and so, a peace had to be maintained, constantly. The Lanterns are leaderless, and paralyzed. The Flocks are lost. More and more are joining in Epestia and Beljani’s party, and fewer and fewer are returning. 

And Bella…

He reaches, with effort, across his desk, and checks the wineglass, a handkerchief around his fingers to keep from leaving prints. It has not moved in the last few minutes. Nor has it come free of its perch, tucked away in the back of a shelf, with folds of cloths stuffed in around it in case it should get jostled. Still safe. Still secure.

He withdraws his hand, and dabs the moisture from his eyes before it could fall and stain the Captain’s correspondence.

Everyone wanted something from the Captain. Nobody had much need for Dolce.