Dolce waits in respectful silence, yielding the floor for the Decaying Soldier to add one last thought to their litany. Dolce waits in patient silence, for it is difficult to speak and enjoy noodles at the same time, and a terrible thing not to enjoy one’s dinner. Only when he has finished, does he ask, quietly, “What did you think when the Skies were defeated?”

-

“It’s a real hurdle.” Like how a mountain is a small pile of dirt. “If it’s just a few people in a room, and everybody has some trust in each other, no matter what it is we’re facing I think we’ll all be able to work it out somehow. Politics? Actual politics? I don’t know what they do in actual politics, but it seems to involve a lot of speeches and arguments. And I don’t much care for either of those. The more people there are to listen, the less it feels like I can actually say and make it worthwhile. I can’t sit down at a negotiating table and [i]not[/i] feel for everyone the other party’s representing, just as strongly as everyone who’s counting on me. If I’d fall to pieces doing the day-to-day responsibilities of the job, what would I do if faced with a merciless enemy who wanted everything I had?”

He daintily adds a little more honey in his tea. The third such time. A truly ridiculous amount. Thus obliterating the social pressure preventing the Thoughtful Songbird from adding a seventh, eight, and ninth spoonful to their own cup.

“Do you know my wife, Vasilia? Tall, carries a glaive, built like a lion? There’s a fair bit of genetic stratification between us, but we do alright together. Or Mosaic. She’s, well, Mosaic. To everyone in this town, no matter who or what they are. Do you think that sort of thing could scale up? Or is there a line somewhere where it all falls apart?”

-

You know what’s just the thing for these hot, humid evenings? A good comb. One that won’t get tangled on your wool, one that will deal with all the knots and frizz. Here, Beloved Spy. Take his comb. The wool atop your head will appreciate it greatly. “If that is what they believe, how do you think they’ve kept on believing it? We live, just as they do. We think and dream, just like they do. The gods hear us, just as they hear them. They don’t have to look far to see the evidence, and if they don’t want to look the Ceronians put it right in front of them. They were conquered. Their designs failed.”

“How do they keep ignoring us?”