Dolce smiles. Dolce listens. Dolce makes noises, appreciative or understanding, when called for. He does this for like forty five minutes and change, which is a long time to listen politely. That’s long enough for blinding, deafening screams to cool into discernable thoughts. That’s long enough for deep, steady breathing to convince the rest of the body that it’s not about to be in terrible danger. 

The only thing Liquid Bronze can do effectively is the basic craft of Biomancy. Everything else, he has bumbled his way blindly into efficacy. None of what he has done here has been on purpose, but he is here, on purpose. By design. Because everything in the Skies is there by design, even the people who can’t do things by design. What he can do is make hordes of Summerkind to throw at problems until all of the above are dead, and this is enough to make him Regional Commander. Somewhere, there is a desk, with a drawer to only be opened in case of dire emergency, and Dolce has a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that the name Liquid Bronze was in that drawer.

He wants to scream. He wants to explode. He wants to leave. He has to leave. But standing in the seat of Liquid Bronze’s power, the air suffused with the favor of Aphrodite, a thought takes root:

If. [i]If[/i] he could leave. Would a warning to the people of Bitemark even be enough?

The song of Mosaic springs to mind at once. For a moment, he’s back home, giving her a fresh loaf packed with savory crab and hearty vegetables as she passes, and he won’t see her act but he’ll hear the stories over dinner tonight. Then he’s coughing on cigar smoke, begging the pardon of his host, and the problem seems rather too large for a good lunch to help. Perhaps he can’t imagine her losing, but neither could he figure out how she was to win. 

No. No, he’s got to do something. He’s [i]got[/i] to do something. But what?

…come to think of it, what was he expected to do here in the first place? There’d been so much happening, he’d almost missed it, but 20022 hasn’t made a sound the entire time they’ve been here. Casting his mind back half an hour ago, he’d only spoken up because nobody else had. That…that had to have been deliberate, didn’t it? 20022 held back, to see what he would say, given the chance. And when Liquid Bronze finally got around to stopping, he would probably do it again, yes?

So. Perhaps he ought to solve that problem first, and work out the rest…later. Breathe. Listen. Don’t be a spy. Don’t explode. Whatever you do, don’t explode. And think. 

20022 can’t expect him to behave. Of everything he could do, 20022 can’t expect him to willingly go along with the murder of his family and friends and meekly submit to the job he’s picked out for him. In fact, it might be so surprising, it’d catch him completely off guard. He’d spend hours pouring over his work, looking for mistakes and sabotage that wasn’t actually there. Not a horrible idea. Except that he’d then have to hide his movements, when they came, so invisibly as to be undetectable, or else they’d stick out like a sore thumb. That was no good. And as he learned on Bitemark, any obvious deviations from protocol will be swiftly corrected, as many as could be caught and fixed. If he were to behave truly outrageously, then he would probably be locked in a small room until the operation was complete.

He needed to at least appear helpful. He needed to show enough opinion to not be labeled a spy. He needed to act without being countered. He wished he’d taken the Starsong’s offer to sign on with them, but it’s a little too late to regret a road not taken. 

At the least, when at long last Liquid Bronze asks for him again, he’s had ample time to prepare his response. At once he replies, “A great number of servitors broke free from their work camps, soundly defeated the local governor, and took off in an ancient Imperial warship to parts unknown. Incredibly, the Crystal Knight has completely failed to handle the situation, and now we must seek additional aid.” He heaves a sigh. “And she seemed so [i]strong[/i] too…” 

It is the truth, plain and simple. Presented in such a way as to invite another half-hour - at least - lecture on the Crystal Knight’s inherent deficiencies compared to present company. But the rest. Not an “insurrection.” An escape. A defiance. A story of hope still alive, for now. And as Liquid Bronze talks, Dolce minds the audience.

How do they react? Who is hanging off of Liquid Bronze’s every word? Who reacts in disgust, who clucks their tongue at the shame of it all, who is busy working out how they would, ah, deal with these servitors if it were their job?

Who here likes the story? Who here is disheartened to hear of what fate awaits those who defied the Skies? Who here wishes that [i]they[/i] could fly away on a spaceship?

Where is the sheep from the kitchens, wishing for something he can’t put words to yet?

[Rolling to Look Closely: 6 + 1 + 2 = [b]9[/b]. Who here might become a friend?]