Oh, Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits. If only you knew the depths of your own schemes. How cunning, how clever, for a foxgirl to concoct a plot so deep and tricksy that even she didn’t know what she was doing? How could one even [i]do[/i] that?

But this is precisely why your blow strikes true upon the Clearly Evil Space Sheep.

Time. He needs time. He needs time desperately. There isn’t hardly enough. It’s different. He forgot. He’s the only one here. He’s not keeping busy in the corner. He’s not watching from the corner. But the information floods in all the same. Observe. Jupiter. Their handiwork. Autonomy. Privacy. Assignments. Curses. Mazes. Mazes. Mazes in mazes. Force. Jupiter. Jupiter. They made Jupiter. They made Jupiter. Jupiter. 

Think.

Directions. Mazes lead somewhere. Designed to lead somewhere. Supreme Leaders, plural. Designing mazes. Do they agree where they go? What happens when they disagree? No. Mazes, again. They don’t mind failing. How are curses worked? Kindness? Empathy? Contentment? Joy? Loose terms. Can mean many things. Defined by who? To what end? But, no, better definitions can survive. She did better. What did she change? Does she keep her name? Is that fair? They could change that too though. They could try. Supreme Leaders. Curses. Selecting. Where does it go? Where are the people going? Why make people like this? Why? Where? For what?

No waiting. 

Your answer, if you please.

And then. And then! Oh miracle of miracles, you are giving him that time. He recognizes the opportunity at once. He believes it, at once. It is real. There is a chance. He can wait, a little. Listen, only a little.

But no. You do not give him time.

You give him an insufficient explanation of a novel form of drama, a sort of Jupiter, but done for fun, and for performance. You give him a glimpse of swords that cause the stage to come to life and attack, or act in a way that everyone knows is an attack, technology he has no context to imagine. You give him a revelation. Subtle and ingenious. A miracle that was right under his nose all his life, and he never thought to see it: A colon three [i]does[/i] look a little like a smiling face. But most of all? Most devious and wicked of all?

You give him what can only be an earnest attempt to help.

The last potential enemy he had in this room is no more. It can only, only be his fault.

Time. He has no time. 

Your answer, if you please.

“Ah. Well. Yes.” He is not pushing on the ropes he is not pushing on the ropes he is not pushing on the ropes he is not pushing on the ropes he is not pushing on the ropes he is not pushing “That does not. Quite. Answer the question.” It does. It will. Stupid. Obvious. “Especially as it regards to, us, and, what may happen to, if someone should disobey.” Threat. It sounds like a threat. Cannot take it back. Explaining makes it worse. Say nothing. Frown. Frown. He can frown. It troubles him. It’s not a threat. He doesn’t want it.

He doesn’t want this.