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"How much do you know about Emperors?"
"I'm sorry, what did you just say?" Tremain asked. Surely, he had misheard. He was trying his best to hide it, but he was still more engrossed in his work than he was in this conversation. Most likely, he just hadn't been paying attention, and this perfect stranger hadn't really asked him about-
"Emperors. Surely you're familiar with the, ah, 'Lightweaver's Mistake', as some call it." He made a face as he said it, as if to emphasize that he didn't call it that, oh no. Not him.
"...Emperors. Yes. Hmm," Tremain echoed, shuffling his paperwork back into a messy stack. His organizational skills had not gone uncommented on by his peers, but he never had any trouble finding anything. Right now, though, pretending to sort through it all provided a handy way to disguise the fact that he was taking his time deciding what to say next. "What about them?"
"As I said, I want you to put what you learned from the Afterlife Project to good use. I want you to help me. I want you to find a way to cure us... or to kill us."
Tremain blinked up at him, wide-eyed, unable to speak for how quickly his mind was racing. How did one respond to that? A part of him, a larger part of him than he would have liked to admit, was prepared to drop everything and go for it. The rational part of his mind tamped down that enthusiasm as well as it could. There were questions that needed to be asked. Many questions. Too many for him to choose anything more eloquent than, "Why?".
"The gods clearly don't care enough to fix us themselves, doctor. And you seem to have some experience spitting in their faces."
"I don't know what you've heard about that, but the outbreak was an unfortunate accident, and has since been contained," Tremain replied, almost automatically. How many people had he repeated that to since the incident? "...What do you want me to do? Exactly?" He asked. His hands found their way to his glasses, which he removed and started scrubbing against the front of his coat. They didn't need to be cleaned. He just needed to do something with his hands.
"I want you to... help me create one of these creatures. Contain it. Study it. Cure it if you can, find a way to turn the monster back into the Imperials it used to be, and if not... if it cannot be done, then I want you to help me find a way to destroy them. Permanently," The stranger said.
Tremain wished he hadn't used his desk chair as an impromptu shelf. He really needed to sit down right now. "I don't know what to say. This is a lot to take in. Do you understand what you're asking of me?"
"Yes. I understand very well. And if you are unable or unwilling to do this for me, I will understand completely. I will take my leave, and you can go back to your business." Tremain looked up at him. He had never been good at cards, but the Imperial had an excellent poker face. The fact that his armor was stamped all over with the insignia of the Lightweaver was unnerving, but he sounded sincere.
"Are you really serious about this?" Tremain asked, quietly.
"Completely. And of course, I plan on aiding you with the project in any way I can. I have some... past experience with the creatures in question."
"And I suppose you have the logistics of this plan all worked out." Tremain replaced his glasses and picked up a pen. On a piece of paper already nearly black with ink, he started scrawling a few notes to himself. It was difficult enough to contain the normal undead that plagued the hospital. To keep an Emperor under control would take perfect planning, a willing, coordinated team... and money. Lots of money. Tremain did not have any of these things. What Tremain did have was a sub-basement that was only being used for storage right now. It had been built to serve as an emergency shelter, and it was quite sturdy. None of his staff were going to agree to help him with this- that much he could say with certainty- but maybe they wouldn't have to. Who would question the addition of a few little things to their supply orders for the month? And their recently-hired anesthesiologist seemed to have a cocktail of drugs on hand that could keep anything sedated. They wouldn't question it if Tremain asked them to mix up a heavier dose for one of his patients. He was the head of the hospital, after all.
He shook his head, as if that would help to clear it. He couldn't possibly be considering this. Could he?
"Doctor, to be frank, you look like you've worked out all the logistics for yourself. And surely anything I could think of would pale in comparison," The stranger said, with a thin smile. He was laying it on a little thick, perhaps, but Tremain couldn't help but smile in return. It was nice to get a little recognition, for once. Especially after everything that had happened.
"And you will be staying, you said? To do what, exactly?" He nodded at the stranger's breastplate, and specifically at the emblem stamped into it. Tremain wasn't terribly worried about the stranger's honesty. Even if this was just a bizarre, convoluted method of weeding out some of the more questionably-moral establishments in the wasteland, what could he do? Romero swung around a cleaver with a blade as thick as the Imperial's chest on a daily basis. Vascula could hold her own. And who knew what Fleming had lying around in his lab? The stranger might have had a few inches- well, more like a few feet- on Tremain personally, but the Hospital still held the upper hand. If it came to that. But he wasn't about to throw himself into this project with no backing whatsoever. There were a lot of things Tremain would gladly do in pursuit of glory and the furthering of science, but tackling an Emperor on his own was not one of them.
The Imperial smiled a little wider, and this time it actually reached his eyes. Tremain could swear he heard a sigh of relief. He hadn't even agreed yet. Not officially, anyway. "As I said, I have some personal experience with the creatures. In addition, I have spent the past several years researching them- though I'm sure you have plenty of texts on the subject that I haven't yet been able to lay my hands on. I intend to stay here as your consultant, assistant... and insurance, should things turn sour. That is, if your friends are willing to return my sword."
"Did Vascula take it? That sounds like something she'd do. Don't let her bother you too much! She just takes her time to warm up to people. Oh, and I'll be sure to tell her to give it back. I'm sure she meant to, anyway," Tremain said, absently. Having run out of margins to scrawl in, he started seeking through the haphazard stack of papers for a fresh sheet. Most of them spilled off his desk and onto the floor at his feet, but that was fine. The carpet was already so obscured by the mess that Tremain wasn't even totally sure if he was standing on it.
The stranger, still smiling awkwardly, sat in silence for several minutes as Tremain made even more of a mess of his office. Eventually, he spoke, startling Tremain out of his focus. "So, doctor... what do you say?"
Tremain bit his lip and continued to think for several seconds. "What was it you said you name was, again?"
"Royal."
"Well, Royal... I won't make any promises, but I think this is worth looking into." Tremain reached over his desk to shake the Imperial's hand. Royal. It was a fitting name. He carried himself with a certain poise you didn't often see out here in the wastes. Or perhaps he had simply been named after the vibrant shade of his scales.
"You're certain about this?" Royal asked, accepting Tremain's handshake. His smile had faded. The expression on his face was one of grim sincerity, but the emotions Tremain's Skydancer brain was picking up on were relief... and anxiety.
"Absolutely. I'll make sure you have full access to our library, but I'm not sure how much relevant material we actually have down there. It's kind of a part of the hall of records, I'll get Vascula to take you down there. And as long as you're willing to help, I guess we'll see what we can do."
"I am quite prepared to do whatever you ask of me."
"That's exactly what I wanted to hear," Tremain said.