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He never thought he’d kill a man over a bird… but here he was, plotting murder.
He’d known about the new protoframes in the Sanctum Anatomica, but hadn’t visited them in their Cathedrale (or whatever they called it) partially out of spite. While he really couldn’t justify checking out 1999 without dragging the Murmur along with him, this little enclave of protoframes technically didn’t have the same stipulation. He was just being petty.
Of course he knew this, but that knowledge couldn’t stop him. The protoframes were Drifter’s thing. The Operator wasn’t going to ingratiate himself with them unless directly invited.
And no, Roathe’s little communique and quest to explore Operator’s own Perita Rebellion memories didn’t count. That had clearly been the Orokin toying with him, like a kavat pawing at a kuaka.
Still, the Operator spent the vast amount of his time in the Sanctum Anatomica, even moreso now that he was actively delving into the Dark Refractory so often. It was impossible for him not to run into the protoframes sooner or later.
He’d hoped it’d be later.
It wasn’t.
That evening, Loid practically had to drag him out of the Dark Refractory. Had he not been submerged, Loid probably would have noticed just how clammy and sweaty he’d become in the midst of revisiting his trauma.
“You’re done Tenno.”
He said it so forcefully, arms helping to support the Operator’s utterly exhausted form. He wasn’t entirely sure when Loid had started being so… protective, but he barely had the energy to care.
The Lotus stood beside the pool, gaze distant.
While she was technically present here with them, her duties to the other Tenno and the Origin System as a whole still occupied much of her time. The benefits of being a hive-mind artificial intelligence was the division of labor, he supposed. He wondered how many different missions and conversations she was currently holding with her other “children”. While it was true that the Operator had a special relationship with the Lotus, that didn’t mean she could stop tending to the others in her care.
“Rest,” she said flatly, “what was once a sprint has become a marathon. Slow and steady, my child.” Her words were sweet, but her body language betrayed no emotion, “pushing yourself too hard now will serve only to needlessly exhaust.”
Loid let out a small huff of validation, hoisting the small Operator out of the pool by the arm. Had Loid always been that strong? Isn’t he a frail old man?
“You heard her, rest.” He gave the Operator a once-over, “in the Sanctum. I don’t want you running off to void-knows-where while you can barely stand on your own two feet.”
For once, he didn’t argue. He simply trudged out of the room as Loid began to speak with the Lotus once he was mostly out of earshot. Probably another complaint about how the Operator barely rested or ate. And how the Operator was reckless with his own wellbeing. And how the Lotus should really back Loid up more when trying to look out for him. And so on, and so forth.
Loid was probably the only person in the whole Origin System that the Operator was alright with fussing over him. He was a butler after all, and he’d been abandoned by the one he loved the most. He figured that Loid’s mental state was probably a little bit better when he had someone else to tend to beyond himself. I mean, ever since the Cavia stabilized and Loid opened up a little with them, things in the Sanctum as a whole had become far more pleasant.
Only once he was halfway up the stairs did he realize that Bird 3 was talking.
Now, such an event would normally be quite… normal, but the fact that it was neither Fibonacci nor Tagfer’s voices he heard in response was strange.
And then he remembered about the protoframes.
From the drawl of the words and lilting intonations, the Operator already knew who it was without needing to look.
How delightful.
Sure enough, leaning against the upper railing as the Operator emerged from the stairs below was none other than Roathe, the Devil of Tau himself.
“Now then, my avian acquaintance, you say you can change colors? How delightfully useless!”
The orokin’s voice stabbed into the Operator’s heart like a shard of ice, igniting a cold fury.
“He’s not useless.”
He spoke before he could stop himself, his voice carrying through the immense space.
Fibonacci caught the eye of the Operator momentarily before quickly looking away, clearly not wanting to get involved.
“Oh?” Came the drawl from above.
In a whirl of fire and ash, Roathe spiraled down from above, depositing himself with arms wide before the Operator.
“If it isn’t the Usurper’s other half!” He gave a cloying smile, his blue skin somehow still immaculate where it wasn’t broken by the fibrous cords of his Warframe-flesh, “I’d say you’re smaller than I expected, but I wouldn’t dare to anger someone so… adept… at genocide.”
The words punched him in the gut, but he refused to give it a proper response.
“Bird 3 isn’t useless.” He had to stick to his original argument. Orokin like Roathe knew exactly what to say to get under your skin. It was a game to them.
“Oh? Does the child like the talking animals? How trite.” He lulled his head, as if bored with the conversation, “but fear not, I was merely talking of his ability to change his color, not the avian himself. It makes little sense for a bird of his size to have such a trait for camouflage, no?” That smirk was infuriating, “in truth, I quite enjoy chatting with my new neighbors! It sure beats—“
“Devil!”
It was a man’s voice who cut him off, heavy with an ancient and strange accent the Operator didn’t recognize.
From the entrance to their Cathedrale came a second figure, and the Operator immediately recognized him as the Harrow protoframe.
As Rell’s frame.
“Devil, you have not earned the right to be unsupervised.” The man seemed to pointedly not look at the Operator.
Roathe let out a sigh of mock-exasperation, looking back at the Operator, “well, it looks like my chaperone calls. Goodie me.”
With an eye roll that would impress any teenager, Roathe turned and walked deliberately toward the Harrow protoframe. “Come now, you know you were enjoying our time apart, no?”
The Operator tuned out the rest of their conversation as Tagfer trotted toward him. He raised a questioning eyebrow to the Cervulite, posing an unspoken question.
“Oh, he’s definitely an asshole,” he said, giving a head-jerk back toward Roathe as he and his companion disappeared through the gate to their Cathedrale, “but I get the feeling he’s genuinely enjoying talking with us.”
“Though I haven’t quite deduced if the feeling’s mutual,” added Fibonacci from within his tank, clearing his voice nervously.
“I like him!” Said Bird 3 bluntly, “he’s blue!”
The Operator looked down at Tagfer, giving him a soft scratch on the head, “well, if he’s ever a problem, let me know. I’m always willing to put down another Orokin.”
Yeah… he was definitely plotting murder over a bird.