Corbett Baines - Sky - Forest nr Ebernett Estate Any other time, Corbett may very well have scoffed - for of course the laboratory bore an entrance of some clandestine nature. The recent odd swell of emotion, however, had perhaps changed the atmosphere over much and even the watchdog - ever blunt though he was - felt loathe to behave in such a manner. “Courtesy,” Corbett began, gently kicking at stone and dirt alike, “says that I should be the one to clear the path.” Nonetheless, he gripped the hand-shovel by the blade, and gently placed the handle upon Aisling’s commanding palm, “I give this to you, however, in the hope that every strike of the shovel upon dirt and stone will cause you to give pause. The understanding that, digging your way out is a harder ask than digging your way in. Failing that, I should hope it strengthens your resolve in this matter, should you stay the course.” Tobin Heath - ??? Lucius was fun. Granted, the Maggot was a smidgen of an obscurant, wasn’t he? So many facets, like a shattered mirror; the vengeful leper, the well-spoken malcontent, the revolutionary - hero of the lesser folk. At least one, more likely several, of which must have been a lie; anyone who spoke that fancily was bound to beget lies and deceit. Still, great fun, and so wondrously theatrical. The pockmarked man had the element of an artisan to him - and the Ostrich appreciated that. The Revolution? Either an inspired lie, or a hopeless truth. And in either case, Tobin lacked interest in conventional word of mouth. There were so many mouths here in the swelter with little more to do than speak and spittle and lick of their parched lips, and so many ears with nothing past listening for semblances of hopeful somethings. That was menial work, and not particularly enjoyable. The ants of the Underground would come in droves, and each individual held no real value. At least, no poetic value. But children, snatched from above? There was real possibility there, real value. The Maggot liked to wax poetical; could there be more poetry than the children of the vaunted, turned against them? The sacrificial lamb approach held merit as well, though perhaps a tad overdone - trite, even. Ah, well. Tobin Heath adjusted the brim of his top hat over his eyes, and ascended from the Underground.