Jono just gave Hannibal one of those wry almost-smiles, just barely showing around the corners of his eyes.

//You'd have a hell of a time talking me out of this one, mate. It's all been for Karla's well-being, since she's without Craft at the moment. S'led to a fair amount of headaches and nosebleeds, though. And, apparently, a cat.//

He shrugged his shoulders, drumming his fingers once against the arm of the chair he was sitting in.

//Try keeping any of those things, cat included, a secret from Karla. S'been an adventure.//

//The headaches, the nosebleeds, the complete and utter destruction of anything I've ever hold morally dear,// Jono replied, looking toward the floor. //1984.//

Jono nodded a little, still looking down at the cat, who had ventured, now, to stick a cautious paw outside of the carrier.

//Food and beer,// he agreed with a nod of his head. //This is an excellent conversation to accompany with beer. I suppose most are, granted, but this...//

He could definitely use it, for this one.

//Thank you,// Jono replied, watching Hannibal leave the room. He appreciated the breather, so to speak. A moment alone to gather his thoughts wouldn't go amiss, especially since this was hardly the only thing on his mind. The cat, at least, seemed to finally be getting to a point where he was more relaxed than Jono was, which was a pretty good sign, he supposed. After all, the cat really only had to worry about the wealth of new smells. Jono, meanwhile, was battling with his conscience, and no small amount of paranoia, and a whole lot of something big and terrifying besides.

... Jono was not having a simple time of things. Water? Still wet.

//He adapts impressively quickly to new surroundings,// Jono replied, reaching down to scratch the cat behind the ear. //Impressive, given the fact that he's stone deaf. But then, he was a shop cat, I suppose. He'd be used to people wandering in and out of his home at all hours of the day. New people, at least, he can wrap his head around. He was even fine with the vet, until she started poking at his teeth and sticking needles and thermometers and whatever else into him.//

And Jono? He was a soft touch, tempted to take anything in need in under his idiotic wing.

Jono leaned back in his seat, stringing up a link between Hannibal's senses and his own and taking a moment to appreciate the flavour of the beer before speaking.

//You'd asked if there was no other option, or at least any that I could see,// he offered. //And the answer... frankly? Is no. Karla's still fairly new in her position as Territory Queen, and there's still no shortage of people looking to not only oust her, but to make an example of her. She is where she is in no small part because she was eventually accepted as an improvement on Hobart, but only after we exposed what had happened in Yllestad to the public. Even so, Glacia is full of Hobart sympathizers, people whose palms he greased well enough, or who loathe what Karla stands for, with her pushing for more rights for landens and acceptance for Black Widows.//

His eyes were carefully turned toward the cat, who was now wandering here and there, sniffing his way around the room.

//The trouble with weeding out Karla's most dangerous opposition is, for the most part, that there's no single united front. There are those who have worked for Hobart, there are those who resent that landens and the poor are being treated like human beings while the territory's aristos find the perks that they were never truly entitled to being whittled away by an upstart young Queen. There are those who used to make a living poaching Arcerians who have been forbidden from doing so entirely, those who think it's a perversion that a Territory Queen choose to carry a half-landen child and keep a landen Consort, and some who simply think they could do a better job. And they're everywhere. There's been one blatant attack on Karla's life already, just before she and Warren demonstrated how absolutely bloody brilliant they are by getting her knocked up, and every last piece of evidence we could use to persecute the mastermind behind the attempt was destroyed in one way or another.//

He spread his hands a little.

//Simply put, we've got no leads but what I can pluck right out of people's heads. We hear whispers, rumours of people who wish to do Karla ill meeting in the dark and plotting against her, and it's my job to sweep in and investigate, to follow whatever web of mental evidence I can find from there. And officially, our hands are tied. We can't risk that anybody will make a move on Karla now, and we can't let their plots become public knowledge without making martyrs of them, or encouraging copycat attacks while the Queen is without Craft and vulnerable. Hell, after the attack on Karla's life, I made a thorough sweep through the Estate itself, weeding out as many people who posed any sort of threat to her as I could. We let them go, came up with some bullshit excuse and gave them all handsome severance packages so there wouldn't be harder feelings than there really needed to be. I made a second sweep once Karla told her First Circle that she was expecting. That's... sort of where this began.//

//No, that's about the tall and short of it,// Jono admitted, running a hand through his hair. //Karla would try to put a stop to it in a heartbeat, not because those people don't deserve it, but because of what it's costing me. And thus far, only you, Morton, and myself know about the particulars.//

He shrugged.

//I've been spreading myself too bloody thin. I know that. Picking through heads by day. Assessing the threat. Acting as judge, jury, and executioner by night. I haven't gotten so far as to act on Orwellian 'thought crime' alone, we only act on those who have an active plot that they're in the process of executing, but the amount of those looking to take advantage of the window of a few months while the Ebon-Grey Queen is essentially helpless is...//

Jono shook his head, lifting a hand to rub at his temple.

//For Winsol, I'm thinking of giving Karla and Warren a plaque, awarding them first place for worst bloody timing in Kaeleeran history. I'll call it, 'The Glorious Sodding Idiot Award.'//