Othello had enjoyed his reprieve, but by the second day he ain't whipped as the Commander had wanted no Othello was bored. A bored Othello was what they were developing and what they were dealing with, it was surely a problem but idle hands were a devious man's playground. Had it given him time to think? Yes. About what, time would tell.

He was whistling which ended with a high pitch when the door of the room opened leaning back in his chair, doofus (Hadrain) and gailent (Abbott) entered and he stood kicking the chair back against the wall with the push of his feet, "sirs," he greeted the two men, blue eyes flicking between doofus' new ring and the man's old withered face. He smiled.

Internally, Hadrian grimaced, entirely unamused by Othello’s whistling and casual demeanor. Externally, the commander looked unphased. After all, the power he needed over the buffoon in front of him was in his title and on his finger. The gifted evidently had no idea just what kind of trouble he was in and what he stood to lose. That would soon be rectified.

“I’d like to talk about your future here, Mister Allemeade,” Hadrian started with no-nonsense military efficiency, “His Majesty has seen fit to remove you from Regan Lassiter’s…care and to put you under my leadership. It is becoming increasingly clear that Miss Lassiter neglected certain parts of your integration into the Nevermerean military. I will see to it that any gaps are filled in and any miscommunications rectified. What you have to decide, Mister Allemeade, is whether you will choose to be a cooperative party or a contrarian one. Now…”

Hadrian put his arms behind his back.

“Which will it be?”

"Lets talk Commander yeah, sounds great, I have a lot to say...Firstly I don't like you, easy enough to say. Second why does EVERYONE keep throwing this up in my face, 'be like you or him, be like Nevermere,' lets be honest I thank the trifold Goddess I am not but we know I'm not Nevermeren or Lorendale or Coheed for petes sake, you know it...Regan...the King...Abbott here knows it. I am a weapon plain and simple. BUT we can make all of this work...truthfully Commander I am soooo fucking bored, a bored non-focused Othello is like this...I mean for petes sake I go home and I look at my kid and I'm like what the fuck am I supposed to do with this thing? Before all of this yes I did whatever I wanted, it was fun but I had purpose. You've took my purpose away. I WANT to kill. I WANT to hurt people because by golly that's WHO and WHAT I am...I'm not a Father. I'm not a husband or brother or sister or friend. I am a scoundrel. I was promised action as long as I was on good behavior...with Regan she gave me something to focus on, adapt and learn to talk....now I'm stuck with you and its already boding badly....give me something to do that isn't sitting on my ass day in and day out...."

Hadrian listened to Othello’s little solliloquy entirely stone-faced. At first, he’d thought himself talking to a disgruntled, stubborn soldier that could be set straight with a slap on the wrist. Now, he realized he was talking to a petulant child. In fact, the commander rather wondered if the Coheedsman was, perhaps, not entirely all there—a prospect that was very concerning in deed. Once again, Hadran silently cursed Regan Lassiter (as if he had the power to do such things) for her apparent failure in his reformation.

He let the Coheedsman run himself out. After his vulgar, abrasive speech was over, Hadrian let silence settle in the room for a long moment, Hadrian spoke. His voice was quiet, foreboding even, as his eyes bore into Othello. Behind his back, his fingers stroked the ring on his finger.

“I believe, Mister Allemeade,” Hadrian started slowly, “You greatly overestimate my concern for your comfort, my care for your opinions, and—most importantly—the relative value of your gift. Weapons are only useful if they can be handled effectively by the wielder. If you are a weapon, as you say, and refuse to be effective, well—” Hadrian shrugged, “Perhaps your usefulness a come to an end.”

He indicated to the guards with a nod of his head, fingers still dancing along the metal of the ring.

“Take him back to the brig.”

"So be it," and Othello once again kindly went with the guards, whistling.