Fawkes watches impassively as the Ogre's words put weight to the air, lighting a cigarette with eyes-half lidded from the long inhale. He occasionally flicks ash, not interrupting either Crimson Solder's impassioned speech: things were feeling normal again.
At Rich's dismissal back towards the Onyx Queen's gentle nudge of an announcement, he salute's the man again out of habit, the light going out from his nicotine from the gesture. He looks back to Circe, blinking slowly as she speaks of betrayal and abandonment,
"Okay."
He gestures to himself and the active volcano. "You have support here, now. We'll sort out the logistics of it. Your concern about the Pledge is easily rectified: add it in Our clause that departure from the Freehold absolves that person of our protections. We can just renew the Oath in those matters."
An exhale of smoke swirls around the pale man like a ashen halo, regarding the strikingly unusual Fairest.
"The Lost disappear all the time, but we're the ones on the front lines to make sure we don't slip through the cracks. The Oath of the Spear coincides with discipline because of the chaos we volunteer for; harnessing our rage before it breaks us all apart."
She didn't seem to appreciate the pomp and ceremony that came with the demands of a rank she was brave enough to bear. He cocks his head back towards the gathering, eyes not as cold and alien,
"You don't need to change, Circe. I don't think you're being asked to. We just want you in a position where your fire shines brighter than before."