Jedao, meanwhile, wraps around him in turn, just a tiny bit gleefully, with all the answering smugness of a child favored enough to scoop up a cat in his arms and receive a purr instead of scratches for the presumption. Jedao cradles the crown gently against the forearm of the hand he keeps control of, and finds a spot where two machines are both running facing opposite each other, then hops up to sit on top of one, feeling the steady rumbling warmth beneath him.

What's up, buttercup? Jedao asks, affectionate and silly and gentle.