Eight remains silent for the moment. He doesn't negotiate. He pulls threads out of plans like these, stands back, watches them unravel into glorious messes, and then off into the vortex he goes.

But which would serve the greater good, here?

The greater good. It's a phrase so easily abused, and so easily misunderstood. But it's something he'd lived by for centuries--for the most people to benefit, a few had to suffer. Usually himself. Sometimes those with him. Always the antagonist, or so he wanted to beleive, so he tried to insure. But sometimes it just didn't work out that way, especially in this Nexus of conflicting realities.

So sometimes he couldn't do it his way. Sometimes he couldn't charge in, destroy the plan, and move on. Like now.

He watches Balthazar's red gaze, then, and waits to hear what someone more skilled at negotiating will say.