"Is your leader Dark Matter?"
Icetales’ pupils shrunk and he unconsciously took a bigger sip than his mouth could hold. It was a miracle he didn’t gurgle in his own tea.
He swallowed slowly and stared at the Smeargle in disbelief, his body and tails as rigid as an iceberg.
Bejirah! She… she knows!?
Adrenaline burst. Neurotransmitters zipped. Thoughts raced. His brain scrambled for a way out. For an answer that wasn’t going to be a loaded bomb. For a way to not have their flanks flayed by beings far more powerful than himself and his comrades.
There was no way to dance around or deflect the question. “Yes” or “no” were the only options. What a frightening dilemma!
Should they keep the facade up at the cost of horrible repercussions if she were to find out later, or should they lift the weight off of their chests… and potentially receive horrible repercussions immediately?
…The Vulpix wished he was anywhere but there. But nobody could leave, and nobody was prepared to answer that question.
As such… it was time to wear his head butler’s gloves. Composure.
“…Miss Maple,” he said at last, his voice firm and his eyes glowing with a faint azure hue. “I have sworn discretion for our common patron’s sake, and discretion is the most sacred of treasures for yours truly. Dark Matter, Bittercold, Dark Rust, Void Crawl… I shan’t neither confirm nor deny thy inquiry.” His tails swayed and unleashed a soft mist around them. “If there is anything we should tell about Sir Diyem’s private matters, we shall do so with his consent.”