CROWD !

   The idea had seemed so--so nice at the time. Create a squad--a squad of warriors that thrived for power as much as they thrived for knowledge, and work with them, employing their drive to help restore history and all it’s hiccups, while paying them in once-in-a-lifetime,-literally opportunities! 

   It was--that idea was inherently risky, she knew, yes. Those that thrived for knowledge or power, let alone both--not everyone sought greater things through honorable means, necessarily, sure! Still; she also knew she was capable of handling her own! She had means of dealing with--more ornery individuals, and she even had Trunks as her right hand, now! 

   In fact, Trunks--Trunks was the convincing factor to all of it. That he was such an upstanding man, clearly respectful, capable of so much good despite all the hardships he had faced in his life--Despite their meeting on terms that came from Trunks technically needing to receive punishment for his actions, it isn’t that she thinks any less of him--rather, she’s come to trust him quite immensely.

   So while she would give the final say in whether someone joined or not, Trunks was entrusted with most all of the duties pertaining to running the new-founded ‘Time Patrol’ itself.

   And, for the most part--it’s been such a wonderful foundation, she thinks, really. The circulation of people through Conton, through each other’s lives, through her life--she had expected to compensate others with those once-in-a-lifetime experiences, and never imagined the opposite might be repaid to her--and she couldn’t imagine her life without them. 

  She doesn’t regret it, not one bit--

   There were, however,

   Outliers.

   She runs a hand through her hair; pause. Free hand drops a pen and both fingers comb through locks with another, less audible sigh, and she slinks back in her chair, slides down and settles.

   She has her means of--knowing things. Of knowing people, of knowing places, of knowing history--but she isn’t necessarily omnipotent. In the end, when it comes to recruiting Time Patrollers, she can know objective things, like their power, their past--but not subjective things, like--people skills. And, because of that, recruiting patrollers can be a bit of a--crap shoot.

   She presses her eyes closed for a second, stretches her arms upward... And unwinds with a nod. Hunching back forward; back to work, pen in hand.

   And one can only take hearing from their supposedly trusted colleagues that they were ‘incompetent’, ‘untrustworthy’, ‘suspicious’, ‘lazy’, or even--‘the real bad guy, actually’.

   Her lips draw into a thin line, pen slipping back into place on the table’s surface from her fingers; she doesn’t feel up to anymore work for the day, admittedly.

   ...

   Another sigh.

   As the saying goes--’with great power comes great responsibility,’ and she knows that. When things went wrong, it was on her to figure out why and how those things happened, how to rectify them, how to protect against them in the future. Even so--shouldn’t the things that go wrong--be evidence as to why they’re all here--as to why the Time Patrol exists to begin with? She’s admitted she needs help, and the work of a patroller is to aid in protection against these attacks, to aid in protection of history--but then the conversation becomes why? 

   Why protect history, why protect Conton?

   Why protect her?

   And she knows--she knows she isn’t perfect; she knows, for some, she’s just--some figurehead, and that they came here for their own ventures, not for hers. She knows, and she doesn’t expect every patroller to be some virtuous, upstanding warrior that ‘knows who she is’--to treat her respectfully, or even fearfully as the big, scary ‘Supreme Kai of Time’. 

   Even then, though--even knowing all of that--

   It--She can’t--

   Is it so irrational to be bothered by the alternative mindset being so often that she’s the one to be pursued as a villain, instead? 

   Her forehead rests against folded arms set meekly across the tabletop. 

   ...

   And in the end, it’s such--it’s such a silly thing, she’s certain her colleagues of Kai would say, to--to fret over the ponderings ‘mortals’. 

   And in that end, how can she blame said ‘mortals’ for feeling such disdain towards some empty ‘figurehead’ like her?

   ‘Why protect history?’ She feels the words bubble in her chest, the experiences, the memories, the reasons but to repeat them ad nauseum, would they just fall on careless ears again?

   ‘Why protect Conton?’ And how does she, as a Kai, hope to express the important of empathy for one another to mortals she can never truly relate to?

   ‘Why protect her?’ 

   ...

   She pulls herself up and away, slow and tired, the dull scrape of the chair’s legs against the hard floor as she gives up more definitively, now, on her work for the day. Her neck hurts. Her back hurts. She should sit better. She should work better. She should--...