"Well, well. Old Malcador and his mysteries..."
Lorgar muttered at the communications screen that had just gone dark, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the armrest.
His exchange of "you guess, I guess" with Malcador had just ended, and the brief silence in the cabin had barely lasted a few seconds—
"Bzz—"
His private communications terminal buzzed with another incoming request. A completely different communications identifier, with an equally high clearance level, lit up on the screen.
Lorgar glanced at it and raised an eyebrow, an expression of "again?" crossing his face. Still, he casually accepted the call.
"What is it, my dear brother Fulgrim?" Lorgar's voice held just the right touch of warmth and teasing, as though his earlier "sparring match" with Malcador had never happened.
The peerlessly handsome face of the Third Legion's Primarch appeared on the screen, though it now seemed to bear a rare trace of weariness and confusion.
"Nothing in particular, Lorgar." Fulgrim's voice remained elegant and melodious, but compared with his usual flawless, poetry-recital cadence, it did carry a faint, almost imperceptible weariness.
"It's just... fleet business lately, and a few disputes within the Legion, have left me rather drained. Once I had dealt with them and had a quiet moment, I... well, happened to discover something about myself."
He paused, seemingly choosing his words. A minute trace of confusion and candor flickered through his violet eyes.
"I think... I might be bisexual?"
"Oh?" Lorgar leaned forward slightly, genuine and keen interest appearing on his face, as though he had just heard a juicy piece of gossip.
"So you mean you're not only drawn to male beauty and strength, but also attracted to women's charms?"
"..."
Lorgar's overly direct interpretation, delivered with an almost gleeful willingness to stir the pot, left Fulgrim silent for a