"What the flip are you doing here, Stormblessed?"
"There's been a situation." Kaladin was glancing towards every darkened corner of the props room, eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. It was hard to say what exactly was ordinary, though; soft toys goggled out of carts, playhouses sat on trolleys, and there was an entire crate of egg cartons waiting for their craft destiny to unfold just a foot from his elbow.
"What kind of situation?" Adolin was putting the finishing touches to a papier mache hat.
"A somebody's-going-to-try-to-kill-you situation, Princeling, and it is my regretful duty to keep your butt alive."
Adolin considered summoning his shardblade and then thought about what that might do for his child-friendly image, and the papier mache hat. He crossed his arms instead. "Somebody wants to kill me now? But we're live in ten minutes!"
"Adolin, you're going to be dead in ten minutes if you don't get out back to where my men are waiting to escort you to a safehouse."
"Funny." Adolin still looked torn. "But... Playschool, man. The show must go on, right?"
"If you want to live to sing a song about the weather another day, you'll leave now."
Adolin sighed. "I suppose Rlain can handle this one on his own."
"What? No, of course not," Kaladin said. "He's coming with us. He's equally in danger."
"We can't not do the show," Adolin said. "All across the country, parents are sitting their kids down for some light, craft-based entertainment." He indicated the hat expressively. It had a spray of feathers and drinking straws popping artfully out of the crown.
Kaladin eyed it warily. "I know. You still need to come with me."
"But I can't. People are relying on me!"
Kaladin took a deep breath and tried counting down from ten. "Okay," he said finally, "what needs to happen for you to go to the safehouse?"
"Somebody needs to take my place." Adolin thought this through. "And Rlain's place. Diversity is important."
"But they'd be in danger," Kaladin said. "They might be attacked at any moment."
"So they'd have to be prepared, yeah, but I'm prepared, so..."
"Adolin, we can't have the guy fifth in line for the throne slicing people up on national television. People would complain."
"And we could have you slicing up people on national television?"
"Why not? It's happened before."
Adolin considered this. "True. Wait— you're offering to go on Playschool."
"I wouldn't make anybody else do it," Kaladin said drily.
"You. In front of the nation's children. You. Do you even know what Playschool is?"
"I used to watch it all the time when I was a kid!" Kaladin protested. "It's got, like, picture books and stuffed animals and stuff."
"You're forgetting something."
"What?"
"You need a Parshendi co-host."
"I feel ridiculous," Eshonai said, tugging at the hem of her purple t-shirt. She stretched her arms out in front of her. "This was not a garment made for people in warform."
"I don't think they cater for people in warform on Playschool," Kaladin said.
Eshonai pulled a knife from somewhere on her person and began cutting the sleeves off her shirt. "They can't have Listeners on the show and then discriminate against what form they wear."
"You two... know what you're doing, right?" a weary looking man setting up a camera asked.
Eshonai nodded. "We're reading Where's My Chull and making shardplate out of milk cartons."
"And then we'll sing a song about highstorm safety."
The man looked resigned enough that this didn't phase him. "That's... better than nothing."
"I think this will be good for you, Kaladin," Syl suggested from her perch on one of the milk cartons. "Getting out of your comfort zone."
"There's an assassin somewhere in this room," Kaladin reminded her. He wasn't yet sure if she would show up on camera, but she had offered to help with 'sticking things together'.
"One minute!" somebody called from the direction of the cameras.
"Storms," said Kaladin reflexively.
"We can't swear on camera," Eshonai said.
"Yes, I know." Kaladin's mind went back to Adolin completely and unironically saying the word 'flip'. "I don't know how we're going to cope."
"We'll be fine," Eshonai said. She'd been attuning Peace for the last five minutes and was feeling quite serene. "What's the worst that can—"
"Please don't finish that sentence."
"Fine." She patted him on the shoulder. "Deep breaths, Stormblessed."
A woman began counting down seconds until they went live. Kaladin tried not to pick at his woollen jumper. Syl kicked her heels against her milk carton. Eshonai looked very calm now that her shoulder plates were free of the confines of sleeves.
Kaladin realised that the woman was now silently counting the seconds on her hands. She got down to one.
"Hi, I'm Captain Kaladin Stormblessed—"
"—and I'm General Eshonai."
"Welcome to Playschool."
"This is the greatest day of my life," said Lopen. He was sitting on the carpet in front of the television with every other member of Bridge Four and an anxious looking pair of deposed Playschool presenters.
"We're never going to hear the end of this," Rlain muttered under his breath to Adolin, who was too transfixed to reply.
"Okay, so, uh... we've got a lot of milk cartons here, and we're going to use these ones to make some rudimentary pauldrons."
"Are we leaving room for a spear to rest against the right shoulder?" Rlain could tell Eshonai was struggling to maintain the rhythm of Craft.
"Um... I guess?"
"Okay, stand still."
"I've never seen somebody use masking tape quite like that," Adolin said finally.
"He just Lashed those two milk cartons together," Sigzil said. "I didn't know you could do that with stormlight."
"Eshonai has completely ruined my shirt," said Adolin.
It was during the last few pages of Eshonai reading Where's My Chull that Kaladin spotted him; a man standing suspiciously back in the throng of camera persons and Playschool buffs. He didn't seem to be doing anything, which was the suspicious thing. Everybody else on the floor seemed to be doing things.
"And that's the end of the story," said Eshonai calmly, closing the cover on the picture book. She looked over to him. "Kaladin, we've been talking a lot about highstorms recently, haven't we?"
"Oh golly, yes," said Kaladin.
"Didn't we have a song about them?"
"Yes, we—Eshonai, get down!" Kaladin dived to the ground as a crossbow bolt impaled itself in the set next to them. He came to his feet in a roll, his spear manifesting itself in his hands.
"Right behind you," Eshonai said, putting the picture book down and standing. Another crossbow bolt ricocheted off her carapace. "See, this is why Playschool needs hosts in warform," she said, her shardblade dropping into her hands as assassins poured out of their hiding places. Kaladin drew in stormlight from the bundle of spheres they'd hidden under the papier mache hat. He and Eshonai moved to cover each other's backs, and then they got to work.
"It was probably the first time in recorded history that a Playschool presenter Lashed themselves to the scenery in milk carton armour," Adolin said afterwards, when the two had returned to the safehouse.
"Shut up," grumbled Kaladin, burning extra stormlight to heal his injuries. Eshonai, sitting beside him, was deep in conversation with Syl.
"Oh— Kholin," she said suddenly, and pulled off his purple t-shirt. "This was yours, I think."
"It's fine," Adolin said. "You keep it."
"It's not my colour."
"I liked the book," Rock said mildly. "There were chull."
"The highlight, for me, was when you yelled, 'who do you flipping think I am', Captain," said Lopen.
"That was definitely my favourite part," Adolin said.
"I'm just glad we never had to sing the song," Kaladin said. He flopped back on the couch and Syl alighted on his nose.
"Is this a good time to tell you about the call I got from my boss?" Adolin asked.
"What?"
"Yeah, she wants you two to come back on sometime," Adolin said. "Something about clever use of masking tape and Eshonai's soothing reading voice."