{oOo}

"GUILLEMAN!" roared Angron from the entrance of the hall currently occupying the administrative personnel of the Ultramarines Legion.

Said administrative staff could instantly be divided three ways.

The sheep assumed a raging Primarch was charging towards them, intend on mayhem, and tried to hide behind Roboute Guilleman.

The goats recalled that this was Angron's normal speaking voice and rather pointedly did not overreact.

The wise men remembered that Angron was also... careless... about not accidentally damaging people and furniture. They ran for their lives, clutching every dataslate they could sweep up.

Just by entering the room, the primarch of the World Eaters had set Guilleman's staff back a day's work. There was a scraping sound from behind him. Goats being scattered as Angron ploughed uncaring through them on his way towards his brother might have tracked this to a fully armoured Kharn, who was hanging onto Angron's cape, digging his heels in and desperately trying to hold his Primarch back - without noticeable effect.

"How may I be of assistance or education to you, brother?" Roboute asked, not looking up from the dataslate where he was expounding on the vital nature of standardising ammunition clips for Astartes boltguns.

"WHY'D YOU WANT TO BREAK MY LEGION UP!"

"That is not the nature of my proposed programme of reorganisation. The goal is to optimise response times to crises as the management loop of the Imperium grows more extended due to the dilution of available manpower and limits of intercommunication of -"

Angron seized a chair (spilling a cringing clerk out of it) and sat on it. It broke almost immediately so the Primarch reseated himself on the table without pause. It creaked alarmingly. "YOU WANT A THOUSAND ASTARTES IN EVERY SECTOR!"

"That is the preferred ratio," Guilleman agreed, unfazed. He'd been dealing with Angron for decades and this was nothing new.

"I'VE GOT DIBS ON THE SEGMENTUM OBSCURA!"

"You do not have a prior claim on any sector, brother and no administrative authority will be ceded as part of this reassessment of our operational procedures."

"BUT ALL YOUR LEGION'S ASTARTES WILL GET POSTED TO PLACES AROUND YOUR LITTLE ULTRAMARCH EMPIRE, RIGHT?"

Guilleman's eyebrow twitched. "If you are referring to the region of Ultramar, which happens to be under the administration of my Legion just as you could have claimed your homeworld had you so cared to do so -"

"S'RIGHT."

"- I assure you there will be a fair and equitable division of sectors that is in keeping with the strategic needs of the Imperium."

Angron stood up and leant deliberately into Guilleman's personal space. "DIBS. ON. SEGMENTUM. OBSCURA." Then he lowered his voice. "Write it down!"

Guilleman sighed and obediently wrote the words on his dataslate in his usual concise calligraphy. "Is there anything else?"

His brother frowned in thought. "You're getting fat. Go exercise more," he suggested and turned, whipping Kharn (still hanging onto his cloak) around in a dangerous fashion that led to Guilleman's carefully organized desk being spread across a quarter of the hall.

Within seventy-two hours, the Ultramarines Legion was virtually besieged by representatives of planet, system and entire sector authorities from four Segmentums, all insisting that Guilleman guarantee that they would not face the assignment of elements of XII Legion to their respective fiefs. Only the Segmentum Obscura remained relentlessly quiet. One might even say cowed.

{oOo}

AN: Set after/during the Age of Heresy in Bloody Mary's continuity.