Context: Two robot kings, Bangalter and de Homem-Christo, have had the safety of their kingdom compromised by a virus. Suspecting that a dignitary from the mainland might be trying to sabotage their rule, they are discretely attending a peace conference in hopes of outing the offending party.

—

They arrive on the mainland, arm in arm and—miraculously—punctual to the second, expecting that their uniform entrance will go unnoticed. Roughly ten seconds on the dock proves otherwise when they find themselves surrounded by reporters and cameras. It occurs to the both of them that it's been years since they made any kind of public appearance on the mainland, so of course the humans are going to be toting  recording equipment to cope with their memory limitations. Humans have an odd fondness for documenting relatively insignificant happenings.

Bangalter takes the attention in strides, while de Homem-Christo simply bears it like a necessary evil. Guards of their own—consisting predominantly of human escorts to avoid alienating themselves from the wholly human gathering—flank them from all sides, preventing any reporters from getting too close. Bodyguards are more or less unnecessary, as both kings could easily fend for themselves should danger arise, but it's bad form for sovereigns to get their hands too dirty in the public eye. A kingdom that can afford luxuries is a kingdom at peace, and the robot royals intend to paint themselves as portraits of harmony.

As far as the mainland needs to be concerned, all's well with the Bangalter-Christo Empire. And always will be. That's the message they want to convey.

Even in a situation as benign as a peace conference, Bangalter and de Homem-Christo tackle each step of the event as the tacticians they were known for being back in their conquering days. Everything is premeditated and deliberate on their part, from the way they walk (Bangalter's usual stride has carefully been modified to match de Homem-Christo's shorter legs), to the tilt of their chins (parallel to the ground, fixed straight ahead; they must look confident without looking haughty, as they've learned from past experiences that humans read expressions in the details of the robots' body language for lack of actual facial features), to the seemingly unconscious linking of their arms (one robot king is formidable; two who are in perfect agreement with one another, who are so intimately familiar with one another's thoughts that they walk as if extensions of each other's bodies… that is a force to be reckoned with. Or, preferably, not reckoned with at all. Ever).

(That, and they have taken into account the human press's penchant for reading between the lines and then relaying those imaginary lines to the next day's papers. If Bangalter and de Homem-Christo are going to be in such headlines, they'd rather the speculations on their relationship be positive rather than mysterious. Where there is room for speculation, there is room for controversy.)

From the various snippets of question and narration they can distinguish from the surrounding crowds, their reception is overall positive. Bangalter hears a reporter ask them about how the Empire has dealt with recent droughts, another about their motives for finally appearing on the mainland, another about their unprecedented role as the first successful robotic rulers in history. De Homem-Christo catches a few news hosts comment on their low-key arrival, another on the events of tonight, another on what the robots are wearing.

If the humans have to gossip about anything, the make of their helmets or the height of their heels are not such undesirable topics. Of their appearance, Bangalter and de Homem-Christo have no worries.

Bangalter itches for short range wireless conversation, yet he knows that now of all times is not when he should be utilizing such a weakly encrypted form of communication. If any enemy robots or machines should be within range and are clever enough to tap into their shared frequency, sensitive information might slip through the cracks. For now, spoken words are their safest bet. Spoken words can be picked with more caution than an unshielded flow of thoughts and feelings.

They make their way past the microphones without sparing a single word for the inquiring minds. Velvet ropes stretched out between golden poles serve as a barrier between the arriving royals and the crowds, as well as a pathway for them to follow from the docks to their ride.

De Homem-Christo regards the carriage designated to escort them with some interest. Horse-drawn carriages have been out of style on the mainland for hundreds of years, but in keeping with the image of "tradition," humans revert to old trends for the day of the peace conference. He supposes there's a sort of luxury in having beasts labor as pieces of a vehicle. Robots have little regard for traditions if they are inefficient, but for the sake of fitting in, they indulge in the proffered means of transportation.

The coach is huge and, evidently, heavy enough to warrant four reined horses. Its body is gilded, beautiful, polished to perfection—perfect match for gold and silver men of metal. A footman nervously offers a hand out, but de Homem-Christo pushes the hand away. He's never been fond of humans fawning over them, and though sensitivity to their mission is important, he is not about to allow the human love of frailty soften him. Bangalter and de Homem-Christo are strong. They are warriors. They can step onto a carriage by themselves.

In the relative solitude of the coach, Bangalter finally feels at peace enough to speak a few words.

"We mustn't raise suspicions amongst the other dignitaries."

De Homem-Christo doesn't lift his head to respond. "I'm aware of that."

"Which means we must participate in the events as though we were attending for the same reasons they are. We must act…"

"Flawed?" de Homem-Christo offers in what is as close as he'll ever get to a joke.

"…Human," Bangalter settles on, shaking his head. "If we focus purely on finding our enemy, we'll draw unwanted attention to ourselves."

"Then the others will wonder what we've done to make an enemy with a mainlander. They'll pry… Might even side with our enemy if it's to their benefit, or if it is where their loyalties lie."

"Precisely."

It occurs to de Homem-Christo that his partner is not simply clarifying the dangers to him. His partner is urging him to "play nice" with the masses for today. De Homem-Christo does not think of himself as unduly unkind, but he is becoming increasingly aware of his preference for only interacting with humans as much as he must.

The mainland peace conferences are an odd affair. Research on past conferences revealed that they're more akin to big, glorified parties than any kind of negotiation ceremony, but perhaps it is this characteristic that keeps motivating everyone to reconvene once a year. Representatives from major countries all across the globe show up and exert their power, charms, and manners. At its essence, the conference is about making connections and shaking hands with potential allies, while also soothing the frayed nerves of potential rivals.

As the humans put it, it's a chance to schmooze.

Robots are not typically known for their ability to schmooze, but they can, at least, stand very straight and tall. Everyone seems impressed enough with that so far.

"I will do my best to socialize satisfactorily with the others," de Homem-Christo finally says, sensing that Bangalter was hoping for some kind of reassurance. Bangalter visibly relaxes, confirming this suspicion.

"Good. W-wonderful." He nods right as their ride comes to a stop. The footman tries once more to make their passage between carriage and ground an easier one, and this time, de Homem-Christo accepts the guiding hand.