Private Tales Mercy Has A Price

[Bexley]

Track and report, that was more or less what her missive stated when she had read it.

Bexley drew up the hood to her leather jacket enough that it did not block most of her peripherals, waiting for the partner they assigned her for such a mundane task. If this had been the old days, she would be insisting on going alone, but now matters of Dreadlords were now organised by the Anirian Guard. They already hated Dreadlords, and they would come to hate her if she pressed on the matter, but Bexley soon calmed after meeting the Academy Initiate they threw at her.

Marcia was no slouch, a quality Bexley had anticipated due to the majority of their core learning years were under Revolution teachings, and she was convinced all Initiates would be too soft for the field these days. The girl was hardly anything spectacular, at least not yet, but with the right training and guidance, she was sure Marcia would be an aexcellent addition to the Dreadlord ranks.

She also possessed a gift not many are known to wield. While the noblewoman sat at her table, nursing a glass of red wine, she frowned at the sanguine colour and pretended to enjoy it without having taken a sip from it. Wine still left a bitterness not found in the grape, a bitterness that came from her wasted time at the Royal Keep and losing her chance to make her family proud by becoming the next Queen of Vel Anir.

Once she spotted the Initiate, she straightened and pushed the glass towards the seated Initiate. "When I was an Initiate, they had forbade us to indulge. Help yourself, I think you earned it." She had earned it for not irking the older Dreadlord straight away, and thus made this mundane task something to study. "Did you follow Lady Willcott?"

 

[Marcia]

Regarding assignments, it wasn't an adrenaline-pumping thrill ride of blood and violence. For the most part, Marcia had just stalked a shopping woman.

How long Lady Wilcott could spend shopping for jewellery alone had, quite frankly, baffled the girl to the point of silent frustration. On reflection, she might have considered that growing up at the Academy had changed her nature, to be task orientated to a fault. Were she ever in the market for a trinket or bauble, Marcia would have known what she wanted, beelined for it, purchased it, and then left in five minutes.

This was h o u r s.

Talking.

Trying on.

Comparing.

Changing her mind.

Good fucking grief. The Initiate had to pinch herself more than once to stop getting distracted by sheer boredom. It might have been clever, really, if you had been aware of being followed, to just bore your stalker to death.

She paused at the table with Dreadlord Bexley as the glass of wine was pushed towards her, staring at it as if it were some foreign object she could not comprehend. Drinking was an act beyond her focus, more suited to the Initiates who gleefully snuck out whenever possible to get absolutely rat-arsed and make questionable decisions on the matter of fornication. It was a distraction that remained beneath her.

And also required friends.

"Probably for the best," Marcia commented on the matter of Initiate indulgent before herself, hypocritically obliging with a small sip. Did people actually like wine? Or did they pretend? Whatever, it was different under the insistence of a Dreadlord. "And yes, I did. She went shopping all afternoon. Mostly for jewellery. It was pretty uneventful."

And so fucking boring.

"Hard to believe that's all there was to it. Was something supposed to happen?"

 

[Bexley]

Bexley shrugged.

"She is rich enough to have vendors come to her home, but to spend such a time outside her home to find something to her tastes? My money would be on she is looking for a gift, for someone at home she does not want to know or see..." Such riches were not exactly her expertise or experience, as her family had sent her off to the Academy as soon as magic was discovered by the Proctors.

"Either way, it is to be noted down for the report later." She cleared her throat, pulling out a slim notebook and opened to a fresh page of parchment. "What sort of jewellery was she looking at? What did her hands touch while you were watching her? Fabrics, colours, that sort of thing."

She had not told the Initiate to look out for such details in her tracking, but it was an opportunity to test her.

 

[Marcia]

"An affair, maybe?" Marcia asked, her thumb running over the stem of the wine glass as the sip of the red clung to the inside of her mouth like an unwelcome guest. It was the only thing the girl could think of, but then again, she wasn't well accustomed to the lives of nobility.

The Initiate's eyebrows knotted when the Dreadlord followed up with more questions, and while she hadn't been entirely oblivious to what Lady Wilcott had been picking out, she could have been more focused.

"She was looking at brooches," Marcia said slowly, continuing with a trace of uncertainty filtering into her voice, "necklaces and bracelets." Oh, she didn't like being unsure in the face of authority, that feeling of giving an inadequate summary creeping up the back of her neck like a hateful spider. Her head shrunk into her shoulders somewhat, eyes drilling into the table to summon back any semblance of memory.

"A lot of silver. Green stones." Stones. As if Marcia knew the difference between jade, emerald, and peridot in the first place. "I'm really sorry; I wasn't looking out for that kind of detail."

 

[Bexley]

Bexley surveyed the Initiate with a passive expression. "I did not expect you to be looking at the details, but it gives you something to think about in the future. On any track and report mission, memory recall becomes important once it comes to the report. Luckily, we can fill the stones portion later."

What was the use of being assigned an Initiate if it meant she could not teach them a thing or two from the old ways? They were always effective, and worked for a great many that were silver tongued.

"No need to chastise yourself for not looking." Bexley lifted the glass, taken from Marcia, and held in a way that reflected the girl's visage. If Marcia took the clue to use her reflected self to see behind her, she would see the Lady Wilcott smiling upon her seat being pulled out for her and a male companion helping her seat. "Lord Wilcott is nearing upon being considered aged, so your theory of an affair may have some ground."

The man that now took a seat, looking the same age as Wilcott, which Bexley knew to be her age.

"Remind me, does your reflection move freely or only when in your line of sight?"

 

[Marcia]

Marcia nodded, making mental notes for the future to do her due diligence when on track and report missions, no matter how dull or insignificant the details seemed. She might have supposed that the point of these assignments with Dreadlords was to learn from them, but that didn't make it any less frustrating that she hadn't stuck the landing perfectly when asked.

Despite Bexley's insistence, she would chastise herself to do better; the pursuit of improvement was the point of it all. To be the best.

When the wine glass was held up to her, her immediate reaction was to flinch; the unexpected connection with her reflection was never easy to stomach as her perspective doubled, two bodies controlled by one mind. After a swift recovery, she finally noticed the focal point in the background.

Lady Wilcott.

And decidedly not Lord Wilcott.

"It can move freely, but there's a boundary," she said, already taking the opportunity to move her mirror image, unseen to everybody, closer to the table. She'd managed the perimeter of that chapel in Satriya, but that was at the edge of her limits. As long as she kept training, pushing further, who knew how far the tether could stretch? "Bigger than this place, though. Just need to keep my eyes on the glass."

 

[Bexley]

Bexley's hand did not even falter. Her hand gripped the glass so still, the contents did not tilt with movement.

In fact, her eyes were trained on the Initiate. With her own magic, a tableau of Lady Wilcott played in her mind, as if her eyes were upon the Lady after all, and not the Initiate she was training.

"Is it possible for your reflection to over hear? To gather information for you?" To do all the work unseen, while Marcia was sat with her back to their intended target for surveilling. There was a winning edge to her smirk, which upon Bexley's facade made the woman look as if she had something up her sleeves. "Tell me what you hear."