Butterflies and Fireflies

[The International]

The Villeneuves are a prominent merchant family favored and respected in every region of the known world, from Corone to Dheathain. Publicly they are known for their successful trade and their ship The International, but it is likely that they gained the attention of great nations through their private business. Their merchant business, although a legitimate and successful one, is a front for their involvement in the clandestine arts. Each member of the family is a covert agent for hire, doing whatever needs to be done for the highest bidder. Alix and Esme have been in the clandestine world since before they can remember, and their children have followed in their footsteps for the better part of the last decade. However this family tradition of a double life will come at a grave price.

From Vespasain's experience, an artist of visual discipline was quite underrated. Maestros, dancers, and actors could enjoy standing ovations for passionate performances even if they were repeated. A painter like Chet DeRamas only enjoyed a mediocre drum line of handmade snares. If the Villeneuves could jump up and down in excitement they would have, because what he was showing was more than just a piece of art. The painting he unveiled was called The Butterfly, and it was just that, a realistic picture of a butterfly. Its wings were seemingly random designs and patterns of cold colors, but the Villeneuves knew what they were. The uninspired applause died down and Chet, an unkept man of small stature, spoke on the deck of The International.

“I've done work for many of the affluent in Radasanth and all around Corone in my day, but that's just what it was... Work. These were people who never really appreciated art. They just desired a wall more lavish and beautiful than their neighbors'. I can honestly say...” Chet paused for a moment and tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

“Please tell me this pansy isn't crying.” Ludivine quietly said just before she bit into a blood red apple. To her left sat Vespasian, and to her right sat Maelle. The three Villeneuve siblings were posted along the bronze railing of the ship's main deck, well behind the crowd of spectators. The docks along the mouth of the Niema River served as their backdrop.

“Of course he's not.” Maelle said with a smile. “He's sea sick. I was hanging out with him Radasanth once and he absolutely refused to take a boat out to fish. He can't help it.”

“That still kind of makes him a pansy.” Vespasian said as he crossed his arms. Ludivine exuded a sinister smile of approval and dropped her head on his shoulder.

“Oh, come on, guys. This pansy is providing an invaluable service to us. That canvas is our fortune.” It was just like the oldest sibling of the family to be such an empathetic person. Vespasian and Ludivine were often amused by it.

Chet finally continued. “... I apologize, everyone. The land is my only familiar habitat. Like I was saying. I usually have to work to find some inspiration for other customers , but for Alix and Esme here, I didn't have to work one bit. Every line and color was like a day in the park from start to finish, and I hope to do more art for them in the future.”

A lackluster applause arose again and the brunch banquet continued. The Villeneuves tended to their customers, but today they did it with a subtle sense of melancholy. The next day that ten by ten canvas lay in the center of the main deck with the five Villeneuves standing around it. The International was anchored a safe distance from the shore and any other ships, which was a procedure they followed before they spoke freely of any espionage business.

“Alright” Esme said as he flattened out large schematics of a ship. “Meet the CNS Colossus, a one hundred gun first rate ship, displacing thirty five hundred tons, boasting a fully rigged sail plan, maxing out at nine knots, and harboring five cannon decks. This, however, is only a quarter of what I got from the butterfly's wing patterns. Now let's move on with dismantling the painting and taking information from the canvas threads.”

Ludivine reached down and turned the painting on its side, and used her wakazashi to pry the wooden frame from the woven fabric. Every single thread was a line of code with letters of the alphabet revealed in seemingly random dots. Blue referred to the ship's armaments, purple referred to its personnel, green referred to the environmental conditions, and any bright or warm color referred to activities, such as shipment schedules, daily routes, and most importantly of all their mission objectives. Vespasian took the pleasure of pulling the first thread, which was dotted with warm hues. A few moments of silence passed as he pulled, paused, scanned and pulled again.

His brown eyes narrowed in concentration as the others watched in suspense. “Well at least they didn't make us wait until the last thread to tell us what to do with all of this information. Our objective is 'Mad.”

“Mutually assured destruction.” Ludivine said with obvious enthusiasm. Her pale face molded into a smile as she sat down on the opposite side of the canvas and pulled another thread. “Just my cup of tea. Is there any information regarding our reward?”

“You read my mind. The rewards are as follows.” Vespasian continued pulling and mumbling to himself as he deciphered the code. His head tilted as he scratched his black hair. “Amnesty?”

The family all paused and tensed up. The ethical conflict of being a secret agent for hire was an obvious one. If a spy worked for one party, whether it was by allegiance or by wallet, he or she worked against the opposing party. If the Althanas powers talked the way the Villenueves suspected, every one of their missions, individual or otherwise, would be considered acts of war and high treason. Vespasian himself recently did some work on behalf of the Empire attempting to locate some of its missing members, but that wasn't necessarily an act against the Rangers.

He read on and continued with an increasingly somber voice. “The Steward Arno Erriades, the Grand Marshal Aidan Johnston and The Late Queen Valsharess.”

“Not me!” Ludivine, the Little Scandal most likely to commit such assassinations without second thought, raised her hands and widened her jade eyes. “Mother?”

“Oh, lovely daughter, I am flattered you would think me, or anyone else in this family, capable of the three most politically devastating assassinations in recent history.” Alix said with a smile, her rosy cheeks serving as a token to her sincerity. She would have loved to be able to pull off infiltrating a heavily guarded compound such as the Dark Palace to kill the head of the most technologically advanced nation in the world. “It's obvious what the Rangers are doing. They're threatening to frame us, and if they win this war they'll be able to.”

“But how can they possibly do that?” Maelle said with a covered mouth. “We're innocent, and they couldn't possibly build enough evidence after such a long time.”

“I suspect they don't need any prof.”

[The Mime]

"I'm tempted to just not bother locking up at night... how do you get in every time?"

Words that could often accompany finger-pointing and yells of criminal action, but no the well chiseled face of the current speaker merely softened and tugged upon itself to result in a smile. For the past few weeks he had been host to a vaguely ghoulish presence within his book emporium and once more was beholding its presence upon one of the withered and creaking shelves. The stranger did no more than merely read through the literature made available in steady process and more than once the Store-owner found his counter marked by coins and various clinkers, reimbursment for his patience it seemed. Few enough ever peered within the dust-laden embrace of the book store and fewer still parted with currency to indulge in an activity that only a handful seemed to properly relish and treasure.

Each floor-board upon which the Owner made his way across let out a unique and defining drawn out creak that spoke deftly of age and reliable service in making for a traversable surface. Fingers stretched out, the bumps of the joints resembling knotted chunks upon withered twigs, where once leaves had budded now was just left the swell of past life. The handful of coppers and silver discs of such bewildering wealth were slid aside and allowed the old man to bask in soft amusement at how his unusual visitor chose to express himself. Clean, simple paper with such delicate and extravagent writing, letters that swept and curled upon themselves with more elegance than most female curves the Owner was capable of recalling.

Apologies sir. I am simply incapable of restaining myself to regular operating hours when such vast literary works are present and in need of an appreciating reader. I do hope my previous days takings are adequate to sustain my presence here.

This time the Owner allowed himself amusement that was not simply silent and released a brief chuckle as once more those gnarled digits played across the clinkers... a simple nickname for coins gained from begging, busking or betting.

"It'll do my strange customer."

His experianced but still capable vision rested itself upon the... person?... Yes surely, in question. Sat so simply like a youth upon the shelf and yet not a stirring was made upon wood that had seen its prime come and go... indeed more years lay in the going than in the coming. A strange, exaggeration of a performing artist seemed an acceptable synopsis for the being which brought itself time and again to pore over any bundle of pages stuffed within covers. Each limb so long and lithe, the only mass given by the apparent slack bulk from its garments, even the mask obscuring its face gave off a very clear message of leanness, not a single inch of the bodymass wasted or worthlessly swelled... that impression then broken by the large and indeed worrying trio of claws that ended each of its extremities. The colour of bleached bone and with how the light played across them clearly there was an edge and a well maintained one at that, but they could so simply close upon a page and give it the gentlest of tugs to result in a turning... such bizarrely endowed dexterity.

The claws did not mark the end of the strangers eccentricies, the mere fact not a sound was uttered by it stood as the most shiver-inducing despite not an ounce of malice could be felt from the being. Not the clatter of its claws upon bare wood-work, the shift of paper fibres within his grip... no not even the quietest of air escaping from behind that mask. At times the Owner was left to wonder if the creature even had need of breath for the mask never came off.

The Mime, that was the closest the Homonculous had ever gotten to naming himself but despite it being a title... it just felt correct to go by it and not merely for apperance sake. In his silent meanderings few experiances had been made and this laid somewhat negatively upon his slim shoulders, he had learned rather quickly that the soul of nobility lay within him, that he had urges to if at all possible to do the right thing. Few circumstances however allowed the created life to exercise that compulsion, excepting those who paid only attention to his music the book-seller was the first friendly person he had encountered for many a moon.

I am fooling myself to believe that these novels and adventures can be deemed research. So many tales of granduer and even historical accounts of wars won well and none bother going into detail about how such greatness began... it always seems to be thrust upon the hero through destiny, or at the least a result of mental processes by others beyond the heros influence. If I am to make something worthwhile of myself I need to discover some way to go about it, to achieve something for the benefit of others... Yet here I am, cruelly tricked by my own mind on my love for the written word.

Tonight I must move on, the path of my life will not move forward if I do not decide to chase the horizon.

Nothing had come from The Mime, not in sound, nor body language... in fact his posture remained precisely the same as when the Owner had stepped inside. To the eyes of The Mimes latest acquaintence though, he could see a change in the Homonculous, a desire rising up that had never shown itself throughout their short and unusual meetings. For all the gentleness of the interloper the Owner could not help himself from instinctively grasping at the chunk of wood he kept beneath the counter for defence purposes. Despite how he enjoyed The Mimes presence the shivers and worries had never ceased that something was just not... acceptable about its existence.

[The International]

Maelle took a silver spoon to her Akashiman Chai Latte and only took an iota of pleasure from watching the leftover herbs and spices swirl inside the little mug like a tornado. Before yesterday, before that butterfly, she was able to take pleasure in simple things. But ever since they began literally unraveling the threads of what thy all thought was a patriotic deed, she took even this miniscule corner of life with a more somber eye.

It wasn’t the odds that were discouraging to her or anyone else in her family. Yes. A compliment of two hundred and eighty was tough. The fact that the CNS Colossus couldn’t be docked on shore like the rest of the ships because of its size was a challenge. The Scarlet Brigade guard of the Commodore was intimidating, but the family had dealt with seemingly impossible situations before. It was how they were approached. None of them wanted to admit it, but they all thought that they were helping he good guys in this conflict. They were sorely mistaken, and Maelle now sat at a café in Radasanth flexing face muscles she never thought she would. She had a cynical scowl that was more befitting Ludivine.

The Villeneuves had a unique view of all of Althanas. Since Esme and Alix did well to sever their native ties (to the length that they’d never even told their children where they were from) and all three of the children were raised in international waters, they thought themselves able to judge from an objective point of view. They thought themselves able to separate benevolence from belligerence. The Rangers were supporters of a fair and just republic, while the new Empire was simply searching for an excuse to exercise totalitarian power.

“Miss Villeneuve?” A man in gilded robes sat across the small circular table from her.

Maelle looked up from her mug and peered into the blue eyes of the Empire official who, they were after. “It’s a pleasure Mr…”

“Sir. Willem Van Corinth.” The double agent said with a smirk on his face as he ordered a drink of his own. His right index finger tapped frantically on the menu which he had never opened. Willem was anxious, his tone was a bluff, and his need to make an order was a temporary escape from the situation. “You’re paying I trust?”

“Insult upon injury I see?” Maelle retreated back into her mug in a docile fashion. She took a quick sip then told a familiar face to put the order on her tab. She wanted Willem to believe his bluff was working. “Fine I’ll pay.”

“Word got to me that your brother dispatched of the artist.” Willem crossed his arms. He was getting more comfortable with his position of power. “Was that necessary?”

“Not the least bit necessary, but then again your tactics of motivation weren’t necessary either.” Maelle looked back up at Willem. “We supported you from the beginning.”

“On the contrary, you supported us from the beginning, and we understood that by the way you negotiated at Braid Island months ago. Progress was only made when you were in the room and it was too bad we couldn’t keep you in the room. But do you know what your siblings have been doing. Your brother helped locate a man of the Empire.”

“He helped to reunite a family is what he did.”

“Both he and your sister intercepted a message to Akashima.” Willem took a few good gulps of his Salvic coffee, which was mixed with a bit of Vodka imported from Knife’s Edge. Given Salvar’s situation the import cost of the vodka was high thus making the Salvic coffee the most expensive drink on the menu.

“While taking down a serial killer free of charge. Even the Republic would have appreciated that act of generosity.” Maelle leaned forward as her amber eyes exuded the true sorrow in her heart. “Our intentions were benevolent. You know that. You know we would have thrown our hat in with you at any time. Why? Just answer that question plain and simple.”

“Plain and simple?” Willem fanned himself then leaned forward and for a split second his nose scrunched just as he smiled. Maelle noticed these kinds of things. It meant that whatever he was about to say was filled with hate and anger. “I don’t like the fact that people in your line of business work freelance. There should be loyalty to one and one only.”

“But what if that one is the wrong one?” That familiar face that brought Willem his Salvic coffee spoke up as she leaned in close to the two of them. Her face was smooth and pale with perfectly placed beauty marks, her nose was a button befitting an infant, and her orchard hair fell straight to her lithe frame like flowing silk. Her eyes were the only indication, if any, of her true nature. Ludivine Villeneuve’s jade irises were like dark hooks for the soul, and the predatory gaze were locked on to Willem Van Corinth. The sweaty double agent straightened up as the face registered in his mind. It was obvious to the sisters that he had done his research, and the middle sister’s presence was always a bad omen. “What if things change, and a nation, its institutions, and its people change? Shouldn’t you have the right to change, Sir Corinth. I believe in the right to change for one’s individual good. It’s what brought our parents together, and it’s what has led us to give you this.”

Ludivine sat on the table and reached into her server’s apron to pull out a thick envelope with the Villeneuve seal. She handed it to Willem as Maelle spoke. “This is a detailed record of every mission we have undertaken.”

“A confession?” Willem said with a quizzical look on his face. He took his handkerchief and patted the condensation on his forehead. “I wouldn’t expect a confession for such a prosperous trade.”

“As revealing as it may be I wouldn’t call it a confession. It is simply a statement of our history and our intentions henceforth. Whoever makes it through this War, the entity of Corone must know that the Villeneuve family is no longer working in her interests.” Maelle took one last sip of her drink and stood up. Willem’s body tightened in a failed attempt to stand. Somehow he couldn’t find the strength. “You have all betrayed us.”

“Consider yourself lucky.” Ludivine said in a lowered voice as she watched Maelle walk away. “I wanted to castrate you, pull your limbs out of their sockets, cut your intestines out, and then kill you. Consider yourself lucky we decided to do things her way.”

Willem’s eyes widened and his pupils began to overtake the sapphire irises. Ludivine folded his arms on the table, and softly pushed his head forward allowing him to rest it. She followed her big sister across the busy Radasanth street, where they met up with their mother who was standing with a Dark Elf of Aleraran accent. On a normal day the three of them wouldn’t even be within a mile of each other, but their normal days were gone now.

“Girls!” Alix said with a boisterous smile. “Come and meet an old friend of mine. His name is Baltar Nebutant. He’s been the Aleraran ambassador to Corone for the last… thirty years?”

“Thirty three years.” He said with a nod of the head. “Your mother has told me a lot about you two and your brother. You are quite the talented trio, and your deeds for Alerar are well documented.”

“Whether they have your names on those deeds or not.” Alix said with a laugh. “Well, Baltar, I wish we could stay and chat, but we must be off.”

“I understand. Maelle, Ludivine, your company is always welcome in the land of the Dark Elf no matter what you do here. Please extend this sentiment to your brother, Vespasian, who has done the greatest deed for us as of late. And as for you, Alix.” A smile more befitting that of a human arose on the ashen elf’s face. Maelle could see the muscles on his forehead fighting back the tears. “It was an honor to be graced with your presence one last time.”

Alix gave him a hug and the three Villeneuve women were off to The International. By this time tomorrow they will have been confirmed as the murderers of Willem Van Corinth, every deed they had done will have been exposed, and they would be the most wanted people in Radasanth. However, by this time tomorrow their ship and their name would be no more… But neither would the CNS Colossus.