Tango Sapphire

[The International]

The image before Vespasian was familiar and alien all at the same time. What he saw was a trio of Raiaeran Elves, an adult male and two adult females, occupying a quaint oaken inn room. One female lay diagonally across the queen sized bed, allowing her head to hang off the foot of the ruby draped mattress as her straight hair lightly swept the floor like a platinum broom. The other sat at the window coating herself in the lemon Radasanthian sunset that happened to match her locked hair. She was the epitome of emotion for she smiled one moment and frowned the next as she watched the people down in the streets and empathized with their lives. And then there was the male Elf staring directly at Vespasian, with long straightened golden blonde hair and skin as pale as porcelain. The spy didn't like this version of himself, and the disdain for his own image grew with every moment he looked in the mirror.

“Why does the civilized world fear darkness and favor light?” Vespasian asked his sisters as he adjusted his pearl white tunic. He stopped a moment to feel the elaborate silver embroidery. “Why should there be any difference? What's so bad about the darkness?”

“Dark hues, such as navy blue, onyx, or the dark tones of an Aleraran Elf's skin are associated with the lack of light and the loss of most intelligent beings' most vital sense of sight.” Maelle said as she stood up and approached Vespasian. “It's an illogical connection to the uncertain and dangerous.”

“But if we're intelligent beings, why are we irrationally suspicious of the darker among us?” Vespasian was speaking from experience. Every member of his family had the ability to change form over night by looking at one of his mother's detailed drawings of a diversity of Althanas people and then going to sleep. He had known what it was like to live as a Raiaeran, Aleraran, and Akashiman Human, and he knew first hand how each was treated differently.

“Just because we're intelligent doesn't mean we're not stupid. Emotions like fear are often animal instincts that we can build a rational case around. You're not used to fighting with long hair. Here. Let me braid this for you.” Maelle approached Vespasian from behind and lightly tugged at his blonde drape. “Coronian Humans are suspicious of Aleraran Elves because they're dark in complexion, but can say they're suspicious because of their Queen's assassination, or their centuries of isolationism.”

“I don't mind darkness at all.” Ludivine said as she turned over on all fours on the bed. A strand of hair covered her right eye making her facial expression seem even more sinister than usual. She gave a crooked smile. “In fact I enjoy it quite a bit.”

Vespasian and Maelle both stopped what they were doing to send Ludivine mocking stares through the mirror. “Yea you would enjoy it.” Vespasian said with an accusatory tone.

Even though the three Villeneuve siblings were all spies each had their own way of going about the profession. As a good actor, Vespasian was adept at con work, but as the baby of the family he was the most inexperienced of the siblings and still looked to his older sisters for guidance. Maelle, the oldest of the three, was a skilled negotiator, to which she often credited her education in psychology. Ludivine was a predator of vices, the assassin and seductress, two jobs that were best partaken in the darkness of night. Therefore it was easy to see why she considered the darkness to be her friend. She opted to wear dark colors even in her bright Raiaeran form.

Her navy bell bottom pants matched her petite but flowing top, and the entire suit sported black embroidery patterns that indicated Raiaeran fashion. This stood in great contrast to Vespasian's white and Maelle's emerald as she stood up and approached the mirror. The three Villeneuves stood in front of the mirror and looked themselves over one last time, basking in heads full of blond hair and eyes of sapphire. Vespasian sighed just as Maelle finished putting his hair into a single golden sports braid.

“Ladies.” Vespasian said as he crossed his arms. “We are about to break a major rule in our parents' book. Never go anywhere near the Citadel unless you want to scout out your future enemies and blow your cover before you even start a mission. That is why I have a light profile for each of us.”

The Villeneuve girls rolled their eyes and expressed distaste. They didn't feel like playing pretend. It was a game Vespasian was best at so they listened nonetheless. Since they were breaking a vital rule that could spell disaster for them in the future, it was best to go about it his way.

[Sighter Tnailog]

* * * * *
2 Weeks Earlier
* * * * *

"But why go now, General? We need you here, sir."

Findelfin was growing tired of the constant harping on the subject. The only argument anyone seemed able to muster against his trip abroad was to feign helplessness. And it was so deeply feigned that he was beginning to be convinced of it himself.

"I've got to reconnect with my Coronian counterparts. You know this, I've told you before. I could send you or Linan or Estelle, but these are men who hold positions similar to mine: generals, if not of the realm then of the resistance. You don't deal with such men through subordinates, not if you want relationships that yield real information."

Clarence began to chew his bottom lip nervously for a moment, looking at the array of documents on the tabletop, most of them relating to the passage Findelfin was seeking from what was left of the Salvaran merchant marine. It was not easy to find transport, at least not cheaply, with the Raiaeran navy preoccupied as it was with refugee transport and General Findelfin trying to keep a low profile.

"But General! Look at how much trouble this all is...and we have operations ongoing at Kilya, defending this villa is hard enough without it being necessarily suited to fortress-style operations, and you know about the sanctification missions! We simply cannot--"

"Clarence, stop it at once!" Findelfin immediately regretted the forceful interjection. Clarence was a good administrator and one of the few Salvaran monarchist refugees who had clearly seen how similar the plight of both peoples were. He was possibly a link to building better relations with the Salvaran court-in-exile, and it simply would not do to hurt his feelings. So he relented, "Look, Clarence, let me explain it to you. Tell me, what duties do you do for me?"

Clarence swallowed hard, but stood up straight and listed them, "I maintain communications with Dagor'Lindstra Celiniel, I manage the communications and scout reports, I classify and sort incoming communiques..."

Findelfin cut him off before he continue, "And do you know, Clarence, what I read in most of the communiques that still get through?" Clarence shook his head.

"It is simple. We are in the midst of a diaspora, with elven people streaming across the known lands of Althanas. You know what it is like, your experience in Salvar is similar. Only instead of a handful of families aligned with the King of Salvar, we deal in hundreds of thousands. Corone, although an ancient ally, is scarcely equipped to handle so many. Alerar, well, you know Alerar. Salvar's reports are grimmer; rumors are that they are enslaving any Raiaeran that shows up in Knife's Edge without a deed to property....and I might go on.

"It is hard, Clarence. My people are viewed internationally...well, as effete, pusillanimous snobs who would rather wear silk than do any hard labor. Had any of those who think these things been with me to a Raiaeran city, they might find us more amenable, more like them than the nobles of their own country. But prejudice is what it is, and so now there is...tension."

Findelfin handed Clarence a sheath of papers, and said, "Read these. Not now! Later, when I am gone. Because I am going, Clarence. Our success here will be worth nothing if we cannot maintain communities abroad. The goodwill of the Coronians is extremely important, you know that, and only I can go. Others can do capably what I leave to do here, but no one can do well what I am going to Corone to do. Now, can you promise me that you will say nothing more on this subject?"

Under Findelfin's sharp eye, Clarence hesitated a moment, then nodded.

* * * * *
Presently
* * * * *

Findelfin had been away from the Citadel for many months, and he was distinctly aware that he would prefer to be away for many more. If it weren't for his need to speak with the Pontiff, he would never have come.

The whole place smelled. One would never admit it to an Ai'Bron, of course, who took the maxim regarding godliness and cleanliness to a level approaching unholiness. To the eye, each hallway was an immaculate testament, each silver ornament painstakingly polished and each wooden floor fastidiously swept. But there seemed a reek of blood and sweat and pain in every breath of air one took.

Findelfin had enjoyed his share of combats here, from the lyrical duels held by the Artist Monks of Ai'Bron to the various intellectual challenges often posted by the Scholar Monks of Ai'Bron in the Citadel's extensive library. But he was not in those sections of the Citadel, each relatively small compared to the bulk of the building. And the bulk of the building was as the hallways were here: a lie.

For behind the rich oak-and-cherry doors lay men and women bleeding out. It was an ugly blood sport that went on here, men and women who in any other place would be considered grave robbers and vagabonds attempting to kill each other without consequences. Yes, one received gold as a fee from the spectators who paid to see the match. Yes, one learned one's abilities and honed skills. But Findelfin, at least, had long ago given up the mantra of "anything for gold and experience."

In these halls, death did not matter. Here flesh would rekindle, bones would reset, but he knew that there was a place where such resurrection brought with it undeath. It seemed a strange mockery of healing, that one would be brought back from a death one sought out intentionally.

If death was the threshold of heaven, as the Ai'Bron taught, then Findelfin was struck dumb by the artifice. Such consequences as were taught by the Citadel were the farthest thing from heaven he could imagine.

[The International]

The three Arias'tamas were Elves in a Human's world despite the area's long history with the Elven folk. That contrast was apparent in every sense. As they floated to the Citadel clad in onyx, emerald, and pearl, the population around them trudged along complying to the earthen burlap and common cloth dress code imposed by the bronze dictatorship that was the Radasanthian landscape. As the air around them carried the scent of flowers and herbs, the Radasanthian mix of salt, spices, and body odor was so commonplace to the natives' noses that they even forgot it was there. Putrid was the default. As they remained in relative silence, the Human city provided plenty of ambient noise with voices, horseshoes, and wheels taking advantage of the acoustics of the open air. Silence was probably foreign and frightening for an urbane man here.

The Radasanthians in the final stretch of their workday were hasty, dirty, and homely. Rightfully so, however, for the majority of them had been working for nearly twelve hours now. The Arias'tama siblings were serene, fresh, and downright gorgeous. Rightfully so, however, for they had been resting and waiting all day.

All eyes fell on them, even if only for a brief second. Dry glances seemingly devoid of emotion failed to hide the hidden disdain for the luxurious lifestyle the Elves were leading. The oldest sister, being the most socially perceptive of the siblings, could see that.

A steep flight of stairs seemed to mimic the overall ziggurat shape of the Citadel complex. It provided a good calf exercise as it escorted warriors in and out of the main atrium, which was a massive dome of yet even more muted and flat colors. Armor plating that was once brilliant was now tarnished with cuts and devoid of life. Blades that were once luminous were now sheathed in red blood.

Luleguet, the smallest but most battle hardened of the three siblings, strutted without wince through the atrium. Her platinum hair draped straight down to her chest and covered one eye. She was by far the most sinister looking Raiaeran any one would have seen. Her face held an unapologetic scowl as she strutted in the colors of midnight.

Mabariet was the polar opposite of her sister. The bounce of her lemon locked hair seemed to be the delineation of her jovial attitude. Unlike her younger sister, Mabariet was more than willing to make eye contact and nod in greeting to any warrior willing to give audience. Her persona matched her peaceful emerald outfit.

Vesliah was the only male of the siblings. The white clad Elf's sapphire eyes shoot in all different directions in attention deprived curiosity as he anxiously tapped the hilt of sheathed rapier on his left side. He was the youngest of the three and obviously so. His eyes said it as they seemed to bear question marks in their pupils.

The trio floated across the atrium in all their stereotypical Raiaeran grace, making a line for a group of monks who stood patiently along the wall like statues. Maelle, or Mabariet as she currently called herself spoke on behalf of her siblings. She spoke with a clear Raiaeran accent.

“Good evening, gentlemen. We are the Arias'tamas.” Several of the monks cracked a subtle smile knowing that Arias'tama roughly translated into bad ass. “I believe we have an appointment with the Pontiff.”