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.

[Sumnner]

Dazed and confused. The two words that came to mind in the monks mind when he witnessed the bizarre event unfold at just a little half past midday. He had been standing next to a broad wooden counter, the surface polished with beeswax until it glimmered brightly in the midday sun, fiddling idly with a small stack of papers containing the various reports and requests of his sector. It was a loud thump that had awakened his curiosity, long enough to lift his unfocused gaze to the great iron and gold strapped doors leading into the great room, eyes suddenly coming into focus. What he saw then still brought mixed feelings of confusion, pity and distant humor.

A man, of an average height for most people in these region, had stumbled into the great room and tripped, apparently, over his own feet. He lay in a tangled heap of arms, legs and a unwieldy appearing black case. He would have thought nothing of it, except perhaps to chuckle and casually remark to his fellows about the clumsiness of some people in this day and age, but the words were quickly bitten back when the man didn't get up right away. Instead he watched, in growing fear, as the man simply lay there, completely still as if dead, or perhaps dying. It wasn't until he had exchanged startled looks with his fellows and started toward the other, even as his fellows moved to do the same, that the other man finally stirred.

He untangled himself slowly, so slowly that he was still unwrapping his legs from his case by the time the first monk reached him and by the time they had all gathered around him, clustered into a small semi-circle of brown robes, wide waists and balding hair, he had only just pushed himself to his hands and knees. The monks stood silent as the man shook his head a few times, muttering something hoarsely to himself, and pushed himself up onto his knees, his wide eyes dazed and confused.

"Ho there, stranger." It was Marcus, the lead monk for the western sectors, and the highest ranking monk in the semi-circle, that had spoken and the dazed eyes of the man drifted toward the voice. "You look like you've been through hell." A few of the monks chuckled, but the mans face, or eyes, never faltered a hair. "Now, I apologize if I seem a bit forward, but did you come here for healing, or for a fight?" The air around the monks became deathly still, the eyes on some narrowing as they waited for an answer.

Most monks didn't like turning those away who weren't there for much more than a peak, or an investigation into the magics used, as they thought all should be welcome, despite their intentions. But there were those that took great pleasure in seeing those types of people to the door, sometimes after a prolonged interrogation had occurred. The man below them swallowed slowly and in a cracked voice, whispered one word.

"Water."

Marcus beamed. Turning to the monk nearest to his right, he gestured. "John, see that this man is taken to a room and given water and rest. He is here for healing." The other monks beamed as well, the moment of tension having passed, their true purpose now in full swing. The monk to the right of Marcus happened to be himself and he reached down to grasp a hold of the kneeling mans shoulders gently, urging him to his feet.

"Come now," he muttered in soft tones. "Follow me and we will see that you're taken care of." The man followed slowly but after a moment was able to keep up, even if he lagged slightly behind for the duration of the walk.

The water room was a simple room, it's magics very subtle and none very powerful, and at the moment its only furnishings were a small round table, two wooden stools and a silver tray with pitcher and glasses filled with water. He gestured to one of the stools and beamed as the man walked as if caught by a spell toward the water. He slowly swung shut to the door after the man had taken his seat and sighed.

It was perhaps, almost cruel that the monks swindled men and women into a fight like this. Then again, how else would the monks make a profit from their healing services. Soon now the other man would feel his strength returning, his ailments slowly fade away, and his desire to kill something growing deep within his chest. The monk sighed, shook his head and meandered back up the hall.

Almost too cruel.