Saturday May 19th, 2012 - 4:00 p.m. RST
Saturday dawned too early and too quietly, as it did whenever Ali had the children and Fio was left to her own devices. She was a dervish of activity designed to squeeze all the air out of every second: yoga, her cello, tending to the poultry and prepping the pond on the roof so the koi could be relocated from the big tanks in the living room. Lunch, when she finally paused long enough to think of it, consisted of a glass of wine and some olives.
And then she called Alain.
"Fio." Alain kept writing for a moment, circling the idea most worth investigating before flipping the journal shut. "What's up?"
"I could ask you the same thing," she dropped onto the couch, regarding her chipped nails with dismay and wondering if she should just go ahead and go into the office for a while. "Where were you yesterday?"
"Running a country," was his wry reply. "What'd I miss?"
The quality of her attention grew more focused in proportion to her confusion. It led to a moment of silence. "You don't remember? Alors, you must be busier than you're admitting if you forgot our appointment less than a day after we'd agreed to meet. I'm hurt. I really am." Mostly teasing.
"An appointment..." Paper turned, then stopped. Silence. "...We agreed? Fio, when was this? And where?"
The frown settled into her voice. "Thursday night. At the inn."
"What time exactly?"
"I got there about nine or a little after. Maybe a quarter past? I think you came in shortly after I did. Stayed for a drink and left - you don't recall?"
He paused. "Fio, this is extremely important. I need you to tell me everything you can, as well as you can remember. What was I wearing? What did I say? If there's any detail you can recall, I need to know it."
She sucked in a breath through her teeth and got thoughtful for a moment. "You came in the back, from the alley... Shirtsleeves... I remember ebcause you rolled them up. It was ... dark blue? Dark green? Gray? I don't remember precisely." She paused. "You were smoking one of those thin little cigars."
"Huh." More papers shuffled around his desk; he wrote something down.
"We had a drink together. Iseult came in and it was just small talk. Greetings. We made some joke about never taking time from our work and you decided to leave. It couldn't have been more than five or ten minutes. You said you were going to go find Sophie." She shook her head, "I don't know. It wasn't a long conversation."
"He mentioned Sophie?" Alain hissed something very rude in Newbreton French, something to do with a whoreson. "Listen, Fio... that wasn't me. I don't know who it was, but it can't be good."
A pang of alarm and guilt caught at her chest. "I mentioned her first. I said you weren't really leaving to go back to work. I said you were leaving because you were still a newlywed." The claim that he was being impersonated didn't faze her after her meeting with Ed and Darien.
"Sophie's been out of town for a few days, but she's getting back any minute. Not sure how she's coming in, but I think from the docks in WestEnd. Merde." He sucked in a breath. "Listen... I need you to put out a BOLO on me. If I'm not in the company of a squire named Saleh Numiir, it's not me. Maintain the BOLO until Saleh himself tells you it's over. Any officers who see this man need to report in immediately but keep their distance. Can you do that?"
"I can, yes. Can you send me a description of this squire and some certain way they can identify him?"
"Five eight, young - sixteen?" he asked away from the phone. Someone gave him an affirmative. "Short dark hair, brown skin, hazel eyes. He's wearing a dagger with the Order's seal on the pommel. Goddamnit..." He removed the clip from his Makarov pistol, checked it and slapped it back in. "I need to go find Sophie."
"I'm home. Five minutes from the docks. Do you want me to run down that way?"
"I don't think you should. He might recognize you from before. If it's who I think, he's extremely dangerous, highly unstable... there's no telling what he'd do if he saw you down there." Alain made a gesture to Saleh, mouthed a few words to him, then continued to Fio: "We're contacting SPI now. They're close."
"I won't keep you. Go collect your wife and stay safe. Call me, please, and let me know everything is fine?"
"I will." He hung up. They were running out of time.
* * *
Indra represents Chaos, and while he lacks Sarva's "creative" nature and Druj's cunning, his incredible capacity for violence is not to be underestimated. Of the three he is easily the most aggressive and destructive, and can employ subterfuge under the direction of his creator the Architect or either of his two "siblings."
Remember that he spent a year in SPI posing as slain agent Reynard Sainte-Just. Given his unstable and violent nature, he poses risk of inflicting massive damage if such a security breach is ever allowed again.
~ From the SPI Division Summary on Indra, Agent of Chaos
((Linked to this post. Adapted from live play with Fio, with thanks!))
Saturday dawned too early and too quietly, as it did whenever Ali had the children and Fio was left to her own devices. She was a dervish of activity designed to squeeze all the air out of every second: yoga, her cello, tending to the poultry and prepping the pond on the roof so the koi could be relocated from the big tanks in the living room. Lunch, when she finally paused long enough to think of it, consisted of a glass of wine and some olives.
And then she called Alain.
"Fio." Alain kept writing for a moment, circling the idea most worth investigating before flipping the journal shut. "What's up?"
"I could ask you the same thing," she dropped onto the couch, regarding her chipped nails with dismay and wondering if she should just go ahead and go into the office for a while. "Where were you yesterday?"
"Running a country," was his wry reply. "What'd I miss?"
The quality of her attention grew more focused in proportion to her confusion. It led to a moment of silence. "You don't remember? Alors, you must be busier than you're admitting if you forgot our appointment less than a day after we'd agreed to meet. I'm hurt. I really am." Mostly teasing.
"An appointment..." Paper turned, then stopped. Silence. "...We agreed? Fio, when was this? And where?"
The frown settled into her voice. "Thursday night. At the inn."
"What time exactly?"
"I got there about nine or a little after. Maybe a quarter past? I think you came in shortly after I did. Stayed for a drink and left - you don't recall?"
He paused. "Fio, this is extremely important. I need you to tell me everything you can, as well as you can remember. What was I wearing? What did I say? If there's any detail you can recall, I need to know it."
She sucked in a breath through her teeth and got thoughtful for a moment. "You came in the back, from the alley... Shirtsleeves... I remember ebcause you rolled them up. It was ... dark blue? Dark green? Gray? I don't remember precisely." She paused. "You were smoking one of those thin little cigars."
"Huh." More papers shuffled around his desk; he wrote something down.
"We had a drink together. Iseult came in and it was just small talk. Greetings. We made some joke about never taking time from our work and you decided to leave. It couldn't have been more than five or ten minutes. You said you were going to go find Sophie." She shook her head, "I don't know. It wasn't a long conversation."
"He mentioned Sophie?" Alain hissed something very rude in Newbreton French, something to do with a whoreson. "Listen, Fio... that wasn't me. I don't know who it was, but it can't be good."
A pang of alarm and guilt caught at her chest. "I mentioned her first. I said you weren't really leaving to go back to work. I said you were leaving because you were still a newlywed." The claim that he was being impersonated didn't faze her after her meeting with Ed and Darien.
"Sophie's been out of town for a few days, but she's getting back any minute. Not sure how she's coming in, but I think from the docks in WestEnd. Merde." He sucked in a breath. "Listen... I need you to put out a BOLO on me. If I'm not in the company of a squire named Saleh Numiir, it's not me. Maintain the BOLO until Saleh himself tells you it's over. Any officers who see this man need to report in immediately but keep their distance. Can you do that?"
"I can, yes. Can you send me a description of this squire and some certain way they can identify him?"
"Five eight, young - sixteen?" he asked away from the phone. Someone gave him an affirmative. "Short dark hair, brown skin, hazel eyes. He's wearing a dagger with the Order's seal on the pommel. Goddamnit..." He removed the clip from his Makarov pistol, checked it and slapped it back in. "I need to go find Sophie."
"I'm home. Five minutes from the docks. Do you want me to run down that way?"
"I don't think you should. He might recognize you from before. If it's who I think, he's extremely dangerous, highly unstable... there's no telling what he'd do if he saw you down there." Alain made a gesture to Saleh, mouthed a few words to him, then continued to Fio: "We're contacting SPI now. They're close."
"I won't keep you. Go collect your wife and stay safe. Call me, please, and let me know everything is fine?"
"I will." He hung up. They were running out of time.
* * *
Indra represents Chaos, and while he lacks Sarva's "creative" nature and Druj's cunning, his incredible capacity for violence is not to be underestimated. Of the three he is easily the most aggressive and destructive, and can employ subterfuge under the direction of his creator the Architect or either of his two "siblings."
Remember that he spent a year in SPI posing as slain agent Reynard Sainte-Just. Given his unstable and violent nature, he poses risk of inflicting massive damage if such a security breach is ever allowed again.
~ From the SPI Division Summary on Indra, Agent of Chaos
((Linked to this post. Adapted from live play with Fio, with thanks!))