Broken Wing (Closed, Ajax Only)

[Scocialist Provinces]

Muted winds wandering in from Bastard lake had long been whispering against the window. The sky rippled in the reflection of city lights and what little moonlight could sink through the overcast. Aya made an effort to follow the lazy wisps of tumbling snow with her brush, her canvas now echoing the city's visage. The cityscape of her creation seemed more real to her than the actual thing.

Even as a fascinated little girl sleeping summers away in the gardens of Saint-Nazaire, painting had always been her means of escape. Now a young woman dwelling in the obelisk business towers of Ostandet, that habit had yet to die out. Adjusting the strap of her eyepatch, Aya took in the result of her handiwork and found herself pleased with how even now she could still manage to improve with practice. This was in spite of how she had so little spare time lately. Every session counted.

She looked to her daughter, a bonfire of joy and energy hidden behind an auburn scruff of tangled hair. Mæ took to the task of painting with considerably less tact, yet seemed to be having far more fun about it than her mother. Stains and loose paint decorated Mæ's surroundings, the least amount of it to be found on her own canvas.

"Mommy, how can you paint like that?" Mæ said, wiping ink-drenched fingers off on her cheek. "It looks so pretty."

Aya pointed to her tools, chuckling. "Well, for starters, I use a brush."

"Brushes are too hard." Mæ whined, kicking at the air from atop her stool.

"And so is practice. But if you practice every day, you'll be better than me in no time." Aya said.

Mæ raised am eyebrow in typically dramatic fashion. "You don't practice every day."

"I used to, when I was your age." Aya said, resting a hand atop Mæ's head. "But mommy is very busy these days, and she's just happy to spend time with you."

Beaming with the wide enthusiasm only a child could achieve, Mæ washed her hands in another layer of paint and resumed splashing at her project. Aya gave her daughter another heartfelt smile before attending to her own canvas. Mæ wasn't a day older than seven, yet Aya felt as if she'd been around forever. Most days since she was born, it had been like the two of them were alone and up against the whole world. But she'd since found friends in Skaldafen. Family, even.

It had been long enough since her injury that Aya had gotten used to living without depth perception. In a way, she considered herself lucky that an eye and a finger were the only things she lost to the Medr islands. Being relegated to bureaucrat was far safer than field operations for both her and Mæ, and the opportunities for advancement were far larger than she had anticipated. But advancement came with clear risks of its own.

"Mommy," Mæ asked while staring into her painting, wearing an exaggerated veil of concentration over her face. "What do princess castles look like?"

Aya paused, hesitant to answer. Following a pleading gaze from Mæ, she took a pencil from her desk and began doodling an approximation onto the side of her canvas. "Well, they're very big. Sweeping, beautiful blue drapes with white trims cover the windows, surrounded by golden furniture and the most amazing flowers you've ever seen."

"Wow. That's sounds so nice." Mæ said, her whistled words passing between a current of excited gasps. "You were a princess, right mommy?"

"I... I guess. I think it's better to say that my brother, your uncle, is a Prince. The biggest, most important Prince in the whole world, he'd probably tell you." Aya said, doing her best to conceal her distaste of the subject.

Mæ stopped, taking a moment to ponder everything her mother had just laid out. "Does that make me a princess, too?"

"If you want it to." Aya said, sporting a wily grin more in line with her inherently mischievous disposition. "But you can't tell anybody. If you do, you'll get mommy and a lot of other people in trouble, okay? You're a secret princess."

"Okay! Secret princesses!" Mæ clasped her still-drenched hands together over her mouth, giggling incessantly as she wiggled in her stool.

Aya figured a policy of telling her daughter the truth was better than hiding it. It would certainly save a lot of resentment down the line, she had learned from experience. Worst came to worst, nobody would ever ask any questions over a six-year-old girl talking about being a princess to her friends. It was a status quo Aya was happy to work with.

Returning to face her canvas, there had hardly been another moment before Aya found herself interrupted by the doorbell. Pulling the loose strap of her tank top back over her shoulder and telling Mæ to stay put, Aya made her way down to the front of her studio. Hosting company hadn't been something she'd planned, but visits of any kind this far into the evening were unexpected.

Opening the door, she found the welcome sight of one Major Hugo Varsen waiting beneath the snowfall.

"Major? You should've told me you were coming! I'd have a feast ready by now." Aya said, stepping out into the cold to give her friend a whack on the shoulder.

"I'm sure you would've, Lieutenant. But this visit isn't on my behalf." Hugo said, returning a hug.

"Oh?" Aya said. "Well come on in, say hi to Mæ. I'll start a fire."

Tossing coals in the fireplace and flipping the gas stove into action, Aya hurriedly filled a pot with water as she began rolling cuts of dough. Hugo and Mæ were fast discussing the finer points of assembling snowmen. Aya found herself feeling at home for one of the few times in her life. She owed Hugo a great deal, but he was the kind of man to let debts slide, so she did everything she could to ensure he was always welcome.

Mæ, young as she was, soon found the conversation to be far too monotonous for her tastes. Wandering out of the kitchen, she permitted Aya and Hugo to discuss matters beyond her youthful world.

"If anyone asks, I've stopped by to check in on Task Force Two-Five's progress with the UVI Sample." Hugo said, turning off his phone with the wave of a hand.

"And the real reason?" Aya said.

Hugo slid a soft brown package from his folder, the paper held closed by an archaic wax stamp emblazoned in Vannoisian finery. "It was requested of me by associates of the author that I give you this letter. You may... You may want to sit down."

Aya's eyes flashed with recognition as they wandered across familiarly intricate handwriting. "Oh. Oh shit." She ran her gaze across the words once more, and then again. She could hardly believe it. "Is there anyone else you've told about this?"

"Not a word to anybody." Hugo said.

She nodded. "Thanks, Hugo. Is there anything I can do to repay you?"

Hugo winced, expressing his discomfort in his mannerisms. "To be honest, normally, I'd leave it at that. But there is something TF-One-Nine stands to gain from this..."

Dear Sister, the package introduced itself, taunting her with twenty-one years of mental baggage she still hadn't worked past. She didn't even know what it said inside. She didn't know what Hugo was going to ask of her. But in a fit of spite, Aya had already made up her mind. "If it's not a kill op... I'll do it."

[Leasath]

“Life Long Forgotten”
The Sun Room, North Wing
Château de Royaumeix
Royaumeix, Vannois

The soft clink of fine china was the only disruption to the so-called Quiet Hours of the Imperial Palace in Royaumeix. Often that clink-ing and the warm breezes of central Vannois, and whatever sounds it brough, were the only sounds which could be heard for the hours of 11 AM -- just after breakfast -- to 2 PM, directly before what amounted to afternoon tea. Such was the way the household of Emperor Charles XII of Vannois was run, and such was the way it would be run into the foreseeable future.

Even when the young Crown Prince, Audric, visited; even when the Prime Minister his (or, as of recently, her) self visited, they knew there would be little speech before the appointed hour. So, when the voice of the young Charles of Vierville -- referred to by his grandfather jokingly as ‘the Second Coming’ -- rang out through the Emperor’s Sun Room at roughly 12:49 PM, the order of the day was seemingly shattered.

“Cousin, I have urgent business for you,” young Charles spoke quietly, though not quietly enough to stop his grandfather’s eyebrow raising and teacup halting in mid-air. “Regarding the matter you set forth, April of over two years ago.”

The elder Charles had slowly allowed his tea cup to fall back to its plate, placing both atop a nearby side-table and shutting the book he had been reading on his lap. He moved his eyes slowly from one grandson to the other, resting them upon the face of his heir, who looked rather baffled himself if for different reasons than his grandfather. “You mean the-” Audric cut himself off quickly, looking into the younger Charles’s face, and breaking out into a grin. “Urgent business indeed, cousin,” he said, standing.

As he did so, the Emperor cleared his throat quietly, leaning back into the plump armchair he had been lounging on and bringing a hand to his lap to steady the book which still lay there. “Not off to do anything troublesome, I hope, my boys,” he more stated than asked, a corner of his mouth upturned. “Oh, don’t mind me, of course. Only the Emperor of all Audonians here…”

“My apologies, grandfather,” the younger Charles stopped, bowing deeply, looking rather excited himself; indeed, both the young men seemed rather eager just then. “An endeavour which we have worked on for some time has finally come to fruition.”

Audric stepped forward, his usually obfuscated countenance having given way to the same excitement as his elder cousin. “Indeed, sir. I apologize for our interruption,” he said, turning to look at Charles then back again to his grandfather, the Emperor. “If you would excuse us, grandfather, I would be exceedingly appreciative. Perhaps… Perhaps I may extend my stay here another day, to make up for the lost time?”

The Emperor looked upon his young heir seriously for a moment, as if considering enchaining him and his cousin where they stood so that they might spend all their time together; and then he broke out into a soft chuckle, waving a hand. “I’ll not keep you from that sweet wife of yours any longer than I ought to, my boy, or she’ll have both our heads and yours too, Charles,” he said, smiling genuinely at his two grandsons. “Very well then; leave me be. Should you see my darling wife, please let her know where I am. Fond as I am of our Quiet Hours, it simply is not the same without a companion.”

“As you wish, grandfather, of course,” Audric said, still wearing that excitable look upon his face and nodding respectfully to the seated man before turning on his heel and leading Charles out toward the gardens which the sun room looked out on to. Behind them, the Emperor simply shook his head, still smiling slightly as he returned to his book and his tea.

Once the two young men were well away from their grandfather’s peaceful afternoon, amongst the manicured gardens of the Royaumeix Palace, Audric turned sharply to his elder cousin. “You’ve found her? After all this time,” he said quickly, taking hold of Charles’s shoulder. “I didn’t think it possible, truth be told. I thought her to be dead what between the child and…”

Charles shook his head, humming. “No, no, cousin. She is certainly alive, though I cannot speak to much more than that fact and the life of her child; a daughter, you may be interested to know. Aye, they fare much better than the girl’s father,” and a cloud passed momentarily over Audric’s face; the little-lamented late Count Lambert d’Esson certainly did not fare well, that much was sure.

Audric shook his head, returning his focus to the matter at hand. “Have you made contact with her? One of the agents, perhaps?”

In turn, Charles also shook his head, crossing his arms as he looked around. “Not as yet, no; it would probably be best for you to make the first contact, if you understand my meaning. I don’t know who else could really convince her…” Charles trailed off, but his younger cousin nodded, already planning.

Without warning, he turned once again, making his way towards a nearby door which would lead into the wing which housed his apartments; Charles, rather used to Audric’s quick movements, was but half a step behind. “A letter in my hand, then, if the men are capable,” and Charles nodded to the Crown Prince’s side, though he barrelled on, “perhaps some token of myself or of the little ones, or of her time her. Nothing of Catherine, I should think.”

Charles barked a laugh, both amused and discomfited by recalling the relationship shared between Catherine and Aya. “No, nothing of Catherine’s. Perhaps that necklace you used to wear so often? The polished little cross your mother gave you. Hell, even Nicoline associates that with you more than anything,” Charles offered, recalling the small silver piece which had been seen round Audric’s neck almost constantly until, not long after Aya fled Vannois, Dominique did the same.

Audric’s thoughts were not on Dominique, however; at least, not then. He nodded thoughtfully, throwing open the grand double doors which led into his private study, and heading for the grand wooden desk bathed in the midday sunlight. “The cross, then, and a letter in my own hand. She would recognize my handwriting, I think; we practiced it together for nigh on a decade, after all,” he thought aloud, to Charles’s nods. He pulled a piece of stationary towards him before quickly thinking better of using the expensive paper emblazoned with Niort-Parthenay griffins and fleurs de lis, instead opening a drawer to fetch a few pages of blank white paper.

As he prepared himself to begin writing, Charles walked over to a mirror which stood in one corner of the room; there, hanging on the edge of a side table, was the cross necklace; he couldn’t even remember how long ago Audric had relegated the thing to simply hanging in this place, a set of rooms he visited but once or twice a month for a few days only disregarding Christmas holidays. Still caught in thought, he snatched up the strip of leather to which the cross was attached, and turned back towards his cousin.

Audric had written but a word -- Sister -- and sat before his blank paper pensively. He didn’t even flinch when Charles dropped the silver cross onto the desk before him with a small thud. “I must… consider this, I think,” and the younger man looked toward the elder. “How to go about this.”

“Indeed, Audric. I will await your missive; whatever it is you have to say,” Charles said significantly, looking his cousin full in the face until Audric nodded thoughtfully. “Very well, then. Until later.”

Audric nodded again, slowly this time. “Until later.”

Sister,

It seems only yesterday that I last saw you in the gardens of our family’s home in Royaumeix. We were always outside, you and I, while Cath and Madeleine played dolls and princesses with Nicoline and the others or some such thing. Torturing some gardner or ruining a planter box at playing war; forcing our playmates into acting the Liothidian menace to our Vannoisian virtue.

Seven years. Seven years since those days; longer, really. We weren’t spending so much time playing at war at 14. But all the same. I still wander around Royaumeix, Saint-Nazaire, even Saint-Lô expecting to see you just beyond the next corner, waiting with some scheme to prank a cousin or grandfather. We ought to have had more time, you and I, and you and Cath and Madeleine and Thérèse and Claire.

I will always, always regret what happened to you. What was allowed to happen to you. Our father -- he is dead, by the way, of liver failure; not that the public will hear of that cause of death any time soon -- our father was a godforsaken fool, to be sure. My mother was too weak of will, lovely as she could be. Too much time spent married to Alexandre had, and still has, ruined her nerves. Lambert d’Esson should have been guillotined the moment you told a soul what had happened to you. It may please you to know that he is dead; if you so wish I could explain the circumstances of that particular event, though if you do not wish to know then I will not scream it to the heavens.

In any event, perhaps there is no use in litigating such things over again. They do weigh heavily on my mind, and on grandfather’s mind too; he misses you near as much as I, truth be told. I think we were his favorites, loving as he is of all the family, and he would go broken-hearted to not see you again, nor your daughter.

And I would give much for my child, growing as I write this missive within my lady wife’s belly, to know his or her aunt and cousin. You are too beloved to miss their entire life, at the least.

In any case, my dearest sister Aya, I offer you this: a visit to Royaumeix at the time of your choosing, with your daughter if you so wish. My associates are able to arrange transportation for you from your location to the Vannoisian Empire, and indeed directly into the doors of the old Imperial Palace if necessary.

It would please me greatly to see you, and perhaps Charles and grandfather and even Catherine too, later. You will find enclosed the silver cross I once wore about my neck as if it were a lifeline; though I have neglected it in recent years, it remains a part of who I am, or who I once was. I hope that it proves my legitimacy to you should this handwriting not.

With love,
Your brother

[Scocialist Provinces]

The letter found its immaculate trappings to be practically torn apart in Aya's grip. Mere embers away from the flame, its edges began to swell with the black wisps of charred paper. After having given its contents one more read, Aya released it into the fireplace alongside a weary sigh. The full glow dug years into her face, meeting the glare of a bloodshot eye.

"You're sure about this?" Hugo asked, flicking the stub of his cigar onto the letter's remains. "I can go over the details again if you'd like. This is the only briefing we're going to get, and this will require an official transfer out of two-five."

"No, I think I've got it. Hunting down dirty bombs in the Makriran was starting to get to me, anyway." Aya said, flipping through a series of operational procedures.

Hugo looked up from his own notes to provide a concerned glance. "And this won't get to you?"

Aya neglected to answer. She'd already told Hugo everything there was to tell about her. Even from her heavily pregnant days of renting out his basement on government subsidies, Hugo had always been an excellent listener. All the stories she could remember, the good and bad, the wicked and traumatizing, Aya had told him everything. And to her surprise, Hugo had done the exact thing she hoped he would-- He saw Aya for the person she was, nothing more and nothing less. It probably wasn't an accident that she ended up in the house of an then-sergeant working for the SNI in Task Force One-Nine, but Aya didn't care.

Coming to Skaldafen was her choice, having Mæ was her choice, joining the SNI was her choice, going on this operation would be her choice. Nobody could take that away from her. Sliding back another shot of whiskey, Aya watched as the clock snuck past the 3rd hour. They'd been going over the assignment all night, and Mæ had long since gone to bed. Aya rested a moment in the placidity of liquor and the warmth of the fire, enjoying these comforts of her own making.

"How'd they get a hold of you if they were trying to talk to me, anyway?" She asked.

Holding up a series of analog photos, Hugo slugged a shot of his own. "Well, we were monitoring a known Vannoisian agent embedded in SO Rail, when I noticed some real weird communication patterns. He stopped talking to his handler altogether, started getting direct orders from a source outside of Saint-Nazaire that we couldn't even identify. Then the drops started bringing up your birth name."

Aya wasn't sure how to think of it. She'd done her best to make it clear she wanted nothing more from that life, but they came looking anyway. "They were trying to find me for a while, then."

"At least the past year, yeah. Knowing what you're like, I figured the best course of action was to move forward and see what would happen. I started a drip feed for this guy, leaving bits of small info about what you'd been doing outside of the SNI. Cut out any and all information relevant to your in-house activities. They have no idea, as far as I can tell. I would've asked you first, but I couldn't risk letting them know too much at once." He said, tapping a pen to the photos before setting them alight.

"I understand, this is a breakthrough. How'd you get involved, though?" Aya said.

"I eventually approached our SO Rail guy as a patron of your art, offering to put them in touch to commission a painting, pretending to assume that's why they were interested." Hugo said.

Aya clasped her chin, nodding slowly. "That's all technically true. We can work with this."

Indeed, she'd been making a sustainable amount of money on her own time by selling paintings under an alias. That alias had made quite a name for itself, the Vannoisian romantic styles were rare as it was, but the mystique of a faceless artist had seemed to provide no small amount of that popularity. Audric, near as she understood, would have no idea she was SNI. A painter would be exactly what they expected her to be.

"If I may, I'd like to thank you for reading the letter aloud." Hugo said.

"I'm surprised you didn't open it yourself." Aya smiled.

Hugo toyed at his lighter, holding it up to various documents before setting them in the fireplace. "I'm surprised he was so forthcoming in the letter. You've been through a lot since then, I'm sure he knows that."

"I doubt it. He probably hopes I'm still a Christian, judging by the necklace he felt so obliged to include. Audric always was rather dense when it came to these things." Aya said, a slight sneer needling out from the corner of her mouth.

"Azazel will forgive him, I'm sure. But I'd like to thank you in turn, Lieutenant. Agreeing to work this project is no small thing, the things I've seen you endure are like nothing I can imagine. This can't be an easy decision." Hugo said.

"It's easier than you think," Aya said, returning the cap to the whiskey bottle. "People work in bad systems all over the world, and my family are as much victims of it as anyone else. I know first hand what that system does to people, and this is how I can do my part to stop it."

"Your conviction never ceases to impress me. Were it not for your injuries, I wouldn't regret trying to talk you out of this life." He said.

"You took me in, Hugo. Joining the SNI was the least I could do to repay you. Not like that eye was doing me any favours anyway." She jested.

"You deserved better."

"I deserve nothing. Nobody deserves anything."

The soft crackle of spent embers spat a fistful of erratic orange flakes into the the dim quiet. The two operatives sat in silence before the fire, in quiet acknowledgement of Aya's decision. She didn't know for sure what Hugo was thinking, but she knew he would respect that decision. Whether he was her superior in the AFNS or not, here and now, they were just family.

Taking in as much air as she could, Aya let the tension in her head loose with an exhale. "Let's do this. Tell Magni to stop by before I leave."

"I will. You and Mæ are like daughters to us, me and Magni probably wouldn't have gotten married if you two didn't come into our lives. Please come back from this one." Hugo said.

"We can worry about that after the op. For now, let's just get me in." She said.

"Any idea how we're going to reply?" He said.

Aya picked up an unburnt corner of the letter that had fallen out of the fire, and began to pen for a mere moment before handing it to Hugo. "Here."

Hugo flipped the fragment around, as if he expected there to be more. "This is just a date. You're not going to reciprocate all that effort he put into getting your attention?"

"If it were anything else," Aya said, flinging the last batch of documents into the fire. "They wouldn't be sure it was me."

NOVEMBER 12
-A.