[P] roman holiday

[Marisol]

a dead body the work of my righteous right hand.

As they talk, Marisol watches and categorizes. Takes everything she knows about him and puts it into her neat little boxes—advantage, disadvantage, danger level.

Advantage: Senna of House Hajakha is a lone wolf, no matter how much he might try to convince her otherwise.

Disadvantage: Lone wolves are more often rabid.

Advantage: Solterra is in fiery ruins, barely able to keep itself in one piece, much less wage a war. House Hajakha itself cannot be much stronger.

Disadvantage: Prudence might lend a significant hand to its repair.

Advantage: If what he’s saying is true, it won’t matter, anyway.

Disadvantage: Marisol does not know enough about this man to be sure he does not have any manner of tricks up his sleeve.

Advantage: If he does, it is anything she and her Unit cannot handle?

Danger level: Not high enough to warrant a complete dismissal.

Some part of her finds it amusing that Senna asks her if she knows of the tales. If—Marisol’s every waking moment outside of training is spent poring through bibles, tomes and poetry volumes, the oldest dramas and sets of riddles. If. She knows those stories like she knows her own heartbeat. And he is no hero, nothing like those stories.

Although neither is she.

She is a predator, like him, and she does not miss the way weariness flickers over the lines of his face, the exhaustion way below the surface and the soft downturn of his lips. The first lesson of diplomacy. She wants to chastise him with a disappointed shake of her head and a click of her tongue, like an exasperated mother, but—if he wants to show weakness, it will be much more of an issue for him than for her.

“I hope you’re not offended by the need to draw up a more legitimate agreement on paper. Thief or not.” Marisol turns back toward the barracks. She does not beckon him, but she is sure that he is following—there is no way he wouldn’t want to know what she will tell him next. (She thinks briefly of Asterion and what he might think of her making deals with a Solterran snake; but this is older than either of them, as old as Terrastella itself, and is Marisol must defend her actions, then, well, they are simply a means to an end.) 

Overhead the night has gone perfect black. Stars just barely shine, lost in the depths of the endless sky. The Commander picks her way across the uneven cobblestone with a measure of confidence comparable only to a lion patrolling its territory: there is no place she knows better than Terrastella, and every street, every corner, has been burned into her memory. “If there ever comes a day, Senna, where our needs are at odds, you must understand that Terrastella takes… precedence. But—“ And here she smiles—“I will do my best to believe that you would never act against us, at least until I have proof otherwise.” 

“We are not mercenaries.” They pass by the citadel, whose panes of stained glass stream deep pink and yellow onto the blue-black stones underfoot. The faint drone of a harp sounds from a high window; Marisol glances up at it with a brief flick of her ear. “And I think—hope—you understand that solely personal vendettas have little place in an alliance as explicitly… defined as this one.”

The barracks rise up ahead, still humming with movement and light against the still, dark city. Marisol’s pace slows. The cadet that has been following behind them pulls ahead and slips into his room unnoticed as Marisol comes to a stop outside the door. When she meets Senna’s eyes, her gaze is confident, unperturbed. “But I’m sure you’ll use your better judgement as to when waging a war becomes necessary. If everything goes as smoothly as you seem to think it will—“

We can only hope—

“Then I see no reason not to agree.” Shadows go rushing past the barrack’s dimly lit windows. Marisol's voice is starting to rasp more than she'd like it to. “I encourage you to stay in the city. It will be much easier to relay any information, or to find you, if need be. There is room here, though I can’t promise we won’t wake you up sickeningly early.” 

She smiles at him then, a brief, real smile. (No reason to catch his suspicion this early; besides, he has impressed her, a little.)

---

@Senna <3

aimless | kokovi