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  • Thrive in Spite


    Clariee Donya

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    July 28, 2019
    ARMA HQ building - Old Federal Reserve
    New York City, NY

    “Make up your mind that no matter what comes your way,

    no matter how difficult, no matter how unfair, you will do more than simply survive.

    You will thrive in spite of it.” -Joel Osteen

     

    Clariee had been back in New York for a few days now, but she was playing it cool.  Three years was a long time, but it was the absolute soonest she could return without suspicions running high.  Funny how the shortest stint of time in New York during the uprising put her own good name in question for so long thereafter.  Pizdets, all of it, total bullshit but that was bureaucracy for you.   They sent her to the lion’s den just before supper because of one minor incident back home in Moscow.  The lion’s den being New York, Supper being the ARMA uprising, and the minor incident… her putting a senior officer of the Order in a coma for stealing her grandfather’s key-chain.  Semantics really.

     

    None of it was by her design, she was a victim of fate, and she’d been paying for it ever since.  Playing the Order’s Shestiorka for the last three years, just to prove she wasn’t tainted from her time under Alistair Greene’s command.  Clariee leaned back in her chair at one of New York’s best kept secrets: a dying café outside of Tribeca.  Finally, a moment to herself.  Being everyone’s prison bitch back in Moscow just to prove her loyalty to the Order only gave her reason to work thrice as hard at sharpening her metal.  She hadn’t had a moment to herself in all that time. 

     

    Clariee put a cigarette in her mouth and lit it. A habit she acquired in the last year or so, something for her nerves and sanity.  She gave a heedy drag and a gratifying exhale, and that was all it took for one of the barista’s to run over and tell her the café was non-smoking.  Clariee pretended not to understand her English, but the bitch just pointed to the no smoking sign on the wall.  Well shit.  Clariee rolled her eyes and grabbed her purse. The barista waited for Clariee to put the cigarette out but Clariee wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. Clar needed it more.

     

    She stood up with her things and rudely huffed a cloud of smoke into the woman’s face.  The annoyed coffee peddler’s eyes glowed an angry orange, but Clariee didn’t flinch.  A little show of anger wasn’t going to get under her skin.  She reached across the table for her cup and let herself out.  At the door she turned to blow one more billowing mouthful of smoke indoors before letting it swing shut.  Whatever. She was the only customer; no wonder they couldn’t keep business afloat. They were chasing out paying patrons. Dumbasses.

     

    Clariee continued to enjoy her fag as she walked down Broadway.  She was only a few blocks away from the HQ building and felt safe knowing that whoever had kept eyes on her return to NY had given up watching her boring daily routine.  The low-level First Light jockey had taken to playing crabs at a casino nearby around this time of the evening when Clariee usually returned to her hotel room and soaked in the tub for a good hour.  Figuring out who was shadowing her was easy (if not insulting, what a worthless tool, she must have done grade A work convincing the Order she was anything but sympathetic to the insurgence).  Getting the tracer on him not as simple, but once the task was complete she’d come to know his patterns as well as he knew hers. And now was her chance.  She had an hour to get in and out and she wasn’t going to waste it.

     

    She had intel that needed passed to Greene, in person.  All other methods of sliding info under the table had been exhausted.  She might not have been their most reliable asset, but what was reliable about living in the enemy’s house, eating the enemy’s food and sleeping in the enemy's bed? Yea, she’d had to do that a few times too. She wasn’t proud, but neither was she ashamed. She understood the world for what it was, ever a realist and she knew that getting shit done wasn’t a pretty job. You couldn’t win a clean fight when you were up against people who only fought dirty.  Luckily, she was from their side of the fence, and she was able and ready to be the bastard that the dreamers couldn’t bring themselves to be.  The American Dream, to be the hero, the good guy, to live righteously in a world of unrighteousness.  Clariee sucked the poison stick down to the filter and dropped the butt on the street without pausing.   It was nice to be back.

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    "Congratulations, ya played ya self."  proclaimed Wesley in his best DJ Khaled impersonation as he began chuckling lowly while reaching back into his discard pile to remove a distinct card.  Newer generation videogame systems still worked post Nevus, but hardly any of the online servers survived, leaving most systems that required license verification online to be unusable.  Thus, older consoles were refurbished and gamer culture adapted... or, they focused on less high-tech forms of nerd entertainment: tabletop RPG's and trading card games.   Today's card game of choice?  Yugioh.  And Wesley was on a role thanks to his zombie themed deck.

     

    "...aaaaand ANOTHER one!"  called out Wesley as he slammed said card down onto the table, continuing his impression to the dismay of ARMA's redshirts.  They argued amongst themselves for playing into Wesley's hand yet again.  

     

    "What the hell kinda strategy is spamming Pyramid Turtles?"  asked the one playing with a shake of his head.

     

    "Why the hell do you keep attacking them!?"  his friend questioned.  He smacked his shoulder in a way to slap some sense into his comrade.

     

    "To get them outta the way, they're all in defense mode and he negated all my insta-kill shit by just reviving everything I killed, I've got no other options!"

     

    "What you've got is a trash-ass deck.  Heart of The Cards will only take you so far." chided Wesley as he bridged his fingers like a maniacal supervillain while looking at today's potential winnings.  Two Slim Jim's and the last pack of cherry pop tarts in any vending machine in the entire complex (Wesley checked).  Quite the haul.  Wesley's co-workers seemed not to care so much about it as they had already begun standing and putting away their cards.  They said their goodbyes for the day and headed out of the exit.  Wesley smiled and collected his earnings just as the sound of more footsteps entering drew his attention.  

     

    Not concerned with who it was he continued putting his deck back into it's case before a familiar fragrance caused him to pause.  Glancing out of his periphery he noticed that it was indeed a female, headed deeper inside the HQ.  Dark hair... shorter than he, and slender despite noticeable curves.  Noticeably familiar curves.  Wesley wasn't the mopey manchild he was a year ago and his personality returned to that of the horndog that he used to be.  Thanks to that return to form, it resulted in him leaning to the side to get a better look at the female about to head out of the lobby toward the elevators and out of sight.  Admittedly, he had become more sly with his ogling at least, so even if he was still a pervert he hid it well enough.

     

    "I know that ass...  he thought as his grin grew wider.

     

    Wesley hurried from the table he and his friends were sitting at earlier and followed behind a few paces (he wouldn't dare ruin the show too early) before calling out.  "Privjet agent Donya."  

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    Times, they were a'changin... And also, not so much at all, really. ARMA's recent 'acquisition' of the Silver Winged's military forces had put a lot more people under the command of 'the Shield', but not under Alistair's command directly. No, the commander of the whole thing now, at least in the majority of functions, was the Old Lady - the silver dragon herself. Aura was Alistair's kind of leader. Decisive, scary smart, completely opposed to taking any sort of shit whatsoever from anyone, and while she would put them all into danger to get the job done, she was ferociously protective of those under her command. It was a good set of traits... though she refused to answer straight the question of whether or not she really was a twelve thousand year old ice dragon, and Alistair had just decided to forget it for now.

    But the arrangement was relatively young, and whatever happened, it was still he who was in charge of the mages of ARMA, they were his people, after all, and he wasn't about to abdicate that responsibility, even if Aura did have her proverbial shit together. Besides which... she was a military sort, she expected sharpness and professionalism, and.... well.

    Suffice to say that whether it was because Alistair did not run such a tight ship or because mages were frequently NOT the sort to have been in the military or any particularly martial vocation in their lives before Resonance, but he knew perfectly well how aghast most military types would be with the way his people sometimes acted. Which, hey, he was fine with - they got the damn job done, and he would defend their methods to the bitter end if it came down to it, but they could be a decidedly casual group at times... Which brought him to another point.

    [alistair]Jesus christ, Wesley. Do we still have an HR department? Are sexual harrassment suits still a thing? You are going to cost someone money and it's not gonna be me.[/alistair] Alistair called out after he caught the man's comment. The storm magus had been getting coffee at the monstrous, vaguely steampunk-looking coffee machine (his baby - it had taken him years to build something that wasn't constantly breaking down in the presence of so many magic users) while the metal mage had continued to reign with an iron fist over the card table. Frankly, Alistair had decided long ago that playing cards with his fellow magi was a risky enterprise. Too hard to know when someone was cheating.

    He sipped at the hot, life-giving beverage, and turned to step out and see who Wes had been catcalling - though his brows went up when he realized who it was. She... was NOT supposed to be here, certainly not coming in the main entrance, the break room... anywhere she might be seen. Shit, last he knew, she was supposed to have been in Moscow still. [alistair]Clariee... this is a surprise.[/alistair] he said, his tone cautious. He kept it just the right side of accusatory, though. If she HAD blown her cover, he was sure she'd done it for a good reason.

    [alistair]I assume we need to take this somewhere less public?[/alistair] If she confirmed, he'd take off for one of the debriefing rooms, motioning for Wes to come along - the man already knew the Russian was back, might as well loop him in.

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    Clariee glanced back at the sound of her native tongue and was surprised to see Wes.  Ah old acquaintances, She gave a secret smile from over her shoulder before turning to face him head on. Close on the mans heels was Alistair himself. What dumb luck to find him on the first floor.  Would save her time, which she didn't have.

     

    "Privjet Wesley, Greene," She responded while reaching for a handshake and a peck on the cheek toward Wes. Alistair had a less -warm- reception to her sudden appearance and she couldn't blame him.  Any news that brought her here in person was bad news. She nodded when he suggested somewhere less public.  "That would be ideal, but lets make it quick," she said in perfectly full sentences even with her thick and heavy accent.  She'd had time to learn, and she made sure to learn the language well even while back in Europe... didn't mean it was any easier on the ears, but it seemed everyone needed a firm grasp of the English language these days. At least in the international business they were party to.

     

    Just then the elevator dinged and the doors slid open to reveal an empty car.  "Shall we get in, or?" She asked.

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    Wesley nearly jumped out of his sneakers at the sound of someone calling his name from behind.  Their words made it evident that they arrived just in time to witness him perving out, and the voice he heard made his blood run cold.  Of all the people to call him on his bullshit this was the worst possible person.  His employer.  Wesley turned to see Alistair Greene approach him with his trademark indifferent air, even if he was being serious about Wesley's cringe-worthy behavior.  This surprised Wesley, especially after everything he'd done over the past year.  Wesley had only recently returned from his hiatus and this was the first time he saw the boss since then.

     

    "I uh... I was just... Imeantherewas... because... n-no?"  he stammered, voice heightened in a mixture of fear and surprise.  He did a double take back to Clairee, and to Alistair again, before clearing his throat and composing himself just in time for Clariee to approach and shake his hand.  A soft peck on his cheek caused him to blush and almost completely distracted him from his attempt at smoothing over the situation with the bossman.  This was the longest he'd ever conversed with the man without simply receiving a message through other channels, or in the same room as his co-workers, and it was killing him that the biggest impression he'd ever made on the man was one that Wesley was essentially a 14-year-old boy with magical powers and an uncontrollable libido.

     

    Wesley breathed a sigh of relief when Clariee segued into an exit.  Wesley already knew more than he was supposed to, which ironically, is what got him in trouble with the higher-ups prior to Clariee's return.  It probably wasn't a good idea for him to tag along.  Still, he did out of curiosity.  After all, this was the first time he'd seen the woman in forever, and he wanted to know what that was all about.  He stepped into the elevator and sidled next to the Clariee on the right where he hovered his hand over them lest he miss his chance to push said buttons because... again, Wesley was a big dumb kid. 

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    Alistair offered a bit of a smile to Clariee at the greeting, but he was already trying to process the steps that might be needed to pull shit out of the fire from her sudden appearance, and while he was a somewhat casual under fire sort of magus, it was enough to get him a bit on the rude side, unfortunately. But what else were you going to do?

    [alistair]Agreed. See you've been working on the English by the way, nice.[/alistair] He motioned them in, and since Wesley stood by the buttons, [alistair]Hit Four.[/alistair] he asked, putting his hands back in his coat pockets. When the elevator dinged and the doors opened again, Alistair nudged Wesley on the way out. [alistair]Relax, huh?[/alistair]

    Had to start throwing newer people into the fire sooner or later. Wes wasn't exactly a rookie these days, and Alistair knew he had to get over relying too much on the old guard. Besides which, ARMA tended not to shy away from putting friends on work tasks together. He knew Clariee, and he was already in on the news of her return: might as well get him in on the brief.

    He let the pair to one of the conference rooms and stepped inside, waiting for them to walk in before he shut the door. In the center of the table there was an hourglass, with a complex ritual circle drawn around it. Alistair set the crystals atop the hourglass on each of the circle's five points to make a pentagram, then took a deep breath and let his mana flow into the circuit as he flipped the hourglass over. The light shining through the windows dimmed ominously, and the lights flickered a moment as they came on to compensate.

    [alistair]Alright. We're scry and eavesdrop-proofed for the next thirty minutes. Door's warded too.[/alistair] He reached up and wiped his brow once, then sat heavily in one of the plush office chairs - advantages of taking over a big bank, even if some of them were pretty beat up by now. ARMA did not have the Federal Reserve's upkeep budget.

    [alistair]What's the bad news from Mother Russia?[/alistair]

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     The hour glass flipped and Alistair fell into his seat.  "Alright. We're scry and eavesdrop-proofed for the next thirty minutes. Door's warded too." Clariee sat on the edge of the conference table, not bothering with chairs, and leaned her weight on one arm.

     

    "30 minutes will do, I only have an hour before my shadow goes back to staring through my bedroom window from across the street, expecting to find me there, and I expect not to let him down."  

     

    "What's the bad news from Mother Russia?"

     

    "Change in management." Small detail with bigger consequences.  "District manager was willing to take a few bad leads from me now and again so long as he was adequately compensated for my unreliable - how do you say- 'women's intuition'."  She purposefully avoided Wesley's gaze, not wanting to see him work out the meaning behind those terms.  "I pacified the rest by throwing them a bone every once in a while and working their side of the board; you understand." After all, how could she survive three years there without sacrificing a few goats? She just made sure those goats were working independently and not with ARMA.

     

    "But it wasn't enough.  The last false lead did more than distract the team, it cost the supervisor his chair," and his life, not that they should care. He was a piss-poor leader, one that selfishly led with his dick and didn't give a damn about his team.  He gambled away their lives for a piece of ass. She shrugged, if anything he was a good reminder of why she was fighting for the ARMA's team.  

     

    "So now there is a new District Manager, and turns out... I'm not his type."  She brought her eyes up to meet Alistair's dead on.  "I've earned my place there, through the bad and the ugly, and I've worked hard not to get myself killed working under the table for us.  But they are all out of fucks to give for me and my shiny new record no matter how careful I was to keep it clean... unless I can deliver a big package wrapped in a pretty pink bow. Something to convince them to give a fuck again." Yeah her English was about as child-friendly as her Russian, only difference was they could understand her now. And she was serious about the pink bow, she'd make it happen if she got the chance.  

     

    "Is there a target ARMA and the Order mutually want off the streets? Because without some prized buck I can mount on my office wall back in Moscow.... I'm done." She didn't even blink, but it hurt.  Despite the flat tone of voice, the bland expression. Three years wasn't much, but when you spent it eating, breathing, and sleeping on pins and needles it was an eternity.   she had poured an eternity into this rouse and if it ended here, she needed to know. 

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    Wesley dared not let his eyes wander away from the console adjacent his standing position, fearful of Alistair's reaction to him eye-humping their cohort any longer.  He was rigid as a board, attempting to look calm and collected, but instead came off as a cardboard cutout.  One that somehow could sweat and had a rapid-fire heartbeat.  Say nothing.  Do nothing.  Don't move.  Don't even breathe.  Like he's a quippy T-Rex...

     

    Jolted from his mental mantra by Alistair's nudge, Wesley's eyes pressed shut tightly in anticipation of the lightning bolt that was going to drop through the ceiling on top of his head.  Nothing happened though, so he swallowed his heart back down his throat and wiped the clammy residue in his palms down his jeans before looking back to Clariee and forcing a smile.  He waited for her to exit first before he stepped in the room as well.  A chivalric "ladies first" gesture, or another opportunity to ogle her?  Who can say?  

     

    Inside the room Wesley's eyes lit up like a child at all the mystical odds and ends springing to life thanks to Alistair's ward activation.  Even with his status as a mage changing from fledgling to experienced, he still thought things like this were amazing.  Everyone took their seats.  Wesley leaned against the wall next to the door and placed his arms across his chest before crossing his legs leisurely, facing the position Clariee chose to sit in on top of the table.  Perhaps distancing himself from them both would help him feel a bit more comfortable.

     

    Clariee began speaking on her job undercover and he could feel his excitement build.  He was more than ready for tales of stealth and intrigue.  Of Ninjas and gun fights and freaking sharks with freaking lasers on their heads.  All that super spy shit.  That excitement was short lived however when he realized undercover in this since didn't refer to rubber masks and fake IDs.  In this sense it meant under covers... in bed... or wherever else she was when she put to use her natural assets.  His stomach rolled.  His heart sank.  His mouth flew agape.  He looked over to Alistair and, for the first time ever, stared daggers at him.  Had his boss told Clariee to sleep her way to secrets or was that something she learned to do on her own?  

     

    The rest of the conversation fell on deaf ears, at least for Wesley.  Years ago Clariee and Wesley had become fast friends; the first day on the job at that.  There was a connection: two people from different parts of the world trying to find out what their abilities meant for them now, and where would they take them.  The connection was perhaps deeper than that, as that one hot and heavy training session implied.  The only thing that stopped the two of them from banging on the training room floor was the fact that they weren't alone.  Or at least that's what Wesley thought.  Had he been imagining it the whole time?  Misreading the situation?  Was it just a bit of harmless kinky fun that he was reading too much into?  What would've happened if he'd kissed her that day instead of shying away?  Would she still have for so long?  Would she still let men use her body to get ahead on a mission?

     

    Wesley cleared his throat and began paying attention again by the end of the report, for fear of someone noticing how much of an emotional wreck he was becoming over... nothing.  Clariee wasn't his.  Her body, her choice.  She could do what she wanted with it.  The ice magus mentioned how dangerous things were throughout all of her time gone, and that cause Wesley to look back up and over in her direction.  It eased Wesley's bruised ego a bit to know that she wasn't using her body as a bargaining chip for secrets alone.  She feared for her life, and sleeping with the right person helped maintain it.  Still... now he wasn't feeling betrayed.  He was just feeling sad for her.  And that made him feel worse than he did before.  And here he thought he was living through hell with the death of his brother during the bombing some time ago.

     

    Fullmetal closed his mouth and straightened his posture before Clariee could notice his reaction to the increasingly depressing news.  "...holy shit, Clair.  The fact that you can talk about it so calmly... looks like sending our best cryomancer was the smartest decision.  Only person who could keep cool in those conditions would be an ice magus, am I right?"  Wesley didn't know if she was their best any way.  But he could hear the difference in her voice from before.  She'd been absent of warmth and comradery for so long she could do with candid praise.  True or not.  It also helped to hide away his actual feelings.  He hoped.

     

    That's it kid.  Play it off.  Make light of the conversation with bad jokes.  Hide those emotions.  They're not doing ya any good.  Nut up.  Move on.

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    Fuck.

    Well, Bad News was certainly the right term. The 'management' in Moscow had been one of the reasons the place had been prime for infiltration. The man had been potent enough as a magus, but no one Alistair had thought highly of in the decision-making standpoint. At the height of hostilities, when she'd volunteered for the job, it had been the right call. Having someone placed highly enough to mislead the Order now and then, and get them word of the worst of their operations, had been a literal life saver on more than one occasion.

    [alistair]I do.[/alistair] he said quietly, when she mentioned the bones she'd had to throw them. It had worked out some of the time... people who'd gotten caught but also gotten out. It hadn't, every time. They'd been blown already to one degree or another, but it still stung. All of them did. He didn't like losing people, not least because even if it had been the right decision, it had still been his. They might have been living in some mago-fascist dystopia about now, but more of them might have been alive. Or maybe someone else would have struck back and failed, and things would have been worse.

    Who the fuck knew?

    [alistair]Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy.[/alistair] Alistair said, tone dry, then he let out a brow and pushed a hand back through his hair, considering the implications of the rest. Wesley's look, however, he did catch, and for a moment the storm mage lifted his eyes to meet the metal's. What his own pale eyes reflected wasn't irritation at being questioned so much as it was resolve. Daring him to say it. Anyone who thought he used his people carelessly hadn't been paying attention. Didn't know or remember the times he'd put himself at the front so they didn't have to be. The 'stupid risks' Joce told him he took, that the man in charge wasn't supposed to be. He didn't deserve any recognition for it, in his mind. But it didn't mean he was going to take anyone's shit about it, either.

    Better Wesley didn't have to know how things really worked. Better he and the rest got to be the heroes they ought to be, and not get dragged into the grays where he had to live for the last four years. Always better.

    When Clariee was finished - and Wes said something that was halfway cringeworthy, if Alistair took the comments for the correct meaning, he pushed himself back to his feet, crossing his arms and looking down at the table for a few seconds while he gathered the wool.

    [alistair]Situation isn't what it was three years ago, on any of the fronts. Order's not sending Inquisitors to hunt us in the streets anymore. Whatever they're still doing as far as collecting artifacts, they're doing it a lot more quietly now that we and Pharos are on to them. And you might not believe it, but Dacia Fucking Setgrave invited me to a parley last week.[/alistair] He turned to meet Clariee's eyes - he was sure she'd heard plenty about the other best cryomancer, the one who pretty definitely wasn't a double agent.

    [alistair]Catch wind of the murders? Order's lost half a dozen since the start of the year. Most of them in Western Europe. One here in the old US. We think it's 'normals', using rituals and blood magic. Which has them in enough of a panic to sue for peace with us, right now. Problem is, I'm not sure the threat stays with them. They're less popular in a lot of circles because they don't stay out of things as well as we do. But we definitely meddle when people start dying. Problem will end up with us, too.[/alistair]

    He took a breath, putting both hands on the table.

    [alistair]It also means they're going to be looking even harder for leaks. People they wouldn't ordinarily suspect. And all the while their field people are getting hunted for other reasons. I can give you someone, distributor, deals in black market magic, tomes and the like. Sold at least three baubles that got people killed in the last year. We've been hoping to use him to get to some of his suppliers but if you feel like you need to stay in, that's the way we go.[/alistair]

    [alistair]If not, say the word, and you're back here. You know it'll mean staying the hell out of Russia, and laying pretty damn low for a while, but we always had a plan to cover your exit. It's your call. We could use you back here, too.[/alistair]

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    • 3 weeks later...

    She gave Wes a subtle nod, but the compliment was appreciated. And if it wasn't meant as a compliment, then they were having a difference of opinion on what was worth accolades.  Either way, they needed to wrap this up, there was still a fair amount of walking to get back to her hotel and as a member of the Order she too was at risk of being attacked by these vigilante humans and their crude magic.  "I'd like 3 days to think on it. And any details about the target should I decide to go hunting after all.  My wall back home is rather bare and if I'm returning, I'd like to take a souvenir back to decorate it with, da."  She kept her calm and didn't want to make any rash decisions. This was a big turning point in her career. her home. Her life and where she would spend the next few years...or the rest of it, if she ever got caught.  Always a constant thought in the back of her head. A warning to never get too comfortable and to always expect the worse.

     

    She looked at her watch.  "I should go. Don't want my babysitter to start asking questions about where I've been."  Clariee rose off the desk and smoothed down the wrinkles of her black dress.  You could barely see the fitted thing beneath the dark purple coat she wore over it.  The coat was belted around the waist, cinching it closed even without fastening any of the buttons down its length. Her leggings were as black as the dress so one bled easily into the other without drawing much attention. The black heeled boots on her feet were the only thing with a bit of sheen to it.  She extended her hand to Alistair. Whatever terms he gave her regarding her window of opportunity, she'd work within them.  She was a flexible girl, she could make it happen.  

     

    Which reminded her.... "Oh, and Wes... you still owe me a coffee..."

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    • 1 month later...

    Wesley's wounded puppy face faulted into that of shock when Clariee not only addressed him, but reminded him of their thusfar postponed coffee date.  He glanced back to Alistair as if he were going to save him from making a bigger fool of himself, only to regret it immediately, as he again found himself shamed in the presence of his boss.  He doubted the man could have suspected Wesley's social anxiety was this profound.

     

    "Uhh..."

     

    Wesley had only heard a bit of what Clariee said about having to get back to her hotel room, as well as how many days she requested for deciding on their next play.  So she would be in town at least three days more.  That was fortunate, Wesley thought, as he had plenty of questions he wanted to, but likely should'nt, ask.  Wesley didn't expect a quip from Alistair about workplace romances as everyone knew ARMA was just one big supernatural love-in.  If anything, the only questionable act taking place would be Clariee inviting Wesley to hang out after the palpably tense moment that was just shared by the three of them.  This could only lead to drama.

     

    "Right, sure.  Lot o' catching up to do after all." he muttered while shining a manufactured smile.  He then headed toward the exit, nodding back to Alistair once more along the way.

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    • 1 month later...

    ((I actually thought this thread was ended but here let's make it official...))

    Alistair nodded. Fair enough... she'd been putting her life on the line for the mission, and if she needed time to wrap it up, he wasn't going to object. Even if it might have just as well put her in danger... they were going to have to keep a close eye out.

    [alistair]That's fine. Just be careful, and if things get tight, don't be afraid to burn the ruse. You still have your fallback... use it if you have to.[/alistair] He took her hand and shook it, then reached out and broke the circle at the center of the table. The light returned through the windows, and the heavy aura of the room dissipated. No sense wasting good privacy if they didn't have to.

    He nodded to Wesley, then stood and watched the both of them go, leaning on the table for a few seconds afterward. Hell... This shit didn't get any easier.

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    • CURRENT RESONANCE DATE

    • RESONANCE - 18+ 3/3/3

      • A modern/fantasy, intermediate+ collaborative writer's rp. Caters to an experienced player base (25+) with a slower, more relaxed pace.
    • HELP GETTING STARTED? TRY A CANON!

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