Show me a hero Date: 29 September 2013 Time: 5:31 PM Location: Royal Nest Compound, Crescent Cove. Characters: Guillaume d'Anjou, Eleanor Nichols, Sofia Martelli, Rafael Valdez, Fieke Gottlieb, Valerian Edvarsson. Description: It's war, then. Status: Private, in progress.
Guillaume was not in the best of moods to begin with. A phone call from Khaled, well before the sun set, had initially roused him, and was guaranteed to darken his evening immediately. The content of it was even worse.
"I have something of interest," he'd said. "My operative will be with you shortly. I trust I can count on your discretion as to her identity?"
Guillaume had replied in the affirmative, but the Regent had been maddeningly unwilling to be drawn on details, citing insecure means of communication. As if they were in a hammy spy show. Either way, at Khaled's request, he'd roused the senior members of the nest. Eleanor, of course. Sofia, because he doubted he could keep her out if he wanted to, and Rafael. He hadn't spoken directly with the man since New Orleans, but Sofia had told him about her conversation with him. Their secret was safe for now, it seemed, but it didn't make him trust the little cherub to any significantly larger degree.
He leaned over the ancient, mahogany table that dominated the conference room, sullenly reflecting the glow of the computer screens around them. It had been his idea to retrofit with modern technology, although he'd had the feeling that Eleanor had wanted to preserve the rustic look of the place. Frankly, he was annoyed enough about having to move to such a poorly defensible position in the first place, and he'd stubbornly refused to yield. As such, his programs crunched through data from other nests, intelligence and requests to the Queen, with AI working through the information as it came in. The room hummed with electricity and potential.
As he waited for the others to arrive, he checked his sidearm for what felt like the thirtieth time, making sure that the Desert Eagle was fully loaded, even if there wasn't one in the spout just yet. He had little idea of who this operative of Khaled's would be, but the urgency in the Regent's voice had given him pause, if only for a moment. There had been a strange tension brewing in the air for days now, ever since his and Sofia's confrontation with Valerian at The Banyan. Nothing had been heard from the man for days now, and it had him concerned.
He sighed, and tried to will away the impending headache, his skin itching as his body craved a cigarette. He tamped the impulse down, promising that he'd stop that irritating little habit that he'd picked up once more a few weeks ago. Which, he thought, wasn't the only thing.
Idly, he ran his arm over itself under the light, looking at the intricate artwork that now covered over the scarred and disfigured flesh, wounds received while being kept at Marlowe's pleasure in Louisiana. Sofia had done an amazing job, he admitted, with the ink almost rippling over his skin, intertwining chainmail patterns covering the extent of his scarring. The two dates on the bracer, perhaps, were a little risky, but attention would firmly be drawn to the pauldron on his shoulder, the sigil of Eleanor's nest, the Royal Nest, outwardly visible even from a distance. It was fitting.
As the others began to file in, his Nest bond with them alerting him to their approach before he saw or heard them, he re-holstered his weapon and allowed his arm to fall back to the table as he leaned over it.
For better or worse, there would be some answers today.