AN:
Well, I've had immense trouble getting someone to beta-read this, and I've also given up on this prospect. I just decided to release this story with no edits whatsoever.
That being said I would highly appreciate some degree of constructive criticism considering that I couldn't find a beta reader.
Trigger warnings: Lesbian sex (mild), swearing (mild)
Trollbait clarifications: Spoken foreign language (Scots), complex vocabulary, European English spelling
Prologue: part 1
10/22:14(PM), 1/2/2027, near Montebourg, Cotentin Peninsula (France):
Glistening silver. Cold gray steel. Wine-dark sea.
Cold harsh winds, blowing silt across the ivory shale of the cliffs nearby…
Nearby my home.
Inland, a town lurks beyond the moon's lucent stream, far enough that even the harsh sanguine glare of the coastal port reaches merely the terminus of the main road. Harsh shadows, streaks of pure black, dance between the bright golden streetlight beams illuminating sections of the square. Beyond that, typically, there is just darkness. Stray from your path, at it would appear as if you were observing a void; the pitch-black was nearly palpable as one literally could not see without any form of handheld light.
Beyond even this, within the outer circumference of this town, anterior to the 3 ports, is a small mansion. Once, it was two separate houses, part of a larger estate, yet these two had long since been linked, and after that expanded. The only remnants of the estate, as the countless cleared plots surrounding it bear the implication of many more structures.
This dwelling, simply far too large for any one individual, was shared between me, and 7 others my age. I'm listed as the owner, though I am still legally in the custody of my mother, with whom I inherited the estate itself.
I do not see much of her these days. She's often off on business trips, talking with the shippers and the commerce workers that seem all too happy to shore-leave at the north Norman coast. I can just hope that my….my….phase had not left her unsure of what to do with me.
I did shy from the physical world for a time. Even now, I'd rather just mount an *AmuSphere* to my crest and *Full Dive*; transcending this plane. I'm truly home there, in those worlds.
Even today, where I can bear to view others without considering how easy their lives are, compared to how mine was, I still feel as if I am truly alive on the plane of *Virtual Reality*…
So many worlds to choose from. An infinite universe of them, each augured to our technology yet beyond our imagination. The updates to the *World Seed* program, the primordial code from which the modern *VRMMO* credits it's evolution, gave more power, more control, more ease to those who would create their own realities through generated graphics and streak upon streak of data. Even though I preferred a wide variety of games, my own favourite, the one I would escape to when reality deceived me into believing I was unfit to survive, was the first "true" child of the *World Seed*.
*ALFheim Online*. *ALO*.
A world of Fairies, built upon Germanic Mythology, patterned after the greatest fantasy. This was my true home for years. Nearly half a decade I was more at peace in this "game" than I was in my own home. The game may encourage fighting, between groups if not between the fairy races themselves, but it seems more…honourable than simulated combat amongst the other games born of the *Seed*. I am at a loss for words as to alternative descriptions of the phenomenon; even though the days of racial alliances and their rivalries providing most conflict has passed, even the mixed bands of other players seem to be bound by respect as they compete ruthlessly to enjoy the world *ALO* offers to subscribers.
Perhaps it is the legacy of a certain *Black Swordsman*. He was the one who ended that world's first incarnation yet also willed it's rebirth, after all.
Though, even tonight, at the hour of 10:14 PM, I have no will to log on.
I did not log on today at all. Nor did I three days prior, and a week before that, not once until Thursday. I do dislike when I am not online at the time my friends are, but it is healthy for me to experience more of the real world.
Of course, I do not play alone. My friends list contains only contacts from other services, all of whom I know in life. Seven of with I share a home.
And tonight, with two, a bed, our love, and our joy. All swaddled beneath a colourful yet aged afghan.
They, two of my closest, oldest, most dear friends, lay bare embracing me. One, a slight late teen of 17 years, bearing waist-length tresses of blonde hair, romanced the other, a stockier young woman of the same age whose auburn hair lay undone upon her pillow. They were fond of making love. So fond of sharing their bodies. It's worth noting that they both used to have inklings of attraction to me, but I told them that I would not reciprocate, lest it tear our bond apart.
Ironically, they fell for each other. My androgynous figure still appealed to them, so occasionally, when I hadn't invited another companion over for the night, I would bed them both. My sexual tastes are just that: sexual. I am not the kind of person who attaches meanings of procreation to the act, instead viewing it as a pleasurable activity done between those who love. In short, I've "slept around". Always with my closest friends, all female. Others may attempt to attach shame to a woman who engages in coitus for pleasure, though I note that their accusations imply an addiction. An addict is something I am most certainly not; It's rare for me to seek intercourse, let alone accept another's invitation. But yet, I find such threesomes with my oldest friends to be...fulfilling. More for them than for me, but I sometimes can't resist an extended session of nude skin-to-skin contact with them. Truly, I love them, with all my being.
Though today, 14 past 22:00, I had little time, nor energy to continue. Sealed between the other two young women atop a wide bed, cocooned in their limbs, I slept. Almost as soon as they closed their naked figures around me and pressed their soft and supple bodies against my own, I released my grip on consciousness and lapsed into the void within my mind.
Not before we made a plan.
A new Continent, the first since the steel-clad fortress that levitated beside the world tree, *New Aincrad*, was due for commercialization tomorrow in the free update included as part of the fifth and final act of the *Minakami Saga* of episodic expansions. This new continent, known as *Svart Alfheim*, is accessed from either a warp sector within the depths of *Jotunheim city*, or from the spatial distortion opposite to *New Aincrad* that floated along the world tree. This was to be the new target of conquest for the advanced players. Given this there would be more than enough new and undiscovered content, not to mention what could be generated through the *Cardinal System* or left in during the *Minakami Saga* that would lurk within this new frontier.
In the week before release, we agreed to prepare ourselves, our skills, and our equipment. Crafting new items of weaponry and clothing, experimenting with new skills and magics, and strengthening our avatars for the arduous task ahead. Then, we would meet up with the guild that the fourth of my housemates, my dear Mari, held executive position in. Though we were technically freelance mercenaries by system terms, my party was allied to our mutual friend first and foremost. Whatever guild she served, we all served.
But today, we had time to allocate to other activities. Given what we had finished during our last excursion to the game, we had decided today that we could postpone our next journey into *Alfheim* for another date. Tomorrow, preferably.
Our power ranked us, and others in our circle, as amongst the strongest in that world. Only the strong are chosen to clear the newest areas. Only the strong may survive the sight of the *Eyes of the Dark Sky*.
Prologue: part 2
6:04 ALO standard, Entrance inn (Arun, neutral)
Though it's status as the game's capital has since been upstaged by *Yggdrasil*, *Arun's* still a good spot for housing, commerce, and, of course, hanging out.
The city's cafes and inns still have a pretty high standing, even though there are other places with more, and more elaborate. The one I'm in is homely, and actually kind of austere. It's white (seemingly plaster) inside and out, with blackened wood for the furniture. Quaint.
Despite this, there's an energy in the plain white room me and my best friend recline snuggling in. While the room's not really populated, nearly everyone here's psyched epically for something. And how wouldn't they be?! Any serious *Alfheim* Player obviously wants a shot at the new zone.
"Thanatou?" I softly murmur to my friend, a young teenager with skin almost the color of fossil ivory. She seems to have fallen asleep; who could blame her, with that smile spread across her sharp face. But, it seems she hasn't.
"Ehh?" She perks, going from holding my side to pressing her abdomen to my own. "Something up?"
"We're about to have company soon!" I laugh as we rub our bare midriffs together. Her eyes open slowly, and I see those lucent blackened-gray irises shimmering at me once again. She does realize we really can't act lovey-dovey around each other now, though.
From that end, we sit up back again from our booth, and then we see them. A pair of female-players: a well-endowed cream-blonde *Gnome* and a skinny yet revealing brunnette *Spriggan* They're obviously lost to some degree, though I think the one in the blue coat (*Spriggan*) saw who I was and manages to get the *Gnome* over to us. "Philia…" Serapis says, looking at the *Spriggan* in the revealing blue coat, opened in front showing a black tube top and black short shorts, though despite the amount of skin she showed the webbing of crossed straps managed to hide her navel. "...and Strea, correct?" Sera says to the *gnome* next. A voluptuous *Gnome*, equipping an armored violet dress; there was a pair of gauntlets, a plate over her chest, and a large shoulder guard with a large carigorn inset at an angle. She's also sheathing a long two-handed sword across her back.
"That's us!" The two say, Philia rather sheepishly (she's scratching the back of her head) compared to the confident and excited Strea.
"We'd nae better waste time here." Than says, "Now, ye had an arraignment wit'us, right? Payment in intelligence?"
"Yeah!" Says Philia. "I found out during my last run that there's going to be this new quest in *Svart Alfheim" that activates through this item called the *Tar Idol*."
"Where did you get that information?" I ask.
"I have it." Philia replies, much to the surprise of everyone else in the conversation. "The drop rate's pretty low, and I was going more for combat than farming, but it still happened by some miracle…. heh."
"Ye frain a GM?" Sera asks, "A mean, dinna thae ken onything regarding quest item's as this?"
"Well, they didn't have any answer other than the fact it's definitely important to the story there and *Cardinal* made it." Philia replies, turning to Strea and looping her arm around the other player, who smiles despite fidgeting just beforehand.
"Uhh...what do you expect me to say? I-!" Strea bashfully murmurs to Philia, who just brings her head in closer and whispers something that just makes Strea smile wide. She turns to face us, "I…-"
"You trying to impress the sarashi sisters there, Strea? Please. They're too young for you." Says a high falsetto voice which turns out to belong to a red-haired *Leprechaun* dressed up like a maid of sorts. She's obviously referring to us, and then she says "Despite what you may think, it's going to be difficult for your employers to attempt something like the raid Philia over here just talked about."
"Why is that?" I ask back, somewhat frustrated. This *Leprechaun* is smirking at us, her stereotypically "princess" face just oozing contempt at everyone in the room.
"I have my sources. You of all people should know, Philia. We were both in that together." Replies this newcomer. Her sense of confidence is almost insidious, with that mischief-marked smile...
The strategically-exposed *Spriggan* just glares at her. A glare mixing confusion with dishonor and possibly resentment, as well as the fact that Philia knows what our unwanted guest is talking about.
"Ye come here just ta troll hus, meido?" Thanatou sits upright while she speaks.
"Yeah?! What's your business here?" Asks Strea. She crosses her arms and shies her frustrated expression away because she refuses to look into the redhead's eyes.
"Just to tell you you're in for a nasty surprise if my info's right. Oh, and Philia?" Says the newcomer, "make sure to see old scar-face soon. She plays as a *Cait Sith* here so she could keep those "edgy" marks the beta left on her. She might be able to tell you if what you've got there will start anything. Might."
With that, the *Leprechaun* steps away. Oddly enough, we see she has two swords equipped. In any case, this leaves so many different questions, the biggest among them: How does someone get information that specific from someone this unheard of about content only hours from release?
It's something we continue to ponder, even as the two begin to talk about their encounter to us.
"Yeah, so at first it's just me, this other AI named Aldritch, and a human player, Syfis. We started around the *Fallen Cathedral* in *Jotunheim*, and managed to work our way through the dungeon with another party's help." Carmel-haired Strea explains.
"How many other players were there?" I ask, Gesturing to Philia. She then turns to Strea before replying.
"Well, you had my party, with Risolett and Vardar, along with this other party led by a *Sylph* boy about my age named Alberich. He had at least two *Spriggans* in his party, a *Undine*, and *Imp*, and a *Salamander*." Philia states, looking back at Strea.
"Alberich doesn't come in until we hit the second floor;" Strea says, "So first, we have the entrance puzzle, which Philia and her crew helped us with. It basically was a search for a key, but the key was in pieces and we had to access a room in the center to fix it."
Philia then says "My team shows up a bit after Strea finds the first few pieces. We manage to get every single piece from that maze of a dungeon up until it says we need an actual key to find the room where we can reassemble the broken key. This is where it gets interesting. Vardar uses *peep* to get into the room because of...intuitions, and then she finds that there's a miniboss in that room, and more importantly no keyhole in the door. We try opening it manually, but it doesn't open, predictably."
"Aldritch just gets pissed and shoots it with *Dark Spirit Lance*, which, surprisingly, opened it." Strea says. "But it also breaks the doorway and leaves us trapped in the boss room with his goons moving to block of our entry; we're in this tiny square room and then the only way out of it is the giant oval boss arena."
"What kind of monster was on the other end?" I ask, reclining back into my bare-bellied embrace with Serapis, who is holding me back. "You did say that there wasn't any information as to enemy details before you took it, right?"
"We wound up with a *Vile*, *Trumpeter of Mat'*" says Philia, "He was tough…" she sighs; the memory of the encounter is enough to wear her out, "he's phys-elemental, so he doesn't have any elemental strengths or weaknesses. But he could change his attacks to fit our weaknesses, and could ban certain abilities."
Strea sighs, loudly, comically, and exhaustedly to the point of partially collapsing, "You really couldn't tell if an item or magic had been banned 'cause the only way to tell was by how dark the name was. If you used an ability he banned he healed himself to full health."
"*Trumpeter of Mat'*..." Thanatou ponders, " He wis in *Dead Man's Disrepair* first? Oniegate, arena sure ye had ta focht him'ta advance? He was optional in the raid, and ye all said the main objective was fixin' the key?"
"This one was weaker, but he still was a pain in the ass…." Philia stutters, "he's just the miniboss, too! And we only found out he was optional after we fought him!"
"How did that go?" I asked, before Philia slumps down along with Strea, who righted herself just so she could slump down again.
"Terribly….." they both moan, in unison. Strea goes on "We lost all of our revival items, most of them on Vardar, because we spent most of that battle pinned to the room we entered from and trying to deal with the boss's overpowered *Dark Alf* lackeys! It wasn't until we managed to enter the big oval room itself that we actually managed to damage it!"
"That's frustrating!" I gasp. The look on both their faces just screams "tell me about it". Even Sera's having trouble processing the information without overtly feeling sorry for them.
I know someone who fought that boss in the raid the first time around. He told me pretty much every detail about how unfun it was, so it's hard not to empathize with two players who had the misfortune of encountering this monster.
"By that point we had nearly run out of recovery items as well." Philia says, "there's…-!"
Everyone's soon gets a message. Not from the guild, but from another one of its independent agents. Her name's Serapis. She's kind of an intelligence operative, and deals alot with information brokers or, more disturbingly, player actions. The last thing she was working on had to do with something I wish I never overheard, and she hasn't been re-assigned. This can only mean bad news.
"Wait…" Philia says slowly, "Serapis? What's she-?! Oh no…."
The title spills out everything without even needing to read said email: "The griefers. The just pulled a mass gank on *Lower Jotunheim's* North. No time; must report."
"Fukkit!" Than rages. Strea goes into muted twitching histrionics. I'm sweating like a dead calf bleeds. Even Philia is stuck in shock. There goes our attempt at gathering information.
A combination of being effectively forced into planning a dungeon raid and cleaning up troll's messes is not what I want to think about, even by itself. Nor is having to deal with suspicious connections on the part of one of my temporary "allies". Put these two together and well, let's just say the end result isn't a pretty mood….
Not for me, not for anyone.
Chapter 0: The land of the the black fairies…..
7:30 ALO standard, 1/3/27, Factory District East (Yggdrasil city, neutral)
A simplistic apartment of the craftspeople district, within the northeast inner district of *Yggdrasil* is my own dwelling in this world; though diminutive in comparison, I sometimes prefer this quaintly spartan place. It is painted fade white, much like the condominiums of *Jotunheim*, and is located at a corner. This results in both true rooms being located on opposite sides of the main door, which itself leads to a small triangular "hall"...
I'm spending too much time describing my home here. I'm spending a bit too much time staring out the window in front of the main door as well. It's about time I…?
"Arden? Arden?" Speaks a flowing contralto voice with an accent combining those of Slavic and Latin, suffused with a loving tone. It's a voice I know very well. It is urgent in pace, and outside my room.
Ostensibly, I let him in. I reply "Reitter? It's already time?"
"You just logged in, right?" He says, "Plans changed. We need a better player for the command party-!"
"Wait? What about-!" I cut in.
"You'll have time to customize when you're at the HQ. Militsa's set up down there already. We need to hurry!" he replies, voice pitching higher. He's excited, despite the evident time crunch.
Reitter, a slender young man with light brown skin and white hair, grabs hold of my fingers and leads me out, so rapidly that I nearly trip in surprise. It's ironic that the most controlled person in our manor-like house seems to aim for my spider-like digits rather than my palms, while she has no problems picking out the extra digits on two of our other roommates. It doesn't hurt as much as the first time she did this; maybe Mari's grasping my fingers because they're stronger now.
That being said, we hurry out of the complex, which is where he finally releases my arachnodactylic digits and lets me catch my breath.
"Reitter, Reitter?! There's…huff...huff… I think there's been-!" I sputter when I lose momentum and am forced to hold over my knees. Reitter turns around, surprised and relaxing, right before he speaks again.
"Real life preoccupied both the designated heads! We don't have another option! You said you liked my odds of a promotion!" He nearly screeches while jogging in place, amidst the stares of multiple other players.
"I…! Oh, well." I sigh, gathering my energy and tracing the hyperactive Copt-reminiscent *Spriggan* down the street and across the low sky between the large buildings. She's almost as fast as a *Sylph* here; much more active than she is in life. That being said, Mari's decision to "cross-play" means she exhibits a new personality online. She says she feels liberated here; I cannot say otherwise because she's not like this at all in the real world.
Her speed outstrips most of the others ascending, even Elfriede.
"So, Reitter?" I ask, right behind him. My own flight is fast, and controlled.
"Something up?" He replies, not even glancing aside. It's his voice that tells me he's listening. There's not just a time crunch here; he is focused. He's readying himself.
"Any other surprises with the assault operation?" I inquire, "What do we know about the defenses of that location? Is there a…-!"
"You and me are the only changes." Responds Reitter, "Aside from that the plan's the same." We race past a few more buildings, lower than usual to the extent where we're now trench-running the streets.
"I'm relieved…" I sigh, quietly even though he still manages to recognize my vocalization, and my tone. He smirks at me. It means he's rather obviously snide about this, but he knows that words don't work against me here. Not that it's stopped her in the past.
We're already past the arch to the *teleport gate* now. Only a few seconds more and we're…-! What the?!
Reitter chirps "Oh!", then suddenly halts mid-air. The results are to be expected; which is to say, I collide into his upper-back and soon both of us are sent right into the earth. Or more accurately stone. Hard, brittle, and messy stone.
"Gah!" I expunge the dust from my mouth, just about to contemplate out-loud why *virtual reality* would feature masonry of realistic texture, hardness, impact property and….regrettably, taste while still being as fragile as untempered toolsteel. My jacket's also coated in the fine dust of what passes for marble in *ALO*, my gloves clearly match the prints in the indent, and my beret flew off in the crash and re-equipped itself right on my forehead. After I get up, I find myself still blinded by my hat as I stumble upwards. I feel Reitter attempting to grasp my hand to aid the process-?
This is odd. There's fabric. He usually lacks sleeves this far up, and does not wear gloves outside of combat. I adjust my headwear to find that it's not him at all.
Rather, it is a black-crimson haired *imp* with a harshly-angular main-cut accentuated with pigtails. She has lucent black eyes, so her pupils and dividing lines are very visible. Slender though of even proportions, she dresses with shoulder-length sleeves (one is green and plain, the other is red and silver and very vibrant), a black series of wraps around her chest, and tightening pants with shoes that have rounded tongues. Each of her sleeves terminates with belts that bear a rather large dagger each; one appears to be a lowland dudgeon-dagger (on the green sleeve) and the other a Caucasian Dirk (on the red and slivered sleeve).
"Oh! Thank you." I say to my benefactor, who releases my arm.
"Ye shoud watch yersel wit players who flei that way; it shoud help ye avoid another low-level cloit whyls ye got stone anaith." Replies the other player in a low-alto, soft voice that is somewhat gravelly, barely exhibiting an accent aside from a slight Gallo-Romance twinge to her consonants (despite the obvious Scots interjections; which explains the dudgeon-dirk), "Ma username's Thanatou."
"Mine's Arden." I reply. It's been awhile since I've had and introduction like this, even in *VR*. It's...refreshing? Even though these ought to be normal by now. I at least think they ought to be normal now.
Reitter also has stood, and appears not to have required any aid. "Why did we stop?" He wonders aloud, then turns to another player (a *sylph*) who directs him visually to another group of players, themselves crowding around someone much smaller. All of these individuals wear a particularly odd accessory. A feather worn aside their heads or mounted to their helms. Even from my direction I can see that even whoever was in the middle of the formation also equipped such a pale, multicolored feather.
The town's square resonates with conversation. Everyone obviously seems to see who this is. Even I have a good idea.
Dr. Nanairo "Rainbow" Arshavin. Seven, as she is known in-game. All of these other players are of Shamrock, her personal guild. Then, there is that *Undine*. A pale man, almost model-like, at the head of the detail. His serious glare daggers into nearly everyone he scans at, leaving even me with some suspicion. That same *Imp* who helped me get up still stands beside me, arms across her abdomen as she seems to merely take in information. The Shamrock head's glare seems not to give her concern.
"The handsome-rear *Undine* glaring at awbody wit the Tachi there's Sumeragi" Thanatou says, "Ye ken the rest are Shamrock? Sumeragi's thair number seicont. He also is maxed rank."
"Really?" Asks Reitter, "What category? When did he max out? Why hasn't there been any notification? Who did he beat?"
"Combat: general (by highest rank defeated)" Dully states Thanatou. "Said ranker's Eugene. That Eugene. Eugene the *salamander* general wound up fechtit at this guy's weapon! Let me reiterate that: He. Fechtit. Eugene!"
I cannot help but stammer my next words a bit. "Y-y-y-how did that happen?! Eugene held that title for years. He literally just got upstaged?"
"That's why the news isn't common." She replies back, "Mortimer says we really shoudna anger Eugene any more, so there's that moratorium."
In any case, the Shamrock players were now out of view, while I rather clearly hear a conversation of excited players at my left.
"Oh my Glod! You serious?! She waved at you?"
"Yeah! I was near the convention site after filming, and then she shows up with an entourage! And she's even cuter in real life!"
"Yeeesh! You are soooo lucky!"
Still, I mustn't get ahead of myself. I'm watching Thanatou call to then hurry towards and happily embrace another girl, a blonde-haired *sylph* dressed in much the same way as her: long sleeves, tight pants, and only a sarashi on her torso. These two soon fly off, in each other's arms. Even then, while I scan the dispersing crowd below the first of *Svart Alfheim's* floating continents, I can't really seem to stop thinking about our planned raid. Since we're going to be hitting other players I need to use a PvP set, though I'm having trouble deciding whether I should use equipment designed specifically for fighting human opponents or if I should have a few general purpose pieces for increased versatility. Then, there's the fact that we're on "Wonglide meadow* itself, so *Svart Alfheim's* incredulously strong mobs will have to play a role, especially when where we need to attack is in an area infested with monsters. This while considering if that planned "double pincer feint shadow" plan is going to work. It's an elaborate operation. Just because we're in a game is no reason for this to fail horribly...
Soon, Reitter starts tapping my shoulder, then my arm. "We have a mission, remember!" Like I'm one to tell him. We start to turn and retreat to the *Teleport Gate* and then we're in the *Floating City of Ryne*.
So far, so good. "Reitter? Do you want to head for the inn in *Jotunheim City* after this? We could party, have a few drinks, maybe get close…."
"Well…." he ponders, index finger to his lips, "I think it would be good if we got close IRL after." Blushing next, "I am right beside you and I can barely remember when I last put on a top… hehehe."
*Ryne's* north entrance is tight, with a street connecting to to the teleport gate square from the main square. Around this gate are a shop, presumably run by players (I've been to the Dicey Cafe in *Yggdrasil" and I swear I recognize the pink-haired *Leprechaun* smith) and a tavern. There's an inn a few paces up the street as well. The square comes right after.
"In the residential districts, left after entrance; head straight then two consecutive rights and it's there…." I start muttering. Something gets my attention. I don't think it's any good...and it's approaching me, fast.
A red-haired maid-dressed *Leprechaun* soon fills my view, smirking hubristically in the most off-putting manner possible. She's obviously succeeded in seizing my attention. "Ahh...you….heh, Sewerborne must be lost." She says just loud enough to gain our attention. "I'm afraid there's not much your anti-gank plan actually covers, and your informants aren't going to be of much help."
I cannot prevent myself from staring daggers into her in an ultimately futile attempt to erase the smirk from her face. "What did you just say?!" I find I screech at her.
Reitter's soon restraining me while hushing "Calm down!". It's rather obvious he can barely control himself either, because he's glaring at this newcomer with equal venom to me. Even though he manages to control himself to my face; I think I give Mari a bit too little credit when it comes to the restraint she shows here.
"Ohh, just a little issue with the guild headmaster, that's all." She smirks devilishly, "I can't really seem to find him, but he's never where he says he is. Ah, well, dealing with his underclassmen isn't too much of a hassle."
She soon turns her back to us and walks away, slowly sneering at us with her head turned before she flies off.
The disgust in the air is palpable; we've had a leak, evidently large enough to result in outside sources that know of the informant we've employed gaining information about the plan. Mari's actually a member, so she feels the most disgusted, though I can't shake the intuition I have that some hired help may have been the cause of this. It makes me very self-conscious. While Reitter grumbles, I'm more focused on the operation at hand, and if what that *Leprechaun* was telling us was the truth, vague as it was.
Vague as it is, even. What exactly is she planning?
AN: Sooooo, this is the set up. The pins will fall as of the first official chapter.
Any constructive criticism would be highly appreciated, given the lack of a proofread.