"Do you understand?"
"…Yes."
"I'm glad. We can't afford to fail again."
Raising an eyebrow, she accepted the long parcel handed to her, gloved hands closing easily around the leather-bound case. "This is yours to use," she was informed. Slowly she unwrapped it. She dropped the leather wrap to the floor idly, and looked the weapon over up and down.
"A staff," she stated. Long, thin, and sturdy. The mahogany wood was polished to perfection, and a few feathers adorned the top, right under the curved fork. Between the tips two sleek branches of wood there was held a violet gem, matching her eyes in color and sinister mystery.
Experimentally, she gave it a slow swipe, then spun it once. It was easy to handle, and still not flimsy. "A very nice staff."
"According to the research we've done, this is your weapon of choice. We will not provide anything less than the best to our prized members. This will be more than sufficient, I'm quite sure." Green eyes narrowed slightly in a smirk.
"Quite." She lifted her gaze to behold the man speaking to her. Black hair short cropped, rather unevenly, at his chin. Thin and pitiful in appearance, like he had never seen any of this action he was sending her into. But then, he probably hadn't, she mused. He liked to think he was important in this menial position. But the real indispensable people were those such as herself. Those who got their hands dirty.
He took a step closer to her, so that his nose nearly touched hers – he was no taller than her own height. "I'm glad we understand each other, Flare." He used the name bestowed upon her by the Circle. Her real name was long forgotten. It no longer existed.
"Do you understand me, kitty-cat?" A smirk tugged at her own unpainted lips as his face darkened with irritation. But he went on as though she hadn't spoken.
"You and I are a lot alike. I think we're going to be good friends, when you come around—" Claw was cut off as Flare gathered his collar in her balled fist and thrust the frail man against the wall beside them.
It was her turn to stick her face into his. "Don't ever compare me to a flea-bitten alley cat like you, Claw. We are nothing alike, do you hear me?"
"Careful, Flare. You'll get yourself into trouble, handling a superior like this," he hissed. "I outrank you. I was here long before you arrived, and I will be here long after you're gone. You're the alley cat."
"You may 'outrank me' in terms of title, but I know Fang would thank me for running you off. All you do is carry messages. Your title may sound more impressive, Cat's Claw, but it's only to pacify your ego and keep you from whining any more than you always do." Only highly ranked individuals took on two parts to their nickname.
Flare shoved herself away from him, leaving him a half-crumpled mess against the wall. She reached up to brush silvery hair from her eyes, and straightened her shirt with dignity. As she turned, resettling her grip on her new staff, he spoke again, menacingly.
"You don't even have a past. You don't have memories to fall back on. All alone, a single isolated star in the vast night sky."
She halted, but did not turn. "You're wrong." She had memories… Just not many of them. "But as far as insults go… You ought to work on something a little better than that."
The half-elven woman flicked out the back of her black cloak, and started walking again. …So she didn't recall anything between her tormented childhood and the Circle taking her in as a young woman. So she didn't even know her real name – she didn't need that anyway. She didn't need anything but the Circle. That was her life, and as far as she was concerned it always had been and always would be.
…She had a mission to complete. A target to obtain. Let morons like Claw scamper around with their heads held high in the safety of the base; she knew her value in Fang's sight. That was all that mattered.
Still, though. What had happened after her childhood?