Deacon didn't want anything to do with his provided 'help'. He was capable of fixing his mistakes and redeeming himself on his own. Why did he need someone constantly hovering by his side? Was this his punishment, after all? Forced to team-up with a partner, instead of blissfully working on his own? It would be too counter-productive for Kane to do something like this, but he'd given worse punishments to the other Elites before.
He found Dea's reaction to the gold… odd . He wondered what her qualifications exactly were. Who was he working with, exactly? Was she as capable as he was told? Her abilities would be tested soon enough. It wouldn't be right to pass judgment so soon…But he was going to keep an eye on her regardless.
He spent that night recording the amount of gold in his journal, to budget what they had. The finances were provided to pay their officers, and in the case they'd have to repair the ship. Rarely, it was used to compensate for overnight shelter on an island. The knowledge that Armada marines carried gold onboard wasn't unknown to pirates - which explained the attacks on fleets lately. Counting how much they were given…it was clear Kane was taking precautions.
When he was done, he sat at his desk for a long time, debating on what he should do. Eventually, he caved in to his curiosities. He did his own worth of background checking that night, on his ' co-captain'. It wasn't an easy feat, since he knew so little of Dea. Her identity was a mystery to him. He checked some recent documents that had been filed. There were a couple of promotions that caught his interest - and how they tied to The Executioner. But the names had been purposely redacted, bringing an abrupt end to his research.
He felt irritated. He liked finding information, to know things in advance. It was obvious this would not be the case. He'd have to learn about her over time, to yield any useful results. It's not like Deacon wanted to know anything personal about her…but what her credentials exactly were .
. . .
He boarded the ship that next morning, carrying his belongings to bring for the three-month-departure. The crewmembers were preparing to set sail, ensuring everything was ready. He found Dea already onboard, admiring the captain's wheel. Deacon found this an opportune time to speak with her. He climbed the steps and tapped his cane to announce his presence.
She lifted her masked chin. " Buenos días , Captain."
"'Morning. I've made sure everything is counted for."
Knowing he'd be pestered about it otherwise, he handed her his journal. She looked through his list before humming. "And here I was, wondering if you took some for yourself… or shorted me at all-"
"-You seem to care an awful lot about gold." He commented, testing the wheel.
"I've been duped before." She murmured, returning the small book. He looked at her judgmentally. The subject couldn't help finding its way back into his mind.
"What was it exactly you were doing before this..?" He signaled to the crewmembers to ready their sails. "You were obviously not a Captain. If not, then-"
"- Ah , ah ." She cut him off, waving a finger. "I know exactly where this leads. You ask me little questions, then use whatever I say to find the smallest hint about my identity. Queen made it clear we don't have to know anything about each other."
"I don't care who you are. I'm worried about how qualified you are to serve beside me." He retorted.
"Oh! I forgot I was working with an Elite. Should I bow down to you and start polishing your shoes as well?"
He wanted to bang his head into a wall. This conversation was going nowhere.
"You shouldn't be worrying about me. What with your history-" His grip on the wheel tightened. "-I'd be more worried about your performance, considering everything."
He caught himself gritting his teeth. He didn't address Dea as he gave the orders to set sail. The subject was dropped as he focused on leaving the docks - heading in the right direction to start their mission. The wind was particularly good that day. As they left shore, he retrieved the paper Kane gave to him. It was an agenda expected to be completed during his time out - when he was not capturing his prisoners. He clacked his tongue reading some of the demands. It felt like too * much * was being asked of him - but he had no place to argue.
"Where do we start?" Dea asked. He folded the paper and returned it to its place.
"I received a tip that one of our fugitives is harbored in Monquista. So long as we're quick, we shouldn't run into any trouble with the nobles."
He wasn't keen on visiting Monquista. Getting the right paperwork to even visit the place was nothing but tedious, and the treatment there was like walking into one of Valencia's higher-end cities. The people regarded themselves highly and practically spat on the shoes of visitors. His business there was always short, for multiple reasons.
Dea visibly perked up at this information. She watched the sea around them intently, leaning against the rail and kicking her boots excitedly. He noticed this and hummed to himself.
"-I thought so."
She whipped her head around, broken from her clear-daydreaming. "What?"
"You're Monquistan." He stated matter-of-factly, glancing through the eyes of his mask "-Aren't you?"
Dea grew defensive. He knew he was right. "I know how to play this game. You should quit while you're ahead, espía ."
Conversation became sparse after that. He moved his attention to sailing through the waters. He battled the whirlpools in the stormgate, though such an endeavor was no longer difficult, due to his extensive traveling. When they finally arrived on Monquistan waters, he was forced to present their appropriate windstone and paperwork. Once that was done, he navigated their way to find the lost target.
Dea was excited to visit her homeland, and made no effort to hide it. She conversed freely with officials they encountered. She took the responsibility of leading them on land, using shortcuts and routes that avoided the noble's attention. Deacon claimed to know these ways and often made use of them when he was in the area. Dea doubted his familiarity until she witnessed him speaking fluent Spanish with one of the locals. It was hard to miss the dialect he used.
"So, you come here often?" She prompted, easily matching his pace. He shook his head.
"It's helpful to know your way around, when you want to spend as little time as possible here."
She appeared to be offended, stopping mid-step. "-What's so bad about Monquista?"
He halted, glancing at her with impatient eyes. They were on a schedule. He couldn't afford a lengthy conversation in the middle of their mission. "If you don't share their blood, you're treated as an unwanted guest. I've had plenty of trouble getting to places. It isn't an issue anywhere else I've been – not the way it is here ."
He resumed his way, and she staggered behind. "Surely, it's not all *that* bad?
He didn't want to get into this right now. Monquista's infuriating politics were the last thing on his mind, with what they had to be doing. "Monquistians change their opinions on a whim; they can't make up their mind on * anything *. This is the only place I know of that will have several feuds going on at once, all of which contradict each other. It makes everything…messy."
"Valencia isn't perfect, either." She argued, reluctantly moving with him. They were close to the location they were looking for. "You think the people *here* are conceited? Hah! I've been mocked more times than anywhere else in my life."
"Then why do you stay there?"
She grew quiet at the question. She looked away and promptly dropped the conversation. He arched an eyebrow under his mask but didn't say anything. Questions brewed in his mind, but they didn't have any time for it. They'd have to be addressed later. The home they were looking for was now in sight.
A singular house sat at the edge of town, looking nearly abandoned if it weren't for the filled clothesline sitting beside its walls. Deacon summoned his protector palm pistol as they slowly advanced, concealing themselves early to avoid being spotted. He absentmindedly loaded his magazine as Dea observed the soundless structure.
"If we are lucky, our escaped criminal is inside." He tucked his cane out of view. "A retired woman is harboring them. What I do not know is how many people are present, and if they are expecting imprisonment."
"If they are, they will be ready." Dea added quietly.
He nodded and pulled out a pair of binoculars, passing her his spare. She took them and focused on their target, noting the lack of movement and any sign of present life.
"The smartest thing to do is scope it out," The spymaster resumed. "If our offender is present, we imprison them onboard the Executioner."
"-And if they aren't here..?"
"They *should* be." He replied firmly, leaving no room for question. He worked like Hell to learn where this escapee was, and he wasn't going to waste any chances. He had every sign pointing to this house - he was confident, lest he'd be wasting time here and disappointing Kane.
He couldn't afford to do that twice.
They sat for what felt like eternity. The blazing sun that was once ripe in the sky was now settling in-between the mountains, marking a pinkish hue across the clouds. Dea's back was starting to hurt while her arms grew sore from holding the binoculars. She dropped them with a groan and rubbed her aching muscles. Her head rolled over to her partner.
Deacon remained in silence, keeping a pristine stance with his eyes fixated on the house. It was incredible how his spine hadn't snapped in half from maintaining his crouched position for hours.
She was impatient. "How long do we have to do this?"
"I was once asked to survey for days straight," He replied, refusing to lower his tool. "If we do not see any signs of life by sundown, then we'll move on."
"Is this all you do?" She asked, exaggerating a yawn. "This must be the most boring job in the world."
"This is plenty exciting," He defended. He turned to look at her properly. His eyes didn't even look tired..!
"Don't you ever get restless? I mean, what do you… do..to pass the time with?"
He thought about her inquiry, tearing his attention away from their shared sight. "I bring a book. It keeps me busy."
"...You are the most plain man I have ever met."
He opened his mouth to rebut, but was cut off by the sound of a distant gunshot. They both jumped at the sudden noise - whipping their heads around to find the source. There were a group of archers and gunmen running in their direction. In this moment, the two of them would have to react accordingly.