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There’s an exam coming up — she knows because she helped write the test on one of her days off. She doesn’t think much of it when the stack comes back across her desk a few days later, after the exam has come and gone.

Then, it’s three reference texts on the Leicster Alliance, which she takes some note of but doesn’t really think about for longer than it takes to note them in her ledger of what’s been checked out.

It’s the third, massive stack (this time about battle formations through the ages), that gets her attention. It’s been the same person, week after week, with more books than she thinks even she could read in that time. Always with that same expression, that almost- impatience, to get at the words she guards with a pen and a list of what’s here and not.

This time, as she notes down the date in the front of each book, and then again on her list in front of her, she takes her time, building up words in her throat until they spill from behind her teeth —

“You, um, read a lot…!” It sounds even weaker than usual, and she feels her face flushing slightly. “Um, I mean… I like to read, um, as well.” She fidgets with her pen a moment. “…You read, um, a lot of the books I like.” She brings her gaze up from her work, peering behind blunt brown bangs to gauge a reply.

Mark’s eyes are wide and nervous as she pulls open the laundry bag she’s been given back — the red one, not the blue one she gave them, she’s certain! — and instead of lush greens and windswept traveling clothes, she finds rich royal blues and reds. She does not wear blue. She’s never worn blue. Blue would mark her a combatant, a threat, someone to kill instead of capture. She feels her stomach twist, even in this place of peace.

She tells herself that it will be no matter to get her clothes back. Surely she didn’t wear everything out of her closet this week, she thinks, before she opens the wardrobe to discover just that. The only other clothing item hanging inside is a nightdress, and while plenty of her fellow companions had seen her in one before, it wasn’t exactly under circumstances that allowed for her to change into anything else. Her gaze slowly falls back on the bag, its contents now spilled over her bedspread.

Who wore blue off the battlefield, that she knew? Her liege lords, for one. Nils and Ninian, a second. A few others she’d met in her time away from home, students and collegues alike. But there is one particular element, a cape lined on the inside with ruby red, that she is certain she does not recognize. Her lord Eliwood had worn a similar one, once upon a time, but there is a richness to this fabric that stops that line of thought immediately. That, and, she hadn’t seen Eliwood in a long time.

It’s not her cape, but she doesn’t have hers, she reasons, and she would be more than happy to clean it afterwards if the owner asked. She slides into a short blue tunic and wraps the cape around her shoulders. It doesn’t fit.

It’s only then that she realizes how heavy her normal cloak is, how grounding the weight is.

She cracks the door to her bedroom, and seeing no one, creeps down the hall and down to the courtyard, eyes wide enough to be seen even with her bangs over them. She glances around once, twice, searching desperately for any glimpse of green and dried grass. Hopefully whoever has her bag had the same idea, she thinks.

Mark wasn't sure how long she had been present, but something about her made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. The strange unease made him feel immediately guilty; it wasn't as though this girl had done anything to wrong him. There was just something about her that felt like he shouldn't be witnessing it, like he was gazing into a mirror that showed the wrong reflection. Maybe he just hadn't slept well enough the night before and was imagining things. That was hardly out of the question, given how poorly Mark tended to take care of himself.

He had long since lost track of how long he'd been in the monastery's library. So engrossed was he in the historical accounts of this land that he'd entirely failed to notice the passage of time. It was hardly a new phenomenon for him. Mark had been oblivious to the comings and goings of people around him the entire time he'd been reading. The girl in green could have been there the entire time, or she could have just now arrived. He had no real way of knowing. The cloak she wore looked so terribly familiar, though, and so did the name of the small placard on the desk in front of her.

Mark.

...Well, it wasn't like he was the only person in the world with the name Mark. It wasn't even his birth name, after all. Still, it compounded the odd feeling she gave him, one that compelled him to speak to the other Mark. Despite his usual reticence to begin conversation with strangers, he wandered over towards the other Mark before he had a chance to stop himself. Round, emerald eyes looked her up and down, trying to figure out what it was about her that felt so terribly and inappropriately familiar. He'd been staring all too long by the time he actually opened his mouth, and he was starkly aware of that fact. Not the best first impression, he knew that much.

"...Um, is your name-- uh, I'm also named Mark," he sheepishly introduced himself, a nervous smile creeping across freckled cheeks. "I've never run into anyone else with the same name as me. Well... I suppose there was Marcus, but I think he'd be upset if anyone ever shortened his name. You're... hi. It's, uh, n-nice to meet you?"

She’d known since he walked in that he’d been staring at her, and it was starting to annoy her ever so slightly. A few times she’d tried to catch his eye, and every time he’d avoided it, so she’d decided to just fluff her bangs over her eyes, shrug her cloak, and pretend it didn’t bother her.

She had her own things to work on — lesson plans for a strategy seminar she was being asked to teach, to cover another teacher’s absence. With specific focus on flying soldiers as enemies, she’d been instructed. A class of archers, or wind mages, if she had to guess.

Probably the archers. It was harder for them to hit their targets.

A shadow fell across her desk, and she looked up to see him, again, staring. More obviously this time.

“Can I help you?” Her voice is weak even on the practiced phrase.

He did — kind of look like her, now that she thought about it. There were enough differences, she was certain no one would mistake the two, but there was… an uncanniness, to it. His eyes were wide and emerald, and hers were hidden and ruby. He then mentioned Marcus, who — to her knowledge — wasn’t exactly a Public Figure. She narrowed her eyes slightly, thinking.

“Do… Do you know me…? From somewhere?” She felt her heartbeat pound just a little harder in her chest. Surely Bern hadn’t followed her all the way here. Surely…

“If you need, um, library help, I can…” but she trailed off. That wasn’t what he was here for — his posture said he was here to speak with her. Her vague attempts at a redirection would not work here. A breath, a beat.

He accepts his set of keys back with a jerky but still grateful nod, his expression apologetic for his overreaction.

"Mark, yes -- sorry for jumping like that. I'm sure it doesn't inspire much confidence for being a night guard, but I assure you, I'll strive to be a good partner," he fumbles for a moment, eyes going from her, to the pad in her hands and then the door before he settles on unlocking the old place and getting them inside. It's dark but for a few security lights, and he has to search somewhat blindly along the wall before he finds the switches to light up the necessary areas.

Their employer had stated that power was always an issue in old buildings such as this, especially with so much tech going into the entertainment and security. Flashlights while on patrol were encouraged over turning on all the lights.

Turning back to Mark, Harken gives her a slightly guilty look. "I'm...afraid I do not know much of any sign language, so don't hesitate to speak through your device as you need. I suppose I'll have to pick some up to make things easier for you." He'd never had much interest in other languages until he'd met Elbert, who'd had quite a few under his belt and was always keen to share.

He should have paid closer attention to those casual lessons, it would seem.

She taps at the pad again, spelling out a new sentence — “You don’t need to use sign with me, unless you’d like. I can teach you some basics.”

Upon mention of the franchise, she shudders slightly. “I did a bit of research before I came, but all I could find was mentions of crimes that were committed here.” Her face falls slightly. “Lots of murder has happened in this building. As for your other question, no. I’ve never worked a guard position. I used to service technology for a larger company, but…” She shakes her head. “They asked much of me. I did not wish to help their cause anymore.”

Their path takes them towards a small room with no doors hidden away behind a counter of some kind. Mark taps at her ipad a moment, bringing up a map of the building, before she points inside — our office.

It’s dark inside, is the first thing she notices. Then, the panel of camera feeds to switch from on the table in front of them, and an old, stuttering monitor showing their output. She moves right for the feeds, switching between them to get an idea of the place. One of them causes her to startle, nearly fumbling her ipad in the process. 3 pairs of eyes stare ahead, unblinking, riveted in place on a stage.