> You had mostly kept to yourself during the second week of preparations for Operation Takeover. The only times when you went out was to either hire more mercenaries or participate in the war councils with Ms. Sax- No, wait "Lady" Saxon - and Flamma.
> Enough socializing to last you several months in the span of two weeks.
> At least the meetings provided some entertainment, especially when Ms. Saxon convinced Flamma that desecrating the same grave over and over was for the greater good. Personally, you would've went for the desecrate multiple graves option. But the superhero bringing that vehicle over without realizing the ironic implications definitely took the cake.Â
> Of course, it was the planning for this little venture that piqued your interest.
> You hired enough mercenaries for the operation, a good number of squads that were nothing more than pieces on the grand board that was Trifolium Square. Some, of course, were more valuable than others as each one had their own unique weapons, but none were queens or even rooks.
> In fact, the only queens you had in your disposal was Ms. Saxon and Flamma. And they already knew how to maximize their effectiveness on their board.Â
> Â Your opponent on the other hand had strength in the form of an army of pawns. But to assume that was their only strength would be folly. You are already aware of the technological advantage of the other side; you've been trying to reverse-engineer that technology after all. You were even aware of the possibility of encountering magic and Phenotypes...
> But it was the opposing side's computer expertise that worried you. Mostly because it was something that you could understand.
> If Elias's "Cricket" was participating, your own effectiveness as the King might be severely limited. It was your job to coordinate the mercenary groups, "recruit" unwilling members to the fray, and play trumps as needed. And Cricket could compromise that...which was why you were here in this police station masquerading as a middle-aged obese handicapped man trying to get into a stall with the help of a friendly police officer.
> You reach into your bag, its appearance occluded by the illusion produced by your "watch."Â
Sorry for this.
> Before the police officer could offer a reply, you press the two metal ends against the man's side and pull the trigger. Instantly, the man went into convulsions. As his spasms stopped and his eyes glazed over in unconsciousness, you put your fingers over his neck, making sure he still had a pulse.
> Thank god. Now here comes the hard part.
> With a grimace, you avert your gaze and pull the man's pants down. You seat him on the handicapped toilet and lean his head against the brown wall. It was mostly to get him out of the way, but if you were lucky, he might believe he fell asleep on the toilet.
> Pfft. Yeah right.
> You press the button on your Disguiser and take on the officer's appearance. Locking the stall door, you crawl underneath it before leaving the bathroom altogether to carry out your plan of leaving some hardware behind. Â
> Something hits you in that very moment, causing you to slap your forehead.Â
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Sofia intrigues Euridice. It isn’t simply a matter of the magic and power that she can sense, though it does play a large part. Instead, she is fascinated by what Sofia represents: a fusion of magic and machine - of Mage and Modernist ideals.
Does the fusion enhance or damage her magical prowess? Is the increased resistance to physical blows worth the apparent decrease in mobility? Does the combination make her an Outsider, a being whose soul and body are one and the same, or will breaking the body release the soul?
Questions, so many questions, that she wants to ask… but they are not the sort of questions that a merely knowledgeable disciple of magic say. Asking such questions out of the blue, Euri feels, would cast far more suspicion on her.
However, Sofia’s state of being is only Euridice’s penultimate interest. Instead, it is the woman’s personality and the way she wields it against others that Euri finds is the most fascinating thing about her.
She carefully notes the ways she tries to get under her employer’s skin, patiently endures the woman’s stabs to her burning pride, and focuses on the casual yet distinguished apathy that she emanates.
Gestures, words, and intonations - all these, she carefully reflects upon and even practices in her off time. All for the singular purpose of integrating those tactics into her own arsenal and wield them too against others.
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