[Spymaster Log] Yatagarasu

In a bar half a notch below classy on an evening half a notch above dreary, a red-haired woman dressed in bright, offensive yellow waved toward the door. There wasn’t really any danger of her companion MISSING her – nobody missed her, when she wanted to be seen – but the kind little gestures of normalcy still existed even between people like them.

“You changed your outfit.” This kind of greeting was as good as any, Vintage decided. It wasn’t like they’d gotten a chance to talk in…a while. Quite a while. “The Eleventh Yatagarasu?” she added, sliding into the booth. The redhead shifted smoothly into a pout.

“I don’t spend my ENTIRE life pretending to be other people.”

Vintage quirked an eyebrow.

“I don’t spend my entire life pretending to be previous Spymasters.”

Higher, she decided. She could quirk it just a little higher. Reginald’s head tilted coolly to the side. The redhead – colloquially the Spymaster, ceremonially the Fourteenth Yatagarasu, often Yuri Satou, and to her closest friends, a pain in the ass – slumped in her seat.

When it became abundantly clear that pouting wasn’t going to get her anywhere, however, she snapped back up into a smile.

“So how was she?” The Spymaster chirped, leaning in.

“Your suggestions were…helpful. She really holds a crowd like nobody I’ve ever seen. Well, outside of a few bloody battles, back in the day.” Ah, whiskey. When you get it straight, you don’t even have to wait for your drink. Vintage gestured to the bartender to leave the bottle. “I missed the beatboxing, though. Damn shame.”

“I…No, no, Shijou’s great, but that’s not…” Her friend’s shit-eating smirk informed the Spymaster that she was well-aware that it wasn’t. She sipped at her own minty aberration of a beverage. Vin hadn’t changed much, she decided. “I MEAN the new Warmaster.”

“Matsuda, hm…” She sipped at her whiskey, then after some deliberation, dribbled a little bit from her personal flask into the glass. Reginald fluttered down from her head to perch on the bottle, and as she rose her glass again, she paused long enough to let him snap up a tiny beakful.

“She’s screwed,” the former Warmaster decided, and left a small pause to let it sink in. “Or worse, she isn’t, and she’ll end up like us.” Vintage’s laugh was sharp and bitter, and she downed a shameless mouthful of amber salvation. “Doesn’t even enjoy it, you know, she’s wound up tighter than…well, you. And that’s before the paperwork! But I’m sure Mami will keep her going long enough to do what she needs to do. Or at least, long enough to find someone better for it.”

“Aw, that’s mean. I kind of got this troubled loner vibe from her, myself. Like, she wants to enjoy it, but she doesn’t want to give in to the MONSTER WITHIN.” The Spymaster sighed, tracing the rim of her drink with a manicured finger.  “I just want to hug her and tell her it’s okay to let go a little bit.”

“Is that before or after you crush her under your silken heel, or however it is you put it nowadays?”

“Presentation is an important part of a high-class meal. You can’t just dig into it like an animal, you have to savor it with all of your senses.”

A pause, then a grin split her face.

“She’ll probably hate me, for a while. That’s kinda fun, too.”

---

It was a few drinks in when Vintage got to her point – or, perhaps, when the Spymaster got to hers.

“So have you reconsidered yet?” it was a quiet, earnest question, one that cut through the relaxed, almost jovial tone of the conversation like a pop-culture katana. The Spymaster’s smile faded, her form flickered, insubstantial and impossible to look at before settling elsewhere – a tall, buxom figure with silver hair, hunched over the booth as if weighed down by years at the top. She still smiled an awkward and forced smile, as she took a reflexive glance around. Nobody was looking.

Nobody here would look, nobody here would know, or even remember differently, aside from the two of them. She could hardly call herself the best in the business if she couldn’t manage that much.

“…You know I’d like to, Vin. Things got complicated down here recently – I’m sure you know about that – and I’m not…” She scratched at the back of her neck, looking at anything but her friend. “There’s nobody to take over. Nobody I trust enough.”

“…I’m sure the Thirteenth would. Satou was-“

“Completely insane? Yeah, no thanks.” She downed the rest of her drink and ordered a beer instead. “I’ve got a few people in mind, but they’ve all got problems I’d need to iron out. I don’t think I can do that anytime soon. Two of them aren’t even contracted, and one of those isn’t even a prospective, just…a hunch, I guess. I think she’ll do well, but she needs training from the ground up.”

“What about your Equerry?” Reginald dipped his beak into Vintage’s drink for the twentieth time.

“Ugh, the moment something pisses her off the war paint will go on and the whole Yatagarasu legacy’ll go down the toilet. Two’s great, but she’s not really…like…you know? And that leaves Prime and your little sister. And your sister’s…well, she doesn’t lay around in her room all day snacking anymore, right? But there are a lot of complications.”

“I’ll ignore the shot at my family for now.” The former Warmaster smiled a little, and the Spymaster smiled in turn. It seemed to lift the mood a bit.

“And, I mean, I’m not giving Prime the satisfaction. I’d rather chew my own soul gem than let her think she’s right.”

“And she hates you, doesn’t she?”

“She doesn’t HATE me.” The Spymaster paused, poking at her beer bottle with a fingertip. “…Do you think she hates me?”

“Without a doubt.” Vintage shrugged, taking a deep draught of whiskey. She froze halfway through as a small noise escaped her companion’s throat, then reached across to pat her shoulder. “Not everyone can like you. Not even when you’re perfect. Arguably, perfection is repulsive for people raised in an imperfect society. On top of being entirely subjective to begin with.”

“Thanks. You sure tried.” A little smile from the Spymaster lit up the booth again. Just a little bit. A few minutes passed between them, but each had slowed down, for the most part, to nursing their drinks.

“…It’s ungodly boring up there. It makes me want to choke someone.” Vintage broke the silence, and the Spymaster snorted. “No, really. It’s like Warmaster duties but with none of the interesting bits, all the time. Are you SURE you haven’t reconsidered? We could raise Hell up there. It would be just like Bogota.”

“Sure, Bogota was FUN, but Satou never let me forget it. …Geez, I was still pretty green back then…”

“You’ll always be green to me.” The near-predatory grin was enough to make the Spymaster laugh, with a snort at the end that made her stop and cover her nose.

“Oh, Shempai~”

---

Another few minutes passed as things edged toward awkward again. This time, it was the former-redhead that spoke first.

“…It’s really bothering you, isn’t it? Being stuck up there?” Vintage’s eyes met hers, and she glanced down to Reginald, as if to check something with him.

“I don’t hate it. Quite the opposite, I’m proud to be there. But it isn’t without its downsides.” She lifted the whiskey bottle again, then let it drop back on the table.

“…It isn’t Varrigan, you know. The procedure’s been developed. Refined. It won’t turn you into a monster.” She paused, then shook her head. “Not you in particular, anyway.”

“Do you think I’m afraid of turning into a monster? I spent like half of my childhood wanting to be a giant spider-“

“I do. You are.” She shut down all protest, and their eyes met again. The Spymaster was exposed to a cold certainty in Vintage’s tone that jabbed her at her core. “…I know you’re trying to work the angles, here. I know you hate being uncertain more than anything else in the world. But we have our secrets to keep, and I’ve given you more than I can afford to in trying to put your mind at ease. I need something definitive.”

Vintage pushed herself to her feet, finishing off her drink shortly thereafter.

“I…I’ll start lining up scenarios and running numbers. I’ve got handlers on the humans testing their capabilities, and Two and Three might be able to function together well enough to make up for Two’s…thing. Mmkay? I’ve got your back, darling.” The Spymaster winked, a tiny, glowing star bouncing out from the edge of her eye.

“Sooo….” Awkwardly, she slid out of the booth, and joined Vintage on a march to the door. “You staying earthside for the night?”

“I could be convinced.” Some of the ice in the Maerorus’s tone melted away, and the Callidus eased her arm around her waist.

“We could play truth or dare. Or practice kissing.”

“Hah. Just like middle school.”

---

In a hotel room half a notch below classy, the woman colloquially known as the Spymaster woke up alone. Well, alone save for a small, fat, red-eyed crow with a letter clutched in its beak. On the front was a name, one many people had spoken since she became the Fourteenth Yatagarasu, but one only a handful could give any real meaning.

-For the time being, I’ve decided to leave Reginald in your care. Think of him as your own personal Yatagarasu – take him with you as much as you can, and you’ll always have my eyes on you.

         -Vin-

She wasn’t sure whether it was romantic or threatening. Maybe that was the fun of it.