Talk of Balls... er... Ballroom Talk

Mission Details:

The guild called Errings Rising had an obsession with government policies and order, one that many believed was beyond "bordering on" and had gone shin deep into "very unhealthy". Belladonna personally believed that the guild was a sort of hypocrisy in itself; it required laws and rules to keep its members in check, but sought to pull down every sniffling of law and order wherever it was found. Errings Rising was a dark guild, so there would be quite a number who were there for nothing save to watch the world burn and dance on its ashes. Such people were very irresponsible, according to her. For when the world was destroyed, what was there to live in?

No, law and order could stay. What she could not and would not abide was when those who thought they were the powers that be started dishing out policies that made life difficult for either those who easily fit into the category of "oppressed", her family (which was Errings Rising), or herself. That was enough reason for her to wreak havoc and make a name for herself as a malefactor. And she never cared to explain herself. After all, humans found it so easy to jump to conclusions, so what was the point?

Today, she had picked an interesting mission from the guild board. The location was in Era, a place she rather disliked, for many reasons, some of which were obvious. It was a place where some wizened old museum rejects made laws that affected future generations, and then they would not live long enough to suffer at the works of their own hands. Most of the time, people expected mages such as herself to rush in, cause damage and destroy much good, then leave laughing, to the horror of bystanders. She was not interested in a body count today; it was not necessary. Those who stood in her way were just doing their job, like she was doing hers. It was simply a matter of "may the best person win". Nothing personal.

In fact, if she had her way, she would accomplish this mission without so much as knocking anybody out, but that depended on whether her plans went smoothly. The mission details had informed her that there was supposed to be some sort of law that was being deliberated upon by the magic council, and was about entering its implementation stages. And of course, that was where she came into the big picture. Her job was to get information about this new law, and deliver it to the guild master for subsequent action.

The venue was a ballroom. And that meant posh, unmannered snops who liked to think of themselves as important. What she liked was that in such balls, wine flowed merrily and freely. And where there was wine in liberality, tongues wagged in excess. In the perfect position, a flippant mouth was all she needed to get things done. But she might need solid proof concerning the law implementation. Frankly, she was not sure how she would come across such, but she reckoned that sooner or later, when she was in the thick of things, something might pop up. She would just have to play it by ear, then. The whole event was going down in the evening, as most social gatherings occurred, so Belladonna had most of all the day to plan and prepare as much as she could.

It was now twilight. The massive city of Era was bustling with activity, as expected. With mild distaste, Belladonna wondered if some people in this city actually slept at all, and her disinclination stemmed from the fact that most of the people who looked very active at this time of day looked more like spoilt rich wastrels or shady layabouts. A day of hard work would have most of its subjects at their homes, trying to get whatever rest they could. With no small humor, she realized that she probably fell into one of the two categories she had just considered, and her classification surely was not that of the perhaps more preferred "spoilt rich wastrel".

Finding her way to the ballroom location proved to be the easiest part of this mission. It was no secret that all the Tamsins, Toms, Dicks, Reginas, Harriets and Harrys who mattered a little were invited to the political gathering. Thus, it was the talk of the town. Belladonna had considered getting herself an invite somehow, but it had proved to be somewhat difficult to obtain. There was another option, which in her opinion, might produce even more desirable fruits than rubbing shoulders with the creme de la creme of the society. Besides, their company would have galled her anyway.

Hiding in plain sight was something she was getting a knack of performing rather beautifully.

From a distance, she could see the crowds that milled about the entrance, either trying to push impatiently through many human bodies, or hoping to find a way in through some sheer stroke of dumb luck or divine providence, or just hanging around and envying those who went in at the gate. There were four guards situated at the fashionable looking portals, ensuring that only those with the proper invitation cards were allowed entry. For a while, she watched them, idly considering her chances if she decided to storm them and make her way in. There was the possibility that she might be able to overpower them, but it went without saying that there were probably more powerful people within, and she would not want to draw attention to herself when she had no backups planned. Barging in through the front door was the easiest option, most likely, but the chances of failing the mission as a result were also very high. In her books, that was a no.

Belladonna watched the 'fortunate' guests as they made their way past the guards, many of them making a parade of sorts that reminded her of male turkeys on display. With a scoff, she rolled her eyes. This was another option presenting itself, actually. She could take some distance from this place, tail someone who was invited, and rob them of their invitation card, and perhaps even their clothes, for the spite of it. Most dark mages would take that line of thought without a second thought, but Belladonna liked to think that if she was to make life more difficult for someone, then that person had to deserve the punishment. Being a sycophant to a degree, trying to roll with people higher than one's station was annoying and deplorable, but perhaps it was not deserving of such a punishment. So, this option too, was a no.

There was the option of passing off for a guard. Belladonna almost laughed at the idea. Her height was nothing near intimidating, although some people had discovered the hard way that size surely mattered not, as far as she was concerned. Also, this city was Era, the capital of the Magic Council (if it could be called that) so it would not be impossible for the guards to be mages of some caliber. Regardless, she believed that the guards may figure her out to be an impostor quickly. Someone as short as herself would definitely be noticed, and so she would have to think up some really good excuse to explain why she was suddenly showing up. If she claimed to be replacing someone, they would likely check back at headquarters, and her bluff would be called. It would have been a good choice, to impersonate the guards, seeing that she would probably have access to certain places that were restricted, but pulling this one off was not likely. So, she would have to ditch this idea for another.

And last but not the least, she could go the most unassuming way, which was likely to succeed the most: become a waiter. As such, she would be able to pick up things people said, provided she found a way of hanging around them for long enough. To pass off as a waitress, she would require a uniform, but at least, it would not be easy for her to be identified as an infiltrator. Perhaps this one would work the best for a person quite like herself. Now, all she had to do was find herself a uniform...

Somehow, circumstances had made her work cut out for her. She noticed a large van, parked towards the rear of the building, which had a rather famous logo. It was the Griffon Rose. She identified it as a catering industry, which provided guest service during events that could pay for their resources. Belladonna walked towards the van, keeping an eye out for any security personnel who somehow might have taken note of her. She got to the van without incident, and looked round to see whether anyone was watching her. There was no serious security here; all that was present to provide access into the building was a small backyard door that probably led to the kitchen, where the Griffon Rose employees would be hard at work. Oh yes, a guard stood at that door, and only those wearing the uniform of the catering company were allowed in.

It was time for a little magic, and acting, on her part.

First, she put the van between herself and the guard, before he set his eyes on her, so that he was not aware that she was even there. Then, she placed both hands on the van, and slipped through the metal, into its interior. As she had hoped, there were some extra uniforms in the vehicle, as well as other paraphernalia that made not much sense to her. As quickly as she could, she found clothes that suited her the best, then changed into them, and stuffed her previous raiment into a duffel bag which she'd found in the van. Then, making sure with her Right Eye of the Mind that no one was in her line of sight when she would emerge (at least as far as she could sense), she slipped out of the van the same way she came, but waited. It was only when the guard was distracted with something that she made her move, and came in a hurry, huffing and puffing for all she was worth.

The guard gave her a once over, then said, "State your business."

She bowed quickly. "I'm so sorry, sir... I'm late. I know I shouldn't be, but things happened, and I... I ran as fast as I could..." she trailed off into a long detailed exposition, detailing why she needed the job and all the misfortunes that had happened to her up to that point (all of which were fabricated, of course). The guard was about to reply, when a short man (who was still taller than she was, sadly) poked out his head from behind the guard and snapped at her: "What in tarnation are you doing, just standing there and socializing, when we've got our hands full?! The cocktails aren't going to serve themselves." He paused. "Can't say I've seen you before..." he muttered.

"No, you haven't sir. I was employed just yesterday. I'm so sorry; it's unprofessional of me to..."

"Will you get in here and make yourself useful, for the love of Fiore?!" the man interrupted with a savage bark, causing Belladonna to jump with a suppressed whelp. Then she hurried to the door, looked at the guard who was grinning amusedly at her, sheepishly gave another apology to the short man as she squeezed past him, and fled for where the main hub of serving was going on. Quite naturally, she wouldn't allow anyone to boss her about like that, unless she was assured that the person was her superior, but sacrifices had to be made, and this was a little one. Besides, she didn't know of any ego which she had to stoke, that the man would have bruised with his crotchety behavior.

There were people who found serving others to be a galling occupation. Belladonna considered this as a simple case of doing business. She would offer her services "for free" (because the Griffon Rose was not paying her now, was it?), but her clients would pay in information, without their knowing it.

And everyone would be happy at the end. She smiled slightly. The first phase of her infiltration plan had been so far successful.

The kitchen was a maelstrom of activity. Orders were being yelled here and there, bustling bodies hurried to and fro. Belladonna, hastening from the presence of her not-so-friendly boss, did not bother stopping to either take in the sights, or ask for directions. She didn't want an undesirable scenario to present itself, where she would be employed by a unit in need of hands, that was not involved in the serving of the guests. So, she first located the person who looked like they were in charge of the work she was after, while still in motion. It was not difficult to find the tall, stern-faced, bespectacled lady, who seemed to have a noble air about her. She never seemed to raise her voice, yet amid the din and clatter of fervent service, her voice seemed to be heard by those to whom she gave instructions. Belladonna went straight to her and gave a slight bow.

"Sorry I'm late, ma'am," she apologized, as if she was expected. The lady turned to look at her with a raised eyebrow, but said nothing. Belladonna maintained a calm, slightly sheepish smile on her face, but inwardly, she was hoping against all hope that somehow, this woman would not call her bluff. Naturally, the number of people carrying trays was supposed to be large enough so that whoever was in charge would be unable to identify all of them personally. So, with any luck, the woman would just assume that she was on the team and get her working.

"You're not part of the ball room waiters," the woman said simply. "I know each of the twenty five persons under me, and you don't ring a bell in my memory."

Okay, this was not very good. Belladonna's mind began working fast. She would have to come up with a new plan on the spot, but she never liked schemes that were not well thought out. Maybe she would just apologize again, and beat it before the waiter head made things more complicated for the mission. She opened her mouth to speak, but the tall woman raised a finger.

"Aha! I understand, now." The woman smiled slowly, but her features remained mostly enigmatic. "Old Jenkins finally realized that my team was understaffed, and sent you along, right?"

"Yes, ma'am!" Belladonna asserted quickly, grateful that the tides were turning in her favor, and having not the slightest inkling who Jenkins was. Perhaps it was the short, choleric fellow who had given her an abrasive welcome. "Heh! He can never just admit he's wrong... but that will be for me to point out in less wearisome conditions. What's your name, child?"

Child? Was it her height that informed the woman's appellation? Well, frankly, Belladonna was still young, so it wasn't like the woman wasn't almost right. "Maudlin," she answered. It was never wise to give your true identity in a clandestine mission such as this. Every good spy had to know this. "Well, Mabel, I hope you know how to serve drinks, but you should; there's nothing to it. Just be civil in spite of whatever nonsense anyone says to you, smile always, and make the little rich brats out there feel important."

"Yes, ma'am."

"'Child'? 'Little rich brats'? Lady, just how old are you?!" Belladonna wondered, wisely keeping those thoughts to herself. The woman directed her to where she could get her silver tray, and where she would load up the drinks, and bade her good luck. Belladonna was already on her way to get busy, when she heard the woman behind her. "Oh, Maudlin?" She turned and saw the woman holding out a red ribbon, of matching color as the skirt Belladonna wore. With a confused expression, she took the clothing accessory, and waited for a reason, which came promptly.

"You may want to tie up that messy mane of hair into a ponytail or something. Frankly, it makes you look cute, but in a... tousled sort of way. Here, it's all hair strands in place and all that."

Belladonna thanked her, and pulled her hair into the desired hair style. Once she had accomplished this, she went for her weapon of choice, the serving tray. Once armed, she went over to the bar (was that what this contraption was called?) and loaded up about four expensive looking wine glasses which were half-filled with some stuff, hopefully alcoholic.

Then into the ball room she went, smiling as cheerfully as she could muster, with her ears as wide open as possible.

This was the most important part of the mission.

The ballroom was loud and gaudy, at least that was what Belladonna thought about it. The false laughter, fake smiles and the desire to show off was almost overwhelming. It was in times like these that Belladonna would have liked to use her powers to throw the party into a state of irrevocable bedlam, but willpower and common sense stayed her hand. She carried her tray with a dainty grace, moving towards those who for some reason had empty hands. And almost always, they would request for her to come over, that they would not be found without a wine glass. As long as they kept drinking the stuff in it, Belladonna was satisfied. She trusted that the liquor would do its work, in time.

It was about an hour and a half of constant walking to and fro, bearing banal ribaldry and pompous impoliteness, that she began to sense the fruits of her labor were ripening. All over the hall, people gathered in cliques and groups, discussing a very colorful variety of topics, while soft music played in the background. Then, at length, a heavily mustached man suddenly raised his glass and called for a toast:

"A toast! To Lord Rickley for such a generous ball, and to Meister Heldt for his contributions in the development of the White Arm Act!"

Most of the participants of the ball, who were by now merry with wine, obliged the man and cheered, clinking their glasses with such reckless abandon (in some cases) that Belladonna was sure some of them would break. Fortunately, such a thing didn't occur. At least, not in her presence. And then, after most people drained their glasses, the juicy parts began.

"Say, Lord McCarry," a tall, gaunt elder with silvering hair and a strong Pergrandian accent ventured, tapping the mustached man gently on the arm. "What's the business with this White Arm Act?" He gestured to Belladonna to get him more wine, and while she nodded with a smile and went to carry out his order, inwardly, she was not so pleased. Now was not the time for the man who looked like some vampiric count from a child's tale to send her on an errand. Still, she went, as swiftly as she could afford, even taking the effort to bring extra drink for anyone else who would require it. She had three different bottles of wine, so that she would have the excuse of standing at their arm and waiting on them to fill any emptying cups immediately. Not many people were still interested in their drinks, having chosen to indulge in food next, save a few groups, one of which was the one with Mr. Mustache and the vampiric looking count.

She was back at the count's elbow with the drinks, and as she dutifully filled his glass, she listened attentively to how the conversation flowed.

"Pish, McCarry," a rather fat noble was saying, "surely, the Magic Council doesn't allow just about anyone to listen in on their meetings..."

"I'm not 'just about anyone'," McCarry interjected hotly, obviously displeased by how lightly the rotund man had taken his status ranking. "Not only was I in that meeting, I did contribute much, and even signed a document..."

"Why you would actually allow a very few people with such power to run around and make decisions that affect the majority is what still escapes me about your country, not withstanding the pleasant airs and wonderful cuisines," the Count intoned. So, the man was a foreigner. Perhaps on some diplomatic mission, but had enough prestige to be invited to the ball.

"That's the reason I was invited to the conference," McCarry responded importantly. "Our mages must be accountable to all of us, and they must use their power for our good. I think the White Arm Act will help regulate some things to that regard."

Perhaps the overweight man had some grievance, or petty envy held against McCarry, for he took the role of skeptic once more. "I still quite do not buy it, McCarry. Why, you have no proof that you were present in that meeting."

At this, McCarry turned bright red, then he seemed to calm down, his face twisting into a condescending sneer. "I sense that a certain someone here is green with jealousy, since he was not invited to a closed-door meeting, while I was. I have proof enough, Sir Belman, in the form of a document that details the synopsis of the Act, along with the signatures of those present, mine included."

Belman, not eager to be the loser of this little demonstration of importance, was about to say something, but the Count gestured impatiently. "Lord McCarry will have to show us this document, I suppose, so that we may end this tiresome quarrel and speak of other matters that do not involve the both of you being at each other's throats." he raised an eyebrow at McCarry, who did not seem bothered with the suggestion.

"Yes, yes. But not here. Perhaps tomorrow morning. I have it safely locked in my room. You can't expect me to carry around an important document as that one on me all the time, Belman. It could be easily misplaced in a place like this."

The Count, who had just emptied his glass, waved Belladonna away when she offered to refill it. "I'm quite about bursting at the seams, thank you. I'd prefer some peace and quiet at the moment. Tomorrow is a busy day." He turned to McCarry. "To which room did the valet bear my bags?"

"Room 207. It's the room just opposite mine."

"Ah... that's fine. Very well, then. I shall see you in the morning, gentlemen."

The Count bowed quaintly, then turned on his heel and walked off. Belladonna, acting like she was returning to the kitchen to continue working, slipped into a corridor off to the side, when she was sure no one was watching, and instantly activated her Transient Whisper. She was a bit surprised when a moment later, a guard poked his head in and looked about.

"Must have gone back to the kitchen. A door connects to it from here... Okay, sir."

He left, and Belladonna released her bated breath. Then, using her Right Eye of the Mind, she located the Count and silently made her way towards where he was. By this time, he was on the second floor, just getting into his room. From what she could sense about the building, it was some sort of hotel, and many of the guests were probably going to spend the night there. It was best if she found what she was looking for before McCarry returned to his room. The less people around, and the sooner she was done, the better for the success of the mission.

She had noticed that there was a lone figure that moved from a floor above her, when the guard made his communication. He was a guard, but the way he walked, not to mention the room he came from, seemed to imply that he was important, perhaps their boss. She put as much distance as she could between herself and him; such people were mostly trouble for the likes of her, and instead of taking the stairs to get to where she wanted, she simply "walked" up her own "stairs", which were made from nothing. Her magic enabled her not only to climb higher, but also to phase through the floor and access the floor above.

And thus she got to the second floor. Unseen, silent as a ghost, Belladonna crossed the hallway to the room opposite 207, and passed through the wall. Now, the issue was to discover where he had kept it. McCarry seemed too confident and indignant to have been lying, so the document was here somewhere... but the question was, where?

Belladonna closed her eyes and focused, activating her Left Eye of the Mind. Time seemed to fly backwards as a spectral McCarry walked backwards into the room, and did everything in reverse. She watched as the apparition eventually opened a box, and took a rolled parchment out of it. Took it out, because it was all in rewind. Belladonna walked to the box and opened it. And there, in the box, was the rolled up parchment.

She picked it and unrolled it, and her eyes rested on a lot of words, with signatures at the bottom. At the top of the page was written: "The white Arm Act Proposition".

Mission accomplished.

All of a sudden, she heard voices outside, and a key turning in the lock. Swiftly, she closed the box and ran through the wall and into the air above the courtyard at the side of the large mansion. Below, she could still hear the sounds of the ball. Nothing here was important, anymore. So far, she had enjoyed some very good luck. It was best to get away before Nemesis came around and balanced it all with some really uncanny bad luck.

The parchment clutched tightly in her left hand, she ran off into the night, unseen and unheard by the world around, her heart light with pleasure.

She had feared that she would report back to the guild master with only a spoken report to back her claims, but this was surely an unquestionable success.

Victory always tasted sweet.