They only meet when they have to.
One agent, to collect undercover, while there was one handler, to ensure that their identity hardly spread, even amongst their own members. Secrecy a must, in a WAR BEING WAGED within the shadows. Where people disappeared into thin air, and the enemy hiding behind the silver clang of masks to protect themselves from each other, and from those that they sought to oppress. Too many people, stuck inside, now, praying that that might be what saved them from the quiet horror that spreads amongst the streets, that whispers from the night.
When they’d been in school, they’d hardly ever spoken to one another - close quarters, what borders did exist, did nothing to bring souls any closer together than what they were willing, and at the time, they’d been so disparate. But now there’s a sense of INTIMACY brewed from what trust must be afforded to one another, Marlene playing the role of the other when arriving in hotels dressed, like an affair was being had, red lipstick slick into a smirk, discretely tucking a borrowed key within a pocket as she ascends the stairs.
How funny that this would have been considered more proper, now, then what others felt if Jaxon was some Mugblood cast off. It’s enough to set one to rolled eyes and sighs, but, right now she rather slips through a door, already pulling delicately at the scarf that wraps about her neck, heels kicked off into an impolite pile at the end of a hotel bed. “PLEASE TELL ME that there’s good news from those above. I’ve been watching the Zabinis moving all their investments over the last few weeks, I know that they’re ready to make a play in short order.”
