The Exiled Gem

The Passing Out Ceremony

333 B.C. - Idgard

Although we try to control it in a million different ways, the only thing we can do to time is either enjoy it, or waste it. That's it.
- A. J. Compton

The ceremony was good. More than good: it had been wickedly splendid and pleasurable. Alexandra - or perhaps, Mabel - a fully trained Secret Agent, aged twenty one, was all prepared to leave for her first quest, her first trial.

But the ceremony had been good: the huge Arena - where she was finally not one of the spectators, rather one of them getting felicitated - felt good. All the fifth years sat in the crowds, with the rest of the Council. Fannel was there, he occupied the seat right next to her and from time to time, muttered something undeniably funny into her ear, forcing her to a snort.

'Look - there! Ah, this one looks like a boar who's lost his tusks. What say?' 

Alexandra covered her eyes, shook her head and doubled over, laughing. 'Can you please stop! I won't even be able to hear my name being called!' She chided, recovering and turning to look at him reproachfully. 

Had she ever been a princess? Had she ever walked through polished, narrow aisles, decked in glittery robes? Had there ever been that modest, sparkling tiara settled atop her brown mane? All of that seemed far, far away - almost non-existent. If she ever wondered where Olivia and Rose were, that curiosity was trampled down instantly by her stubborn unconcern. All in all, after six years, the toils of the Espionage had bore fruit and succeeded in making her a true spy.

As she watched Mark Fannel, she realized that over the years, he had turned out to be much more striking that her first impression of him had credited. He sometimes recounted (confidentially) the trouble that a great deal of jobless women gave him, on trials. 

At least he went through that distress in trials - Alexandra was encountering it in the very Council. In her fifth year, when she had started mingling with the majority of the Spies - one thing had become clear to her: she had changed, and that change had somehow made her lovelier - or prettier - or comelier. Whichever word suited best in this scenario, could be chosen. The main point was that it made life a tad bit more difficult, because quite a few agents (seniors, to make matters worse) seemed to be keen on her. Time and again, one or the other proposal materialized - and then, she would have about two seconds to think of a way out of it.

But with experience, she had learnt about - and devised of - a three-step method to escaping any proposal, without harming feelings. She called it The Disarming Triplet:

Step 1: Look into the eyes of the person and do not speak a word - let them complete - and you will know when they are done speaking.

Step 2: Clasp the person's hand in both of yours. Beware, DO NOT break eye-contact. Make it slow and real and emotional. Do it truly, like you mean it. And give the person the brightest smile possible - let your eyes shine and your glow intensify - do not hold anything back.

Step 3: Say in the most earnest and sincere way possible, "I do love you," and then, without letting the silence stretch for too long, throw in your winning card. Address them, with a nod, and without hesitation. Repeat, and add: "I do love you, dearest brother."

Check mate.

'What am I here for then? I'll go and collect the badge on your behalf.' Mark replied. After travelling in the realms of her thoughts for so long, she had almost forgotten what they were talking about. After a bit of initial confusion, she realized he was talking about the Passing Out they were all sitting for.