Spy (Scaramouche x Reader)

☾ Chapter 7 ☽

The next morning, you awoke in the hotel A.C.E had assigned you with a feeling of accomplishment. Last night's success had given you new motivation, but you knew that maintaining your cover and getting more valuable information out of the Balladeer would mean you needed patience and skill.

If you were being honest, you were interested in his history. His crimes were only scratching the surface.

What else is he hiding?

As you sit on the leather couch and sipped on a cup of (F/D), exhausted from running around the previous night. 

Social battery really is a thing, huh?

As you brought the cup to your lips for another sip, three quiet knocks suddenly sounded at the door, followed by a long scratch. It went quiet.

You immediately set your drink down as you recognized the sound. Every handler at A.C.E had a knock that their assigned mercs knew, strictly for operations. They would send messengers to where the mercenary was living to deliver notes.

As per protocol, you waited ten minutes in case any threats were lurking to see if you'd come outside.

After the time frame, you stood up and walked over to the door, swinging it open. After looking around to make sure no one was around, you lifted the corner of the dusty doormat and pulled out the piece of paper you knew would be there. You closed the door quickly, inspecting the note.

You recognized A.C.E's seal, confirming that it was indeed meant for you. Breaking the seal, you unfolded the crinkled paper and read the contents.

𝓜𝓲𝓭𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽,  𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓡𝓮𝓭 𝓕𝓸𝔁 𝓣𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓷.

You memorized the location and message, then submerged it into your drink, destroying it. It was something all mercs were trained to do, destroying their messages one way or another. It ensured that there was no evidence of communication or involvement with A.C.E.

You decided to spend the day being useful for once, since normally you'd procrastinate your work until Gunnar assigned you a job.

You read up on high society etiquette and how to formally greet people older than you or at a higher rank than you. You also made sure you knew how to pronounce the names of the well known people around here in case it came up in conversation with others.

You squint at the screen. "Sir Don. No, Deen." You groan and run a hand down your face. "If Sean is 'Shawn' then why is Dean still Dean?"

The cycle repeated.

Before you knew it, The sun began its descent, casting a golden hue over the town. The air grew cooler, the sound of the crowd outside gradually subsiding as people returned home. Streetlights flickered on, illuminating a ring of light around themselves.

As midnight approached, you wore a simple black cloak and slipped out of the shabby hotel where you were staying. The streets were quiet, and you made your way to The Red Fox Tavern with learned stealth. The tavern was a modest place, far out from the opulence of the palace, but it definitely served as a good meeting place.

Inside, the atmosphere was calm and quiet, with only a few people eating and drinking at scattered tables. Dingy fluorescent ceiling lights flickered on and off, creating an eerie effect.

Your eyes searched the rows of tables, finally landing on the back of a familiar grey coat. 

You made your way to the table where Mr. Gunnar awaited you. His expression softened slightly as you sat down across from him.

"Dagger." he greeted you, using your alias. "Is it safe to assume you made good progress?"

It was common knowledge for handlers to never use a merc's name in public. That's what aliases were for. You got yours from your signature dagger. It was what you were famous for, "that merc that killed a whole trafficking gang with just her dagger."

"I did," you reply, taking a seat across from him. "The Balladeer's taken an interest in me, I think. I'm confident I can do this with a little more time."

"Good," Gunnar said, nodding approvingly. "But be careful. I'm sure you're aware of how dangerous of a man he is." He rests his elbows on the table. "What've you learned?"

You recounted your interactions with the Balladeer, particularly mentioning his interesting circle of friends.

"He's got this group of friends who look pretty well-off. Based on what I've gathered, they don't seem to know of his identity, which makes me think those people are just more rich puppets the Balladeer is gathering to fulfill whatever plan he's cooking up."

"It seems he's careful not to reveal too much," Gunnar said, fidgeting with the pen in his fingers. "We need more evidence to figure out what he's doing. Can I trust you to continue playing this part?"

"Yes," You say firmly, "I'll do it."

"One more thing," Gunnar added, handing you a beautiful, intricately designed key.

You take the key and inspect it, impressed by its craftsmanship. It was white key with painted vines and roses reaching up from the base and wrapping around the stem. "What's this for?"

"By word of mouth, I've been hearing rumors that 'Lady (Y/N)' lives in Celeste Nobilis. I've decided its better if the story matches up."

Your jaw slowly drops. "You mean...?"

"A.C.E has always had one of our trusted mercenaries stationed in Celeste, but she was assigned to a long mission in another country, so she won't be coming back anytime soon. I have her permission to lend the house to you for the duration of the mission. If there's ever a time you need something to prove or confirm your identity to other nobles, now you have it."

Your eyebrows furrow in surprise. "You're telling me we have mercs in Celeste? We've had mercs in Celeste? How'd you even manage that?"

A mysterious smile creeps up on Gunnar's face. "We have mercs everywhere, (Y/N)." He says vaguely.

You decided not to question it further. 

I mean, I guess it makes sense.

"Oh, one more thing," You say. "When he introduced himself to me, he used the name 'Scaramouche.' I don't know if it's his real name or not, he could just be using a fake one among nobles to throw them off."

Gunnar raised his eyebrow. "Scaramouche, huh? I'll keep it in mind."

You exchanged a few more words before parting ways. You returned to the scruffy hotel, mind racing with plans for your next move. 

The key felt like both a gift and a burden, you only hoped it would be enough to help conceal your identity for now.