Operation Reconnaissance

01000 Winter Hush

The cardboard smoked, leaving hot to mix with the cold. In the center, a tiny red circle was pierced cleanly through with a rapid bullet. Tristan clapped slowly, standing up from the bench he was on minutes ago. He took the pistol from Rosalind's grasp, taking off the long metal silencer. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, barely bright enough to be blinding.

"Not bad," The intelligent boy begrudgingly said, eliciting a small laugh from the spy in training. "Still not good enough, though." He added a moment later.

Rosalind stuck her gloved hands into her coat, breathing out a long puff of white air in the cold weather. Her black hair contrasted with the white melting flakes of snow. The fencer had been practicing with Tristan ever since the start of autumn, to what was now mid-winter. It would seem as though nature was in their favor, prolonging the dead of the nights and delaying the rise of the sun, giving them more time to rest, more time to practice. Through many fortnights, the two had grown considerably close, as did the fencer with the other three.

"Tomorrow is winter solstice," Rosalind stated.

The spy huffed, a string of white air following, covering his face for a few seconds. He hauled the board up and chucked it deeper into the forest.

"I know that," replied Tristan, "I've got work to do."

"Oh?" the fencer questioned, starting forwards once the intelligent boy finished tidying up. Tristan caught up with her, carefreely kicking up white powder as he went.

"I am the only one that can crack some weapons up and get the information out of them. Central's got their own things to do and you four..." Tristan trailed off, knowing what he nearly said wasn't the nicest. "Aren't really suitable." He later added.

"I do know my fair share of weapons," said Rosalind, "I've been studying." Tristan looked up from his shuffling feet, wondering if she was insinuating something.

"I'd like some help, then, if that's what you're offering."

"Knew you'd figure out," laughed the fencer, running forwards in a gleeful twirl, "I guess I've got a reason to not go to the ball now."

"What have you got against dancing and balls?"

The fencer didn't reply. She simply shrugged and smiled, a slight glimmer in her eyes that Tristan caught onto, however abstruse.

---

The spy tugged at his tie, desperately trying to loosen it from his neck. His partner came tsk-ing over, tightening it up once more. Lancelot slapped her hand away, ripping the tie off his neck and frustratedly throwing it onto the bed (of their new room).

Jocelyn slyly smiled at the green-eyed boy, not bothering to try again, for she knew that this would happen. A small smile reached her lips as she pinned up her hair. Lancelot was muttering furiously, complaining about the ball and the Duke of Edinburgh, who had requested urgently that they attend. Supposedly, the Duke had information to transfer to Central, confiding in the two to complete the task, but he had not told them what the pieces of information were, how to obtain it, or who it was for. Horrible planning, Lancelot muttered and murmured.

Without waiting for an answer, Alexa knocked thrice and pushed into their room. Lancelot snapped his head towards her, muttering angrily at her instead. The charming girl stopped in her tracks, tilting her head to the side uncertainly. She frowned with an awkward smile.

"So, not a great time, then? I'll just come back later," Alexa said, mostly to the door as she frantically closed it behind her.

Jocelyn, who sat on a chair watching Alexa and Lancelot's interactions, threw her head back and laughed merrily.

---

A small shriek erupted from the fencer's lips as a stray, rusted bullet burst out from the butt of the gun and revealed a hole in the handle. It missed her by mere centimeters, leaving her feeling as though her hair was left burning on her head. A piece of myrtlewood had struck Rosalind on the bridge of her nose as well, leaving her blinking in pain. Tristan howled with laughter, putting the musket back onto the workplace, slapping his knee and gripping his stomach.

The fencer cuffed the teary-eyed boy across his ear, harrumphing after. She easily and efficiently took apart the musket. Dusting her hands off on her blacksmith pinafore that the intelligent boy had made her put on, Rosalind sighed happily. She was more than glad to be taking apart muskets; she felt useful, contrasting from her time working with the French.

Tristan, who had barely contained himself, was now curiously studying the ejectors with a lingering smirk. They were placed on backward along with the barrel. The sear had an extra hole punched just slightly above its original one, allowing the user to shoot downwards while holding it backward. The boy sketched out the gun, shifting over to let Rosalind see the uniquely customized gun.

"Seems as though it shoots both ways," commented the fencer, "Amazing. I would love to use this musket if it wasn't so out of shape and spontaneously firing itself."

"It'd take a long time to switch the musket from shooting forwards to out of the stock. The last time someone used it was when it required specialized guns. Assassination, I would imagine. Maybe I'll even fix it up for you some time," Tristan replied, sliding a wrench off the tool bench. He fiddled around with the musket while Rosalind searched for the rusty bullet.

A separate gleam caught the fencer's eyes. Lying right under the table was a bullet that had broken in half; one of the halves contained a tiny slip of paper stuck to the bottom of the shell. She wiggled herself under the table, delicate fingers plucking the piece of paper from the empty bullet and unfolding it gingerly, ignoring Tristan's querying calls.

Rosalind yelped in discovery, snapping her head up and hitting it on the table. She cursed loudly, rolling out with her hands on her forehead. Tristan, after laughing at her yet again, went over and picked up the unfolded piece of paper. He crouched down next to the fencer, lightly patting her head right at where she hit it in a brotherly manner.

"Don't start crying now," Tristan said instead of comforting Rosalind, "This is for those three, so we've got to get it to them." The response he received was a painful grunt, to which he returned with airy chuckles.

With a little wince and her hand still on her forehead, Rosalind harrumphed once more, taking the piece of paper and stomping out the door.

---

"Your forehead's mightily red, Rose."

Jocelyn brushed the fencer's away from her forehead, running her thumb over the red patch. Rosalind bit her lip in embarrassment, refusing to look at anyone at all. She wanted nothing more than to sink and disappear into the floor, much more than to have Jocelyn fuss over her like a doting mother.

Lancelot scratched the back of his neck with one hand, the other crumpling up the piece of paper and tucking it into his palm. Alexa watched as the wanton boy strode towards a man standing at the other side of the room with an empty glass. He sidled up with the man, holding out his hand to shake. With the simplest of handshakes, the transaction of the information was accomplished. Lancelot didn't pause to wait for the man to realize the information given to him. Instead, he simply strode away with a glad smile.

The spy waved happily at the intelligent boy that had appeared in the entrance of the ballroom. Tristan's arms were still stained with the oil and rust from the musket, making Alexa chuckle at his careless stance.

Jocelyn had stopped worrying about Rosalind's forehead and was now watching the man as he discreetly read the message. She made sure that the man understood before turning away to join the rest of the group.

As the five of them stood together, there were some things missed by one another.

Alexa ruffled Rosalind's hair fondly.

Lancelot kept looking over to Jocelyn.

Tristan was scarfing down some scones and was very, very close to choking.

:-)