"Cousin?" The voice came from the foyer, muffled by the barrier of 15th century stained glass that she'd remounted into a solid, oak frame in mimic of Japanese byobu, a room divider. Stroud didn't move from her place on her couch, exhausted and worn from double life syndrome. She'd made it up herself. It wasn't much different than her regular schedule , actually- being up at all hours out hitting the streets in search of excitement and inspiration. Looking for her circlemates. The increase in training was new. She'd practiced forms and meditations every day of the last twenty-two years, but there was something fundamentally different. She'd mused on it some the day she'd met the illustrious Spazzite. Inside, her peace was interrupted. She had her suspicions what exactly were the ramifications of what had been pumped into her. "Nega" energy. It was precisely what? The Negaverse, the military that didn't seem to adhere to creed of county or much else beyond "The Moon Kingdom is the enemy."


Quenton's face loomed into her view of her ceiling installations, "Stroud? Are you okay? You haven't stopped by the diner for any coffee. You haven't been checking your mail. "


Then he softened the pithy ho hum to make it more palatable while stepping back and turning his attention to the more apparent," Working on a big project?"


There were half a dozen pieces in different stages of completion that dotted the work slab. A 69 inch, George III mahogany sofa from the 18th century,a late 19th century billiards snooker scoreboard with ivory markers, and inscribed in gilt paint, a Louis XV French gilt rosewood and vernis vitrine among others. None large or complex enough to be a real challenge. He was a smart enough cookie to recognize money pieces when he saw them. Stroud conceded to sit up, her pajama top sliding in a too 80's off-shoulder before she righted it accompanied with a click of her tongue against her teeth, "just taking on a lot in a short span. "


That lie wouldn't be enough. He knew how she liked to party in her off hours, how she'd always work harder to allow the time for it. She expanded even as he opened his pretty mouth, interruptively, spicing lie with truth that it become palatable, "I have patronage to do...a very promising dish if it gets proper care. The usual couple hundred won't do. Between all these going home to their commissioners I'll pull in an extra three-k ."


Three thousand that she did have plans for. It would be enough to carry her solidly through mid march in bills and other expenses. She'd have a whole month to round out her initiation, prove herself worthy of promotion, learn more about what she had allowed into herself. Develop a network of places and base strategies to be effective at a moments notice. Maybe learn enough to pull off something large. The little, unripe berries that she'd been hunting needed harvested somehow. Put them to better use than nuisance and cry-childs of this year grown as enemies in the next. Let no seed see growth, see sun, see rain where it does not already serve thine hand.

Her fist clenched involuntarily. Quenton was staring at her. He must have asked something else, or kept talking, or something else equally sweet and possibly scripted to a Tudor play. "Mia famiglia! Cugino, now is the height of my distraction and you wear its tired mask. Please, ease your heart, be well and return another day. Not this week. Meet me at the vegan cafe near the campus so you don't have to go far...what...Wednesday? You can bring your delectables and maybe I’ll find something to buy for a few friends. Purples...blues...reds. Simple, military designs, yes? You can do that for me."


"I.....alright, Stroud...Just keep care. Nothing over 48 hours, right? It does damage."


She got up to show she could walk in a straight line, not slap-happy stumbling or sleep-deprived drunk, saw him to the door with a friendly kiss to his cheek and a hug. Then locked the door behind him. People who needed to see her would be able to appear without need of using it. And if it wasn’t an officer that was calling, she wasn’t going to offer time and energy. She needed to come up with more of a plan that just running out and seeing what she could find. Her standing orders so far had been to make her body a weapon and to encounter what she could to familiarize herself with the actualities of their enemy outside of classroom descriptions. She’d met knight in that odd turbaned girl, she’d met one of their eyeballs, one of their own corrupted, and she’d met a very powerful scout. All that left out, officially so far as she knew, was finding some star-faced talking cat that was attached to the magic of the scouts- those belonging to the Negaverse and otherwise. So what did that entail? Powering up, walking through alleys with an open can of magical, enchanted tuna fish and yelling ‘Here pusspusspusspuss’ ? Talk to the little s**t and then what? Then she’d have met one of everything, and what?

What then.

Spend 8 hours a day every day of the week refining and expanding to master the T'ai chi ch'uan she knew? Weapons forms, of which some were unique to the Chen school and Wushu she practiced, were only so useful with a crop as she’d discovered against the Tiger. Spear, Gun and Halberd postures, solo or partnered, would only be helpful if she sourced weapons from environments she was in and didn’t bother with her karmic-suffering weapon. She could try offering teaching to other officers, but where did one go about that? It wasn’t like there was a designated meeting place, corkboard or canteen that she’d been indicated to carry such offers to. Standing around in Negaspace with a sandwich board on her shoulders and her thumbs up her butt was equally not an option - it was inefficient and a waste of time. She was aware, thanks to Obsidian, just how low Lieutenants were thought of by the powers that were. An act of desperation, even if it managed to garner some sort of attention, would just do worse harm as a social/political maneuver and she’d end up branded instead of anonymous. And once again, running around town looking for signatures wasn’t great either. But what choice did she have right now? Doing her training in Nega space could help kill some birds with one stone. She had to train, and it would make her visible to others in the ranks to meet with them, answer questions, and offer if they needed a sparring partner or needed to learn some sort of martial art at all because they had none.

There wasn’t a fix for just running around the city that she could come up with. As the battle ground, she needed to know every inch of the alleys, streets, shops, parks and hideaways in the greater Destiny City Metropolitan area and then some in order to be an effective soldier. It would also introduce her, without getting a chance to talk to any information specialists, to some of where and if scouts had favored areas and routes that they kept for their own.

And the Tiger? She couldn’t rematch against that pretty miss until she made some friends, she suspected. A plot afoot might lead to a capture, but did the superiors want captures at all? They ******** should, really. If we need energy to battery stuff or charge things or whatever the reason we need it, keeping some scouts on-hand and bound Matrix-machines style would be a lot more efficient than the catch and release we have going on.

Stroud Marinus had traded life for these answers and opportunity. She was pleased enough with her purchase- her new name and new identity as Schörl. She wanted to make it a more complete transition, to be less identified and less concerned with Stroud. Stroud's life was done, and it was more than time to step beyond it into making new art and making a more realized ‘Negaverse’. Step one should be getting rid of the dumb name and the distinction altogether. There should only be one universe, and it should belong to them, to all who wore the uniform and were loyal. So that was her current aim? A vague sort of aim, but it was a start. When applying to Special Operations, she’d heard a General Queen Howlite was the overall head of operation. More than that was a mystery. So any ideas were best vetted there or at another superior. Stroud had a very strong suspicion that the adage of asking forgiveness was easier than permission did not apply without extreme proof of efficiency and everything panning out. This first step, then, was best done by the books. AFTER that, she could apply her other preferences- “It’s only hubris if I fail.”