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He'd been drunk the first time he'd seen her. He'd been drunk a lot, lately, even more than usual -- the cheapest, strongest s**t he could find, the s**t that looked like they used it to clean combs at barber shops. Ever since the starseed: a taste, a feeling in his stomach that he couldn't seem to completely wash away.

That had been Lazarus, drunkenly looking for his wristwatch for two whole minutes on the wrong arm, crashed in an alleyway when he'd seen her go by.

Initially, he'd paid attention because it was something he hadn't seen before. Schörl had explained the Dark Mirror Court in concept, but he'd never been introduced to one. It had only come up because she'd drilled home the concept of keeping up with the updates to the Intelligence Database, of always submitting good reports. Of keeping abreast of the Negaverse's known enemies and especially its high risk threats.

That was where he'd seen the updated information about Eternal Sailor Chariklo and Super Sailor Amytis -- updated information that said Chariklo was quickly becoming a major threat to the Negaverse's operations and to the formerly strong alliance between the Negaverse and the Dark Mirror Court.

Sailor Chariklo's entry had been as thorough as it was distinctive, where her appearance was concerned. Dark sailor costume with silver primary details, eyepiece over one eye, blonde mohawk, heavily tattooed, well-endowed, tall, physically fit.

The other entry, though -- for her partner, Amytis -- was less complete. One person's entry had described her only as "exceptionally pink." Another noted she wore "a flower, either a lotus blossom or a water lily maybe???" in her hair. She had apparently been less of a thorn in the Negaverse's side: she was just a weakness for Sailor Chariklo. Wanted for questioning, the entry said.

He'd been absolutely wrecked that night, and not entirely sure of what he'd seen. Not sure enough, at least, that he hadn't slurred about it to Stroud between hiccups. Instead, he'd gone back the next few nights, almost entirely sober, to see if she'd turned up again.

It had taken a few days, but the exceptionally pink Dark Mirror senshi with the flower in her hair had, indeed, turned up again. That was when he'd put in a request for the services of a Mauvian.

Schörl said they had the ability to shield auric signatures and were invaluable in any sort of organized missions. With that ability, he didn't doubt they were probably more valuable to the organization than the corrupted senshi, with all their strange magic. The element of surprise, after all, of stealth, absolutely couldn't be overstated.

He supposed he'd find out how true that was or wasn't, tonight. The Mauvian who'd agreed to take on the mission request of an unproven lieutenant was named Soyala -- Quartz was still getting used to her opening her tiny cat mouth and an English-speaking voice coming out of it.

"The last two times, she passed by around now," Quartz said quietly, both their pairs of eyes focused on the street at the end of the alleyway. They had good cover, unlikely to be seen unless someone really went looking for stalkers down an alleyway -- and if the Mauvian's ability worked as advertised, there was no reason they'd draw that kind of attention. "Thanks for your help. Do you get a lot of assignments? It took a few days to get back a response from anyone to my request -- I assume not many lieutenants go asking?"

Every day seemed to provide some new and strange reason why the Negaverse hadn't won the war already -- and some new question about what kind of long game Schörl was playing. "I find that hard to believe," he told his furry companion. "Your talent's remarkable -- I can't think of a mission where it wouldn't be vital. What exactly is our Intel branch doing with themselves?" Quartz shook his head, tutting his disapproval.

It wouldn't hurt to get in cozy with one of the Mauvians, he'd decided. Their skill was useful, especially to someone who'd just as soon avoid fighting.

His attention was caught as a flash of rosy pink passed by. "Like clockwork," he shrugged, holding position. The key to trailing her wasn't to have an interaction -- that was why he'd requested a Mauvian for the evening. With her help, they could follow along at a safe distance. "Hang on," he told Soyala, "I'll take us roofside."

Quartz tensed, bracing himself for the likelihood of cat claws buried into the meat of his trapezius muscles -- then plotted out and followed a series of ricochet jumps to get the pair of them up to rooftop level.

Anticipating the sting of Soyala's little cat claws did not make the experience less painful, only less disorienting. Thus, Quartz was glad when the spate of jumping was over, and they'd successfully gained the rooftop. He shifted to lean over the edge of the roof, watching their quarry to see which way she'd go -- then made carefully to follow. In his mind, he was marking the streets and turns. That was the point of this whole exercise, after all. Learn her exact patrol route. Scout out likely ambush points for a strike team. Observe without engaging.

An ideal mission, at that.

"Have you considered specializing?" he asked to keep up the conversation, still with a mind toward furthering his own interests. "If you worked with just one branch, I imagine you could outpace any of the other Mauvians quickly, just by straight repetition and building up experience on certain mission types. Then they'd come begging for your help specifically, and you'd have more control over what kinds of missions you had to do."

It was, of course, his preference that he could get Soyala to specialize in whatever branch of the Negaverse Quartz found himself ultimately placed in -- but until he had a branch, it didn't bear mentioning.

Soyala was wrong. Quartz was not very clever.

What he was was resourceful, and that only because Schörl demanded it of him. This mission, and his proactive desire to take it on, were simply an outgrowth of that: the desire to use the resources at his disposal to try and leverage a slightly better position for himself. Success brought freedom and privilege, so he was learning to be successful -- but everything he knew came from Schörl and always had. Everything he was, she had created. The person he'd been without her was weak and stupid and easily preyed upon.

"My commanding officer encourages me to be proactive," he answered evenly. "I'm just making an attempt." He considered his next words while he tracked the senshi below them, trying not to move unnecessarily and perhaps complicate Soyala's job. "May I ask you some questions about Mauvians, or would that be too personal?"

"Ah," Quartz said, doing his best to maintain the politeness in his voice, because it was very important to him that this Mauvian like him, "I'm grateful to you. I hope my question doesn't sound rude or ignorant -- what I'm wondering is, I know it's generally recommended that Mauvians form some kind of a bond with one of the sailor soldiers, but . . . is that something you particularly want? Do you feel any sort of a psychological drive towards that, or is it just something that Mauvians pursue as a logical career solution?"

Quartz did not particularly want Soyala to be some corrupted sailor's Mauvian. He wanted her to be his Mauvian, bonds be damned -- and was willing to make it worth her while with fresh salmon or tuna or whatever a talking space cat wanted.

How did one charm a cat? Was it different from charming a human?

These things felt distant, clinical: Quartz had a good idea of how to be charming, an innate social awareness and skill that persisted from his time as Eli Bell, but it was less of a state of being and more of a tool he brought to bear when he needed to accomplish something specific. Eli Bell had been a professional dancer, had been able to generate intimacy as a matter of professional requirement rather than personal connection. It was a skill. A job requirement. It held Lazarus in good stead as a massage therapist, and he supposed it could be useful in the Negaverse, too.

A professional was always ready to manufacture love on command. Schörl had taught him well that it was important to be adaptable.

"I may not be a sailor soldier," he said smoothly, making a note of the pink-haired Dark Mirror Senshi's movements as she rounded out the last few streets of her patrol route, "but I think you and I could work well together. As I am," he said silkily, "I'd never presume to offer a partnership. But once I make captain, I hope you might at least consider me."

Quartz was relieved -- and a little gratified -- that his attempts to cozy up to the Mauvian had been successful. She liked him, and he -- he wanted her to like him, and that was good. It was all quite good. He had set out to do something, and he'd done it.

No, two things. Quartz looked down at where Amytis was heading home, finished with her patrol route, and congratulated himself for that, too. They'd followed her on a grand little jaunt through the heart of the city without being spotted, and he'd been able to mark all her turns and intersections in his head, to chart it all out on a city map later and present it to Schörl for her approval. Two jobs well done.

Tonight, he thought with a little happy trill, I will most likely not be in trouble for anything.

It was the best he could hope for.

"It would be my honor," he said to convey his considerable gratitude. "I'll consider myself fortunate, should my General choose to recommend me for promotion soon."

Quartz reached up to glide fingers across the fur at Soyala's nape, doing his best to appear fond. "Now," he said, smiling, "shall we go and fill out our report?"