Trusted Arrangements. (Melanie)

See; it was part of Theo's everyday life to wake up, give his wife a small, encouraging kiss for the day, put on his suit, ride his chariot to the Garrison, then deal with the everyday problems Concordia has in terms of it's defense. Of course; this means making tough calls, playing hard ball against the Administrators, and giving lots of wolf stares, and lion glances.  Commander Theocritus was not a man easily swayed, nor was he a man forgiving of failures and loses. Theo might be, Theocritus was not. The Mantra passed to him by Owain still whispers clear, Kill the child, and let the weathered man be born. Perhaps they made his heart most cold when they named him Commander.  And even now, even at the most relative peaceful times, his job never left the battlefields.


Given, he was a Son of War. He lived and thirsted for battle, no matter how much he masked it in a cold demeanor.  He'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy slicing monsters up with his long axe, and perhaps he took a little pleasure in killing Egyptians, as well. But other than that, his responsibilities made up of reviewing charts, ledgers, reports, legislation, meetings with magistrates and delegates vying for support, the meeting with the Chancellor was every month, and even that seemed exciting. However; his job entailed another....rather, darker part of warfare.


The conflict that never stopped. Ones fought under the shadows, and without the prying eyes of the administrators or anyone. Cloak and Dagger jobs, politely referred to as Clandestine and Intelligence Gathering Occupations. Not the most stable, or the safest of occupations under the Garrison,( And that says a lot.) However; the task given did entail a heft sum, and benefits. The benefits of having no superiors to answer to but him,  and freedom within the furthest reaches of reason. And one his "Intelligence Staff," Or agents, as he liked to refer to them, was expected to be here, right in the Commander's Office.


His office wasn't a grand thing, it certainly had a view. Large panels of glass were behind him, it didn't lead to scenery, however. Liquids of different colors slowly dribbled down the outside panel, giving quite the colorful view on the otherwise dark office beyond. He had an oak desk, right in front of the colorful view, and his twisting seat, which he could just as easily twist around to look at the kaleidoscope of colors. The computer terminal was right besides his desk, on it's own stations, while a small bookcase  stood on the right of his  office, and different metal lockers to his immediate left,  Two chairs were firmly planted and bolted in front of his desk.   A sleek black frame was right on top of the glass panels, Rectangular in shape, an entire map of Concordia.  While the surrounding corners both had portraits of him, and the former commander. With him, in full Garrison Commander wear, eyes cold and focused, riding one of their War-Chariots,  the Stygian Iron Longaxe in hand, pointed at the unseen field.Two picture frames were on his desk as well, facing his supposed audiences. One was a picture of his lovely wife, Natalia, smiling ever so prettily at the camera, and the other was an empty frame.  Quite the office, spacey, but homey as well. Nothing too extravagant. 


Right as he was finishing his reading of the Occupational Reports given to him, a buzzer sounded from his desk, and a feminine voice came through.  "Sir, someone named—" He interrupted immediately, pressing the buzzer. "Send her in, Cynthia. And hold the other people I have to meet with till I tell you to send them in."  


She didn't answer, and the next thing he knew, the door on his office was unlocked, and his young agent came in. As the door shut open, he stood from his seat, and gave her a standard, Garrison salute. "Agent Melanie," He dropped the salute, and propped on his chair, moving the filed off from his desk, down besides him, save for one small file. He ran a hand through his suit, and adjusted his celestial-bronze rimmed glasses. "How was your previous assignment? I trust that your competence at your task means I will not have such political backlash that I'd have to answer to, deal with, and clean up? " He motioned towards a seat, "Sit down, Agent.  Debrief me on your last task, and though it saddens me to interrupt your paid idle, it seems another matter presses, in which I need your expertise to deal with."

Melanie stood outside the door for the Commander's office, ready to give her report. The waiting area was a familiar sight, though she tried to stay away from it as much as possible. Punctuality was an important trait in her profession: show up too soon and you get caught, too late and you risk missing the target. This was no different.

Once Cynthia finally buzzed her through, Melanie went through the door to be greeted by the Commander. The the standard protocols were met, and salutes were given, she took her place in the chair on one side of the desk. When the Commander took his seat across from her, she braced herself for the message that she had to relay as well as for the new mission she was about to be given.

"It was a false lead. The Egyptians never showed and no one there seemed to know anything. I got in and out without incident. It was an easy night, but we don't have any new intel. We need to reevaluate that source. It's the third bad lead in a row." She relaid, quickly and precisely. With no details to give, she didn't feel like wasting time with unnecessary words.

"I'm guessing that the informant will have to be dealt with later though, it seems. What is this new task you have for me?" Melanie finished, intrigued by the matter at hand. Maybe now she would be able to do something useful.

He listened to her, the curly haired son of mars' stare went right through her. Eyes burning cold, ad if he was piercing right *through* her, and not just looking at her. Assessing her, even. Not as a predator sizing up it's prey, but a lion looking for any weakness in a fellow beast. Her words, no matter how delicately placed and expertly suggested, still rang one thing. Failure. He hated nothing else but failure. Every sorts of failure had no place in the Garrison. There was  the good pain that strengthened you and made you stronger, and useless pain. Failure. He had no patience for useless things. 


He raised a finger, after she was done speaking.  He placed the folder right on the  desk and gave her the stare. The Lion's Stare.  The stare that dared people to look back. The stare that exemplified dominance, and steel-hard resolve. "A False Lead. For the third time. Melanie, I do not tolerate failure in any form."  he gave her a long sigh, his eyes starting to link to her  own eyes, trying to pierce, dig through her resolve and speak to her. He never raised his voice, except, he was always soft spoken, to make sure other fell silent when he spoke, and all intently listened.


"No new Intel. We wasted resources, resources we could have used for catapults, swords, armors...for a false lead. Needless to say, you need not worry about this informer. I...dislike loose ends, I intend to knot it up, if not severe it all together." He knew she'd understand what he meant. "However, a failure is a failure. We cannot hope to recover from such. I'll take care of whatever political fallout I might receive on my end.  The Egyptians will not have caught scent of you, yet.  And I am a fair man,  Melanie. Your contributions have prevented attacks. And the failure was not your fault. I'll cover your tracks. This new piece of information, however.." He opened the black folder, his eyes scanning through the pages. "Had come from a very reliable source. Through means of persuasions, calls, and some bribery straight from Delphi Industries, I come to find out that the Egyptians are planning to set up their own land property outside their camp; wherever it may be." He gave his finger a lick, and flipped through the pages of the folder, before shutting it, and sliding it over to her.


"Names. Names of the Egyptian Socialites in the Business sector that managed to latch on to a Walmart Tycoon and a Politician or two and allowed them to buy a huge plot of farming land. i'm not talking B-Grade lands, Mel. I'm talking well-maintained, fully developed, fertile as Elysium farm lands. I don't like where they're going with it."  He stated, eyes solid and steely. "Pennsylvania.   You'll find the exact location there.  I trust you know well enough not to immediately sneak into the farm, lest you wish to die and to jeopardize Concordia's safety."  He condescendingly spoke,  though with a bit of lighthearted teasing.


"Gain more Intel on that farm. I don't want to read about a farm  field burnt the next day tomorrow.  I want you to find out more about it, go through that list, gather Intel from them, and when you get to the head..."  He stopped, staring at her for a full moment. "Crush it.  I want to absolutely destroy their hold outside Bast.We can't have them building their own Corporation to challenge Delphi.  So once you deal with the leaders,  do everything you can to get the Intel back here. Our Merchants may have ideas as to how to claim that plot of land for ourselves.  I hate to destroy a perfectly good ploy, especially if we can use it to our gain."  He stated, and laid back down on his chair, giving her a small look. As if she wasn't there, ignoring her, even. His hands went to the picture frame of Nattie, adjusting it for her to have a clearer view, perhaps not on purpose.  "Do you want coffee, Melanie?"

"No Sir, but thank you. If I leave now I'll need to sleep on the way in order to hit the ground running. You understand." She replied. Running through the file quickly, she took note of the Egyptians in question. Some of these names belonged to very powerful people in the business sector. Their loss, if executed correctly, would cripple the Egyptian and Titan supply lines for at least a few weeks. However, should their deaths be attributed to Concordia or the Garrison, it would almost certainly ensure retaliation as soon as they recovered.

"They'll retaliate over this. Should I inform my contacts ahead of time to keep their eyes out now, or wait to alert them?" Melanie stated as she flipped through the folder, attempting to commit as much of it to memory before she left the office. She would take the file with her, but any questions she had needed to be asked now, as her communication lines would be cut off as soon as she reached the mainland.

The last few pages were blueprints to the farm and the buildings on it. Simplistic, but with several structures. She'd have more than enough places to hide out, but the intel would be the difficult part. "Do you want any of them brought back for further interrogation, or will the basic sweep be good enough this time around?" She inquired as she replaced the papers back into the black folder, turning her full attention back to the Commander.

He turned his head away from her, gathering the other folders and files, stacking them up against his desk. "Good, I hate coffee. Bitter."   He sighed, and picked a pen from his pocket, starting to sign each page of the folder he was holding. "I envy and pity you at the same time, Melanie..." He placed the folder on the right side of his desk, before getting another folder, looking it over and speaking. "I envy you, because my job entails as much dealing with paperwork, ledgers, census, hell; even surveys and gods damned samples as it does actually cleaving through  Egyptians and Demititans..."

He sighed, tapping the pen on the folder, and looking the pages over again, before carelessly tossing it away, only to get another piece of paper and turning his chair to the right as he read it. "So much restriction. Apparently, I'm a "Public Figure," and I  "Can't afford to appear a jingoist or violent" Can't appear violent or a jingoist? They forget that the reason I haven't sat my ass on the Chancellor's seat is because I'm no politician.  I'm a horrible statesman. I think I proven that when I sank by long axe deep inside more Egyptian Demigods and Demititans than I could count."  He shook his head, marking something on the paper.


He took a long breath, and faced her. "So what do they do? They promise me the position of Commander after my predecessor, bless his soul, died.  They told me it was a soldier's place. It actually meant they placed a guy who's terrible at politics...at doing politics." He sighed, and gave a slight shake of his head. "Poor you, though. I wouldn't want to be caught by  the Egyptians. Do you know what happened to the last informer the Egyptian sniffed out?" He made a cut throat gesture. "Guy was unrecognizable when he came out of that Camp. So you better make sure you don't end up the same. And if you do...I trust you to keep your mouth shut." He have her a smile. However, her further inquiries interested him, to say the least.


"No," He stated. And continued. "We already know the Egyptians and Demititans will retaliate. All we need to know, we don't need to know when, or where. The Garrison is under full , war-ready mobilization.  Of course; most don't notice. But we've made sure to strengthen the shipyards and the borders. I'm sending another detachment, soon. Aside from that, I already have  the draft of the Executive Request I'm going to give to the Chancellor.  It suggests giving the Garrison's budget a ten percent increase, to further give us readiness against a wild scale attack." He raised his pen.


"Also; you might consider trimming your contacts. You might have a mole, there. " He twirled the  pen and  spoke again. "Interrogate them, if they don't break, and you think they hold more secrets, send them to  the Shipyards. If you think the'll just be a liability...dispatch of them."  He stated. "Also;  tell no one of this conversation, Melanie." He pointed the pen at her."Not to be calloused, but you're in a boat with me. Don't sway too much and have us fall into the river. I'm not a great swimmer. I can only save one of us."  His face remained stoic. "Oh, Melanie. I forgot....have you met my wife?" He gave her a cold grin. As if challenging her. His mind games did as such. Try to corner people while remaining affable. 

Melanie nodded her head as she processed the Commander's last directive. "I'll look in to my contacts when I return, with your permission. However, with no disrespect intended, the issue with false leads and ambushes seems to be coming from the Chancellor's people. Would it be wise to look in to them as well? We've already lost one recruit at their hands this month. Good intelligence personnel are hard to come by, as you know." She stated with a small grimace. This was the first meeting she had with the Commander since the incident, and it needed to be discussed. She didn't enjoy feeling like she was overstepping her boundaries, but as the oldest and most experienced of the intelligence agents, it usually fell to her to have these discussions with the Commander. There was no intent of disrespect, and she was certain by now that he knew that. It was strictly tactics and logistics, nothing more.

This particular incident had been fairly unsettling, to say the least. The young man's funeral had been the week before, not long before she left for the last recon mission. It had been his first outing on his own and bad information had lead him straight into a nasty trap that even some of the more seasoned agents wouldn't have been able to make it out of. There was a definite issue with these informants, which is why she preferred her own. Other people's little birdies could screw her over at any time, hers new far better than to put herself or her people at risk.

"As for Mrs. Locke, yes I have met her briefly. She assisted me once in researching a cover for a long term in Ohio, shortly before you started seeing each other. Since then, I haven't seen much of her. Why do you ask?" the replied finally, in response to the Commander's last question. She held Natalia Locke in high regard, as a professional in her own area. She was excellent with her students, good enough to train Melanie, who was horrible with children, on how to be a teacher herself long enough to survive the month long scouting mission deep in an Egyptian stronghold. She would never look at Ohio the same afterwards.