Nirana's heels clicked down the polished stone, the sound echoing off the high ceiling and through the empty hall that led to the palace's main entrance. Inwardly, she cursed the worker's outfit - it was made of coarser material where she was accustomed to silk linings, the cuffs of the shirt frayed and dirty where she would generally expect to see pearls and lace. Her fins were taped unceremoniously so that they were flat against her head and covered with a ridiculously large hat (a hood would have aroused suspicion, but there was no other hat she could find that extended to her fins). The scratchy material irritated her skin, and she picked up her pace, looking forward to the relief of her usual clothing when she returned home.

She had already reached for the handle of the ornate double doors leading out of the palace when the door suddenly opened, narrowly missing her arm, and a uniformed carapace raced in, practically tripped over her and dropped the large, heavy package he had been holding. He jumped to his feet, apologizing profusely as he scrambled to return the scattered objects that had fallen out of the package.

"My apologies." Nirana kneeled to help the carapace. "May I ask to whom this package is addressed?"

He gave her a nervous look. "Sir Strider. He's - supposed to be here to pick it up. Right about now." he mumbled.

Her eyes narrowed. Dave Strider. She would love to deliver this package herself. Sir Strider was an infamous traitor in the eyes of the common people, but Nirana knew he had some connection to the rebels - of which kind, she couldn't say. However, she'd overheard Dirk mention his name on more than one occasion, and after doing some research herself (one of her clients had been a jealous rival of Dave Strider's and demanded information) she had discovered something off about Sir Strider and his behavior. This was a prime opportunity. "You seem to be in a hurry. I can make this delivery for you - I know him well."

The carapace let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, miss. If there's anything I can do for you in the future - don't hesitate -"

Nirana smiled. "I'll let you know."

As the carapace hurried off the way he'd come, Nirana noticed another figure approaching through the doorway he'd left open. It was... Point Ardenwell?! My, it had been a while. This was most definitely not the right time, however. Shutting the door, Nirana stepped back and stood stock-still, thinking fast. Point Ardenwell, a woman who was hungry for new information, who wanted to join the rebellion and no doubt had many connections in the palace, was going to enter in seconds. So was Dave Strider, a man of whom it was safe to assume Point knew, and someone Nirana wanted to investigate without being outright.

How beautiful would it be, if she got Point to do her work for her?

Quickly, Nirana ripped off her Condesce's pin and shoved it into her pocket, at the same time retrieving her Derse rebels' pin and setting it on top of the package for Dave Strider, hoping Point would notice the latter and question Sir Strider about it. Setting the package on the ground, she scanned the hall for a place to hide, and found an empty storage room off on one side. Silently, she slipped inside and left the door ajar, then stood with her ear to the door, waiting.

The entire plan would fall apart if either of the two was late by even a few seconds.
Then again, she had nothing to lose.

((Hope it's okay :c it's crazy long, sorry!))

They were getting anxious, the royals.

Trolls replaced the carapacian guards, their fins prominent against their elaborate clothes as they sat amongst the council listening to the Agent speaking at the forefront of the room.

Worry was like an illness. No one ever let on that anything was wrong, but it spread, leprous and subtle, through their reactions. Carefully worded orders were directed towards her- purple and violet eyes turned towards her as she picked up the new files and flicked through them, averting her own eyes and bowing as expected by the seadwellers. It frustrated her, this lack of open trust, but again, she supposed that they did have good reason to be vague as possible. Insurrection was a tricky thing, especially when one was playing for both sides, but she gathered the gist of the meeting: that something was going horribly wrong.

Heighten the security near the lower districts, near the shops, and occasionally step in to see if there were any suspicious figures, any with odd eyewear or with the sign of a crescent moon. There was someone who should have been dead who wasn't, and as much as she wanted to ask, she was obligated to remain silent as she was dismissed from the meeting.

The doors closed behind her softly as she stepped back out into the expansive halls with their silver and purple marble floors, rich drapes and multicolored windows reflecting opulent shadows on her gleaming black armor. What a waste, how they flaunted their wealth.

She had been interrogated here when they took Daniel. The Empress herself was somewhere inside these walls, sitting on a throne that was not hers and indulging in the blood of innocents that she took by force.

What a headache.

Heading up the stairs, she was just about to exit the room when she noticed a large package on the floor. That was strange; the worker carapaces generally tended to hand any packages or mail personally instead of dropping it off. Unable to quell her curiosity, she strode closer and stooped to pick up the package.

Addressed to the Commander Dave Strider.

Her eyes widened. If the package was here, that meant he was about to pick it up. It was a perfect opportunity for her to speak to him- she hadn't been able to speak him in depth, and this would be an excuse to do so.

Turning with the box in her hand, she heard something clink to the floor.

She took one look at it and froze before swiftly recovering it where it lay.

A pin. The crescent moon with opal inlay, amethyst covering.

Of all people, Dave Strider?

Her mind racing with disbelief, she pocketed the pin and turned to the ajar door, quickly recovering as she saw a familiar shock of blond hair and red-and-black armor.

There were a million questions she wanted to ask him.

His footsteps were echoing through the wide corridors as he made his way out of the library. His morning meeting with the Seer had been longer than expected and he was hoping to get a little time for training before noon came. Normally, he’d train at sunrise but his time had been monopolized for this once. He didn’t mind too much, his little chit chats with miss Lalonde were always full of enlightenment to say the least.

The atmosphere seemed heavy in the palace as of late. The rumor of rebels had been bothering the Empress and it was rather obvious that she would start organizing to dismantle any faction that rose against her. She had proved to be rather ruthless so far, so Dave didn't doubt he’d get orders to intervene sooner or later. His mind wandered to his dear cousin, the fallen Prince of Derse and he wondered how long his masquerade would have to last.

As he turned the corner he saw a familiar silhouette. A woman soldier wearing jet-black armor, standing a few meters away from him. He’d seen her before, but he couldn't exactly remember where. Then it came back to him, how could he forget?

They were both at the Condesce's mercy and brothers in arm. They shared a similar situation, after all.

“Commander Ardenwell?”, he inquired as he approached, “Haven’t seen you around in a while… How have you been doing?”

Package in her hands, she stopped short of him and straightened. Ramrod straight back, steely demeanor, and yet- her hands would have been clasped to Dave's shoulders had they not been occupied with the box. She was apprehensive- why was she apprehensive?- when she laid eyes upon her fellow Commander. The pin still glimmered in her left hand; better to confront him later when she could gauge his current state of mind.

It felt terrible, a acid-stickiness in her chest, at the caution she immediately felt when she saw him. Dave had been branded a traitor to the old regime. When they had been forced into the castle, cold steel at their throats and backs, she had seen panic on all of their faces, then suppressed rage. And at seeing the fleeting wings of desperation beat once, twice, twitch spasmodically against Dave's lips, then disappear as they pressed for him to repeat the vow of allegiance to the Condesce- for what better humiliation than to have one so close to the old regime repeat his treachery in front of all of his fellow Commanders?-, she had nearly wept.

Those were memories she despised, for though she had completely washed her hands of emotion, she had failed to recognize the capacity she had for revenge.

She inclined her head. Voice smooth against her throat. "Hello, Strider."

Shifted the package in her arms, hid the pin from sight. The Black Queen depended on her judgement to liberate her. If Dave well and truly was turned to the Condesce's side instead of fleeing like the Prince, she would have to hide her own betrayal of the Condesce from him. "Well. And you?"