( closed ) googles "song lyrics about spas"

[champions]

WHO: Marisol & Nikos
WHAT: RECONNAISSANCE and SPY WORK about the NECROPOLIS (not remotely, at all)
WHEN: a time, a place
WHERE: Antiva
NOTES:Marisol is the worst

Ah, home. It was a relief to be Antiva again, even if it was to be only brief. She had contacted her Uncle Ruy on behalf of Araceli and the Inquisition, and in return had requested a visit. They are only on the way to the visit, and she may not have mentioned that aspect of the journey to Nikos. Truthfully, she won't make him visit her uncle, dread pirate, but then... she might. Surely a pirate lord would fit well with his ideologies of people who give up family privilege.

Surely.

Anyway, here they are, wrapped up in hot towels on two beds within whispering distance of one another if they are careful, masks being slathered on their faces, and cucumber slices placed over the eyes.

She told him that if they were careful while they were here, they might overhear information invaluable to finding out more about who ordered the Necropolis disaster and orchestrated it - blackmail material, mostly. And if they do, that would be great, but actually she lied. This is just a cousins bonding day, because Nikos needs to learn about self-care.

"Remember," she says, relaxing into the steam, "whatever we want to use for leverage needs to be good."

As if he needs coaching on spy work.

Comments

[champions]

"Seleny? Of course." With an air of drama, exaggerated absurdity. "I am everywhere and nowhere."

She waits a long moment, and taps her finger against her thigh. She would really love a smoke right now. The warmth of the smoke against her lunges and her throat, heat against the cool of the day.

Probably not appropriate for the venue. Unfortunate.

"I have people there, if you'd like me to make inquiries." A pause, and then, "it must be very difficult."

[exsecutus]

"It's not."

It is difficult. And it's not difficult. Both are true at once, two disparate truths that should be tricky to straddle, but Caspar manages it; for Caspar, Nikos manages it. Nikos flattens himself against the table, like being lower will make her overlook him, or at least miss his tells. Marisol knows him too well, and he sighs, irritably. It blends in nicely with the hiss of steam, as warm water is dumped over coals.

"It's a part of who we are. The work that we do. There's nothing to be gained by complaining about an essential component, of-- anyway, I don't want inquiries made. I would make them myself if I thought they would be answered with any useful information. Why are talking about Caspar?"

He raises himself on his elbows as he says this, a few seconds from plucking the fucking cucumber slices off of his eyes so he can glare more clearly at her.

"I'm not-- I don't need help. I'm not sad about this."