//------------------------------// // Chapter Twenty-Four: Conversation // Story: CRISIS: Equestria - Divergence // by GanonFLCL //------------------------------// Shroud's hooves rapidly zipped across her computer screen, which currently displayed the two hundred ninety-third document she'd reviewed that morning alone. And, not finding what she was seeking, she discarded it like all the others and pulled up the next. She expected today to proceed just like every other day lately with the same meticulous investigation, all because she still hadn't managed to find what Lord Silvertongue needed despite all of her efforts. But she was diligent, and she would do whatever it took to accomplish her task. She only took breaks to eat and use facilities and even spaced those out as much as she could, and though visits from Curaçao were distracting, she did not let the other mare take her attention from her work; Curaçao wouldn't let her do that anyway. She was still a little disappointed that Curaçao's visits slowed over the last few days so that she could focus. She missed having the other mare around. Working under Silvertongue's employ had always been an arduous task, but success in her work was well-rewarded and she was always successful. She was determined to make sure that this assignment, difficult though it may be, would not be the exception. And so, she tirelessly read through line after line of document after document, most of it in languages she couldn't even read. Silvertongue had assured her that familiarity with the language was irrelevant, as Project Four-One-C-N's parameters had very precise instructions for locating it that had been in the system since before Shroud was even born. She was to scan through every single document until she could find a symbol, an example of which she had drawn on a sticky note attached to her monitor. It was a curious symbol. It resembled a pony, but not like one she'd ever seen before: tall and lithe, feminine despite the height, possessing a long, thin horn that would put any unicorn to shame, and a pair of wings that dwarfed even the largest of pegasi. The whole thing perplexed her; what kind of pony had both horns and wings? "Two hundred ninety-nine…" she muttered, discarding another useless document. "Three hundred six…" There went another. "Three hundred twelve…" She had to count to herself to help alleviate the boredom; it helped her focus. Then, something caught her eye in document three hundred thirteen. On this document there was a symbol that looked just like a unicorn's horn, only longer and not properly centered like similar symbols were in other documents. It was something that an average reader would have missed, but that she noticed immediately. "An error, maybe?" she hummed to herself. That seemed unlikely, even if she knew what any of this stuff actually said. The text of the document looked absolutely corrupted, but the symbol itself was clear as day. Putting the distracting thought aside for now, she scrolled down and reached the bottom of the first page, then turned to the next. Partway through the new page, she saw something strange again. It wasn't the same symbol as before, but was curiously in the same position as it had been. This time it was that of a wing, and not the fluffy sort of wing that most of these documents used for categorization, but more sleek. Like the horn it was slightly off-center. It was noticeable enough for an average reader to see, but most would likely skip by it without a second thought. "Another error perhaps? Two of them in the same document, when all the others don't have anything of the sort. Hmm…" Putting that thought aside as well, she scrolled down and flipped to the third and final page in the document. Tapping a hoof to her chin, she scrolled to where the other two symbols had been, curious to see if her train of thought was connecting dots that weren't there or not. After all, a large part of her duties included paying attention to details, no matter how small or how frivolous. Silvertongue liked to note that if one paid very, very close attention to even the smallest details, they could often find more information in a single sentence than from page upon page of documentation. Sure enough, there was the image of a pony, completely normal except for its particularly well-built-yet-feminine body structure, something that wouldn't be necessarily noticed at all if she hadn't seen the pony symbol used in many of the other documents that didn't quite match this one. There was nothing remarkable about this symbol apart from its size, unlike the other two which were at the very least placed oddly. But she paused for a moment to think, unable to shake the feeling she was missing something important. It was too coincidental that there had been two symbols in this exact spot on previous pages, both of which were unlike the others of their type. A horn, a wing, and a pony… Shroud lifted her sticky note off the monitor to observe the symbol she'd been instructed to seek. She could see that the horn and wing were nearly in the same positions and of the same appearance and proportions. She tapped her hoof to her chin in thought again. "Layered encryption? In a document this old? Interesting…" When there were documents that she needed to relay between SIlvertongue's secret employees, she'd encrypt them in such a way that the average pony would not recognize anything suspicious. It was simply a matter of chopping the document into pieces such that when viewed normally, the document was perfectly legible but looked like something dull. When viewed through certain decryption software, however, the document looked completely different. None of the other documents she'd seen these few days had been encrypted at all as far as she could tell; years of performing the task gave her an eye for the tell-tale signs of document alteration regardless of language, and that technology was also fairly new compared to the dates on most of these. How could this document be encrypted like that? She decided to experiment with her theory, though, and ran it through her decryption software; because of the document's age, she had to decompile it manually. Minutes of messing with the components lead to nothing, but there was one thing giving her hope: the three symbols she'd seen were always in the same place and if anything seemed to be combining together. Eventually, they formed the symbol that she'd been using for reference: a pony with a horn and wings. The rest of the document's text all fell back into place, though the language it was still illegible to her. "Yes, this was definitely what I'm looking for," she said to herself, grinning. She marked the symbol so that it would be easy to locate later, saved a copy of the document onto a data drive, then reverted the file back to its original components as per protocol. Once that was done, she reached for the intercom button to buzz Lord Silvertongue and deliver the good news But then she hesitated for a second, and she pulled her hoof away. No, with how important this assignment was to him, she knew that it would be better for her to deliver the data personally. Shroud took a pocket mirror from her desk and checked herself over to ensure she looked her best as she headed out of her office. She knew Silvertongue had a preference for his employees to be presentable when they interacted personally with him, and since she rarely saw him in person, she figured it wouldn't be a bad idea. Once she was satisfied, she grabbed the data drive, straightened her uniform, and took the elevator up to his office. Once there, she double-checked herself to make certain her uniform was tidy and that her cutie mark—an inkwell—wasn't showing, took a deep breath, then stepped forward and knocked gingerly on the door, five times first, followed by a pause, then twice more; he'd know it was her. "Come in," he called from the other side. She took another breath, then opened the door and strode into his office. She found him sitting behind his desk, studying the monitor of his own computer station. Whatever he was studying was clearly quite interesting, as his focus was firmly transfixed on the screen. "Good morning, sir," she said, giving a small curtsy. "How are you?" "Good morning, Shroud," he greeted, not taking his eyes from his work. "I am busy as usual, as you can see. Hmm… there's a thought. Tell me, what is your opinion on the strange anomaly that occurred the other day outside the southern city wall?" She blinked, not expecting the question at all. "You mean what they're calling the 'Color Burst'? Most reports I've read are saying it was a sonic weapon used by Hope's Point to crack the outer wall. I don't think that's it at all, but then I don't know what else it could be." She tilted her head slightly. "Do you, sir?" "I have some information that has shed more light on it, yes," he said, still staring at the screen, "but it's unimportant. I was just curious. Now, I assume you're here for a reason? It's rare to see you in person." She didn't waste his time any further, and presented him with her data drive. With a hopeful smile on her face, she said, "I believe I've found Project Four-One-C-N, sir." Silvertongue leaned back in his seat slightly and glanced in her direction, giving her a good look at his damaged eye. She had heard about the injury he'd sustained in an experiment he'd been conducting, but hadn't seen the extent of it yet. A totally black void where his eye should be, with just the little black pinprick of gold; it was a bit disconcerting. He swiftly took the drive from her, inserted it into his computer, and immediately began scanning it, his face alight with curiosity; Shroud was not surprised that he could read whatever language the document was written in. Then, as he reached the point she'd marked, his face brightened. His sudden smile was contagious, and she smiled as well, knowing she'd done her job well. "It is it, isn't it?" she asked excitedly. "What you were looking for?" "It most certainly is," he said with a nod. "At long last, I will finally have the opportunity to read that which I went to such great lengths to acquire so many years ago. I have waited ages to be given this opportunity." He seemed to notice her looking eagerly at him; she was not expecting praise, but genuinely glad that he was glad. He turned his smile to her instead. "Shroud, have you any idea what this document is, exactly?" "No, sir," Shroud said, shaking her head. "I can't read whatever that language is. But it must be important to you. You look that happiest I've seen you in… well, ever, if you don't mind my speaking candidly?" "I always appreciate a bit of candor now and again, Shroud," he chuckled. "It's true, your discovery has certainly raised my spirits a great, great deal." "I'm glad to hear that, sir." He breathed a content sigh. "I was afraid that all these years of waiting had been for naught, that this document had been lost to the ages without my knowledge and that all my labors had gone to waste. This changes everything. With this, the war is finally over." She arched an eyebrow. "War, sir? You mean with Hope's Point?" "Nothing quite so mundane, no, but it is likely beyond your understanding, and I wish not to present a lengthy explanation that you wouldn't believe," he said, shaking his head. "Shroud, with this act, you have proven to me that you are most dedicated to my service, far beyond what I'd expected of anypony. Well done." Shroud curtsied again. "It is always an honor to serve, sir." "I have always expressed that diligence and hard work is key, have I not?" he said with a grin. "It is so rare to get a chance to do so. Your years of service have been long, faithful, and fruitful. And for that, I must commend you, with all due sincerity, for your dedication to your duty." "Th-thank you sir," she said, completely caught off-guard by his praise. She was used to getting thanks and appreciation for her work, but this was something else. Something more. "As a reward for your success in this task I have given to you, I believe you deserve a little reprieve. You may take the rest of today off from your regular duties, returning to work tomorrow morning at your normal hour. I shall think of some other, more suitable reward at a later time, but this will suffice for now, I feel." She blinked. "T-truly?" She'd worked for Silvertongue for years, and had not once ever taken a day off. Granted her work was purely secretarial duties and she technically worked from home since her office and apartment were less than five feet apart, and she typically had freedom to do as she pleased during the day unless asked to perform a task, but still. "Yes, Shroud. Truly." Silvertongue then waved her off. "Run along, now. Leave me to my business, and enjoy your day." "I… I will, sir. Thank you, sir," she said with another curtsey. With that, she left his office and immediately made her way into the elevator before letting out a little whoop of excitement. Today seemed like it was going to be a good day. ***** Curaçao left her bedroom in Pandora Tower early that morning after a shower to freshen up, and made her way immediately for Shroud's office, as she usually did every morning if only to have a pleasant start to her days. Part of this routine was because Shroud's diligence, skill, and efficiency were of great help in accomplishing her own goals. The other part of it was because she'd grown to legitimately enjoy the other mare's company. She didn't interact with many ponies as herself apart from her sisters and father—she typically had to take on another's appearance or appear as nothing at all—so having the opportunity to just be Curaçao with Shroud was rather… freeing. After taking the elevator down to the fiftieth floor, she entered Shroud's office as she always did—no need to knock—but found it strangely empty. Shroud was never late for work; that seemed as though it would be impossible, seeing as her apartment was on the opposite side of the door on the far side of the office. "Allô?" she called. "Shroud? Où es-tu?" No answer. She strode over to the door to Shroud's apartment instead, and on this door, she did knock; it was rude to intrude on the secretary's private chambers without permission. "Allô? Shroud?" Shroud's voice came from the other side. "Come on in!" Curaçao opened the door and found Shroud in the nearby corner seated at her own personal desk in front of her personal computer, a little headset over her ears. She was wearing a loose-fitting, overly-large shirt and had a damp towel around her neck; her frizzy mane indicated she'd just gotten out of the shower less than five minutes ago, at best. "Oh, hey Curie," Shroud said with a grin, using the shortened version of Curaçao's name; normally only Insipid called her that, but when Shroud said it it made Curaçao feel especially… nice. "What's up?" "Ah, bonjour mon amie," Curaçao said with a grin of her own. "What is this? Why are you not in your office this morning?" "I got the day off," Shroud said. "Your dad was really happy with the work I did on that assignment he gave me, so he gave me the rest of the day to myself." She tilted her head towards the monitor. "So I'm just relaxing for now, but I might play some games later or something. I've got a pretty big backlog." Curaçao smiled. "Well, this is new. I have never seen you looking so casual before. It is… très mignon." She glanced down a bit, then back up to Shroud, the smile turning into a smoldering smirk. “Séduisante, oui?” Shroud glanced down at herself, then blushed, tugging the shirt down to cover her half-exposed cutie mark. "Oh! I, uh… I just got out the shower—" "It is no problem, and I do not mind one bit. Je l'aime," Curaçao chuckled. She then turned and headed back towards the door. "I will just leave you to your day, oui?" Shroud rose from her chair, removing her headset. "Wait, you're leaving? But you just got here." "Ah, oui, but I have some work to do, and I do not wish to bother you when you are taking time to yourself. Ce serait impoli—it would be rude." Shroud frowned. "Were you just coming to see me to get help with work?" "Oh, non non non, not at all, mon amie," Curaçao quickly replied. "I was coming to wish you a good morning before I went about my work, as we usually do, non? But this is your apartment, not your office. I would not want to impose upon your personal time." "I mean, I can still help you with whatever you need, if you need help…" Shroud mumbled. Curaçao paused, blinking. Shroud's expression was not hard to read; she'd spent enough time with the other mare that she could read her like a book. Shroud was upset; not angry, more… hurt. "Oui, but this is your day off. You do not have to help me with my work—" Shroud shook her head. "I know that, but what if I want to help you? I mean, I have the entire day to myself, but I wouldn't mind spending some of it with you," she added, blushing. Curaçao gave her a small smile. "Well… then I would appreciate that very much. I enjoy our time together." "S-so do I." Shroud retook her seat and cleared her throat. "So, uh… wh-what did you need help with?" Curaçao strode over, taking a spot behind Shroud's chair as she passed the secretary her data drive, and explained the basic gist of things: "I have been working with the documents you gave me regarding this stallion, Lockwood, as well as all of the information I could find on all of his colleagues and contacts, and of their colleagues and contacts. It is a long list, non?" "Yeah, I remember putting this together for you," Shroud said as she opened the document and scanned through it briefly. "So, what's your current goal?" "Well, there are obviously certain contacts on this list that are more valuable than others, oui?" Curaçao gestured towards some of the names. "Par exemple, I gain very little from contacts within the NPAF, as we have plenty of influential contacts of our own there. However, I find some of the others much more interesting." Truthfully, she didn't consider a single pony on this potential list of contacts to be lacking in worth. Certainly some of those had benefited her sisters greatly by proxy of assisting their charges, but not all of them had any immediately apparent purpose; Curaçao couldn't think of what use she could have for a small-scale dessert caterer, for instance. Some, however, were potentially excellent leads to further her family's agenda within the city in the years to come. Eventually, those mysterious six mares would get all the help they needed to return home. Not to this "Ponyville" down in Utopia—there was no such place from all that Curaçao had been able to discern—but to someplace likely more alien than that. If any of her other sisters had realized something was amiss, they hadn't said anything; if any of them had figured it out it would likely only be Dawn or Gray, but certainly not the others. When that came to pass, Curaçao and her sisters would likely be given other tasks to promote their family's legacy, and that was what she was assigned to figure out. She knew it meant seeking out ponies to help make it possible, and nopony seemed better to start with than this Lockwood fellow. "Okay, so, which of these contacts are we looking for more details on?" Shroud asked as she scrolled her way down the list. "No need for more details, mon amie, I have everything I need to begin with my work," Curaçao said with a smile. "No, it is just a matter of picking and choosing my targets and the methods I must use to contact them. At the moment, the ones at the top of my list are these two mares." She leaned forward and tapped the screen. "Mint and Matcha Tea." Shroud adjusted her glasses. "Ah, the owners and editors of the New Pandemonium Times. Good choice." "Oui, the most prolific newspaper in the city, non? They are practically célèbre." "Yeah, mostly because of the articles they run on the NPAF." Shroud shook her head in disbelief. "I'm honestly a little surprised they've been allowed to get away with it. Not that I'm arguing for propaganda or silencing free speech or anything." "Oui, but they could prove to be an extremely valuable asset in the future," Curaçao said, her eyes flashing with glee. "The problem is, I cannot simply contact them and make a connection. It would take years to build a proper partnership that could be used to our advantage. "But, I have a plan," she added with a grin. She tapped the screen a few more times, bringing up a schedule of upcoming charity events. "These two are benefactors of an influential charity foundation, of which Monsieur Lockwood is also a member." "Hmm, I think I see where you're going with this," Shroud said, relaxing back into her seat. "Oui. I believe that Lockwood is the key to meeting with them and beginning to lay groundwork pour un partenariat, and this applies to all of his contacts, non? So, it is important that I first contact him and give him reason to do for me what he has done for mes soeurs." "Makes sense. So, what's the plan?" "Well, I cannot just walk up to him in the street. It would not be proper. Non, I must meet him at a social function, for I have been led to believe that almost all of his contacts were formed in such a way." Curaçao then pointed at the screen, specifically at one of the upcoming events. "And this is where I will meet him." Shroud leaned forward to look at the screen more closely and read the details. "The charity is holding a masquerade ball tonight, huh? That sounds pretty fancy… dresses and masks, lots of mystery and music. Kind of romantic, really." "Oui." Curaçao then sighed. "The problem is, I require une invitation. I was going to see if I could find a way to steal one from one of the other guests, but—" "Pfft, you don't need to do that," Shroud said, waving her hoof. "Watch this." Shroud's hooves dashed across the screen like lightning, clicking through pages and documents so quickly that Curaçao lost track of what she was doing. She'd gotten used to the secretary's savvy with a computer by now and had started to learn how to keep track of her actions on the screen, but Shroud moved like a demon when on her personal computer; Curaçao was at a total loss. In under a minute, Shroud proudly tapped the screen again, and there on the monitor was a list of ponies that were invited to the event. "And voilà, the event's guest list. Now it's just a matter of adding a certain 'Curaçao' onto the list…" She did exactly that, adding Curaçao's name into an inconspicuous spot near the middle. "And bingo, you're in. Just show up at the door and say your name, and you won't even need the invitation." Curaçao blinked, stunned. "Incroyable. You make it seem so easy. Bravo." "Nah, it's no big deal," Shroud said, her cheeks reddening. "These sorts of events aren't usually hidden behind a lot of security. It was just a matter of sorting through the event organizers to find who was in charge of the guest list, then tracking down the documentation they'd have sent to the venue where the event is taking place. Anypony could do it." Curaçao chuckled. "Oui, I am sure anypony could, but not as quickly as you. Merci beaucoup, mon amie, this will make things much easier pour moi." She glanced at the event's details for more information now that she was firmly convinced she'd be attending. It was to be held late in the evening at a ritzy ballroom in the Baroque District of the inner city, so it would be a high-class affair for certain. Guests were expected to wear proper masquerade attire, meaning gowns, suits, and masks, of course, which wouldn't be an issue since Curaçao could shift her clothing to blend in. One note on there, however, that drew Curaçao's attention was the suggestion that guests were generally expected to bring along a plus one. She figured exceptions could and would be made for certain guests, but since she was a new face for all intents and purposes, it wouldn't do for her to break the trend like that. She needed a date. She glanced sideways at Shroud briefly, a little smile curling on her lips. "Shroud, mon amie… you said that you have the entire day off, oui? That includes tonight?" Shroud blinked. "Yeah?" Curaçao turned her full attention to Shroud now, her face getting a little closer. "How would you like to attend this masquerade ball with me?" Shroud froze up, her cheeks reddening. "Wh-what?" "The charity encourages guests to bring a plus one to this event, non? Well, I cannot simply show up and hope to make a good impression if I am tout seul, oui? All by myself? I need to have a…" She brought her face a little closer so that her breath was in Shroud's ear. "Date." Shroud's cheeks reddened further and she drew back slightly in her chair. "Y-you want to take me to the b-ball? On a… a… a date?" Curaçao smirked. "Oui. I would very much like to take you out on a date tonight, Shroud… if you wa—" "Yes!" Shroud hastily blurted. She shook her head. "I mean, I'd love to. But I, uh… I don't get out much, and I don't really, uh, know how to dance, so I'm not sure a ball—" "Oh, that will be no problem at all, mon amie," Curaçao said, gently putting her hoof on Shroud's. "I can teach you how, if you'd like?" "I… I'll think about that. But… um, s-sure, I'd love to be your, uh… d-date tonight." Shroud gulped, but she had a little smile on her face. "I mean, it sounds… fun? I've never been on a date before. Or to a ball. Let alone a masquerade ball." "Well, there is a first time for everyzing, oui?" Curaçao chuckled. She briefly tilted her head in thought. "I cannot remember the last ball I attended myself, though. Hmm. I know I have been to many, and yet…" She waved that thought off with her hoof. "Ah, it is sans importance en ce moment." She stepped towards the door, pulling Shroud from her chair ever so slightly. "The important thing is that we get you a beautiful gown, oui? Ah, and we must also spruce you up a bit—your mane, your makeup, etcetera. You are already charmante, mon amie, but I know that there is so much more to you." "I… oh, uh… yeah, I suppose so," Shroud stammered as she allowed herself to be taken away. "Then let us get started. Allons-y!" ***** It was the beginning of the evening, just about the usual time when normal ponies would be getting ready to gather around the dinner table, and yet the Fetta di Paradiso Ballroom in the upper Baroque District was filled to the brim and bustling with activity. Ponies from throughout the inner city had come to participate in the charity masquerade ball, as well as a scant few from the Mid Districts that had the money and clout to cross the class divide. The ballroom was so named because the ceiling was painted with light, fluffy clouds, illustrious golden rays of light, and positively angelic ponies—nude, of course, because this was art—fluttering about in relaxed poses even without wings. Very tasteful. Very expensive. Curaçao and Shroud arrived early enough that they didn't miss the party's social atmosphere, but just late enough to maintain a proper fashionable appearance as Curaçao insisted was required for first impressions. The staff at the door let them in without issue whatsoever; Curaçao was on the guest list, after all, and had brought a date—Curaçao preferred that term now—and that was satisfactory for everypony involved. Curaçao had "dressed" herself in a totally unique black ball gown which glittered with sequins that made her look like a walking nighttime sky in the southern hemisphere, where the sky was clear and free to gaze upon; her mask, which was legitimate so that she could remove it, matched it perfectly. She otherwise did not change her appearance whatsoever, apart from styling her mane and tail to match current trends with her own added flair. Shroud's own gown was a much more simple affair, with an off-white bodice and a flowing green skirt decorated with floral patterns. The Tower's live-in seamstress and tailor, Rosegold Satin, had expertly designed and crafted the gown in a matter of hours as well as a matching mask. Like Curaçao, her mane and tail had been styled into the current trends, but she wasn't able to wear her glasses; this was fine since she only needed them for reading anyway, but Curaçao felt it detracted from her charm. The dancing portion of the ball had yet to get started, as these sorts of social events were primarily purposed to allow guests to mingle and hobnob with those of the same elite social standing, to make new friends and converse with old ones, and to potentially forge new bonds be they for business or pleasure. "This place is… wow…" Shroud murmured as she walked beside Curaçao into the ballroom proper, barely containing her awe. "I've never been to any place like this in my entire life." Curaçao glanced up at the artful ceiling and grinned. "Oui, it is quite nice. Il est approprié for ponies of a certain sort, and I think we fit that description," she added, glancing over at Shroud briefly to give her a wink. Shroud blushed and hung her head slightly; it was hard to see the blush behind her mask, but Curaçao noticed it easily. "I mean, it's perfect for somepony like you. You're exactly the sort of pony that belongs in a place like this. Fashionable, classy, beautiful, sociable—" "Do you really think I am beautiful, mon amie?" Curaçao asked with a flutter of eyelashes; she'd come to enjoy teasing the secretary. "I… I, uh…" Shroud stammered, redder than before. She quickly gestured out at the rest of the room. "I mean, everypony here is a member of the beautiful elite. R-right?" Curaçao smirked and leaned a little closer to the other mare as they walked. "You are adorable when you are nervous," she whispered. "Ah… er…" "Come, let us socialize with these 'beauitful elite' as you say, oui? I must find this Lockwood, and see what I can learn in une rencontre en face à face, rather than through just a computer screen." She pressed her muzzle against Shroud's ear. "I find that I tend to like the ponies behind the screen, oui?" Shroud gulped. "If… if it's okay with you, Curie, I'd rather not be a part of the whole socializing aspect of this." Curaçao raised an eyebrow. "Hmm? Pourquoi pas?" "I don't handle social interactions very well. Apart from you, the only pony I've talked to face-to-face for years has been your dad, and that's purely business-related." She hung her head again. "The only time I ever talk to anypony else is through the intercom. I'm not good with ponies, really…" Curaçao took Shroud's hoof in hers. "Then you do not have to, mon amie. It would be inappropriée pour moi to make you do anything that makes you uncomfortable." She gestured over towards a seating area at the side of the dance floor, which was mostly empty. "If you want, you may sit while I work, oui? I will check in on you in a few moments." Shroud glanced at the seats, then nodded. "Yeah… that sounds good. I'll have some champagne, maybe a few snacks…" She gave Curaçao a small smile. "So, I guess I'll see you in a little bit? Good luck with this guy." Curaçao returned the smile. "Merci." As Shroud walked over towards the seating area, Curaçao found herself unable to take her eyes off the secretary. A part of her didn't want to let the mare go off and be alone while she went off to fraternize. She wanted to just take Shroud out of here and bring her back to the Tower where she would feel comfortable and safe. But, with a sigh, Curaçao turned out towards the center of the room and started her search for her target. She had work to do; this entire endeavor was intended as a business assignment, and Curaçao was always first and foremost a professional. As she strolled through crowds of well-dressed and well-groomed ponies in their fancy gowns and suits, she kept her eyes open for her target, politely ignoring attempts from various stallions—and one mare—to catch her eye. All of the ponies were, as Shroud had stated, the beautiful elite, and she had to admit that some of the mares were quite fetching indeed. She knew she herself attracted a lot of attention—that had been her intent, after all—and the irony of it wasn't lost on her; for somepony that specialized in working from the shadows, that steered things along invisibly or in the guise of another, Curaçao loved the sensation that came with having every eye in the room on her. Lockwood was not difficult to find because he, too, stood out from the crowd. Unlike herself, however, it was not because he was beautiful and extravagant or because he walked with grace and poise. No, it was because he was the only pony in the room that Curaçao could even consider underdressed, ironically. The stallion's tuxedo was a distinctly middle-class quality, acceptable enough for a classy dinner or the opera. But in contrast to every other stallion in the room, with their lavish cloaks and puffed collars, Lockwood stuck out like a sore hoof. His strikingly high-quality mask, a silky purple affair with lovely blue feathers, didn't even match his tuxedo; perhaps Rarity had crafted that for him? His brown mane wasn't styled beyond being perfectly trim and neat; his coat was clean and the tuxedo let his wings stay free, unlike the cloaks of other pegasi that covered their wings; most of all, his mask contrasted his golden eyes so strikingly that they'd caught her attention instantly. Even from halfway across the room she could see them, and she had to admit they were quite enticing. He was in the midst of a conversation with a circle of ponies all dressed more lavishly then he was, and not a single one of them minded or seemed to be bringing attention to it. Curaçao recognized a few faces—despite the masks—from his sizable list of contacts, proof enough that her and Shroud's detective work had been on point. First were two identical, attractive, green-coated mares wearing identical dresses and masks, the only difference being where the feathers were located on each. These were recognizable as Mint and Matcha Tea, who topped the list of ponies she planned on using Lockwood to communicate with, once she'd forged a bit of a bond with him. Also present were Ruby Cross, a renowned surgeon that operated out of the Mid-East hospitals and who was doing pro bono operations to help victims of fire from a couple of weeks prior; Cobalt Steel, an architect that was currently leading some of the projects to rebuild parts of the Mid-East District that had burned down in the fire; and Gleaming Coin, an investor in the rebuilding project and who had recently purchased all of the property space that had been affected by the fire, even in the Outer District. It all made perfect sense, seeing as this charity event was intended to provide financial aid to the Mid-East reconstruction efforts. These latter three were pretty much the lead ponies within the project, and so all of the various elites throughout the room were donating to their cause. Not entirely out of altruism, mind, but because donations could be funneled through tax code loopholes such that the donors would likely make money out of the deal. Curaçao waited discreetly on the edge of the conversation, enough to eavesdrop a little bit—the conversation was dreadfully dull—while she sipped from a small glass of champagne. She waited, and waited, and waited, until at last the other ponies in the group all gradually took their leave to go elsewhere into the party, likely to schmooze with the other elites to obtain more donations. Lockwood, now alone, turned to head elsewhere into the party as well, but Curaçao was quick, and stopped him with a tap on the shoulder before he could engage in another conversation elsewhere. "Pardonnez-moi, Monsieur Lockwood?" He turned and raised an eyebrow, but had a polite smile on his face that Curaçao could tell was perfectly genuine. "Yes, that's me. Hello there. And you are?" She offered her hoof daintily to him. "Je m'appelle Curaçao. A pleasure." He took her hoof and gave it a gentle shake. "Enchanté, mademoiselle." "Oh, parlez-vous Romantique, monsieur? Quelle agréable surprise. Je n'ai jamais l'occasion de parler dans ma langue maternelle." He gave a small grin and laughed. "Oh no, I, uh, I just know a few greetings and such so that I can be polite to folks here and there. I couldn't hope to carry on a conversation, but I understand a little bit here and there." "Ah, c'est dommage," she sighed. "C'est la vie. It cannot be helped." "What can I do for you, mademoiselle?" he asked, maintaining his polite smile. She hummed. "At the moment, nothing. I merely wanted to put a face to the name, for now." He raised an eyebrow. "You know me?" "Not personally, non, but I have heard of you. I believe that you know my sisters." "I know a lot of ponies' sisters, I think. You'll have to be more specific." He paused, then tugged his collar. "Uh… that sounded better in my head. I meant, I know lots of ponies, just in general. Certainly some of them are somepony's sisters. Yours are…?" "A few mares that moved into the apartment complex where you are the landlord," she said, maintaining eye contact. "Fairly recently, in fact. Say, about two weeks ago?" He paused. "Ah, I think I know who you mean. Gray, Insipid, and Velvet, right?" "Oui." "They're your sisters?" "Oui." He tilted his head. "I'll be honest, mademoiselle, I don't recall them ever mentioning you." "Ah, of course not," she said dismissively. "We do not speak often. I am afraid our relationship is somewhat… strained. I am too busy to spend time with ma famille. But, that does not mean that I do not care for them and pay attention to their needs. I ensured that they had a place to stay when their old apartment burned down in the fires, oui?" Lockwood paused at that. "Really? I remember that paperwork being taken care of so quickly that I didn't even know about it until afterwards. I figured somepony with some kind of pull had gotten involved. That was you?" "Oui. As I said, I care for mes soeurs, even if I do not spend much time with them." She sighed. "I have also ensured that they have funds to live off of." "They said that money came from their father," Lockwood noted, apparently trying to catch her in a lie; he wasn't stupid, which was a very good thing, because that meant he'd actually be useful. "Oui, but I did it on behalf of notre père—our father—because he is also too busy to do these things himself. I am in charge of their allowances, so to speak. If I was not, then Insipid would likely buy everything she sees. Imagine the effect on the city's economy!" she added with a grin. "Fair point. Well, who exactly is your father that he has the kind of money to just toss around like that, but doesn't keep his daughters with him someplace nicer than Southeast Point? I've seen the kind of money Insipid spends, and she seems like she'd be right at home in the Inner Districts." She smiled. "Mes soeurs are very independent. They wanted to strike out on their own, oui? I am sure you have met them and know that they are not the sort to rely on anypony else. Ma sœur, Red Velvet, par exemple, she prefers to have her freedom to do as she pleases with whomever she pleases. Sometimes in more… physical ways, non?" He tilted his head. "Yeh, that sounds like her." "Well, that was all well and good until the fires, oui? Mon père did not want them to suffer because of an accident, and so I helped to ensure that mes soeurs were taken care of." She shrugged. "I wish I could do more, but that is all that they would accept." "Alright. But who exactly is your father, if I might ask?" "I cannot say." "You can't say? Why?" "Because his work requires his anonymity, oui? Certain… interesting associations are very protective of their assets." She was very deliberate when she mouthed “CIA” to him with a coy grin, and had chosen her words precisely. Lockwood, catching on, nodded at that. "Okay, now you're making sense. I'd expect that particular organization to be capable of pushing along paperwork and such to get things done quickly. Those sisters of yours were moved into the apartment practically right after the fires." "Oui, we move très rapidement." He tilted his head. "But what does any of this have to do with me?" Here, she smiled again. "I did not choose your apartment complex randomly, Monsieur Lockwood. I chose it because I saw that it was run properly by a stallion that cared for his tenants, oui? I did a very thorough background check." "On me?" "Oui, on you. I would not allow mes soeurs to move into an apartment where their landlord could potentially be un voleur or un violeur. I needed to know that I could trust you, and your background proved that you are a principled pony." Her smile turned to a sultry smirk. "And I found that there is much more to you than that." He blinked. "Really? Like what?" "Let us just say that I think you and I could have a potentially fruitful business relationship, oui? I know that you do not have anypony with my connections in your little black book, so to speak." He paused, eyeing her with a sort of scrutiny she'd expect from somepony trying to spot a lie. That was the best part of all of this: the best lies also contained kernels of truth in them. She was being honest about her intentions, and she had helped her father with arranging her sisters' move to Southeast Point, and she was involved with maintaining their budgets. The CIA cover story, however, was just a convenient—and believable—fabrication to mask her true connections. He seemed to buy it. At least for now. "It sounds like you and I might be able to have a… conversation," he said, though she could detect a hint of nervousness. "Frankly, I'm not used to discussing, uh… 'business' matters so directly. You're pretty forward about all of this, Mademoiselle Curaçao, if you don't mind my saying?" "Not at all," she said with a grin. "If you don't mind, though, can we put a pin on this discussion for a moment? I have some other friends at this event that I said I'd meet, and I'd very much like to see to that before I engage in any sort of business talk." She nodded. "Oui, c'est acceptable." She gestured over towards the seating area on the far side of the room, where she'd left Shroud. "Come find me over there, if you would. I will be waiting. Not for long, I hope." He nodded. "Right, then I'll see you in a few moments." Curaçao nodded back, and the two parted ways. She knew exactly what he was doing; he wasn't a particularly good liar, which was fine because she didn't need a liar, she needed a well-connected socialite. But while he certainly might be meeting with friends, she knew that he was absolutely going to be asking questions about her, to see if anypony could corroborate her story. They wouldn't be able to. At most somepony might say that the guest list had been modified that afternoon. That would just lead credence to her cover story of having CIA connections, because that sort of secretive, no-nonsense action was exactly what ponies expected CIA agents to do, not to mention that any background check would never reveal her in the system, just like any CIA agent. She was a ghost. When she returned to the seating area, though, Curaçao's newfound elation evaporated like a drop of water in a frying pan. Shroud looked positively uncomfortable in her seat at the moment, not because of her gown or anything of the sort, but because of her company. The well-built pegasus stallion had a light blue coat and a two-tone gray mane, and was wearing a red silk vest over a silky white shirt, a black cloak, and a ruffled white collar. His mask covered most of the left side of his face. Curaçao recognized him as Vendetta, who sat on the Committee as the city's Treasurer. She also knew that he was the head of the immensely influential Rossa family, who headed up a not-so-secret criminal empire that dominated most of the city, and had only risen in wealth, power, and influence over the past six years following the sudden departure of their only real rival, the Fantasia family. That whole situation was muddied and difficult to research, so Curaçao assumed it was an expertly-planned takeover of some kind and most assuredly involved several murders. Whatever had happened, it made Vendetta the wealthiest pony in all of New Pandemonium, whose hooves were all over the place within the city's most profitable industries. Only her father had that kind of financial firepower. At the moment, Vendetta was being quite forward with Shroud, who only had so much room to scoot away from him before falling off her chair and onto the floor, and who seemed too frightened to just get up and walk away; she likely knew who he was and almost assuredly was intimidated by his reputation. His name was meaningful. The bulky bodyguard that stood nearby to keep other guests away likely didn't help matters. Curaçao stepped towards the pair, and the bodyguard—dressed in a snappy tuxedo and wearing a simple black mask—moved to intercept her. "Sorry signora, you'd best get back to the party." She just gave him a perfectly calm smile. "The other mare is with me, monsieur. I hope that will not be a problem?" "Cute. If you want by, I'll need to make sure you're not carrying any concealed weapons." She gestured for him to do so. "I have nothing to hide." The guard patted her down for a moment—she was actually surprised that he was being professional about it—then just stepped aside slightly and gestured for her to continue onward. She nodded, and did just that. Curaçao stepped up to the pair and, with a polite clearing of her throat she interrupted the display. "Pardonnez-moi, I hope I am not interrupting anything?" Vendetta turned his attention to Curaçao and eyed her up and down briefly. "Well hello. You're a pretty thing too, aren't you?" He then smiled and tilted his head. "But yes, you are indeed interrupting. Can't you see that I am currently enraptured by this fiore stupendo? Not that I don't mind the attention of two beautiful mares, mind you." Shroud shied away from him a bit more, her wide eyes wordlessly pleading for Curaçao's help. "I, ah… appreciate the attention, sir, b-but I really don't think I'm your type." "Nonsense, my sweet thing," Vendetta said, putting his hoof on hers; she naturally pulled it back, but he just followed it along to her thigh. "A beautiful creature like yourself is worth getting yelled at by the wife over. She doesn't like to share, but I'm a bit of what you could call… a philanthropist." "You wife would not be the only one upset by this, monsieur," Curaçao said, stepping forward and promptly—but delicately—removing his hoof from Shroud's personal space, a polite grin on her face. "I would advise you to keep your hooves off of mon amie." "Oh really?" he asked, giving Curaçao a cocky smirk. "Why's that?" "Because if I see your hooves ever come near her again, I will remove them and feed them to you," she said, her serene expression not at all matching her words. From a distance, it would look like a perfectly casual, pleasant conversation between two strangers at a party. Vendetta rose up, straightened his shirt, and gave Curaçao a hard look; she'd pegged him as the sort of guy that would treat mares and stallions equally if they crossed him in any way. She could appreciate that. "Is that a threat, tesoro?" He subtly gestured with his head towards his bodyguard. "My boy Rockabilly won't hesitate to toss you out of here, right on that beautiful ass of yours, and I happen to know that sometimes this neighborhood can get… pericoloso, especially at this time at night. You do know who I am, don't you?" "Oui, I know you, and I know your reputation, Treasurer Vendetta, but you do not know me." "And that's a shame. Look, how about you, me, and your friend here," he said, gesturing at Shroud, "all just put this little misunderstanding behind us, hmm? We can go back to my penthouse, and maybe we can get to… know each other better. I might just forget that you laid your hooves on me without my asking. An honest mistake, I'm sure." "Oh, non, I assure you, you do not want to know me," Curaçao said, keeping her expression calm and collected but her tone fierce and quiet, practically touching her nose to his. "I will give you some advice: just walk away. Turn around, go back to the party, and find some other mare to lavish your attention on. But not this one. Just walk away." Vendetta paused for a moment, meeting Curaçao's gaze with his own. Then, he smiled. "I like you, ragazza. You've got testicoli, more than most stallions I know." He put his hooves up briefly in a mocking display of peace. "Fine, fine. I'll go. But let me give you some advice, signora: nopony crosses Vendetta more than once. If I ever see your beautiful face again, well…" He shrugged, then left it at that and walked back to his bodyguard. "Come on, Rock, I need a drink before the dancing starts. And a new dancing partner." And off they went without looking back. Curaçao turned back to Shroud, maintaining her calm expression as she sat down next to her. "Are you alright, mon amie?" "Y-yeah, I'm fine," Shroud muttered, sitting up straight and taking a few breaths. "Sorry you had to do that. I would've left, but… I didn't want to stir up any trouble while you were working—" Curaçao put her hoof on Shroud's. "You do not need to worry about that. If anypony ever makes you feel uncomfortable again, ever hurts you in any way, you come tell me immédiatement, d'accord? Now, tomorrow, and forever: you come tell me." Shroud nodded. "I will." Then, she shuddered. "Ugh… what a creep. I've heard about his reputation and all but I didn't think he was really like that. How does his wife stand him?" "Money goes a long way, and no lawyer in the city would want to touch that divorce case," Curaçao chuckled. "Yeah, I bet," Shroud agreed with her own chuckle. "Thanks for stepping in…" "It is no trouble, mon amie. I am just glad I was here to help." "I hope this isn't a bad time?" asked Lockwood, who'd just come over, a glass of champagne in his hoof. Curaçao turned, her genuine grin returning as she looked upon this welcome interruption. "Not at all, Monsieur Lockwood. This is perfect timing, actually." She gestured to Shroud briefly. "This is Shroud, my date for the evening." "Enchanté, mademoiselle," Lockwood said with a brief bow; he definitely possessed social etiquette, because despite it being polite to approach Shroud now to offer his hoof, he did not, because she was clearly troubled. A true gentlecolt, quite a rarity indeed. Shroud just gave him a small nod. "You too, Mister Lockwood." Lockwood glanced out towards the party briefly. "I see you two had the pleasure of meeting with Treasurer Vendetta, huh? Nice guy, isn't he?" he asked, his voice thick with sarcasm. Curaçao did not need to question it. Her research over the past few days told her that Lockwood was deeply ingrained within the Crown Spectrum tech company, and that its largest investor, at least until about five years ago, was a shell company that connected to the old Fantasia family. Another investor had bought the company out shortly after the Fantasia family disappeared, just in time so that Vendetta didn't get it, and Lockwood's hooves were all over that. Lockwood had not done the same for Southeast Point, notably. That Vendetta kept him on the staff spoke to Lockwood's talent as a negotiator. It could have all been just a wonderful little coincidence. He had just confirmed that it was not. "Oh, oui, he is an absolute charmer," Curaçao replied, her own sarcasm not nearly as thick but still clear to hear. She stood up from her seat and smoothed her dress. "So, what did you find out about me?" He raised an eyebrow. "Huh?" "Oh, do not play coy, monsieur. You must have asked some of your other friends if they knew me, or perhaps if they knew why I was here, non?" He took a drink of his champagne, then nodded slightly. "Alright, you've caught me red-hoofed. I did ask around a little, and not one of them knew anything about you. Which, to me, would fall right in line with somepony working with the CIA. Now, I do hesitate to outright agree to that, though, considering what I just witnessed." Curaçao smirked. "Oh?" "If you're with the CIA, wouldn't that make Treasurer Vendetta technically one of your bosses?" She chuckled. "Technically, oui, but that would require that he knew who I was, and only Director Underhoof knows all of the agents on the CIA staff." She made a show of looking for the infamous CIA Director. "And I do not see her here. Ah, c'est la vie." That got a smile out of him. "That is a fair point. So I have no idea whether or not I can trust you or believe a word you say, which, again… that's very much a quality of the CIA, isn't it?" He took another drink of champagne. "I wonder, is Curaçao even your real name?" "Does it matter if this identity is real or not?" "No, I suppose it doesn't," he said with a little sigh, as though the thought didn't really bother him at all. "So, I said I would hear what this business proposition of yours is, and why the CIA is taking a sudden interest in me." "When did I say that the CIA is taking an interest in you, monsieur? I believe I only said that I am taking an interest, oui?" That made him tilt his head, confused. "Huh? So, wait… this isn't an official CIA job?" "Non. This is a more… personal interest," she said with a grin. "I will try not to involve the CIA at all if possible, and I believe that the two of us can benefit greatly from such a partnership." "Huh. Okay… well, let's hear it." She shook her head and put up a hoof. "Non, not yet, monsieur, not yet. This meeting here, it was just to gauge the sort of pony you are, and you not disappoint me in the slightest. However, as to what it is I am interested in, let us just say that you have an incredible number of friends, don't you?" He paused, then nodded. "I suppose I do. How would you know something like that, though?" "If I was not clear earlier, I did a thorough background check on you. That is why I left mes soeurs in your care, and why I know they are safe. I appreciate that very much." "Well… I suppose then that we can thank each other for that situation," he said with a curious grin. "I might not even be here if it wasn't for your sister, Gray. Long story, but yeah… I guess we've both benefited from them being where they are. They've been good friends to me and to other friends of mine." She smiled. "Then perhaps we can do business in the future." At that moment, the ballroom's band began playing a lovely waltz, and at once, the entire ballroom floor cleared off of all the socializing ponies to let those who wanted to dance out onto the floor. Curaçao grinned; despite the fact that she'd had work to do here at the ball, she had legitimately been looking forward to the actual dancing portion of the event. She cleared her throat. "Now, if you don't mind, I believe our business is done for the evening, Monsieur Lockwood. I will be in contact with you again." Lockwood nodded. "I'm not sure if I should be excited or not, to be honest, but I will say that it's been a pleasure to meet you. You sisters are good mares, and you seem to be cut from the same cloth." "That is very kind of you." She then turned to Shroud and offered her hoof. "Shroud, mon amie, would you care to dance?" Shroud, red in the face, just stared at Curaçao's hoof. "M-me? Dance? I… I don't know how—" "It is alright, I will teach you," Curaçao said with a smile. "I would like to think that I am a very good teacher, oui?" Shroud tentatively reached her hoof out towards Curaçao's, then glanced out onto the dance floor—particularly at Vendetta, who had indeed found a new dance partner—and withdrew it. "I… I can't. I'll just embarrass myself out there in front of all those ponies." Curaçao knew that was a lie, and figured that the poor mare had been pushed far out of her comfort zone because of the evening's events. She regretted instantly leaving Shroud alone to fend for herself for even a moment. And so, she relented, dropping her hoof back to the ground. "Non, I will not force this on you, mon amie, not if it makes you uncomfortable. I would be no better than Vendetta." "I'm sorry, Curie," Shroud said, shaking her head. "I know you really wanted to dance—" "Non, I wanted to share my evening with you. If you are not having fun, then I am not having fun." She sat back down next to Shroud and took the secretary's hoof in her own. "Maybe we should just go home, oui?" "I'm sorry…" Lockwood, who hadn't left yet, just cleared his throat. "Um… I apologize for, well, eavesdropping and interrupting the moment, but if I might make a suggestion?" Curaçao looked at him and gestured for him to continue; she had a feeling she knew what he was going to suggest. He let out a breath. "Look, your sisters and some of my friends are holding a party in my apartment as we speak. I left it to them to use since they needed the space, but of course I'm invited. I was just coming to the ball for a few brief appearances, then I was going to head back home and join the fun. They don't need me here anymore now that the dancing's started." Curaçao helped him finish his thought. "Are you inviting us to join you, Monsieur Lockwood?" He rubbed the back of his head. "Yes. Yes I am. I figure since your sisters are gonna be there, nopony would object. Plus it's a much smaller venue, if anypony's feeling uncomfortable with the crowd," he added, looking briefly to Shroud. "I know it's out of the blue, but you guys seem like you had an evening planned out, and somepony ruined it. I'd like to help salvage the evening, if I could?" Curaçao grinned. She'd known all about the party—Velvet had mentioned it in her reports—but hadn't actually planned on going. "Ah, so that is why Velvet needed a balloon machine. I was worried she was up to something else." He raised an eyebrow and made to speak; she just held up a hoof. "I am in charge of their allowances, remember?" "Ah. No, that makes sense, but I was just wondering what you thought she'd be using a balloon machine for?" Curaçao paused, actually a little uncomfortable with answering. She hadn't even thought about it; it just sort of came out, and now she was thinking about what Velvet might use one for if not for a party. She'd seen other things her sister had bought that likely weren't being used for their intended purposes. Lockwood simply nodded, reading the awkward silence well. "Say no more." Curaçao cleared her throat and turned to Shroud. "Well? Would you like to go to this other party with mes soeurs?" Shroud paused a moment, then nodded. "Yeah… that actually sounds kind of nice. I can handle a smaller crowd, I think." "C'est magnifique." Curaçao turned to Lockwood and smiled. "Very well, monsieur, we will accept your invitation." Lockwood smiled back. "Wonderful! I've got a feeling this will turn out to be a wonderful evening for everypony involved." Curaçao glanced at Shroud and patted the other mare's hoof. "I couldn't agree more."