Darks63: Yes, Azuren trained her, but that doesn't mean she brainwashed the girl
Patrick O'Harte: Nah
VILenin:
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September 1st, 1895
Paul Finley leaned on his elbows against the railing seperating him from land and a humiliating plummet into the murky waters below. Fortunately, there
was a railing there, thus preventing that attention-grabbing fall. The last thing he actually wanted at the moment was attention.
Gazing out across Havana harbor, Finley watched as a few fishing boats and merchant ships lazily puttered towards the docks at the end of the day. Light from the setting sun glittered and danced off the gently waving ocean, making all the boats appear dark and shadowy.
For most of the drab, grey boats in the harbor, that effect only helped to mask the fading paints or crumbling hulls. But for the strikingly white hull of the American battleship U.S.S. Maine, it seemed to do nothing to diminish the menacing threat of the massive United States warship anchored in the center of the harbor.
For the last three days, it had been there, ordered to take up the position there by President Stucon as a means of reminding the Spanish authorities and Cuban rebels of the island that no American citizens were to be punished, abused, or taken advantage of unlawfully, under penalty of American military might.
And there was a lot of that around these days - military might, that is.
The Spanish authorities were fuming over this new development, sentiment mirrored often by uniformed soldiers as they walked past Finley. Discretion was not one of their better suits. Few of them probably even considered an arrogant American gringo would understand Spanish.
Not only could Paul Finley understand Spanish, but he could break their necks in the blink of an eye.
Not that he would. Doing so would draw attention to him.
Finley continued staring out to sea, chewing idly on the corner of his lip until he heard the sound of footsteps steadily approaching him. He tensed ever so slightly. Years of training had put him on a constant state of alert, ready for the worst at every moment.
The worst thing that could happen now, Finely figured, was a group of drunk Spaniards looking for a fight.
Another man in his early twenties, dressed in simple suit and pants, stepped up beside him and leaned on the rail with him. Neither made eye contact for a moment; they simply stared out into the bay.
Finally, the other man spoke. "I checked the market. Poinsettias aren't in season."
Finley rolled his eyes. "Typical for this time of year. It's the weather."
"Captain Finley, I presume?" asked the man with a warm smile.
Finley nodded and flicked a bug that was walking across his hand into the bay. "That's right, and you're Private Calvin. Back when I was your age, we all used to know each other by sight, sound, and feel. No need for stupid code phrases that make us look like idiots."
"Times change, brother," Private Calvin said simply, missing much of the reminiscence in Finley's voice. "The Emperor didn't need as many of us before he went public."
"True," Finley admitted, nodding slowly as he squinted off towards the Maine. "What do you have for me?"
Private Calvin went into his report, detailing the plan of action, elaborating upon watch patterns, time tables, tides, right down to extraction and all contingency plans.
"Nice work, kid," he said approvingly. And he meant it. Few people in the Imperial Guard were that thorough anymore. Though, in truth, few ever had to be. Armed and trained as they were, little posed significant threat to them.
Except....
"Have you heard anything about our wayward friend?"
Finley sighed.
"No. At least, nothing significant. A few rumors. Some say he's working with the Spanish. Others say he's a crime lord, black market smuggler and whatnot."
"Those two aren't mutually exclusive, you know."
Finley scowled and shot Calvin a nasty look. The younger Imperial Guardsman wilted under his superior's gaze, looking apologetic. Satisfied Calvin was cowed, Finley began: "Regardless of what he's doing, the fact is he's covered his tracks well. He's doing what he's trained to do in this situation and this city's chaotic enough for him to get away with just about anything and slip through your net, even if we deploy half the Guard to Havana alone."
Calvin nodded, understanding. "Makes sense. So what are we going to do about it?"
Finley shrugged and donned his hat. "Nothing. We wait for him to make the first move. Now come on, we've got a mission to do."
