Chương 62: CHAPTER 61 – Old Friend

"Damn it! Damn it!" Monica slid out of bed, pressing the earpiece into her ear. Her clothes were scattered across the sheets and the floor of her room. Despite appearances, Monica's apartment was usually remarkably clean and orderly, pervaded by a mature, feminine air. The exception came in the morning. A long white desk, covered in skirts and undergarments of various colours, occupied a good portion of the room and joined the stove and the kitchenette.

Monica stumbled more than once as she listened to her interlocutor's voice.

"What is it? Does it bother you to come after everything that happened on the island?" The electronic voice made her ear vibrate as she tried to pull herself upright.

"If we are being honest, you did a bit too much…" She answered, closing the window and wrapping the bed's blankets around her shoulders.

"Far too many years have passed since the last time anything interesting happened. You know as well as I do that women and men are two of my great passions." A laugh closed the sentence, making Monica sigh.

"In any case, are you truly certain about inviting us? With all the movements and the crimes, I would not want to stir up strange rumours." Monica reached her hand toward a pair of opaque, dark stockings.

"Ugh… I am among the most influential people in this nation. Do you really think anyone would want to cross me?" Lexa seized her cup of steaming coffee, letting her breath ripple faintly across its surface.

"Actually, I was more worried about everyone else than about you." Monica smiled, beginning to dress. The sun had already risen in the sky, and its rays lit the glass of the small stove, the Commander's dear companion.

"Come now, I would like to see everyone again, and then apologise to that boy." Lexa took a sip of her drink, glancing at the first smoke rising from the factories.

"If possible, I would do it in the evening. From up here, there is a magnificent view outside." She murmured, rising from her armchair and turning her attention to the small figures on the street.

"I would not have taken you for the romantic and considerate type, Lexa. Have all these years of work changed you too?" Monica rose, dragging the blankets and all the garments on the bed along with her. She rummaged through the pile of clothes, pulling out a dark tank top with satisfaction.

"Look who is talking… Once upon a time you would not even have bothered with a dinner." The air on both their skins grew colder, clogging their pores and raising the hairs on their arms.

"Perhaps that is true. I will see what everyone else thinks. I would not want to leave anyone out this time." Monica glanced briefly at the sea, fixing her gaze on the strips of foam near the golden beach.

"I will handle the hotel arrangements in the worst case. Sector III is genuinely more advanced than you might expect." A metallic sound brought her attention back to the room. She began gathering the clothes from the floor one by one, folding them into the wardrobe and the baskets.

"In any case, I have things to attend to, so let me know by lunchtime." Lexa quickly unbuttoned her shirt, tossing it to the floor and heading toward her own room.

"Of course, of course, I certainly will not forget…" She smiled, closing the wardrobe doors and seizing the laundry baskets for washing. The sound of running water replaced the faint hum of the earpiece, until it ceased entirely.

"She could at least have said goodbye…" She huffed, removing the small device from her ear. Monica ran a hand through her golden hair, normally arranged in an elaborate bob but now dishevelled and puffy.

"Perhaps I should try a different style…" Monica immediately fixed her gaze on the bathroom door, gathering everything she needed, when suddenly the cold from outside struck her full on.

"I have already given you more time than you deserve. I am on duty for the laundry, and this time you will not make me... What in the maiden's name are you doing?" A man in a thick, loose green jumper stood in the doorway, an amber-coloured badge in hand. Monica stared at him in silence, slowly running her fingers along her chest, down to her hips.

"I have no wish to pry into your passions… But how do you sleep, Monica?" Maliard stared at the girl with something close to disgust before being violently hurled backward along with the laundry basket.

"KNOCK! I HAVE TOLD YOU A THOUSAND TIMES TO KNOCK ON THAT ABSOLUTELY BLOODY DOOR!" A second object struck Maliard squarely, sending him springing to his feet, his cheeks burning red.

"DID YOU CRACK YOUR SKULL WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING?! AS IF THIS WERE THE FIRST TIME I HAVE SEEN YOU NAKED, MONICA! DON'T WORRY, IT'S ALWAYS THE SAME." After that declaration, Maliard had only a moment to dodge his sister's fist, which went on to shatter directly against the column.

"This is precisely why you will never find a partner!" She seized a tank top from the floor, pulling it on almost instantly.

"Not that you are exactly in a better spot for it at the moment. With that tongue of yours, I doubt any decent man would want you at his side, little princess." A weight fell across her shoulders, hunching her over and making Monica limp.

"In any case… You are not here only for the laundry, are you?" Maliard registered the dry, flat tone in his own voice, forcing himself to huff and straighten back up.

"I was looking for some ribbons. My gift for Jeanne was in that bag there." He gestured distractedly toward a large, dark bag with circular patterns. Monica pointed distractedly toward a strange tangle of ribbons and bows left on the floor before the door.

"I would not have taken you for the type to give presents… You have not given me any in years." She joked, slowly closing the door. Maliard's foot blocked the wood just before the lock clicked shut.

"You look better with your hair like that, in any case. That lawyer's hairstyle did not suit you at all." He murmured, turning to gather the laundry and the ribbons from the floor. Monica watched him in silence, busy tying a golden ribbon around that dark bag. She stared at the basket for a second, seized it with her free hand, lowered her head, and vanished from the room. Monica stroked her locks for a moment, turning to look at her own reflection in the window.

She took a step forward and pulled a curl down over her forehead, smiling at its strange little brother's image.

"When was the last time he paid me a compliment?" She fixed the door with a satisfied smirk before vanishing into the steam of the bathroom. Through the corridors, greetings and chatter echoed, wrapped in a blend of wintry scents. Between coffee, sugar, and perfume, it was difficult to tell which scent belonged to whom.

"Good day, Mr. Maliard, might I help you with the laundry?" A young man in dark, formal attire murmured. His blue waistcoat was decorated with various golden and violet pins, joined by a small black tie. His face was marked by a thin scar just above his nose, and another below his lip.

"Do not trouble yourself, Egard, you already have your own duties." Maliard answered, smiling at the man. Egard immediately bowed his head, said his farewell, and vanished into the crowd.

"In any case, I should be near G-82… Might as well." He took the passage toward the dormitory, slowly scanning the plaques fixed beneath the locks with his eyes. He stopped right before the single dented door, sighing at the memory of the previous evening. He gently struck the metal with his knuckles, immediately receiving back a confused babble of voices and various thuds. The door snapped open, and before Maliard now stood a young man with wet hair and a rumpled, too-tight shirt.

Between his closed lips protruded the handle of a wooden toothbrush, stained with blue foam.

"What is it, Maliard? Need something?" Confused, he invited him in, stepping away from the threshold, but his superior shook his head.

"I came for the laundry… Arte was busy today." He studied the interior of the apartment more closely, catching sight of Jeanne's figure seated at the window, a comically enormous waffle in hand. She wiped her lips with a napkin, taking care not to grease her own hair. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

"The gap between her and Monica is abysmal…" He thought, drawing his attention instead to the large bag dangling from his own hand. Lance and Jeanne immediately fixed their gazes on the object in Maliard's hands: a black and blue cube with a violet sphere at its centre.

"What is that?" They pointed at it in unison, losing all track of their previous activities. Maliard pressed it between his fingers, and immediately the mass of gleaming plates began to vibrate and extend, until it became a wide slab fitted with several screens.

"Is it a computer?" Jeanne asked, distractedly pressing the various buttons arranged in a circle. Lance did the same, running his hand along the edges of the screen.

"The latest generation, to be precise. Lucas, Maverick, and I have been working on it recently, and we wanted you two to be the first to try it." The two stared at it with excitement until Lance had a realisation.

"Maliard… I have absolutely no idea how this thing works." Jeanne fixed Lance with eyes like a fawn's, lowering her head in defeat. Maliard's pupils rolled, in a mixture of boredom and exasperation.

"I will teach you both how to use it later, so take good care of it for now." He immediately turned on his heel, adjusting the collar of his jumper. He had begun walking slowly toward the armoury, but the basket in his hands brought him back.

"Your laundry?" The two of them fixed their gazes on the basket in Maliard's hands and fled into their rooms. Maliard stared in confusion at the now-empty, silent living room, as thuds, shouts, and crashes reached his ears. Lance and Jeanne threw their doors open with force, deafening the poor, bewildered Turner.

"This is the first time I have ever seen this many clothes in a single agent's laundry… You may have just broken Lautre and Monica's record." Maliard murmured, pointing at the dark basket brimming with whitish bags clutched in Lance's hand. The basket in Jeanne's hands, by contrast, was far more modest and reasonable compared to what he was used to.

"With everything Mr Clerc has me doing, I am not surprised my whole wardrobe is falling apart." The boy smiled, handing over both bags of clothing and setting his new computer down on the kitchen table. Maliard nodded, tossing the laundry into the basket and turning to leave.

"My apologies to both of you… Consider this my way of saying I am sorry." He extended a finger toward Lance and Jeanne, slowly pointing it at the collar of the boy's violet jumper.

"You have it on backwards, by the way. The label should be at the back." Lance lifted his own collar, staring between clicks of his tongue at the thin strip of white fabric. Jeanne covered her mouth, trying to hold back the laughter escaping her lips.

"Yours too, Jeanne..." Her gaze fell on the ground as she slowly went inside her room.

"In any case, come to the meeting room afterward. Monica was speaking with Lexa this morning." A cold shiver ran down Lance's spine, immediately followed by a strange hiss from Jeanne.

"I cannot say I have the fondest first impression of her…" Lance murmured, scratching his chin.

"Neither do I, honestly. I do not really know what kind of person she is. Lexa values her relationships a great deal and is clever enough to make herself liked even by the worst sorts, though she is rather eccentric." Maliard bid them both farewell, vanishing down the corridor to the toll of the clock. Lance and Jeanne quickly finished their breakfast, if it could be called that, dressed, and set off to reach the meeting room.

In the gleaming room with its bluish accents, Maverick and Lautre were already seated in their places, deep in discussion. Monica remained motionless in her armchair, fixing her gaze on the chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

"Maverick, I will tell you for the fourth time… I am not putting that thing on." Lautre answered, striking his finger on the table to the rhythm of his own words. Maverick pressed his hands to his temples, groaning.

"Please, Lautre, we need your data too, and you would have better protection. Let me remind you your bones have been at their limit for decades now!" He stared him down, adjusting his glasses.

"Perfect, they will remain at their limit for a few more centuries then." Maverick buried his head in his arms, groaning and complaining under Lautre's blank stare. Suddenly, two hands closed around Jeanne and Lance, pulling them back toward a tall figure.

"Good to see you both… Did you sleep well?" Behind them, Lucas greeted them with the pale reflection of his war mask. Both let out a sigh of relief, taking their seats.

"In any case, even though we are not all here, I have an urgent question to put to you… Would you like an invitation to a lovely, relaxing dinner?" The scientist sat down, under Monica's astonished stare, as though she had almost sobered up from her exhaustion.

"Lucas! I really do not think this is a good idea…" Lucas snapped his fingers, leaving her confused and frozen in place.

"I understand your concerns, but we have numerous unresolved matters. First, we owe Lance his file, and second, we need to address Changeant and the leak of documents from the Institute." Lucas drew a thin folder of papers from his coat, tied with a slim blue ribbon.

"They stole our documents from the Library? Now I understand why they knew me so well." Lautre smiled, seizing his glasses and examining them in the light. He took a thin silk cloth and began polishing the lenses, dusty and smeared with grease.

"In any case, it would be an excellent way to rebuild relations with Machinamentum and Lexa, and to strengthen our defences. Besides, giving the staff a little break could genuinely improve our chances against Changeant." Lucas untied his sheets of paper, setting them before the perplexed Monica.

"You obviously will not be coming, will you?" Monica read the first sheet out of the corner of her eye, snapping it shut immediately the moment she saw the photograph.

"This place, with only me as an agent, is the safest area in the entire archipelago. Besides, Arte would feel lonely without anyone here." Lucas answered, seizing Lautre's cloth and polishing his own screen with it." Is Lucas really that strong? Maliard's said he is a Jury member. Is he truly capable of rivaling Malcolm and Laure?" Lance watched the scientist's figure wave to avoid Lautre's hand." Well, his aura in Grayson's house was the strongest I felt. Maybe that statement is not an exaggeration."

Monica returned the sheet to the scientist, fixing the reflections gleaming on the table. She glanced at Maverick, then immediately at Lance and Jeanne.

"What do you two say? Have you ever been to Sector III?" The two of them stared at the air for a moment before shaking their heads in unison.

"Many agencies find it pointless to deliver there, since most materials are easily found locally, and besides, a special permit is required for any activity in that area." Lance explained, adjusting a lock of hair blocking his vision.

"OH! I see somebody who did his homework!" Lautre smiled, finally managing to regain his glash-polishing cloth. Monica fixed the two of them, scratching her head as Lucas nodded with satisfaction.

"Very well, go call everyone… We are taking a little break at Lexa's place." Monica smiled, and suddenly two figures burst into the room, still dressed in their own nightclothes.

"DID YOU HEAR THAT, MAN? WE ARE GOING!" The great hulking man in a torn tank top exclaimed, lifting his companion, wrapped in a long bluish nightgown.

"FOOD AND PRESENTS!!! THIS ALONE IS WORTH MY SALARY!" Hoku sprang immediately to his feet, striking a pose atop Noel. His robe billowed, covering the colossus in a thick, dark veil.

"Be sure not to cause any trouble, especially the pair of you. If Maliard and Edvard catch you throwing money around, it will be the first time I have ever felt pity for a fool." Lautre growled, rising from his seat and bidding farewell to everyone present before vanishing into the corridor.

"I will let everyone else know to get ready. You contact her and accept." Lucas gathered all his belongings and headed toward the door, tapping Lance's shoulder gently with his slender, long hand. Lance nodded and smiled, following the man with his gaze as he left through the door.

"In any case, Lexa would like to apologise to you two and start on the right foot… If that is all right with you." A wave of memories struck the poor boy full on, and he immediately nodded and left the room, followed by the hissing Jeanne.

"Hey Lance..." Monica stopped them both in their tracks.

"We didn't have a proper discussion about Lachesi, but don't worry. Just... Keep an eye on it." Monica's eyes were a bit wet, shrouded in a strange veil of maturity.

"Sorry... I didn't mean to break our promise. I can imagine that it was quite the shock." The boy scratched the back of his head, all while Monica was giggling.

"You say? I was furious! But Bluette always said that you can put a lock on destiny itself. It only accelerates forward. Just be mindful, okay?" The boy nodded, feeling a cool breeze on his skin.

"I hope this will be a relaxing holiday..." The commander sighed, melting in her chair.

"You would have loved this new NOIR... Dear sister."