Dinner

"Well, that's interesting," the small blonde woman said to her dinner companion.

The brunette shrugged. Her job was to provide information.

"According to these," the blonde placed her hand on several manila envelopes, "Things are quite a mess -- and there are few choices. Do you find it ironic that we'll have a military Libertine, and a... directionless Arrow?"

"Not really," the other woman replied. Of course you'll see them that way. Foils for one another, and neither a threat to the Hierarchy. Especially the Arrows.

"We'll bring in Zilker, and of course I'll represent the Ladder," the blonde continued. "Sort out Peter's mess."

A sentence fragment, the other woman thought, absentmindedly. "Peter Cartright was a good man," was all she said.

"Yes, but careless, and lax about formality," was the reply. "Do you think this one is really ready?" she asked, tapping one of the folders.

"I only provide the information you ask for," Tyria responded. Lovely thing, information. So few realize the power of the censor.

"Are the rumors true?" was the blonde's next question.

Tyria shrugged, and picked at her food. "Close enough, if they're not already. I could see it when I met them." She watched the gears turn in the other woman's head, considering the thought of leverage. How predictable.

"Fine," the woman said, making her decisions. "I'll see you at the Consilium?"

"Of course," Tyria replied, pushing away the untouched plate. I should go to the spa, and relax.