Chapter Text
Twilight was 20 when he first met the Thorn Princess. If you could even really call it a “meeting” at all. They were more like shadows, or phantoms, passing each other by beneath the moonlight. Two people who, as far as society was aware, did not exist.
They noticed each other at the same time, both instantly freezing at the other's unexpected appearance. Tension buzzed between them as they stared each other down, calculating their next move.
Twilight was certain that the woman standing in front of him was not an SSS agent. They had far quieter methods of making someone disappear, and she appeared far too young to be one of their assassins. Not to mention, she was hardly dressed for the part. If he didn’t know better, he might’ve mistaken her for an escort. Though perhaps that was the point, hiding in plain sight.
Rather than a standard pistol or any sort of military-esque uniform, the woman wore a floor length black evening gown with a high slit up the side, revealing a pair of matching heeled thigh-high boots.
In her hands were two strange needle-like daggers that Twilight had never seen before. However, based on the woman’s stance, she was clearly very familiar with the weapons, and, considering the blood dripping from the ends, she had used them recently.
While she hadn’t immediately tried to kill him, her sudden and striking presence was unsettling to say the least.
The rookie spy wasn’t sure if their missions were connected or not, but WISE definitely had not mentioned anything about any crazy ninja assassin ladies in the dossier.
The Handler was constantly reminding him that a spy must have contingencies for every and any eventuality, to expect the unexpected and prepare for the impossible. But the possibility of unexpectedly running into an unknown and unrelated third party operative had, quite frankly, never even crossed his mind. It wasn’t really something that happened, WISE took their intel far too seriously for that.
Twilight’s mind raced for solutions, but, despite all of his training, he could not recall learning any particular protocol on running into a random agent from an unknown organization that just happened to also have business at the mission location. He couldn’t remember any of his senior agents mentioning something like this before either, so the spy was at somewhat of a loss.
He didn’t want to risk antagonizing a potential WISE ally (or a previously neutral party), but the woman was also a witness to his presence at the museum. Neither of them were supposed to be there, so he knew she couldn’t go to the authorities without incriminating herself, but Twilight was wary of allowing her to notify whoever she worked for of his existence.
At least the two of them were in the same boat. While he had no information on her, the young assassin’s fleeting but equally baffled expression at meeting him in the dark museum gallery told him that she was just as unaware of his presence as he was of hers.
Under closer examination, the woman before him was probably no older than her late teens, but her body language practically screamed that she was an experienced fighter, and he was not particularly keen on ending up on the wrong end of her stiletto blades.
It was pure instinct that warned him not to run as the woman’s, admittedly terrifying, stare zeroed in on him.
The spy couldn’t help but feel pinned by the assassin’s sharp but wary gaze, it felt like accidentally coming face to face with a tiger. Her aura dripped with danger. Predatory, as if running would only provoke a chase, and Twilight wanted to avoid a fight at all costs. His mission to retrieve and replace the painting was already complete, fighting her would only waste time and accomplish nothing.
Not to mention that, unfortunately, the code they needed was integrated into the frame itself, thus the spy had been forced to steal the entire display rather than simply replacing the canvas with a forgery.
Without any idea of what to do, and at a severe disadvantage due to the large artistic masterpiece in his hands, Twilight stood stiller than the statues around them, knees bent in preparation to either run or fight, allowing her to make the first move.
:)
The Thorn Princess was 18 when she met the not yet infamous Agent Twilight. It was late, just past midnight, and she had just completed her mission flawlessly (as always), carrying out the beautiful execution of the traitorous Dresdent Museum Art Director.
Perhaps she was distracted, too busy pondering over whether or not Yuri would enjoy a trip to the museum to pay attention to her surroundings, but the Thorn Princess suddenly found herself face to face with a man, clad in all black.
She startled, automatically tightening her grip on her stiletto blades, but the man did not move to attack.
Instead, his eyes darted warily to the deadly weapons in her hands, literally dripping with blood, that gleamed menacingly in the moonlight. Yor was honestly more interested in the rather large, blatantly stolen painting in his hands.
She briefly considered killing him, however the oddity of the situation made her hesitate. Though the man was an unexpected development, she wasn’t entirely sure if killing him was necessary. Sure, he was a witness, but she doubted the thief would try to turn her into the authorities.
Rays of pale moonlight from the sunroof above danced between them, illuminating the silent and empty gallery, and, for just a moment, Yor was reminded of the fairytales her mother would read to her and Yuri. The ones where the prince and princess first lock eyes from across the extravagant ballroom and the entire world around them disappears.
Except this fairytale involved details such as crimes of varying severity (which she was pretty sure weren’t included in her mother’s stories), and the respective prince and princess were both contemplating murder rather than experiencing love at first sight.
Still… ‘What a unique shade of blue,’ She thought absently to herself as she examined the man closer.
The man wore a black mask to match the rest of his attire, but it covered only the lower half of his features. It was an interesting choice, as the thief’s wild blonde hair and piercing blue eyes were surely his most striking features, but what did she know?
What was far more intriguing to the assassin side of her was how the man in black moved. Silent and with deadly precision. Invisible until the opportune moment arrived. Like a snake in the grass. He moved like the Thorn Princess.
Though he seemed surprised to see her, Yor knew no regular art thief would be skilled enough to completely hide their presence from her. This man was certainly overqualified for his current job. Could he be ex-military? Or maybe a spy? Who did he work for and what did he need the painting for? Should she just kidnap him and bring him to the Shopkeeper?
Yor was not accustomed to having to ask herself so many questions on a job. The Shopkeeper always took care of the details, and her assignments were usually fairly straightforward. Kill so-and-so for their crimes against the state. They never involved a random highly trained passerby on his own unrelated mission.
She was curious to see what the man in black would do, watching him with rapt attention. However, he remained still and allowed the seconds to pass between them, matching her stare with an equally intense look of his own. He neither moved to attack nor run away, seemingly waiting for her to do something first.
It was a rather bold decision, in her opinion. The thief was clearly confident enough in his skills and reaction time to allow her the first move. It was as idiotic as it was fascinating.
Truthfully, Yor didn’t particularly want to fight the man in black. She had no doubts that she could defeat him in combat, but it was a risk she wasn’t eager to take. Her target was dead, and Yuri was waiting for her back home.
However, she wouldn’t make the mistake of turning her back to a potential enemy either. Art thief or not, the Thorn Princess could recognize the presence of a skilled opponent, and couldn’t risk giving him the opportunity to strike.
Not a single word was spoken between them, but as the deadly staring contest came to its natural end, she couldn’t help but feel like they’d just made an agreement. Or perhaps a pact based on mutual respect.
The man in black slowly lifted the painting higher, showing the Thorn Princess his otherwise empty hands in the process. He paused again, waiting for her reaction, but when the assassin didn’t move he finally blinked. The man in black took a single, cautious step backward. Then another, and another. Without ever turning his back or breaking eye contact, the man in black retreated back into the shadows, disappearing into the night.
With the unusual man gone, the Thorn Princess continued with her own exit.
She idly wondered who he was and what he was doing at the museum. It wasn’t unheard of for Garden agents to run into operatives from other organizations while on assignment, but they usually had an inkling of who else had their fingers in the cookie jar.
A foreigner perhaps? Or maybe a new organization had reared its head? Yor resolved to simply mention the man in her report to the Shopkeeper. It wasn’t her job to investigate these things anyways.
As she stepped out into the cool night air, she allowed her thoughts to drift back to Yuri and how she needed to get him new shoes for school.
He was growing up so fast.
~
“A third party operative?” The Handler hummed in thought as she scanned Twilight’s mission report, frowning slightly.
“A woman in a black evening gown… sir,” Twilight elaborated, thinking back to all the little details he’d taken note of in the moment. “Gold stiletto blades. Young, 17 or 18 maybe, but highly trained...” he paused as he processed their encounter further. “She seemed genuinely surprised to see me, so we’re not compromised. She also didn’t seem eager to fight, and allowed me to leave without issue. No clear allegiance.”
“Her victim?”
Twilight placed a clipping of the Dresdent Times on the Handler’s desk, “The museum’s art director, sir. No known significance.”
Either they knew something WISE didn’t, or the man was innocent. Both options made Twilight uneasy. The lack of intel was making the young spy nervous. Uninformed spies were dead spies. The Handler herself had taught him that.
Yet, the Handler only nodded, taking in the information without comment. Her non-reaction was unnerving, but it was a little reassuring that she didn’t seem overly concerned about the encounter.
Still, Twilight was surprised when she outright denied his request for an investigation.
“She sounds like no more than an independent contractor,” his mentor said dismissively. “And this seems like it was a housecleaner’s assassination. Don't concern yourself with it.”
“But sir–”
“Her work isn’t directly interfering with WISE Operations. Leave it alone, Twilight.”
Twilight stared at her with a slightly skeptical expression. He had an inkling that the Handler knew more than she was letting on, but there were very few who could decipher what the Fullmetal Lady might be thinking and Twilight was not one of them.
“Don’t give me that look,” his mentor rolled her eyes at him, finally looking up from the report on her desk to give him a wry smile. “Part of being a spy is knowing when to leave well enough alone. Don’t go around sticking your nose in other people’s business, you’ll get yourself killed.”
“That’s literally my job,” Twilight said with an unimpressed look.
“Wrong,” the Handler corrected sharply. “Your job is to stick your nose in whoever’s business I tell you to. Understood?”
Twilight nodded sheepishly under his mentor’s scolding tone. “Yes sir.”
“Good.” The Handler’s voice softened slightly. “Besides I doubt you’ll ever run into her again.”
“Right,” the young spy nodded again, more subdued this time. The Handler was probably right. Best to just learn what he could from the experience and move on.