Honeymoon

[Lanakov]

Smoke filled the room again, as another cigarette had found its way to Montlaville's lips, glowing remarkably in the dim lights of the room. This time, the ensign had accepted her silent offer and got one for himself, certainly to soothe his nerves. He was, unfortunately, as inexperienced in the field of smoking as he was in the art of interrogation. Nevertheless, and to Montlaville's satisfaction, he kept his dignity about him and only coughed slightly once.

Montlaville couldn't help it : Valdez fascinated her, after a fashion. Not morbid curiosity, nor admiration, either : it was some vague notion in-between. The men guarding Valdez's cell had, as per protocol, reported her behaviour to the commandant. One of them had compared her to an abandoned cat, trying to make sense of its surroundings while waiting for its master to return. She, naturally, had issued the fusilier a stern reprimand for such fantasy, but from what he described afterwards, she'd had to see the value in the analogy. No huge fuss, no smashing against the walls, no half-delirious pleading with her guards ; no outspoken anger, no energy of any kind. And now that she had her in front of her, Montlaville could vouch for it, herself. There seemed to be no fight left in this one, nothing left to lose.

She reasoned that Valdez had ended up on the edge of desperation before she went on that whole kidnapping business. And now that her plan had failed catastrophically, there seemed to be no resort left that she had managed to think of. She was resigned, defeated - clearly there had been huge stakes behind her attempt, ones that Montlaville had, thus far, failed to grasp. Loyola, compared to her, had recovered from a significantly more traumatic experience in a hurry : here too, a piece of the puzzle was clearly missing. The lie she concocted about Loyola offering to rat on her in front of all Sirius seemed to have been accepted with no resistance whatsoever, which was very telling of the kind of viciously passionate bond the two women shared. They're cut from the same cloth, for better and worse. Much to her annoyment, the GRI had no concrete file about Valdez. Some apparently overpaid analysts had deduced she was or had been an operative of some importance belonging to the Maltese Menace... And that was that, essentially. Once more, she'd just need to link the dots by herself.

As Valdez mentioned her disaster of a marriage (not that the commandant was any good at those, either), Montlaville emitted her usual sharp, loud and somewhat cruel laughter, which made the ensign visibly jump. She seized the occasion.

"I'm fine with not knowing the details, madame... Valdez, if you so insist." She allowed herself a knowing grin, more for the purposes of testing her than out of actual spite.
"You betrayed your wife because your marriage sucked. You planned to turn her over to the Maltese... In the hopes that they would "go easy" on you ?" She put particular emphasis on that expression.
"Now humor me. Gallia naturally knows about your ties to Malta, but your course of action seems very drastic compared to your goals. What did you wish to accomplish with this betrayal ? Did you have a Maltese duchess title to return to, using your spouse as an entrance ticket ? Were your ambitions focused solely around becoming an Outcast again ?" Immediately, Montlaville raised a hand, and her somewhat gentle tone thus far turned to ice the moment she dropped that word, with the quiet gravity judges have when announcing a death sentence. Outcast.
"Before you come up with another evasive answer in a vain attempt to downplay the severity of your situation, I do wish to make one thing perfectly clear. Your transparency and good will in the next few minutes will determine the nature and duration of the rest of your existence from this point onwards. It may be just what you hope for, too. Just something to think about while you consider your reply."

She let a brief moment pass before she added through a nasty grin : "No pressure".

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Feedback, insults, marriage proposals and declarations of fealty

If everyone was a bit more like Lanakov, the entire world would be more positive. Including pregnancy tests.