wasn’t appropriate.
So, predictably, the rest of the ceremony was mostly spent ‘playing grab -ass’, as Naithe’s dad might have put it. We couldn’t stop whispering to each other, or giggling stupidly while the Celebrant talked about the solemnity of the occasion; making faces at one another as we recited our vows, and trying to slip one another up. It was ridiculous. It was juvenile. For people who weren’t us, it probably would have been more embarrassing, rather than less. But that was the point, y’know? That was us: not a whole hell of a lot like the people who we weren’t. We were one another’s best and, really, only allies worth a damn against the people who expected us to be different than we were, and the people who – without one another – we might have eventually become. That was why we were doing what we were doing.
I loved it. I loved him.
IV – Xibalba
~ Dio ~
23/11/2023
“Palatine Hill is, simply put, a stationary headquarters for The Organisation as a whole.” Wright explained. “We maintain a number of similar installations...each division, naturally, requiring a centralised command of some description, with a suitable, physical location purposed to the particulars of that command’s structure. Palatine Hill, however, is the prototype – the blueprint if you will – for the majority of our ‘peak’ Divisional hubs. It remains the largest, most sophisticated, and most significant facility under our jurisdiction.” At this point, Wright handed Yvonne and Dio thin manila folders with logos comprised of seven crimson, variably sized dots set against an embossed, slanted, black matte oval. “Please. Acquaint yourselves.”
“Does this mean a nicer bunker?” Dio looked up, smiling a jovial little smile. Wright laughed.
“You are, of course, now on the path to becoming part of a highly regarded elite. As we speak, accommodations befitting your newly verified status are being prepared. I have no doubt whatsoever that you’ll both be pleasantly surprised by the calibre of the resources we are, now, able to provide for you.” Dio smiled in Yvonne’s direction, finding her with her left eyebrow arched and her mouth curled down at one edge in a grimace of confusion.
“There’s not really anything here,” She commented as she flipped through the file: seemingly unimpressed by the diagrams and flowcharts; the brief descriptions and carefully worded summaries.
“It is rather minimalist, I agree.” Wright nodded. “Until you are appropriately vetted, of course, your access to information will remain on this leve l. Let me assist you, Yvonne: we’ll see if, together, we can’t glean a few scraps of worthwhile Intelligence.” He held out his hand for the file. Yvonne handed it to him courteously.
Wright, sitting down with Dio and Yvonne, began to go through the identical skeletal outlines of The Organisation’s structure contained within each of the folders. As he did so, he liberally sprinkled in bits and pieces of extra information, to round out – presumably – Dio and Yvonne’s understanding. Dio couldn’t help but notice the way that Smoke – every time Wright made an addition or amendment – shot poisonous little glances at the three of them. The look in her eyes reminded him of a couple of officers he’d served under; anal-retentive about rules and organisation, and, at their fundamental cores, committed to the maintenance of a formalised and militarised buffer-zone of professional distance between themselves and their subordinates. The comparison, superficially at least, seemed to ring true.
Dio tried to concentrate on what Wright was saying:
The Organisation’s various divisions, apparently, were named for the seven hills on which the city of Rome was constructed. Dio and Yvonne had been employed by – or, more accurately, had been offered asylum through – the Esquiline Division.
This much they already knew.
Essentially, Wright outlined,
So, predictably, the rest of the ceremony was mostly spent ‘playing grab -ass’, as Naithe’s dad might have put it. We couldn’t stop whispering to each other, or giggling stupidly while the Celebrant talked about the solemnity of the occasion; making faces at one another as we recited our vows, and trying to slip one another up. It was ridiculous. It was juvenile. For people who weren’t us, it probably would have been more embarrassing, rather than less. But that was the point, y’know? That was us: not a whole hell of a lot like the people who we weren’t. We were one another’s best and, really, only allies worth a damn against the people who expected us to be different than we were, and the people who – without one another – we might have eventually become. That was why we were doing what we were doing.
I loved it. I loved him.
IV – Xibalba
~ Dio ~
23/11/2023
“Palatine Hill is, simply put, a stationary headquarters for The Organisation as a whole.” Wright explained. “We maintain a number of similar installations...each division, naturally, requiring a centralised command of some description, with a suitable, physical location purposed to the particulars of that command’s structure. Palatine Hill, however, is the prototype – the blueprint if you will – for the majority of our ‘peak’ Divisional hubs. It remains the largest, most sophisticated, and most significant facility under our jurisdiction.” At this point, Wright handed Yvonne and Dio thin manila folders with logos comprised of seven crimson, variably sized dots set against an embossed, slanted, black matte oval. “Please. Acquaint yourselves.”
“Does this mean a nicer bunker?” Dio looked up, smiling a jovial little smile. Wright laughed.
“You are, of course, now on the path to becoming part of a highly regarded elite. As we speak, accommodations befitting your newly verified status are being prepared. I have no doubt whatsoever that you’ll both be pleasantly surprised by the calibre of the resources we are, now, able to provide for you.” Dio smiled in Yvonne’s direction, finding her with her left eyebrow arched and her mouth curled down at one edge in a grimace of confusion.
“There’s not really anything here,” She commented as she flipped through the file: seemingly unimpressed by the diagrams and flowcharts; the brief descriptions and carefully worded summaries.
“It is rather minimalist, I agree.” Wright nodded. “Until you are appropriately vetted, of course, your access to information will remain on this leve l. Let me assist you, Yvonne: we’ll see if, together, we can’t glean a few scraps of worthwhile Intelligence.” He held out his hand for the file. Yvonne handed it to him courteously.
Wright, sitting down with Dio and Yvonne, began to go through the identical skeletal outlines of The Organisation’s structure contained within each of the folders. As he did so, he liberally sprinkled in bits and pieces of extra information, to round out – presumably – Dio and Yvonne’s understanding. Dio couldn’t help but notice the way that Smoke – every time Wright made an addition or amendment – shot poisonous little glances at the three of them. The look in her eyes reminded him of a couple of officers he’d served under; anal-retentive about rules and organisation, and, at their fundamental cores, committed to the maintenance of a formalised and militarised buffer-zone of professional distance between themselves and their subordinates. The comparison, superficially at least, seemed to ring true.
Dio tried to concentrate on what Wright was saying:
The Organisation’s various divisions, apparently, were named for the seven hills on which the city of Rome was constructed. Dio and Yvonne had been employed by – or, more accurately, had been offered asylum through – the Esquiline Division.
This much they already knew.
Essentially, Wright outlined,
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