The art of detection
It was a clear night. Jo could see the waning moon high up above as she padded out of their cabin, and closed the door quietly behind herself. It wasn't curfew yet, but it was late enough that her cabin-mates had largely retired to their rooms. She'd been sitting in the cabin's common room that doubled as a library, flipping through a book on the history of potion-making, biding her time.
Camp so far had proven to be a bit of a disappointment. She hadn't managed to break into the school (yet), and she hadn't found any new information in their little library about whether the Department of Mysteries actually employed any spies. No one had come to them either and talked to them about anything secret or mysterious, or had them conduct any kind of research. It seemed that all there really had been to their cabin choice had been a bit of light-theming. It had fallen to Jo, then, to make her own mystery-themed fun. Largely accomplished by keeping an eye on her cabin-mates and making note of their habits and oddities. And none were so odd as Declan, who lumbered about their cabin--taciturn and unreadable--while everyone else was out, enjoying the summer, and seemed determined to avoid any human interaction.
Jo hadn't even known his name until she'd badgered Jeremy to tell her.
The mystery of him, with his Irish name and foreign accent (reminiscent, perhaps, of the Soviet antagonists in her da's old spy novels) had become lodged in Jo's brain; her awareness tuned to his presence, honing in on him like a magnet whenever he was around. She'd noticed that he often had a book with him and that he never seemed to take off his sunglasses; she'd noticed that he was still missing his canines (Jo had gotten her permanent ones in the last year), which meant he couldn't be that much older than the rest of the boys, and yet he lacked a certain boyishness the others exuded; she'd noticed they were almost perfectly matched in height. She had also noticed, most intriguingly, that he often left the cabin when it got dark and wouldn't come back until most of cabin was asleep (Jo herself had deliberately stayed up a couple of times to confirm this, aided by the fact that her window was right next to their cabin door).
The plan to find out where he went had been brewing for at least a couple of days in her mind before she put into practice. There had been no real need to wait until it was late to follow him out into the grounds, save that she thought he'd be easier to find with less kids running about. Well, and if he was doing something secret--if there really was something dodgy about him, like being a soviet spy or in league with hags or in a cult--it was likely he wouldn't want an audience.
Jo had concocted a fair number of wild scenarios in her mind about what she'd see when he found him; perhaps she'd see him sending encoded messages, or experimenting with forbidden and dangerous magic. What she saw--a boy alone, silhouetted in the faint moonlight--was far more mundane, but not altogether unpleasant.
Jo had much practice affecting nonchalance from a childhood of trying to pretend she had absolutely not done that thing that her mum was livid about, but she still felt a flutter of nerves as she strode up to him until she was standing level with him. She turned her head slightly to glance at him out of the corner of her eye. "Declan," she said. "It is a nice night for a walk, isn't it?"
She was glad it was dark because her cheeks felt warm as she spoke. That had not felt like a thing real human beings said to start a conversation. Much less subtle and sophisticated ones who one day would be spies.
Camp so far had proven to be a bit of a disappointment. She hadn't managed to break into the school (yet), and she hadn't found any new information in their little library about whether the Department of Mysteries actually employed any spies. No one had come to them either and talked to them about anything secret or mysterious, or had them conduct any kind of research. It seemed that all there really had been to their cabin choice had been a bit of light-theming. It had fallen to Jo, then, to make her own mystery-themed fun. Largely accomplished by keeping an eye on her cabin-mates and making note of their habits and oddities. And none were so odd as Declan, who lumbered about their cabin--taciturn and unreadable--while everyone else was out, enjoying the summer, and seemed determined to avoid any human interaction.
Jo hadn't even known his name until she'd badgered Jeremy to tell her.
The mystery of him, with his Irish name and foreign accent (reminiscent, perhaps, of the Soviet antagonists in her da's old spy novels) had become lodged in Jo's brain; her awareness tuned to his presence, honing in on him like a magnet whenever he was around. She'd noticed that he often had a book with him and that he never seemed to take off his sunglasses; she'd noticed that he was still missing his canines (Jo had gotten her permanent ones in the last year), which meant he couldn't be that much older than the rest of the boys, and yet he lacked a certain boyishness the others exuded; she'd noticed they were almost perfectly matched in height. She had also noticed, most intriguingly, that he often left the cabin when it got dark and wouldn't come back until most of cabin was asleep (Jo herself had deliberately stayed up a couple of times to confirm this, aided by the fact that her window was right next to their cabin door).
The plan to find out where he went had been brewing for at least a couple of days in her mind before she put into practice. There had been no real need to wait until it was late to follow him out into the grounds, save that she thought he'd be easier to find with less kids running about. Well, and if he was doing something secret--if there really was something dodgy about him, like being a soviet spy or in league with hags or in a cult--it was likely he wouldn't want an audience.
Jo had concocted a fair number of wild scenarios in her mind about what she'd see when he found him; perhaps she'd see him sending encoded messages, or experimenting with forbidden and dangerous magic. What she saw--a boy alone, silhouetted in the faint moonlight--was far more mundane, but not altogether unpleasant.
Jo had much practice affecting nonchalance from a childhood of trying to pretend she had absolutely not done that thing that her mum was livid about, but she still felt a flutter of nerves as she strode up to him until she was standing level with him. She turned her head slightly to glance at him out of the corner of her eye. "Declan," she said. "It is a nice night for a walk, isn't it?"
She was glad it was dark because her cheeks felt warm as she spoke. That had not felt like a thing real human beings said to start a conversation. Much less subtle and sophisticated ones who one day would be spies.
The art of detection
@Josephine Byrne
Thus far the reality of summer camp had more or less aligned with Declan’s estimations. He’d arrived alone, declared war on the sun, and spent his time avoiding attention like the plague, or at least attempting to. Evidently he wasn’t any good at it. The very first day had shown initial signs, what with assaulting a stranger in front of eight people and all. The impulsive action had been regrettable, not because any ounce of remorse had gripped his heart — merlin no — but for the swift realization that he’d thrown a blot of ink across his cloak of invisibility. It wasn’t as if it hadn’t been stained already, but any hope of sidling by without notice had followed his father to an early grave in that moment. He’d found solace in the blush that darkened the freckled skin of his victim, yet satisfaction was no salve for the wound that drew curious eyes.
That much had become clear when his roommate, Jerome, had suffered an inquisitive breakdown mere nights later, shattering what might have been a beautiful arrangement with the insidious need to know. Well, Declan couldn’t have that, nor could he tolerate a thief. Jerome had proven useful in highlighting a need to shift tactics, to something more… drastic.
Since that night there hadn’t been a bother, save for the staring, but in general that could be ignored. If he lacked talent in the art of remaining unseen, he could make up for it in pretending he was the only creature to walk the earth. That was, if his confounded peers would quit sticking their noses in his deliberately veiled business.
“Declan.”
His name had been uttered, splitting his isolation in two. He’d caught her subtle footsteps on the air, preemptively retrieving the sunglasses from his sweatshirt pocket. By the time she drew even and spoke that condemning word, she would see them upon his face, as though they’d never left. He swallowed a curse as his vision was enshrouded in the dim light. His hatred for the things grew by the day, but not enough yet to overpower necessity.
"It is a nice night for a walk, isn't it?"
It was, indeed, a nice night for a walk; or it had been. The moon rose steadily in the raven sky, a silent being that bled serenity. It calmed him, an unobtrusive companion who knew the value of stillness. Unlike the sun, which forced its abrasive rays where they weren’t wanted, the moon simply extended welcome for all who sought its sterling glow, offering gentle guidance to those lost. It merely was, and let him be. He only wished this world would follow suit.
”It suppose it is,” he said slowly, following a pause of several seconds that might have felt awkward, had he any shame. ”Though I prefer to walk alone.” The delivery was dull, yet the scarcely buried point would jab one with an ear for subtlety. His gaze would remain lofted toward the moon, studying the stars that kneeled before it, and passing clouds whose borders it gilded silver. He did not look her way, though her identity was clear enough. The voice was singular among his cabin mates, softer in tone, less grating on his senses than the others. She was the only girl among nine boys, and the novelty alone made her more interesting than most.
He knew she had brown hair that touched her shoulders, with hints of red that implied the turning of leaves in autumn. He knew her eyes were a vivid blue, and he knew this because he’d caught them resting upon him more than once or twice.
Again, he was accustomed to the sting of watchful eyes, but this pair stood out for their particular… intensity. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, beside the assumption that his oddities were being scrutinized.
He considered her purpose for being there. What were the odds that their paths had just happened to cross? He hadn’t noticed that she favored late night strolls as he did; then again, he hadn’t payed much attention. Had she come to interrogate him, much like Jerome? He wondered if she would need to be dealt with in similar fashion.
The question was breathed in quiet suspicion. ”What brings you here? The moon, or the one who walks in its light?”
A light breeze danced in leaves overhead and played at his onyx hair, which lay in tousled ruin without a hood to contain it.
Other Mentions
@Owen Lochridge | @Jeremy Slater
The art of detection
Jo had never been quite as acutely aware of her hands as she was for those couple of seconds that it took Declan to answer. They were hanging limply at her sides, and they felt wrong. What did people usually do with their hands when they were having a conversation? It suddenly occurred to her that this must be the reason all the spies and detectives smoked, or kept drinking martinis or chugging coffee--so they wouldn't be distracted by where to put their hands. If only she had something to hold.
She stuffed her hands into her pockets as he replied, the implication clear in his words that she was intruding. Unfortunately for Declan, Jo had spent her entire lifetime letting such implications roll off her shoulders. She prided herself in being harder to dislodge than that.
"Yeah, me too." She grinned at him, acutely aware of the irony in her words. It wasn't even a lie. If she hadn't been specifically angling to figure out what he was doing, and had just been out for a leisurely stroll herself, she probably would've avoided him.
Of course, that meant that the straightforward answer to Declan's next question was that yes, he most definitely was the singular reason she was standing in the moonlight with him. It was. perhaps, not the answer she should give. A good spy would not give themselves away like that. But the mundane reality of Declan's nightly wanderings seemed to be that he simply wanted to be alone. Jo saw no reason to lie.
That Declan might be put off by someone following him around did not occur to her.
"You kept going out at night," she said simply. "I wanted to see where you went." She glanced at him again, at the way his hair was tousled by the wind, and the way his sunglasses perched on his nose, concealing his eyes. She shifted a little beneath his imagined gaze, and wondered what had possessed him to wear them, even at night. It seemed impractical, even if it did lend him a bit of an enigmatic look. "I guess I can't blame you, not wanting to be around that lot." She did her best to ignore the fact that she was likely included in those he'd been trying to avoid. She didn't go around giving out autographs or threatening to murder people in their sleep, or pretending she was older or a fan of a sport she wasn't, so she surely had to be amongst the least objectionable of their peers.
"Did you parents make you come to camp?" The conclusion seemed logical. Declan did not seem keen on making friends or on participating in any of the very exciting camp activities, or even enjoying the sunny outdoors. He had the look of someone who would've preferred to spend their summer reading poetry by candlelight in a dusty library--and spoke like it too. "My mum did; she said that it would be good for me to make friends before school started." She gave a small shrug. She didn't elaborate on the fact that she'd been rather enthusiastic herself once she'd found out about the theming. It felt embarrassing.
She stuffed her hands into her pockets as he replied, the implication clear in his words that she was intruding. Unfortunately for Declan, Jo had spent her entire lifetime letting such implications roll off her shoulders. She prided herself in being harder to dislodge than that.
"Yeah, me too." She grinned at him, acutely aware of the irony in her words. It wasn't even a lie. If she hadn't been specifically angling to figure out what he was doing, and had just been out for a leisurely stroll herself, she probably would've avoided him.
Of course, that meant that the straightforward answer to Declan's next question was that yes, he most definitely was the singular reason she was standing in the moonlight with him. It was. perhaps, not the answer she should give. A good spy would not give themselves away like that. But the mundane reality of Declan's nightly wanderings seemed to be that he simply wanted to be alone. Jo saw no reason to lie.
That Declan might be put off by someone following him around did not occur to her.
"You kept going out at night," she said simply. "I wanted to see where you went." She glanced at him again, at the way his hair was tousled by the wind, and the way his sunglasses perched on his nose, concealing his eyes. She shifted a little beneath his imagined gaze, and wondered what had possessed him to wear them, even at night. It seemed impractical, even if it did lend him a bit of an enigmatic look. "I guess I can't blame you, not wanting to be around that lot." She did her best to ignore the fact that she was likely included in those he'd been trying to avoid. She didn't go around giving out autographs or threatening to murder people in their sleep, or pretending she was older or a fan of a sport she wasn't, so she surely had to be amongst the least objectionable of their peers.
"Did you parents make you come to camp?" The conclusion seemed logical. Declan did not seem keen on making friends or on participating in any of the very exciting camp activities, or even enjoying the sunny outdoors. He had the look of someone who would've preferred to spend their summer reading poetry by candlelight in a dusty library--and spoke like it too. "My mum did; she said that it would be good for me to make friends before school started." She gave a small shrug. She didn't elaborate on the fact that she'd been rather enthusiastic herself once she'd found out about the theming. It felt embarrassing.