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A knock sounds at the door and Laurence rises slowly to get it, gently setting my legs back on the couch. When he opens the door, I peer around him to get a look at Aurelia, but see that it’s not her.
“I requested Four Seventy-one,” Laurence states matter-of-factly, as if the mix up is an afront to him.
“I’m Four Eighty. I’ll be helping you today.” The replacement walks in and gives me a small smile. “Good afternoon, Player Ten. May we start your makeup?”
I stand, wondering if I can get through to this past Player, too, see what she knows, and possibly what happened to Aurelia.
I hope she’s alright.
“Yeah, sounds great,” I say, exchanging a quick glance with Laurence, trying to tell him to stay out here, and lead the way to the vanity in the walk-in closet. She follows me, a case in tow no doubt full of makeup and my attire for the evening. I want to have her alone, too. If I’m going to get her to spill, Laurence can’t be in the room for fear of an Advocate hearing.
Taking a seat on the plush, cushioned chair in front of the vanity, she clicks open her case and begins to place the familiar collection of makeup in front of me.
It’s like being a doll. Being dressed up for other people.
“Tonight’s gala has a theme,” she says excitedly, her light, melodic voice not providing me with much assurance that she’s the right candidate to be my informant. I’m still going to try, though.
“Oh yeah? What is it?”
She straightens from setting up her makeup and looks down at me with a haunting grin. “Victor.” She pauses for a moment, and I feel a shiver down my spine at her vacant gaze.What have they done to this poor woman?“I am to dress you like a winner, whatever that looks like for you. Based on the games that I’ve watched and your previous outfits, you’re a bit edgier than most. Lots of dark liner suits you.”
“Sure.” She’s very preoccupied with picking out just the right concealer when I ask, “What’s your name?”
“Four Eighty,” she says cheerfully, appearing satisfied with her color matching.
“No, not your assigned name, your real name.”
She frowns at me. “It’s Four Eighty. That is what I’ve been named.”
“Okay.” She begins to pat my face with the concealer. “What happened to Aurelia? Is she sick?”
“Who?” she asks, her lips a thin line.
“Sorry, Four Seventy-one.”
“Oh,” she says with a smile again, “she’s been dispatched. Demoted, I guess you could say, which means I get to take her place.”
“Demoted? What does that mean?”
“Do you like gold? I think some gold accents would look good with the dress your Advocate picked out for you.”
“Sure. What’s her new job?”
Four Eighty ignores me. I don’t think pestering her is going to get her to fess up. She seems a little too comfortable withholding information, so I try a more blatant approach. “So who was your Advocate when you were a Player? I bet I know him.”
Four Eighty slows in her process of applying my makeup, her face falling. I can see the gears in her head turning, caught in my trap. On one hand, it’s a reasonable question, easy to answer. On the other hand, current Players aren’t supposed to know that the servants are past Players, even though they make it entirely too obvious at times.
“Oh… um,” she starts, but her brows furrow further. “I was Ivan Rossi’s Player.”
That explains some of it.
“He was my first Advocate,” I tell her, seeing if that sparks up any connection between us. She only seems to close herself off even more.
“I am very grateful to him. He still honors me with his presence.” Her tone lightens a bit more and she smiles. “Can I tell you a secret, Player Ten?”
Now we’re talking. “Of course,” I say out loud.
“Ivan and I are in love,” she says in a whisper while applying my eye liner. “He’s going to marry me once I pay off my debts to the Echelon Society. For now, we’re meeting in secret, like star crossed lovers.”
