Definitions of Good
Elwick gets called in to be recognized for her somewhat entrepreneurial information gathering. It turns out not to be everything she ever dreamed.

The Circus, Kingsley's Office

"I… presented the case."

An organized turmoil describes the few minutes in the corner of the Circus after Genevieve's phone rings. Quiet rumblings across intelligence channels slip, a well-oiled machine, from person to person. A harried but passive voice on the other end of the line relates, "Congratulations, agent. Your information was good. Kingsley wants to speak with you in his office."

Though imposing in his own right, Rich Kingsley little lives up to his name: stout, but unimpressively short, he cuts an unobtrusive figure with a very unfortunate nose — the source, in the house of them, of some renaming behind his back: Kingsnose amongst them. Few get work done in the vicinity when Rich has a cold. Seated at his organized clutter of a desk, cut in a deep beautiful brown, in a side office, the intelligence officer works while he waits, looking up at a speck of movement and, upon seeing Genevieve there, he straightens with a tell-tale cracking of the neck. He'll be Kingshump if he keeps it up. "Yes… Elwick. No doubt you've heard…"

Her information was good? Of course she knew that. The congratulations is the one that makes her heart leap. It was successful. Thank goodness. Practically flying out of her chair, Genevieve restrains herself right as she gets to the door. Smoothing her shirt down, she opens her door and quickly makes her way to Mr. Kingsley's office. Shutting the door smoothly behind her, she makes her way toward his desk with a smile on her face. "Your assistant sent me congratulations. That my information was good."

"Correct." A soft sniff; he puts his pen down: a rare sign of full attention. "The building was, indeed, a front and we were able to clear out all operations. Though… in reviewing the information, it didn't seem I could find reference to your being assigned such a," he pauses, "— hmm. Location. Or, indeed, area of interest. Could you, perhaps, illuminate the subject, Elwick?"

"Well, assigned is a bit…" Genevieve is a bit flustered at being called out on her extracurricular activities in her searches for Martin Shaw. However, remembering his name is enough to bring the original intent to the forefront of her thoughts. "I can explain, but please, where are you keeping M—-Agent Shaw? I was hoping to send a basket for his recovery. I can just give it to the proper channels. I understand if he's under a strict lockdown to make sure there aren't any retaliations from those who were keeping him."

Kingsley's patchy eyebrows dip, not at all strong enough to support the wide frame of his nose, while he regards her for a long second. "I suppose you've earned the right to know," he decides after this silent draw between them. "Agent Shaw did not survive the recovery. Now, if you would," an open palm turns out to urge her and his mouth tics impatiently, "Who presented you this case?"

"O-oh." The news hits Genevieve, but in a weird way completely passes by her. She's a smart girl, she can understand what is being said to her. However, the actual implications and meanings of his words scatter in her head. Her voice is shaky when she speaks, but still professional. The major change in her posture is the hands clasped in front of her: the grip is tightening. "I… presented the case. I found patched records linking back to the capture of a British spy who was supposedly killed. This was when I was in my hacking governments phase." That would be college. "I just sort of kept an ear to the ground ever since."

Despite that his analyst's referring to illicit government hacking, Kingsley's shoulders appear to relax minutely. He sits back an inch, stretching that overworked and developing hump of industry. "When you…" a brief flutter of his eyelids to give due to phrasing, "found these records… they indicated Shaw was killed in action, as you say. What made you think otherwise?"

The grip on Genevieve's hands grows stronger. Her vision is starting to tunnel just slightly. The sound of her voice seems to be coming from some place just behind her. "The records were patched, like I said. The part that was patched was his status. Why would you change the report unless there was something to hide? And there was more suspicious chatter about moving precious cargo around. Thought it was suspicious."

"Suspicious…" her superior murmurs, then seeming to regret it right after; a swipe of his hand across his mouth erases the incident in his mind and he curls two of the fingers back at her in indication. "A solid show of initiative, Agent Elwick, but let us try and keep things— shall we say… 'above board' from now on?" Thin eyebrows lurk upwards as his nose pins her down.

"I'm above board." This is a lie, of course. And one Genevieve would be better at telling were she not feeling light headed. "It was before I came to work here that the under handedness really came to play." The agent sways just slightly. "I'm… I'm so sorry, but I don't think…" She starts to drift off. "I think I may be fainting…"

"That's not a— " it takes the course of these three words for Kingsley to catch onto Genevieve's meaning, so surreal as it hits him. Startling up in his chair, with no muscular intention to stand, he stares incredulously at her. "Wh— Elwick— " then slides his hand to the phone system at his elbow. "Gregory — "

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