Solo Log: Q-leone

**Spring 42, 486 AOV - Institut National des Sciences Appliquées de Gagneux**

Cleone gapes at Joubert, mentally running over what the young woman has just whispered. “You’re kidding.”

Joubert levels a stare at her in response, the wariness in her eyes putting Cleone on edge. She fumbles. “Are you allowed to tell me that?” The workshop is empty for now and she can’t see signs of anyone else around, but who knows when dealing with *government spies, apparently*. “Do I…am I being drafted?” Is that even possible? Legally she’s not a Danoran citizen, though she tries not to advertise her foreign status more than her Crisillyiri accent already gives away. “I’ve still got four years left before I graduate, why would–”

“Relax,” Joubert hisses. It is not relaxing, and she seems to realize as much because she composes herself before continuing. “You’re not being drafted. If you want, you don’t even have to keep doing these commissions. But whether or not you do, I don’t think I need to tell you to keep this under wraps.”

“Who would I even tell,” Cleone grumbles. The only reason she hasn’t tried calling bullshit is because spywork makes all of Joubert’s requests - a pocketwatch with a coil of ultra-sturdy thread wound in its circumference, boots that left a trail barely perceptible in daylight - fall into place. “All right, then, why even come to me in the first place? There’s no shortage of people with more experience than a student barely into her second year.”

Joubert shrugs and ticks off on her fingers. “I’ve seen your work; you’re good, and flexible, and creative. You know how to make your own customized parts, which will come in handy for what I’m asking for. You are from outside of Danor, but from my observations you like it here more than Crisillyir. And judging by how much you’re trying to conceal your old tattoos, you know the value of discretion - which I need plenty of.”

Cleone jolts, but Joubert backs up with her hands up to indicate she means no harm. “Look, I don’t care what you’re running from. I care that you can make what I need and keep mum about it, and I’ll keep paying you for taking time out of your busy schedule. Or teach you how to use concealing makeup better, if you’d like,” she adds offhandedly, eyeing Cleone’s face.

*I’m not running from anything,* Cleone wants to say, but she already knows she’d be lying. “I’ll take you up on that,” she says. “And I take it you still want that noisemaking device?”

Joubert nods. “The harder to find it once it’s activated, the better. Ideally something that can be stuck somewhere and set on a timer.”

Cleone heaves a sigh and gives her a long look. Joubert with her bright eyes and messy braid looks younger than Cleone ever did even freshly born, but there’s a firmness to the set of her jaw and a straightness to her shoulders that tells her the girl has conviction Cleone is still searching for herself.  “Give me three weeks.”

“Can you make it two?”

“Do you want it made fast or do you want it made well?”

For a spy in training, the quirk of Joubert’s mouth gives away well enough that she knows she’s pushing her luck. “Fine, three weeks.”

“And you owe me makeup tips.”

Joubert laughs at that one. “Sure.”

Cleone checks the clock: it’s late evening, and she remembers that she’d been about to leave when Joubert approached her. (Maybe not a coincidence.) She’s also starving. “You can start now. I’ll treat you to dinner in exchange and we can talk.”

Joubert opens her mouth to say something, then changes her mind. “Can’t say no to that. Where were you thinking?”

Cleone grins. “That depends. Do you feel like something…experimental?”

Joubert raises an eyebrow, but a half-grin starts to develop on her face as well. “I’m in. Show me?”