From the seat at the centre of her own private meeting hall, Filly observed the one-eyed British Naval Commander before her with keen interest, her forehooves clasped in front of her face so as not to give away any subtle facial tics. The commander stood poised and her crisp uniform seemed almost ceremonial, though Filly suspected it concealed far more practical utilities. There was a subtle bulge at the commander's hip. A pistol, perhaps? Or a tool of espionage that she was unaware of. It took years for her to read her own kind and even longer to understand humans but, from the energy she sensed off the commander, Filly could tell she was a big dreamer.
"You must be Filly," the commander spoke, her voice low but resonant.
Filly tilted her head as she caught a glimpse of the commander's fangs. Sharper than any human's. A predator, then, though of a kind Filly had yet to categorize. There had been many stories about blood-sucking monsters that appeared human such as the alukah from Abrahamic mythology and ghouls from Arabic folklore. But were these legends mere exaggerations or was the so-called "vampire" a subspecies of human in the same vein that the Desmodontinae were a subfamily of leaf-nosed bats? Filly hadn't yet delved deeply into such questions but this new figure might provide an opportunity.
"Who wants to know?" Filly's response was immediate, delivered telepathically with a measured force that lanced into the commander's mind. Part of the choice was practical as she hadn't yet mastered the physical art of speaking English but it was also strategic. The mental intrusion served as both a test and a statement: I see you. Do you see me?
The commander's expression betrayed no surprise, though the faintest flicker in her eye hinted at a mental recoil. She recovered quickly, a smile curling at the corners of her lips.
"Impressive," she remarked aloud as if the telepathic conversation were no more intrusive than an ordinary greeting, "If you can do that, perhaps you can answer your own question."
"Way ahead of you... Samantha," Filly replied, her telepathic voice tinged with amusement.
"Please," Moore responded casually, "Call me Sam."
"If you insist. So tell me, Sam, what is the director of His Majesty's Institution of Otherworldly and Supernatural Control doing in international waters? Shouldn't you be keeping an eye on Ireland?"
Moore chuckled softly, a sound that carried both amusement and the faintest hint of warning. "If there hasn't been a sighting of the fabled Tuatha De Dannan in centuries, I doubt there would be one now. Apart from one or two, they buggered off back to their otherworld long before I was even born. Besides, l can ask what a yokai is doing meddling in international affairs."
"Actually, I'm actually not a yokai," Filly confidently corrected Moore, "I let everyone else here think I am for convenience. Also, I work for a government far beyond your reality, let alone your planet."
"Oh, really?" Moore asked sarcastically, "Are you an angel answering to God Himself?"
"Not necessarily," Filly replied, "I have served a couple of figures who are worshipped like deities and each one has proved themselves disappointing. In fact, the Abrahamic God that supposedly created this universe is meant to all good and yet, rather than fixing the genetic flaw that predisposed the human race into acting like the animals they are and allowing more genetic flaws to emerge that resulted in both physical and mental deficits such as neurodivergence, He just sat back and watched humanity tear both itself and the world they inhabited apart and then punishes them when they act 'sinful' despite knowing goddamn well they were gonna do what they did! And then, He somehow incarnated into a human that claims to be His son and that human even speaks Him, telling Him to forgive the people crucifying Him. And then you have all this nonsense about how He sent His son as a sacrificial lamb onto the Earth so He can die for everyone's sins. And yet, not only are people still sinning, but humanity is still obligated to lead good lives and have faith in Him and all that lest they suffer eternal damnation. It's so...Urrrrrrggghhh!!!"
Moore pulled out a pipe from her coat pocket and casually lit it up, "So you're not a fan of the Bible, then?"
"No," Filly replied bluntly, "I think it's a bad piece of writing cobbled together by psychotics and Middle-Easterners that were high out of their minds, told to generation after generation of gullible defects that are unable to accept one of two possible truths: That there is no creator deity and everything is just a bunch of atoms bouncing around in a harmonious but naturally random way or there is a creator deity and the creator deity is ANYTHING but good! And despite my negative assessment of the Bible, I'm inclined to believe the latter because the way things are carefully orchestrated makes it impossible to ignore some metaphysical grand design and because a majority of people who believe there is no God are just as damaged as those who believe there is a God."
Moore took a drag from her pipe and rubbed her head with her free hand, "Are you done? I'm starting to get a headache."
Filly lowered her forelegs and folded them in a huff, "Yes, I'm done. But you can't deny I make a valid point."
"I'd ask what that point was but it won't be long before the treaty expires so I think it's best we dispense with the pleasantries," Moore spoke before once again puffing on her pipe, "What is your opinion of the Soviet Union?"
"It's only been around for a year so I can't comment," Filly replied, "But the idea of a transcontinental republic run by the working class does sound better than another godforsaken country divided by class and other things you tribal apes would fight over."
"Charming," Moore deadpanned as smoke curled around her words, "Then I assume you'll have no objection to keeping an eye on certain...developments for me?"
Filly tilted her head, "What kind of developments?"
Moore lifted her head and looked up coyly, "Oh, I don't know. A small council here taking a page from the Bolsheviks, perhaps? Communism is all the Eastern rage, these days."
Filly's eyes narrowed, "You're looking to stir the pot here in Japan, aren't you?"
"And you're not?" Moore said with a sly smile.
Filly's tail swished thoughtfully as she looked at Moore. While she already had plans to change the future of this world to what she hoped would be more to her liking, she was curious as to why the pipe-smoking woman before her would want a more...revolutionary government in charge instead of one leaning to more Western democratic ideals. When it came to politics, she knew better than to jump into the game without understanding the full board.
"Say that I was," Filly continued, "What do you hope to accomplish with your own Red October here?"
"Simple," Moore replied as she exhaled a cloud of smoke, "Another rival empire goes down. A Japan that leans towards the Soviets might keep certain powers in check. And the both of us will have more power than we know what to do with."
"I..." Filly emphasized, "Will have more power than I know what to do with. You're just a glorified ghost hunter."
"A high-ranking glorified ghost hunter, thank you very much," Moore rebuttled, "If I was in charge of any other organization or even somehow elected Prime Minister, there would be an attempt on my life from arse-hole to breakfast time."
Despite her distaste for profanity, if only because such words were unprofessional, Filly chuckled, "Fair enough. But before I paint this country red on your behalf, I do have one reservation."
"Go on," Moore spoke.
"My intel says Lenin has been ill as of late," Filly explained, "And if that brute, Stalin, were to succeed him, this workers' union would be dead before it even started."
Moore casually waved a hand, "I wouldn't be too concerned about Stalin. Rumour is he's getting the sack anyway, with Trotsky set to succeed Lenin. And even if Stalin's in power instead of Trotsky, we can always have him killed."
Filly slouched back and raised her forehooves up to her face again as she looked at Moore. While she was relieved that Moore had no knowledge of the war that was to come in about sixteen years time, it did concern her that Moore seemed so cavalier about manipulating world events way above her pay grade. And as difficult as it was to admit, she needed Stalin alive for the forseeable future and Moore killing him before he outlived his usefulness would bare dire consequences for the world stage as a whole. Still, the opportunity was too significant to ignore.
Moore casually tapped away at her pipe to clear out the ash, "Do we have an arrangement?"
"Yes," Filly replied, her tone measured, "But remember, I have agreed to work with you, not for you. Should our interests diverge..."
Moore smiled, "I wouldn't worry too much about that but, when it does happen, we'll sort it out. For now, you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours."