Raubahn squeaked as he ran.
The wind-up model in his right hand was all but forgotten as he rounded the corner onto Pearl Lane. He had to wonder at himself: why was he in a rush? The poor and the desperate fleeing for the relative safety of the markets on Sapphire meant only one thing, and that was murder. Murder meant a body, and a body meant he was too late to make any difference. Not to mention that he was supposed to be off-duty. So why? Why hurry?
Because I feel guilty, that's why.
He tucked the toy away in a large belt pouch as he slowed to a brisk walk. A crowd had congregated here; clearly, morbid curiosity was not to be outdone by mere herd instinct in every Pearl beggar out on the streets tonight. Navigating this mess might have proven difficult had he not spent a cycle of service stationed at Little Ala Mhigo, home to thickheaded highlanders of questionable hearing and even more questionable sense. The sergeants there had drilled their privates well, and it was those lessons that Osric drew on now as he sucked in as much air as his lungs could hold.
Diaphragm. It's all in the diaphragm.
"FLAME COMING THROUGH, CLEAR THE STREET!"
Not quite as effective as he'd hoped for - it never was - but the throng dispersed just enough for him to push and pull his way through to the scene. The Brass Blades were already there: three of them had fanned out to hold back the press of the crowd, and a fourth was amidst a thicket of broken crates and barrels, leaning against the sole survivor of a wooden holocaust. Rand did not look happy, and Osric doubted that that had anything to do with the debris. A fifth: Wendt was here, as well, pad in hand, taking notes as he questioned witnesses.
The big man on the crate looked back at the sound of approaching footfalls, and nodded to his counterpart. "Sergeant."
"Officer. What've we got?"
The Blade’s nostrils flared as he indicated the thicket with his chin. “Take a look for yourself.â€
Osric stepped gingerly across a sea of splinters, shuffled around the Brass Blade, and dropped to one knee in front of the... corpse. It didn't look like a corpse. Looked like someone had just decided to take a nap on the cold stones of the filthiest street of Ul'dah, thieves be damned. But then, it certainly smelled like a corpse.
“...have you called this in yet?â€
“Nah, was hoping you blokes'd be so kind as to take it off our hands.â€
Osric snorted as he raised two fingers to his left ear and the pearl within. "Much obliged."
“This is Sergeant Melkire requesting immediate assistance. I need containment and clean-up crews on Pearl Lane, we’ve got a stiff, I repeat, we’ve got a stiff. Male Elezen, middle-aged. Smells a sun old. The fancy clothes say he ain't local. Cause of death unknown, I'm looking into it now. This is Sergeant Melkire, requesting immediate assistance, Thal's White Ball."
Voices floated back to him across the pearl, buzzing in his ear, but he was long gone, sifting through the checklist running through his head as his hands swept the corpse for the usual signs. Spring lines, anchor, hands aloft, topsails, t'gallants, to the wheel.... There were priorities, here, and a misstep could be costly.
Not asphyxiation; a quick tug on the color revealed no strangle marks. Magically-induced asphyxiation, perhaps? Was that a thing? No foreign substances in the mouth or up the nostrils. Â Ears were likewise clean. He started making his way down the torso.
He snapped his fingers at Rand. "The body. Who found it?"
"Don't rightly know."
The checklist fell out of his head. He turned to look up at the big man.
Rand shrugged. "Not many of us stationed in these parts. What few there are have their orders, and their orders stand. Keep the riffraff out," he intoned, "keep them on the streets. So beggin' your buggered britches' pardon if I don't have the men or the inclination to send'm panning through the sand for gil."
He had to bite down hard for the second time this evening.
This time, he won the war.
Osric rose to a crouch, pivoting on one leg to sweep his gaze across their audience, looking for familiar faces. He found one, and dropped one hand to his belt, fumbling through one of the smaller pouches, the one that jangled when he walked. A moment later, he came up with his prize.
"Landebert," he called, pitching the man a coin-purse. "You're deputized. Gather some friends, see if you can't dig up whoever found the body. We'd bleed gil to know. Everyone gets their cut. Report to Wendt, he's competent."
Rand came upright in a hurry, fuming. "Wendt ain't your man, and this ain't your jurisdiction-"
Osric stood up and met him mask-to-mask. "Piss on your jurisdiction-"
"-damned soldiers, is what you are-"
"-you conceded all authority and responsibility-"
"-leave this to the professionals-"
"-when you allowed me to call it in. Now," he asked, with his sweetest and most sardonic smile plastered across his face, "I'd say the street needs clearing, wouldn't you?" Â
Rand nearly exploded.
He won that war, too.
With the Brass Blades out of his way, Osric was at liberty to focus on his examination of the corpse. The checklist rose back into place. Heave the log aft, mind the minute glass.... He moved to unbutton the man's coat, and that's when he saw it. The tear. Or rather, the stitching where a tear should have been.
This was cut up and sewed back together again. Why?
The answer came when he unfastened the buttons. The shirt underneath had a hole in it, a hole that was ringed with the slightest stains of blood. Frantic now, he lifted the shirt to inspect the wound, sticking his fingers inside. At least two, three ilms deep.
Oh, shite. He pulled his digits free, then rolled the body over onto its side. There was no exit wound. Three ilms deep and no exit wound.
He fell back onto his ass, stunned. He'd seen professional wetwork before, but this... this was expertly done. Minimal blood splatter required a perfect collision with the target... and... and drugs. Poison. Something to speed the clotting along. Fasten the coat, cut out the stains, sew it back up. Dump the body here.
Elezen. Well-dressed. Killed very recently. Not even a malm from Hustings.
Blood on the blade.
Oh, shite.
He fumbled for the third and smallest of his belt pouches, but for the life of him he couldn't get it open, and he recognized the Elezen now, he'd last seen him alive in the Chamber of...
oh gods he must have done him while i was with andralyn
Humbled. He was truly humbled. When was the last time he'd been humbled? This was marvelous work, a masterpiece...
the miqo'te woman it was the miqo'te woman who tipped me off
The thieving gutterborn in him wanted to know how it was done, wanted lessons, even, there were always uses for such applications of skill...
irritated agitated nervous glancing his way
The career soldier in him was impressed. A quiet little assassination, while surrounded by Flames and Sultansworn? At Her Majesty's own gala? The balls...
he was there standing right there opposite her mirroring her
The boy wasn't home. The boy was out.
was talking with andralyn he left while i was talking with
The man was disgusted. Another innocent, dead. Couldn't they live and let live? Bloody assholes and their casual, senseless violence...
my fault i should have followed him sooner all my fault guilty guilty guilty
He was trembling. When had he started trembling? And what was he reaching for, exactly? Why was...
panic attack i'm having a panic attack
He felt the sharp CRACK of his mother's open palm strike him full across the face with all the strength of her thirty-nine cycles; saw himself, only twelve cycles old and back from his first bit o' wetwork, dashed to the floor of their home in his mind's eye; heard his mother screaming at him, telling him to wake the FUCK up and get it THE FUCK together.
He stopped trembling.
He undid the fastening on his pouch with one hand as he dug the official Immortal Flames linkpearl out of his ear with the other. Into the pouch went that pearl and out came another, this one smaller, not as well-polished. He slipped this one into his ear and held it there.
"Burning? Burning, you there? You were right, you were so right, we're not the Sultansworn, we're too gods-damned big, Vale knew exactly what he was doing, and I helped him, I helped the bastard do it, Â and now, and now the captain, they're gonna have to-"
"...slow down, Sergeant, slow down. What're you on about?"
"The call, the body I called in-"
"-yes, what about-"
"Burning, the Elezen was stabbed."
Silence reigned over the linkshell for several excruciatingly long moments.
"...and you filed your report this morning."
Osric snarled. "And I filed the gods-damned report this morning!"
"...I'll send someone to pull the file-"
"Peak, there are too many eyes in Records Administration. Might as well be part of the public record by now. It's over. They won't have a choice. They'll have to call Mynhier in."
"You can't think like that. Thinking like that means he's already won.... Kokojo's on her way to Swift now. I'm headed over to Records myself. You sit tight, alright?"
Osric looked down at the dead Elezen before him.
"...Burning, I can't do this... I can't do this right now. I've... I've gotta calm down... and the time... gods, the time... I... I have an appointment to keep-"
"Sit. Tight. Cleanup and Containment are on their way to you now. Some others, too, by the sounds of things. Your appointment can wait."
"...alright. Alright."
The street was clear. At least Rand had done something right, tonight. Osric crawled over to an alley wall and leaned against it for support. He needed a drink. How else was he going to relieve all this stress?
Probably knock up some prostitute.
He started laughing. He couldn't contain himself. And why should he? His life was shaping up to be one bad comedy.
All my fault.
He sat back and waited for the Flames, waited for someone, anyone, to come find him.
Mine.
((I'm leaving it entirely up to Erik as to whether the Flames manage to hush this up or if his character gets called in for questioning. Erik, if I don't hear from you, I'm going to go with the former. EDIT: We arrrr goan wit sumsing a beet moar interestingz.))
((If this ever changes, please let me know ASAP! And thank you for the kind words!))
The wind-up model in his right hand was all but forgotten as he rounded the corner onto Pearl Lane. He had to wonder at himself: why was he in a rush? The poor and the desperate fleeing for the relative safety of the markets on Sapphire meant only one thing, and that was murder. Murder meant a body, and a body meant he was too late to make any difference. Not to mention that he was supposed to be off-duty. So why? Why hurry?
Because I feel guilty, that's why.
He tucked the toy away in a large belt pouch as he slowed to a brisk walk. A crowd had congregated here; clearly, morbid curiosity was not to be outdone by mere herd instinct in every Pearl beggar out on the streets tonight. Navigating this mess might have proven difficult had he not spent a cycle of service stationed at Little Ala Mhigo, home to thickheaded highlanders of questionable hearing and even more questionable sense. The sergeants there had drilled their privates well, and it was those lessons that Osric drew on now as he sucked in as much air as his lungs could hold.
Diaphragm. It's all in the diaphragm.
"FLAME COMING THROUGH, CLEAR THE STREET!"
Not quite as effective as he'd hoped for - it never was - but the throng dispersed just enough for him to push and pull his way through to the scene. The Brass Blades were already there: three of them had fanned out to hold back the press of the crowd, and a fourth was amidst a thicket of broken crates and barrels, leaning against the sole survivor of a wooden holocaust. Rand did not look happy, and Osric doubted that that had anything to do with the debris. A fifth: Wendt was here, as well, pad in hand, taking notes as he questioned witnesses.
The big man on the crate looked back at the sound of approaching footfalls, and nodded to his counterpart. "Sergeant."
"Officer. What've we got?"
The Blade’s nostrils flared as he indicated the thicket with his chin. “Take a look for yourself.â€
Osric stepped gingerly across a sea of splinters, shuffled around the Brass Blade, and dropped to one knee in front of the... corpse. It didn't look like a corpse. Looked like someone had just decided to take a nap on the cold stones of the filthiest street of Ul'dah, thieves be damned. But then, it certainly smelled like a corpse.
“...have you called this in yet?â€
“Nah, was hoping you blokes'd be so kind as to take it off our hands.â€
Osric snorted as he raised two fingers to his left ear and the pearl within. "Much obliged."
“This is Sergeant Melkire requesting immediate assistance. I need containment and clean-up crews on Pearl Lane, we’ve got a stiff, I repeat, we’ve got a stiff. Male Elezen, middle-aged. Smells a sun old. The fancy clothes say he ain't local. Cause of death unknown, I'm looking into it now. This is Sergeant Melkire, requesting immediate assistance, Thal's White Ball."
Voices floated back to him across the pearl, buzzing in his ear, but he was long gone, sifting through the checklist running through his head as his hands swept the corpse for the usual signs. Spring lines, anchor, hands aloft, topsails, t'gallants, to the wheel.... There were priorities, here, and a misstep could be costly.
Not asphyxiation; a quick tug on the color revealed no strangle marks. Magically-induced asphyxiation, perhaps? Was that a thing? No foreign substances in the mouth or up the nostrils. Â Ears were likewise clean. He started making his way down the torso.
He snapped his fingers at Rand. "The body. Who found it?"
"Don't rightly know."
The checklist fell out of his head. He turned to look up at the big man.
Rand shrugged. "Not many of us stationed in these parts. What few there are have their orders, and their orders stand. Keep the riffraff out," he intoned, "keep them on the streets. So beggin' your buggered britches' pardon if I don't have the men or the inclination to send'm panning through the sand for gil."
He had to bite down hard for the second time this evening.
This time, he won the war.
Osric rose to a crouch, pivoting on one leg to sweep his gaze across their audience, looking for familiar faces. He found one, and dropped one hand to his belt, fumbling through one of the smaller pouches, the one that jangled when he walked. A moment later, he came up with his prize.
"Landebert," he called, pitching the man a coin-purse. "You're deputized. Gather some friends, see if you can't dig up whoever found the body. We'd bleed gil to know. Everyone gets their cut. Report to Wendt, he's competent."
Rand came upright in a hurry, fuming. "Wendt ain't your man, and this ain't your jurisdiction-"
Osric stood up and met him mask-to-mask. "Piss on your jurisdiction-"
"-damned soldiers, is what you are-"
"-you conceded all authority and responsibility-"
"-leave this to the professionals-"
"-when you allowed me to call it in. Now," he asked, with his sweetest and most sardonic smile plastered across his face, "I'd say the street needs clearing, wouldn't you?" Â
Rand nearly exploded.
He won that war, too.
With the Brass Blades out of his way, Osric was at liberty to focus on his examination of the corpse. The checklist rose back into place. Heave the log aft, mind the minute glass.... He moved to unbutton the man's coat, and that's when he saw it. The tear. Or rather, the stitching where a tear should have been.
This was cut up and sewed back together again. Why?
The answer came when he unfastened the buttons. The shirt underneath had a hole in it, a hole that was ringed with the slightest stains of blood. Frantic now, he lifted the shirt to inspect the wound, sticking his fingers inside. At least two, three ilms deep.
Oh, shite. He pulled his digits free, then rolled the body over onto its side. There was no exit wound. Three ilms deep and no exit wound.
He fell back onto his ass, stunned. He'd seen professional wetwork before, but this... this was expertly done. Minimal blood splatter required a perfect collision with the target... and... and drugs. Poison. Something to speed the clotting along. Fasten the coat, cut out the stains, sew it back up. Dump the body here.
Elezen. Well-dressed. Killed very recently. Not even a malm from Hustings.
Blood on the blade.
Oh, shite.
He fumbled for the third and smallest of his belt pouches, but for the life of him he couldn't get it open, and he recognized the Elezen now, he'd last seen him alive in the Chamber of...
oh gods he must have done him while i was with andralyn
Humbled. He was truly humbled. When was the last time he'd been humbled? This was marvelous work, a masterpiece...
the miqo'te woman it was the miqo'te woman who tipped me off
The thieving gutterborn in him wanted to know how it was done, wanted lessons, even, there were always uses for such applications of skill...
irritated agitated nervous glancing his way
The career soldier in him was impressed. A quiet little assassination, while surrounded by Flames and Sultansworn? At Her Majesty's own gala? The balls...
he was there standing right there opposite her mirroring her
The boy wasn't home. The boy was out.
was talking with andralyn he left while i was talking with
The man was disgusted. Another innocent, dead. Couldn't they live and let live? Bloody assholes and their casual, senseless violence...
my fault i should have followed him sooner all my fault guilty guilty guilty
He was trembling. When had he started trembling? And what was he reaching for, exactly? Why was...
panic attack i'm having a panic attack
He felt the sharp CRACK of his mother's open palm strike him full across the face with all the strength of her thirty-nine cycles; saw himself, only twelve cycles old and back from his first bit o' wetwork, dashed to the floor of their home in his mind's eye; heard his mother screaming at him, telling him to wake the FUCK up and get it THE FUCK together.
He stopped trembling.
He undid the fastening on his pouch with one hand as he dug the official Immortal Flames linkpearl out of his ear with the other. Into the pouch went that pearl and out came another, this one smaller, not as well-polished. He slipped this one into his ear and held it there.
"Burning? Burning, you there? You were right, you were so right, we're not the Sultansworn, we're too gods-damned big, Vale knew exactly what he was doing, and I helped him, I helped the bastard do it, Â and now, and now the captain, they're gonna have to-"
"...slow down, Sergeant, slow down. What're you on about?"
"The call, the body I called in-"
"-yes, what about-"
"Burning, the Elezen was stabbed."
Silence reigned over the linkshell for several excruciatingly long moments.
"...and you filed your report this morning."
Osric snarled. "And I filed the gods-damned report this morning!"
"...I'll send someone to pull the file-"
"Peak, there are too many eyes in Records Administration. Might as well be part of the public record by now. It's over. They won't have a choice. They'll have to call Mynhier in."
"You can't think like that. Thinking like that means he's already won.... Kokojo's on her way to Swift now. I'm headed over to Records myself. You sit tight, alright?"
Osric looked down at the dead Elezen before him.
"...Burning, I can't do this... I can't do this right now. I've... I've gotta calm down... and the time... gods, the time... I... I have an appointment to keep-"
"Sit. Tight. Cleanup and Containment are on their way to you now. Some others, too, by the sounds of things. Your appointment can wait."
"...alright. Alright."
The street was clear. At least Rand had done something right, tonight. Osric crawled over to an alley wall and leaned against it for support. He needed a drink. How else was he going to relieve all this stress?
Probably knock up some prostitute.
He started laughing. He couldn't contain himself. And why should he? His life was shaping up to be one bad comedy.
All my fault.
He sat back and waited for the Flames, waited for someone, anyone, to come find him.
Mine.
((I'm leaving it entirely up to Erik as to whether the Flames manage to hush this up or if his character gets called in for questioning. Erik, if I don't hear from you, I'm going to go with the former. EDIT: We arrrr goan wit sumsing a beet moar interestingz.))
(04-14-2014, 07:48 AM)Knight Kat Wrote: ((...managed to masterfully attach your story to our plot without screwing up any "plot-lore"... ))
((If this ever changes, please let me know ASAP! And thank you for the kind words!))
![[Image: 1qVSsTp.png]](http://i.imgur.com/1qVSsTp.png)
