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Out of the Frying Pan... [Open | Fin]

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Melkire Melkire Find all posts by this user Gruff Gutterborn Murder Hobo Posts:2,470 Joined:Mar 2014 Character:Osric Melkire Server:Balmung Reputation: 505 Timezone:UTC+4 RE: Out of the Frying Pan... [Open] | #5 04-17-2014, 09:57 AM (This post was last modified: 04-30-2014, 12:40 PM by Melkire.) ((This post takes place two days after the First Annual Royal Ball.)) ((Warning, this post contains lewd content. Lewwwwwwwwd.)) Hydaelyn cares naught for you. Sleep, oh flame in a cage. Sleep, and come back to me. To silks and sweets and skins and blood...   He bolted upright, sweating profusely, clutching his head as if it were fit to burst... and maybe it was. His temples were certainly pulsing in excruciating pain; "headache" did not even begin to cover it. And his eyes... his vision swam with a nauseating film of violet light that gradually receded, and as it did so, so went the pain with it.   Asleep. He'd fallen asleep. Not the usual two-to-three bell nap, mind you, but the full deal. Something he hadn't done in moons. Why had he fallen asleep? He knew better than that. And why did he feel so good, so refreshed?   Priorities. Where in the hells am I?   Well, he was certainly sitting up in bed, sheets draped over him haphazardly, with the warm, comforting glow of dawn's first rays shining through the window. This couldn't be the barracks; no bunk this luxurious had ever been assigned to a sergeant. The Quicksand, then. Going by the quality of the sheets, one of Otopa's best rooms.   How had he gotten here? No, better question, why was he here? The last thing he could remember was Containment finding him in that alleyway off Pearl. He'd thanked the lieutenant in charge rather profusely, then made his way here. To the 'sand. But why? He had no hangover, and he certainly had no use for beds, eith-   The woman lying by his side rolled over in her sleep, rolled towards him with a soft moan that sent shivers of excitement up his spine and down his-   Oh.   Oh.   She must have startled him, and he must have disturbed the mattress, because the next thing he knew she was opening her eyes, staring up at him through the long tresses of her blonde hair, and smiling.   "Mmm. Good morning, Osric."   "...ah. Um. Good morning."   Teryn. Her name is Teryn, you witless buffoon! The gods gave you a brain, didn't they? Use it!   Thank you, voice in my head. That information would have been undoubtedly more helpful five seconds ago.   If anything, her smile was even wider now, on the verge of a full-on grin, the glint in her eyes dancing like fireflies over a river.  Her gaze shifted for a moment, slipping past him to the nightstand beyond.   "Your balls are vibrating."   "I... what?"   He turned. Sure enough, there on the nightstand were his three linkpearls. The mid-sized bauble, the one belonging to his free company's shell, laid quietly beside the others. That one had been quiet for sennights. The largest and smallest, though, were indeed vibrating, and the faint buzz of distant voices carried to the bed.   He glanced back at her. "And the score this morning stands at Teryn, one, Osric, zero."   She bit her lip, still smiling, that glint still dancing, as if to say, "So you remembered."   Gods, she hasn't laughed at me. Not once. Not last night,not... last night... and not this morning, either.   Suddenly, he wanted very, very much to make her laugh.   The linkpearls were still buzzing, though. He sighed as he turned his back on her to swing his legs out over and off the mattress, scooping up the smaller of the pearls as he did so, tucking it into his ear, and holding it in place.   "Sergeant Melkire reporting."   "...Sergeant? Oh, thank the Fury, listen, where are you? We were hoping you'd be in early, but-"   Osric frowned. What was Kokojo doing with Peak's private pearl?   "-so the lieutenant's had me sounding off over this shell for a good bell or so, trying to reach you, I'll put him on now!"   There came the familiar squish of a pearl changing hands, and the deep bass that was Peak's voice floated into his head.   "Sergeant, I've been making excuses for you all morning. Give me an alibi that'll hold up under close scrutiny."   "Uh... I was technically off-duty last night, and as per my rights, I sought, uh... entertainment... at the Quicksand. And found it."   "...you got drunk and woke up hung over. That's what you're telling me?"   "Uh... yes. Yes, let's go with that."   "I suppose I can make that stick. Now get your ass over to the Hall, I need you here two bells ago."   Osric cursed and dove for his clothes. Somehow, Teryn had seen to it last night that his garments all ended up on this side of the bed. How she'd managed that while stripping him down in a frenzy was beyond him, and he was in too much of a rush now to dwell on it any longer. He pulled his breeches on, then one boot. He stood up to pull on the other when she spoke again, her sultry, melodic voice reminding him that he'd much rather stay here in paradise than to walk out the door into hell.   "So, what shall I tell Her Lady Grace? Have I managed to change your mind?"   He pivoted in place as he hopped up and down on one foot,turning just in time to catch her squirming on the mattress rather suggestively. The bedsheets shifted, accentuating her... assets... in such a magnificent fashion that there was no way that the whole thing hadn't been deliberate. And she was still smiling as she awaited his answer.   So I've passed, then. Why ask me otherwise?   Osric couldn't help smiling back as he finally tugged his other boot into place. "I'll say you have. I'll be wanting a word with Miss Thatcher, though, in any case. To, uh, discuss the arrangement."   His smile faltered, though, as she nodded and he pulled on his shirt. This wasn't right. Here he was, getting ready to leave, to leave her here, leave Teryn behind in this empty, lonely room.   You'll be leaving plenty of beautiful women behind soon enough, if this all pans out the way you think it will. Why worry about it?   Because this was different. This wasn't for money...although he supposed it was, given his, er, pending application. But she hadn't paid him a thing, nor had he paid her. And while it had been business, it had also been something more, something mutually enjoyable, some precious experience that they had shared-   You're waxing romantic again. This ain't one of your pretty novellas.   Still. It wasn't right, and he wracked his brain for some way to make it up to her. What was it that his father used to do for his mother? What was- ah.   "I'll have a word with Otopa," he told her as he shrugged into his jerkin, "have him send up something warm. Breakfast in bed."   Teryn nodded as he tugged on his turban and secured his mask against his face. He bowed to her, then hesitated.   Ah, to hell with propriety. Ain't no formal dinner anyhow.   He reached out, took her hand, planted a single kiss on her fingers, then turned and headed out the door before she could catch the blush on his face.   You're wearing a mask, idiot.   Shaddup.           "That makes one original and sixteen copies, all burnt.Two secretaries bought off, four clerks blackmailed into silence, five others transferred to the most remote outposts we have, and three senior officers who are smart enough to forget the existence of entire documents on demand when matters of state security call for it. Your thoughts?"   Lieutenant Peak tapped the feather of his quill pen against the side of his inkwell as he stared up at the sergeant, who took his time in coming up with a response.   "I suppose Officer Rand was right, Lieutenant. We're nothing but soldiers. We should leave law enforcement to its professionals. It's their jurisdiction, after all."   Peak snorted. "Need I remind you that it was precisely because you trampled all over their jurisdiction that we were forewarned enough to expunge your report before it could leak?"   "Still, sir, I feel that this whole mess could have been avoided if we'd just had Blades advising us at the Ball. We're trained to look out, not in. Theirs is a mindset we don't have."   "A valid point. Immaterial, though." The lieutenant sighed. "I suppose all that's left is to call the good Captain Mynhier in for an informal briefing... and debriefing, if need be." His eyes somehow bored through the sergeant's mask to meet the Hyur's. "I'm sending you to bring him in."   Melkire went rigid. It was all he could do to not grit his teeth.   "Why me, sir?"   The lieutenant stood abruptly, and Melkire jumped back,startled, as nearly three hundred ponzes of Roegadyn came upright all at once.   "Because I know you. Because you don't know him, because you've never met the man. Because if I send someone else and leave this to fester, you'll undoubtedly turn in my hand and sink your teeth in until this blows up in our faces again."   "I wouldn't-"   "-yes, you would. And you always have. Gods forgive me if this costs us our friendship, but you need to hear this. I've coddled you enough; I should have called you out on this a long time ago."   "What in Azeyma's name are you going on about,Peak?"   "You're not a Flame at heart. Not really. Deep down, you're one of them."   Melkire froze.   "That's what irks you so badly, that's what has you chomping at the bit at the possibility that the good captain might be colluding with one of your ilk. You look back on your life, at the tremendous gift of mercy that you were granted, that you didn't deserve, and you look at them now, with their oft-betimes flippant behavior, and you're offended. You spot Mynhier with a criminal and you think treason. And why?"   Burning Peak came around the desk and thrust a finger at Osric Melkire, and that gesture carried all the weight of a condemnation as the lieutenant bellowed into the sergeant's face.   "For the same reason you don't follow orders! Because it wasn't Ul'dah that won your allegiance, all those cycles ago! It wasn't Ul'dah that you fell in love with! It wasn't Ul'dah that you swore an oath to protect, no matter the words that fell from your mouth! You don't give a rat's ass about Ul'dah! Look at me. Look me in the eyes and tell me that I'm wrong!"   Melkire looked Peak in the eyes... and set his jaw. The lieutenant laughed, and it was an ugly thing to hear.   "You can't, can you? You can't lie to me. You can't lie to me, Osric, so don't lie to yourself. She couldn't take you as her own, not as you were; you weren't qualified. Wouldn't take you as one of theirs; she'd only lose you after having just won you. So she took you the only way she could: she took you and gave you to the Flames. For life. And if there were ever a chance of that changing, there certainly isn't now, not after Halatali.   You served with us for five cycles. Five long cycles in which you resented us, resented our purpose, resented being here when you wanted to be with them. With her. You're jealous, Osric, because Mynhier has what you can't have. You're offended because you think he doesn't appreciate what he has that you don't. You're furious because you suspect he's betrayed the one person to whom you owe so much...."   Peak cut his tirade short; the sergeant's shoulders were shaking, and not with laughter. The lieutenant pursed his lips, then exhaled, letting out all that hot air, collapsing back in on himself. His voice dropped back down to indoor levels.   "For what it's worth... I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you're stuck here. I'm sorry that you hate it here. I'm sorry that the one opportunity that might have made it all bearable has been forever denied to you. But you're not dead, and you're still needed. So uphold the oath you swore, you bastard: as you live, you'll serve."   The sergeant's right hand rose and dragged his mask and turban off his head.   His eyes were red. Tears had dripped down Osric's face in rivulets; there wasn't a single square ilm that wasn't wet. His shoulders were still shaking. He drew a single short rattling breath, and looked up at Lieutenant Peak.     "F-f-fuck cards. You're buying me drinks tonight. I'll go get you your f-f-fucking captain. You ass."   He didn't even salute. He just left.           Osric reached the residence roughly two bells later, in time for the midsun meal. He had checked in with the Hall and the Palace beforehand; no one had seen Ser Captain Mynhier. Odds were that if he wasn't at work, he'd be at home.   Had he been at home, there was no way that he could have missed Osric knocking on his front door for the fourth time, let alone the fifth. The sergeant frowned, first at the front door, then up at the windows on the second floor.   This bastard owns a two-story home. Wonderful. I'm not jealous. I'm not jealous at all.   The lights were out... but then, they would be, seeing as how it was high noon. His ears perked up at the sound of footsteps from further down the street:  an elderly Hyur lady, come fresh from the market with her groceries. Mynhier's neighbor, apparently, given how she was fumbling with her keys next door.   Osric gave her his best smile as he sauntered closer. "Twelve's blessings, madam! You wouldn't have happened to have seen Captain Mynhier lately, would you?"   No, she told him, she hadn't. The last time she'd seen him was the other morning, when she had run into him and his daughter at the porters' near the Gate of Nald. She was going to visit the Shroud and stay with some friends, the girl had told her neighbor, while her father remained behind to attend to some business. The three of them had parted amicably, and the madam had seen neither father nor daughter since.   Osric frowned as he thanked the old woman for her time. Something was off, but he couldn't tell exactly what. Something to do with sending one's only daughter off without an escort. He returned to Mynhier's front door. After one last futile knock, he decided on a whim to try the door handle.   The door was unlocked.   In Ul'dah. City of thieves, beggars, lepers, murderers, and all other manners of unsavory types.   He didn't wait. He didn't think. He moved on instinct, throwing his weight behind his shoulder and his shoulder against the door, slamming it open. He barged inside, alert, ready to fall back at a moment's notice.   The bedroom looked like a coeurl had been through it. The study was much the same, only twice as bad. The pieces of a single mammet had been scattered through the house; clearly, whoever had done this didn't care for Eorzea's cutest minions. Or for Ul'dah's finest homes, either; didn't seem to matter which room he visited, as the whole place had been trashed.   He reached for his private pearl with Peak.   "Lieutenant."   "...you never call me Lieutenant."   "Shut up and listen to me. You need to put together a search party, right now." He cast his memory back in time, searching with his mind's eye for the dossier he'd read yesterday morning. "Call in the Red Wings, and see if you can't reach someone from the Sultansworn. They'll want to know."   "Know what?"   He took one last look around the study.   "Erik Mynhier is missing."

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Out of the Frying Pan... [Open | Fin] - by Melkire - 04-12-2014, 01:24 AM RE: Out of the Frying Pan... [Open] - by Xydane - 04-13-2014, 11:46 AM RE: Out of the Frying Pan... [Open] - by Knight Kat - 04-14-2014, 07:48 AM RE: Out of the Frying Pan... [Open] - by Melkire - 04-15-2014, 03:53 AM RE: Out of the Frying Pan... [Open] - by Melkire - 04-17-2014, 09:57 AM RE: Out of the Frying Pan... [Open] - by Xydane - 04-17-2014, 12:42 PM RE: Out of the Frying Pan... [Open] - by Melkire - 04-18-2014, 10:22 PM

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