From the Goblet she made her way to the Grindstone. It had been almost two days since she had even dared leave the estate - pressed for time as she was to find any evidence she could before it was whisked away out from under her. Confrontation would be inevitable and she would not be the one to shy away from it. Not now. She knew who would be present tonight, as he always was, and she intended to prove her own resolve was equal to his.
What she did not know was that Osric Melkire was also there. And he was not alone. Quietly and angrily she stood off to the side of the tourney with crossed arms as the Sergeant spoke loudly and purposefully enough for her to hear. Drinks at the Coffer & Coffin. She had played this game long enough to know his intent and while the woman had no interest in drinking with the man who shot her most recent lover, she could not ignore the need emphasized in his letter.
Hesitantly she stepped into the bar. One step, two steps. Her eyes scanned the room slowly until spying the man off to the side. He was sitting at a table in the corner being attended to by a silver haired woman with purple eyes. Neither of them noticed her entrance just yet. The woman smiled at her ward and laughed lightly. "I hope it's more than me being your maid service."
Coatleque moved past them and straight to the bar. Her strides where long and pronounced by her heels upon the wooden floor. Smiling politely for the owner she requested a full bottle of his finest rum from the top shelf before sliding an appropriate sum across the counter from her purse. Her head turned to the side as she awaited the barkeep's return.
She had noticed the man's gaze followed her from the door to the bar. His attention pulled away just then only to address the woman next to him with a shake of his head. "It's you always bein' here for me." The other woman reached over and began to rub between his shoulders, her own eyes flicking to the bar momentarily. The Paladin then recognized the hues of her eyes and turned back to the bar. "You can stay..." the man continued. "Ain't like I won't be repeatin' this t'you later anyroad." His voice had purposefully raised just enough to reach the bar.
Having received her bottle the paladin turned and walked to the corner table to join the others in time to break into their conversation. "Either way... if it's going to make her..." The woman's eyes lifted to Coatleque as she approached. "As I was saying, if you don't feel comfortable speaking with me around, I can head outside for a few..."
Osric exhaled slowly before raising his mug to his lips. He sipped. "That's up t'her." Coatleque did not wait for greetings or permission. She simply sat herself at the table and set the bottle before her.
"Thirsty, Sergeant?" She asked before sliding the rum across the table towards him. "Consider it a gift." She had nothing more to say to the man at that point. Her stern expression did not hide the fact she did not care for this meeting, but even she knew that a truce was necessary for the greater good. What better a peace offering for a soldier than booze? He glanced at the bottle, his mug held firm in his left hand while his right arm hung limply at his side.
It was soon apparent that he also had no desire for pleasantries. "You have questions, I have answers. Ask. Then we'll do this the other way 'round, if y'care to." She peered at him for a moment unsure of how to proceed tactfully. Many thoughts raced through her mind, including the question of what he wanted engraved on his headstone. Her fingers laced together upon her lap and her posture became rigid. One eyebrow quirked, but not other display of emotion was evident.
"Alright..." she began, "What in the Twelve's names were you thinking?!"
Osric snorted and took enough time to sip from his mug again before choosing to answer. "What needed doin'."
"Marching a small army through a secret Monetarist prison to carry out your vigilante justice without writ or warrant?! I hardly call that something that 'needed doing.'" She protested with her own condescending tone, distaste clearly present on her tongue. The other woman remained silent, composed. Her lavender eyes darted from one to the other as they spoke.
Osric slammed his mug back down to the table then, rattling the very wood and jostling the bottle that was set before him. "AND WHAT OF HIS FEUD WITH LAZAROV?", he bellowed. "WHAT OF EVERY GODS DAMNED SOUL THAT'S SUFFERED, PERISHED, OR OTHERWISE IN A PERSONAL DISPUTE BACKED BY THE SULTANSWORN WARMIN' HIS RUTTIN' BED?!" Her eyes narrowed and a small curl came to her lips at the slight, but she did not flinch at the loud slamming of the mug. Nor did she recoil from the man's voice that screamed at her across the table, merely 2 fulms from her face. The other woman jumped, however. He breathed slowly, in and out, before giving a "Tch" and looking away in his own disgust.
Speaking up in her own defense, her voice remained calm even as it was forced through her teeth. "What do you THINK I have been DOING this whole time? I have been USING Jameson's resources to track the man down." She said rather pointedly.
Osric barked a laugh. The differences between their methods could not have been more night and day than this moment. "Let's get this straight, shall we?" He muttered, his voice lowering enough to only carry to those seated around him.
"Please."
"I cut a deal with the pirate. Jameson for what Nero knows o' the mess in Pearl, what with him traffickin' weapons in. And while I was at it, I set Delial's fangs pointed Nero's way. Meanwhile, y'sat in the lap o' luxury and bided your time and... what? Where's Roen? Where's Nero? Do YOU know anythin' o' Pearl?" His icy glare would have cut through were he not genuinely interested in her answer. Of finding out anything he could on what Nero was planning for the city, the gangs.
She listened intently though only her eyes would tell. Slowly turning from anger to sorrow her head shook slowly. "You are all so quick to shed blood for blood." She began. "You sicken me. Yes, I know about the bandits, the guns. A man named Scythe is leading them. Nero was supposed to call them off but has gone quite mad it seems." She sighed. This was a repeating pattern she was so weary of addressing. "When does it stop, Sergeant? Who's blood is too precious to spill?" Her emerald eyes shot to the woman beside him, but she wisely held her tongue rather than suggest what she thought.
There was a long pause. Osric leaned back with a sigh and pulled his mug from the table to sip its contents. The paladin's head shook slowly once more, her expression even more worrisome. "Your silence speaks volumes." She said at length. "Do you think I enjoyed bringing Roen in?" The other woman now peered over the rim of her own cup to Coatleque.
"... far as I'm concerned," Osric started, "the bloodshed ought t'end with Taeros. And my 'silence' is a collection o' thoughts longer than you'd ever care t'know." He was right in that. "Shite, Crofte, did you?"
"I can never make right how I've wronged her, but it was necessary." She stood by her own actions. "She was abetting a murderer."
It was funny how such a crime was damning to some but barely a hand-wave for others. "Remind me who goaded and sicced Natalie this way n' that, eh?" Osric leaned closer to her as if to emphasize the conviction. "Od'hilkas was there, Crofte. And it goes back farther. You weren't around for Epinoch."
"Mcbeef was a weak-willed fool. You know that as well as I." A lie. Or at least a fallacy. Natalie Mcbeef was one of the most strong willed Sultansworn that Coatleque ever knew. But she placed swift action over calculated planning.
"One weak-willed fool in a line o' many, and you're the latest, if you've no mind t'pull head from arse and think for a gods-damned moment. Where's Roen's pearl t'Nero? I know she had one."
Her head turned away from the man to look down at the empty table before her. Unclear if he was genuinely concerned for her own well-being, or simply convinced that she was nothing more than a tool at this point. "You speak of past events and names as if I do not know the evils that have been manifest by Jameson's hands." She exhaled slowly. "But what you fail to differentiate is the greater threat. Nero divided our attention, and thus gained more time than he needed. The pearl is destroyed. I used it. Nero returned my call to him, then destroyed his." Her voice wavered. "And whether you kill him or not, Sergeant... you may have delivered the man into an even greater evil."
A sigh was heaved from across the table. Osric stared darkly into his own mug as his own thoughts swirled. The mug reached the table without the anger it bore before and he rose, stepping over to her. His left arm crossed to his right. "What did he tell you? And what happened? The tunnel didn't collapse. I saw the armor, but..."
"Nero told me... that he no longer cared if the city lived or died. He has no intents on stopping the coming slaughter. And James... only said one last word to me. 'Banurein'. I do not know this woman save for mention by Roen, but I knew the fear in his eyes before..." her voice trailed off.
"Raelisanne." he hissed quietly. The woman across the table blinked and looked up. "You mean the one... sh-she supposed looks like me." Her own voice trembled slightly as if she did not want to believe it.
"If it weren't for this pissin' feud 'tween Taeros 'n Lazarov, I might've found her already." The Sergeant turned to Coatleque. "I was on her trail when this shite started."
"Well... now we both have reason to find her." she said rather clipped. "Scythe," she continued, "is the larger threat, Sergeant." She eyed the man now standing beside her. There was no immediate answer except that he turned and raised both wrists to her, the right laying over-top the left. She blinked at his submissive gesture and even considered taking him in. "Once I asked," he said, "This time, I'm offerin'. But you know better." A smirk crossed his face. The same shite-eating grin she had seen him wear whenever he was sure the odds were in his favor. "As y'say, Scythe is still out there."
Coatleque stared at his hands. The woman across the table looked worried herself as her lower lip pulled in and under her teeth. The paladin took a long, slow breath before standing. "For the Sultana." She turned to leave. She could not stay any longer in his presence. The man blinked and winced slightly before turning and taking his seat again.
She stopped after a step and looked back. "There is one other thing, though."
"Crofte, I've a whole load o' shite t'sit down and walk y'through. One more thing won't make much of a difference."
"This may."
Osric swallowed as his right arm fell limp at his side and he wiped his eyes with his left sleeve. "You mentioned Delial," she said in warning. "I would not expect to see her again. Enjoy the rum."
The Flame squinted and watched her as she walked away. "Aye, loads t'discuss and you're off? Figures. Go. do your gods-damned job this time."
She stopped just at the door but did not look back. Her hands clenched tightly at her sides.
"That was too far.", she replied coldly.
"You know nothin'."
What she did not know was that Osric Melkire was also there. And he was not alone. Quietly and angrily she stood off to the side of the tourney with crossed arms as the Sergeant spoke loudly and purposefully enough for her to hear. Drinks at the Coffer & Coffin. She had played this game long enough to know his intent and while the woman had no interest in drinking with the man who shot her most recent lover, she could not ignore the need emphasized in his letter.
Hesitantly she stepped into the bar. One step, two steps. Her eyes scanned the room slowly until spying the man off to the side. He was sitting at a table in the corner being attended to by a silver haired woman with purple eyes. Neither of them noticed her entrance just yet. The woman smiled at her ward and laughed lightly. "I hope it's more than me being your maid service."
Coatleque moved past them and straight to the bar. Her strides where long and pronounced by her heels upon the wooden floor. Smiling politely for the owner she requested a full bottle of his finest rum from the top shelf before sliding an appropriate sum across the counter from her purse. Her head turned to the side as she awaited the barkeep's return.
She had noticed the man's gaze followed her from the door to the bar. His attention pulled away just then only to address the woman next to him with a shake of his head. "It's you always bein' here for me." The other woman reached over and began to rub between his shoulders, her own eyes flicking to the bar momentarily. The Paladin then recognized the hues of her eyes and turned back to the bar. "You can stay..." the man continued. "Ain't like I won't be repeatin' this t'you later anyroad." His voice had purposefully raised just enough to reach the bar.
Having received her bottle the paladin turned and walked to the corner table to join the others in time to break into their conversation. "Either way... if it's going to make her..." The woman's eyes lifted to Coatleque as she approached. "As I was saying, if you don't feel comfortable speaking with me around, I can head outside for a few..."
Osric exhaled slowly before raising his mug to his lips. He sipped. "That's up t'her." Coatleque did not wait for greetings or permission. She simply sat herself at the table and set the bottle before her.
"Thirsty, Sergeant?" She asked before sliding the rum across the table towards him. "Consider it a gift." She had nothing more to say to the man at that point. Her stern expression did not hide the fact she did not care for this meeting, but even she knew that a truce was necessary for the greater good. What better a peace offering for a soldier than booze? He glanced at the bottle, his mug held firm in his left hand while his right arm hung limply at his side.
It was soon apparent that he also had no desire for pleasantries. "You have questions, I have answers. Ask. Then we'll do this the other way 'round, if y'care to." She peered at him for a moment unsure of how to proceed tactfully. Many thoughts raced through her mind, including the question of what he wanted engraved on his headstone. Her fingers laced together upon her lap and her posture became rigid. One eyebrow quirked, but not other display of emotion was evident.
"Alright..." she began, "What in the Twelve's names were you thinking?!"
Osric snorted and took enough time to sip from his mug again before choosing to answer. "What needed doin'."
"Marching a small army through a secret Monetarist prison to carry out your vigilante justice without writ or warrant?! I hardly call that something that 'needed doing.'" She protested with her own condescending tone, distaste clearly present on her tongue. The other woman remained silent, composed. Her lavender eyes darted from one to the other as they spoke.
Osric slammed his mug back down to the table then, rattling the very wood and jostling the bottle that was set before him. "AND WHAT OF HIS FEUD WITH LAZAROV?", he bellowed. "WHAT OF EVERY GODS DAMNED SOUL THAT'S SUFFERED, PERISHED, OR OTHERWISE IN A PERSONAL DISPUTE BACKED BY THE SULTANSWORN WARMIN' HIS RUTTIN' BED?!" Her eyes narrowed and a small curl came to her lips at the slight, but she did not flinch at the loud slamming of the mug. Nor did she recoil from the man's voice that screamed at her across the table, merely 2 fulms from her face. The other woman jumped, however. He breathed slowly, in and out, before giving a "Tch" and looking away in his own disgust.
Speaking up in her own defense, her voice remained calm even as it was forced through her teeth. "What do you THINK I have been DOING this whole time? I have been USING Jameson's resources to track the man down." She said rather pointedly.
Osric barked a laugh. The differences between their methods could not have been more night and day than this moment. "Let's get this straight, shall we?" He muttered, his voice lowering enough to only carry to those seated around him.
"Please."
"I cut a deal with the pirate. Jameson for what Nero knows o' the mess in Pearl, what with him traffickin' weapons in. And while I was at it, I set Delial's fangs pointed Nero's way. Meanwhile, y'sat in the lap o' luxury and bided your time and... what? Where's Roen? Where's Nero? Do YOU know anythin' o' Pearl?" His icy glare would have cut through were he not genuinely interested in her answer. Of finding out anything he could on what Nero was planning for the city, the gangs.
She listened intently though only her eyes would tell. Slowly turning from anger to sorrow her head shook slowly. "You are all so quick to shed blood for blood." She began. "You sicken me. Yes, I know about the bandits, the guns. A man named Scythe is leading them. Nero was supposed to call them off but has gone quite mad it seems." She sighed. This was a repeating pattern she was so weary of addressing. "When does it stop, Sergeant? Who's blood is too precious to spill?" Her emerald eyes shot to the woman beside him, but she wisely held her tongue rather than suggest what she thought.
There was a long pause. Osric leaned back with a sigh and pulled his mug from the table to sip its contents. The paladin's head shook slowly once more, her expression even more worrisome. "Your silence speaks volumes." She said at length. "Do you think I enjoyed bringing Roen in?" The other woman now peered over the rim of her own cup to Coatleque.
"... far as I'm concerned," Osric started, "the bloodshed ought t'end with Taeros. And my 'silence' is a collection o' thoughts longer than you'd ever care t'know." He was right in that. "Shite, Crofte, did you?"
"I can never make right how I've wronged her, but it was necessary." She stood by her own actions. "She was abetting a murderer."
It was funny how such a crime was damning to some but barely a hand-wave for others. "Remind me who goaded and sicced Natalie this way n' that, eh?" Osric leaned closer to her as if to emphasize the conviction. "Od'hilkas was there, Crofte. And it goes back farther. You weren't around for Epinoch."
"Mcbeef was a weak-willed fool. You know that as well as I." A lie. Or at least a fallacy. Natalie Mcbeef was one of the most strong willed Sultansworn that Coatleque ever knew. But she placed swift action over calculated planning.
"One weak-willed fool in a line o' many, and you're the latest, if you've no mind t'pull head from arse and think for a gods-damned moment. Where's Roen's pearl t'Nero? I know she had one."
Her head turned away from the man to look down at the empty table before her. Unclear if he was genuinely concerned for her own well-being, or simply convinced that she was nothing more than a tool at this point. "You speak of past events and names as if I do not know the evils that have been manifest by Jameson's hands." She exhaled slowly. "But what you fail to differentiate is the greater threat. Nero divided our attention, and thus gained more time than he needed. The pearl is destroyed. I used it. Nero returned my call to him, then destroyed his." Her voice wavered. "And whether you kill him or not, Sergeant... you may have delivered the man into an even greater evil."
A sigh was heaved from across the table. Osric stared darkly into his own mug as his own thoughts swirled. The mug reached the table without the anger it bore before and he rose, stepping over to her. His left arm crossed to his right. "What did he tell you? And what happened? The tunnel didn't collapse. I saw the armor, but..."
"Nero told me... that he no longer cared if the city lived or died. He has no intents on stopping the coming slaughter. And James... only said one last word to me. 'Banurein'. I do not know this woman save for mention by Roen, but I knew the fear in his eyes before..." her voice trailed off.
"Raelisanne." he hissed quietly. The woman across the table blinked and looked up. "You mean the one... sh-she supposed looks like me." Her own voice trembled slightly as if she did not want to believe it.
"If it weren't for this pissin' feud 'tween Taeros 'n Lazarov, I might've found her already." The Sergeant turned to Coatleque. "I was on her trail when this shite started."
"Well... now we both have reason to find her." she said rather clipped. "Scythe," she continued, "is the larger threat, Sergeant." She eyed the man now standing beside her. There was no immediate answer except that he turned and raised both wrists to her, the right laying over-top the left. She blinked at his submissive gesture and even considered taking him in. "Once I asked," he said, "This time, I'm offerin'. But you know better." A smirk crossed his face. The same shite-eating grin she had seen him wear whenever he was sure the odds were in his favor. "As y'say, Scythe is still out there."
Coatleque stared at his hands. The woman across the table looked worried herself as her lower lip pulled in and under her teeth. The paladin took a long, slow breath before standing. "For the Sultana." She turned to leave. She could not stay any longer in his presence. The man blinked and winced slightly before turning and taking his seat again.
She stopped after a step and looked back. "There is one other thing, though."
"Crofte, I've a whole load o' shite t'sit down and walk y'through. One more thing won't make much of a difference."
"This may."
Osric swallowed as his right arm fell limp at his side and he wiped his eyes with his left sleeve. "You mentioned Delial," she said in warning. "I would not expect to see her again. Enjoy the rum."
The Flame squinted and watched her as she walked away. "Aye, loads t'discuss and you're off? Figures. Go. do your gods-damned job this time."
She stopped just at the door but did not look back. Her hands clenched tightly at her sides.
"That was too far.", she replied coldly.
"You know nothin'."
