A Merchant's House of Cards (CLOSED RP)

[BlessedSilence]

Garston stepped out into the largest room of his mansion, dressed in his finest garb, a glass of wine in one hand.  He smiled to all those who gathered there, men and women of all ages, for they came to celebrate with him this momentous occasion.

 

Everything went according to plan.  He got back his lost property, he got the name of the one who killed Ophianne, he broke Kayle Delwyn, the leader of the Driftwood Company, and took his armor as a trophy.  The highlander's eyes moved to land on the armor that sat proudly on display in the room and he smiled.

 

Yes.  Everything was going his way perfectly.

 

He nodded to the man near the doorway, and the large highlander swung a hammer to strike a large bell.  The crowd's chatter came to silence as they all turned towards Garston.  He smiled, moving to step up onto a decorated crate one of his servants brought out.

 

"Greetings and welcome to my humble abode, my friends.  Tonight is a glorious celebration!  Stolen property has been regained and a blight upon Eorzea has been thrown back into it's dark hole!"

 

A cheer went up among the crowd as he continued.  "Please, partake of the food and drink, for tonight we celebrate!"

[Desmond Aryll]

"Thank you," he said politely, smiling as he took a glass.

 

The server never looked at his face. It was usual. The help never looked at the faces of their betters. Desmond knew the act well. He had witnessed it countless times before, had been expected to follow suit. And he did. He never looked the help in the face, in public.

 

He put his glass of wine up to his nose, smelt a bit, a fine vintage. Garston spared no expense. It was the custom. The fete was for no reason other than to celebrate himself. 'We are all here for you, Mr. Hext.'

 

He raised his glass as everyone else did. Setting it down on an end-table to clap at the appropriate time.

[BlessedSilence]

He made the rounds slowly, talking to and shaking the hands of those who approached him.  He had no fear of anything, he was in his own house.  Why should he be scared?  Nodding to the many guards that lined the room, he stepped over to the armor that was on display.

 

"My friends, I give to you the armor of the infamous Kayle Delwyn.  This man stole what was rightfully my own property, thwarted me at every turn, sent his lackeys to harass me, and even masterminded the death of a dear, dear friend of mine, Ophianne Rillemont."

 

He lets out a sigh, his voice cracking as he told the story.  He knew how to act, and those gathered there fell for it.  Many women cried into kerchiefs, the men shaking their heads.

 

"But fear not my friends!  My brave man, Gaardal Wyght has retaken what was mine, found the name of the one who slew poor Miss Rillemont, and confronted Mister Delwyn.  Here is his armor for display, the boy begging for his life after Gaardal brought him to his knees!"

 

Garston smiled as the gathering cheered.  "Twelve bless Gaardal!"  "That will show the bastard!"  "Poor Ophianne!"

 

He raised his hands.  "Please, come up and take a look.  Know what a traitor and scoundrel looks like for the future.  Know the name of the Driftwood Coast and they who dwell within are dogs to be put down!"

[Desmond Aryll]

Listening to the words spilling from Garston's mouth, Desmond maintained the smile on his face. Careful to frown sympathetically when he was supposed to.

 

Seeing Delwyn's armor on display was difficult. He could feel the heat budding in his chest, spreading to his face and arms. The knuckles on the hand holding the wineglass whitened as he exerted pressure. Slowly he eased up, the tension never reaching his expression. 

 

"Please, come up and take a look.  Know what a traitor and scoundrel looks like for the future.  Know the name of the Driftwood Coast and they who dwell within are dogs to be put down!" Garston said.

 

 

Desmond stayed where he was. He watched the guests as they formed a bunch, making a show of clamoring around the armor. He stayed in his position. Watching from the corner, waiting for the inevitable ebb of the party.

[BlessedSilence]

Three bells went by as the party started to dwindle down.  Garston was getting tired of the people there, and he just wanted to be alone.  Nodding to his guards, he slipped from the room through a pair of double doors and down the hall, taking a deep breath.

 

He entered his chambers, a servant already there to help him out of the silken clothes he wore, then into his night gown and robe.  Waving the man away, Garston moved to lay in bed, stifling a yawn.

 

His wine for the night was by his elbow, and he sipped on it while he read a book, the flickering lanterns giving enough light to read by.  In time the glass was emptied and his eyes began to close.

[Desmond Aryll]

Desmond studied the sleeping Highlander for some time. He slept quite soundly for someone who caused as much harm as he did.

 

He got up from the stool at the changing table and quietly strode over to the bed, he poured himself a drink from the flagon and took a sip.

 

 

 

'Too strong,' he thought with a grimace.

 

Easing himself down on the side of the bed, by Garston's right, he watched his chest rise and fall as he casually slipped a long, thin dagger from his sleeve. He tested it's weight and balance, seeming to forget where he was. He flipped the dagger once, end over end and catching it in his right hand drew it across Garston's left cheek in one fluid motion.

[BlessedSilence]

He dreamed of women in thin dresses and piles of gil.  It was a wonderful life indeed.

 

One of the lovely women stroked the side of his face and she smiled, though as the dream faded the feeling did not cease.

 

He groaned, groggily opening one eye, the now dim lanterns making it hard to focus on the figure that sat on his bed ...

 

"Who?!"

 

He struggled to sit up, the mix of sleep and wine making it difficult.  He felt the blade nick his cheek, a trickle of blood slipping down his face.

 

"Who are you!  How did you get in here?  Guards!"

[Desmond Aryll]

He waited patiently for Garston to get over the shock.

 

Guards! Guards! Intruder, there's an intruder! Guards!

 

"Garston, please, there is no need for that-"

 

How dare you enter my chambers! Guards-

 

Desmond dispassionately drew his arm across his chest and whipped the pommel of the dagger into the yelling man's right cheek, just below his eye. Garston reeled back, his head hitting the pillows. He stopped yelling, scowling at the figure over him, indignation flaring.

 

"Do you think calling for your guards would help? I wouldn't be seated here if it did. Please don't lower yourself any further," Desmond said, waggling the dagger at the man like he was scolding a child. "Can we agree there is no use in being so dramatic?" he added, raising his eyebrows in question.

[BlessedSilence]

Fear ripped through his mind as his repeated shouts for the men whom he paid to protect him went unheeded.

 

"How dare you enter my chambers!  Guards -"

 

Pain coursed through his face, spreading across his cheek bone and right eye.  Anger surged through his body as his vision blurred. He raised his hands to protect himself from any more blows.

 

"Do you think calling for your guards would help? I wouldn't be seated here if it did. Please don't lower yourself any further.  Can we agree there is no use in being so dramatic?"

 

His vision slowly returned as he stared at the dagger the man wagged before him.  The sharp point was mere ilms from his face, and he felt his stomach lurch.

 

"Y-Yes ... no .. no more dramatics."  He gave a nervous chuckle.  "You are ... good to have gotten past my guards."

 

The dim light helped cover his flicker of eye movement towards the rope at the side of his bed.  He need only get to it first to call for help.

[Desmond Aryll]

"Y-Yes ... no .. no more dramatics."  He gave a nervous chuckle.  "You are ... good to have gotten past my guards."

 

 

 

 

 

 

Desmond made no reply, he watched the man rub his cheek absentmindedly. Garston was smiling his conniving smile. Even now, with blood running down one side of his face and the other showing the beginnings of a welt, his first instinct was to posture with words.

 

It made the anger come bubbling up from inside again but it didn't reach Desmond's face. His face was blank and staring. 

 

"Do you know Maeva, Garston?" he asked, keeping the dagger at eye level to the bleeding man.

[BlessedSilence]

"Do you know Maeva, Garston?"

 

Garston moved to rub his chin, thinking.  "Maeva, Maeva ... that name doesn't ring a bell.  Was she one of your jilted lovers?  A sister who fell on hard times?  Ah ... have you come for advice on how to woo a woman?"

 

His eyes flicked for an instant to the rope and he lunged to the side, away from the man and his weapon.  He fought the sheets he was under, tangling around his legs and partially crawled as fast as he could to the rope.  He reached out and grabbed the silk, pulling upon it with a laugh.

 

It did not ring.

 

 

He turned, his mouth dry as the Thanalan desert as he watched the man stalk around his bed, clicking his tongue in a light 'tsk tsk' noise, dagger pointing at him the whole time.

[Desmond Aryll]

"Maeva taught me how to sew," he said conversationally as he pulled a fist-sized copper bell from his pocket, "I admit it is not the most masculine of pursuits but I spent much time with her. She was my caretaker as a child." He rung the bell a few times before tossing it aside. "She is also your washerwoman," his voice carried a pleasant tone. "She was so happy to see me, and I her. Truly. She gave me a pastry when I entered your house."

 

Desmond put one hand on Garston's forehead and pushed him down onto his back roughly. "I didn't think it would be so easy to pay you a visit," he added, tracing a line with the dagger's point across Garston's chest as he held him in place.

 

Desmond furrowed his brow as a thought occurred to him, "Where are my manners, I haven't told you why I am here. Would you like to know?"

[BlessedSilence]

Garston listened as the man spoke, his brow furrowing.  His mind tried to recollect the faces of his servants, but having so many it was difficult.  Until one came to mind.

 

"That bitch!  I will have her head for letting you in here!"

 

His threat did not come off well though as he was pushed back onto his bed, feeling the mattress go down as the man sat upon it.  He had one hand on his shoulder, pressing hard against his collarbone, and Garston felt the cold steel of the dagger slide across his chest.

 

His heart raced.  This was all wrong.  No no .. this was a nightmare.  A horrible nightmare.  He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut tightly.  Yes, when he opened them he would be in his bed, alone, waking to a quiet day.

 

Opening his eyes, the figure was still there, leaning over him.

 

"Where are my manners, I haven't told you why I am here. Would you like to know?"

 

The highlander swallowed, not sure if he really wished to know.  He knew there were many who wanted him dead, but none ever succeeded.  This man though ...

 

"Yes I ... I would."

 

He tried to keep the shaking from his voice, but the pounding of his heart in his chest would be a dead giveaway of the fear that raced through him.

[Desmond Aryll]

"I have come to settle our debts. We owe you so much," he said seriously. "Three are repaid." He gestured to Garston's face and chest.

 

"But there is so much more. Extortion," he punched the prone man in the face with the fist holding the dagger.

 

"Slavery," he punched him once more.

 

"Kidnapping." Again.

 

"Blackmail." Again.

 

"Emotional torment." Harder this time.

 

"And now, Delwyn is injured grievously, almost dead. On your order," Desmond palmed Garston's jaw and shook it once. "Asdrellia is once again missing."

 

He sighed and shook his own head slowly. "We can not continue playing this game. You know that. I'm afraid this has to end, Mr. Hext."

[BlessedSilence]

Pain.

 

The only thought that came to him as the figure punched him over and over.  Garston tried to raise his arms to shield himself, but the man was too quick, knocking his arms away.  Each time, he tasted more blood in his mouth.

 

When he felt his jaw in the man's hand he cried out, covering his face with both of his hands.  He wept openly, the great merchant of Ul'Dah reduced to a blubbering child in his own house.

 

"Mercy!  I beg of you stop this!"

 

He heard a long sigh, though the man did not let go of him, his hand now resting lightly on Garston's throat.

 

"We can not continue playing this game. You know that. I'm afraid this has to end, Mr. Hext."

 

He coughs, blood spraying as he does so.  This man intended to kill him in his own room and he knew it.

 

"Please I ... I will give you anything!  I admit, I have done some bad things in the past ...  What do you want in recompense?  Gil?  Women?  Land?  I can give you anything you want!"

 

The highlander flinched as he felt the hand on his throat tighten slightly, the figure moving forward enough so the dim light from his lanterns fell across the features.  His eyes widened as recognition settled in.

 

"You ...."

 

Garston hissed that word, spitting in the man's face.

 

"I will have you hanged!  Beheaded!  Tortured until you scream for mercy!  No one gets away with threat --"

 

His words were cut off as the hand at his throat squeezed harder, cutting off his air.

[Desmond Aryll]

Desmond slid the dagger into Garston's belly. There was just the barest resistance before the skin broke. The man seized up, his eyes going wide.

 

He made a face, as if trying to listen to something Garston was saying, "Shhh, hush now. We agreed dramatics were futile, yes? ...Excellent." Desmond put his face very close to the other's.

 

His fingers slipped from around Garston's throat and patted his cheek in a comforting manner.

 

He whispered, "this is just. You know it."

[BlessedSilence]

He felt the point at his stomach a moment before it punctured skin and innards, tearing all in it's wake.  His body stiffened, focusing on nothing but one thought.

 

I.  Will.  Die.

 

"No ... not like this ..."

 

He tried to grab at the man's hand, but when he touched it, Desmond only pushed the dagger farther in.  Garston's face twisted in pain and fear.  Everything he gained, all the information, all the gil, all the land and power, they were totally worthless to him now.

 

And this man was taking it all away from him.

 

"Shhh, hush now. We agreed dramatics were futile, yes? ...Excellent."

 

It was hard for him to focus.  Garston blinked a few times, the blur around the corners of his vision worsened and darkened as Desmond leaned closer.  The words the man said sounded like he was speaking from inside a tunnel.

 

"This is just. You know it."

 

Desmond patted Garston's cheek gently, one last insult to the man.  Garston could do nothing, feeling his life slip away, soaked up by his silken nightgown.

 

~~~~~~~

 

The next morning would find his servant screaming for the guard.  Garston, the man known as one of the most influential merchants in Ul'Dah, was dead, surrounded by an empty wineglass, a brass bell, and a dagger resting in his stomach.