sir rictor cassul, korporal. (templars) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-03-12 15:21:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !complete, !log, rictor cassul, violet black |
mortgage off our souls & take a loan out on the lord.
Who: Feldwebel Violet Black & Korporal Rictor Cassul, with a cameo by their captain Hauville.
What: A sergeant-major's birthday, an olive branch, and a small assignment.
Where: The Grande Cathedral.
When: Backdated to March 4th and 7th.
Rating: Tame.
Status: Complete!
She didn’t like celebrating her birthday—didn’t enjoy making a spectacle of it, drawing attention to herself, marking yet another empty year gone by—but by Faram, Athos Hauville was one of her oldest friends, and he wouldn’t let her get away with it. So at nine o’clock of the evening, long after Blades duties had dissipated for the day and left their members free, the Hauptmann strode down the halls. Snow was melting on the edges of his cloak and in his salt-and-pepper hair. The friars tended not to pay him much notice as he passed, but the occasional gardist always straightened at attention, turning into temporarily-frozen statues as Hauville swept by. He would grant them the slightest of nods, a respectful tip of the jaw, and they melted back into motion once he was safely gone. He was a forbidding silhouette as he advanced through the Cathedral, a figure outlined with cloak and axe. But once he reached the Feldwebel’s door, he underwent a metamorphosis, a slight loosening of the shoulders. Now, the aging soldier was simply Athos: old friend, comrade, and knocking politely at the door, waiting for the sound of rustling life within. He knew Violet; she wouldn’t have gone out. Not tonight. She'd been reading a book at the edge of her bed when she'd heard the knock and for a moment, she'd considered simply ignoring whoever was on the opposite side of her door. But that would have been rude in a way that was utterly inexcusable and Violet did her best to keep to at least the barest of etiquette. So she rose, reaching for something with which she could tie back her hair. She didn't hesitate in opening her door, as there was no point to it. Catching sight of Athos, the tension that had held her tightly melted slightly. She didn't move aside to let him in. "Foolishly," she said with a soft sigh, "I had thought myself safe from celebration." A pause. "I suppose I should have waited a few more hours before assuming no one would come. And I should have known you couldn't help yourself but to bother me a bit." It was said with a familiarity that lacked any malice, sarcasm so slight that it couldn't sting. “So close, yet so far.” He checked his watch exaggeratedly, before directing his attention back to the samurai, a lingering warmth suffusing his words. “After all we’ve been through,” Athos said softly, “I would be damned if I didn’t stop by to bother you a bit.” There were so many years and secrets stacked up like bricks, a wall between them and the rest of the world. The Hauptmann shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “And admittedly, I do have some business to discuss—a slight situation for your men to tend to—but that can wait.” He unveiled the birthday present from beneath the confines of his cloak: a bottle of dry wine and a questioning look. There was nothing to be done to escape this and, in truth, Violet didn’t especially want to push her friend away. Athos understood her in a way that few did. His company always managed to be soothing. Their conversations always interesting. So Violet could make the exception for him. “Thank you,” she said, inspecting the bottle and stepping aside. There was humor in her voice as he stepped into her room. “One year,” she said pleasantly, “I will certainly find my way to escape your forced celebrations.” She smiled and shut the door behind him. They were all cleaning up the table together, stacking plates and cutlery and carrying them off to the refectory in pairs, the remains of their dinner piled high in their arms. Millie wobbled slightly with her armful and almost dropped a bowl, but Filip stepped in at the last second and relieved her of part of the burden. The sentinel gave him a bright, grateful grin in response. While the gardists tidied up the debris of their latest weekly dinner together, however, Rictor lingered behind. This dining room in the Cathedral had been the site of so many hours spent together: it had once been a strained and agonising ordeal, awkward silences and half-arguments peppered with humiliation as the woman slammed her unruly Korporal back into his place. But gradually, ever so gradually, those relations had thawed (and the entire squad had breathed a sigh of relief for it). Until Rictor Cassul stood patiently by the exit, hands tucked behind his back, for Violet to pull up alongside him. It was a small victory that her birthday had passed without incident. Violet had expected some sort of show; her charges didn't seem to know how to exist without drawing attention or finding ways to get under her skin. But perhaps it was a sign of the overall improvement of their relationship that they'd let her birthday pass without comment. Or, perhaps, they'd simply been ignorant of its passing. Whichever the case, Violet thanked Faram for small favors, rising from the table once the rabble had made their way out, waving Millie off and nodding at Filip. The noise followed the gardists down a long hallway and within moments, the dining room seemed much larger than it had just moments before. Violet enjoyed their dinners well enough, especially since things had gotten easier with the Blades, but this was her favorite moment of the night, when everything grew peaceful once more. She rose and paused for a moment at the sight of Rictor lingering by the exit, brow raised in curiosity. She approached and slowed beside him. "Yes, Korporal?" She skipped straight to the question, knowing from the way he held himself that he'd something to say. Sensing the tenor of that crisp, business-like tone, Rictor tried to crack a joke. “Who’s to say I’m not just here for the pleasure of your company?” The smile was wry, self-aware, acknowledging the unlikelihood of it. “I was speaking to Father Luscini yesterday, and he mentioned...” Faram, but he was bad at this. Rictor’s own sister’s birthday had slid past without his marking the occasion, and the sudden realisation that it was Feldwebel Black’s had been a jarring milestone in the normal rhythm of their day-to-day lives and routines. “Well, he mentioned it had been your birthday this passing Tuesday. Bit too late for us to get you a cake or anything. Short-notice, too, considering the weeks of preparation we’ve spent on Filip’s.” Together, they’d managed to put together all of the details, and the surprise party was finally ready to spring—but evidently to the neglect of an anniversary for another in their squad. "Our Kaplan, the gossip. I would have never imagined." Her tone was as dry as the desert, but there was no strong emotion etched into the features of her face. Violet had a talent for becoming unreadable when she wanted to be. This tended to make her feared among her inferiors, though Rictor seemed to be growing more and more used to her by the day. There was small pleasure to be taken in the awkward way that the Korporal carried on. Their relationship growing to a point that he clearly wanted to wish her a happy birthday, but not to the point that he knew how to spit it out. "It's just as well," Violet said after a brief moment, "I do my best to not partake of confections." “Even Baker’s Dozen confections, or Hadisham’s? They’re pretty famous, you know.” He didn’t feel adequately equipped or armed properly for this incursion. But after another awkward throat-clearing, Rictor removed his hands from behind his back, holding out a small wooden bamboo box. It was a katana maintenance kit: containing brass awl and mini hammer, a large powder ball wrapped in silk, rice paper, cotton cloth, choji oil. Similar to what he used to clean his gunblade but with slightly different requirements—enough that it had required going to Goodwin’s Outfitting and consulting for the purchase. “Wouldn’t want your sword rusting on the job,” he said. Violet obviously had her own supplies, but materials degraded and wore out over time. It was an offering, an approach. A beginning. “Oh.” This was about as much surprise as Violet ever showed when not in life-threatening danger. She was certainly caught off guard by the awkward young man that shifted from foot to foot in front of her. From Rictor, she more expected a quip about her age or some loud rendition of a birthday song from the Blades, not something surprisingly thoughtful. She managed to catch herself before commenting that he really didn’t need to, because, of course, that was understood. They weren’t exactly friends, though this gesture seemed to make Violet question whether their relationship was daring to toe past the line of professionalism. “Thank you,” she said, finally, taking the box from him and inspecting the contents. Her lip curled into a small smile. “Surprisingly thoughtful, Korporal.” “I try sometimes,” he said dryly, immediately shifting back into the rigid posture of the soldier at attention, as if the gift exchange hadn’t happened. After a pause: “I considered simply writing you an I.O.U. for one sparring session and ass-kicking, but we fight enough anyway.” (We fight enough. It was tacit acknowledgment, perhaps, that he was finally laying down his sword when it came to Violet Black: it was time to turn their eye to other battles, other enemies outside the Silver Blades rather than continue sowing dissent within the ranks.) She might have told him to relax his posture, but almost understood that clinging to procedure and pomp made it easier for him. For once, Violet didn’t want to make his life any more difficult than it already was. He was making an effort, this was something over a year in the making now. Violet wouldn’t embarrass or push him for it. “I suppose you’re right about that,” she said, with a small nod. There was a quiet pause that threatened to grow uncomfortable. Rictor clearly didn’t know how to move past his kind gesture, so Violet filled the space between them with words before the discomfort became palpable. “Actually, Korporal, while I have you, I’d been meaning to speak with you about some matters at the Necrohol. It’s been brought to my attention that an extra patrol or two would be helpful. There’s been a mild spike in the number of disturbances reported. A team of two or three would suffice.” She stopped, looking him over with cool light eyes. He’d made an effort and so Violet wanted to find a way to reward him. “Delegate the task as you see fit.” If they were to truly work together - in the way they were intended to work, as a team - it was about time he was given a bit more freedom in his position. For once, Rictor’s expression didn’t betray himself. One eyebrow rose slightly, but then he managed to smooth it out into something respectable: a gentle nod, a tip of the head, something more befitting the placid and gracious Feldwebel. She was granting him more autonomy, like an owner letting out the leash on a loyal hound, letting him go to field. Normally, Black was a much more watchful taskmaster, hovering over each assignment she gave. “I’ll take care of it,” he said. No quarrelsome sniping, no talking back: perhaps they were truly getting somewhere. Violet nodded back, silently dismissing him, and Rictor seized the opportunity to make a graceful exit, prowling down the hall and back towards the Silver Blades dormitories, a strange mixture of relief and pride flickering in his chest. |