Beau (rivalen) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-05-02 23:08:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, gillian goodwin, rivalen beau |
Who: Rivalen & Gillian
What: Checking up and discussing things.
Where: Nobles District
When: Today
Rating: PG-ish
Status: Complete
Amongst the many tasks which Gillian Goodwin needed to attend to, checking in with her former student, Rivalen Beau, ranked high among them. The mercenary wasn’t quite up to her peak health as yet, but once out of the clinic and back into the world, she understood with practicality that she couldn’t afford to waste more time in catching up with her affairs. So it was then, on this crisp spring afternoon, that Gillian found herself driving along the streets of the Nobles District, looking for one estate in particular. She parked her hovercar just down the block, taking the rest of the way on foot, her gait subtly slower and more deliberate than usual. Dressed for business that particular day, with her katana belted to her waist as was typical, she approached the gates of the lord’s home and made a polite request with the first servant to attend to her. Outside the doors she stood, a wolf wandering from her usual territories and eager to take into account the current state of her pack. He tapped the silver casing against his thigh, the clanking sound drawing his attention from deeper thoughts — he popped it open and drew out a fag, slipping it between his lips as if it were reflex, not a conscious decision. The flame came next, flickering and burning his thumb as he drew his first breath; the servant tried sneaking on him and was rewarded with a solid slam against the wall. “S-s-sorry, Rivalen but there is a lady to see you-” His smirk faltered for a moment, mind discarding who it could be that came looking for him that was of some actual importance. (His mind was coming up empty). His gloved fist released the shirt, giving a nod to indicate that he understood and would attend to it (but first he was going to take another long drag, because if it was someone irritating he would need a fair amount of nicotine in his system not to snap). If Gillian’s visit surprised him he didn’t show it, the katana she had gifted him was missing from his side -currently replaced with another katana he had purchased when it became clear his needed a bit longer to be taken care of. A slow drag, smoke swirling upwards (it was, relatively, a nice day despite the destruction around them). “Fancy seeing you here, bosslady.” “Saying that I happened to be in the neighborhood wouldn’t be bought in this case, I’d wager.” Gillian afforded him a nod as greeting and gave Rivalen a glance over--just as one would expect from a commander taking stock of their soldiers (even if he wasn’t exactly part of the Company). Her gaze lingered on the unfamiliar katana for a moment before moving up again. “Caught in the middle of something,” she hazarded to ask, “or do you have a moment to spare?” Giving into the urge, as was more typical around the Black Lions offices, where scores of mercenaries sat with bitter coffee, packs of shared cigarettes and mounds of paperwork, Gillian reached in the pocket of her waistcoat for her own metal case. Busy days as these seem to call for such indulgences, she considered, taking out a cigarette to mirror Rivalen’s own. Self-conscious, Rivalen’s hand went to rest on the unfamiliar hilt, “I’m getting it repaired, suffered a bit during the little psychotic episode our dear Sage had.” The words were said with no infliction, a shrug and a jerk of his head, “You want to come in?” he stood aside, “We have much better coffee than that shit at the office.” Gillian took the first drag of her cigarette, and at mention of the Sage, she let out a puff of smoke and something that was not quite a growl of disapproval. Keeping her own opinions about the events of late to herself for the moment, she nodded her head in agreement to his offer. “Not an offer I’d easily turn down,” she said, taking a step inside. The lord’s home was unfamiliar to the mercenary, and as such, she went about her usual routine (habit, ingrained from years as a bodyguard, taking stock of surroundings as if all spaces were potential fields of battle). She gestured for Rivalen to lead the way to the kitchens. “After you.” Rivalen took a drag and led the way down — the house was virtually untouched in comparison to what other places had suffered, and the narrow corridor the servants used to connect kitchen to different parts of the house was fairly busy. A few turns and they were down by the spacious kitchen, and he was pouring out two mugs of freshly brewed coffee by the stove. “You still take it as usual, cream and no sugar?” he paused briefly by the small cup of cream one of the cooks had deposited by him with a warm smile; Rivalen knew well how to charm and who to charm in this house. Before Gillian could respond, however, he had dumped the cream onto her cup and was offering it - the question a mere formality that was (in hindsight) a silly question to begin with. She took the offered cup and gave a cursory sip, the cigarette now dangling between her fingers. Gillian made an expression of approval, leaning herself against the counter beside Rivalen and taking stock of the nobleman’s kitchen. “Not bad,” she said, of the coffee. But the mercenary hadn’t come here for a simple drink, and so she turned her sharp focus to her companion. Inspecting the order of the world and taking into account all loss and damage, these were high on her priorities. Gillian might’ve been silently relieved, she supposed, that Rivalen seemed to have fought through the two days of bloody battles and made out with his hide intact. “Growing accustomed to the new state of affairs yet, are you?” Fingers curling against the counter, one hand held onto the burning cigarette, ash littering the kitchen floor like the leftovers of the rubble from the fight. “And what would you say the new state of affairs is, exactly? City in pieces, insane Sages, possible derange mages still running about-” a shrug, then another drag. Did it even matter? The one thing that had to be done was the careful management of mages, and by that he meant about half of them ought to die but it was not, probably, a popular view. Rivalen assumed that such a radical view would probably not be accepted by his former mentor, he had to find a way of putting it across - softly, subtly. Like with Scarlet. “Been out of commision for a while,” she said casually, taking another sip of her coffee. “Haven’t caught up with all the rumors, not with the shop needing repair and re-sorting the Company.” Gillian took another drag of her own cigarette, and the smoke and taste of the coffee comingled on her tongue, overpowering the bitter taste left from her own experiences. The Sage had threatened to destroy the entire city, and with it her business, her family’s shop—everything important. It was difficult not take that a bit personally, and to sweep it all aside as nothing more than an accident (a familiar spike of concern then, considering Wolfe and his new place of residence, there amidst it all). “Would’ve expected our guild to take a closer look into the Tower’s affairs,” Gillian said. “Precautionary measures, risk assessment.” Practical thinking from an experienced sellsword, to reevaluate the potential dangers and ensure no repeat of what had happened. It had been her thought, at times, that if such a thing had happened in the Fighters Guild, that someone would’ve stopped it, at whatever the cost and before things had escalated so far. Rivalen nodded, sympathetic to the problems Gillian now faced with sorting the shop and company - getting those chocobos lined up nicely had to be a pain in the ass. “The Mage Guild will do what it can to protect itself, blame everything on their Sage - their scapegoat.” The bitterness was real, he didn’t have to fake it as he tossed the leftovers of his fag into the sink and picked up his coffee instead. “From my talk with Councillor Drake, I doubt our guild will do much in the way it should.” A shrug that fooled nobody, the taste of coffee not even registering beneath the anger that threatened to surface. “He tries to be a good man, full of idealism yet,” Gillian said distantly, and the tone of her voice hinted that she understood the price that sort of idealism typically offered. Her cigarette fell into the sink with the other, and she took her coffee mug in both hands, considering. “Can’t say I’m surprised to hear as much.” Regardless—how involved in guild politics Gillian herself wanted to be remained entirely to be seen. She had enough of her own concerns to consider first and foremost, her own people to tend to (and her own wounds to see fully healed). But Guild politics weren’t the reason she’d come to visit either, she supposed, and she turned the subject around. “And what about you and your plans, Beau? Can’t stay holed up here forever.” Her interest turned to Rivalen’s personal state like a wolf catching a scent, eyes sharp and senses focused. Rivalen considered telling her more, the fate of his mother and his home — then dismissed those thoughts as pitiful and juvenile. What did speaking about the dead do? Nothing. “I go where my beloved Lord needs me to be.” His tone full of indifference, “And for now he is very concerned about his own safety should another mage decide to go berserk and level half the city. Something that more people ought to be concerned about, whatever the Mage Guild could be hiding.” He met her scrutiny with open hands and no barriers, Rivalen had nothing to hide in this, and for better or for worse until his Retainer released him, he was under oath. “I’m just being a good Samurai like you taught me.” There was mischief in his glance, a little teasing in his tone and yet it was also slightly malicious, as if he resented being caught in the ceremonial aspect of what meant to be a Samurai. Gillian shrugged the taunt aside as if it was just another weight on her shoulders. Accustomed to Rivalen’s behavior throughout the many years they had known each other, she had nothing resembling a thin skin. Even so, however, the mercenary set her mug aside on the counter and gave her former student a leveled look. “Enough of the city is concerned for just that,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. “And will pay good wages to those who offer security.” She stopped herself from outright suggesting that he consider other options (or the most obvious of alternatives), but the inference was there, underneath her brusque, mentorly tone. Gillian had taught Rivalen what it meant to be a samurai once, shown him how to properly wield a blade. No matter their obvious differences, the bond of teacher and student hadn’t dissolved with the passing of time. “Going to another meeting with a client soon, in fact,” she said. “But if you decide you need assistance, you still know where to find me.” “I’m interested if you need someone.” But the truth was that there is not enough Gil to make him protect a mage. He was going to approach Gillian’s offer carefully, after all, right now there was something he wanted more than crawling upwards in society. “But I won’t make any promises, I hate breaking any I make to you, bosslady.” Hiding his smile behind his coffee cup, Rivalen felt disappointed his former mentor seemed rather indifferent towards mages. It would’ve been nice if they had been on the same page. Ah well, no matter. Whatever happened, happened. |