02-11-2018, 09:13 PM
(This post was last modified: 02-22-2018, 01:19 PM by King Ghidorah.)
The tiny scales upon my brow wrinkle in confusion.
"You said you wanted me to stay away from Isolda," I growl, immediately suspicious. I jab a glinting finger accusingly in Chatterly's direction. "You've categorically refused to so much as discuss her habits. Why would you offer me this now? What has changed?"
Seeing that he's piqued my curiosity Chatterly finally sheathes his weapons, making them disappear behind his back. It occurs to me suddenly that this is the first time I've ever seen his bare arms: shorn of their loose-fitting sleeves save for burnt rings of fabric dangling from his wrists, they're nearly as immaculately sculpted as mine.
"The Lady's preferences," he says. A look of annoyance ripples across his countenance. "Isolda has chosen to become involved in these matters, and as unwise as I believe that decision to be I'm not going to waste an opportunity when its presented to me."
I'm not sure exactly what he means by that, but the longer I have to digest what he's offered the more difficult I'm finding it to maintain my bad mood, though the disappointment of the agent's survival still lingers.
Isolda. Excepting Chatterly himself, and his network of spies, the Duke's niece represents the last great mystery remaining in Harnburg Valley; It would be foolish to pass up this chance to finally confront her. Besides: I've never been to a party before. Attending this event can only deepen my understanding of this place and its people.
"Alright then. I'll go to your inane celebration. But don't think for a moment that I've accepted this ridiculous proclamation of exile."
Chatterly sighs, beginning to cross his arms over his blistered chest, but thinks better of it as the motion makes him wince. He opts instead to right his toppled armchair and return to his seat. Once he's ensconced comfortably within the overstuffed leather he says, "You're really going to make me explain, aren't you? Very well: It's true that if you tried in earnest to return to the castle grounds, the guards would not be able to stop you. You would likely succeed - but it would be the end of your relationship with Harnburg. You would be treated as an invading enemy; the Duke would flee the castle, all our forces would be turned against you, and Mothra would be called."
My shock must show on my face, because his smile turns grim. "Yes, lines of communication with your nemesis do exist; I imagine she'd put in an appearance at the first opportunity. If that's a scenario you wish to explore, then by all means, return to the castle. Force your way in."
The spymaster sits up ramrod straight and stares directly into my eyes. The oil-lamp gutters for a moment, sending shadows flickering across his angular face. "Flip that coin," he taunts, slowly enunciating every word.
With him seated and myself standing, I exceed Chatterly's height more than twice over, but for just a moment I feel as though I'm faced with an insurmountable barrier. My gaze flickers to the strangers in the hall, still watching us intently, then back to my despised 'handler'.
There's no question: I've been drastically outmaneuvered. My enemies know that my power is lacking, and its robbed me of the latitude to act.
I clench my fists and seethe. This state of affairs is disgusting; it's practically a parody! These bacteria hold power over me!
Unable to contain myself, I scream, wheeling about in a sudden rage, and kick the wall as hard as I can. Cosmic energy flares; The woodwork splinters, and the stone behind it explodes. A gust of cool night-time air wafts through our private booth as a crater the size of my torso appears in the wall amidst the crack and clatter of settling debris.
Feeling trapped, breathing in great heaving rasps, I turn once more to face my enemies. I note the fact that the mysterious observers are in the process of tucking unknown items back into the folds of their clothing, which only increases my agitation.
"I. Am leaving," I tell them through gritted teeth, carefully avoiding Chatterly's gaze.
"Capital," he says. "I suppose that is rather enough for one night. I'll contact you with further details tomorrow. If this event is to go well, you're going to need to be prepared."
I stalk out of the room without saying another word, ignoring the stares and murmurs of the tavern's patrons as I flee into the night.
"You said you wanted me to stay away from Isolda," I growl, immediately suspicious. I jab a glinting finger accusingly in Chatterly's direction. "You've categorically refused to so much as discuss her habits. Why would you offer me this now? What has changed?"
Seeing that he's piqued my curiosity Chatterly finally sheathes his weapons, making them disappear behind his back. It occurs to me suddenly that this is the first time I've ever seen his bare arms: shorn of their loose-fitting sleeves save for burnt rings of fabric dangling from his wrists, they're nearly as immaculately sculpted as mine.
"The Lady's preferences," he says. A look of annoyance ripples across his countenance. "Isolda has chosen to become involved in these matters, and as unwise as I believe that decision to be I'm not going to waste an opportunity when its presented to me."
I'm not sure exactly what he means by that, but the longer I have to digest what he's offered the more difficult I'm finding it to maintain my bad mood, though the disappointment of the agent's survival still lingers.
Isolda. Excepting Chatterly himself, and his network of spies, the Duke's niece represents the last great mystery remaining in Harnburg Valley; It would be foolish to pass up this chance to finally confront her. Besides: I've never been to a party before. Attending this event can only deepen my understanding of this place and its people.
"Alright then. I'll go to your inane celebration. But don't think for a moment that I've accepted this ridiculous proclamation of exile."
Chatterly sighs, beginning to cross his arms over his blistered chest, but thinks better of it as the motion makes him wince. He opts instead to right his toppled armchair and return to his seat. Once he's ensconced comfortably within the overstuffed leather he says, "You're really going to make me explain, aren't you? Very well: It's true that if you tried in earnest to return to the castle grounds, the guards would not be able to stop you. You would likely succeed - but it would be the end of your relationship with Harnburg. You would be treated as an invading enemy; the Duke would flee the castle, all our forces would be turned against you, and Mothra would be called."
My shock must show on my face, because his smile turns grim. "Yes, lines of communication with your nemesis do exist; I imagine she'd put in an appearance at the first opportunity. If that's a scenario you wish to explore, then by all means, return to the castle. Force your way in."
The spymaster sits up ramrod straight and stares directly into my eyes. The oil-lamp gutters for a moment, sending shadows flickering across his angular face. "Flip that coin," he taunts, slowly enunciating every word.
With him seated and myself standing, I exceed Chatterly's height more than twice over, but for just a moment I feel as though I'm faced with an insurmountable barrier. My gaze flickers to the strangers in the hall, still watching us intently, then back to my despised 'handler'.
There's no question: I've been drastically outmaneuvered. My enemies know that my power is lacking, and its robbed me of the latitude to act.
I clench my fists and seethe. This state of affairs is disgusting; it's practically a parody! These bacteria hold power over me!
Unable to contain myself, I scream, wheeling about in a sudden rage, and kick the wall as hard as I can. Cosmic energy flares; The woodwork splinters, and the stone behind it explodes. A gust of cool night-time air wafts through our private booth as a crater the size of my torso appears in the wall amidst the crack and clatter of settling debris.
Feeling trapped, breathing in great heaving rasps, I turn once more to face my enemies. I note the fact that the mysterious observers are in the process of tucking unknown items back into the folds of their clothing, which only increases my agitation.
"I. Am leaving," I tell them through gritted teeth, carefully avoiding Chatterly's gaze.
"Capital," he says. "I suppose that is rather enough for one night. I'll contact you with further details tomorrow. If this event is to go well, you're going to need to be prepared."
I stalk out of the room without saying another word, ignoring the stares and murmurs of the tavern's patrons as I flee into the night.