Post by Marco Dawson on Nov 24, 2012 8:31:32 GMT -5
The thin sheet of paper with the official seal of His Majesty's Armed Forces felt like a leaden weight, hanging off the end of his arm and slowly poisoning the rest of the limb into dead matter. Marco blinked at the old colonel at his desk and wondered if it was a all dream.
"Sir, I don't understand."
Maybe it was a dream. A surreal dream confirming his worst fears, brought on by too many energy booster potions. Once he woke up from this nightmare, he was going to beg Eve for her forgiveness and promise never to steal from her potions supply again.
Opposite from him, the hare gave his glasses a final scrub and put them back on his nose with a little twitch that made his moustache wobble with veteranly grace. "Dawson, please sit down."
Marco gripped the letter harder in his fist, and felt the paper start to crumple. "Sir, I -"
"Please." The sheer force behind the single, softly spoken word, almost made him flinch. He pulled up a chair and sat down.
The colonel reached to the side of the desk and pulled a lacquered wooden tray nearer to them. "Coffee?"
"I, uh - " Marco blinked again. Why was his left hand going numb? "Thank you. Sir." He glanced down at the table, twitched, and released the letter from his death grip. He took a calming breath while Colonel Gainsley set out two cups and began filling them. Let it out slowly, forced both hands to relax and unclench.
"Cream? Sugar?"
"None. ...Sir."
"Ah..." the hare's genial smile transformed him from the regiment's de facto god-king with the iron scepter into a kindly old grandfather. Marco cast a suspicious glance at the portrait of His Majesty on the wall behind the other man, waiting for it to turn into a pink elephant and jump out of the frame. "You prefer it bracing. Strong. Unadulterated. Good for sharpening the senses, keeping fatigue at bay until you're in reach of your bed. You might like this. It's from my own supply - not the coffee pot down in the main office."
He frowned, just a touch; tilted his head the slightest angle as he set one cup down closer to Marco. "You've been getting rather a lot of use out of that old thing lately, haven't you?"
Someone's head was going to roll for this. "I've needed to, sir." My sister replaced my potions with fruit juice, sir.
"Of course." The colonel shut his eyes and nodded thoughtfully. "Now, can I help you, my boy?"
The raven reached for the crumpled letter and, with all the dignity he could muster, smoothed it out flat. "I found this on my desk this morning, sir. It was from your office and I... I don't understand."
"Don't you?" Red eyes opened to focus on him. One grey eyebrow lifted, ever so politely curious. "I thought it was all spelled out fairly well. Perhaps we should take this up with my secretary - "
"No, no. Not that..." Hot little coals smoldered in the pit of his stomach, and he managed to ignore them. He dealt with one nagging sister and two insane ones every weekend. He could handle a gentleman of higher rank behaving in an uncharacteristically patronising way. "I - sir, I know what it's about. Just - why me?"
"Why you?" The other eyebrow went up. "Why not you?"
"I - "
"The finest recruit in your company, all the way back at the start of your journey with us. A rising star of an officer and a talented battle-mage. Protective of his men, respectful to his elders and betters. In peak physical condition. Tried and tested in crisis. Calm under fire, under pressure, under anything. The perfect, dutiful son of Greenwich." Gainsley sipped at his own cup of coffee. "I couldn't think of anyone better suited to the task." He set it down, graceful smile out in full force.
"It's - I - thank you, sir." Marco lifted his cup, then set it back down before it could get an inch above the table. "But - I don't know if I can."
"I believe you will."
"I'm -" he gestured at himself, at his own feathered arms. "I'm not what an Arcadian would be used to, or - they think we're savages, sir. Us. The beastfolk. I've read up on the World War. Seen the missives they sent back and forth. The Fey hold grudges a long time. Wouldn't a human officer be more suited to this?"
The colonel leaned back in his chair, chortling to himself. "They're willing to parley with a forest-burning clockwork abomination of a country for the first time in a century. I hardly believe an additional layer of fur or feathers would offend their sensibilities much further. Did you read the other reports on your desk?"
"I - " He hadn't. "No, sir?" Marco lifted his own cup to his beak and took a cautious sip.
"I see." Colonel Gainsley nodded again. "Understandable; I suppose the contents of the first letter might have come as quite a shock to you. But had you gone through those other files, you would have realized you'd have nothing to fear from the gentleman, or his daughter. Ambassador Pierce has gained quite a reputation among the nobility for being... 'unnaturally progressive', is the nicer epithet flung his way. His choice of spouse caused quite a stir in the courts, but if he's willing to take up with a human, I don't see why he would turn down a handshake from a beastfolk."
"I... see..."
"The bodyguard of the Ambassador's daughter." The older man's smile became wistful. "Prestige, connection, responsibility, a grand tour of Meridian..." the smile faded. "Politicians whose pretty, fork-tongued faces you aren't allowed to punch in." He harrumphed. "Silver linings have their clouds, I suppose. You're meant for greatness, Dawson; and this is clearly your path to it. Trust an old man."
"I..." Marco took a very deep, not very calming breath. "I do trust you, sir. Anyone with two bits of sense to rub together would. It's... an honor, that you'd think so highly of me..."
"But?"
"I could do better out here, sir. At Northshire. At the north border."
"Could you?" The colonel was waiting with the coffee pot, and filled Marco's cup again the moment he set it down. "How have you been doing, these past few weeks?"
Finally, some reason. Marco's next breath came out much more relieved. "Doing well. Our patrols have been watertight, as far as we can tell. We intercepted two goblin raiding parties and five Blightmaidens from Caledonia in the last fortnight alone, and -"
"All good and well, of course," Gainsley waved a hand to interrupt, "But that wasn't the question. How have you been doing, Marco Dawson?"
"I..." He tried not to think about almost wrenching Aya's arm out of her shoulder socket. Or the Terrible Two spending the whole weekend giving each other the cold shoulder after that brief, vicious exchange in his room. Or the tension at the dinner table, or Eve giving him the Mom Look every time she thought their parents weren't looking.
He tried not to remember the numerous times he'd just crashed at his desk, or his increasingly bristly mood brought on by his failed attempt to substitute caffeine for energizing potions (or energizing potions for sleep).
He tried.
"We've all been on edge as of late," Gainsley went on. "You more than most, it would seem. Wouldn't you agree that you might need a rest?"
"I have my weekends at home. I get enough rest then," Marco lied. Even he couldn't believe that.
"Northshire needs me," he tried again. "My men are out there. They need me -"
"And Greenwich needs you," the hare said, very gently. "The Ambassador and his daughter don't know it yet, but they need someone of your caliber. Someone exactly like you. Someone, well... like you. The rest of us here - we'll try to, you know, dodder along without your... shining hypercompetence to light the way." He added, more pointedly.
His inner Eve stomped hard on his foot. "Sorry, sir. I didn't mean -"
"I know, Dawson." The hare triumphantly drained his cup and set it down. "Do be more careful of what you say to the Ambassador."
"Thank you, sir." Marco set his own emptied cup down.
"More coffee?"
"No thank you, sir." The raven returned his cup to the tray.
"If that will be all, you may take your leave. Pack up, take the rest of the day off... and the week, too. They'll be here on Saturday." Colonel Gainsley reached for the small stack of reports at the corner of his desk. Marco was already standing.
"And, Dawson?"
"Sir?" Halfway to the door out of the office, Marco paused and turned to face the hare again.
"Please do try to have a good time."
A good time? With no goblin skulls to crack? "Yes, sir."
"Sir, I don't understand."
Maybe it was a dream. A surreal dream confirming his worst fears, brought on by too many energy booster potions. Once he woke up from this nightmare, he was going to beg Eve for her forgiveness and promise never to steal from her potions supply again.
Opposite from him, the hare gave his glasses a final scrub and put them back on his nose with a little twitch that made his moustache wobble with veteranly grace. "Dawson, please sit down."
Marco gripped the letter harder in his fist, and felt the paper start to crumple. "Sir, I -"
"Please." The sheer force behind the single, softly spoken word, almost made him flinch. He pulled up a chair and sat down.
The colonel reached to the side of the desk and pulled a lacquered wooden tray nearer to them. "Coffee?"
"I, uh - " Marco blinked again. Why was his left hand going numb? "Thank you. Sir." He glanced down at the table, twitched, and released the letter from his death grip. He took a calming breath while Colonel Gainsley set out two cups and began filling them. Let it out slowly, forced both hands to relax and unclench.
"Cream? Sugar?"
"None. ...Sir."
"Ah..." the hare's genial smile transformed him from the regiment's de facto god-king with the iron scepter into a kindly old grandfather. Marco cast a suspicious glance at the portrait of His Majesty on the wall behind the other man, waiting for it to turn into a pink elephant and jump out of the frame. "You prefer it bracing. Strong. Unadulterated. Good for sharpening the senses, keeping fatigue at bay until you're in reach of your bed. You might like this. It's from my own supply - not the coffee pot down in the main office."
He frowned, just a touch; tilted his head the slightest angle as he set one cup down closer to Marco. "You've been getting rather a lot of use out of that old thing lately, haven't you?"
Someone's head was going to roll for this. "I've needed to, sir." My sister replaced my potions with fruit juice, sir.
"Of course." The colonel shut his eyes and nodded thoughtfully. "Now, can I help you, my boy?"
The raven reached for the crumpled letter and, with all the dignity he could muster, smoothed it out flat. "I found this on my desk this morning, sir. It was from your office and I... I don't understand."
"Don't you?" Red eyes opened to focus on him. One grey eyebrow lifted, ever so politely curious. "I thought it was all spelled out fairly well. Perhaps we should take this up with my secretary - "
"No, no. Not that..." Hot little coals smoldered in the pit of his stomach, and he managed to ignore them. He dealt with one nagging sister and two insane ones every weekend. He could handle a gentleman of higher rank behaving in an uncharacteristically patronising way. "I - sir, I know what it's about. Just - why me?"
"Why you?" The other eyebrow went up. "Why not you?"
"I - "
"The finest recruit in your company, all the way back at the start of your journey with us. A rising star of an officer and a talented battle-mage. Protective of his men, respectful to his elders and betters. In peak physical condition. Tried and tested in crisis. Calm under fire, under pressure, under anything. The perfect, dutiful son of Greenwich." Gainsley sipped at his own cup of coffee. "I couldn't think of anyone better suited to the task." He set it down, graceful smile out in full force.
"It's - I - thank you, sir." Marco lifted his cup, then set it back down before it could get an inch above the table. "But - I don't know if I can."
"I believe you will."
"I'm -" he gestured at himself, at his own feathered arms. "I'm not what an Arcadian would be used to, or - they think we're savages, sir. Us. The beastfolk. I've read up on the World War. Seen the missives they sent back and forth. The Fey hold grudges a long time. Wouldn't a human officer be more suited to this?"
The colonel leaned back in his chair, chortling to himself. "They're willing to parley with a forest-burning clockwork abomination of a country for the first time in a century. I hardly believe an additional layer of fur or feathers would offend their sensibilities much further. Did you read the other reports on your desk?"
"I - " He hadn't. "No, sir?" Marco lifted his own cup to his beak and took a cautious sip.
"I see." Colonel Gainsley nodded again. "Understandable; I suppose the contents of the first letter might have come as quite a shock to you. But had you gone through those other files, you would have realized you'd have nothing to fear from the gentleman, or his daughter. Ambassador Pierce has gained quite a reputation among the nobility for being... 'unnaturally progressive', is the nicer epithet flung his way. His choice of spouse caused quite a stir in the courts, but if he's willing to take up with a human, I don't see why he would turn down a handshake from a beastfolk."
"I... see..."
"The bodyguard of the Ambassador's daughter." The older man's smile became wistful. "Prestige, connection, responsibility, a grand tour of Meridian..." the smile faded. "Politicians whose pretty, fork-tongued faces you aren't allowed to punch in." He harrumphed. "Silver linings have their clouds, I suppose. You're meant for greatness, Dawson; and this is clearly your path to it. Trust an old man."
"I..." Marco took a very deep, not very calming breath. "I do trust you, sir. Anyone with two bits of sense to rub together would. It's... an honor, that you'd think so highly of me..."
"But?"
"I could do better out here, sir. At Northshire. At the north border."
"Could you?" The colonel was waiting with the coffee pot, and filled Marco's cup again the moment he set it down. "How have you been doing, these past few weeks?"
Finally, some reason. Marco's next breath came out much more relieved. "Doing well. Our patrols have been watertight, as far as we can tell. We intercepted two goblin raiding parties and five Blightmaidens from Caledonia in the last fortnight alone, and -"
"All good and well, of course," Gainsley waved a hand to interrupt, "But that wasn't the question. How have you been doing, Marco Dawson?"
"I..." He tried not to think about almost wrenching Aya's arm out of her shoulder socket. Or the Terrible Two spending the whole weekend giving each other the cold shoulder after that brief, vicious exchange in his room. Or the tension at the dinner table, or Eve giving him the Mom Look every time she thought their parents weren't looking.
He tried not to remember the numerous times he'd just crashed at his desk, or his increasingly bristly mood brought on by his failed attempt to substitute caffeine for energizing potions (or energizing potions for sleep).
He tried.
"We've all been on edge as of late," Gainsley went on. "You more than most, it would seem. Wouldn't you agree that you might need a rest?"
"I have my weekends at home. I get enough rest then," Marco lied. Even he couldn't believe that.
"Northshire needs me," he tried again. "My men are out there. They need me -"
"And Greenwich needs you," the hare said, very gently. "The Ambassador and his daughter don't know it yet, but they need someone of your caliber. Someone exactly like you. Someone, well... like you. The rest of us here - we'll try to, you know, dodder along without your... shining hypercompetence to light the way." He added, more pointedly.
His inner Eve stomped hard on his foot. "Sorry, sir. I didn't mean -"
"I know, Dawson." The hare triumphantly drained his cup and set it down. "Do be more careful of what you say to the Ambassador."
"Thank you, sir." Marco set his own emptied cup down.
"More coffee?"
"No thank you, sir." The raven returned his cup to the tray.
"If that will be all, you may take your leave. Pack up, take the rest of the day off... and the week, too. They'll be here on Saturday." Colonel Gainsley reached for the small stack of reports at the corner of his desk. Marco was already standing.
"And, Dawson?"
"Sir?" Halfway to the door out of the office, Marco paused and turned to face the hare again.
"Please do try to have a good time."
A good time? With no goblin skulls to crack? "Yes, sir."