The Old Realms

~ACT II~

The Allure of War

Glen

How to dodge hard labor

There was a darn chasm, a couple of fingers wide, between two planks of wood, just where his head was resting. The barrack’s wall Lord Reeves’ soldiers had constructed, was poorly made, and it blasted a steady stream of cold air right in his face. It also let the morning sun in. Woke him up proper. Being used to sleeping in worse conditions back home, however far that home may now be, didn’t mean he wasn’t fond of having an apt roof over his head.

And walls.

A proper bed.

A sleeping tunic.

The latter apparently was a thing, according to Dante.

Grandson of a noble Lord my arse, he thought shaking his head and pushed with his elbows to get up from his hay mattress, failing a couple of times, being as he was stiff as a board. The level of comfort the improvised cot provided, barely above sleeping on the hard ground outside.

And not as fresh smelling.

After sighing and yawning at the same time, not an easy feat to accomplish, Glen got up and rubbed his cold face hard with his hands. He reached for a cup of water on a crude sideboard next and drunk to quench his thirst, only remembering to check, whether anything foul had dived in it to die during the night, after he had half of it downed already.

Damn it.

Another yawn and he ducked to check under the space left between the sideboard’s legs, for his leather bag, containing most of his gold. Pleased everything was there, he pushed it back under the furniture, dropped a pair of worn boots in front of it, put on his sword, secured the dagger, dusted off his coat with a couple of slaps and turned to walk out of the barracks to start another day. Hopefully less crazy than the one before it.

Stiles walking fast and a little stooped forward almost run him over and forced a panicked Glen to jump back inside the barracks with a manly yelp.

For the most part.

“Umph, watch out!” Glen cried out, his heart jumping to his throat. “Hell are ye going?”

“Apologies, milord,” The former pirate replied, with a small bow of the head. “Came as soon as I could.”

“Uh? Has anything transpired?” Glen asked, recovering enough to switch into his lord persona and pushed him out of the way, to check outside at the relatively quiet yard.

“I hoped you’d know,” Stiles replied, readily. “So ye could tell me.”

Glen smacked his lips, then turned his head to eye him suspiciously.

“Weren’t you supposed to help with putting the big supports up at the barricade?” He probed.

“Correct, milord,” Stiles deadpanned. “Before coming here, to see what’s up.”

Right.

“Well, I can’t fault you for skipping on hard manual labor,” Glen started.

“Thank you, milord,” The former pirate agreed, interrupting him.

Glen snorted. “Is breakfast ready?”

“Crafton will know,” Stiles retorted.

“Crafton? Haha,” It wasn’t surprising the old thief was another proponent of skipping hard labor, he thought with a grin. “Might as well check on him soon then. Not a good thing leaving that old fart alone in there.”

“Why is that, milord?” Stiles asked curious. Glen stared at him for a long moment without talking. Pushed a curl back while he did and grimaced a bit annoyed, when it dropped in front of his eyes again. Then shrugged his shoulders.

“No reason,” He said and turned intent on walking towards the kitchen, without any more blunders. Three strides in, he heard someone trying to get his attention.

“Psst.”

The fuck? He cursed, not seeing anyone, but a couple of guards by the Castle yard’s entrance, almost forty meters away.

“Psst.”

Glen swung around and examined the barrack he’d just exited. The door left open, since he’d forgotten to close it and Stiles probably wasn’t as accustomed with them, having spent most of his time on a boat.

Or he was just as lazy.

“Milord? The kitchen is that way,” Stiles pointed with a hand, as if Glen was an idiot.

He opened his mouth to admonish him for presuming it, but was rudely interrupted, his mouth left gapping.

“Psst.”

This time he caught sight of a bright pink lock of hair, blowing in the light wind. Jinx was hiding behind the corner of the building.

“I can see you,” Glen hissed, fuming.

“I’m over here, milord.” Stiles said, confused.

Glen sighed and whipped his head towards him. “Move on, Stiles. I will be there shortly.”

“Yes, milord.”

“Mmm… fuck,” Jinx purred alike a feline in heat, ruining it a bit at the end. “Got my rocks off a little, I think. Ye sounding all manly, when ye order him around. It messes me up inside.”

Glen blushed.

“Well…”

“No seriously,” Jinx insisted, stretching out like a cat.

“Truth is, I’ve been working on it,” Glen admitted, with a smirk.

“Ordering people around?”

Her answer rubbed him the wrong way. That and her mocking him part.

“Okay, the fuck do you want Whisper?” He said with a grunt.

She made a face, half a pout and half a wink. Jinx always confused the two, or was doing it on purpose to throw him off. Glen sighed.

“I assume you called for a reason.”

“I was being subtle,” Jinx protested.

“It was still annoying as fuck. Why you did it?”

She looked at the barracks, he and Emerson slept in.

“There’s no space in the kitchen.”

Glen stared at her numbly, not getting where she was going with this.

“No space… for sleeping?” He chanced, seeing her urging him with her eyes.

“Nah.”

Glen decided to go another way.

“Washing?”

“I sleep in a bath-barrel.”

Glen blinked.

“You do?”

“Ayup.” The Gish said and licking her palm a couple of times, used it to flatten the wayward curl off Glen’s face. He pulled back, ogling his eyes angry.

“What in Luthos father…” He protested.

“Abrakas,” Jinx corrected it for him.

“Uh?” Glen gasped, in total confusion.

“It is not safe,” Whisper Jinx explained. “The kitchen. I need a place to put some of my stuff and I thought of ye,” She grinned at the end of it, all mischief. Glen narrowed his eyes suspicious, a little apprehensive, though his hair seemed well combed now and out of his face, so he should give her that at the very least.

“What kind of stuff?” He asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Jinx scratched something between her small nostrils with a finger.

“A box I made.”

“You’ve constructed a box?” Glen asked.

She puffed her cheeks out. “Let’s say I took it from the armory.”

“You stole a box from the armory?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Is it not the same… argh, whatever. There’s no space in the barracks.”

“It’s a small one.”

Glen sighed exasperated. “Whisper, for real. There’s no space—”

“Put it next to your coins,” Jinx suggested, all innocent.

“How do you…” Glen looked about them, for any witnesses. “How big is it?” He relented.

The wooden box had a padlock on it, a big well-used iron thing, but it wasn’t too large for her to carry from the kitchen to his barrack. A distance of twenty meters. Mostly square and about a foot in height, it probably was used initially to store slingers ammunition, which was most of the times, plain lead bullets.

“Alight then,” Glen said, seeing as the pink-haired girl wasn’t going to say anything else. “It may fit behind it. Have at it and I’ll show you where to place it exactly.”

“Bah, I can’t,” Jinx replied. “I’m too hurt to carry it around.”

“You were walking fine, just a minute ago!” Glen snapped, seeing where this was going. She slapped his shoulder with a toothy grin.

“Twas for exercise, silly!” Jinx pointed a small finger at the suddenly looking pretty large strongbox to a frustrated Glen. “I have a medical condition.”

“Luthos balls! Fuck have ye put in?” Glen complained, his knees shaking as he carried the nasty and apparently heavily laden strongbox across the yard.

“Stuff,” Jinx walking next to him replied. “Mine mostly.”

Glen shook his head, breathing heavy as they reached the door and walked in. He made to drop the damn thing behind the sideboard, after he moved it with a knee, but Jinx stopped him with a panicked shriek.

“DON’T! Do it gently.”

Glen snorted. The girl was insane, there was no doubt about it. Lith is for all intends and purposes a cannibal, he thought, placing the box gently down. And Whisper has shit for brains.

“There,” He declared, tired from all the heavy lifting and a little envious of Stiles that was probably eating his fill at the kitchen diner. I should have never let that little shit go ahead without me! Fuck was I thinking? Furthermore, I should have tasked him with carrying the darn box. “I’ll go grab something to eat.”

“What’s gotten in to ya?” Jinx inquired, taking the worn out boots he’d used to hide his bag and moving them to the side, to better conceal her stupid box. “Is it the blue cunt?”

He almost drowned in his spit at her verbal diarrhea. Whisper sounded like the worst drunken sailor half the times, a nasty and very cheap port whore the others.

“Ye okay, Glen?”

“Uhm, I’m fine,” He explained. “And so you know, I’m fine.”

“Ye are?” She asked, red-rimmed eyes opening wide.

“Told ya, I am. The fuck is in that box? Yer coins?” Glen snapped at her, for trying to muddy the waters and steer the conversation away.

“What? No, silly. I have my gold wit me,” Jinx replied readily, dodging his question again.

“You do? All of it?” He probed not buying it.

Jinx sighed and looked at her feet, all ashamed.

“It was too much.”

“Yep,” Glen said. “Ye oversold it. Knew you were lying from the start.”

“Do noble humans, learn lying at a young age?” Jinx asked all innocent. “Ye seem pretty good at it.”

“You know what?” The young man said, giving up. “Don’t tell me. I don’t wanna know.” He turned his back to her face and walked outside the barrack. It wasn’t much of a surprise that Jinx walked fast after him a moment later, no sign of a limp to her, but plenty of sass.

“You’re shook from seeing her eat that man,” The Gish started, as they both headed for the kitchen. It was too cold to eat at the open mess hall, though some of the soldiers were still using it.

Glen hang his head. “She didn’t eat that man, Whisper. Not whole, is my meaning. Just a couple of fingers and a bit of his arm. I know how this sounds, but there’s a difference.”

Was there? Well… he decided, a certain measure should be used, when dealing with such matters. Stealing a coin after all, wasn’t the same as stripping up the whole joint. Chairs, doors and the bolts holding them up.

“Are you sure?” Jinx asked, jumping in front of him to slip first through the half opened and thankfully still attached door and almost tripped him over. “Because the bodies were missing plenty of parts. More than a couple of fingers.”

“What?” Glen asked sitting down, on the only table located near the door. The one Liko was using the other day. “How do you know? And you’re wrong by the way. No one was missing any parts. Nice try.”

Jinx retrieved a bottle of wine from under a stool, with a suspicious cover on it, shook it to see, if it held anything and satisfied it apparently did, uncorked it and drank straight from the bottle.

“I went back and checked, while ye slept.” She said, between loud thirsty gulps. “And I’m not wrong. Someone cut ‘em up pretty bad, took the missing parts wit’ him,” Whisper raised a pink brow suggestively. “Or wit her.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Glen closed his eyes, not wanting to delve into the macabre before having a meal, especially to entertain her crazy theories and hallucinations. Jinx smacked her lips, seeing him puffing his cheeks out, when his stomach growled angry, the moment dragging and stooped over the table, her breath smelling of wine and a very wet cat’s hide, of all darn things.

It was strangely arousing.

“There’s the bread,” The Gish said pointing a thin finger. “The knife to cut a piece of Stag meat from yesterday, right next to it,” And seeing him scowling, none pleased, she added with a shrug. “What? We offer no fuckin’ room service, in this here venue.”