* * *
Location: Ouroboros
Date: Unknown
Time: Unknown
* * *
"Alright," I said, as the world resolved into warm sunlight. I whirled round, glaring at the other combat-geared man. In retrospect, the swift movement was probably a mistake, almost causing me to lose my balance. Without making it too obvious, I walked over to one of the trees ringing the circular plaza, leaned heavily on it, and tried desperately not to fall over.
The other guy ignored me at first, in favour of checking the portal device attached to his arm. The brass surface of the device was covered in condensation and frost, a stark contrast to the red-hot piece of metal I still had clapsed round my own abused limb.
Distantly, I spared a thought for what that could mean...before dismissing it. There were more urgent answers to acquire.
"If you're done being cute," I snapped.
Finally, the guy looked up at me. He released the buckles on his mask, shrugging off the goggles and breathing apparatus to reveal his face. It took me a second to place the features, but when I did, I growled louder.
"Edward," I hissed.
He gave a little smirk. "Please," he said, "it's Sell-Sword, you know that. Show some professional courtesy, okay? You wouldn't want me calling you Silas in the field, would you?"
"It's Realpolitik," I muttered.
"And it's Sell-Sword," my ex-colleague responded, spreading his hands in a gesture of feigned innocence.
"Fine," I grumbled, "what the hell was that all about? I thought you're working...private security...these days. Don't tell me someone hired you to save the girl."
"Not exactly," Sell-Sword answered, "someone hired me to save the girl...and the world. And, well, save you from your own screw-ups, though that one will cost extra."
"Really," I said, scepticism dripping from my tone, "who's the client?"
Sell-Sword smiled. I suppressed the urge to wipe the smile off his face. Assuming he hadn't let his skills slide since the last time we worked together...with the condition I was in, the young punk could dismantle me in under three seconds. We both knew it, and it infuriated me.
"You are," Sell-Sword replied. He said it pleasantly enough, but I could detect a hint of smugness in his voice.
"Bullshit," I spat, "I don't...remember..."
Weakly, I stopped.
"Right," Sell-Sword stated, "you probably don't. And probably won't. But trust me, someone's going to pay my bill. I'll send you the standard invoice. No hurry, though. It's the holidays, take some time off."
I growled, wordlessly.
Sell-Sword started to walk off, heading back towards the main portal. He was halfway there when he paused, looking back over his shoulder.
"Hey Realpolitik," he said.
Slowly, painfully, I met his gaze. "Huh?"
"Happy New Year, comrade."
"Sell-Sword?"
"Yes?"
"Fuck you."
FIN
-- Acyl
Location: Ouroboros
Date: Unknown
Time: Unknown
* * *
"Alright," I said, as the world resolved into warm sunlight. I whirled round, glaring at the other combat-geared man. In retrospect, the swift movement was probably a mistake, almost causing me to lose my balance. Without making it too obvious, I walked over to one of the trees ringing the circular plaza, leaned heavily on it, and tried desperately not to fall over.
The other guy ignored me at first, in favour of checking the portal device attached to his arm. The brass surface of the device was covered in condensation and frost, a stark contrast to the red-hot piece of metal I still had clapsed round my own abused limb.
Distantly, I spared a thought for what that could mean...before dismissing it. There were more urgent answers to acquire.
"If you're done being cute," I snapped.
Finally, the guy looked up at me. He released the buckles on his mask, shrugging off the goggles and breathing apparatus to reveal his face. It took me a second to place the features, but when I did, I growled louder.
"Edward," I hissed.
He gave a little smirk. "Please," he said, "it's Sell-Sword, you know that. Show some professional courtesy, okay? You wouldn't want me calling you Silas in the field, would you?"
"It's Realpolitik," I muttered.
"And it's Sell-Sword," my ex-colleague responded, spreading his hands in a gesture of feigned innocence.
"Fine," I grumbled, "what the hell was that all about? I thought you're working...private security...these days. Don't tell me someone hired you to save the girl."
"Not exactly," Sell-Sword answered, "someone hired me to save the girl...and the world. And, well, save you from your own screw-ups, though that one will cost extra."
"Really," I said, scepticism dripping from my tone, "who's the client?"
Sell-Sword smiled. I suppressed the urge to wipe the smile off his face. Assuming he hadn't let his skills slide since the last time we worked together...with the condition I was in, the young punk could dismantle me in under three seconds. We both knew it, and it infuriated me.
"You are," Sell-Sword replied. He said it pleasantly enough, but I could detect a hint of smugness in his voice.
"Bullshit," I spat, "I don't...remember..."
Weakly, I stopped.
"Right," Sell-Sword stated, "you probably don't. And probably won't. But trust me, someone's going to pay my bill. I'll send you the standard invoice. No hurry, though. It's the holidays, take some time off."
I growled, wordlessly.
Sell-Sword started to walk off, heading back towards the main portal. He was halfway there when he paused, looking back over his shoulder.
"Hey Realpolitik," he said.
Slowly, painfully, I met his gaze. "Huh?"
"Happy New Year, comrade."
"Sell-Sword?"
"Yes?"
"Fuck you."
FIN
-- Acyl