Disco Stu
[we're going to gloss over the fact that I wrote an entire post for Friday and forgot to post it. I'm a bloody idiot. This piece is written by a dear friend of mine. He didn't want to outshine me on my first Monday back writing but I love this and really wanted to show it off. Hope you enjoy it as much as I do!]
~Travelling to Alliance Territory~
Jorge ran a hand over his freshly grown stubble, a wry smile crossing his face. They really hadn't tried hard this time at all. He sighed, weariness breaking through whatever small humour he had drawn from another abject failure by the establishment. He pulled his long waistcoat on over his chest plate and stepped out of his quarters at the ships stern and made his way to the open deck. He breathed the early morning air deeply and climbed the steps to the ship's wheel. The helmsman, 'Red' stood there, leaning gently on the wheel, he sported an impressive ginger beard, sprouting from his wizened face, ice-blue eyes peering out. "Cap'n." he mumbled gruffly. Jorge acknowledged the greeting and stood adjacent to his first mate, who was peering through an eyeglass at the countryside ahead of them. "We'll clear Arya soon sir." Nathan Strandt said in his even, upper-class voice. Although he sounded like the image of a young, eligible bachelor at any ball anyone who was in the right circles knew he was trouble if they valued their 'immortal souls'.
"Good." Replied Jorge firmly, clasping his hands behind his back and standing straight. "We can all get a shave soon then." he said, the tiniest hint of mirth in his tone. Nathan looked down at the deck briefly, unable to suppress a small smile.
"Can't wait sir." he said dryly. He was itching to get his meagre attempt at facial hair removed, he had aimed for a good crop of stubble, but achieved only very bushy sideburns and a pitiful, thin moustache. Jorge had playfully commented that Nathan should have resigned before getting a job as a human chimney sweep, the black of his sideburns contrasting oddly with his sandy brown hair. Nathan hadn't found the humour in that quite yet.
Jorge tapped on the railing of the wheel-deck, eager to be above their first way-point. An hour later they passed into cloud as they sailed into no man's land, the last of the Aryian watchtowers fading into the dew-mist behind them. He moved below deck then, fetching a favourite book of his from his quarters; Paradise of Nature, Translated from Elvish by... followed by a long faded name, before returning to the sunny deck to sit and read. He sat on a barrel, back to the bulkhead, the sun falling sideways across him. As a newer crewman worked to check over the tools for firing the ship's weapons, Jorge watched him from the corner of his eye, whilst appearing to have his eyes hooded as he read. The crewman's face shone like a beacon to Jorge, clean shaven, hair close shaven. The young man was strong, and his eyes would flick to Jorge occasionally with disgust briefly twisting his features. 'Damn fool.' Thought Jorge to himself, turning the page. A throat was cleared in an uncomfortably audible manner. He looked up as if he had been solely focused on the book, slight surprise masquerading across his face a moment. "Can I help you crewman?" he said.
Almost before he had finished the words the man spoke clearly, perhaps trying to raise support; "Sir your facial hair is out-with regulations. If we were to be inspected..." he trailed off under Jorge's blank expression. The captain snapped the book shut, causing the crewman to jolt ever so slightly. He stood and strode a few steps past the young man. He spoke loudly as though rehearsing a play "...and to all, life's paradise doth lye open, if only one should see the light from the blindness of pure faith..." The kid twitched ever so slightly at the words as they stabbed at all the others drilled so firmly into him. A bead of cold sweat formed on his brow as Jorge drew his sword slowly and deliberately, holding up to the light, letting it reflect it on the pristine blade. 'If they're to play games with me, I shall have my own game with them.' he thought angrily. He turned to the crewman "That's from my book you know. You seemed awfully... intrigued by it." he said with gentle sarcasm. Gentle as a well kept razor that is. He swept his sword down smoothly; hand at waist height, arm straight and elevated 30 degrees from the body, point of the sword towards his left foot. "All you had to do was grow a beard, mate..." He said, a hint of genuine sadness leaking through his voice on the last word. 'One chance, that's all you'll get.' Defiance crept onto the man's face as he knew he was made. 'Guess they got you too.' In one swift movement Jorge slid forward as he thrust out with his sword hand. It penetrated the man's chest between the fifth and sixth ribs, almost exactly perpendicular to his body. He was about 6 inches from the block of the sword, and a surprised yelp escaped his lips as the silver dagger he'd tried to draw fell with a clatter to the deck. Jorge looked at him, his face set but eyes fierce. "I guess what makes this worse for you is, that my sword isn't regulation either." he said with dark humour killing whatever compassion he still felt for the man. He twisted the sword slightly and spun the pair of them round anti-clockwise, Jorge acting as the fulcrum. He did it quickly and drew his sword back quickly so it wouldn't catch in the wound. He had spun 270 degrees, and when he drew out the sword, the crewman stumbled backwards a few steps, coughing as he did. He made it only a metre or so before his feet met with the guard-rail of the deck and he tumbled backwards overboard. A few of the loyal crew rushed to the side to gaze down as the body sped towards the lake below. The ship listed slightly as they turned, their first way-point reached.
Jorge grabbed a cloth and carefully began to wipe down his sword. A cry rang out behind him, "Heretic!" followed by quick, heavy footsteps. A rating who had been aboard several months and sported a fine beard charged him, and stabbed out with a silver dagger, aiming to skewer something important in Jorge's abdomen. Spinning one-eighty and dropping his sword to face the zealot he stepped inside his guard and grabbed the man's wrist and pulled it past him as he jabbed his right hand's fingers hard into the young Inquisitor's throat, the combined velocity of the charge and his fast moving hand multiplying the force. He leapt back as he released the man to collapse, coughing violently. He scooped up his fallen sword and made for his cabin, muttering under his breath; "I do wish they'd stop doing that." more for his own dark amusement than anything else. They crew slowly returned to work as Nathan ordered the spluttering assassin to the brig under guard. They mostly wore satisfied expressions, some of the younger members surprise more prevalent. A few wore gruesome smiles, pleased some small revenge had been meted out on the regime that had wronged them so.
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