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running2reanimation · 11 months ago

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For @cindersnows - for the AVA/M gift event!

Formality

"It's a formality," Victim reassured, gesturing with a glove-covered hand to the bespectacled stick, "We all know I'll be hiring your crew no matter how this dinner goes."

"Of course, sir."

Striker was pretty sure this was actually yet another test from the enigmatic head of the Rocket Corporation. Inviting a bunch of mercenaries to dinner at the most expensive restaurant in Stick City could be nothing less than the ultimate test of his leadership abilities.

Could he make these idiots presentable? Behave in ways that were at least semi-appropriate?

"I want to wear my cape; the nobility of the past used to, it counts as formal wear, right?" Ballista folded his arms as his summoned cape billowed behind him as Primal nodded in agreement;

"They did, so it should count."

"No, you will wear a suit or dress. Those are your options," Striker could already feel the pressure pulsing behind his shades, "That goes for you too, Primal. Suit or dress only."

"I refuse, they both hinder my movement too much," Primal shook her head stubbornly, "What if this is some sort of trap? Or what if we have to defend our new client from would be assassins?"

"It isn't a trap," Striker put his foot down resolutely, though he couldn't discount the possibility of assassins. Or that there would be some type of test of their abilities mid-dining. Victim was capricious like that, "You can wear a loose dress with a slit for more mobility, but you have to wear a dress."

"..." Primal at the very least didn't flat out refuse, so Striker was going to count that as a win.

"Any crazy requests from you, Logo?" Striker turned to the bulky yet-paper-thin stick who shook his head in two quick frames.

"I have a suit from the last undercover thing we did."

Striker heaved a small sigh of relief - at least one of them could be reasonable and logical and knew how to behave in public.

"I'm gonna wear my cape!" Ballista insisted, intentionally billowing it into their leader's face.

"You'd better not," Striker warned, pausing the cape's movement and stepping out of it.

"Lemme wear my cape!" Was the refrain Striker got to listen to for the next several days, every single time he laid eyes on the bitcrushed warrior.

The smaller stick had even ambushed him from one of the upper cupboards - Striker suspected Primal had put him in there, since there was no sign of a chair he would have used to make the climb into them.

"Just let me wear my cape and I'll stop," He pleaded and Striker realized that chances were that Ballista would wear it regardless, and at least this way he might be able to set a few rules.

"On the condition that you keep it from billowing - I know you can control it."

"...Fine, even if that's half the point of wearing it," Bit sagged as though he'd not just gotten what he'd wanted.

"Less than 15 minutes until the transportation arrives, is everyone dressed appropriately?" Striker looked over his assorted group, adjusting the tie of his usual black suit.

Primal had worn a dress, the slit was maybe a bit higher up the thigh than was appropriate for fine dining, but it was too late to do anything about about that. The way the silky black dress caught the light looked very nice with her scribbled style. Her usual ponytail was pulled up into a bun.

Logo was in his white suit with the black tie; looking sharp literally and figuratively.

Ballista still hadn't left his room yet, "Ballista, please tell me you're almost ready."

Striker couldn't imagine what was taking him so long; it wasn't like he'd exactly gotten the impression Ballista owned a lot of formal wear to choose between. He'd probably just left getting dressed until the last moment as usual.

"Ready!" Ballista announced, throwing open the bedroom door. He'd picked out a white suit, it almost seemed somewhat military in style, but the white cape went with it at least, "Oh hey, we've got a black-and-white colour co-ordination thing going on, gang. Nice."

"Limo's here," Logo announced, heading out the door, Primal close behind them. Ballista dashed out past Striker while he grabbed the keys and locked the door.

Striker ducked into the vehicle and a grey stick closed the door behind him. The limo was surprisingly spacious inside, though still not quite tall enough to comfortably accommodate Primal.

And seated in the back with them was their new employer: Victim. He seemed dressed in the same suit as usual, but Striker made a mental note of the black cufflinks that weren't part of the usual ensemble.

"Thank you all for coming to dinner tonight. I know this is a bit unusual for you."

"Thank you for inviting us," Logo bobbed his head in gratitude, taking the lead when it came to socializing, "It's nice not to have to cook for once and I've never been to this place before, Olive and Wine?"

"Yes, I'm not surprised, it is fairly new, but I can assure you it's quite good."

"You're paying, right?" Ballista piped up from Logo's elbow and Striker and Logo both glared at the guy but Victim just laughed.

"Of course, though with your reputation for success, I'm sure you could afford it regardless."

"Oh, totally," Bit grinned, as the limo pulled to a stop, "Looks like we're here."

The exterior of the restaurant was fairly plain and unassuming, with the curtains drawn, a soft golden glow shining from beyond them and a green neon sign proclaimed the place was 'open' in flowing cursive.

The grey stick opened the door and the mercenaries stepped out single file, but they paused to let Victim pass them. Primal once again had to duck, but that was almost expected everywhere.

"Reservations for Victim and company," Victim declared and the mulberry employee guided the group to one of the private rooms in the back.

"Your server will be with you shortly," they bowed and the group was left alone with the menus, simple things with a front for food and a back side for drinks.

"Not a big menu," Primal seemed unimpressed, looking it over.

"They have a steak board for two," Logo pointed out and Primal immediately scoured the menu for it. Having found it, she set hers in the middle of the table, atop Victim's, who hadn't even looked at it.

Logo continued looking, clapping his hands in delight, "Oooh, I've never tried arancini before!"

"Go ahead, if you don't like it you can always order something else," Victim took the menu from Logo and placed it in the pile with a broad grin, "I insist."

"Alright, sir, thank you," Logo smiled back at little nervously and glanced at Ballista who was still reading the menu, "What about you Ballista.

"I think I'm gonna get the cannelloni," Bit said, tossing his menu into the growing pile, "What about you, Striker?"

Striker had been so focused on making sure everyone else knew what they were ordering he hadn't even looked at the menu, "I'm still looking."

"Surely something appeals to you?" Victim asked and Striker could feel the pressure of the older stick's gaze upon him.

"Of course - I'll get the charcuterie board," Striker placed his menu upon the stack as Victim nodded in approval.

"An excellent choice when one is feeling indecisive."

Almost as if summoned by the stack of menus the server appeared, another reddish stick whose smile was too wide, "Have you all decided what you'd like to order?"

"Yes," Victim confirmed, "I'll have the pan fried haddock with potatoes with a Godfather and a glass of water, please and thank you."

After going around the table, the server took the menus and left to go place their orders.

"So, I got a question, Boss," Ballista piped up as soon as the server left and Striker and Logo tensed. Ballista wasn't exactly... good at polite conversation or asking appropriate questions.

"Yes?" Victim tilted his head, either oblivious to the tension or perhaps enjoying it.

"Why is every stick that works for you grey - not only that, they're all the exact same shade. They come from a game or something? Thought you couldn't discriminate like that."

"Oh, you can get away with any form of discrimination if you have enough money... but that's not the case here. Think of it like a uniform of sorts - we dye our workers grey and then at the end of the day we return their colour to them."

"Seems like that might make infiltration easy," Logo frowned, a hand to his chin.

"Never had a problem with it before," Victim shrugged as the server placed their meals down, confirmed they didn't need anything else and left.

Once the food was in front of them, the mercenaries all went quiet - not that most of them were particularly talkative in the first place, but they all focused on their meals intensely.

"Do you not get enough to eat?" Victim asked, and Logo looked up from their meal.

"Oh, yes, but this is a real treat, so we're really making sure we take it all in, you know? Speaking of, thank you for convincing me to try them, the arancini are fantastic."

"Ah, well, good, I'm glad," Victim nodded, going back to his plate.

At the midpoint of the meal a server came in again and asked how everything was.

Striker stared at the server, and immediately noticed that something was off - this one wasn't green or red, the only two colours he'd seen the staff here possess. They were a pale brown and their uniform didn't match the other one's he'd seen earlier in the night, the buttons were simple black, instead of the red roses the rest of the staff sported.

"You're not staff," Striker commented, getting to his feet, Primal immediately following suit with a growl.

In the time it took Striker to draw a line and Primal to vault over the table, three more non-staff members came through the door - these ones were armed with guns.

"Ballista, Logo, get Victim back to the limo and wait for us," Striker directed, deflecting a spray of bullets with his select tool, "As non-lethally as possible."

"You got it, sir," Ballista gave a salute and charged ahead, sword drawn, clearing a path for Logo and Victim to follow while Primal and Striker dealt with the initial ambush.

By the time Striker and Primal made it to the limo, Primal was only a little blood-soaked and her dress a little torn.

Logo sat in the driver's seat, the original grey driver unconscious in the chair next to him, while Ballista kept watch out of the sunroof.

"The driver was an impostor too. I'd appreciate it if you tied them up, please," Logo explained, starting the vehicle.

"Do you know how to drive a limo?" Victim asked as Striker tied up the driver as suggested and Primal joined Ballista, keeping watch out of the sunroof.

"Do I know how to drive a limo? Yes. Do I have a license for it? No," Logo laughed as they started moving.

The drive back to Victim's penthouse was quiet. They turned the driver over to Victim's security, "Are you sure you'll be alright on your own? How confident are you in your security?"

"...You know, maybe I should hire you for the occasional security detail too. But for tonight, I think I have it handled, though you all have clearly shown your aptitude," Ballista grinned with pride and Striker couldn't help his own proud smile. The team had done well tonight.

"Of course, we'll talk the contract over tomorrow, sir," Striker bowed, and nudging the others out.

"Primal, how'd you know there'd be assassins?" Ballista shook his head with a chuckle as they opened the gate and she shrugged with a little laugh of her own.

"Lucky guess."

"Hey guys, we didn't bring our car," Logo pointed out once the gate shut behind them.

"Dammit!"

#AvA Gift Exchange 2023 #ava gift exchange #alan becker #animator vs animation #ava #ava victim #victim #rocket corp #the mercenaries #this is the longest single chapter I have ever written #I hope it satisfies your prompt sufficiently #it kinda got away from me as I wrote more and more #happy holidays

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fio-renze · 1 month ago

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The Queen was dead with no heir to assume the throne.

How coincidental that there was — similar to the plight of her own people — a triumvirate waiting in the wings. Or webs, realistically.

What that meant for Azj-kahet remained to be seen; it was always hard to see the end of the story while you were still in the middle of the telling. The mercenary camp had wrapped up outstanding contracts in the depths, but would be remaining in Dornogal for a bit longer to help tie up loose ends where they needed tightening. There was still plenty for them to do on the island while everything was settling.

Fiorenze was grateful for that, at the very least.

Staying meant not having to grapple with the bureaucracy of what it meant to be stateless. Her tent had a spot here, with a bed, plenty of work to do and food. Leaving to go back to Silvermoon only had the stick of stress in having to find another, probably expensive, apartment, selling flowers at her cart in the market and all the rest. No real carrot, there. At least, not yet. Staying with Pyraelia had become a little more complicated in the wake of her sister's harrowing experience in the Spiral Weave. She needed her space. Fiorenze had picked up on that in the few days Pyraelia had spent recuperating in camp before going home herself.

They'd talk about it later, or they wouldn't at all.

At some point she'd have to take time off — Talon was making at least a few days mandatory, which made complete sense considering the non-stop stress of the last couple of months. When asked, she'd make her intention for sometime in November known. That would make room for all the people who had plans for the holiday or performance obligations to take their time without issue. Maybe a day or half-day between now and then to take advantage of some of the hot spas that had been set up since they'd left Dornogal in the early phase of the campaign. They catered to adventurers who weren't made of stone and set their water and steam temperatures accordingly.

Still, it was nice to see camp in a much more jovial mood. Rynga, who she'd always considered to be the Camp Mother, was alive and had returned with good tidings. Xylaes was alive too, off being heroic and helping people in the City of Threads even now. That was worth celebrating, some of the others in the group had already gathered around the central fire to sing traveling songs and toast to Rynga's health and that of the whole company.

If past revels were anything to go by there would be a more creative evening dinner than the usual fare. Someone would eventually pull another into a playful turn about the fire, which would lead to others joining in if they felt like dancing. It was always endearing in a way the grand balls and courtly performances had never been.

It took about as long as expected for Rynga's rounds to finally land the dwarven woman next to her, "Lass, I hardly recognized ya. Broodin' over here in the corner, hair glowin' like a distant star. You've lost weight, we'll 'ave to get the cook on tha' tonight, eh?"

She'd noticed the ever so faint luster in Azj-kahet. Most of the spaces in Dornogal had been too light, same with Hallowfall. Worse was the way her fingers stubbornly remained luminous for hours after casting. She'd seen it on some Shal'dorei before, but theirs seemed more permanent. Ten thousand years of indulging in arcane laced wine would do that — how much longer would her own suffusion last? She'd only stepped into the irradiated sea for ten minutes, but that had apparently been enough for lasting consequences.

Fiorenze couldn't help but smile a little at Rynga's light prodding, "It's all muscle, now."

"Ohhh 'it's all muscle now,'" Rynga's tone was wholly warm, and the light ribbing was clearly purely in jest, "Well come on then, you can show off by joinin' in with th' rest of us. Think less tonight an' play more."

What a hard order to ignore. Fiorenze took Rynga's offered hand and tilted her head back toward the rest of it all as a gesture to encourage Rynga to lead on, "You've always been full of the best advice."

Rynga's full-bellied laughter was a welcome addition to the off-key verse of a slightly bawdy ballad kicking back up from some of the lads, "I ken tha', dear."

She joined in on the revelry for a few hours and let the flickering glow of the camp's heart become her own. There would be plenty of work to do in the morning, but for now it better to focus on the moment.

@themercenaries / @xylaes for a brief mention

#my writing #the mercenaries #world of warcraft #the war within #wyrmrest accord

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