The prompt page of doom
Alright! Alright, I give in. I'm making a place where you can prompt me.
But I've got a few rules:
1) This is for prompts that you can't otherwise prompt for me at comment_fic. Either you've used up all your slots or it's a Lonely Prompt weekend, just as long as the prompt showing up here isn't a prompt you've written there. This is for the sake of my own ( Read more... )
But I've got a few rules:
1) This is for prompts that you can't otherwise prompt for me at comment_fic. Either you've used up all your slots or it's a Lonely Prompt weekend, just as long as the prompt showing up here isn't a prompt you've written there. This is for the sake of my own ( Read more... )
Ewan settles into his quiet corner, mostly unnoticed, and sips his wine. Unification Day is not the sort of day he likes to be without lodging, but it can’t be helped, for the moment at least. Tomorrow business will return to normal and he’ll get a flight off this rock. He smiles to himself, because he’ll be leaving quite a bit better off than when he arrived, thanks to one heiress and her idiot fiance.
It’s a long way from where he once thought he’d be, from where he was meant to be, when he was first sent to the great House at Sinhon. Ewan’s lips twist. Companion’s are taught the art of freedom, all the while building themselves a gilded cage from which they cannot hope to extract themselves. He left, while he could, and for all he has nowhere to go now, no one to rely on, none of the comforts he has come to expect in life, he is happier for it.
Usually.
His eyes settle on a man across the way, just catty-corner to the bar. He’s familiar, and for a moment Ewan worries. If sweet Olivia sent one of her guards after him, it could make his evening considerably more complicated. But no, the man is the wrong height, and too fair for that, shoulders slumped in what is unquestionably grief and a tight, slow burning anger. The coat’s familiar… and an unwise choice of color given the holiday.
“Steven,” Ewan murmurs to himself, remembering. He’d made a poor choice for his first mark, severely underestimating his physical strength, and things might have gotten particularly unfortunate if Steven hadn’t stepped in, one hand on his gun. Ewan frowns thoughtfully, and sips his wine. He owes the man, but this is not a good day to be friends with an Independent.
Things go from bad to worse when the Alliance soldiers at the bar decide to notice Steven as well. They’re young, punks with something to prove. The taller one’s got a cocky grin like he’s just been promoted, and he picks the fight clean and easy, saying something that’s got Steven on his feet. That’s got him taking the first swing. Ewan flinches; it’s a good punch, solid weight and skill knocking the moron back on his ass, but it’s still assaulting an officer. And every move after that will be considered resisting arrest.
He sips his wine and averts his eyes as they drag Steven outside. It’s none of his business, after all. He can’t afford to garner that kind of attention. If it had been one or two, perhaps he could be useful, could distract them long enough for Steven to gain the upper hand, but what exactly is he to do? It isn’t as though he can fight them himself…
Ewan’s frown deepens. His wine has managed to lose its flavor and he cannot pull his eyes from the door. He sighs, pulling his things together, pulling out one of his nicer jackets, adjusting his clothes and adding the faintest touch of khol around his eyes. He lifts himself, already playing his part, and strolls outside. He nearly cusses when he pushes the door open, when he sees exactly how much time he’s wasted.
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“I think you’ve done quite enough,” he announces smoothly, making his accent thicker, richer. Ewan forces himself to look a little amused, a little put out, just loud enough to carry over their ruckus. “He isn’t going to be pleased at all if he sees you’ve done this to his agent. I mean, a little rough and tumble makes any covert job look good, but really boys. This is a bit much don’t you think?” They all turn to face him, and Ewan makes sure to look unimpressed. He raises his eyebrows before rolling his eyes and sighing, then picks at a nail as he speaks. “I haven’t got all night you know.”
“And just who the hell are you?” their little ringleader spits out as he kicks at Steven again. Like he’s trying to make a point.
“Does it matter who I am? It only matters who sent me. And who do you think that is, hm?” Ewan looks up at him, trying his best not to look at Steven, trying to look annoyed and bored instead of disgusted. “Sure as hell someone that means I’d bother you in the midst of your… activities. I’m already running late because this one wasn’t where he was meant to be. He isn’t going to be much pleased about it if you hold us up any longer.” The soldiers look uncertain and glance between Ewan and the corporal. “Well, come on then!”
Finally the corporal gestures and the group starts to disperse, straightening their uniforms and looking suddenly embarrassed by the speckles of blood on them. The corporal looks as though he might spit on Steven, but he glances up at Ewan and thinks better of it. Ewan can’t help the way his face pales when he gets a good look at Steven at last.
“Juh shi suh mo go dohng shee?” he demands. The men all freeze, including the corporal. “You weren’t just roughing him up, were you… Merciful Buddha, were you lot trying to kill him? No, this is no good. No good at all. He’ll not be pleased by this.” Ewan runs a hand over his face. “You’ve got to go now. Clear out, go home, whatever it is. Come up with a good alibi for how you weren’t here. I’ll pay off the bartender, find a way to make it look like he was mugged.” He looks up at the men, still staring at him. “Are you wanting to be luhn gohn? Go!”
They scurry off, at first all together, and then they scatter. Ewan gives them just long enough to be sure none are going to come running back, and rushes to kneel beside Steven. The man’s a mess, though it’s clear he went down fighting, and it’s hard work getting him to his feet. Or rather, something resembling getting him to his feet.
“Alright, it’s alright. Let’s get you back to your ship, eh? Calliope if I remember correctly,” he pauses as Steven coughs, and then gives up and settles for a small nod. “Right. We’ll get you home safe and sound, and then we can argue over who owes who…”
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This is just gorgeous darlin, and I can't even express how much I love it. ♥
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