dun dun dun bum BADUM bum BADUM
Darth Vader and Boba Fet--I mean.
The man was little more than a shivering pile of finery reduced to fine strips of rags over his arms and his chest. He was carried in by the back of his neck, and deposited on the floor with a rough shove. He pushed himself onto his knees and looked around, eyes wild with fear and pain. They went wider as they saw who had been brought before. He began to shout around the gag. Ba’Gamnan put a foot on his back and shoved him down.
“Ach, quit your squirming,” the bangaa shook his head, as one might shake away a gnat. “I got your man.”
“So I see,” said the judge, smooth and even from the depths of the helm. The circular room seemed too small to house such a figure, large and craggy in silhouette at the slit of the window, but these things had to be conducted discreetly. He turned and paced across the room, bending down over one knee to peer at the headhunter’s quarry. The man looked up once, gave another choked whimper, and shut his eyes very tightly. The Judge Magister tipped his head, curiously.
“Former Senator Gerwen,” he greeted, blankly cordial. He placed a hand over the man’s graying head, pulled it up to inspect him. Indeed, it was the right man. He had looked over the bureau records very thoroughly. He knew much about him now: his name day, the names of all of his former wives, his children, and potentially the date of his death. Under this handling, the former official gave a pained moan, and this was a cause of some curiosity for the judge, who inspected him again and took note of the wad of bandages clumsily pressed against the side of his head, dim red seeping through. “Hm.”
Ba’Gamnan was not a man known for his patience when it came to matters of coin. He hissed restlessly, scratching at some of the mottled scales behind his ear. “Well? We rooted him out and packaged him for you. Would a pretty ribbon have been more to your liking?”
“You have done your service to the empire,” murmured the Judge, standing. “And shall be given your due. Fifteen thousand.”
“What?” The bangaa’s claws rasped angrily across the floor as he changed his stance into a ready one. His ember colored eyes burned angrily. “Going back on your word, are you? We agreed on different, if I recall!”
Behind his faceguard, the judge seemed to be unimpressed. “Twenty thousand for the former senator, of sound mind and body. Yes, that is what we agreed.” The headhunter sucked in a sharp breath through his needle sharp teeth, but the judge continued on; voice no louder than before but somehow overpowering for it: “I do not recall asking that he be returned in pieces to me.”
“From where I stand, he looks whole enough to me.”
“And from where I stand he is short one ear,” said the judge. “That is a piece, and it is no longer attached to him.”
Ba’Gamnan curled his hands into fists and scrunched his muzzle, just barely bridling himself from a lunge. Then, his head tipped to one side. He sidled forward, with that laugh that sounded more like a death rattle. “That counts as pieces for your empire, does it? I can show you pieces.” He growled. “You’d best be paying me in full, else you be learning that-Rguulp--!”
An armored hand closed around the loose skin of his throat. Gauntlet glinted as the fingers tightened, the headhunter wheezed dryly at the sudden force applied. Gabranth pushed him back a step, wrenching his head up high enough that the muscles in his neck strained at being bent so unnaturally.
“See now, Ba’Gamnan,” he said softly. “This man is to be put to trial before the high courts of Archadia. The Empire considers itself civilized in these processes. Visible damage to his person shall be damage to the case the state is to level against him. True, these matters are none of your concern. But they are mine.” Gabranth pulled him near. There was nothing to see through the slits of his helm but black, even at this range. “And I am paying you. I will repeat: fifteen thousand, and my willingness to overlook the crime of threatening an imperial judge. That is more than generous. Are we agreed?”
Ba’Gamnan croaked hoarsely.
Gabranth released him. “Good. Here is your gil. Be on your way.”
The headhunter took his pouch and backed away, rubbing at his throat. Some of his scales had come loose in the scrape of metal against them. “A fine way,” he husked. “To treat a former countryman.”
“On your way, Ba’Gamnan.”
Faster than a dog with a light set to its haunches, Ba’Gamnan fled.
The man was little more than a shivering pile of finery reduced to fine strips of rags over his arms and his chest. He was carried in by the back of his neck, and deposited on the floor with a rough shove. He pushed himself onto his knees and looked around, eyes wild with fear and pain. They went wider as they saw who had been brought before. He began to shout around the gag. Ba’Gamnan put a foot on his back and shoved him down.
“Ach, quit your squirming,” the bangaa shook his head, as one might shake away a gnat. “I got your man.”
“So I see,” said the judge, smooth and even from the depths of the helm. The circular room seemed too small to house such a figure, large and craggy in silhouette at the slit of the window, but these things had to be conducted discreetly. He turned and paced across the room, bending down over one knee to peer at the headhunter’s quarry. The man looked up once, gave another choked whimper, and shut his eyes very tightly. The Judge Magister tipped his head, curiously.
“Former Senator Gerwen,” he greeted, blankly cordial. He placed a hand over the man’s graying head, pulled it up to inspect him. Indeed, it was the right man. He had looked over the bureau records very thoroughly. He knew much about him now: his name day, the names of all of his former wives, his children, and potentially the date of his death. Under this handling, the former official gave a pained moan, and this was a cause of some curiosity for the judge, who inspected him again and took note of the wad of bandages clumsily pressed against the side of his head, dim red seeping through. “Hm.”
Ba’Gamnan was not a man known for his patience when it came to matters of coin. He hissed restlessly, scratching at some of the mottled scales behind his ear. “Well? We rooted him out and packaged him for you. Would a pretty ribbon have been more to your liking?”
“You have done your service to the empire,” murmured the Judge, standing. “And shall be given your due. Fifteen thousand.”
“What?” The bangaa’s claws rasped angrily across the floor as he changed his stance into a ready one. His ember colored eyes burned angrily. “Going back on your word, are you? We agreed on different, if I recall!”
Behind his faceguard, the judge seemed to be unimpressed. “Twenty thousand for the former senator, of sound mind and body. Yes, that is what we agreed.” The headhunter sucked in a sharp breath through his needle sharp teeth, but the judge continued on; voice no louder than before but somehow overpowering for it: “I do not recall asking that he be returned in pieces to me.”
“From where I stand, he looks whole enough to me.”
“And from where I stand he is short one ear,” said the judge. “That is a piece, and it is no longer attached to him.”
Ba’Gamnan curled his hands into fists and scrunched his muzzle, just barely bridling himself from a lunge. Then, his head tipped to one side. He sidled forward, with that laugh that sounded more like a death rattle. “That counts as pieces for your empire, does it? I can show you pieces.” He growled. “You’d best be paying me in full, else you be learning that-Rguulp--!”
An armored hand closed around the loose skin of his throat. Gauntlet glinted as the fingers tightened, the headhunter wheezed dryly at the sudden force applied. Gabranth pushed him back a step, wrenching his head up high enough that the muscles in his neck strained at being bent so unnaturally.
“See now, Ba’Gamnan,” he said softly. “This man is to be put to trial before the high courts of Archadia. The Empire considers itself civilized in these processes. Visible damage to his person shall be damage to the case the state is to level against him. True, these matters are none of your concern. But they are mine.” Gabranth pulled him near. There was nothing to see through the slits of his helm but black, even at this range. “And I am paying you. I will repeat: fifteen thousand, and my willingness to overlook the crime of threatening an imperial judge. That is more than generous. Are we agreed?”
Ba’Gamnan croaked hoarsely.
Gabranth released him. “Good. Here is your gil. Be on your way.”
The headhunter took his pouch and backed away, rubbing at his throat. Some of his scales had come loose in the scrape of metal against them. “A fine way,” he husked. “To treat a former countryman.”
“On your way, Ba’Gamnan.”
Faster than a dog with a light set to its haunches, Ba’Gamnan fled.