Fic: The Unarmed Man
A little 
fic_promptly fill. I don't know why this came out in the present tense, but it did. Consider it an experiment.
Title: The Unarmed Man
Prompt: Simon Illyan, learning to take notes
Content: suitable for all
Length: 500 words
Summary: Simon learning to use a new weapon.
It's two weeks after Cordelia gives him the audiofiler that Simon has an epiphany. He was given the chip as a weapon of sorts, a weapon of understanding and analysis, and now it is gone and he is unarmed. Quite literally, he tells himself with grim irony, the unarmed man in the battle of wits, constrained to make use of Alys Vorpatril as his shield--though she is a most formidable shield; no verbal attacks will ever reach him when she is in range to deflect them with a single glance. Which is one of the reasons it takes two weeks before he realises he has a new weapon now.
The bar is crowded, and Simon isn't quite sure, but he thinks the personal space bubble people usually give him has been shrinking lately. Nobody quite shoulders past him, but people are passing close by his elbow as he sips his whisky and waits for Kou to show up. Conversations are humming around him, and he catches a phrase.
"... absolutely indecent." The speaker is half-turned away from Simon, facing a young officer with shiny new captain's tabs and Logistics pins. "They were all wearing those galactic trousers, you could see their legs. This Empress will corrupt all our wives and daughters, just you mark my words. And Lady Vorpatril won't lift a finger, since she's clearly forgotten her own sense of propriety--"
The young officer, who looks bored and trapped, catches a glimpse of Simon and begins to make frantic quieting gestures. The speaker half-turns and sees Simon, leaning against the bar with glass in hand. For a moment he looks frightened. Then Simon can almost see the man working through the logic, and his dismay begins to turn to a faint contempt.
The sight of this fool looking at him with contempt hits something deep, deeper even than the insult to Alys, something Simon has not allowed to respond for years. For a furious moment he considers throwing the contents of his glass in the man's face. Instead he gazes steadily back and sets his anger to work. He does know this man... ah. Yes. If he had his chip, he thinks, he would say nothing and mark the memory for future reference. That's not an option now.
Simon holds the rest of his body perfectly still, and reaches with his free hand to pull the audiofiler from his hip. He flicks the switch on the side.
"The Broken Sword, twenty-one hundred, Komarran trousers, Lord Francis Vorsmythe."
The contempt on Vorsmythe's face melts as Simon meets his gaze, the terror returning redoubled. Simon is not unused to powerful men gazing at him in terror. He doesn't enjoy it, but he doesn't dislike it either; he wouldn't have lasted long in his job in that case. He'd thought those days were gone now. But it seems that the knowledge that Captain Illyan is making notes on his behaviour is enough to terrorise Vorsmythe into submission. Simon allows himself a thin-lipped smile, and Vorsmythe actually shivers.
And Simon would be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying it slightly, this time, and he never lies. He presses the button on the audiofiler to shut it off, and returns it to the magnetic clasp on his belt. It makes a satisfying small click as it locks into place, and Vorsmythe flinches. Simon bows his head courteously to Vorsmythe, turns away and sips from his glass.
He is not disarmed yet.
Crossposted at http://philomytha.dreamwidth.org/76973.html
fic_promptly fill. I don't know why this came out in the present tense, but it did. Consider it an experiment.
Title: The Unarmed Man
Prompt: Simon Illyan, learning to take notes
Content: suitable for all
Length: 500 words
Summary: Simon learning to use a new weapon.
It's two weeks after Cordelia gives him the audiofiler that Simon has an epiphany. He was given the chip as a weapon of sorts, a weapon of understanding and analysis, and now it is gone and he is unarmed. Quite literally, he tells himself with grim irony, the unarmed man in the battle of wits, constrained to make use of Alys Vorpatril as his shield--though she is a most formidable shield; no verbal attacks will ever reach him when she is in range to deflect them with a single glance. Which is one of the reasons it takes two weeks before he realises he has a new weapon now.
The bar is crowded, and Simon isn't quite sure, but he thinks the personal space bubble people usually give him has been shrinking lately. Nobody quite shoulders past him, but people are passing close by his elbow as he sips his whisky and waits for Kou to show up. Conversations are humming around him, and he catches a phrase.
"... absolutely indecent." The speaker is half-turned away from Simon, facing a young officer with shiny new captain's tabs and Logistics pins. "They were all wearing those galactic trousers, you could see their legs. This Empress will corrupt all our wives and daughters, just you mark my words. And Lady Vorpatril won't lift a finger, since she's clearly forgotten her own sense of propriety--"
The young officer, who looks bored and trapped, catches a glimpse of Simon and begins to make frantic quieting gestures. The speaker half-turns and sees Simon, leaning against the bar with glass in hand. For a moment he looks frightened. Then Simon can almost see the man working through the logic, and his dismay begins to turn to a faint contempt.
The sight of this fool looking at him with contempt hits something deep, deeper even than the insult to Alys, something Simon has not allowed to respond for years. For a furious moment he considers throwing the contents of his glass in the man's face. Instead he gazes steadily back and sets his anger to work. He does know this man... ah. Yes. If he had his chip, he thinks, he would say nothing and mark the memory for future reference. That's not an option now.
Simon holds the rest of his body perfectly still, and reaches with his free hand to pull the audiofiler from his hip. He flicks the switch on the side.
"The Broken Sword, twenty-one hundred, Komarran trousers, Lord Francis Vorsmythe."
The contempt on Vorsmythe's face melts as Simon meets his gaze, the terror returning redoubled. Simon is not unused to powerful men gazing at him in terror. He doesn't enjoy it, but he doesn't dislike it either; he wouldn't have lasted long in his job in that case. He'd thought those days were gone now. But it seems that the knowledge that Captain Illyan is making notes on his behaviour is enough to terrorise Vorsmythe into submission. Simon allows himself a thin-lipped smile, and Vorsmythe actually shivers.
And Simon would be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying it slightly, this time, and he never lies. He presses the button on the audiofiler to shut it off, and returns it to the magnetic clasp on his belt. It makes a satisfying small click as it locks into place, and Vorsmythe flinches. Simon bows his head courteously to Vorsmythe, turns away and sips from his glass.
He is not disarmed yet.
Crossposted at http://philomytha.dreamwidth.org/76973.html