by Zorana » Mon Apr 14, 2003 8:37 am
He flexed his hand, then the arm, and glanced down at the shirt of fine linen and the elegant doublet of burgundy and gold brocade. He grimaced. "I look like a bird of paradise," he murmered, quietly, tugging the edges of the jerkin into place. He straightened, and glanced out the window at the guardsmen practicing their afternoon routines. He smiled, briefly, and turned away from the glass, to survey the empty room.
There was the desk, with a single, elaborately carved, high backed chair. The Captain's chair. Two other chairs, simpler, their cushioned seats not so plush, rested on the desk's other side. The limestone mantlepiece, simply carved, was empty, and spotless. The painting of a galloping stallion that had once hung just above the fireplace was gone. There were no bookshelves, no tables, no cushioned fireside chairs. The desk was naked - not a single speck of dust or splotch of ink. He gripped the arm of the highbacked chair, the sable suede of his gloves creaking against the wood, his grip far too hard. He cleared his throat faintly, as if embarassed. There was no one to hear him.
He backed away from the desk, and moved towards the doorway, trying not to gaze too long at any empty spot. Over a year, he'd sat in that chair, wrote letters with an inkwell that had sat just there and... He shook his head, and inhaled. It did little good to dwell upon regret. Still... He would miss it, the one place he'd come to feel appreciated. Turning, he reached for the door handle, and swung the door towards him. As he glanced over his shoulder, to catch one last glimpse of the room, he noticed a golden gleam. The nameplate. He sighed.
He pulled out his dagger, and stood silently for a long moment, gazing at the golden name plate, nailed into the thick wooden doorway by tiny nails. Captain Rayin Taliaferro it said, in flourishing script. He reached up, his expression resigned, and pried it loose with the point of his dagger. There was a soft echo as the forgotten nails fell to the floor. He curled his hands around the name plate, and returned the dagger to its sheathe. He ran his thumb over the engraving as he closed the door behind him.
It was not a long walk to the front door - past three doors on his left, and one other on his right. With a single left turn, he was back into the main hallway, and he walked no more than twenty feet to reach the front hall. The guardsman sitting at the desk adjusted his spectacles, and nodded gravely. "Goodbye, Captain," he said.
Rayin smiled. The fact that the guardsmen refused to stop calling him Captain... it was something, at least. Something to take with him. Something to remember. "Goodbye, Officer Kelley. Wish your wife good luck with those baskets, for me. And tell Josie I said goodbye." It was hard to say, the goodbyes. So many of them, with such things sitting on his shoulders. He smiled again, and turned away from the guardsman at the desk, who had nodded, still solemn, in reply.
He pushed out the doorway, and blinked hard as the late afternoon sunlight caught him in the eyes. Wet earth brown turned to gold, for an instant, as the sun's rays caught his irises. He blinked several more times, and let the door fall shut behind him. He could see, in the distance, several gaurds patrolling the gaol, the walls... This thing, that he had built from the bare bones of an Order.. It would live on, without him. He tried to tell himself that as he set his jaw, and walked towards the gate.
His horse, and the six remaining men from New Dauntless, were waiting for him. The gate guards nodded gravely, and each murmered their own, "Goodbye, Captain." He said farewell to each of them, and then swung onto his horse. He didn't let go of the name plate, and one corner dug into his palm.
"Where to, Your Highness?" the younger of the soldiers in azure, red, and black asked.
"Home, Williams. I am done with this place, and it's politics."
Did you ever wonder what happens when there's dirt on the "Bat Signal?" It wouldn't even look like a bat anymore. Maybe they'd accidentally summon a superhero named
"Misshapen Blob Man." I bet he weighs 900 lbs. and comes in the "Misshapen Blobmobile." And the cops go, "Aaah! Clean the lens!" And his theme could be the Batman song at about 10 R.P.M.
Shameless Art Promotion Starts Here.