The Drow Queen of Glaley [Very NSFW]

[GamesMaster]

{Prologue | Part 1 | Interludes [1 2 3]| Part 2}

Prologue: 1197TL

The final showdown takes place on the docks, surrounded by fire. Fire has become routine to Silver by now: Xyrrim loves it the way Silver loves the dark, and it drives Cindy into a screaming panic, making Silver all the stronger. So almost by mutual agreement, they meet in the center of the plaza, surrounded by a ring of fire.

Silver believes he can take his foe down. He is wrong.

In a stand-up fight, Silver cannot, will never, be the brawler Xyrrim is. His strength lies in ambush predation; his foe's lies in the pure strength of his arm, in the muscle he's earned the hard way, with a lifetime of physical labor and months of intentional conditioning. With the first punch, Silver's ears are ringing, but he grits his teeth, comes back at him gamely. It isn't long before he's put down, despite getting in a few really good blows, making each one count. It's just too much. He can't do enough damage with his rapier to make the difference, can't seem to strike the critical spots to take his foe out of commission.

This is how it ends. Justice falls. Tyranny wins.

^{Did you think it would ever end any other way?}

I suppose not. Get up.

^{Can't. I think our legs are broken.}

They're not. Try harder.

And, somehow, he can. He finds himself climbing to his feet -- unsteady on them, but climbing to them, able to breathe a little easier, able to think a little clearer. As boots thunk around the corner, he jumps, reaching for the fire escape above him and climbing away into the darkness. Xyrrim is taken captive; he doesn't make it to trial before a specter jumps him in the jail cell, neatly gutting him with a silver knife before he is left to die alone in a bubble of magical Silence.

Cleaning his tools, SIlver heads back to his home, climbing in the window once more. But something's wrong, when he enters the room. Something is...

A pair of maids. On his bed. One tied up and gagged, the other scrambling off her in horror, muttering about the time, about having forgotten-- so sorry-- please don't tell-- won't happen again--

"Begone," he growls, and turns to begin the tedious work of untying the other maid.

That's when Melindre enters to wake her daughter, bright and early. Her daughter still wearing blacks, though not the mask; her daughter bent over a naked, writhing servant, her daughter who never seems to be getting enough sleep, who always seems to be hiding something....

[Judge Harrod Blacquin]

Coquette becomes contradictions at this point.

She's pleased that she'd at least removed her mask, weapon and smoke stained cloak. She's furious that she couldn't just stab the shrieking harpy and run.

She's pleased that her mother jumped to conclusions that don't involve her being a masked crime fighter. She's furious that her mother's outrage is voiced to all and sundry, making it impossible that her reputation will never be clean of accusations of the most sordid of deviancies.

She's pleased that her father was still home and pulled her mother into his office to demand explanations. She's furious he didn't bother to speak with her, instead sending Dennis with orders to shower, change into something appropriate and isolate herself in the family shrine.

She's pleased her sister seems shocked and pitying rather than delighted. She's furious that her sister pities her.

She's pleased to realize she won't be able to go out as the Silver Scale ever again, not with the scrutiny she's under now.
She's furious to realize she won't be able to go out as the Silver Scale ever again, not with the scrutiny she's under now.

It's after sunset when Dennis finally returns. Coquette had been locked, under guard, in the shrine since just before dawn without food, company or even water. Worse, while she'd taken her last two healing potions and an alchemical painkiller after the fight, she was still covered in bruises and mostly healed cuts... which, if looked at with the wrong mindset already in place, paint a rather deviant picture. They also made the isolation in the stark, comfortless shrine even more taxing as one of the worst possible ways to rest while bruised and aching is standing, sitting or laying on cold marble floors. So she's exhausted, hungry, thirsty, aching, stiff, sore and emotionally compromised to an extreme degree.

Perfect conditions for being summoned to talk to her father. In his office, while he's in his full Judge regalia, with Dennis and four guards in attendance. Not even the house guards, but judicial guards. Well, the two just inside the door and the one that escorted her and Dennis to the office were for sure. The last one, standing mostly in shadow behind her father, is more difficult to confirm as most of their body is covered with a long cloak. Dennis leads Coquette to a chair set in the middle of the room, a good two yards from the desk, then moves to stand on the opposite side of Harrod from the shadowy guard. And then... silence. A deep, foreboding, judgmental silence.

[Coquette Blacquin]

"Father," she says stiffly as she sits, and she doesn't bow her head, doesn't cow before him. She looks him dead in the eye, sits stiffly and patiently, and waits. 

[Judge Harrod Blacquin]

Harrod's face reveals nothing of his thoughts or emotions, if emotions are something he has.

(Sometimes Cindy has to wonder about that. Mostly she tries not to)

The silence of the office, the poorly lit, oppressively stark and formal office, presses down unrelentingly. As they sit, each silently studying the other, a sudden hollow, metallic sound booms out. Once, twice.... seven times. Seven o'clock. Just as the last sound fades, Dennis steps away from his spot without prompting. Movements efficient and practiced, he begins to mix a drink of some kind from a discreet cabinet, then brings it to his employer. Harrod takes the drink, a single sip, then places it on his desk. 

"Coquette. You are... troublesome."

[Coquette Blacquin]

Coquette isn't home right now, Silver thinks to himself, still meeting the Judge's eyes. He smiles; it's not a pleasant smile, but a cold, dark baring of his teeth. "Am I? Curious." I will kill you if I must, he adds, silently. To protect her, I will do what it takes. 

[Judge Harrod Blacquin]

There's a long pause that feels more like contemplation than confusion or even offense. "No longer hiding then?"

[Coquette Blacquin]

She spreads her hands wide, palms up. "What have I to hide?"

[Judge Harrod Blacquin]

"Everyone has crime and sin they hide from the eyes of others," Harrod says simply. "Yours-- some of yours at least-- have now been brought into the light." He taps the desk with his fingers in a rippling pattern. "This is unfortunate. Unacceptable."

[Coquette Blacquin]

"Incorrect. Let me be put to truthing and I will swear I never tied that girl up, nor did I engage in carnal relations with her. I was framed." Silver's voice is cool, unwavering, as he keeps staring aggressively into the Judge's eyes. 

[Judge Harrod Blacquin]

"Such a pert tongue," he murmurs, looking at her with blank eyes. He shakes his head slowly. "It hardly matters, you must realize. You are a fool and degenerate unworthy of your name or station, but you are not unaware of social norms. Of how the rabble, be they in silks or dirt, think and react. A thousand Truthings would change nothing at this point. Your degeneracy is known. You are ruined and, worse, are a burden on my family."

[Coquette Blacquin]

"So truth is meaningless? Honor is meaningless? Family is meaningless? Truly, you are a more despicable foe than I had dared to imagine."

Somewhere in the depths of her mind, Coquette stirs. Father? I can't talk to Father that way. What am I saying? That Father is...? He'll have me beaten and locked away without supper if I protest.

Silver tenses, preparing to make his move, to reach for the shadows -- and finds his hand stilled. No. We cannot fight Father.

[Judge Harrod Blacquin]

"Foe?" Harrod murmurs, almost seeming to taste the word. "Is that what you wish to name me?"

[Coquette Blacquin]

"It is what you seem to be declaring yourself. I am an adult. You cannot punish me as though I were a child any longer. If you would declare yourself against me, than you are my foe."

[Judge Harrod Blacquin]

"You are, in fact, not," he replies simply.

[Coquette Blacquin]

"I am twenty and two. I am an adult."