srwug_alpha_rp | 06: "Yet each man kills the thing he loves/by each let this be heard..."

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06: "Yet each man kills the thing he loves/by each let this be heard..."

[1]

Isaac Sinclair is up on the Chalice deck in the wee hours of the morning, performing sword drills as rosy fingers of dawn stretch out over the horizon.

His strokes are large, brutal and scything, meant to cleave enemies in half. And yet, as he performs this ruthless form of combat...he seems to be calm, collected and at peace.

"By heavenly Jove, Jehovah, and Andraste..." He says quietly, winding down and starring at the rising sun. "Let my blade strike true, and let her hold her living son in her arms again..."

Interject?

[2]

Isaac is calling his mother in one of the Chalice's comm booths, hopping up and down on the balls of his beat as he listens to the dial tone. Finally, someone picks up on the other end.

"Mother Sinclair!" He calls out. "Oh, so many marvelous thing have happened last we talked! I know not where to start, but I think that at last, after so long, good fortune's c–!"

A sharp, muffled voice cuts him off. Isaac winces, then listens. And from the outside you can see his face turn pale.

"Oh Gods."

Eavesdrop?

[3]

Isaac sends a general comm transmission to everyone aboard the White Chalice...with the exception of Cora.

He looks really wild-eyed...and a bit gaunt.

"Does anyone here know a good barrister? A talented attorney who does pro-bono work, and is licensed to practice in Britannia? If anyone knows anything, or wishes to earn the eternal friendship of the Sinclair family..."

His voice trails off. "...please, help."

[4]

[Locked to all but one]

Come nighttime, Isaac is out of sight, huddled away in the corner of the main hanger, behind some of the logistics crates for the Dullahan team.

Slumped against a wall, sheathed family sword in his lap. After starring blankly into space for a moment, some focus comes back into them.

"There must be something I can do!" He hisses to himself, drawing his sword several inches out of his sheath. "Something!"

Footsteps echo through the dark, empty hanger. Isaac looks up, and inhales sharply. "You!"

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Isaac. I see you're in trouble.

[The figure remained partly obscured in the dark, arms folded.]

Not all that surprising given everything that happens to the team.

Isaac stands up and growls at the words of the shadowy figure

"I thought you were a better person than that, to mock the sacrifices we have endured..." He hisses. "Did you come all this way only to 'evaluate' our suffering?"

[The figure merely shakes his head.]

Isaac. I wouldn't doubt that at some point everybody in the team... even Ulysses himself have felt the bite from some uppity noble who believed they were far better than everybody else.

Its a shame when the ones that are actually worth the station they hold are brought down by hard times.

[In other circumstances this would seem insulting, but the man sounded sympathetic as possible.]

And you know me better than to waste other people's time. I'm here to make you an offer... one that I think you'll find quite intriguing.

"...I am a loyal citizen and soldier of Britannia and it's Crown Royalty." Isaac says after a moment, looking confused. "What is this offer, and why do you feel the need to make said offer in the shadows?"

Because I may be going over several heads to do this. This order is coming from the highest authority, and they aren't sure if the Major has what it takes to do what's necessary.

[There was a deeply drawn breath.]

That being said, if you take this offer... well we have more than enough contacts to ensure Lord Athelstane's gambit is nothing more than white noise, and even possibly restore the Sinclair Family to its glory days.

I think that when that happens... well... Athelstane would be on his knees begging for forgiveness and supplanting himself to you.

A tempting image wouldn't you say?

A dark grin spreads over Isaac's face.

"Indeed...a balm for the soul, you might say."

He meets the mysterious person's eyes.

"But what does this offer entail? I believe the colloquial expression is 'there is a catch.' "

You will provide sniper cover for the team as always. However...

[The figure throws a USB drive to Isaac.]

There'll be an optimal vantage point for sniper cover in the mission area. The Major will attempt to destroy as much of the facility as she can and she will require your assistance to do so.

[There was a moment of silence.]

You will withhold support and ensure that your partner is unable to do so as well.

After that, upload the contents of that drive into a receiver port that should be close to the area you're stationed in. Everything after that is on a need to know basis, and you'll be receiving your orders from someone higher up.

Isaac inhales sharply. "That facility belongs to Exxortium Fillios, the Dulahan's sworn enemy." He says, slightly incredulous. "To make me sabotage her efforts in destroying it..."

His minds comes to a conclusion. "...means that your superiors wish to acquire Exxortium Fillios technology for themselves."

He chews on his lip for a long while as he mulls over the offer. The facility destruction will take place after the hostage rescue...Cora's son will be safe.

"I will do as you say." Isaac says at last. "God help me, if the Sinclair line will continue, I will do as you say. And I pray that through loyal service to Lady Anderson, I will be able to redeem this single double-cross."

[Richard eavesdrops alright, knowing to be concerned when Isaac gets a call. His ears are to the wall, and his glance sees through metal by the might of his magic, to try and identify to whom Isaac speaks...]

"I will figure something out, mother." You hear Isaac say, a shaking fist clenched at his side. "I...I will find someone who can help. There are many people aboard this vessel: surely one of them may know a sympathetic barrister–"

"Dear Isaac..." an elderly female voice on the other end says. You get a closer look at the viewscreen, and see a solid-framed matron, crow lines about her eyes, dressed in a sober high-necked blouse with hands folded in her lap.

"Truly, I admire your persistence on our behalf. But I fear that Lord Athelstane has truly outfoxed us this time."

She shakes her head. "I can almost admire that fellow: knowing how to stoke little Gloriana's wrath, setting the duel at a place where the only witnesses would be his sycophants, taking that flesh wound...."

"Mother!" Isaac exclaims. "Why all this talk of doom? There...there must be something we can do!"

"There is little to do, dear Isaac, and I would urge you to calm yourself: panic does not become a Sinclair!" Isaac's mother says with a frown. She leans back and sighs.

"The devil intends to string out the trial and steadily drain our coffers, no doubt so he can send his debt collectors to seize our estate from under us: even a victory would bankrupt us."

Isaac's mother reaches out of the view of the camera, picks up a brutal looking spiked warhammer, and sets it on her lap.

"So we shall not play his game. Mr. Donald's is rallying the staff and handing out rifles from the armory. Gloriana is fortifying the estate! Even if Athelstane sends the entire constabulary after us, we will hold this land that providence has given us!"

Her expression softens. "Come home to us, my dear Isaac. You have made a spirited attempt, but it is time for the family to set our affairs in order."

The transmission winks out. Isaac stares blankly at the dead screen for a moment.

Edited 2014-01-12 01:48 (UTC)

...So, the little bastard couldn't wait for your sister's hand, so he had himself hurt by it.

[Richard didn't even knock as he came in.]

Isaac cracks a brief, broken looking smile. "Gloriana was always a proud one: I hope that inbred money-grubbing cretin's wound festered!"

Morbid as that sounds, it doesn't change your situation. Even if he were to die, his family would press the case, and unless the Sinclairs are capable of effectively running their own micro-nation, there simply won't be the resources to last either a siege or a trial.

"You have summed it up well." Isaac says.

He blinks and stares at the floor. "I wonder...if I had not shot that inner-city nobleman in the foot during maneuvers all those months ago...would this disaster still have happened?"

We both know they would have tried something to speed up the process...

[Richard sighs, pondering matters...]

Is there anybody - or hell, anything - that could have the authority to completely throw this plan off the rails? Like, I dunno, another duel?

"Another noble family, of higher rank and status than either the Sinclairs or Athelstanes, might be able to use their influence to dismiss the suit..."

Isaac clenches his fists.

"But none of the Great Houses of Britannia would ever lift a finger to help a bunch of backwoods country bumpkins!!!" He cries out.

...Does the royal family count as a 'great house'?

Isaac looks up and blinks. "...you could say that. Hah, the house of Britannia would merely have to speak a word, and Ahtelstane would go scurrying away!"

He shakes his head. "But you have seen the speeches that Emperor Charles gives. Do you really think a man such as that would bring us out of our plight?"

Edited 2014-01-14 01:02 (UTC)

Who said it had to be the Emperor himself? Just a member of the bloodline will do, right?

"Oh?" Isaac says, blinking. "If not emperor Charles (Prince Schneizel is likely right out too), then that would meen a petition to Lady Euphemia, or...!"

His eyes widen. "Dame General Cornellia!!!"

There's gotta be someone who'd consider what you've done in the Empire's name, right? I mean, I'm not their biggest fan, but I can still see you've gone above and beyond the call of duty. Or shall we dare them to stare down giant monsters made of wind and lava?

"Indeed!" Isaac says, breaking into a large grin. "My deeds have been great, and it is known that Lady Cornellia has great respect for bravery and conviction!"

He slams a fist into his palm. "It is settled! At my earliest convenience, I shall contact the General, and submit my case!"

He nods, and then sighs, seemingly in relaxation. "Thank you, Richard Chevalier. I...never thought I would come to count a Frenchman as one of my closest allies."

And I remember thinking you'd never stop calling me a Norman. Things change, and for the better it seems.

Isaac suddenly looks flustered.

"Well, er, as you have pointed out numerous times, you are from the region of Callais, as opposed to that of Normandy...so more appropriately I should refer to you as a Gaul...but, ah, Frenchman is not so inappropriate..."

[[Simon only catches the end of it, about the point that his expression changes. he wasn't cllse enough to hear the conversation, so all he can do is walk over and ask.]]

Issac? Are you all right?

Isaac tries to put on a brave face.

And fails.

"No..." He says miserably.

Well you can always talk to me. The Gurren Brigade always helps each other out. That's how we roll.

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06: "Yet each man kills the thing he loves/by each let this be heard..."

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