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A Fine Predicament (Retro/Tryste)

As he walked passed her completely naked, her eyes closed tightly and her face turned away from him. It seemed that he had no shame in exposing his nakedness. Even so, she could not help but feel embarrassed for him. Nudity would always be something touchy for her. Though she had been naked for hours now, she was still very much aware of it.

Her eyes snapped open when he asked her to come in with him. Did he really expect her to climb in with him? A hand pressed against her chest and there she felt something sticky and unpleasant. Cracking her eyes open, she noticed a light red mist covering her, from where she was holding her father as he died. Sickness gripped her and, then, without hesitation she climbed in. In that moment she did not care about his offer. All she wanted to do was scrub off the death of her father. All she wanted was to be clean.

She looked at him sideways and moved to the far edge of the tub. The water was relaxing, she would give him that much and the pain DID fade away from her muscles, but she was not going to let him touch her again. Not after the humiliation she was forced to endure during the ride there.

"I climbed in myself," she informed him sheepishly. "Thank you for the offer though."
 
"So I see. You're welcome." He smiled, a bit, before settling back. One thing was for sure, this was starting off to be an interesting pledge/master relationship...and would continue to be so, he'd wager. He stretched his arms out along either side of the tub, murmuring to her as he did so. "The sooner you show me that I can trust you, the more freedom you get. I don't think you'll ever get a carte blanche pass to leave the city itself, as much for your own protection as anything, but you should have free reign of it at least."

"And there's a treat for you later today, as well, once I find some suitable clothing for you. We soldiers train once a week, and I think you'll enjoy the training. If nothing else, maybe you'll get lucky and someone will knock me upside the head." He smirked, knowing that might get her attention. Truth be told, it had been a while since anyone had the opportunity to get him...he had always been exceptional with the sword, a combination of pre-change training and natural talent...but it could happen.
 
When he stretched out his arms she inched towards the very opposite edge of the tub. It was relaxing, even if she had to share it with an ogre of a man and she did not want to leave it completely. Instead she turned her back a little to him and watched him from over her shoulder, letting the blood on her body soak off. If being trusty worthy meant she got more freedom, especially around the city, then it might do go to at least pretend that she was subservient and well behaved. The more he trusted her, the less he would notice she was gone. Plus a few forays out into the city would give her an opportunity to scout out the walls. Everything had a weakness and the faster she could exploit it, the better for her.

Esme was terribly clever when she was pushed to extremes but she still needed to know what she would do when she was outside of the city. There was certainly going to be Eaters in the outside world and those terrible slavers that he told her about. Perhaps she could dress as a boy and be a bandit or a highwayman.

"I do have clothes," she told him. "My backpack has them."

She was almost certain, however, that pledges either went around completely naked or with a special marking. They went as far as to augment the skin of their new charges so it would not surprise her if they had to even dress a certain way.

"I'd be happier if..." she cut herself off. What would she be happier with? She'd be happier if he had taken a shot to the head so severe that he never woke up and her time as a pledge be given to someone else. Someone kinder. But talk like that would not have him trust her, quite the opposite in fact. "If you weren't hurt at all. I don't like violence."

Though, really, she much rather had been back in the room getting some sleep. The day had been a long one and it was going to be dark soon. Emotional turmoil had caused her to be exhausted and to have to pretend she was interested at men whacking at each other with swords.
 
"Mmm...those will be kept for after you finish your period as a pledge. Do you remember seeing the red stripes across some people's chests on their clothes? That is the mark of a pledge....there are a series of black bands across them, and that denotes a pledge's relative freedom. Five black bars means they are not allowed to leave a cage...though that's only used on those condemned to exile or death. Four is where most pledges start...they're not allowed to leave their Master's house, and if they are found outside the guards are to put them back into the house. Three bars means they're able to go outside of the house with their Master, though they must remain in sight of him at all times. If they're not obviously in his or her company the guards approach and ask where their Master might be...if they are unable to directly point to them, they are taken back to the house. Two bars means they have free reign of the top two circles, and one bar means they have access to the entire city."

He cocked his head to the side with a wry smile. "I think I'll start you out with three bars...that will give you some freedom to move about, anyway, especially while I'm out practicing." She'd find, when she did get the tunic he'd give her at first, that the slash of red was sewn into the fabric itself, not merely on top of it...removing it would be impossible without carefully removing hem lines, then re-sewing the fabric back together, while removing the black bars were impossible without spare materials which would be difficult for her to come by, especially with her limited budget. "Once I know I can trust you, I'll lower the restriction to two, or even one bar, where you can head down to the market on your own."

Well, now at least she had a goal if she wanted to escape. And the knowledge she had to play nice till then if she ever wanted the opportunity.
 
This all sounded so complex. All of this precaution just to keep a small percentage of people in carefully cloistered cages. Even if they weren't physical restraints, the black bars reminded her of a prison cell. She understood safety and the want to protect citizens but making pledges go through seven years of service seemed excessive to her. Three years, maybe, so that the young men and women would not be considered too old to do anything of use.

"Three bars?" she asked. She thought about this with a groan as she considered his smile. "Is that so you can show me off to people?" Although she wasn't exactly sure how she looked, she assumed that she must have been at least a semblance of attractive if other people asked for her contract. Still it was better than four and, even in the line of sight of

Then there was something she hadn't thought about. "What will you be training me in? If my duties are to you and your personal rooms, what sort of useful skill do I get to learn? I can't learn to fight because you told me pledges aren't allowed to use weapons and I can't see what I can be taught from the confines of your room that will make me a productive member of society."
 
"So I can show you off? Moreso that you don't die of boredom here..the house is dull, I'll not be ashamed to admit, though the library is growing, it's not doing so as quickly as I would like." He said, even as he reached over to grab a towel, beginning to lather it up with a bit of lye soap in an idle motion, before turning it on himself.

Her second question caught him by surprise, with the sudden change of topic, but he was back on his conversational feet within a heartbeat, and he'd turn his attention to her more fully at that point, letting the washcloth drop into the water. "Well, that's somewhat up to you. If you've a mind to learn blacksmithing, I figure I can find someone willing to teach you, but my plan was to have you trained in figures and letters for the first three years you were here, then let you pick your own path. You do get a fair amount of money when your period as a pledge finishes, so you could potentially be a merchant, if you chose to invest it. You could be an engineer, to help continue to expand the city...anything you've a mind to, really. Over the next few years you'll have plenty of chances to look over them. That is, of course, assuming you don't catch some man's eye and consent to be his wife...which is entirely beyond my purview."

That brought a chuckle. The last pledge he had brought home had begged to be transferred to another man to finish out her period as a pledge, and he had granted it...to the best of his knowledge, she was getting ready to be wed within the month, as soon as her pledge period ended. He wouldn't stand in her way if that was the route she chose, though for some reason he had a feeling her period of learning would be a bit more...involved.
 
The young woman pondered this a moment or two. At least, to her relief, he hadn't intended to train her in the fine art of being of prostitute. Albeit that was what she expected and it took the wind out of her sails when that wasn't the course the conversation took.

"I already know some figures and letters," she told him. Granted it wasn't much. Even if her father and mother had tried to keep her educated there were things that people couldn't teach without the aid of material. Then again, it had been many years since she had even picked up anything that had to deal with basic math. In that subject she was woefully ignorant.

The second part of his statement made her snort. Marriage? Who would honestly want to be married to a pledge like her? Even if that would happen, Esme distrusted the very idea. Honestly what is to say that the man would only want to pretend to marry her just to get her contract so he could use her for a few years and then throw her out by the time she became too old? She was bitter with everything that happened to her and she could only see herself becoming more so in the years to come.

"How would I know that they actually cared about me? I don't trust men anymore. Not after this experience. After what had happened my trust of your kind has been completely shattered."
 
"I'm sure you do know some...I have every trust in you, in that regard, and you seem bright enough, but there's only so much a person can learn when they're taught by their parents...and their parents have to work on a farm. My grandfather grew up in a similar situation and never learned how to read, or do math above a third grade level." His family had been downright poor during the great depression, and that had led to more than one person staying home to work on crops. The age of universal literacy was passing, and outside of Karak Dorn the sight of a book not made before the change was a rare one. When those decayed, as they were sure to do, there would be no more.

Given another twenty years, Karak Dorn would be even more powerful than it was now, not only because of it's size but also because of it's learning. Every child attended at least basic schooling and those with aptitude continued through what would be considered high school pre-change, with truly excellent students able to get up to doctorate level and beyond. Not to mention the fact that they were rapidly copying books...relevant books, at least, to rag based paper and copying them with Gutenburg style presses with move-able type. Indeed, the university got nearly as much funding as the military, though it didn't pay back as much in the short term it surely would in the long term. Already, people outside of the city were beginning to fall back on folk remedies for common ailments, within another ten years they'd be back to eye of newt and dust from a saint's tomb. Within the city, they were still producing penicillin and other antibiotics, not to mention when it came to building.

Not that he explained all that. She'd hear about it soon enough from people on the street, though...the citizens of the city were justifiably proud of their military and their university. Her second statement brought his eyebrow up, though his lip quirked up in a bit of an amused expression. "Perhaps you would have rather I left you for the eaters to find? Nothing comes for free, now...there's not enough extra left over for charity. If you're willing to work for it, though, there's something for you here."

Not that she'd hear him, likely. She had already set herself as a victim, and he had to admit he hadn't done much to change her views on that, with his treatment of her. Oh well...she would find out soon enough that there were far worse men to be pledged to, and far worse options than being a pledge, if she kept her eyes open.
 
Esme's reading level was phenomenal the, considering what he had thought about people that lived and worked on farms. Even if he had reference his family the way she heard it basically said that farming was for the unlearned. She folded her arms against the side of the bathtub and leaned forward to rest her head on them. Honestly she missed her farmhouse, no matter how unintelligent people assumed she was for living there and working there. Well, at least, he considered her 'bright enough' and not a total mess. She supposed that was something.

"I can do things past a third grade level," she muttered in annoyance. Her eyes shifted so she looked out of the corner of her eye. "I would have been willing to work for this place, I just assumed I didn't have to become a slave to do it."

They may or may not have called it that but that was basically what she had become. She did not expect charity and didn't want it. All she wanted to do was be able to fend for herself and be allowed time to mourn for her father, really. Everything else was simple a caustic reaction to what had happened in that short period of time.

"Were you ever a pledge?" she asked. "Do you know how its like at first?"
 
"I'm sure you can. You, at least, had a start to schooling when it was still required. I have no doubt that you're quite intelligent, but many that are not so intelligent would not be so quick to pick up on things." He tossed the wash cloth over toward her, starting to pull himself out of the tub, grabbing a towel as he did so. While he was standing beside the tub, drying off, he was still speaking. "I just want to make sure you have the opportunity to learn to the highest degree you're able to absorb."

Her second statement brought him around a bit, a wry smile on his lips as he spoke. "Well, sometimes you don't get things the way you want. Be glad you weren't closer to a bit city when the change hit...the closer you were, the worse it was. That's the reason why the 'Free' cities of Yakima are so bad...they were basically an raider nest that grew too large to work on complete anarchy, and one of the bands took over." He shook his head wryly. "But you're not interested in hearing this. There's no need for you to go to practice, I suppose. Wait here, if you'd rather, and you can find out if I got killed later."

He laid the towel down for her to use when she was ready, still shaking his head wryly. Were she to get out within the next ten minutes, she'd find him changing into another padded gambeson in readiness to leave for practice. Regardless of when she got out, she'd find a tunic that was only a size or two too large for her, with a red slash across the breast and three black bars.
 
It didn't take her long to finish up in the bath. She didn't use the soap. Soap was just as hard to come by on the farm as hot water was and the smell was very strong to her, even if it did smell clean and nice. Likely in the coming days he'd insist that she use it but, for now she forgone it. She watched as the lukewarm liquid swirled around and down the drain, sighing.

Like he did she used his towel to dry off but she wrapped it around herself instead. It was the first form of cover she had in hours and she was going to cling to it until there was something better to use. When she walked into his room she saw him getting changed into more protective clothing. This wasn't extremely interesting but she watched anyway. Her sharp, pale blue eyes going over every inch of him. Seeing him from that distance, he was clearly a strong man and, now her anger had cooled down some, not bad to look at either.

Esme had only recognized the tunic nearly a minute later and, by seeing the design on it, new it was hers. She quickly scurried over to it and scurried back into the bathroom to change when she had it in her hands. Despite having him seen her naked and despite him making her orgasm, she didn't want him to see her completely bare again. Even if there was no taboo of it in the city, she still carried one.

The thing was too many sizes too big and hug off of her as if she was a child dressing in daddy's clothes. What figure she had was lost in the folds of fabric but, honestly, she was grateful that there would be nothing to ogle. Being able to blend into the crowd would help her out considerably when she was surveying the city. Just to get another black bar removed.

"Thank you for letting me stay back. I am feeling really exhausted now. I don't want to face other people. Not yet."
 
"I understand. You've been through a bit." He said, with a wry smile sent her way. Seeing her skittering back into the bathroom clutching the tunic had very nearly started him laughing...one thing was for sure, she was going to learn to get out of that mindset before long. He continued to tie the gambeson on, lifting up a helm with a bar cage instead of a face plate to wear during the fighting portion of practice and a wooden sword that other than being a bit thicker than his spatha was identical in weight and size.

The last thing he picked up was that round shield, slipping his hands through the straps even as he rested that sword replicator over his shoulder. He turned his head toward her, before nodding to a niche in the wall. "There are some books you may read there...just be sure not to damage them. They're more expensive now than they used to be. Otherwise, feel free to use the bed or wander the rest of the house. I'll arrange more suitable clothing for you while I'm out and it should be delivered by tomorrow morning." He sent a smile her way, before turning toward the door, turning his head to deliver a, "Rest well," before he stepped outside, leaving her alone for a time.
 
Esme was tempted to wait for a few minutes, then head out after him to explore the city, but she wasn't all that stupid. There were three bars clear as day on her tunic and everyone in Karak Dorn knew what they meant. An escape then would have meant that she would just get brought right back to his house, likely before she reached the first set of walls. There was too much to risk. Also she hadn't lied; she really didn't want to face anyone new.

Instead she walked to where he pointed out a book and carefully picked one out. It wasn't as if she was going to actually read it, at least not to the point of properly understanding it, but having something to distract her from the nagging emptiness was a plus. She then turned to the bed and without a moment's hesitation she flopped down on it. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as her body sunk against the mattress. This was the softest thing she had felt in ages and it felt amazing to her. Honestly she wasn't sure if it was because it was actually as luxurious as it felt or if having been tied up made her appreciate it all the more.

She only managed to get through the first few pages before sleep had claimed her and the book ended up resting directly over her face. When he returned from training he'd find her that way, with her legs and arms spread out so they took over the entire bed. Teenagers always had a way to take up an entire bed no matter how small they appeared to be.

For the entire time he was gone she slept soundly, her rest surprisingly and thankfully dreamless. Nothing came to bother her.
 
Michael made his way quickly to the training grounds on the third tier, where he knew he was scheduled both for his own training, and to train new recruits. Unfortunately, it was the latter first. He stepped toward the great ring-shaped building with a glance toward the water clock on one of the taller towers near the grounds, pleased by the fact that he was five minutes early arriving. The training grounds were a roughly circular building about five hundred feet in diameter, designed and based off of the Roman Colosseum. Like it's famous look-alike, the training grounds had high walls surrounding the sandy pit that made up it's base, but these were augmented further by high towers, allowing men to stand on the upper tiers and make sure the formations looked tight from high above.

There were a scattering of civilians waiting in the seats, mostly mothers and wives wanting to see their husbands or sons fight. There was a lot of pride in raising a soldier, or being wed to one, and the soldiers themselves were given a lot of respect, because the threat to the city was not some nebulous challenge from across the sea but thrust into people's faces daily. War was not something young men went away to and returned from months later, it was what they stepped into in the morning and returned from in the evening. Not too many, though...time was not so free as for everyone to have time to come down and cheer on their personal soldier.

Soldiers went through several levels before becoming a legionnaire, from downright insulting to somewhat nebulous. Typically, they started as maggots...good for nothing, then became weevils, then, finally, fish. Why fish? They could at least give someone a full belly, but they still flopped around helplessly on land, though they could eat either of the other two levels for breakfast. By the time someone was called a fish, they had been taught to march (and march, and march), to dig field fortifications (and dig, and dig), basic shield work (keep them together, dammit!), and basic sword work. Sword work for legionnaires was kept deadly simple, compared to the duelists style that Michael had learned pre-change. There was a slash over the head to the head, a slash over the head to the enemy's weapon arm, and a stab upward into an enemy's gut. Any of the three could be executed in the three inches between the big square shields, and any were deadly when employed properly. The idea was that the enemy was faced with an impenetrable shield wall and every time they stepped forward to challenge it they were struck down before they could even think of mounting a breach.

Every soldier was also taught the basic use of the pilum, a spear made of wood for half it's length and re-bar hammered into a small, wickedly barbed spearhead for a tip. It's soft metal bent easily when it penetrated a shield, preventing it from being thrown back at the legionnaires during the battle but was easy enough to re-shape after the battle. Perhaps the favorite of everyone was the plumbata, or, as they were more affectionately known, lawn darts. They were a regulation twelve inches long, eight of which was in a wooden shaft with metal vanes attached four inches from the back end, an inch in a heavy lead weight, and three more in a thin shaft with a large arrowhead attached. They were designed to be thrown overhand, gripped below the vanes. When in flight, the heavy weight and air resistance from the fins would flip the arrowhead forward, and the same weight would drive it deep into an enemy. Each legionnaire carried a full half-dozen of them in a special holder on the back of their shield, and though they were unlikely to kill an enemy, they could be thrown with a degree of accuracy out to twenty yards, disrupting formations and forcing men to advance more cautiously. Together with the heavy spears being thrown at closer range, it was a massive amount of missile weapons coming the enemy's way as they closed in to get to grips with the unbeatable shield wall.

In many ways, it was the side that was most sure it was going to win that won battles. The armies of Karak Dorn fought alongside their friends and neighbors in close combat, with a seemingly unbeatable technique for slaughtering the enemy. The entire purpose of a legionnaire was to make the enemy not so sure they could actually beat the legions of Karak Dorn.

Of course, that was all once they got out of basic training.

Michael stepped out of one of the tunnels leading into the training ground's floor, seeing close to fifty young men lounging about in small groups, their helmets by their sides in most cases. One was demonstrating how he was going to spit the first eater he saw on the tip of his pilum while another had his sword drawn to test his edge. None had seen him yet. A bit of a grin split his lips...he would enjoy seeing them jump.

Filling his lungs, he spat out in a growling shout that echoed from the mostly empty walls of the arena. "ATEN-HUT! ALL FISH TO ATTENTION!"

Right away, it was like he kicked an ant's nest as all of the soon to be legionnaires scrambled over one another to get into their places. Soon enough, he'd be walking along that line and trying to spot something wrong with their armor or weapons, so they had all better be up to spec by the time he got there!
 
Derek was not the most promising out of his school of fish. There was raw talent there, to be sure. His aim when it came to the various projectiles was second to none in his training squadron, being a rambunctious youth fond of slingshots had seen to that. However when it came to swordsmanship he was just above mediocre and falling behind a good chunk of his peers. Going to training everyday was getting harder and harder for him but he was lucky. Since he was an orphan and too young to have been pledged, they gave him the honor to be a warrior for Karak Dorn. That was not something he was going to let slip through his fingers. Failure was not an option. Especially since he was under the man he admired; Michael.

When they were called into the formation, Derek was one of the first to jump forward to snap to attention. His hair was getting longish again, golden blond curls dared to hang in deep brown eyes. His gaze was forward and his stance was stiff in the position of attention. A muscle beneath his left cheek ticked; a sign of nervousness in the young man. The shield he was using had a knick in it that, through continuous training, had developed into a cracked down the face of the defense device. Something he thought had been superficial had turned into something that could spell disaster for him. He hated disappointing his teacher and something like this was going to earn scorn.

He stiffened his stance, eyes resting ahead to the people on the sidelines. There was no family for him there though there were a few girls who waved coyly to him, wiggling their little fingers in his direction. Every woman wanted a solider and the fish, those who were a few ranks above worms, were certainly very attractive prospects for the young ladies in town looking to bag a man. Derek was disinterested in them for the most part. His training had been enough to keep him occupied and, really, all of the stories surrounding those types of girls all involved babies and forced marriages.

As Michael approached, he swallowed harshly.
 
He made his way down the line of fish, finding at least one flaw in each man's gear as he went. His job was not to be kind, but to be harsh, though fair. He was to break them down and build them back up into the image of what Karak Dorn wanted out of it's fighting men. His sandals crunched in the sand as he came to stand before the young man that he had met before, Derek. He gave the man a steady once over, examining his equipment with a frown on his face. "Present arms, fish!"

That was a standard posture taught to each of the fish in their period as maggots. Shield presented before the body, shoulders squared, and right hand on their sword hilt, tilted just so. Before the motion could be completed, though, his hand shot out with brutal force, striking the shield along the crack just visible in the plywood beneath the bull hide facing. With a earth shattering crack the shield splintered beneath the blow, only held together by the painted bull hide. Michael didn't say a word about the young man failing to keep his gear up to spec. He let his eyes say that...instead, his words were, "Go and get a replacement. Run, fish! You need to be in your place in time for maneuvers." Luckily, the shields were standard issue, and there was a large stack against one of the walls.

He continued down the line, berating one fish for letting a spot of rust appear on his armor and sending him to run around the circumference of the arena to help his memory in the future. Another got busted for failing to tie one strap of their hobnailed sandal, while yet another had 'forgotten' their faceplate. Those two, too, were sent on the long run, giving Derek plenty of time to return to his place in line while Michael went to run along behind the fish, shouting insults and encouragement to their backs.

By the time everyone had returned, he was standing before the line once more, having ditched his round shield for a standard legionnaire's square one, and his spatha for a gladius, hung in a baldric around his waist. "Let's see what you fish remember of your training. What is the difference between a warrior and a legionnaire?"

There were a few scattered shouts, but none that rose above the rest. The correct answer, of course, was something that they had been drilled on, but being under the eye of their new instructor was something else entirely. "Warriors fight. Legionnaires fight together." It was an important distinction....where warriors might be greater one on one, a wall of legionnaires were all but invincible against any number of warriors. Were warriors got in one another's way, and died against superior numbers, legionnaires fought on with honor no matter the numbers, and killed as the enemy came to them. Now the only question was if one of the knuckleheads was going to remember it or if they were all going to be marching five miles today as a reminder!
 
The disappointment in Michael's eyes was enough to make the young man wither. There were no words needed. That look alone was scathing enough. Derek knew that the seasoned fighter expected great things from him and he knew he fell short of many expectations. Yet he did not let that get the better of him. Instead he always stared forward and steeled his determination like a true legionnaire would. When Michael shattered his shield and sent little pieces flying this way and that, he did not recoil even though he felt the powerful tremor from the blow shake his arm. Though he flinch at the stinging it left in his hand and forearm; he still was a very young man after all.

Without wasting any time, he fell out of the formation to get a new shield like he was commanded to. If he would have dealt with it when it was just a small fleck, then he would have been saved the embarrassment. Perhaps he was ashamed that the shield even took damage in the first place or he was afraid of how Michael would react to it? Derek wasn't even entirely sure. He jogged to and from where the shields were kept. That was another thing he had a leg up in, he was a speedy runner and cardio did not bother him. He was soon back in formation and long before the other lads that had been sent out returned.

He was anxious to get on with his training that day. The prospect of gaining more experience in swordsmanship was exciting. He needed to advance and become better. It was his dream since he first came to the city to be a legionnaire. When he first came to the city all he knew was the agony of being orphaned and he thought he should have died alongside his parents. However he was soon taken under Michael's wing.
 
By the time everyone had gotten back into position, Michael was standing before the line once more, but now there were twenty four men with him. Founders, all, they were men in their prime, and all wore the black rose of Michael's original company somewhere on their gambesons. They did not speak, right away. No, the first one to speak was Michael, and his voice was the same growling rasp of a shout that he always used when addressing fish. "Attention in the ranks! Attention!"

He paused a second or three to let what murmurs there were die down before speaking further. "These men behind me are two dozen of my premier scouts from my original group, the Black Roses." There would be a few murmurs in the ranks till his eyes cut them off. The Black Roses were not so numerous as the other groups in the first founding, numbering perhaps three hundred when they fused with the other groups, but they had proven that they were the best trained of any of the groups, pound for pound. Their style of fighting, close formations and short chopping swords was now the standard method taught to all of the Legions of Karak Dorn. Their scouts were even more highly trained, masters of the duelists style that Michael had graduated from pre-change, experts with bow and spear, and able to strike without warning in their secondary purpose as silent killers. More than once, their silent strikes had headed off battles that would have destroyed the Black Roses before Karak Dorn was ever formed by chopping off heads of organizations that were looking to destroy the fledgling company...sometimes literally. Now, the scouts were selected from the best of the legionnaires, volunteers all, who were given yet more training. Regardless, they were the best of the best.

"They are your opponents this day." He paused a moment to let that sink in, before lifting his hand for silence. "And you will win, or I will have you all running laps till you pass out." He was setting out to prove a point, against their disbelief. More murmurs rose, and Michael lifted his hand for silence. "It is possible, but you must do exactly as I say. Fail to do that, and you will be slaughtered."

Slowly, he walked along that line, talking as he did so. "Warriors fight. Legionnaires fight together. One warrior against one legionnaire will see the warrior win every time. Five warriors against five legionnaires will see the warriors lose every time. And look at this..you outnumber them two to one!"

The scouts behind him laughed at that, one of them near the head speaking. "Why do you even bother, Michael. The fish never win this one...I'll bet you five golden roses that they can't even hold us off for ten minutes." More laughter came from behind the ranks. Five golden roses was no small sum....more than a legionnaire made in four months. Yet Michael merely turned toward the man speaking with a smile.

When he spoke, it was with a kind of serene confidence that he knew the fish didn't share. "You're on. I know these young men can beat you...and when they do, I'm using your five pieces of gold to take to the Block." So named for the chopping block, it was one of the finer steak houses in the city, and one that few legionnaires would ever be able to eat at. "I have a feeling about these men. Go and stretch, Leoric. Make your men ready to be beaten."

The score and a bit of men tromped a dozen yards away to begin stretching. They were stringing bows, some of them, with arrows laid beside them that had thick rubber tips that would hurt like hell where they hit but wouldn't break bones or kill a man in armor, in addition to pairing off with wooden swords. When they moved in their practice the motions were almost like a dance, wooden swords clacking together almost too quickly to be seen for a moment before flowing away in feet as swift as a dancer's. Michael would not let the fish be distracted by them for long, indeed, he drew their attention with another rasp. "Attention!"

When all of the fish had straightened into attention, he spoke. "You have all of the tools you require to defeat them. Keep yourselves together, listen to my orders, and obey them. Don't cost me money or I really will have you running laps till your feet fall off. Now go stretch, and prepare yourselves. This is going to be one hell of a fight." Michael turned away, hiding a smile. The entire scene had been carefully choreographed, a way to build the confidence of the Fish. Though the scouts well knew how to man a shield wall from their training as legionnaires they were ordered not to...to advance singly on the shield and spear wall, while a few hung back to fire arrows at any gaps they saw in the shield wall. Though it was a fact that the legionnaires hadn't beaten the scouts in the last few engagements, it was because the legionnaires had lacked discipline. Michael was confident this group would keep that, at least.
 
Food spoke volumes to young men. A teenaged boy's stomach was more so a bottomless furnace than digestive organ and the prospect of being able to eat at a place where most of them dared not even sniffed around made Derek's mouth water. Not that it took much to do that. The orphanage's food consisted of gruel and various other forms of vegetable mush and paste. Once a week they would get some low quality meat for protein purposes. It could have been a lot worse but, hearing the prospect of getting something from the delicious steakhouse that most kids dreamed about, he could not help but feel slightly cheated.

When everyone stretched, he did as well. If he had anything to say about it his fellow fish and him would be eating at that restaurant. Like him most of the boys had never had the luck to have a steak from that place. He looked around to see the eager faces of his fellows. No doubt they were just as excited as he was. When attention was called, they all fell into line.

Even if they were only in training they were very connected. This school of fish had a bond. They knew each other and, while not everyone liked one another, they all trusted each other. It was like a small family and they ran like a unit already; like one. Derek might have been weak in one area but that was why there were so many of them; so they could come together as a beautifully moving whole.

They would get that damned steak.
 
Michael approached the stretching young men, coming to a stop just beside Derek where he was stretching. He lowered to one knee, clapping a hand to the young man's shoulder. "Derek..I want you to act as Centurion for this exercise. You've shown a lot of potential, especially in the moments leading up to the fight. It's not always who can swing a sword best, but who's the most calm headed, who's the most able to defeat the enemy in their mind. Relay the commands I give...I know that you have quite a set of leather lungs, and that will come in handy." He said, with a grin.

Slapping the young man upside his helmeted head, he stood, and started marching to one of the corners of the arena. It would allow the men to fight shoulder to shoulder with no flanks for the other fighters to exploit. He could only hope that the young fish would follow orders..he had gotten thumped himself the last few times he had tried this, and was not enjoying the bruises such experiences left!

A centurion's job during all this would be to relay the orders that Michael gave, as well as ensure that the line stayed holding strong under the pressure of the forces pressing against it. Derek was well respected, even if he was not the best swordsman, and was the natural choice, for Michael. The question was...would Derek see it?
 
Derek was a natural choice for the position of centurion. Being loud wasn't enough; all fighting men could raise a noisy din if they wanted to. Derek had the ability to project his voice over things in a way that was clear and crisp insuring that everyone in the fray could understand the orders. The others did, for some reason beyond the youth, respect him and many looked to him as a leader of sorts. This baffled him but he did not question it, or Michael's choice.

Instead he threw his shoulders back and lifted his head, ready to issue his mentor's commands. Even if he didn't believe in himself, Michael did. The man had impeccable judgment in such matters.

The fish all moved in unison as they formed the strong outer wall of their defense. The sound of their feet moving as one made an echoing, marching sort of noise that set the crowd into silent anticipation. Occasionally someone would say something but the finer details of the words were lost to the legionnaires to be. Their minds were all humming, awaiting this particular task with glee.


((Sorry if I've taken too long to reply. I've been a wee bit busy in real life ))
 
(No worries. Happens to everyone. I think I'm going to skip ahead a bit to get back to sleeping beauty.)

Michael had to grin as he commanded the fish into a fighting line, backed up into one edge of the arena so the others could not lap around their edges and flank them. Not that they really needed the advantage. Michael spoke softly, giving commands that Derek was to pass along, setting him up to be the one they listened to. Half a dozen men fell to mock plumbata, another three to thrown spears. The remainder charged the wall in groups of three and four, small enough to be easily picked apart by the confident fish.

Hours later, after the group of them proceeded to quite nearly cause a riot at the block with their antics, Michael at last headed for home. His gambeson was tossed over one shoulder like a jacket, leaving him in just a thin linen tunic and the pants he had worn beneath. He made his way up the stairs to where the teen he had captured waited, a slow smirk on his face as he caught her still asleep. He'd decide not to wake her, not right away...instead, taking his tunic and gambeson off to hang on the drying rack before slipping into the bathroom to rinse off the worst of the sweat...only time would tell if she awoke due to the noise he was making.
 
When he came in the room, Esme did not initially stir. She did not know he had stopped a moment to look at her before heading into the bathroom. It was not until she heard the water running in the adjacent room did she begin to wake up. The weight of the book pressed down on her face and she let out a soft groan. Heavy arms lifted; the limbs felt dead and her hands tingled horribly.

"Damn it," she murmured. Slowly she peeled the book from her face and a string of drool connected her lip to the page. The bit of saliva distorted the shape of the page some but it wasn't something that she'd describe as damage. "How long did I sleep?"

She pulled herself up, stretching out her sore arms and legs as she did so. Everything was so sore. Grief did play a part in this, as did being tied up for as long as she was. The book slid down to her chest as she moved, which she folded up and placed beside her. Finally she dragged herself out of the bed and started to stretch more. It was getting dark. Heavier shadows were cast through the room and the temperature was cooler.

Curiosity got the better of her and she wandered over to the bathroom door, opening it a crack to look at him. The man repulsed her, this was true, but there was something about him that she could not ignore him.
 
He was sitting on the edge of the tub when she got up from where she was sleeping, dripping a bit of a strong chlorine solution into a cut he had gotten from the practice. Though the weapons they used were wood, they were still fighting full force, and some injuries were expected. The men of the city had found that chlorine, mostly salvaged from old pool supply stores, could be made into an adequate water treatment and wound treatment when the old antibiotics started to run out. Stung like hell, though. He hissed a bit as the treatment ran into the cut, letting it sit for five seconds before washing it out with a much more diluted form of the treatment, just enough to ensure the water it was in was sterile. Only then would he begin wrapping the wound on his wrist with a bit of white gauze.

He was naked, and had already washed, so was relatively presentable when he caught an eye peeking from around the door. With a bit of an indulgent smile he motioned her into the room. "Might as well enter, girl. The fish did well even without you there to cheer them on...not that I expected any different. I take it you rested well, at least?" He had seen her asleep with his favorite book over her face when he walked in, and made his way past her. He had expected such, really, though the book had been a surprise...she did not seem the reading type, though he intended to make her such. He pulled the bandage tight with a final twist of his wrist before tying it off and slowly standing. His arms came up above his head, fingers intertwining as they reached for the ceiling, even stretching to tip-toes as he stretched, groaning as he did so. The sense of a well sated feline became even clearer as he moved toward her, his motions smooth, almost like a tiger stalking it's prey....but that didn't fit. With his grizzled body and hard planes, were he anything, he was a wolf.

His hand reached out as he reached her, almost without thinking stroking a hand across her cheek. Then he was past her, and moving toward the wardrobe. From within it he drew out a tunic, white banded in crimson at the waist and hems, and drew it over his head before scooping up the book from where it rested on the bed, running his thumb familiarly over the spine. A few steps took him toward a chair settled in one corner of the room, where he'd settle, leaving the book on one knee as he spoke to her. "Been resting the entire time, I take it?"
 
His nudeness was shocking but compelling. This mass of muscle was so much different than what she had ever seen before. Although farm work had made her body lean and the travelers that came upon the holding were small from going place to place, to see such power was interesting. Clearly he was designed for fighting.

Her cheeks burned hotly when he noticed her peeking in and, as he bade, she came forward. This was something that she did not want to be caught at. If he thought that she found him attractive, then he was going to torment her with that knowledge. Inwardly she chastised herself for allowing that sort of notion to pop in her head. She couldn't find someone so vulgar appealing. The only reason she was interested in his striking frame was because she had never seen a man quite like him.

Esme took in a sharp breath as he approached her. This man was like animal and she suddenly got the impression that she was dinner. When he hand made contact with her cheek, the girl flinched but was pleasantly surprised when he pulled away. From the bathroom she watched him dressed, chewing on her bottom lip absent mindedly.

"Huh?" she asked, snapped out of her daze when he asked her the question. She walked over to him. "Rest? I did. I thought I would last a little longer than what I did, really. Normally I don't fall asleep with a book over my face. I can't even remember what it was about."

The few sentences that she did manage to read escaped her.
 
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