TITLE: Decaf
RATING: G
SUMMARY: It's stupid. Just read
it for yourself J
DEDICATION: To my Dad. Yep, you
read that correctly, folks. Well, he drinks more coffee than I do, and that's
saying something!
~*~
One night, in the Floating
Fortress of Folken Lacour de Fanel…
Folken swept his cape protectively around him, allowing only his eyes
the luxury of movement as he surveyed the room for other presences. Good; no
one was in the floating fortress' kitchen. His work would be done quickly and
unseen.
He would not have Dilandau interfering with his plans today. The
insolent child would be incapacitated by any means necessary, even if it meant
tampering with his food. Such was the loyalty of a brother of Fanelia, traitor
though he may be.
The operation was not difficult, but had to be done properly if no
evidence was to be found. Using great care, Folken removed the lid from the jar
and emptied it into a sack he had procured. Glancing behind him once more to be
sure of his solitude, he then withdrew a second container and poured its
contents into the container whose contents he had just removed.
Decaffeinated coffee. It was hard to come by in the Zaibach
territories, but Folken had connections everywhere. With a grim nod of
satisfaction, he swept the spilled grounds off the counter and into the
skeletal palm of his hand, then swiped them off into the disposal unit. He
paused a moment to reflect; would this effect Dilandau too powerfully? He hoped
not. He would not like to be responsible for his young colleague's death. But
what was done, was done; if necessary he could always come forward with a
confession and hand over the remedy. Better to have the sprat angry at him than
the emperor.
Folken was a man of keen intellect. He had observed his comrade
very closely, and knew the source of his power. Without massive doses of the
powerful, bitter morning brew, Dilandau had no spark to ignite his fighting
rage. Taking away this vital elixir was all that needed to be done to
incapacitate the little berserker.
Narrowing his eyes, Folken made haste to return to his quarters.
If he were to capture Van the next day, he would need to rest his mind and
body.
~*~
"Nggg," Dilandau gurgled, slamming a hand down on the "off"
button of his alarm clock. He hated mornings.
Swinging his legs out of bed, he concentrated for a minute on
getting his eyes open. At length he succeeded in creating a slit between
eyelids that he could see through, and settled for that and began a slow,
unsteady shuffle towards the kitchen.
During breakfast, Folken could not help but keep glancing up at
his unstable compatriate. Dilandau had woken up near-comatose as usual, and
gone straight for the coffee, also as usual. However it had now been an hour,
and the young lad was still half asleep. The women did not appear to notice, of
course, preening at the table and stealing looks towards their savior. Folken
favored each of them in turn with a warm smile.
"Dilandau," he spoke up after a moment, "yesterday I was informed
that Van has been wounded and is recovering in Asturia. We're going to capture
him today, I think. I'm sending out our fate-enhanced soldiers, we're going to
break in to his room, bribe everyone who sees us with your gold, and carry him
out in a jewel-encrusted litter. When we get back I want you to tend his wounds
and feed him delicacies with a silver spoon. Is that clear?"
The lunatic albino warrior raised his head to squint at Folken.
"Who?" he asked, befuddled.
"Nevermind," Folken waved a hand in dismissal, standing and
picking up his plate. The silver-haired catwoman rushed over and took it from
him, and her sister came right behind her to remove his other dishes. "Report
to my station in one hour. I want to move out quickly."
Turning and walking away, the defector from Fanelia indulged in a
hopeful grin. Today he'd get his little brother back and there wasn't a thing
the incapacitated psycho-child from Hell could do about it.
~*~
Something wrong. Don't…
can't…
Maybe more coffee? Yes more.
Move feet forward. What was
I getting?
Oh, coffee.
That way. Somewhere…
There! Ahh… sweet sweet
coffee.
Need to get a cup to put it
in...
Oh. I have one in my hand
already.
Smells good…
"Dilandau-sama!"
He looked up, red and drooping
eyes staring hazily at the Dragonslayer.
"What do you want?"
"Uh, Dilandau-sama…" a deep bow
would possibly make the difference between being smacked around and being
beheaded, so the Dragonslayer bowed deeply- "Dilandau-sama, if you drink the
blood of fortune, it might make you very ill, sir." The elfin-looking young man swallowed hard. Remember, it's
your duty to protect Lord Dilandau. Maybe he won't kill you…
"Blood of…?"
That isn't the coffeemaker.
With a moan of despair, Dilandau let the handle of cup slide out
from between his fingers. His shoulders drooped down further than before and he
slumped down to the floor.
Somehow he'd ended up in Folken's laboratory, deep in the
recesses of the floating fortress, about to drink green fortune-enhancing
protein goop.
Well, it was stupid Folken's fault for not labeling the thing.
And for making it look like the coffee machine. He'd probably stolen parts from
the coffee machine to make it.
Wait a minute… Folken… coffee machine… maybe he…
The thought nearly formed itself, then slipped away and
dissipated like a puff of steam when he tried to grab hold of it.
Oh well.
Couldn't have been too important.
The Dragonslayer knelt at length and gingerly poked the prone
body of Lord Dilandau. It stirred, groaned, and lapsed back into a deep sleep.
With a sigh of relief, Garty knew that his life would not be ended today. He
called Chesta, and the two of them carried the limp form of their pyromaniacal
commander back into his chambers, where he contentedly dozed for the remainder
of that day.
The End.
