Little Lady sat at the a desk, facing the window. His handgun lay across the tabletop, with it's metal casement removed on one side and piled up on the floor besides him. In one hand he held a cloth, thickly coated with smoke and dust, and in the other he held a small monocle with which he carried out his precise work.
He did treasure his handgun, as he imagined a mother might love her babe. The thought of it made him proud, and he cracked a smile. He was meant to be looking out for the Captain who, knelt over the cover of a manhole, a pipe in hand, awaited the reinforcements that had been promised. Little Lady was to remain out of sight, so as to put his skills to use...
Little Lady craned his head and spat, so that it didn't tarnish his work. That was nonsense. There were rumours from the bodyguards that a knight was with them, and no doubt a man of the Captain's stature - he was a favoured servant of the Empire, after all - would want to preserve his standing in the presence of one such as that.
That meant keeping Little Lady out of sight... He didn't mind it. It gave him time to work. He let the used cloth fall to the floor behind him and, reaching into a pocket, pulled forth another, fresh one and began to wipe layers of sweat from the stock of the weapon.
His work was interrupted by the clapping of men in the march, and a figure caught his attention and confirmed his suspicions; ahead of a cluster of imperial soldiers, who upon closer inspection through Little Lady's lens already appeared weary-eyed and fatigued, stood a man clad in ink-black armour. He was stood upright, waving a gauntlet to the captain and nodding his yellow-trimmed helmet.
The men behind the knight formed up. There were only eight of them. Little Lady felt himself gulp. That couldn't have been enough...
The Captain didn't seem to share his worries, standing up and striding over to the Blazing Sun knight. He extended his right hand. The knight looked at it silently, raising his other arm. The Captain frowned; the knight's entire fore-arm had been removed. Shuffling, he gestured for the Knight to approach the manhole cover, and began to talk. Little Lady got back to work.
"This is what we are here for, Sir Knight," The Captain spoke slowly, pulling forth some metal plyers and drawing forth a humming lime-green gem from his satchel. "Is it not magnificent?" His mouth twitched with struggle as he broke an awestruck smile, as if it had been a long time indeed since he had done such a thing. "We will be wealthy, just think; we will hire mercenaries, build war machines; we will secure the safety of our province from all comers!" He drew his sword in excitement.
The knight had been watching and listening quietly. He lifted the visor of his bascinet and scratched his chin. His face was young but battered, as if he were still recovering from something scarring; so scarring, it seemed, that it was visible on his form. Eyes that were fiery with vengeance and dulled by recklessness surveyed the captain and his prize. His features did not change. The preachings of this common soldier did not seem to entertain him.
"So," He spoke at last, "you are a mercenary in the garb of something greater?" The Blazing Sun knight stared at the Captain, who stood agape in shock. There was the rippling of laughter from the soldiers behind them.
"Of course not," He mumbled, ringing the fingers of one hand with another, "The wyrdstone will help us, good ser, you see..."
"I am not here for loot and riches as you are, Captain." He lowered his visor, concealing his face, as if to add malevolence to the words that followed. "I am here, assigned to you, because I think you will be a target of one I seek. The one who did so tragically maim me." He brought his stump into the air.
Little Lady looked up. Anything that could disarm a knight of the Blazing Sun was dangerous - and interesting. He quickly reassembled his handgun and pocketed his monocle, before slinging the weapon over his shoulder. He left through the door, heading down the stairs. By habit, he moved slowly, quietly; This captain he had been assigned to for many weeks now, and his response to disobedience was always sudden and physical.
He stopped at the sound of voices. It was the two greatswords, stood outside of the house, facing the knight who lectured and the captain who, with eyes wide and dumb like a child watching a magic show, followed him.
They were probably there to beat him if he wandered out into the meeting. To have one such as 'Little Lady' under your command was a cause for ridicule, as the Captain saw it. The handgunner sighed. He didn't much doubt that; he was a young boy, only nearing his twelth summer. His unkept, brick-red hair and cheeks still lined with the fat of youth made for a comical look.
His one talent, however, and the reason he was kept around...
For some reason or other - nobody could explain it - he was said to be quite the shot. His plump lips parted in a mischievous grin. The Captain was still holding his pipe.
Pulling his handgun from his back, he lined up the shot. It was going to get him beaten, if not worse - the clueless oafs at the door had their hands closed into fists already - but Little Lady didn't care. If he was lucky, the Knight would praise his wit and courage. If he wasn't? Well, he would annoy the Captain - and after the hatred he received, that was payment enough.
He pressed hard on the trigger. There was a billow of smoke from the barrel, and a loud crack. Most would struggle to hold the gun up, let alone straight, but for Little Lady it came naturally. He saw the pipe in the captain's hand buckle and explode into shards that spread across the pavement. He saw the look of surprise turning to anger, and heard the sharp unsheathing of the knight's sword.
The Captain turned to him, glaring and pointing a finger with vindication. The two greatswords turned and closed in.