Chapter 5
Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Mass Effect universe and more than likely never will, much to my detriment. Because I would totally be okay with owning Aria.
A little after dawn, I leave my bed chambers for the kitchen. I walk through the open doorway and light a fire in the ashy pit that is located inside the far wall. Above the pit, on a thick metal beam, hang three different cooking containers. One is a large, square piece of iron that has been flattened out to a level surface. Another is a small, cast iron pot which is used for cooking stews and broth. The last is a rotisserie on which a small chicken carcass rests. In the marble walls there are timber shelves with every type of vegetable in or around the Fringe. Some of the plants are imported from the Citadel, Sur'Kesh, Illium, and a small village in the East named Eden. Near the walls in long, granite planters filled with soil grow moss, elves' ears, which is a special type of leaf, grape and tomato vines, along with the rare strawberry vine scattered into the mixture.
I move over to a bulky wooden box that holds pounds of ice and chilled meat. I grab a small ball of sausage and set it on top of the metal sheet. I take a wooden spatula from a nearby countertop and split up the meat into bite-sized pieces. I grab a couple of potatoes and a large red bell pepper from one of the numerous shelves and place them on a counter. I retrieve a chef's knife, a heavy blade as long as my forearm. I begin to slice the potatoes into little cubes and set them aside for the moment. I core the pepper and give it the same treatment as the potatoes. I grab a glass pitcher from one of the cupboards and fill it with water from a basin that's built into the floor. I then remove the lid from the cooking pot and pour the clear water inside. I set the pitcher back into the cupboard where it originated. From another cupboard I grab a small, rust colored pouch with ground spice powder inside. I walk back over to the pot and sprinkle a plentiful amount into the boiling water. I then find a large cloth, place the cut up vegetables on it, ball the cloth up, and dump the contents into the water. I toss the fabric onto the counter nearby and tend to the rapidly-cooking meat. I maneuver the sausage bits around the metal sheet, making sure they all brown evenly. When that's done, I move the meat over to the pot to cook them in with the spices, red pepper, and potato cubes. I stir the mixture with a wooden ladle. I leave the pot momentarily to grab two glass bowls from a cupboard near the one where I got the pitcher. I measure equal amounts of the breakfast into the bowls and take the pot off of the rack. I find two silver spoons and stick each into their own bowl. I carry the two bowls into the living room and place one onto the main table. I keep the other and take it to my bedroom, where my "sleeping beauty" is resting.
Slowly, carefully, I open the door to the bedroom. My bare feet enable me to tread softly over to the bedside table closest to the slumbering brunette. I inaudibly set the steaming breakfast bowl down onto the dark cherry wood table.
I hear rustling behind me and turn to see Miranda sitting up, resting all of her weight on one arm. She looks at me through hooded lids, her normal glacier blue eyes now a dull, groggy indigo. I notice how seeing her like this makes my stomach feel weightless. I quickly smother the feeling.
"What is that?" Miranda inquired sleepily.
"It's your breakfast," I answer. "I would advise letting it cool down a bit."
Miranda rubs her eyes.
"Hurts, doesn't it?" I ask.
"Like I have bulls trying to crash out of my head," she replies. Miranda gives me an odd look, like she's trying to discern something about me.
"Don't get your hopes up, kid," I state firmly, understanding her expression. "I would love nothing more than to toss your ass out of here so I don't have to look at you."
Miranda rises up the rest of the way, picks up the bowl, and begins to eat. I leave the room to return to the living room and my own breakfast.
I rub my eyes and feel a bit of myself reappear from my behavior. I can't stand being pleasant to anyone, least of all someone who tried murdering me numerous times. I don't remember there ever being a time in my life where I was nice to a single person, not even my parents, though I scarcely remember them as it is. I know I'm going to disregard most of what Thane and I discussed last night. I do not need Miranda's help, loyalty, or trust. And if she insists on trying to kill me? I can ban her from the city. Or I can do something much more permanent.
My gut wrenches at that last thought, a feeling that should never occur within me.
I move my thoughts to something more productive. I set my unfinished meal back down onto the table. I wander into the den, which is to the opposite side of the kitchen and bed chamber. Inside, bookshelves line every wall from floor to ceiling. A near infinite number of books and scrolls rested on the shelves. Sealed away behind hidden barriers were books older than the kingdom itself, dating back two millennia at minimum. On the back wall there is another bay window, identical to the one in my bedroom. In front of it sit a high-backed leather chair and a cherry wood office desk. I move to the desk and have a seat in the chair, looking at the various parchment papers in piles on my desk. I examine the paper placed directly in front of me.
Reading it, I notice that an immense, unauthorized shipment has come into the Varris docks. By the looks of the report, the cargo seems to be imported from a desert city known as Tuchanka, far to the west, near the Citadel. A metropolis overrun by brutal human beings whose only gain is to start fights. Much like the White Star, only a hell of a lot less civilized. The shipment probably consists of bows, arrows, swords, and other weaponry used for starting a war. Which means that if someone in my city is conspiring against me, I need to stop these insurgents before they fail at trying to take over. I snort. Fools. If these people have any common sense, they would know that trying to take over my throne is a futile task, doomed to failure. I should let the morons try anyway, just to see how far they get.
Actually, I believe I'll do just that.
I feel a wicked grin spread across my features.
I pick up another piece of parchment and read it. Apparently, some couple is requesting permission to be wed in Inferno next week. I set it into the already towering stack of denied appeals.
I continue sorting out the papers until I hear a rap on the door.
"Come in," I announce, slightly aggravated. The door opens and I see none other than Miranda. I roll my eyes. "What do you want?"
She simply stands at the door, looking at me.
I ignore her, giving my attention back to the papers in front of me. A sheet with lines upon lines of writing detailed a lengthy assessment of the mercenary groups stationed inside the city. Tensions appear to be rising among the Blood Pack, Blue Suns, Eclipse, and the Talons. Remembering the first report I examined, this might be why there's a large shipment of weapons coming in from Tuchanka. I suppose now I have to summon all of the leaders to Inferno and get them to cooperate. I do not need a war going on in my city.
Miranda clears her throat.
"I asked what you wanted and you didn't respond," I said, my voice low. "Why should I pay attention to someone who won't give me an answer? So, I'll ask again. What do you want, Miss Lawson?" I feel my impatience rising at an alarming rate.
She hesitates before asking, "Why are you being so cold right now? Especially after last night."
I chuckle quietly and rest my chin on my interlaced fingers. "Right now? I am always cold, Miss Lawson. I am always cruel. That is why your notion for me to help people is absolutely ludicrous. I am not a woman of charity. I'm not sure what you remember from last night, but I can assure that it was not me being philanthropic. I do not help people and I do not feel sympathy for those suffering. Now, if you'll excuse me. I have work to do." I return my attention once more to the parchment stacked in front of me.
"You're afraid to care," Miranda utters. "You think it'll make you look weak."
I slam my hands on the dense wood as I stand up.
"You should know not to push someone who is very capable of murdering you," I state threateningly. "If you care about your own health, you'll leave this room and this city."
The woman standing in the doorway appears to consider this. Finally, as though realizing I can very well kill her, she leaves, closing the door soundly behind her.
"About damn time," I drone. I sit back down and resume my work for the better part of an hour. I finally finish organizing, denying, and approving various requests.
When I'm done, I walk out of the office and into the foyer. I grab a crimson sash from the rack near the door to my apartment. I wrap the thick band around my waist, the long ends hanging next to my left leg, matching the length of my shorts. I open the door and step out into the fourth floor hallway of Inferno.
I decide it's time to have a talk with the merc leaders.
"All right, why the hell are we here, T'Loak?" Zaeed Massani demands. The man acts like he has a chip on his shoulder toward everyone. I've grown used to it. He looks formidable, having a scar that curls on his right cheek and turns his eye milky white. He is roughly my height, maybe an inch or two taller, and very bulky in his midnight blue armor. On his arm he wears the emblem of his merc group. On a thick, leather belt around his waist he bears numerous knives and swords.
"Because I fucking told you to be here," I tell him vehemently.
We stare at each other unflinchingly until Massani finally looks away. He crosses his arms stubbornly.
"You know why I'm here," I say, my voice hostile. "I recently got word of a massive shipment of weapons from Tuchanka. I want to know who ordered them and why."
Everyone remains silent.
"Okay," I announce, lowering my voice further. "If you worthless pieces of shit don't tell me, I will mandatorily force all of you to join into one mercenary group and name it Omega. I will make you be my slave army. And anyone who steps out of line will be made into an example."
"Aria," Nyreen mutters. "There's no need for that. You don't have to be so cruel."
I look straight at her as I say, "If you would tell me why I have that shipment coming into my port—"
"It isn't your port, T'Loak," Ganar Wrang growls. "It's Blood Pack's." A giant brute of a man, I know him to hail from Tuchanka. His deep brown eyes practically glowed with malice.
I slowly rise from my bar stool in the club known as Afterlife and calmly stride the short distance to where Wrang is sitting. I shoot my black-gloved handout, grip his thick neck, and begin to squeeze. His tanned skin starts to gain a deep red shade that matches his steel armor. Using the dark energy that lives inside me, I lift him from the ground, his feet dangling a foot from the floor.
"Everything in this city is mine, Wrang," I spit at him through gritted teeth. "This port, all of your territory, all of your mercenaries, all of their 'possessions'," I stab a finger in the other merc leaders' directions. "I own you, all of you. You better fucking start acting like it." I throw him down onto the dirt floor, denting his armor. Flicking some hair out of my eyes, I glare at the other merc leaders.
"The shipment was to be distributed among Eclipse soldiers," Sayn says quietly. I look at him. He's hanging his head, letting his platinum blonde hair fall into his eyes. He's a scrawny thing, skinny legs, skinny arms, even a thin face. His pale yellow armor looks too big on his frame.
"Why?" I question. "Why in the gods' names could you need more weapons than you already own? Are you planning to wage war against the other mercenary groups? Do you hope to gain their forces if your kill their leaders? I will not tolerate this behavior, Sayn. And you know I won't."
Sayn looked guiltier than a temple priest caught in a brothel.
"I see." I sit back down on my wooden bar stool. I signal the bartender, a short pixie of a woman with dirty blonde hair cut off at her slender shoulders. She slides me a crystal tumbler filled with ice and amber liquid.
I picked the glass up and downed an unhealthy amount. I slowly squeeze the goblet, the sound of cracking fine glass resounding near me. Finally, the cup shatters into small, sharp pieces.
"You all have let me down," I grind out. "Even when I had no expectations of you. None at all. Yet you still try to ruin this tranquility we have here. And as punishment, your gangs will all be joined under my flag."
I pull out a pirate captain's pistol from my waistband and shoot everyone but Nyreen Kandros in the forehead.
"You." I point my finger at Nyreen. "You're coming with me."
Gripping her by the arm, I storm out of the building.