Awww, I didn't get up to 33 reviews! Sad panda is me, but that just means that I get to reveal more about Lieutenant Karst in this chapter for the profile.
Mr Wang 330: Get your head out of the gutter. There shall be no lemons today… well, today at any rate. :p In any case, Isara's about to be awake! YES!
DC20: Unfortunately, it'll take me a while before I can get to after the epilogue of the game, because right now I'm only halfway through the game's time, and Isara and Celes still need to have their adventures while the war is still going on.
Rotten-Kraut: Once again… there shall be no lemons… today.
Although maybe I'll say that if there are enough reviews, I'll make one when I get there. :O
More seriously, now our favorite two Lieutenants get to have a little chat, and more. Not that kind of more. STOP THE CITRUS.
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It was with no small amount of agitation that Welkin paced, back and forth, in the upper room of Charles's cottage. It had been mere minutes, but it felt like days.
Alicia watched him tiredly. She rested in a rough wooden chair, trying to exude some measure of calm, but inside she wanted to join him, to get themselves worked into a frenzy, to walk down those stairs, crash through the door, and demand just what was taking so long.
But she knew that such surgery didn't take mere seconds to complete – Fina herself had taken hours to merely stabilize Isara, and they had waited patiently enough for her. Perhaps it was just the fact that this time, Welkin's sister was in the hands of a relative stranger.
She quickly recalled the first - and only - time that Welkin had snapped. When Welkin approached the stairs, a furious tirade had blasted through at him.
"GET AWAY FROM THE DOOR OR ELSE I'LL EVISCERATE YOU WITH THE BLADE IN MY HAND I SWEAR BY VALKYRUR I WILL GET AWAY GET AWAY –"
He had wisely abstained from forcing the issue, and fled like a scolded child. Alicia was centimeters away from hysterics after that.
The strained silence crawled by, second by second. The sun was beginning its journey west, the light of the room fading ever so slightly.
Activity at the cottage's front door; Charles returned from his final rounds in the hamlet, sighing with no small amount of relief as he carefully set down an Imperial rifle in a corner. He was followed by a man in a hooded jacket, who moved with Charles to take their own seats across from the two Gallians.
Welkin jumped at the noise, but was able to keep a handle on his expression as he greeted them with a nod. The hooded man bothered him – just why was that needed inside? – but before he could voice a question, Charles did himself.
"Welkin, Alicia, where's Isara?" He wrinkled his brow, wondering why they weren't staying with the patient they had so obviously worried over before.
"Celes told us he needed to concentrate," Alicia offered, but her own suspicions rose a bit.
"Did he? He hadn't seemed to have that problem earlier –"
"Jacelern always needs perfect working conditions when undergoing complex internal surgery, as opposed to quick treating of wounds. Don't worry, whoever he's working on, they're in good hands," the hooded man interrupted, speaking in a young but roughened voice, most likely one damaged by working in factory conditions.
Charles and the two Gallians nodded, then Welkin suddenly narrowed his eyes. "Wait, Charles, you said you didn't have a surgeon in your town, and then you suddenly did?"
The Darcsen man coughed, glancing awkwardly at the hooded man. Welkin didn't miss the significance of that look, and pressed on.
"I refuse to believe that you'd just come across one all of a sudden. It's too convenient." He tilted his head accusingly. "You wouldn't be hiding something, would you?"
Again the glance. The hooded man stirred a bit before answering for the beleagured Darcsen. "Everyone has secrets," he offered, a bit lamely.
"Welkin, please don't force the issue. Isara's lucky to have one in the first place, and you're questioning the validity of his work?" Alicia chided, not looking up from her lap.
The nature lover halted in his tracks, and stepped away. "I'm sorry," he said, smiling apologetically. "It's probably just nerves."
"Why the nerves?" the hooded man asked.
"You'd be nervous too if one of your family members was undergoing surgery."
"Younger sister?" He spoke with absolute confidence.
The accuracy of the guess set Welkin back on his heels yet again. "How'd you know?" he asked incredulously.
There was an awkward pause, as the hooded man shuffled awkwardly. "… lucky guess." It was an obvious lie.
Welkin thought again. "You… everyone saw that she was a Darcsen. And yet you think to say she's my sister?" He waved at his own face, clearly the result of Gallian blood. "Only a few people know that - and certainly not you."
The atmosphere of the room suddenly dropped below freezing. For almost a whole minute, they faced off, Charles and Alicia watching the two men eye gauge each other as best they could. Welkin was at a clear disadvantage, which he promptly made up for by darting the rifle in the corner.
A second later, the two bystanders had retreated into one corner of the room, while Welkin held the hooded man at gunpoint.
"Take the hood off," Welkin demanded.
The hooded man didn't hesitate to follow, peeling it down. Alicia gasped. He was much older than his voice had given his age to be, and he certainly had never worked in a factory. The man looked like Imperial aristocracy, especially with the set of expensive lenses perched on his hawkish nose. The appearance seemed familiar, and nagged at Welkin, but he dismissed it. There were more important things at stake right now.
The Imperial sighed. "I suppose there's no purpose in pretending anymore, is there?" he said, voice no longer attempting to sound like a Gallian's, instead proudly noble – and definitely Imperial. The man tilted his head. "You know, if you shoot me, Celes is too good of a boy to investigate in the middle of an operation. He'll cure your sister still, but you'll be little more than an animal to take advantage of that fact –"
Welkin snarled. "Don't insult nature." Despite the gravity of the situation, Alicia wanted to smack her head at Welkin's steadfast dedication to his pursuit.
The Imperial calmly steepled his fingers. "Perhaps I should be more accurate. Animals don't kill their own kind –"
"– that's right –"
"– except for mad dogs."
The Gallian lieutenant squared off against his Imperial counterpart, insulted more at the incorrect usage of the term than the insult. "You're wrong. Rabid animals are much more likely to simply find a place to hide and die than hunt down other animals. And besides, even animals will fight to protect their family, and your presence is mostly certainly threatening."
Ceding the point, the Imperial raised his hands in pacification. "You're right there. By the way," he added, "the safety's on."
Welkin blinked. In consternation, he slid his thumb around the grip, failing to find anything but unwilling to let his eyes leave his enemy. "Alicia, can you see it?" he barked, panicking.
"It's near the magazine," the Imperial said evenly, before the former baker could respond.
Welkin found a lever there, paused. "Why'd you tell me?"
The Imperial shrugged a bit. "It hurts me to see someone fail to operate something improperly. Failure of mine."
Welkin checked the lever. It was upwards – off. He clicked it back down –
And suddenly found a handgun sticking into his left eyeball.
"Now that you're properly armed, and we're on even ground, do you mind admitting you're beaten?" The Imperial had slid into his standing position faster than even he could see, dodging past the danger zone after the barrel ended and moving too close for him to possibly make a shot. Welkin could do nothing more than gape at first, but then he smiled, knowing that he still had a trump.
He dropped the rifle just as Alicia jumped for it. It was a flawless catch, and the rifle jabbed into the Imperial's stomach. Fearing for Welkin's life – she couldn't let him get hurt! – she pulled the trigger immediately.
Nothing happened.
Moments later, they were both down, clutching at their skulls in pain from two quick pistol-whips - the handgun was definitely of superior make, as most pistols would have shattered from such harsh treatment. Charles pressed himself against the corner in fear. He hadn't wanted this - he had only brought Lieutenant Karst because the man had suddenly shown up and asked. And now he was about to have the Gallian army breathing down his back, asking why two of their officers had been murdered in his house…
He watched without comprehension as the Lieutenant scooped up the rifle with a single hand, somehow holding it and separating the magazine without dropping either part. "Empty, like I thought. Your balance when you picked up the rifle was off." Dropping both onto the floor, he calmly sat back down again, as if nothing had happened.
Alicia groaned from her position on the floor, and pawed at her equipment – found the hilt of her knife, hiding the movement underneath her body.
"ISARA!" she screamed as she bounced back off the floor again, knife lunging forward. Welkin mirrored her move exactly, his own blade streaking down from an overhand stab.
Lieutenant Karst began a sigh as he spun to the other side of the seat. Pushing it forward in front of Alicia, stopping her in a stumbling crash, he intercepted Welkin's angry stab with a block on the inside of his forearm, knocking his handgun against his wrist, disarming the Gallian who howled in pain. "Not like I even broke anything," he thought to himself as he pushed – not punched or struck, but gently shoved – him away with his other hand, turning to the woman who had just recovered from the obstruction. The knife, still falling, dropped straight into the officer's palm, and streaked forward to meet Alicia's eye.
It stopped just where he wanted it, millimeters away from her pupil, where she froze, unable to think of anything but her upcoming death. He finished the sigh.
When Welkin finally recovered, he froze as well, unwilling to risk the life of his subordinate. "That took you way too long," Lieutenant Karst thought.
The four people stood their positions for a full minute, when the Lieutenant suddenly retracted his weapons, dropping both weapons to his side. With a gentle push, like a parent with a child, he guided Alicia back to Welkin's side. They crouched there, staring into the gun barrel, waiting to die.
Their captor had no such intentions. He flipped both weapons in his hands – including his own handgun – presenting the hilts to the two Gallians. They hesitated, fearing a trick.
"Go on, I couldn't kill either of you if I wanted to."
Slowly, each reached over, Welkin reclaiming his blade, Alicia the gun – which she turned on the Imperial the moment she was out of arm's reach.
"Why?" Alicia strained out.
Lieutenant Karst could only smile, and take his seat again, serene in the face of death. "If I kill you, the Gallian army will know we're here. It is in my best interests that you both live to deliver the opposite message."
"As if we would... and you didn't have to give us your weapon…" Welkin was confused, an often enough occurrence, but never had he expected this.
"Holding a weapon undermines my credibility, which is the only weapon I can use if I want to survive in the end."
It was truth; had he been the one holding the gun, it was doubtful any of them could have concentrated on anything except death, negotiating only to buy time instead of the diplomacy that this strange Imperial was obviously focused on establishing.
Charles took the opportunity to slide along the wall to the Gallian's side. They let him, thinking that no Darcsen would ally with an Imperial for any reason.
"Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Lieutenant Karst, leader of Unit 29-4. We met once in the Kloden."
Welkin gaped. He seemed to be doing that lot these days. Carefully, he offered his own name. "Lieutenant Welkin Gunther, Squad 7 of the Gallian militia."
Moments later, the Imperial Lieutenant had them hanging on his every word as he laid down his situation.
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And so, the beans are spilled! What does this mean? How will our couple-but-still-in-denial react to such news? And more importantly, just what will Isara make of the situation when she regains consciousness?
You'll never know if I don't get my gasoline – ragnoline? – in the form of your responses and words, or in the simplified term, reviews. Also, I'm still waiting on someone to give me that LONG review. Not naming any names… Xanthera. :D But you should take up his example, and leave a nice long response with all your honest opinions, questions, suggestions, and complaints. Did I have a continuity break? A typo? A strangely worded sentence? "It's" instead of "its"? Anything is worth your time, as it improves the quality of the writing for your later reading. So jump to, readers, and REVIEW!
