Hi! before we start (I hate doing this, but the summary tab is extremely bried on this site!) I just wanted to post the slightly more lengthy summary and a tiny author's note! So, to begin, I'd like to thank everyone who managed to stick around this far ! thanks, dear readers! anyway, on with the story - Summarized in the most basic way possible, it's a story about a twenty-year-old Kazdel Civil War veteran who goes to Lungmen and has some troubles acclimating to the steady life presented before him. Sprinkle in a too-good-to-be-true offer and a freshly established logistics company, and you get Andy trying to make it big for as long as his deteriorating mental state lets him. (Takes place a few years BEFORE Code of Brawl !) Also, forms relationships with Croissant, tries fixing one with Lemuel (Exusiai), generally has a bad time.
Alright, roll chapter 1:
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Tired was the world.
Tired of the endless storm roaming its barren plains. Of the way-worn sock puppets chasing after treacherous bundles of words, coddled for generations only to rise and drop the shackles of comfort in favor of war-banners and steel.
With each of their steps came a nail driven into the world's heart.
With each of their lies came a trail of mucus spilling from within the core, seeping out into the open.
Bubbling.
Hissing.
End, growing nigh.
Yet, the sock puppets cattily decided to prevail.
To build rafts atop the warm magma.
To plant the seeds on platforms with many legs, to let their cities sprout atop the beasts of restless iron and deathly fumes.
To use the planet's last line of defense as fuel for their own, sicklish needs. To lock the killing essence inside machines of everyday use, to cast away anyone grasped by their cancerous vines, which hungrily latched onto any glimmer of life, eager to dim it out.
Fortresses built on suffering and pain.
One such settlement stood out from the sea of stranded souls. A city-state far more independent than any other, yet spreading its roots all throughout the land. Brightening the way onward with glowing eyes of neon, pushing the earthly mass aside with thousands, upon thousands of steel spades and paddles.
Biting into the world's skin with each miniscule move, each attempt at avoiding Mother Nature's righteous wrath. Crawling through the night like a vicious beast stalking its prey, yet also tranquil and mild as a mountain. The gentle giant tore through the land, onward, towards a destination revealed only to a few, chosen by the steel creature itself.
Upon the fields of steel laid a bustling forest of sky-scraping towers, split with clearings of artificial green, crossing a fine line between the high life and the mucus-splattered mires that spread for miles on end - the treacherous slums. Endless rivers of concrete connected it all into one, living, breathing organism. Split into sections, united under one name:
Lungmen.
Taking a walk through the city, one might find themselves traversing the lively streets of the fancier sections, passing by towers of glass shooting high up into the sky, bright neons, eager to sell you a finball special, and the never ending traffic jams, with each vehicle wailing away in impatient unison. Be careful not to get too lost in the artificial lights, or you might miss your turn and stumble into one of the shady alleyways hiding beneath the pretty surface.
Shabby residential blocks, all with hundreds upon hundreds of empty eyes watching your every step. A few shady scowls from the rag-wearing, oripathy ridden slum dwellers might encourage you not to dawdle in their humble abode for too long, unless you'd like to find yourself bleeding out in some rusty garbage chute. Delve too deep, you may stumble upon a circle of drunkards, eager to squeeze the blood from your body to the tune of a chorus made of metal pipes clanging against bone.
Hurrying off, hearing bottles breaking behind your feet, typical Lungmen swears being thrown at your head, one could scurry away into the copper-smelling industrial area, where grandiose huts of twisted steel and high-rise chimneys line the empty streets.
Old, forgotten fields of ironworks, massive warehouses with boarded up windows, thick gas pipes running along the streets like a bed of snakes, slithering away into the safety of the shadows cast by an array of heavy-duty silos. Bathed in the orange light of the many lamps scattered all throughout the area in an ill-considered attempt of moderating crime rates, one might stumble through the chilly night, followed by an army of shadows growing tall.
In a feeble attempt of keeping one's liver inside their body, they might turn to one of the grimy establishments housed underneath half-broken neon signs promising a warm, authentic Yanese meal for chump change.
In one of such places, one may find a tiny canteen with barely enough furniture to qualify as a restaurant. Each piece permeated with a heavy dousing of cigarette smoke, cheap alcohol and energy drinks, it could bring memories of rowdy college years or early-morning construction work, depending on the person.
Behind a sturdy counter, a tiny, loud-mouthed man of Oni heritage stood on duty, scanning the interior for any potential customers, boring his hawk-like eyes into the establishment's door. One may stroll up to the counter server and bend beneath his furious glare, followed by a string of accusatory statements in the great language of Yan, for coming in to order right when they're about to close.
Or, instead, one may venture deeper into the establishment.
One might pass by the lazy cooks in the little kitchen behind, fighting flames with woks of cast iron and killing boredom with cigarettes, breeze past the industrial-sized containers filled with various beast meats, and eventually reach the miniscule dishwashing area.
And there, with the lights turned out, amidst complete and utter darkness, they would find themselves staring at a pair of gray wings made of dim light, belonging to a short, slim angel.
With his back turned towards the newly appeared guest, the angel kept on working, lazily spraying each plate with water and soap, brushing a rugged sponge against the surface until the soy stains had finally disappeared. His hair, an untamed forest of gray curls, all messily tied up and hidden beneath a see-through dishwasher cap, would occasionally spill from beneath, causing a tiny sigh of annoyance, before being tucked right back in.
He tapped his halo, upon feeling the radiance dimming, encouraging the Lawful spirit to light up his work station once more. It begrudgingly listened, casting a pale afterglow onto the mountain of dirty dishes piling up by his side. Maybe he should've kept it dim.
"Ahem."
A stubby switch flicked. The room suddenly filled with a sea of cheap LED light.
The young Sankta turned, startled by the visitor's sudden entrance. With a bare hint of a smile, his tired eyes gazed upon the Ursus youth that had just interrupted his dishwashing ritual, still blinking to get used to the unexpected brightness.
With a gentle frown, the angel averted his gaze, focusing back on the unwashed dishes and mumbling. "Dani, knock next time, please."
The short haired Dani gave a chuckle. "What are you, a vampire? Can't handle a little light? I thought I'd be doing you a favor, to be honest. Provide some entertainment."
"Yeah, you can provide entertainment without giving me a heart attack next time."
"Mmmmhmm." He threw over his shoulder, already struggling to slide on his own dishwashing cap. "How long since Li left? My bet's on…" His eyes hid behind their lids, tongue stuck out on its own. "... A good two and a half hours."
"Close." The angel let out an unamused snort, scrubbing off a particularly stubborn piece of burnt rice from a pan. "Been sitting here on my own for the past four. It's like he never even showed up at all."
Dani giggled, throwing on a pair of gloves and cracking his knuckles with a few unpleasant snaps. His legs lazily dragged him towards the dishwashing station, making himself comfy next to the Sankta.
"Bound to happen when you're the owner's son. Gimme some of that." His fingers slithered towards a bottle of soap by the angel's side.
"Bound to happen when you work such a shit job." A tiny flicker of light played at the gray halo above his head, visible causing him a slither of pain. "... "Shit" is a swear word now, imagine that." Another flicker graced his bright ring. "Okay, I get it! Law…"
Dani picked a few plates for himself, scrubbing the sweet and sour residue off their surface. "Good thing my dad's an Ursus, not one of you's. Damn thing would've driven him insane, I swear. It's like he was born slinging curses…" To demonstrate, Dani threw around a few swears in Ursus, making sure to accentuate and drag out their heavy vowels.
Gray hair gave a shrug, with his eyes bored into a piece of leftover tofu clogging up the sink. "Yeah, It runs in the family, apparently. You're not exactly all that holy."
He rolled his eyes. "Says who, mister ex-mercenary? Come on."
"Without "mister ex-mercenary" your sorry ass would die of boredom." The angel's gloved arms sank elbow-deep into the soapy water, struggling to pull the tofu out. "Come on…"
"Yeah. I'm not saying I wouldn't." Dani's half lidded eyes shifted to watch the Sankta's struggle, a certain hint of amusement creeping onto his smug face. "Speaking of…"
"Speaking… Of…?"
Pop!
The tofu came free, causing a whirlwind to appear at the bottom of the sink, sending the entire pool of water down the drain. The angel threw it over his shoulder, right into a bin.
"Speaking of, got anything interesting? Haven't heard a good story from you in a while." Dani couldn't hide his growing excitement, leaning against the edge of the sink. "You know, since it seems like you'll be stuck with me for a while, anyway…" He pointed to the ridiculously large pile of dirty dishes in front.
The angel gave a weary sigh, staring at his own reflection in one of the plates. Spotless, as clean as can be. The same couldn't be said about him, though. Purple bags underneath his eyes, lids almost threatening to close on their own… "... Sure. I feel like I'd fall asleep otherwise."
Dani excitedly grasped another plate, messily spraying it all over with soap. "Yeah? So what've you got tonight, ah? 'Cause last time, we stopped at…"
"... At my meeting with that crazy-ass bit-..." The angel cut in, cutting himself off before the ring of light could send a shiver of pain sliding down his spine. "... That insane broad."
"Yeah, her! What was her name, again?" Dani tilted his head, his memory a little foggy.
"That's the thing about the Sarkaz, they don't usually do names. Can you believe that? Running around without a proper name, just some letter to yourself…" The man scoffed, sliding a perfectly spotless plate onto the clean pile. "... That moron's name was "W". Like, "double-you." Really annoying, sometimes."
"Slides off the tongue like a sea urchin." Dani threw in, imagining a sea urchin's spikes tearing through some poor guy's soft tongue.
"Mmmm. It really matched her "personality", though. Like talking to a lit firework." He shuddered and threw away a piece of fried fowl stuck to the plate. "Even right when we met, I got hit with a barrage of slurs. And some burning merc lines."
"Merc lines?" Dani perked up.
"Merc lines. They were, like… Oh, there you go, you got me going, again." The angel chuckled, taking a deep breath and letting his eyes rest. "You're doing this on purpose."
Dani returned his smile, beaming innocently. "Doing what?"
"That! Getting me to explain every little detail."
"So? Don't you like babbling about it?" His head tilted, smile as bright as ever.
"Some of it? There's also all the death and misery and sleeping in the mud which I omit, usually." Over the angel's mind, a storm of dark thoughts had suddenly formed, dragging it back into a pit of unpleasantries.
"Oh, come on. Just explain the damn merc lines, "ex-merc."
Gray-head sighed. There was no escaping this nosy twat.
"Merc lines. How can you not know what merc lines are? Merc lines… Merc lines were a privately owned organization of cheap public transport that ran across Kazdel during…"
And there he went, again.
With each word spilling from his mouth, Dani's smile only grew wider. Like an encyclopedia page, curly-head kept spewing barely believable nonsense about his past. Each little detail, each trigger pull, each originium charge set off, nothing would go unmentioned. Only the most personal and tragic of events, the cold nights, the intimate moments spent staring at a photograph, imagining a red hallway leading him towards a place of pure, inner warmth. He had to amuse his only listener. War, war and more war, the explosions, the strange characters he's met, the lands he's traveled through, the promises made and broken, gifts exchanged and lost, each kill acquired, each poker hand played, each girl spoken to and each day survived.
Neither of them had really noticed when exactly the pile of dirty dishes evaporated, a clean mountain of soap smelling perfection having taken its place.
"... And so, I got hit in the chest, then. With a bolt."
"Ah!"
"But I had a smoke grenade in my coat's pocket!"
"Ah?"
"And it stopped the arrowhead."
"Aah!" Dani couldn't help but grin even further, a smirk plastered over his messily shaven face. "So, you survived?"
"I… What?" The angel narrowed his eyes. "Wouldn't be here if I didn't, no?"
"Who knows? With the kind of stories you're telling me…" Seeing his friend's annoyed expression, Dani giggled and flicked his hand, dismissively. "I'm kidding! Kidding. I believe you. Most of it, anyway."
"Yeah, it's… I know how most of it sounds. But, oh, well-..." A distinct beeping sound interrupted his interlude. His eyes sought out a digital watch stuck to his left wrist, hidden underneath the rubber gloves. "... Law, it's already three in the morning."
"Ah. There goes my story." Dani blew a raspberry and leaned against the sink. "Clocking out?"
"Of course. I'm not staying even a second longer than I have to." He was already on his way to the door, having thrown off the gloves and dishwashing cap. "That's that, see ya, Dani."
"Yeah, see ya…" The youth raised his hand to wave him off, but a sudden stroke of clarity hit him like a freight train. "Wait!"
"...?" The angel turned in the door.
Dani tapped his finger against his forehead. "I just remembered. Have you thought about… You know?"
"The…" His eyes narrowed, a claw machine prowling through the empty fields of his mind, trying to grasp the related memory. "... Oh. The docks?"
"Uh-huh." Dani gave a flimsy nod. "There's still a spot."
The angel let out some air from his lungs and tapped a finger against his stubble. "Yeah… I've been thinking about it, but I dunno. Need to sleep on it some more."
"Yeah, well…" The Ursus shrugged and turned back to a newly appeared pile of dirty dishes. "... Don't sleep on it for too long. Deliveries are serious business, y'know."
"Yeah, yeah… See-ya, Dani." He threw back, already making his way through the freezer-ridden hallway.
"See ya, Andy!"
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The youth's voice resonated throughout the kitchen, as the ex-merc passed by the empty friers, docile woks and full ashtrays. His nose scrunched at the smell, bringing back a stream of strangely nostalgic, yet painful memories. A certain room in Laterano, taped over with yellow rolls of doom.
Andy passed through the dining area, meeting and exchanging a few words with his Oni employer ("Clocking out." "什么？所有的碗都洗了吗?" "What?..." "你应该在下班后留下来，你这个无用的害虫!" "I'm not staying after hours, fuck you! [Ow!]"), before bursting through the tiny establishment's door, finally set free from the late night chains that bound him.
Amidst the soft, orange light beaming off the countless streetlamps towering over the sea of pavement, Andy took a deep breath, soaking in the early morning breeze. It smelled like motor oil and exhaust fumes.
He coughed a little, wrapping his tattered, old coat just a tiny bit tighter around himself. There never was much point in dawdling, not at this hour.
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Step after step, his feet led him towards a certain destination, passing by locked up scrap yards, fields of warehouses sprawling on for miles, each and every one even older and more rusted than the last. His hands tightened into fists in his pockets, keeping every fleeing bit of warmth to himself. Wherever the city was at the moment, Andy hated it. Should've picked somewhere with a warmer climate, that moron in charge.
It's not the person that chooses a city, but the city that chooses them. Such was his fate, wandering the empty, dark streets at night, passing by massive silos filled with Law knows what and shady alleyways, spotting the occasional lifeless body here and there.
A certain sound spiked his interest. The roar of a thousand engines, barely audible from this far.
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Away, a few streets north laid a massive dock. Not any dock, though. Lungmen's own Motorized Cargo Harbor, the very center of each and every traveling merchant's and trans-country logistics operative's hopes and dreams. He could see the beaming lights from this far away, the massive transport hub standing out like a diamond amidst a trash pile. Massive cranes sticking far beyond these dull warehouses and factories, constantly operating, unloading massive landships, moving trucks from bay to bay, loading containers into endless mountains of steel, terraforming an industrial world of their own.
He stopped for a moment, to take it all in. He wasn't necessarily interested in being a blue-collar dockworker, far from it. He wasn't interested in many things at all, nowadays. Just trying to make it through the bleak days.
Still, it seemed better than dishwashing. Dani worked there, too.
He'd have to sleep on it.
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Step, step, step.
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The scenery shifted. Gone were the warehouses, steam filled streets of orange light and a copper aftertaste lingering in the air. Now, massive, shapeless blocks of concrete laid before him, all lined up together, perfectly to the very last millimeter. Designed by someone who seemingly really hated his fellow man and made sure to cram as much human mass into the tiniest space possible, they towered over the endless fields of dry cement, silently ruling over the industrial complexes.
Andy dragged himself through the stuffy estate, finding his corresponding door. With an unpleasant buzz, the locks opened, letting him onto the staircase.
A cage of shapeless, colorless concrete. At least the stairs had some defined contours.
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Step, step, step.
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All the way up to the seventh floor, a humorous coincidence. When renting out the place, he didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
The door to his apartment swung wide open with an unpleasant creak. With another, it closed, leaving him completely in the dark, his wings and halo growing increasingly dim.
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Flick.
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It took the ceiling lights a few flickers to finally stay on for good. Dubious creatures.
Andy threw the military jacket off his weary body, heading straight for the kitchen. Dirty dishes piling up in the sink, (not worth washing, not for free!) mountains of takeout boxes scattered all over the place. His tired eyes scanned his ice box, looking for anything even half edible. Some leftover noodles and half a liter of hard liquor.
The perfect dinner.
Or, should it have been considered breakfast, instead? Andy pondered the thought, making his way to the living-bedroom. With dirty clothes scattered on nearly every possible surface, he felt right at home. What else could he have ever needed? A box for the pile of ammunition messily stashed underneath a coffee table? A sheathe for the combat knife embedded in the tabletop? A safe for his guns, propped up against the window? Or maybe a few frames for the photographs messily glued to the wall right next to his couch-bed? Nothing, absolutely nothing. He already had everything. Maybe except an amplifier for the guitar pitifully resting against the top of his box TV.
It was a problem for another day.
His messy curls dug into the couch's headrest, a long, drawn out sigh escaping his lips. With a flick of a remote, the TV came to life, buzzing and flickering, showing more static than anything. It was just background noise, anyway.
His lips latched onto the bottle, feeling the burning substance sliding down his aching throat. How nicely it cleansed his stomach, washing the industrial aftertaste from his gullet.
How nicely it emptied his head of any thoughts.
The noodles were cold. Microwave was busted.
Yet, the alcohol burned hotter than anything else. Rampaging across the vast, open fields of his mind, washing away the thought-salt sprinkled in between the folds of his brain, replacing it with an innocently serene feeling of utter bliss. Gone were the memories, the guilt, the fear and worries. All that remained was one, happy mercenary.
He was there, again. In his own, happy place.
Somewhere where he mattered. Where he was someone more than a dish pig. A swine of war. A true mogul of the battlefield.
His fingers shot forward, reaching for the photograph taped to the wall.
There they were. Guns aimed high, blade raised. A sea of black hair cascading down the devil's stoic face, a grin plastered over the angel's.
Andrew Ricketts, the half a million shekel merc.
How long has it been since anyone wanted to take his head?
Two full years.
His hair grew out. A stubble formed at his chin.
His eyes grew sad and tired. Even more sad and even more tired than they had already been.
Who was he, really?
Here, no one. Absolutely no one.
A fleeting memory. A sock puppet, bleeding away in the gutter each day, voluntarily pouring poison into his own veins each night.
His frail fingers reached for the other photograph. He tore it off.
Three, bright, innocent souls. He couldn't look himself in the eyes. Couldn't ever replicate that smile. Couldn't look at the two girls, couldn't bring himself to think of where they could have possibly gone. Red, blue and gray. Three souls wiped off the face of Terra.
All gone, passed with the wind.
His throat hungered for another sip of the burning substance. His mind protested when the last drop spilled to the floor. Along with the alcohol, a trail of tears reached the dirty carpet. With nothing else but the TV lighting the room, its static slowly drowned in a sea of uneven, shaky sobbing.
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A soft breeze played with his hair, sending loose curls from his bangs flying into his eyes. Andy squinted and brushed them back, tapping his messily tied ponytail to make sure it stayed in place. A hint of motor oil seeped into his nostrils.
"Hey, mister ex-merc."
That familiar voice shot into his head, as a short-haired figure clad in denim overalls strolled up to him from behind a massive shipping container.
"Hey." Andy took a long glance at the massive crane protruding from the asphalt before him. With dozens of similar steel-boxes hanging from its many arms, bathed in the mid-day sun, he couldn't help but admit before himself that it did seem kind of impressive. "Busy day?"
"Not at all." Dani flicked his hand, raising the other to point at a few landships in the distance, stranded atop a pile of steel, sparks flying from beneath their metal bellies. "Doing some renovation work for the fleet, that's all. I know what you're asking for, though." His grin grew smug.
"Do you?"
"Of course! My masterful manipulation had finally paid off and you've finally decided to ditch that Yanese food joint!" He spew out, excited beyond reason.
Andy raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Yeah, you got me. Woo-hoo." It came out without even a slight hint of enthusiasm.
"Mmmhmm! Of course I did. I know exactly who you need, right now." Dani nodded. "And I'll be happy to lead you straight to him!"
Him? Andy tilted his head. "Who?"
"Who? The boss, of course!" He giggled a little, as a small convoy of Sargonian trucks passed right by them, spilling fumes as they went. Dani coughed a little, dispersing the smoke with his hand. "... Животные. Anyway, come on."
Andry draggled behind the youth, taking in the sights Lungmen's Motorized Cargo Harbor had to offer. The uneven hills of containers, stretching out for miles, workers like ants, tending to each and every one of them with care. A middle aged, thinning Ursus operating a forklift rode past, waving his thick arm around, holding onto his dock worker cap. Dani waved back. "Увидимся! See ya, Petrov!"
Andy walked the forklift driver all the way back to some garage with his gaze, blinking a few times. "Quite the little community you got here." He said, casually, and fixed his coat's collar, patting down the lapels to make himself look at least half presentable.
"Oh, you'll see everything when we get there, really. Don't get used to it, though." The young Ursus chuckled, as the two approached a mountain of rusty, old containers piled messily atop each other, connected via a system of rope bridges and ladders. It sat comfortably in the very deepest corner of the entire motorized harbor, hugging the tall walls separating it from the rest of lungmen and the empty, barren wildlands that laid beyond.
Andy gave the pile of rusty metal a skeptical look. "That's where the boss resides?"
"Uh-huh." Dani shrugged. "Mr Duflot is a rather modest man. You'll see, you'll see…"
"Duflot? That's his name?"
"Uh-huh. Gods, you didn't even bother to check his name beforehand? Oh, Andy…"
Dani chuckled and patted the angel on the back, leaving him rather confused. Their hands and legs latched onto the ladders, scaling the strange display of industrial art. Andy shuddered a little as they passed the many wobbly bridges connecting the steel summits together. Finally, they stopped in front of a container far larger and older than any piece of this weird structure, connected to a few others stacked on top. Dani shot Andy a beaming smile and nodded.
"That's it. Best of luck on your interview, then." His smile, as bright as the sun shining from above, was contagious. Andy tilted his head.
"Interview?"
"Yeah? You think, what, that you can just waltz in, all nilly-willy and get a job without an interview? C'mon, Andy…" He chuckled and shook his head. "But no worries, I know you're gonna crush it, Mr ex-merc."
"..."
Andy nodded and turned towards the rusty doors. Dani gave him an encouraging nudge.
"..." He took a few steps forward and knocked on the metal. It resonated throughout the entire structure.
"Please, come in!"
A cheery voice came from the inside, oozing with sweetness. Dani gave the angel one last thumbs up, before he disappeared in the rusty abyss.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
A wall clock, hidden from his sight, kept beating out a familiar rhythm. Andy took a look around, taking in the shockingly cozy interior. Despite the hundreds of boxes stacked atop one another, the "room" had a strangely warm, calming feel to it. Soft curtains draped over most of the storage units hid the ugly, cheap, wooden facades, burying them underneath layers of fluff and warmth. A few small couches laid scattered around the waiting area, as if messily thrown around by the interior designer, like a few pairs of dice.
"Here! Up here, Andrew!"
That same voice, cheery, yet permeated with a hint of snark and superiority. Andy let his gaze fall onto a small stairway made entirely of tightly sealed wooden boxes, a few red carpets messily thrown over them. With each step, a cloud of dust arose from within the covering, dissipating into the air as quickly as it had appeared.
Finally, making it to the second floor, Andy found himself staring at a wide, mahogany door. It seemed a bit familiar.
…
Knock, knock, kn-...
"Yes, Andrew, I know you're there! Come in, come in."
He felt a certain warmth arising around his cheeks, painting them just a bit red. He pushed the door aside and entered.
Before his eyes laid a small office, entirely located within just a single cargo container. The metal walls had been entirely covered with wooden planks and fluffy rugs hanging from the ceiling, each of them picked to complement the others, giving off a forcefully potent warmth. In the middle of it all stood a massive desk made from some darker shade of wood, gold accents playing at its corners and edges. Scattered all over the desk and the place in general were tons upon tons of papers - various scrolls, parchment, contracts, heaps of checks…
"Andrew! How nice to finally meet you."
Behind the desk, spilled comfortably in an absolutely massive leather chair laid a sizable, (as if not to say outright "fat") mass of flesh, leather and cashmere. Atop their head, a few strands of hair laid combed over their balding plains of skin, a pair of equally hairless Feline ears protruding from the sides. A great, wide smile stretched out on their face, welcoming the angel, as the man's eye followed his every move from behind a pair of brass spectacles.
Andy gave a small nod. "Good day, Mr Duflot."
"Good day it is! Please, Andrew, take a seat."
His massive arm clad in cashmere pointed towards a tiny chair in front of his desk. Andy politely nodded and took a seat.
It felt quite uncomfortable. Wonder why.
"Andrew Ricketts, is it?" The man leaned back in his chair, comfortably crossing his arms and gracing the boy with his warm smile yet again.
"Yes, sir." Andy nodded once more, eyes still somewhat running around the room, across the endless bookcases, the exotic plants sprouting from expensive terracota…
"Word of you flew into my tiny office as soon as you decided to grace us, Lungmenites with your presence!" He tapped a few notes to his side, sliding open a notebook. "The million shekel man, huh?"
"Half a million" Andy corrected him, crossing his legs, uncomfortably.
"Half a million, of course!" Duflot nodded again, brushing back the remnants of his hair. "And what brings this half a million shekel man into my humble abode?"
Andy felt a lump forming in his throat. Why was he even here, anyway?
"I, uh… I heard you were looking for a hand with deliveries."
"That, we are! Are you sure this is your fate, Andrew?" Duflot tilted his greasy head to the side. "To become a union man?"
"Union?..."
"The Motorized Harbor-workers Union, Andrew!" His voice kept seeping with that incredible sweetness, as if he was explaining something to a little child. "The one which I am in charge of!" He added, proudly.
"... I, uh… I don't know much about unions."
"Oh, it's simple, Andrew! A union is a bond formed between the workers and their elders! That's me! Believe it or not, I used to be a worker at some point, too." He flicked a framed black and white photograph on his desk towards Andy. There, a supposedly young Duflot stood proud, holding onto a large sledgehammer, his glorious mane only matched by his glistening muscles. "Ah… Those times, that was way before the invasion, too. Anyhow, no getting sidetracked!"
He tapped the photograph once more and flashed Andy yet another killer grin.
"In simple terms, Andrew, as a leader of this union, it is my moral obligation to make every and each blue collar Ursus, Feline, Durin, Perro, Lupo, Vouivre…" There, he went on, listing the many races united under his union. "Even Sarkaz and Sankta as rich as the top executives living large in the tallest skyscrapers of Section One in the financial district! And provide some healthcare norms."
He dutifully nodded. Andy tilted his head a tiny bit.
"That sounds… Good?" His mind really came blank. He was sold the second he stepped in, this felt better than being a dishwasher for the rest of his life, anyway. "... Can I join?"
"Of course, Andrew!" The mass of cashmere shifted, tapping their glasses flat to their face. "... But, will it satiate your ambitious hunger?"
Andy blinked.
"What?"
"Dear Andrew, let's face it -" He joined his hands together, smiling softly. "You're a mercenary! A killer! A hot-blooded rascal!" A giggle left his lips, as Andy blinked a few more times. "Just look at all the natural energy washing off of you! I almost felt like going for a run the second you stepped foot in my office!" He pointed to his face, the bags under his eyes and reddened eyes.
Slowly, very slowly, Andy nodded.
"Oooookay?"
"What I'm trying to say, Andrew, is that I've read up a bit on you. You might not have a traditional CV, but you surely have one born from word of mouth."
"Uh-huh."
Duflot leaned over the desk, grinning excitedly. "You're a wild card, Andrew! A real man of ambitions! Will a lowly work union seriously be enough to hold you down and force you to settle in place? I mean, one day, you could be working for me, having tea with little Dani, another, you could be off to Kazdel, to reclaim Her Majesty's throne, or something!" He chuckled, before turning serious for a moment. "May her soul rest in peace, of course."
Andy nodded. "Of course."
"But!" The smile was back, even more potent than before. "... But, Andrew. What if you had something that bound you to stay nice and civilized? Not to say that you are not, you're doing very good as a member of society! Good job!"
Andy felt his cheeks heating up once more. He nodded.
"Thank you."
"Say… Transport, you said, yes? Logistics?"
Andy gave a nod.
"Andrew, I have a proposition for you."
His sausage-like fingers reached into the depths of his desk, pulling a large piece of fancy-looking paper from within.
"This here, is a check for seventy-five thousand Lungmen Dollars. If you promise to use it to start a company catering towards the logistics needs of the people of Lungmen, I will be more than happy to hand it to you."
The check waved alluringly in his hand. Andy opened and closed his mouth a few times.
"... Y-... You're giving me seventy five thousand LMD?" He needed to make sure it wasn't just the hangover working its magic.
"Seventy five thousand LMD, that is correct, Andrew. IF you promise what I ask of you." His smile stretched out even further, nearly knocking the tiny glasses off his face. "It seems like a fair deal, to me."
"... And you want NOTHING else in return…?"
"What I want in return is for you to settle down, Andrew! I want you and your newly established company to flourish, I want you to nurture it like a little plant someone from Durin gifted you, making you feel obliged to not let it die!" He gave a hearty chuckle, clutching onto the lapels of his expensive suit. "Of course, what I also want is for our organizations to keep a friendly bond between them! Two organizations, both equal, working towards a common goal - making the everyday man rich! But other than that..." He pointed to two pens on his desk. "Say, maybe throw our contracted deliveries to the top of your priority list sometimes…" One of the pens moved over the other. "Or accept an invitation for a cup of tea, from time to time!" Once again, he smiled, flashing the angel all of his perfectly white teeth.
Andy was left absolutely floored. In his hands laid the check for seventy five thousand LMD, so soft and delicate, like a wounded pigeon.
"I… I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything, Andrew! What you have to do, however, is get out there and make this logistics company a reality! Come on! Chop, chop!"
With a few giggles, Duflot leaned back in his chair, causing the leather to stretch with a few wails of pain. The angel couldn't stop the genuine, beaming smile from creeping onto his face.
This was actually happening. He was asked to become someone.
"... Thank you, Mr Duflot."
"Don't thank me, Andy! Thank yourself, you hot-headed mess!"
Amidst his chuckles, amidst the fluffy rugs and warmth assaulting all his senses, Andy stood up and gave one last, polite bow.
.
.
.
Making his way down the crate-stairs, he felt as if he was floating. When the bright sun hit his face, he grasped the metal door behind him, to make sure he wouldn't fly away.
Dani, sitting propped up against the container, stood up, and slithered over to the angel.
"And? How did it go? Did you get the job?" His eyes gleamed with excitement. "Are we co-workers…?"
Andy shook his head a little, still staring at the massive check in his hands.
"I… Don't think so. I'm starting my own company, though, apparently."
Dani dimmed.
"Oh! Oh."
"..."
"... What company?"
"Logistics."
"Huh. Logistics."
His fingers scratched against his chin.
"You got a name in mind?"
The angel gave a tiny nod, eyes glued to the number 75000 lazily written on the check.
"... Pacific Empire."