Round 1: Vigil Vs 016573 [Archive]

Vigil

08-28-11, 10:32 AM

In the middle of August, a sweltering heatwave gripped the island of Corone that week as temperatures soared and the choking humidity became unbearable in cities such as Radasanth. Liam rarely enjoyed plodding through the Dog Days in the city in which he lived, where the rising heat was at its worst and even in his home he felt miserable and oppressed at all hours of the day by forces he could not control. The air stank of the hot, fetid animal and human waste that littered the cobblestone streets and the crowded and busy streets made for tempers to easily flare over sleights that would otherwise remain untested in any other season of the year. The truth was, Liam Duigenan much preferred to spend his summers like much of the other Radasanthians who organized their retreat and fled the misery of the city every year for their summer homes on the western coast. The cool sea breeze and the relaxation provided by the lapping of ocean waves did much to abate the old man's temper and relax him. This sort of yearly retreat he took reminded him greatly of those who lived in London who sought to escape the summer within the depressing city when the repulsive stench of the Thames became its most unbearable when the yearly tide went out.

Still, as the Irishman had trouble concentrating with that which weighed heavily upon his mind and his growing frustration with the oppressive heat, Liam's thoughts would occasionally drift to the desires of being at his summer cottage. The smell of the salt carried upon the ocean's breeze. The feeling of his heart pounding and his rising excitement of battling carp at his usual spot where he would fish every day. However much he tried to relive that fantasy, however, Liam's attention eventually returned to the unpleasant reality that he was no longer at the coast and was in fact in the city he so detested in the summer. Thoughts of paradise only hours away served only to torture and irritate the Irishman, and made him very troublesome to deal with. The only pleasure he took in it was that his misery was shared, and that his peer and fellow councilman, Ian Blighe, wouldn't be enjoying the last remnants of his summer at the coast either.

The two Irishmen stood in the dark seclusion of an alley behind the restaurant of Deflores. They were sure they were alone, and while each man incessantly reminded the other to keep their voices down, the two men found that modest task to become more and more difficult to achieve as their disagreement grew more heated. The fact both of them knew they were in a rush didn't do much to salve tempers as Liam's fateful meeting grew ever closer and his acquaintance was due within the hour.

"Give me your shirt." Liam demanded from his colleague finally, breaking momentarily from their disagreement for something that had just occurred to the old man. He had long abandoned his suit jacket inside and was busy loosening his scarlet crush tie when he finally took it off and shoved it in his pocket. Unbuttoning his collar and beginning to roll down his sleeves, he stopped when his attention returned to Ian who simply blinked and stared at him in mild amusement. Feeling his temper flare, Liam snapped, "Give me your God damned shirt, Ian!"

"You cannot be serious." Ian replied with an air of superiority that irritated the old man. Victorian tradition was not lost on either Irishman, but Liam had often abandoned social formalities for the common sense he had been raised with in the countryside of Ireland and eventually Corone. Marking his height, the councilman sneered at Liam as he took another drag on his cigarette, "You won't even fit in the damn thing."

"Look at me, Ian." Liam offered as he raised his arms and revealed the white shirt that was growing yellow with sweat, "How the Hell am I going to pass myself off when I look like I'm irritated and have run a marathon? I need to look coolheaded and well collected before I meet with him, otherwise its going to be hard to convince him of anything, much less the offer. Now give me your shirt."

Ian Blighe was four or five inches shorter then Liam, and like his colleague dressed like a dandy. He was of light build and looked thin in appearance, but his haughty and pretentious attitude gave him an air of confidence and he practically stank of old cologne and politics. His red hair which had been greased back, became matted and pasted to his head from sweat. He also smelled of cigarettes, a habit he used frequently to calm his nerves, but in conditions like these it did the exact opposite. The sight of the little politician was always unpleasant, but as Liam's gaze was habitually drawn to his fat aquiline nose that made him frequently question the Irishman's true parentage, the old man rarely said anything about it.

At least, not to his face anyway.

Seeing Liam's rising anger and his inability to be convinced to abandon his position, Ian finally conceded and angrily plucked the cigarette out of his mouth, giving it to Liam with a simple request as he began to unbutton his shirt, "Hold this."

Taking the cigarette, the old man took a draw on it as he waited. Feeling the sweet, fleeting comfort of nicotine flood his lungs, Liam inhaled deeply. After awhile as Ian wrestled himself out of his shirt and handed it to Liam, the old man exchanged his cigarette for the new attire and began to unbutton his trousers, pulling up the tails of his shirt before unbuttoning it.

"So have you thought anything about what I said?" Ian asked as he tried to look away from the old man while he undressed.

"What is there to think about?" Liam replied, already knowing it would only serve to irritate his colleague.

"Look, Liam." Ian snapped, "We all read that Cronen fellow's file. Remember? The one that you bribed those pagan monks for when you were so curious as to who you would be matched against. I don't even see why you agreed to this, Liam. That man is a machine. If there's a God on this forsaken bulb they call a planet, you'll listen to reason. Liam, he's going to kill you."

"That's blasphemy, Ian." The old man reminded the councilman as he threw him his shirt and began to dress himself. The old man knew his position was faltering, and the fear that he sought so hard to stomp out that had been left to fester ever since he read his opponent's dossier threatened to overtake him. The file on Joshua Cronen hadn't been particularly specific or thorough in what the man was capable of, but it spoke of the physical attributes the monks had weighed during the same physical assessment they gave every participant of the contest. The results were startling and very unsettling. He wouldn't tire. He was quick. And he possessed an ungodly amount of strength and dexterity. As abnormal as he was, Liam knew of Cronen through reputation. And while he could be a reliable ally, the old man still could not believe he was going to actually fight the man.

"Listen to yourself." Blighe said, interrupting the old man's train of thought. "Do you even know what you're saying? Liam, I'm not just saying this because I'm your colleague. I'm your friend. Listen to me. I know you have pride. Hell, we all do, Liam. But your honor is not something that should overwrite common sense. Just listen to reason, Liam. Take it!"

Liam snorted at the remark of their alleged friendship as he wrestled with the buttons of the small shirt as he tried to button them, "Tight fit."

"You're a stubborn prick." Blighe said angrily before wrestling in his trouser pockets for the crux of his argument. Holding a small, white paper packet he offered it to Liam, "Take it. Hey, don't think of this as weakness. Kings have done this. People in power have done this for ages. What's one little dose going to hurt anything?"

Noticing what Blighe was holding, Liam shoved the little man and jabbed a finger at him, "Put it away." Looking around to make sure they weren't being watched, he angrily whispered, "Put that away before somebody sees you. What if somebody sees you with that?"

Ian smirked at his colleague's reluctance, "What of it? What's the big deal anyway, Liam? I'm giving you an out. Who's going to know? You heard the monks. Any fight, any time. If you get him here, it still counts. Just let him take it and you'll have an edge. The guy looks like one of those addicts anyway."

"How do I look?" Liam replied as he finished, offering himself to his colleague.

"Like an old man wearing a shirt two sizes too small for him?" Ian replied smugly before offering something he had been holding back since the beginning of their argument, "You're about to talk to this guy about taking a dive, and you're too proud to take this because of your honor? Wise up, Liam and do what's good for yourself."

After a moment of considering it, Liam grinded his teeth and said, "Give me back my shirt."

With a sigh of exasperation, the two exchanged clothes again, but this time in silence. When he had his shirt back, Liam rolled up his sleeves to the elbow and buttoned them. After awhile, with the question still hanging in the air, Liam didn't agree with it, but he knew the little man was right. Liam blackmailed, stole, lied and cheated people for the cause all the time. It was a part of politics in the Catholic order, and it was something the Irishman was particularly good at. But try as he might, even if he condoned violence and the wicked things he did to those he labeled as Pagans, his righteousness and feeling of divine right over those he believed to be heretics had its limits. There were some lines even Liam would not cross. The offer Ian had made filled the old man with disgust. He had never poisoned anyone before and the thought of such an underhanded move made even such a man who was as reserved as Liam sickened by the mere thought of the morality of it.

"What is it?" Liam finally said, unable to even look at Blighe as he preferred to stare at the dumpster that settled right next to them.

Showing genuine surprise at Liam's concession, Ian took his chance. "Its called Atropine. It won't kill him, but it is supposed to obscure his vision and mess with his heart. The person I got it from says it gives hallucinations as well. He won't like the light either. Not sure how well it will work on a big guy like that, but once he starts feeling it, you'll know it. Sweaty palms. Anxiety. The works. Excite him and it'll make it run faster to his brain, the man said." Ian explained, as he pulled the packet out and offered it one final time to the other Irishman. "So, do you want it?"

Liam, for whatever pride and honor he could muster didn't say anything. Instead, he accepted the packet and put it in his trouser pocket. Not even acknowledging the exchange, Liam tried to distance himself from it as much as possible. "So did you bet on the winning horse?" Liam asked, trying to clear the air.

Ian snorted as he turned to walk away. "You kidding me? I bet on the other guy. Be seeing you, Liam."

"Goodbye, Ian." Liam replied dryly as he watched the other councilman retreat down the alley and disappear into the crowded streets of the city.

It was still late in the morning and he had some time before his appointment. Following Blighe's exit, Liam look around to make sure he hadn't been watched and walked down the alley. Joining the crowded streets, he walked to the other side of the luxurious restaurant and opened the same door he exited after he had told his waiter he had been taking the air some minutes earlier. The restaurant drew a crowd and was known for its cuisine. Walking across the dark green carpet and into the main dining room, Liam walked back to his table that sat in the middle of the room and took his seat.

Signaling his waiter, the old man smiled as he beckoned. With practiced slowness, for the old man was well aware his thick accent was particularly hard for the natives to understand, he asked for a drink. "Water, please."

"Certainly, sir."

Sitting back in his chair, the old man simply waited. The young man wasn't due for another half hour if he had gotten Liam's letter with a request they met to discuss an offer he had for him. He had asked Cronen to meet him at Deflores, even told him where it was and offered that their dining during lunch was particularly good. However, the uncertainty of his fate within the next couple of hours was disheartening. But somehow amidst the heat and the growing crowd in the restaurant seeking their lunch, Liam sat back and eventually felt his thoughts drift back to his cottage on the coast where beer, a fishing rod and quiet waited for him when this business was over.

(Liam is offered Atropine to use in this fight. I have already purchased it here (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?23409-An-Unusual-Request) before the round, but felt like dressing it up a bit. Blighe has no real part in this fight other than to provide an excuse for Liam to use the poison and provide him means to obtain something he otherwise would never purchase.)