{Theme Song: Hey Little World, Hives}
Current Time
Location: Muchovan Camp, Effenta
“Cringe, sir, we have another Effentan wishing to trade
information.” He barely even glanced at
the underling. This made the third turncoat
today – his reputation won him battles, but that hardly meant each
weasel deserved his personal attention.
“A woman this time,
and she’ll only talk to you.” It was the
snigger that caught his attention and finally brought his gaze to rest on the
self-important little man.
Okay, so in reality he wasn’t little – he was a towering,
hulking mass, but that frankly just added to his insignificance in Cringe’s eyes. He already had plenty battering rams. The man, Cringe couldn’t currently remember
his name, reinforced this opinion by attempting
intelligent speech.
“Perhaps she has
access to their laundry and can add some itching powder to the soap,” the
underling commented in a loud stage whisper, snorting at his own “wit”.
“Well done,” Blustering
Bigot. Cringe covered his disdaining
sneer with a predatory grin, staring the other man down until the amusement
left his face and he started to twitch nervously. Then he stared some more until finally the
idiot took the hint, muttered something, saluted and scurried away like the rat
he was. “Imbecile.”
Leaving aside the fact that Effentan women were commonly in
command, the moron didn’t seem to realize his joke had strategic merit –
uncomfortable soldiers would be tired, distracted and more easily defeated. It was always
a better plan to attack defenseless supplies rather than well-armed warriors,
but of course that wasn’t the Muchovan
way.
“Was that really necessary?” asked Osprey, his second in
command.
“Yes,” Cringe retorted shortly. Osprey was the golden boy. He was honest, respectful and made Mucho
women swoon. He could smooth all the
feathers Cringe went out of his way to ruffle.
Cringe really wished he wouldn’t.
“This is the first woman turncoat. Most are smart enough to realize they don’t
want to be Mucho. Sure does limit the
dating pool,” Cringe remarked with an exaggerated sigh. Osprey simply raised a brow, used to his
commander’s odd sense of humor. “Bet
this one’s a looker.” His tone suggested
anything but. Cringe motioned invitingly
for Osprey to question this one.
“I’m not you.” Osprey
clearly felt this shouldn’t need stating.
“Fine. Duty calls.” Cringe lifted his chin briefly in what passed
as his friendly goodbye.
Except this one wasn’t a dog at all. Effentans were a stunning race: tall, dark and graceful. This one also had hair the color of rubies. While acknowledging none of that mattered,
Cringe still appreciated a work of art…even if he had to take it apart.
“Welcome. Enjoying
your stay?” he greeted cheerily, causing the woman to jerk when he entered the
tent.
“You’re the
Commander? As I told the last lackey,
I’ll only speak to Cringe, not housekeeping,”
the prisoner remarked, disdain positively dripping from her tongue. She’d recovered quickly. Oh, he liked this one – too bad she was a
back-stabbing opportunist.
“I’m as close as you’ll get,” he replied flippantly. “So, how do you plan on helping me today?” This elicited a flare of her nostrils,
irritation, but she didn’t dismiss him.
Instead she carefully considered, assessing him for a long minute with
wide, unblinking emerald eyes.
“I don’t trust Muchovans.
You want to bargain, it’s just you and me,” she stated, directing a
sneer at the other guards. This made
Cringe smile.
“Oh, Muchovans should never be trusted.” The others left at the dismissive thrust of
his chin – his not friendly goodbye.
They were alone now.
“Neither should Effentans.”
And her ropes fell to the floor…
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