Chapter 21: Loose Guard.

Chapter 21: Chapter 21: Loose Guard.

"You’re the worst."

Albi raised an eyebrow, glancing down to where Montrel and Yaka were lounging quite amiably against the doorframe of Khobi’s room –the former looking incredibly put out, and the latter looking like he’d been suffering through said pouting for a reasonable amount of time already. Yaka swatted Montrel half-heartedly from his side of the door frame and glanced up at their comrade apologetically.

" –Quit your complaining," he snorted with a roll of his eyes, "Mural and Frecha already promised to save us some food."

"I don’t see why Frecha can’t be on guard duty," Montrel snorted hotly, "He doesn’t even like parties." He gestured up at Albi accusatively, "The party of the year, and this guy comes along and rubs it in my face that I’m not going!"

"Captain’s orders," Albi pointed out, "He wanted me to come check on you before I headed down."

"Yeah, yeah, enjoy your stinking party..."

"Bitterness doesn’t suit you, Montrel."

"How come Hasbar gets to go, the little shit," Montrel cursed, taking no pains to prove that he was anything but bitter, "I hope he gets drunk and you punch him."

Albi stared down at Montrel’s stormy eyes for a moment, sighed, and then turned his attention to the more reasonable guard currently on duty.

"How’s Khobi doing?" he inquired, "Behaving himself?" His gaze flicked between the pair of guards for a moment, "I hope no one has been cheating him out of his food again."

" –Why does everyone seem to think I’m a dirty cheat??" Montrel snapped, taking offense.

"Because you are."

"Fuck you, Yaka. You know Albi’s worse."

" –He’s behaving," Yaka assured their friend, jerking his thumb towards the door, "It was touch and go there for a while because he kept losing at cards, but we’re letting him sulk it out."

"Okay, well, good to know you’ve got everything covered here," Albi nodded, before frowning a little disapprovingly at how casually they were slouched –and in their ceremonial armour no less, which was a requirement for all castle guards on nights of big celebrations regardless of whether or not they would be in attendance. "But don’t let Bongo catch you slouching like that," he advised as an afterthought. The pair of them looked up at him rather quizzically –as though seeing no problem in how they were slumped against the walls like beggars in their finest black armour and elegant maroon cloaks –not at all poised how one would think a solemn guard on duty should be.

"Jeez," he snorted, shaking his head slightly, "The Second Captain would probably kill you if he saw you." The two of them looked up at him as if to say ’yeah, but he’s not here, and you’re not gonna report us’, and pointedly didn’t make an effort to look any more official. Well, he couldn’t begrudge them. Guard duty was dry, they were missing out on an evening of drinking, entertainment and good food, and it was a lot harder to play cards through the door when you were standing.

"Have a good evening, then," he bid, without spite, but knew that Montrel probably wouldn’t see it that way. Predictably, he huffed and glared up at him, but waved him off nonetheless. Privately, Albi did feel a little bad for the pair of them --a night of drinking with the rest of the guard was an event not to be missed, even if half of them always ended up drunk out of their minds and getting up to mischief. And then paying for it in hangovers the following day. Doubly, if their straight-laced Second Captain caught them grumbling, or (gods so help them) slacking off because of it. But with him currently absent and all...well, they were free to drink to their heart’s content.

Well, most of them, apparently.

Montrel wondered if he’d done something to offend his captain. He had to have. That was really the only plausible reason why he’d set him here, on the very night that promised to be filled with all the things that he loved in life --booze, food, women, and the occasional brawl for good measure. Sure, there would be other nights, but being one of the few guards left out from the revelries was a bit of a kick in the face. He’d taken his fair share of heavy punches in the line of duty --he deserved a break, dammit.

But when the sound of Albi’s heavy footsteps vanished down the hallway, he had to resign himself to the fact that the kind of break he wanted didn’t appear to feature in his immediate future. Lamenting the loss of what could have been an excellent evening, he groaned, slumping lower down the wall.

"Why does Bongo keep sticking me here?" he complained crossly, running a gloved hand down his face, "Seriously, it’s like I’m doing double shifts these days."

"He thinks the two of you seem to get along," Yaka replied with a small, dry smile, glancing towards the door. immediately looked offended.

"We do not."

"Hey, don’t shoot the messenger," he shrugged, and then chuckled as he elbowed his comrade, "Admit it. You kinda like the kid." Montrel spluttered at the accusation, eyes going wide as he went to protest, but Yaka was already laughing.

"...I’d like him a whole lot more if he didn’t hit me quite so much," he finally admitted in a grumble, his cheek still smarted every so often from that heavy head-butt that Khobi had been so pleased about. As much as he’d cursed him blind over it, he had to admit it had been one hell of a shot. And sure, maybe the kid wasn’t so bad some of the time, but that didn’t mean he’d rather hang out with him through a door than be out at a party with the rest of his fellow guards.

He sighed, and looked up at the roof wistfully as he considered just how much alcohol he could be consuming right now instead of sitting in an empty hall, "Ugh, I wonder how the party’s going. Say what you want about Lord Sprida, but he throws a good party."

"If I were you, I wouldn’t be speaking so casually about Lord Sprida," Yaka pointed out quietly, though secretly he shared the sentiment. He lowered his voice slightly, "...He’s got men loyal to him, you know, and you never know where they might be."

"Yeah, I know, I know," Montrel groused in a mutter. "But I gotta say, I always have a pretty good time at his parties." He sounded so full of longing –yearning for ale and food and the company of women. Yaka couldn’t deny that he shared the sentiment.

"Same. My hangover lasted three days last year." Well, neither of them would miss that feeling, at least. " –And Jaga spent all night trying to figure out how to seal the deal with that lady friend of his..."

"Gods," Montrel snorted with a helpless grin, "He’s still trying to figure it out!"

"Someone should really tell him that she’d literally marry him if he just asked," Yaka sighed.

"Yeah, someone should," he admitted, pausing dramatically before the pair of them laughed at their poor comrade’s obliviousness and impossibly and unfortunately static love life. After a moment, Yaka let out a heavy sigh, and then, with the amusement dying on his face, cocked his head intently, frowning.

"Something wrong?" Montrel inquired, eyes narrowing as he mirrored him, "You hear something?"

"No," Yaka replied, but his frown didn’t fade, "...I was just thinking that Khobi’s been awfully quiet." To prove a point, he pressed a finger to his lips and descended into silence, and when there was no sign of movement from inside the room, Montrel’s lips hardened into a thin line and he rapped on the door with a fist.

"Hey, Khobi," he hollered out, banging again. "Quit your sulking. Mural’s gonna bring us cake later so I’ll play you for it."

No answer.

" –I’ll even go easy on you this time."

More silence.

Montrel suddenly had a very bad feeling –one that urged him to turn the key in the lock and leap up to unbolt the door. Yaka made no move to protest, hurrying to his feet and dragging the heavy door open –

--To reveal a room not all that out of the ordinary except for the distinct lack of a redheaded prince, and the presence of a very ominous length of knotted bedsheets that all too tellingly vanished out of the window. Yaka sighed heavily. Montrel groaned.

"Oh fuck."

"Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me."