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21. collapse

With clamor and clang, the rusted iron grates of his cell door slid open out of schedule, for the first time in moons since he’d been put into them. A set of old clothes are tossed into his lap and with little pre-tense, the fugitive cowboy is informed by the looming Torch to get dressed and that the conditions of his sentence had been adjusted on the heels of a generous benefactor’s timely donation.

The journey back to the city was long, arduous, and quiet. In the time it had taken him to shuffle from his cell in Marasaja back to Ul’dah, a slow and simmering despondency had settled within him, dampening a mood that was typically more excitable than what it was. Not that he would have been particularly chipper with his escort anyways, a city Blade who had met his previous captors about half-way and reminded Lawrence as every guard ever had done before, that escape was not an option.

The cowboy might have felt compelled to remind in turn that despite popular belief towards the contrary, the option had a tendency to make itself known anyways but in truth, he couldn’t much muster the strength. Too weary to even consider food let alone a proper escape, he took to his small room with one way in, and one way out and found it far more appealing. Collapsing into the sheets of a cheap cot, he settled there for the remainder of an uneasy night of rest and stole some additional comfort in the fact that the Blade guarding his door would likely get very little sleep keeping an eye on him.

His dreams nevertheless were born of a fretful state of mind, full of the things he hated most. Rusting, rattling chains. The dull thud and clink of pick-axes digging into stone echoed about his skull like the ricochet of a bullet kicked off course. Monstrous rasps and shrieks haunted him, while the disembodied laughter of cruel men and the steady pacing of boots against hard stone chased him in his sleep. He relived every beating, every gut punch and busted lip in his restless, fitful slumber and felt no better for it come the morning.

THUMPTHUMPTHUMP! He awoke with a jolt to heavy knocking, body reacting on instinct to tumble and flail onto hardwood in a heap of blankets and aching bones. A strange sense of delirium followed him into that hurtling consciousness of which he found hard to shake, the incessant thumping upon the door doing little to ease the splitting migraine that caused his head to throb. He’s told to make himself known, no doubt with concern that he’s somehow flown the coop.

"Roman Lawrence Wyld! Declare yourself! You have twenty seconds."

The Outlaw grumbled out a curse to the Twins and swiped a hand up over the side of the bed to drag himself to a stand on shaky legs. Before he's managed to even fully stand, the door is hit again with the same excessive force as before, shaking as if it might be thrown from its hinges while the same, authoritative demand echoed from the other side of the wall.

"WHAT?" His voice croaked sharply, filled with more venom than a stepped-on rattlesnake. A tense silence follows where the cowboy stares red eyed in a standstill between himself and a door. Finally, he’s told that he’s been summoned though not by whom, and a string of swear words tumbles from his lips with the same harshness of which he’d fallen before. Despite his general lack of punctuality he’s out the door within half the time allotted to him, somehow knowing better than to press his luck.

In the same way he’d been brought to his room, he’s taken to his destination: with a Brass Blade on his heels, monitoring every step. It raised his hackles and placed the vagabond on edge, but they make it to a tall building of piss yellow stone without incident, and ride a lift to the highest floor. Heavy wooden doors are pushed open, and he’s pushed through into a lavish, circular ball room with polished marbled floors and stainless white walls.

Everything had some kind of gilded finish on it. Expensive art of every pretentious quality hung from the walls, and all the furniture was of the heavy and ornate kind that would entail only the most back breaking labor to get up this far anyways. Not the sort of labor to likely be done by anyone that would ever live in a place such as this.

He’s led to a corner office that opened into an impressive balcony, and the doors are shut behind him. The room itself held a number of shelves full of books and ledgers, as well as a number of cultivated bonsai trees and small shrubs that surrounded a curved desk. Things that might have held his interest otherwise, if not for the man sitting opposite the oaken desk in front of him. Roman stared a while, not quite believing his eyes despite the very tangible nature of his reality.

“Yer th’one what paid m’debts off, m’guessin’.” He states carefully, squinting with suspicion at his half-brother.

“Ten years at least, and that’s the best ‘hello’ you can muster.” Leviticus for his part sighed, dramatically at that, taking up a glass of what could only ever be the finest wine that Ul’dah could offer. “Straight to business, then. So be it. If you must know; No. I didn’t. I paid to get you out of the Pit, something that wasn’t cheap, mind you. It took a small fortune just to get them to listen to me, let alone get you out. You’re welcome by the way.”

Self-aggrandizing pretention had ever been a character flaw of his brother, and a decade had done little to lessen that fact it seemed to Lawrence. Levi went on to chide him about how Law’s own flaws had led him down a path to needing saving, and that stealing from as many nobles and merchants as he’d had would have ended with him at the end of a noose had Levi not suggested Marasaja instead while he worked out a better deal for his wayward brother.

“I hear they only throw the worst of the worst down there, you know. Murderers. Demons. Tax evaders.” What was meant as perhaps a joke in poor taste, was no less true and Lawrence shifted uncomfortably at the mention of the Pits. It was perhaps the worst cell he’d ever been in, and had no intentions of ever returning.

“I convinced them I could get them their money back, through you. And me, of course. See, despite all the trouble you caused them, they couldn’t help but admit you were resourceful in your villainy. So, I told them that we’d use you to recover their assets since you were so good at taking them in the first place. You work hard enough, they’ll erase your record and let you walk. Again, you can thank me.”

The cowboy didn’t thank him. Instead, he scowled and made a gesture. “So lemme git this straight: I’m t’be a lil’ crony fer a bunch’a rich folks what labeled me a thief, murderer, an’ a damn heretic. An’ when all is sed an’ done, an’ I pay off whatever debts it is they think I owe, after turns’a hassle, you think they’ll jus’ let me walk away from everything?”

“That’s precisely what I think, because here, just like anywhere else, money will get you everything if not more. Even a fancy spot in heaven, if you believe in all of that. The deal, as it stands, is that you’re to remain near Ul’dah. Preferably in it, until called upon, though given how readily they expect you to fuck up, I sweetened the deal by providing additional tracking. There’s not yours. You’ll need to put this on. A stipulation of your parole, we’ll call it, and more importantly, a stipulation of my business partners.”

Leviticus opens his desk, and sets what appeared to be a ceruleum cuff on the desk. Lawrence blanched. “What y’want t’put a damn collar on me now?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. It’s a bracelet. Now, put it on. While I’m certain I could have my shiny new Brass friends do it for you, I’d rather save the spectacle. Besides. I never much enjoyed brute force, and know other ways to settle a discrepancy. Like your old man, sitting in that church up by Drybone. I take it you get a lot of friendly tips about what the guards there talk about, and how close they are on your tail. But I don’t think he’d do half as well in Marasaja as you’ve managed in his declining age.”

Lawrence went several shades pale. “That’s not true. You know it ain’t.”

Levi shrugged. “I know that it could be. And that’s really all that’ll matter in the end to the right ears, isn’t it?”

Lawrence felt a fury in his breast start to swell, so rapidly he thought his whole heart might burst as he lingered on the edge of attacking the Garlean but instead, he linked the cold metal cuff about his wrist and stood, not bothering to exchange further pleasantries with his half-brother as he left the office.

The same Brass Blade from before quickly hurried up from a seat to escort him back to his room, but the presence wouldn’t really be needed. He left the immaculate room and the tall building, straggling back to the tavern where he supposed his new abode would be. With the door shut behind him, and a space all to his own, he finally had the good sense to say what had been on his mind the whole walk back.

“Well. Shit.”

To be continued...

Chapters: [ I.][ II.] [ III. ][ IV.][ V.][ VI.]

From Micro Story Asks [x]

Sorry this took so long! But hopefully, its an enjoyable read. I’ve had some story things I’ve wanted to do with the character for a while, and these prompts helped to build that foundation. So thank you for sending!

Edit: I did some rewriting, to cut down on what I felt was ultimately a lengthy post that didn’t quite convey thoughts I wanted at 2 in the morning whenever I finished but at the time wanted to get something written. It’s more or less the same story, just cut down to be more palatable of a read while I get back into my groove and more concise on the details I wanted.

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