@virulentharlot I believe Lelouch wanted a story…
She had made the call to confirm that which she knew was impossible. Lord Jeremiah wasn’t laying dead in a ditch of some ghetto because he’d been injured the previous day. While she was in on her superior’s habit of inflicting justice upon those deemed in need of it, she was certain that even her boss wasn’t so stupid as to pick a fight with the damage inflicted on his generally capable body. Except, it wasn’t like him to be late, and Jeremiah Gottwald was not the type to oversleep. He had too many ambitions to waste even hour of precious career time.
Hearing his clipped voice on the other end of the line, her immediate reaction was relief– he wasn’t dead, as she’d known all along, he was on his way. However, this relief was quickly over shadowed by annoyance, and villetta snapped her own mobile shut. Lord Jeremiah rarely took such a tone with her. It hardly extinguished her naturally suspicious attitude, and she waited, following the vague orders, and holding down the fort in his absence. Waiting for the grand entrance, and an explanation .
As promised, he arrived within the hour. There weren’t any double takes, the officers patrolling the halls all had their own duties to perform, but as Villetta strode forth to greet the Lord she began to notice the little discrepancies in his appearance. The first being his hair.
She’d once watched him preen before a mirror for forty-three minutes adjusting, and re-adjusting the part of his hair over and over, all because a strand towards the front refused to lie flat. Now, Lord Jeremiah’s hair was– by his standards anyway –an absolute mess. She thought with sudden shock, that it had to look like this when he woke up, with a moderate cow lick at the back, and his bangs laying flatter than usual. The birds nest at his head was punctuated further by dark circles under his eyes, and the morning scruff lining his chin.
“Lord Jeremiah,” she greeted a subdued worry in her voice. “Are you alright?”
Jeremiah, to his credit did not seem thrown at all by her question.
“Quite fine, Villetta. I need to ask a favor of you,” At the least his tone had changed from that initial morning phone call. It sounded almost pleasant.
“Right of course, what do you need?” She replied dutifully, doing her best to keep the curiosity from her features.
“Fetch me my spare uniform. I left it in a locker of the breakroom.”
Villetta pursed her lips. Of course. Of all the tedious tasks, and not even a thank you for her efforts this morning. Villetta Nu was no secretary. Seeing her expression, Jeremiah backtracked, apparently amused if the smirk at his lips was anything to go by.
“I’d get it myself, of course, but I’d rather not have to walk through HQ looking like an animated rag doll.”
She appraised him briefly– the longer she looked the more she noticed out of place, like the ascot at his neck, slightly skewed as if he’d not been looking in the mirror when he tied it. Finally, Villetta relented.
“Very well, Lord Jeremiah.”
“Thank you, Villetta, I’ll be waiting in my office.”
Not waiting for a reply, the margrave set off, and Villetta watched in utter bewilderment, as chirpy tune flitted through the halls just as he turned the corner, headed in the direction of his office. Lord Jeremiah Gottwald was whistling… If ever there was a sign to run for the hills
Villetta approached the office door, the spare uniform she’d been sent for carried on a hanger, hidden by a pristine black suit cover, with the margave’s initials stamped by the top right corner.
Knocking on the door, she waited for an affirming reply before slipping inside, and shutting the door behind her. Wise as the move turned out to be, the sight greeting her was not at all for prying eyes. Lord Jeremiah was half perched against the grand desk in the center of his room, stripped to the waste, with a generous amount of shaving cream slathered along his jawline and chin. He was twisted in an odd position, apparently trying to examine the wound at his side.
“Dammit all,” he said to her though he’d not looked up from his task, or attempted to acknowledge her in anyway. “One of my stitches popped last night. Now, I’ve got to head down to the hospital wing. As if I haven’t been held up long enough today.”
“Exactly why were you late, Lord Jeremiah?” She took the opportunity, hanging the uniform across the back of a chair, next to his discarded shirt and jacket. It was now that she noticed the wrinkles in the garb, and come to think of it, his pants appeared to be in a similar state of disarray.
At that, Jeremiah merely shook his head, chuckling lowly, but negleecting to answer her question. He abandoned his examination, and picked up a razor before heading toward the bathroom adjoined to the office. The door was already open, the light was already on.
“You can go ahead and report on the morning,” Jeremiah called from his place in front of the mirror. He had begun to shave.
“Of course,” Villetta answered dryly. She’d stepped to get closer to the bathroom so as not to about her updates when her heart spiked as she noticed something vivid and red scraped along the line of her superior’s back and shoulder-blades.
“Lord Jeremiah!” She called before she had a chance to comprehend exactly what the marks were.
He turned on her, wide eyed, it seemed her tone had startled him, and he looked at her expectantly, foamy razor clutched in one hand, the other propped against the sink.
And then it clicked, and Villetta was suddenly aware of a very strong urge to giggle. To avoid such a preposterous reaction, she raised a manicured finger to her mouth as if to physically pin her lips shut. This all certainly explained his uncharacteristically good mood. Seeing his questioning eye however, Villetta dropped all pretense, recognizing that it was how this man operated best. She lowered her hand, setting it on her hip, then quirked an eyebrow.
“Those are some deep scratches on your back. Who ever she was, must have really been enjoying herself.”
At these words, Jeremiah straightened, and turned slowly to face her completely, the glimpse of his back now entirely gone. Under the foam of the shaving cream, Villetta thought she caught sight of skin a shade redder than usual.
“Okay.” He said, “Alright.”
Villetta looked at him. In part, she couldn’t believe it. Not that the man had ventured out for some company, it was a common practice among the military. However, that Jeremiah Gottwald, of all people, might let a hook up compromise his reputation at work, now, that was the harder pill to swallow.
It seemed the man in question was offering her explanation at last.
“I was with someone last night, I didn’t have an alarm. Normally, I’d wake up naturally, but I was so worn from yesterday…” he trailed off. Villetta nodded her understanding.
“It happens to the best of us.”
Jeremiah paused. The razor was still in his hand, hanging limp by his side.
“I knew you’d understand, Villetta,” he’d already turned back to the task, when she caught the stare of his orange eye in the mirror’s reflection.
“Well, yes, actually. Keep this between us, would you? The last I need is rumors about my love life making their way up to royal ears.”
Now, it was Villetta’s turn to smirk.
