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pyrrhesia · 3 years

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FF14 Writes - Speculate

In which Cwenthryth Sadler submits her notice.

It hadn't taken long for the lustre of that bright blue coat to fade. Cwenthryth cursed herself. She'd fallen in love with words. She'd embraced ideas. First time in her life. Hopefully the last time, too. But she'd briefly been doing a good thing. Being a God-killer for the Scions was one thing, but this... ? She could have made a difference here. Could have brought order to the world, one little slice at a time. Could've built some shit, for once. She'd had the chance, but it had slipped through her fingers like water. This hapless Gridanian lad had weaved through Ul'dahn streets with all the comfort of a cat on the rim of a full bath, every effort at stealth only making him more and more conspicuous. Cwenthryth had watched and waited as he'd talked furtively with a man she recognised as a lesser light of the Monetarists, a middleman. Her ears pricked up at the mention of troop movements, crystals... The contact slipped away. The Gridanian sauntered off, tossing a fat coin-pouch from hand-to-hand, without a care in the world until Cwenthryth landed on him knee-first. She hauled the stunned elezen to his feet, threw him against the wall. Asked him a few friendly questions. When they'd been answered to her satisfaction, she pulled his own dagger out of his belt and drove it hard through his hand, pinning it to the wall, and wandered off with his bribe in her hand, tuning out his screams. For eight entire hours, she'd felt good about herself. A couple of times, she'd even smiled. She squandered a few gil at the Quicksand, meandered back to her place, which was to say her partner's place, and stumbled on a squad of five braves. Sergeant Corentin Wanted A Chat. There was now a lucrative new opportunity in the Braves. They needed a new bagman. That was going to be Cwenthryth. Or: she could refuse, and her body would be found in an alley. Or: she could double-cross them, and, well, they knew where Aislona lived. Cwenthryth sighed. She knew the drill. It was the same as it ever was.

A month had passed. Shorn of more conventional red flags - lack of communication? Dour demeanour? That was just life as usual - Cwenthryth was drinking heavily. She felt someone sit down next to her at the bar. "We've met before, right? I mean, before all this." She glanced across, and didn't bother to stifle a groan. "That kid from Little Ala Mhigo. I shot your mate in the guts." Wilred didn't have an answer to that. Oh, well... Cwenthryth tried, gamely, to be sociable. "He live?" "Oh, aye. Uh." "Yeah, good." Cwenthryth tried to turn back to her drink, but felt a heavy hand on her shoulder, and instinctively her hand dropped to her dagger. But Wilred's eyes were bright. "We ought to talk," he said. "Outside. Meet me there in an hour." "What about?" But he'd already left.

She was punctual. He'd been waiting, and looked keen. Cwenthryth hoped for his sake he hadn't just been loitering eagerly the entire time. "Let's walk," she said. "You clearly got something on your mind." It would have been easier in Ul'dah. You could easily weave through streets away from prying eyes. Revenant's Toll was a glorified crossroads, and the best they could do was loiter conspicuously in the shadow of the fortifications. "Well?" "I've... got suspicions about how some of the Braves are acting." "Mm." "I think maybe some of them are taking bribes." He waited for a reaction, seemed surprised when it didn't come. "From the Monetarists!" "Yeah, they do a lot of bribing." Cwenthryth cocked her head. "Why me?" But she had a sinking feeling she knew the answer... Wilred grinned uncertainly. "Why... ? You must know why, Cwenthryth! We're Rhalgr's folk! Strong and proud, too proud to stand for this--" She struck him across the face with a violence that surprised herself, drove him against the wall with her forearm. "I am not like you!" she snapped, spraying him with spit. "I don't have a damn to give for Ala Mhigo, I left it behind when I was six, but I remember this much, it wasn't the bloody promised land, it was just soil and sky. You really surprised the 'Braves' are taking bribes? Gods know I was, Gods only know how I was. It's just any group of thugs." Wilred was no coward. He met her eye to eye. "That ain't how it should be," he said, with the quiet confidence of complete conviction. "Yeah. Maybe not." Cwen eased her pressure. "But we don't get to decide that. No ideals from here. We just got to see tomorrow. Don't think, keep your head down, put one foot in front of the other. Or you'll get the deal I got." "And what did you decide?" "I'm alive. Guess." He shoved her aside. Something in the look he gave her stuck with her. Contempt, mixed with pity. From a bloody stripling! "Sometimes a man's got to make a stand," he said, and stalked off into the wastes. He'd learn, Cwenthryth thought. If he was lucky. He was not lucky. The next time Cwenthryth saw her, he was face-down in a swamp.

Corentin leaned on the doorframe to watch the theatre. "See, like I told you it'd be," he murmured out the side of his mouth. "Seamless. Told you the bosses had it figured out." Cwenthryth found it hard to watch, not quite sure why. People on the fringes were shocked, or smug, or whatever, but her eyes couldn't be drawn away from the sight of Raubahn Aldynn, beaten down and broken. Treacherously, her head filled in the gaps. 'Cause Wilred was wrong. Raubahn came here carrying his life on his back. Didn't slink off to reminisce in a cave, and lie to newborns about what they'd left behind. He made a life for himself, with his own two damn hands. That's my people. And I stood and watched as they put him on his knees. People were talking politics around him. Divvying up the wreckage of the night. "Ain't it good to be on the winning side, Sadler?" "Sure," she said, distracted. She was watching something else, something nobody else seemed to have their eyes on. As Teledji meandered closer, she saw Raubahn's muscles tense... And then there was screaming, as some parts of Teledji skidded across the floor towards her. The winners of the night pushed their way to the exit, throwing their luckless muscle into the centre. Corentin just laughed, like this was just an unexpected encore to the show. "Can't he tell when he's beaten?" "Sometimes," said Cwenthryth dully, "a man's got to make a stand." Corentin snorted. "Yeah? Where'd you read that, Cwenthryth? A gravestone?" In all the commotion, he didn't hear the silken sound of Cwenthryth pulling her dagger from its scabbard. By the time the hand was over his mouth, it was too late to scream. "I'll carve it on yours," she whispered, as she drew the blade across. When the thrashing subsided, Cwenthryth let his body fall. Nobody heard the soft crumple of limbs, or the sound of Cwen's coat, sodden with Corentin's blood, make a sickly squelch as it slipped off her shoulders to the floor. She dared one last look at the chamber; saw Teledji, saw the rest of Teledji, saw an example she couldn't shy from, and for a mad moment wanted to rush inside and die by Raubahn's side, but... No. She had more to live for, and more to make up for. She murmured a half-remembered prayer to Rhalgr, and slipped into the shadows.

#FFxivWrite2021 #speculate #OC: cwenthryth sadler #cw: bisection

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