I pace the stone room I have been locked in for the last few days. The woman who tends to me is just as sick of my face as I am of hers, but we both know neither of us can leave and so we try not to offend each other. Still, she is not the one keeping me here, its that damned Templar outside the door. Twice I have managed to get up, and past the bloodhound healer as she snoozed in her chair, only to find myself barred by a large, intense looking, red armor wearing, wall of inflexibility, and soon I am back in my cot bitching under my breath. I went from one prison to another.
Pain has become a familiar companion of late, one that motivates me, prods at me, a handy tool the body provides that reminds me to keep breathing. It plagues me still but I simply do not give a damn. I have to get out of here! The Rookie has been sitting here like a mother hen since my rescue and she is almost as annoying as the dusty old healer. She at least has paperwork to do, I am left with the entertainment of staring at the walls.
The Commander came in yesterday and officially relieved me of duty. I was calm when he told me, I understood perfectly. There was likely to be a full debriefing soon, and once again I would be put to questions. They are going to want to know, what I said. They will want to know everything I do about who it was that took me in the first place. The first part is easy, I didn't tell them shit. The second, part, is a bit trickier.
The fact they took me to my own home, just a few blocks away from where they nabbed me, was a stroke of genius. The fact that I was rescued by the Rookie and the most unlikely of allies is utterly baffling. I have to admit, the Rookie is impressing me, and apparently the Commander as well, because she was made temporary Captain in my absence, over a few men with seniority. I hope the kid realizes how that might affect her, and that its not just the Rebels she needs to watch for, but our own men. Sure, most of the men that serve under me, do so willingly, but I know there is one or two in there, that I would just as soon not turn my back on.
Finally, I was released from the infirmary! The old battleaxe after enough pestering from the Rookie, saw the wisdom of my departure and called off the Templars. I was out of that place like a shot, in each hand, my trusted blades, the Rookie managed not to lose them, and for that I was grateful. I was barefoot and moving down the center of the street, not caring a lick for the stares I got, people parting before me their mouths agape. I must look like death warmed over. My face is still a kaleidoscope of purple and black, the beginnings of faded yellow around the edges of my bruises, the cuts upon my brow and lip, red and angry. I had no pride to worry for, none at all, I was simply too pissed off to give a rats ass about what any one of them thought about me.
I make my destination without incident, and without hesitating, I land a solid kick to my own front door and splinter the wood around the latch, sending it slamming to the wall behind. Stepping into the room, I look around and assess the damage. My house, was a write off. Rebels had come and gone from this room for days, using it as a temporary holding cell and hideout. I could see evidence of their presence everywhere and the longer I looked, the angrier I became.
Finally my feet move, and I go to my bedroom door and stand in the open frame, staring at the empty chair at the foot of my bed. I spent nearly five days in that chair give or take the time I spent silently begging to be back in it again, and the old hunk of junk looks as if it was finished. It lies upon its side, broken, blood staining the old wood. The carpet too, all around shows blood stains, heavily pooled in a few places, somehow those make me smirk, and I revel in the memories of how they got there. "He had it coming." manages to find its way past my teeth and somehow my own voice jars me from my thoughts.
I move quickly, now wishing to be anywhere but here, and I cross to the chest in the corner, sighing with relief when I find my armor intact. I quickly dress, leaving nothing behind but my Captain's pauldron, tucked away safely in the chest, and I lock it again. My sheaths at my belt, feel the familiar presence of my daggers and I turn, pausing again at the door, looking back at the little house that had for years offered me quiet sanctuary, and I stare at the disarray the place, and I can not bear to think of staying another moment. I close the door, lock it, and tuck away the key and lift my hood, cloaking my face and disappearing to the west, moving up into the slums. It's another less than friendly place to lurk, but hell, now that I am relieved of duty, I am free of all sorts of restrictions aren't I? So this, is where I will begin.
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