Spiriting of the Flower Court

Spiriting of the Flower Court
I: Mouse & Vandread

A dull, monotone voice rasped against its own echoes from within the massive suit of armor seated by the wayside. ”LIFE. WHAT IS LIFE? A MISERABLE GATHERING OF CREATURES SUFFERING AT THE HANDS OF THEIR OWN INCOMPETENCE.”
The entity that called itself Vandread was bored. The person. The man. He wasn't really sure – most of the time all of his singular purpose was infused into the urgent desire, the need, the determination to seize the throne of Lote. When his mind wandered elsewhere, however, it had a tendency to wander...far.
I need to stop doing this or I will lose myself. YOU HAVE ALREADY LOST YOURSELF. Shut up. SILENCE HAS TAKEN YOU ALREADY, YOU ARE BUT A FORGOTTEN MEMORY BUBBLING UP TO THE SURFACE. Then what are you, if you lose yourself to something as weak as what remains of me?
The thundering tide that was the Voice receded and did not reply. It was a rare lull – Vandread noticed only now the scenery around him, a small wind shelter on an offshoot of the old imperial highway toward Lote. The landscape was mostly green. The sun was close to the horizon, but still blindingly bright – even through the visor of his helmet. The heat was unbearable. He sat on a wooden bench made from sticks and branches. A far cry from the throne he'd been promised, that he was fated for. And in the distance-
Movement.
His hand whipped to grasp at his sword, but after adjusting his eyes to the burning sunlight he managed to make out a more detailed view of what was approaching. It was quite evidently no threat – a lone traveler in dusty clothes, seemingly unarmed and unarmored. A woman, of rather average height and build. No noticeable features to speak of – though as he looked closer (and she came closer) he realized her clothes, though dusty, were of a much better cut than the average peasant's. Clearly some city fashion from the design of it – though he could not possibly say where from. THIS IS IRRELEVANT. IGNORE HER. The voice was back, but this time Vandread had no qualms with its decision.
The decision became more problematic, however, as he realized the woman was leaving the road, and heading toward the wind shelter. HIS wind shelter. Where HE was sitting.
A MISERABLE GATHERING OF CREATURES...

-/-/-/

Why am I here? My feet hurt. I wish I was in Lote already. I want a snack. I wish I was back home with daddy-
Julia slapped her cheeks and shook her head – not that she had the strength to give it more than a gentle tap, but she tried. She couldn't keep thinking negative like that, that wasn't like her at all! “I have to stay positive! Even if my legs hurt from walking miles and miles and my feet are sore and my everything hurt and this backpack is too heavy and- I have to stay positive! Positive, Julia! One step at a time. Oh, I wish I'd learned some magic to help me carry stuff!”
The sky was getting darker quickly, and she could see the sun quickly turning red above the horizon ahead. No town in sight – she already knew she would have to camp outside tonight, and wasn't really looking forward to it – but maybe, this was the imperial highway after all, just maybe- yes, there! A small wooden structure, little more than a slanted roof and a bench inside – though the wall seemed strangely shiny – but it was better than nothing. “Great job, Julia! You're sleeping there tonight! No muddy fields dirtying my stuff tomorrow morning!” It was getting a bit annoying to not have anyone to talk to. Or anyone to encourage her. Or to carry the damn backpack. Or to take a single step further- “POSITIVE! WOHOO!” With pep in her step, she swerved off the road and headed for the shelter.

On closer inspection, what she'd originally thought was an excessively shiny wall turned out to be a suit of armor. And if she wasn't entirely addled out of her mind, suits of armor were usually filled with people inside. THIS particular suit of armor didn't look very friendly – in fact, it looked positively fearsome. But on the upside, I'll have someone to talk to!Doing her best to swallow her fear, she hauled her backpack the last of the way toward the shelter. It felt like her bones were going to snap when she took it off, and she almost fell over trying to put it down. Dusting herself off a bit, she turned toward her newfound companion with the most pep she could muster. “O-oh hey there! Looks like we'll be two sharing this shelter tonight!”
As she sat down and started massaging her poor, bludgeoned shoulders, she was fairly certain the armored fellow said something – she couldn't quite make it out, but she was pretty sure it wasn't “No” or “Leave” or “Give me all your money”, which meant it was probably something good. Maybe this would be a good night after all!

-/-/-/

LEAVE. WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE. LEAVE NOW. LISTEN TO ME. You're not speaking, idiot. SHUT UP. Go be miserable somewhere else.
Vandread gazed out of his helmet upon the woman. For a while she had been mostly been doing quiet things, like rummaging through her equipment and putting things back and forth, eating, rubbing her legs and groaning in pain. The groans did not bother him. What DID bother him was when she started talking to him, clearly expecting him to listen – perhaps even respond. He did not have time or patience to listen to anyone as long as the throne eluded him. He ignored her.
He spent a good solid hour not-listening to her ranting about her parents, her home, her journey, her parents, her daddy, how to best carry around way too much gear for one way too weak girl, her daddy and how he would pack things for her when they traveled together, and several more anecdotes about her daddy. Eventually however he noticed she was starting to ask him questions. Specifically one question. “Um, could you p-please turn around for a bit? I need to change into my sleepwear.”
Vandread did not often smile. Life was miserable. But the misery of others could be entertaining. Inside his helmet, his grin bared a pair of wicked fangs that surely would have scared the girl to death if they'd been visible. “NO.” His one word echoed eerily through his armor, filling the shelter with its sound. The woman let out a loud, rodent-like squeak, and visibly recoiled from him. “O-okay! I-i-it's fine! It was just an idea!” Clearly spooked out of her mind, she scurried into one of the corners before she started to undress. At first she tried to cover herself with her hands, but she appeared to forget his presence halfway through when she realized she hadn't retrieved her sleepwear from her pack. Perhaps she thought the lack of light would shield her modesty, and to other men than Vandread, perhaps it would have been so. To him, however, the sparse moonlight reflected off her dirt-colored flesh like an improved version of the retina-burning rays of the sun. Her chest was unimpressive. Her taste in undergarments nothing to take note of. Her bedroll had clearly seen a few too many days on the road, and she obviously did not know how to wash it properly. All of her equipment was slightly too high quality for the mongrel she appeared to be, so perhaps her DADDY had some measure of wealth to provide for her. In the end, it was irrelevant. She was a weakling, a puny mortal, an unimpressive specimen of human flesh. The brief suffering in her soul when he forced his will upon her, her fear and embarrassment before his eyes; ultimately they were inconsequential. No woman but princess Raina could matter to him. This had been yet another pointless day, and yet another pointless night.

The woman scurried into her bedroll dressed in something far too frilly to bring on the road. He remained seated for a few more minutes, until he heard her nose whistling as she snored. Shaking his head in disappointment, he rose to his feet, and started walking through the night. The road was empty but for him, the moaning wind, and the moon. “MY THRONE...WAITS FOR ME.” Somehow he managed to hum a tune in monotone, as his steel-clad legs tread on towards Lote.