Ears Muffed

Poor Rhodes Island. Maybe they went down the wrong path from square one.

Just like Nine said, injections and tablets won't solve Oripathy. The body can hurt less, but others won't change the way they look at you so easily.

We need to force them to see us, to hear our voices, to admit we're not just sores and ulcers on them.

What do you think?

......

You've been with me long enough, friends. Any brilliant ideas about what I just mentioned?

Reunion.

You aren't part of our objective.

So I'm guessing we can keep doing each to our own?

Fine, leave then.

Well, since Dublinn is in the mix now, it's about time I get them evacuated.

Grr. If I had a little more time, I could've talked a few more people over.

For now, let's go rendezvous with her.

You call yourself a poet...

Miss Ines. Another marvelous insight to share?

I've met a few poets before, all far better than you, because—

They never misused their metaphors.

Dust, sandpaper...

Out of this plate, this nation, even the entire land itself, who's the dust, and who's the sandpaper?

And how are you qualified to decide who's who?

War doesn't do metaphor in any way.

It's not some terrific journey. It's not some furnace for glory once again. It's not some ship sailing for revival.

It's just people struggling in mud. Arms broken in ruins. Stenches that never fade.

That's all it is.

...I know that better than anyone.

We can set aside our differences for now. I respect the views of a veteran mercenary.

But I do need an answer as to my proposal for promoting from pawn to friend.

Here.

She's agreed, as long as both we and her can leave this place alive.

She's already left for the comms station. The broadcast will be out imminently.

There's a shame. We didn't need to go that far.

You've turned down an invitation from Victoria.

She will.

Not a wise decision, I have to say.

Being clever won't help you, Doctor of Rhodes Island.

Is this one of your little schemes too?

Delphine? What are you...

Run! They're—

You...

What a clamorous locale.

Should I refer to you as Captain of the Redsteel Guard, or 'The Brigadier' of Dublinn?

Such a surprise to see your people here.

Finally, an end to the slog.

Delphine and that Doctor will sort out that comms station, right?

It'll all go smooth, and then we can leave Norport.

Figured out where you're off to after?

...Dunno.

Anyone mucking in a Norport gang either came out an orphanage or plain lost anyone to fall back on.

Goes for us too pretty much, I figure.

There'll be a way. We'll find some way to feed ourselves. Hah, maybe I'll go off and join those 'Rusthammers.' They love to tell stories about them, don't they.

Won't catch me dead being a duke's estate refugee at any rate, down on my knees begging those ivory tower shits for my bowl of gruel.

Cador—

I know. You think I'm still on about some naive shit, like 'ooh, let's knock the daylights out of the Sarkaz' was.

......

Baird, I've lost enough living through all this. I can't just abandon the final specks I still have.

All this... pain, this torment, if it turns me, crushes me soft after all, then I may as well be dead in an alley.

It's... maybe hard to criticize being crushed, Cador. Nobody's actually got a spine of steel.

......

During the day, I went to the video shop. McClaren wasn't there fighting over that luggage thing of supplies, so I thought he might've had an accident.

He always thinks everyone's up to something, the weirdo.

You've gone and drunk plenty of his squash, haven't you.

Fine, then, may he live forevermore. He alright?

...He still alive?

Front of the video shop was wretched. I'd guess he's been raided a bunch.

I tried calling for him, but no response. So I thought he was hiding somewhere else, until... I saw him. Through his window all nailed shut, just a crack left. Saw his eyes.

Bulging out of their sockets. Covered in blood. Terrified. Desperate. Didn't dare look at him again.

He—

I don't think he can come out of there anymore.

You say 'soft.' You call them that. But we know we're... not that far off ourselves.

...Hah.

We still have a chance to save all this.

It'll be tough. We'll have to survive the Sarkaz's likely counterattack, and then the artillery from the dukes' forces.

But it's not at all impossible.

Right now, we need to figure out what moves the Sarkaz barracks are going to make against us...

Hrmph. Always on time to encourage us and remind us what we need to do, Your Majesty. How reliable of you.

...

Cador...

Oh, might I have the privilege of your orders again?

I'm wondering... what would you say—a king is?

What, you taking me in as your vassal?

No, I've said it a thousand times, I'm just Vina of the Glasgow Gang.

I just... realized I never honestly thought about the question before.

Maybe I'm clueless how, aside from all that praise about honor and majesty, what a king is to you...

No, to us, as a thing that exists.

It doesn't. It's nothing.

No king's ever meant shit to us. I'm happier giving my respect to the tuck shop owner who does a discount for me when I've not got enough in my purse.

Victoria's always had a king, since ancient times.

Yeah? And who were they? Because I'm terribly sorry, but I'm not some hoity-toity Aslan or Draco, and I've never met one neither.

If they're nowhere except a few names in a book, then I know Chef Vito off the Siracusan restaurant ads better than I do them.

We haven't had a king for how many years. Are our lives any worse?

Fine, maybe they are.

But I really doubt it's anything to do with whether we've got a king or not. Don't care if it's you or whatever heavyweight taking the throne, you're not gonna be looking us down here in the eye.

By your definitions, a foolish king gets lost in banquets and wine, while a wise king draws up war and taxes.

If you ask me, it's ego-chasing no matter which. The vanity of thinking you can control everything, full stop.

Siege, everyone in Norport's bowing down to you as their one hope...

So you tell me. You having fun?

You think saving them is your glorious bloody calling?

I'd never say 'calling.' Never.

Just—

Just, you think you've got some kind of responsibility. Like they're watching you and you need to answer them.

Some bloody mess you're in. Poor old Royal Highness.

......

I'd ask, but you know full well. Are they willing to pin their sights on you because you're a member of a street gang—

—or because of your bombshell of a surname, 'Victoria?'

I'll be frank, I've just as much been hoping for someone to save all this, save all of us, save this bloody endless cesspit.

And who's going to do that? Quit dreaming.

Daring to bear the responsibility's a fine moral thing that helps us muck our way in the streets, Siege.

But don't give people false hope with that 'king' persona.

And don't... ever buy—that they were right to expect this shit of you since the day you were born.

Got visitors.

Tch. Do we do them in?

Don't jump to anything. We don't want to tip them off. We just need a grasp of how they're deployed for now...

Something's off. Be on high alert.

You... lot...

Don't get the wrong idea, sir, we're not here for trouble, just passing by...

Baird! Didn't you say don't tip them off?

Shit—I didn't do anything!

This blood... He was already badly injured. He was fleeing this way.

Someone in the lockdown take him to task?

Don't think so. Not like we haven't tried before. Maybe there's a chance to take one or two out, but it's a whole army keeping us in here.

Even if a sneak attack goes well, they'll retaliate fast. Unless...

Is it... usually this quiet around here?

Get out of here, fast.

We need to gather every citizen we can still find on this plate.

But we still don't have word back from Miss Ines and the Doctor.

We'll just have to assume for now their side's going smooth.

Someone's already made a move here.

You're sure?

I'm sure. That's an Aslan.

She's not part of our objective.

That's fine. She'll make the call herself.

Dammit, the door here's been sealed.

Doctor, stay behind me.

Everyone, a warm welcome to the Sunset Street Hotel. We haven't had this many esteemed visitors in a very long time.

Colbert! I told you to stay hidden!

Not receiving guests at the door would be my failure as the owner of a hotel.

I'm very sorry for how limited we are under present conditions. I'd have some complimentary tea brought out to you all, otherwise.

Is there anything I might be able to help you with?

......

......

Do you have normal water, then? I am, er... a bit thirsty, actually.

That, I can serve you, Miss Delphine.

Old Wellington wasn't willing to let this place off after all.

Nor Duke Caster.

Would you allow me to leave now?

You and that blue-haired Feline are staying.

I imagine the Duke of Caster and the Duke of Wellington have an unspoken agreement on the 'standing off against the Sarkaz' front.

And as for the goals of each one of us... some unspoken agreement too.

I simply obey the orders I receive.

Are all Tarans as dreary as you?

My sense of humor is reserved for my friends.

Wonderful, I love making friends. Being fellow Victorians, why don't we start by complaining about the weather?

Yes, the weather... Londinium's has been horrible, and it's only getting worse.

We actually saw the sun some days, forty years ago.

Our hotel was much better then than now, too. What an incredible place it was!

I still remember to this day when I first came on as the doorman.

I hear back then, even the dukes loved staying here!

Your presence isn't needed, Sarkaz.

Sir, I'm truly sorry, but it's my hope you'll regard me as a Victorian much like you.

We are all the people of Victoria. What need do we have for tensions like this, no?

Rare to see a Sarkaz self-identifying as a Victorian.

Isn't your case much along the same lines as mine, Miss?

......

Us Sarkaz living outside of Kazdel have to find a home for ourselves, don't we?

I'm afraid most Sarkaz don't think so.

Hence why they're always so despondent, so weary.

In my view, well, I've lived here all my life, and every wall and every floor is a familiar one to me, far more familiar than Kazdel so far away.

Pardon my negligence these days, but I'd wipe every table spotless by myself in older times.

I was proud of my work. You really should've seen what it was like back then.

Oh, different times... they put me under the illusion that days like those would last forever.

*sigh* But times like those come to an end.

Percival, it really is a shame you came to work here after the place declined.

To be honest, I don't really care that much.

If it was as ravaged by war and shaken to rubble as everything else now, honestly, I might be taking things better myself.

What hurts me is...

On an afternoon like all the afternoons that used to be, I finished wiping the tables, lifted my head—

And it suddenly hit me, how old everything around me was.

And I was clueless how it even happened.