RFC-ARC 5-Winter War-51

An hour later, my team is gathered around my dining table. There are two empty bottles of Herbanacle between us, which for once I’m not responsible for emptying, and several empty platters of food.

It should have been a simple game. Something to get them acquainted with taking orders from Alana, get Alana used to giving orders, and deepen our bonds as teammates. A game with very simple rules.

Alana gives someone an order. If they follow it, they get a snack prepared by Geneva. If they don’t, they take a drink. A classic drinking game but the stakes are a bit higher. Geneva’s cooking is to die for and Herbanacle will knock the unaccustomed on their ass.

Things started off simple and sweet. Alana, scared of her newfound power, was reluctant to command her subjects. She demanded simple things such as sharing their worst fears and their most embarrassing moments. I had to step in and provide her a little inspiration.

William was the easiest. All it took to get a little Herbanacle in him was to ask which of his female teammates he would like to take to bed. His eyes met my smirk, Alana’s raised brow, and Marthe’s scowl before he blushed like a maiden and chose the liquor.

Surprisingly, Arthur was the next one to crack. I thought he was entirely shameless. He sure put on a good façade, boldly declaring he could handle any dare or question. And he proved a tough nut to crack.

He didn’t blink when Alana told him to have his hair cut, taming that wild mane of his into something respectable. Laughed when we took a pair of scissors to his matted beard. Was a bit too enthusiastic when Alana told him to kiss Will, ignoring his unwilling partner.

It took a bit of creativity. I had to ask myself, what would an overconfident, disgustingly masculine, immoral bastard like him find unacceptable? I could think of a few things but I had to work with whatever was immediately available.

Then it came to me. I had Bell fetch the necessary prop from my bedroom and then Alana asked him to wear one of my wife’s nighties.

He may be a rough seaman but he still has some shame. Or an ego he can’t compromise. He stared at the dress for several long moments, grunted, and then grabbed his previously untouched cup.

Marthe was difficult. It seemed nothing could faze the smoldering ball of rage. Embarrassment? Means nothing to her. Shame? Doesn’t have any. Didn’t blink an eye when she was told to strip, displaying her moderate chest and thin waist with a nonchalance that can’t be faked. Fear? She needs to learn some. She huffed when asked to stand in front of a wall and remain still while knives were thrown at her by me. Just stared at me, even when one buried itself in the wall right above her ear.

I actually gave up, resigning myself that I couldn’t break her without crossing a terrible line. Alana went back to asking her simple questions. I was beyond surprised when an easy question, which of her parents does she likes the most, broke her, the redhead readying her cup instead of answering. Anything about her family is off-limits. After three questions, she started pushing her cup forward before a question was even asked.

Alana wasn’t spared either. As team leader, she drinks when they drink. A rule she was not very fond of at the beginning but Geneva’s cooking is very persuasive. Besides, Arthur and Marthe gave her a false sense of security with their daring deeds. By time I assessed everyone’s weakness, it was too late to turn back. She’s the most drunk of all.

By afternoon, my teammates are passed out in various positions; William’s head rests on his arms, Arthur is face-down on the floor, and Marthe is slumped in her chair. She even scowls in her sleep, poor thing. I’m a little curious what could cause such deep-seated anger but something tells me that’s a bucket of hungry abyss worms and I don’t want to put my hand in it.

Alana, who is seated next to me, is practically in my lap. Her head rests on my shoulder with one arm wrapped around opposite shoulder. Her other hand dangles between her legs, fingers lightly holding her empty cup. Once again, she proves that she gets clingy when her inhibitions are tossed aside.

“Hey, Loooou.”

“Yes, Alana.”

“That bastard. That bastard!” Her arm comes up and she loses her tenuous grip on the glass. It flies through the air but Bell is there to grab it, snatching it from the air with her tail. “My father deigns to write me for the first time and he demands I come back to that frozen hell for the campaign. An initiate! He’s sending me to die! For what? So he can parade his daughter and her light affinity, the power wielded by the first saint. As if that alone will lead to victory after hundreds of years of failure!”

Ah. I was worried she might get involved in Fort Victory’s latest campaign but I never expected she’d be on the front lines. Do they think they can afford to have her march into that frozen graveyard and give rousing speeches to a bunch of dead men walking? They don’t need a mascot, they need a miracle. The heat of a little religious fervor isn’t going to melt the treacherous snow. Her father is either crazy or heartless. Maybe both.

“Hey.” She turns and I feel her nose brush the side of my neck. “Do you think I’m a coward?”

I scoff. “Coward? No. How many times have you jumped in to defend me without knowing the situation?” Saints, she challenged Kierra for me. “You are far from a coward.”

“I’m…scared,” she whispers at a volume that makes me question whether she intended for me to hear. “I’ve wanted to prove myself for my whole life but…” Her hand tightly grabs my shirt. “I’m not ready.”

“Alana…” My hand moves to her head.

“I don’t want to die.”

“You really let all your defenses down when you drink.” I’ll have to make sure she never drinks alone in the future. It’s kind of cute. Why can’t she be this honest all the time? “You’re not going to die,” I tell her, patting her head as if I’m coaxing an upset child. Such a shame she never remembers this stuff.

“How do you know?”

“I know, because I’ll be there.” My hazy plan to boost my reputation by making my mark in the Bleak Peaks has just become as solid as stone. Looks like I’ll be spending my post-initiate vacation in a winter wonderland. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“You can’t promise that,” she mutters. “No one can.”

“Well, I just did.”

She harrumphs. “Stupid.”

“I prefer optimistic.”

“…degenerate.”

“Thank you.”

“Stop taking…” The rest of her words devolve into mutters.

“Oi.” I gently jostle her with the shoulder she’s lying on but she doesn’t budge, clinging to me harder. “Don’t fall asleep.”

She ignores me, eyes drooping lower and lower before eventually closing. “Alright.” I loop an arm around her and lift her from her chair as I stand. I ignore the others as I carry her upstairs.

She grumbles as I toss her onto the bed but doesn’t wake. I take a moment to appreciate the view. Oh, if only these were different circumstances. I wish I was undressing her but I have to limit myself to taking off her boots and making her a little more comfortable before climbing in beside her.

“I wish you didn’t go to sleep so fast,” I mutter as I watch her chest slowly rising and falling. “While you are being so honest, I wanted to ask you how long you plan on stringing me along.”

She mumbles.

“Hm? Are you saying something?” I ask, leaning closer. “Though, you’re probably just having a—”

Her eyes snap open, her soft but calloused hand cupping my cheek. I can see her unfocused eyes and am more than fast enough to evade her as she leans in but the saints themselves couldn’t compel me to. I happily welcome her as her lips brush against my own.

Only for a moment. Then she rolls over, mumbling again. I stare at her back as a finger unconsciously touches my lips. Does she know what she was doing? Or was that just the dream? Could she be dreaming of me?

“Damn it, Alana.” I’ve never had a woman cause me so much stress. Kierra’s attention is demanding but I always know what to expect with her. Alana, lovely as she is, makes my head spin. Nevertheless, I can’t leave her alone.

Sighing deeply, I move closer, tucking her head under my chin and wrapping my arms around her. Hmph. If she’s going to kiss me, I get to cuddle her. “You’re going to pay for all of this when we’re together, you know.”

She smiles in her sleep, blissfully unaware of my schemes.