[DMC4] [fic] Razing Nero
Aug. 22nd, 2008 12:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moonsheenA quick something before I dash off to New Jersey! DMC4, pre-game. So not much on the spoilers.
No one was ever sure why Nero set the fire, but no one ever doubted he’d been the one to do it. He swore his innocence, swore to God even, and a number of Saints. He swore it up until they turned the lighter out of his pocket, three eyewitnesses said they’d seen him in the area, and a whole congregation agreed he hadn’t been to services. At that point the evidence was against him, but he knew they would’ve blamed him anyway.
The flames had burned well into the afternoon. Three units worked to stamp it out while a band of knights kept the onlookers back. A couple of fire men suffered from breathing in some smoke and another bruised himself handling a pump. Otherwise, there were no injuries. The flames simmered by that evening, red in the black remains. The storehouse was old and abandoned, and the blaze hadn’t spread. Still, in the old, close quarters of Fortuna’s lower residential district, it could’ve. A lot couldd have gone wrong. A lot of people could have died.
If Nero had been older, he would have had to face a full tribunal. As it stood he was dragged kicking out of a dumpster and locked in the prefect’s study. The interim captain of the knights, who’d been given the post after losing the elections for Pope and who would never be named Supreme General, met with the mother superior. He had sponsored the child’s entry into the church. She was charged with all oblates, boys and girls, until they reached the age of twelve. The matter fell on them.
“Brother Pax, I have done what I can,” she said, in a cool, clear voice, for she was a patient woman and a devout follower of the Kalinic vows. “I shall do with him as you see fit, but the child is beyond all reproach. He starts fights with the other children and he’s driven five sisters to tears. I’m not one to relinquish one of my lambs but that child…” Her hands tightened to the point of whiteness. Pax had some idea of what she must have thought:
‘There are none who can save that one.’
Pax bowed to her and said: “Mother Domina let this bother you no more.”
He walked out, turned to his young squire, and said: “How about a task?”
When they let Nero out he was issued two hundred Hail Kalinas, fifty strokes across the knuckles, and told to pack his belongings, because he’d be leaving the dormitories the very next day.
To Nero that last part didn’t seem too bad. He’d hated the school, and the nuns, and the other orphans. They couldn’t have thrown him out sooner. The next morning a group of jubilant seniors woke him, caught him, and threw into a large iron tub. They used a prickly brush and soap that made his hair curl. They dressed him in his whites, which belled around his body like a dress and sucked all of the color out of him. They were okay for running up and down the halls at night. It was fun to scare the crap out of anyone in evening prayer, but they’d stopped letting him do that, and now all they were to him were overly fancy and super uncomfortable. After fixing his frock ten times and completely failing to smooth his hair, they marched him out into the courtyard, where a young man waited.
He stood stiffly by the gate. Based in the way the acolytes had started whispering quickly halfway through the Cleansing The Devil Child, he’d probably been made to wait awhile, and had refused to lean up against the wall, even though it was right behind him. He looked like the kind of guy who expected promptness from people. He dressed like it too: the white and gold of Holy Knights, clean and perfectly pressed. His sword hung off his belt. Nero took a moment to stare. He hadn’t seen one up close since he’d been brought to the stupid place, and he could barely remember that anymore. The knights posted outside the school never carried the heavy weaponry, and the sisters caned kids who tried to sneak out the gates. Now Nero stood in the shadow of the bars and in front of one of those knights, and the knight looked down at him.
“You’re Nero?” Two younger boys appeared behind him, looking hot and tired and very much like they’d wanted to sit down, and like they probably required express permission to do so. They were pages, they wore pale blue, and they scurried to take the chests. Nero only took the barest note of them. He looked back up at the knight, tried to look just as tall and immoveable. It was hard, being undersized and lacking the long nose to look down.
…or up, as the case might’ve been. “Am I under arrest?”
“No,” said the knight, crossing his arms behind his back. His dark eyebrows seemed stuck in a permanent, angry slant. His face was smooth, only the barest beginnings of a beard under the firm line of his mouth. Still, he seemed very old. “But you will come with me.”
No one was ever sure why Nero set the fire, but no one ever doubted he’d been the one to do it. He swore his innocence, swore to God even, and a number of Saints. He swore it up until they turned the lighter out of his pocket, three eyewitnesses said they’d seen him in the area, and a whole congregation agreed he hadn’t been to services. At that point the evidence was against him, but he knew they would’ve blamed him anyway.
The flames had burned well into the afternoon. Three units worked to stamp it out while a band of knights kept the onlookers back. A couple of fire men suffered from breathing in some smoke and another bruised himself handling a pump. Otherwise, there were no injuries. The flames simmered by that evening, red in the black remains. The storehouse was old and abandoned, and the blaze hadn’t spread. Still, in the old, close quarters of Fortuna’s lower residential district, it could’ve. A lot couldd have gone wrong. A lot of people could have died.
If Nero had been older, he would have had to face a full tribunal. As it stood he was dragged kicking out of a dumpster and locked in the prefect’s study. The interim captain of the knights, who’d been given the post after losing the elections for Pope and who would never be named Supreme General, met with the mother superior. He had sponsored the child’s entry into the church. She was charged with all oblates, boys and girls, until they reached the age of twelve. The matter fell on them.
“Brother Pax, I have done what I can,” she said, in a cool, clear voice, for she was a patient woman and a devout follower of the Kalinic vows. “I shall do with him as you see fit, but the child is beyond all reproach. He starts fights with the other children and he’s driven five sisters to tears. I’m not one to relinquish one of my lambs but that child…” Her hands tightened to the point of whiteness. Pax had some idea of what she must have thought:
‘There are none who can save that one.’
Pax bowed to her and said: “Mother Domina let this bother you no more.”
He walked out, turned to his young squire, and said: “How about a task?”
When they let Nero out he was issued two hundred Hail Kalinas, fifty strokes across the knuckles, and told to pack his belongings, because he’d be leaving the dormitories the very next day.
To Nero that last part didn’t seem too bad. He’d hated the school, and the nuns, and the other orphans. They couldn’t have thrown him out sooner. The next morning a group of jubilant seniors woke him, caught him, and threw into a large iron tub. They used a prickly brush and soap that made his hair curl. They dressed him in his whites, which belled around his body like a dress and sucked all of the color out of him. They were okay for running up and down the halls at night. It was fun to scare the crap out of anyone in evening prayer, but they’d stopped letting him do that, and now all they were to him were overly fancy and super uncomfortable. After fixing his frock ten times and completely failing to smooth his hair, they marched him out into the courtyard, where a young man waited.
He stood stiffly by the gate. Based in the way the acolytes had started whispering quickly halfway through the Cleansing The Devil Child, he’d probably been made to wait awhile, and had refused to lean up against the wall, even though it was right behind him. He looked like the kind of guy who expected promptness from people. He dressed like it too: the white and gold of Holy Knights, clean and perfectly pressed. His sword hung off his belt. Nero took a moment to stare. He hadn’t seen one up close since he’d been brought to the stupid place, and he could barely remember that anymore. The knights posted outside the school never carried the heavy weaponry, and the sisters caned kids who tried to sneak out the gates. Now Nero stood in the shadow of the bars and in front of one of those knights, and the knight looked down at him.
“You’re Nero?” Two younger boys appeared behind him, looking hot and tired and very much like they’d wanted to sit down, and like they probably required express permission to do so. They were pages, they wore pale blue, and they scurried to take the chests. Nero only took the barest note of them. He looked back up at the knight, tried to look just as tall and immoveable. It was hard, being undersized and lacking the long nose to look down.
…or up, as the case might’ve been. “Am I under arrest?”
“No,” said the knight, crossing his arms behind his back. His dark eyebrows seemed stuck in a permanent, angry slant. His face was smooth, only the barest beginnings of a beard under the firm line of his mouth. Still, he seemed very old. “But you will come with me.”
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Date: 2008-08-23 12:24 am (UTC)