The Conciege
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(TPOR) Chapter 170: Toy, Jester, Sex Dungeon
🕑 Added 2024-02-02 05:03:52 +0000 UTCBabajide’s room wasn’t as wide as he had always wanted it, but being a king in a post apocalyptic world was different from being a king in a pre-apocalyptic world. In the latter you got everything there was to get. In the former, you got whatever there was to get.
But the room was wide enough with his throne-like chair and his dazzling chandelier.
People said hubris was a terrible thing that led to the downfall of men. They were right. But that didn’t keep him from enjoying himself and holding his own hubris to a standard that even hubris would consider hubris.
He turned his hand in front of him and checked on his finger nails simply because he could. It was his right in any situation to do whatever he wanted simply because he could.
In front of him, on his deep velvet carpet four mages were kneeling.
Their hands were bound behind their backs in chains and he had his men standing behind them with guns pointed at the back of their skulls.
The barest twitch would lead to very loud gunshots. None of the mages before him was anything more than a Rukh do he couldn’t bring himself to be bothered.
Ever since the arrival and departure of the Olympians a few months ago, he hadn’t really been feeling like himself. They had walked through his town in their powerful suits of armor and reminded him that he was nothing more than a frog in a well.
They hadn’t done anything to cause it, though. They’d simply walked into town, asked a few questions, and walked out.
But in that short period when they had been around, he had felt it. It was in the way the people on the outskirts of the town looked at them. It was the hope in their eyes, the prayers on their lips. It was in the belief that the Olympians could save them.
But their belief and hopes and prayers weren’t what had bothered Babajide, the people prayed and believed and hoped everyday for some ridiculous return on democracy in a ruined world. What had bothered him that time had been the truth.
Had any of the Olympians decided it, he would’ve become nothing but a stain on the wall. The people would’ve been ‘liberated’ from his rule.
He didn’t think he was a cruel ruler, but he wasn’t oblivious to the occasional cruelty of his men. But it was the disadvantage of giving too many men power.
He kept his eyes on the red haired mage and wondered what exactly a man had to go through to end up covered in so much dried blood and tattered clothes.
The detritus of incompetence or the disillusionment of achieved power, he thought.
The last time he had ever seen someone covered in so much blood had been two weeks ago when he’d come back from a particularly brutal hunt.
When the Olympians had come, he’d been nothing more than a category 1 Rukh. When they’d left, he’d chased the pinnacle of power, run down it’s devastating hill to the point of no return.
Babajide had wanted power, and he had gotten it.
It had also come with perks.
His men had watched his growth and called it unprecedented. They had marveled at his determination and looked upon him like a demi-god.
Okay, maybe not a demi-god, but something powerful.
He remembered the day one of his men had begged to come with him on one of his hunts. He remembered how the man had returned with a lost arm and post traumatic stress disorder.
Even now, the man continued shaking in his room. In his benevolence, Babajide had taken it upon himself to care for the man until he was better.
Too many—
“Is he doing an internal monologue?” the red haired mage asked no one in particular. “He looks like his doing an internal monologue.”
The dwarf let out a resigned sigh, shaking his head, while the only other male present shot him a dark look.
“What?” the red haired mage protested. “Look at him, all that are sophisticated looking. He just checked his nail like a lady done at a hair salon. That’s a lot of posturing.”
“Zed,” the only lady in their midst said. “Please be quiet.”
The red haired mage, Zed, took a moment to pause.
“All I’m saying is that he’s definitely doing the internal monologue thing, like the one important characters do in the movies,” he grumbled. “Looks good on him, though.”
Babajide wasn’t sure what had just happened. Had Zed just complimented him or not? There was the bit about the lady in a salon and the bit about how it looked good on him.
He frowned slightly.
“Oof,” Zed muttered. “I think I messed up his internal monologue.”
“Zed!” the man to his side whispered harshly.
The dwarf remained quiet.
Now Babajide was confused. Was the mage not afraid? There were guns pointed directly at his head. Mages weren’t invincible. Their potential invincibility only started at Bishop rank. Even at that rank they could still be hurt by bullets. And the mages in front of him weren’t Bishops, so why?
He leaned forward on his chair, one finger tapping patiently on his armrest.
“Do you not fear death?” he asked in as deep a voice as he could muster. “Does life not compel you to remain in its embrace?”
Zed looked around, as if looking for who had been addressed, as if he didn’t know he was the one.
Babajide nodded.
“Are you one of those men?” he said. “Those who cloud their insecurities in the armor of comedy and foolish behaviors?”
Finally, Zed met his eyes and Babajide was hit by how dazzlingly green they were. To call them beautiful would not have been an understatement.
Red hair and green eyes, he thought. Some men are blessed with features.
When the mage finally spoke, it wasn’t what he’d expected.
“Are these men going to shoot me for saying the wrong thing?” he asked.
Babajide thought about it. The men weren’t here for his protection. In fact, he kept them here with guns pointed because it sent a message. It sent a message that he had power existing beyond just the one granted to him as a mage.
“You will not be harmed as long as there are no blatant insults,” he said. “I keep soldiers in my employ, not thugs.”
“We met a thug not too long ago, though,” Zed said. “In fact, I would argue he was the reason for all this.”
“The one you assaulted at the gate?”
“Assaulted is such a strong word. Besides, it was self-defense.”
Babjide cocked an inquisitive brow.
Zed’s lips parted in childlike wonder. “He even knows how to do the one brow thing. All that’s left is the evil monologue and this would be top ten moments.”
Babajide laughed. He couldn’t help himself.
“It is decided.” He leaned back and rested his back against his chair. “I will not be handing you over to the VHF.”
An odd look crossed all their faces, and the only other man who was not a dwarf spoke quickly.
“Is there a VHF platoon close by?” he asked. “Are they Olympians or Renegades?”
Babajide wasn’t sure if it was fear or excitement in the man’s voice. Unwilling to say something that would change the dimension the conversation was taking, he chose the path of the powerful.
“Would you like to be handed over to the VHF… Zed?” he asked, ignoring the second man. “I would rather keep you, but I am not beyond benevolence.”
“And this benevolence,” Zed said. “Is it shown by keeping me or handing me over. Because I’ll be honest with you, dude, sometimes the VHF blokes are good, and sometimes they’re just straight stomping.”
Babajide didn’t know what stomping meant. He had a strong feeling it had no meaning in the context. It was probably used to throw him off his pace.
“You play games even the dead would not, red head.”
Zed sighed dramatically. “First, which is most important, my hair is auburn, not red. It’s sometimes hard to tell so I’m just putting it out there to stall further excuses.”
Babajide nodded. Some men needed their principles, no matter how unimportant they were.
“Second,” Zed continued. “I’m playing games even the dead would not? With all due respect your chair-ness, every game the living play is a game the dead would not. Why? Because their dead.”
Babajide paused. He wasn’t so high and mighty not to recognize when he’d made a blunder.
I should’ve gone with something else.
Was it too late to salvage this? He didn’t think so, at least he didn’t want to.
“You continue to amaze me,” he said, affecting superiority. “You are like a child with a new toy, eager and excited. It’s written all over your face. I like it.”
Zed bowed his head slightly. “Thank you. So does that make you the toy? Because with the whole thing with the dead and the now the part about you insinuating you’re my toy, I’m beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, your analogies are going over my head.”
Babajide frowned and the mask of superiority he wore almost cracked. It was all he could do not to go down there and grab the pompous fool by the neck.
But his men were here, watching. He couldn’t be anything but regal.
“A king needs his jester,” he muttered loud enough to be heard but low enough to seem like he was talking to himself. “A jester can be out of control from time to time, but they can be trained. You can be trained.”
“I’m getting sex dungeon vibes,” Zed muttered. “Please tell me you don’t have a sex dungeon.”
Babajide paused, confused. “I don’t have a sex dungeon.”
Where the hell did the man get that idea from?
He looked around the space they were in. Lush velvet rug, a throne of a chair, a chandelier, a dining in the corner that sat up to eight people, a wide screen television that didn’t work hanging on one of the walls.
How did he make the jump to sex dungeons?
“Is it the sex dungeon bit or the jester bit?” Zed asked suddenly. “You look like you just tasted a dry plum and expected it to taste like winter.”
Babajide only got more confused. Who expects plum to taste like winter?
He didn’t like this, the mage was ruining his persona.
“A jester should learn control,” he said with a scowl.
“And you seem to have perfected it,” Zed said. “That’s one tight jaw you’ve got on. I hope I have nothing to do with it.”
He had everything to do with it, and he knew it.
Babajide pinched the bridge of his nose. There were four of them arraigned in front of him, and so far only the red head had been talking. And it was time to admit that he couldn’t best the man in a contest of words.
“I could simply have you shot. You know that, right?”
“But you won’t,” Zed said. “It is not fitting of one with so much power. Is it?”
The mage knew the game he played. Perhaps he had played it himself once.
Yes, power was a delicate thing, to be wielded with care unless it was nigh invincible. And his power wasn’t nigh invincible. He was no Bishop… yet.
“How about we do this,” Zed said. “We try again, but after you’ve shown your benevolence and informed my friend over here if there’s a VHF platoon anywhere nearby. He used to be a celebrity before this whole fiasco happened so he’s not very used to being ignored.”
Babajide looked at the man beside Zed and couldn’t see it. He didn’t recognize him at all.
“Was he in anything popular?” he asked before he could stop himself.
“He played beauty and the beast.” Zed shrugged, helpless. “Does that count?”
Babajide knew a few beauty and the beast movies, and series, but he couldn’t remember any Hispanic characters.
“I don’t think I saw that one.”
Zed made a thoughtful sound for a while, then said, “Can’t say I’m too surprised. He didn’t really play a very convincing character. He was table cloth number three.”
Babajide sighed. It was official. The mage was a bumbling fool. Which meant this entire stupidity was Babajide’s fault. He’d made the uneducated decision of having a conversation with a fool.
Now he was going to make the educated decision of stopping.
“No,” Zed said hurriedly. “Don’t just quit now. You’ve got to get ahead. Haven’t you heard the saying, quit while you’re ahead?”
“It’s don’t quit while you’re—” Babjide shook his head. “You. The one that asked of the Olympian, does this fool speak for all of you?”
“I thought I was a child with a toy?” Zed protested. “I’ll be a jester, too. If that’s what you want. Just no sex dungeons. I don’t think I’m ready for something that committed.”
When Babajide sighed, it was a legitimate one, outside of the persona he had spent months building in this place.
“Can someone please just do something about him?”
One of the men behind Zed, pushed the mouth of his gun against the back of his head.
“God no!” Babajide protested. “I meant shut him up, not kill him. You’ll get blood all over my rug. That stuff’s hard to clean.”
The men looked between themselves.
“Should we take him outside?” one of them asked.
“Have you captured his other friends still running around outside?” Babajide asked.
The men looked at each other.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Babajide said. “So don’t take him outside.”
“You sure, boss?”
Babajide waved a dismissive gesture. “Just knock him out or something. I’ll deal with him when he’s up.”
The man turned his gun around and pulled it back to drive the butt into the back of Zed’s head.
“It’s really not as easy as you think it is,” Zed said.
Babajide shrugged. “Then I guess he’ll learn with you.”
The man struck Zed, and Zed let out a painful yelp. With his arms chained behind his back, there was nothing to give him equilibrium. He tilted forward, but surprisingly didn’t fall. Somehow, he was still on his knees.
“That hurt like a freight train without a fee.” He scowled.
Babajide would’ve had something to say about the man’s nonsense if he wasn’t so confused by the flash of lines and curves he’d seen in the man’s eyes in that moment of pain.
What the hell was that?
He raised a hand to stop the man from hitting Zed again.
“Is there something special about you, red head?” he asked. “Something that might convince me to bring you under my employ.”
Zed looked from side to side, then looked at him. “Me?”
“Yes, you.”
Zed snorted. “Sure as hell can’t be me. I remember telling you I’m not a red head.”
Babajide sighed. “Hit him again.”
When the man drove the butt of his gun into the back of Zed’s skull again, he was watching and he caught the movement in Zed’s eyes.
Are those runes?
He hadn’t seen a lot, but he’d seen enough to know what runes looked like. He also knew enough to know that people didn’t have runes in their eyes that appeared and disappeared when they were hit.
What the hell?
He got up from his chair and stomped all the way to the kneeling mages. The only lady among them was yet to say anything, frowning each time they hit Zed.
Babajide wasn’t inclined to change that by talking to her. He’d never been good with the fairer sex.
He grabbed Zed by the jaw and tilted his head up to meet him so that they looked each other in the eye.
Zed grimaced. “This is getting a bit too intimate for my liking.”
Babajide didn’t look away from his eyes.
“Hit him again,” he told his man.
When the blow landed, Zed didn’t even flinch. But a rune still flashed in his eyes.
Babajide released him and stepped back. He had not just a red head, but a possible rune mage as well. That was the only explanation he could think of for why a man had runes in his eyes anytime he was hit.
And the stories about rune mages were few, but they all had one thing in common. A rune mage was either very powerful or very weak.
He turned and looked at Zed. Which one are you?
“It’s the green, I know,” Zed said, a little cocky. “It helps me get all the girls. I could show you a trick or—”
His words were cut off as the same man slammed his gun into his head again. This time, Zed fell forward and hit the ground. He stayed there, silent and motionless.
Babajide looked at the man in confusion. “What the hell was that for? I didn’t ask you to hit him again.”
The man looked away, chastised. “Sorry, Boss. He was just talking too much.”
Oddly enough, the mage’s companions looked like they understood.
In fact, even now Babajide was expecting the mage to start talking again. But he didn’t.
Instead, something in the air grew heavy. It pricked at him and he spun around, calling the dust in the room to him, gathering it about him along with the air as if building himself into a tornado.
Someone had entered the room, someone wild and without control. Someone that wanted nothing but violence.
The sensation permeated the room and sipped into his own skin. Whoever it was didn’t feel too powerful, but he felt very dangerous.
Babajide wrapped the wind and dust around both hands like a drill and prepared himself for ba—
Fear seized him when he saw what was happening.
His men were lying on the ground. Zed’s companions each had a frown of discomfort on their faces…
And Zed was emitting a very terrifying aura.
“I really hate it,” Zed’s voice came out casual, much unlike his blood thirsty aura, “when people choose violence instead of a conversation.”
He was still face down, but the aura made him seem all the more terrifying for it.
“To be put down by the weak,” he added, unstrained. “How pathetic.”
He raised himself from the ground without using his chained hands. He simply came back up, body rising from the knees up in a powerful display of hamstring power.
When he was back on his knees, his face was casual but there was something terrifying in his eyes.
He fixed Babajide with them and it was like having a blob run him through the stomach with one of its limbs.
“Now,” Zed said. “Where were we, oh king?”
Comments
Mobious
"Because their dead" -> "because they're dead"
