Author Games: The Art of War

Chapter Three: Males

Rouge: Ariel 'Sol' Solace

Stuck with a gardener, a pianist, and a kid who couldn't even wield a knife well enough to become a chef.

A fucking dream team to be sure.

Why did Colette think it was fair to stick him with these three over anyone else? Sol honestly would've preferred to have either of the strippers over the group in front of him. ...Not that he was into that sort of thing.

Running a hand through his tousled brown hair, he looked over the three of them somewhat glumly. It didn't show on his face of course. On the outside, he looked determined, if not a bit aloof. Inside, however, he felt like he was burning up. Solace had barely survived a fire, he had dropped down three stories, and he had been able to shoot at least ten royal soldiers in one go. Didn't that call for a bit more excitement the day after?

Apparently not, he thought as he watched the boy in front of him attempt and fail miserably at eating an apple. The red fruit slipped out of the boy's hands and began its descent down the hill they stood on. Instead of trying to stop or catch it, he simply watched it roll down the perfectly paved sidewalk. In fact, just about everything was perfect around where they stood.

The shops that lined the street were all spaced impeccably, not one without its own unique color and style. Everything sold was special, even if it was all expensive. Rich people really did have it good. Sol began to realize why people came to Caeruleus, even if it was just for a day. It was as fancy and high ended as he had ever seen a sector get. All the neighborhoods were open and stretched out unlike the cramped, brick apartment buildings in Rogue. That being said, it also meant that royal guards were constantly roaming the streets. They had been lucky so far, though at one point Sol had had to quite literally grab Martin by the collar and drag him into a side alleyway to keep them from running smack into a horde of guards who were on their breaks.

Yet that experience hadn't seemed to give him any sense of urgency because here they were having lunch. Why in the Hell anyone thought that was a good idea Sol hadn't the foggiest. At least Mitsue wasn't too pleased with the situation either. He stood with his arms crossed, watching emotionlessly as Martin grabbed the runaway apple and handed it back to Kimchi who was busy fiddling with his bandana. He took it less than gracefully, an awkward smile slipping onto his pale lips.

The boy wasn't very in tune with his body. He was incredibly tall, but hunched down constantly, giving Sol the impression that if Kimchi reached 35 he was going to start having serious back problems. He had a soft face and smile, though, the kind that Ariel was sure would have been able to pull off those big-eyed, puppy looks. It was one of those expressions that Ariel had never been able to master, his eyes too intense to seem sad and needy, his brain fighting him whenever it came to looking vulnerable in any sense of the word. Still, the strawberry haired boy seemed too busy trying to not to be stepped on to worry about anything else. Why Colette thought he would be useful, Sol had no idea. It was a mystery, but not one he had time to delve into.

"Are you alright? You seem distracted," Martin was speaking to Kimchi, but it wasn't hard to overhear.

He dipped his head, his hair falling out of the way just enough that Ariel could notice one of his ears had been nicked. Maybe the string bean had at least some guts. "I'm okay, just worried about Reese," he answered, his voice incredibly soft, like that of a five-year-old.

The older man nodded, "I wouldn't worry too much, I'm sure we'll meet up with him at the new base in no time."

Before Sol could help himself, he let a small "tch" escape his lips. It thankfully wasn't loud enough for the group to hear, but he scolded himself nonetheless. All it took was one little slip up like that in front of the enemy, and he would quickly lose a head. Yet the reason he made the noise was still applicable. He didn't understand the aspects of making "friends" with any of the other rebels. It was useless, for all he knew none of them would even make it to the base alive. There was no point in just putting the weight of another life you needed to save on your shoulders. If he won he'd be fine celebrating with them of course, a few rounds of alcohol, singing Kumbaya, all that crap, etcetera. Right then, though, it wasn't even on his priority list.