"Are you sure about this, John?" Tyrell asked.
John simply smiled and nodded with his usual unwavering confidence. "Am I ever not?"
"I know, but... helping machines? Is it really worth risking our lives for?"
"You don't gotta trust or even like the SRL. Just trust me." John flashed that familiar smirk that showed him how sure he was of what he was saying. "You trust me, right?"
Tyrell nodded. "I do. I'd follow you to hell and back if it came to it."
"Good. 'Cause that's where we're goin'."
Cree blinks his eyes open and squints against the morning light that shines through the opaque windows of the rented room. The air is cold against his skin, reminding him that he currently isn't wearing clothes.
Then he remembers what happened last night. He remembers it all, especially when his headache won't let him forget about how strong his drink was.
He'd forgotten how nice it was to not sleep alone. Sure, he likes his solitude, but there's a comfort in knowing that someone will be there when you wake up and prove that your trust in them wasn't misplaced. How he hadn't thought to be with anyone since things went south with Data, he doesn't know. Maybe it's just that when he takes a liking to someone, he gets attached and wants no one else. But perhaps seeing Data move on and get with Peace has pushed him to move on as well.
Whatever the case, he feels content.
He takes a long deep breath in and exhales in relaxation. But he notices something seems off. He shouldn't be this cold in the presence of another person sharing the warmth.
He turns his gaze down from the ceiling to the bed, only for his brief contentment to instantly dissolve.
"Fuck..." he groans as he pushes to sit up.
He's alone. His trust was misplaced. It's not too surprising considering how they met just last night, but it still stings. But his headache is what hurts him most now. He pinches the bridge of his nose and rubs his eyes. His body aches and his stomach churns, both in hunger and nausea. How he has both, he doesn't know. All he knows is that he hates it.
He can already tell it's going to be a bad day, if there are any good ones anymore.
He sits up fully and shifts to place his feet on the stone floor, his back slouching as he sits on the bedside with his head down and his eyes shut tight against his pounding migraine.
He opens his eyes a little but keeps his head lowered as he reaches for his bag. "At least I had no money for her to steal..." he grumbles to himself and goes through his things. Once he sees that all his stuff is accounted for, he sets the bag back down and begins pulling his clothes back on.
Once he's gotten his dark brown cargo pants and black leather boots on, he starts searching for his discarded dark grey t-shirt. As he finds it, there's a soft but energetic knock on the door.
He sighs and slings his shirt over his shoulder as he makes his way over and grabs the handle. He pulls the door open to see Regan standing with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face. His eyes glance down at Cree and the moment he sees that he isn't wearing a shirt, his face turns beet red and his eyes light up.
"T—Ty! I, um... You're awake!" He clears his throat and glances away once he starts feeling a little faint.
Cree winces and shuts his eyes. "Shit, keep it down... My head is fuckin' killing me..." he says in a tight voice.
Regan nods and glances back at him to watch him pull his shirt on, which is when he notices that Cree has two faded long symmetrical scars running beneath his sculpted chest. He questions them for a moment, when the realization hits him and his understanding shows in his eyes. He opts to say nothing, as he doesn't really want to start the day with a black eye or a broken leg. But he can't help the small knowing smile that melts into his features.
Cree turns back into the room and sits down on the side of the bed again while he finishes grabbing his things. Regan walks in as well and looks around.
"Are you... alright?" he asks curiously.
"What do you think?" Cree spats and starts rubbing his temples in circles.
Regan bites his lip and examines him. "I noticed you talking to that woman last night..." he starts. "She seemed awfully friendly."
Cree huffs spitefully and shakes his head. "Yeah, well, looks can be deceiving..." he mutters.
Regan narrows his eyes at him and tries to decipher his meaning, when it hits him. His eyes widen and he feels his stomach tie in knots, his heart slightly hurts. "Wait... Did you... and her... I..." His body tenses. "I saw her help you to your room last night... But I never saw her leave..." He bites his lip.
Cree frowns and lowers his head as he grabs his bag. "Yeah. Me neither."
Regan crosses his arms. "I—Are you serious?! You just met her!"
"Why don't you mind your own fucking business, okay?" Cree snaps and slings his bag over his shoulder. He stands up quickly, but the fast motion causes his headache to stir and make him dizzy, so he immediately lowers back down to the bed and holds his head in his hands.
"Fucking hell..." he hisses.
Regan's expression softens and he sighs. He may not be happy about this, but he's willing to set his fuming jealousy aside for now. He gently pats his shoulder. "Just... wait here while I get you some water. That's sure to make you feel better. Please, try and relax until I return," he says softly.
Cree scoffs. "We don't have any money, dumbass..."
"I do!" Regan smiles proudly.
Cree glares up at him through squinted eyes to see him holding up a full coin purse. "What? How?" he questions.
"Last night I earned quite a few tips from gracing this place with my masterful skills with a lute!"
"You got paid to annoy people?"
Regan scoffs and shakes his head. "No, I got paid to bring merriment to these fine patrons. Now, stay here and relax and I will return shortly." He smiles warmly and rushes out the door to approach the barkeep.
Cree grumbles and lays back with his eyes closed. How could he have been so stupid? What happened last night was very unlike him and he knows it. Sleeping with a stranger? Taking Regan's advice? Allowing himself to get intoxicated in the presence of someone he didn't know, even if she was kind, beautiful, and charming? It doesn't matter now; he took that gamble and he lost. He's just gotta suck it up and deal with it.
If he were here with John, this wouldn't have happened. He always knew how to keep him grounded and focused, and prevent him from making stupid mistakes like he did last night. Instead, he's stuck with Regan. At least until the idiot gets himself killed.
Then he realizes why he can't let that happen. As annoying as Regan is, Edith has for some reason taken a strong liking to him. If Regan were to die on his watch, she may never forgive him. As strange as it feels to say, Edith has become like a sister to him. The last thing he wants to do is hurt her.
So as much as it pains him, he has no choice but to keep Regan alive.
Regan rushes back in holding a tankard of water. He smiles and hands it to Cree as he sits back up. "Here you are. Cold water with no ice, as you like," he says softly.
Cree takes it and eyes him quizzically. "How the hell do you know I don't like ice in my water?" He takes a sip and revels in the soothing cold that eases his headache a little.
Regan shrugs and stands in the center of the room with his hands crossed daintily behind his back. "I noticed you always request no ice with your drinks. It's easy to pick up on these things as I am very perceptive. Especially when it comes to subjects I have a particular interest in." He winks.
Cree grumbles and takes another drink, his head already feeling a little better but not by much. His pride hurts more than anything the more that he thinks about what an idiot he was. He even called it from the start. No one ever does nice things without wanting something in return. He was expecting that something to be a favor of some kind, but it turned out to be a night of pleasure.
He always thought he had more common sense than most men, for obvious reasons. But for some reason last night all judgment went out the window.
"Ty?" Regan says which momentarily breaks his train of thought.
Or self-ridicule more like.
"What?" he mumbles.
"Are you alright? You seem... off," Regan asks. "Is it about that... woman?" He fidgets anxiously.
Cree glares at him. "Her name was Sara. And I don't know what you're talking about. So back off." He rolls his shoulders stiffly and takes a drink. Regan nods.
"Right... I um... I know it's probably going to amount to nothing, but I figure it's worth it to ask... Do you... wish to talk about it?" he asks with uncertainty.
"You're lucky I'm too fucked up to hit you right now..." Cree growls. "There's nothing to talk about. We had last night, and she left. End of story."
"Well, you don't seem very satisfied with the ending," Regan says.
Cree huffs and looks down, rotating his cup and watching the ripples sway to and fro. "No shit." He takes a drink.
Regan wants to say something, but he holds back as he suddenly loses his train of thought once his eyes trail down to his arm. "Ty... you made love with her..." he says nervously.
Cree rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I thought that was clear already," he huffs.
"With your clothes off." Regan's eyes meet his.
"Regan, I'm pretty damn sure you're a virgin so I'll clear it up for you. That's usually how sex works."
Regan sighs and shakes his head. "No, Ty. Your arm." He motions to it. Cree lifts his metal arm and eyes it. "She must have seen it," Regan says.
"She didn't say anything." Cree shrugs and takes a drink, finishing the water.
"Why do I find that more concerning?" Regan questions and sits down next to him. "If she saw it and didn't say anything, that means it wasn't surprising to her at all."
Cree snickers. "And you call me the paranoid one. Maybe she just didn't see it. We were pretty distracted last night," he says. He sighs and stands up. "Anyway, we should get moving. I didn't learn anything about the Dev'al Ordon other than the fact that the continent apparently fears and hates them. It shouldn't be too hard to track down a location. We need to find them."
He pulls Regan's jacket back on to cover his arm and he stares at his hand. "I'm going to need gloves or something." He sighs. "The jacket helps but it doesn't cover everything."
Regan nods. "We can stop at the market then! With the coin I made, we should have more than enough to buy all the supplies we need for the road ahead! Let us go, Tyrell!" He marches out the door.
Cree grumbles and begrudgingly follows after one last glance to make sure he has everything.
Well, he seems to have lost his dignity, but other than that he's all set.
They exit the inn and start making their way towards the market stands arrayed atop the hill, surrounded by small shops and houses. This town is pretty small, but as they keep hearing, it's just a farming and fishing village. Like a rest stop for people on their way to the major cities.
Regan makes his way around the stands, buying all the things he thinks they'll need with the numis he has while Cree hangs back and waits. He has an uneasy feeling like he's being watched but every time he looks, no one is there. Maybe he's just tired or still coming down from his hangover, but after last night he decides to not go against his instincts.
He throws a glance at Regan before turning and walking down a narrow road that branches off from the market. He doesn't see anyone at first, but once he hears a voice he sees that his suspicions were correct.
"Tyrell, by decree of the Dev'al Ordon, you are hereby under arrest."
He sighs and slowly turns around to see two soldiers wearing gold and silver plate armor with red shoulder cloaks holding golden spears standing behind him.
Between them, she walks up with a smirk on her face.
"Sara..." he growls.
She sighs. "It's nothing personal, love. Business is business. I'm sure you understand," she says with a smile.
Cree crosses his arms. "Actually, I don't understand. I've done nothing wrong."
"Oh really? Then allow me to explain," she approaches him. "You were asking rather suspicious questions of our order. You even had trouble remembering the name. A name that is known across all six lands of Aramora. Not only that, but you are in possession of technology unlike anything we've seen before. It's not Dwarven, so it must be something else." She glances at his arm.
He glares at her and tightens his metal fist.
She smiles again. "Given all of this, we have firm reason to believe you are a person of interest. A potential threat to our continent and our order. But we cannot yet confirm this. We simply must take you in for questioning to find out if you are who we believe you to be," she explains.
Cree grumbles and looks away.
Sara sighs and steps up close to him, placing her hand in the center of his chest. "I truly hope you aren't who we think you are. I rather enjoyed your company," she throws on that tender voice that had won him over last night and it gets his heart racing.
He tries to fight the way she's somehow making him feel, but she seems to have a way of invading his mind and possessing his thoughts and emotions, which he isn't comfortable with. She lied to him and betrayed his trust, which is something next to unforgivable in his book. So how is she doing this?
"Tyrell! There you are! I—" Regan gasps as he runs up and sees Sara and the soldiers. "What's going on here? And... oh. She came back..." He glares at the woman standing before Cree.
Cree sighs and lowers his head. "No really, I hadn't noticed."
Sara turns around and faces Regan. "I apologize for any inconvenience. We simply must take Tyrell in for questioning to find out if he is a potential threat to the Dev'al Ordon," she says kindly.
Regan frowns. "And if he is a threat?"
Sara smiles and steps up close to him, now placing her hand on his chest. "You have nothing to worry about... I will take good care of him, as well as you," she uses that voice again that makes Cree's heart flutter.
Regan simply grabs her wrist and stares at her in question. "What are you doing? I can clearly tell that means you're going to hurt us if he is a threat," he asks and steps back from her.
She stares at him and her calm demeanor slightly wavers as her sultry expression shifts to confusion. "What the...? Why isn't this working on you?" She looks down at her hand quizzically.
Regan tilts his head. "Why isn't what working on me?"
Sara quickly lowers her hand and glares at him. "Nothing. Just stay out of my way. If your friend is innocent, you have nothing to worry about. Interfere in any way, and you will both be sentenced to execution. Is that clear?"
Regan huffs and readjusts his tie. "Well, I'd say you have more to worry about than we do. Tyrell is far from a pushover in battle. If you think he will simply come quietly, you'd be mista—"
"I'll go." Cree slowly raises his hands in surrender.
Regan whips his gaze to him in shock. "What? Ty, what are you doing? You can't just go with them!" he exclaims.
Cree sighs and shrugs. "Yes, I can. And I will."
Sara smiles and swiftly turns away from Regan to approach Cree. She holds him by his shoulders while one of the soldiers comes up behind him and grabs his wrists, fastening them together behind his back with thick leather straps. Sara starts leading them away, and Regan stares at Cree in question as he walks by with his head down.
He grabs his shoulder. "Ty, what are you doing? They could kill you," he whispers.
Cree nods. "I know. Just don't do anything stupid while I'm away."
Regan watches as they take him away, and he is left standing in the middle of the road, unsure of what to do that could get them out of this mess.
Probably something stupid.
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"I'll ask again," Sara glares up at Cree where he's shackled to the stone wall of the prison.
They didn't take him to any of the cities, just a fort in the middle of the forest equipped with guard towers, barricades, ballistae, and other defenses set in place to keep threats out and prisoners in.
They made him remove his jacket and shirt to expose his metal arm and shoulder. But he wonders if that was the real reason Sara had him do it, as she has been awfully touchy since they got here. Maybe it's just her method. She's a lot like Data in that sense, but at least Data knew when to quit. Sara is skilled in manipulation, which he hates in people more than anything. But the problem is that she's so good at it, he's finding it hard to hate her. She's somehow tricking him into loving her despite being everything he despises.
"Tell me your name," she demands for the hundredth time.
He keeps his head down and his eyes off of her, afraid that the moment their eyes meet, he will lose all the remaining sense he has and submit to her. Even the guards seem to be under her charm.
He shakes his head. "I already told you. It's Tyrell," he growls.
She frowns and gives him a swift backhand. "No. I want your full name."
"You know that's not gonna work on me, right? I know how to take a hit." Cree chuckles spitefully.
Sara smiles and cups his cheeks, forcing him to turn his face to meet her eyes. Looking at her, what he was afraid of happening comes true. His heart beats faster and his breathing grows heavy. She has him under her control but he doesn't know how or why. She's deceiving, and that won't be overruled by the fact that she's a little pretty.
Okay, even he knows that's a lie. She is infuriatingly sexy.
She leans her face closer to him and whispers into his ear, "tell me your name, love."
He grits his teeth and tries to fight it, but he gives in and growls in defeat. His tension eases as his will of resistance dissolves.
"...Cree Tyrell."
Sara hums her approval and stares at his face. "Cree..." she speaks his name like it's a sin she's happy to commit.
He frowns and glares at her. "Don't call me that..."
She simply chuckles and pulls his face down to hers to bring their lips together. Any possibly remaining self-control goes out the window as he feels rewarded for complying.
This isn't like him, even in normal relationships. He's always the one to take charge, but here he is obeying her every command. Now he knows for a fact that this isn't just his masculine side making him long for her, she must be actively doing something to mess with his head. Something that goes beyond words and what he can physically see.
It's almost like magic.
Thinking that, his first instinct is to tell himself he's an idiot because magic doesn't exist, but then he remembers where he is and it clicks. Latanya told them that magic, or at least something like it, was in Aramora.
She must be putting a spell on him.
He tries to fight it, but his mind can't form any clear thoughts. Sara leans back and removes her hands from him, and he realizes he hadn't been breathing the whole time she was close. He takes a deep breath and gets back into the pattern of steadily inhaling and exhaling the brief moment he's given some clarity.
"Now tell me, Cree," she drawls out his name, making him growl. "Where are you from?"
He can't tell her the truth. But if he doesn't tell her anything, she's going to manipulate him again and force him to tell her the truth. In order to prevent letting it slip with her mind games, he needs to come up with a lie and fast.
His eyes subtly dart across the prison. He remembers when she brought him down here, there was a map of Aramora on the wall above the table where they are keeping his things. It's a little hard to see from here, but what he can see, added with the brief interaction he and Regan had with that man who helped them find the inn, he's able to pick up an easy answer.
"Arkala," he says as he looks her in the eye.
She seems shocked by his response and takes a step towards him, brushing his soft, dark-silver hair back and tucking it behind his ear. She runs her finger over the top of his ear and bites her lip.
"Your ears have no point, yet you claim to come from the city of elves?"
He didn't know it was an elf city, but he knows how to keep his poker face even when being accused of a lie he barely knows anything about. "My parents are humans who moved from Ecrin to Arkala," he uses the other city name he remembers that man saying. "I never left the elven island since I was born, so I'm a little new to the rest of Aramora." He saw on the map that Arkala is an island just off the eastern coast of New Cresthill, telling her that he at least knows it's an island, not just another city.
He can't tell if she buys it or not. Her poker face is equal to his, which is scary. She says nothing more on the subject though, so he hopes that's a good sign. "I see. Now my next question..." She grins and reaches up, running her hand along his right arm, feeling the cold metal brush against her skin. He's damn thankful he can't feel with his right arm, or else her touch would be sending him shivers and making him lose control over his mind again.
"Where did you get the arm? I know Dwarven technology when I see it, and this isn't it. So tell me, Cree. Where did you get it?" she purrs his name again, but luckily hearing her say his real name doesn't pull him under her spell, it angers him more than anything.
He has to lie again, and fast. He doesn't have much to go on for this one, as he doesn't know anything about the logistics of how technology and other related shit works in Aramora, but he uses the only card he can think to play in this scenario. The Regan card.
Most sensible people would never question the logics of a madman.
"My friend—" he cuts himself off as saying those words when referring to Regan makes him nearly gag. "My friend from the inn is an inventor. I didn't have access to Dwarven technology when I lost my arm, so I had him make it specially for me. Don't ask me how he does it, but he did. Thing works like a charm, though. So who am I to complain?" He shrugs with restraint and shows a confident smile with a hint of spite and defiance.
Sara chuckles. "Interesting... It seems the bard is more useful than I had previously thought." She draws her fingers up the length of his arm and over his shoulder, splaying her hand across his chest. He heaves a breath and fights to keep his eyes away from her.
"Another question... This one may be a bit more personal." She smiles as she watches him fight himself. She can tell he's listening closely.
"Who is 'John'?"
That grabs his immediate attention and he glares deep into her eyes, feeling no desire with the force of his fear and rage. "How... how do you know that name?!" he demands, slightly fighting against the shackles.
Sara now places both hands on his chest and smiles up at him wickedly. "During our night of love, I heard you talking in your sleep while having a dream. This 'John' seems to be someone rather important to you. I believe your exact words were 'I'd follow you to hell and back if it came to it.' So tell me, love. Who is he?"
He clenches his jaw and looks down. Why does she want to know this? It's irrelevant to her earlier questions and holds no significance to his presence in Aramora or possibly being a threat to the Dev'al Ordon.
He knows why she's doing this. She wants to get in his head. Find his weak points and exploit them. He has no choice but to answer, as she will force him to one way or another eventually. At least telling her before she can manipulate the answer out of him means he did it under his own volition.
"...He's... he was..." His lip slightly quivers but he takes a deep breath to calm himself.
"...He was my brother."
"'Was'. He is dead now, correct?" Sara hisses.
Cree says nothing. He doesn't care what she says or does, he won't give her the satisfaction of his anger or tears. She wants him to lose control of himself in both mind and body, but he won't. Not so easily. He won't start a fight over something that can't be changed.
"One final question, my love."
Sara takes a few steps away from him, and most of him is relieved to have a moment to breathe, but there is a frustrating part of him that wants her close. That part of him really needs to calm the fuck down.
He lifts his head to see the two armed guards approach and enter the cell, standing at her sides. His eyes dart between them, but ultimately end up fixated on her.
"Answer this one honestly."
He doesn't like how she said that.
"If I were to tell you of... say, a woman. From another continent, running around in a place called 'Eutria', what would you have to say to that?"
Cree's muscles tighten and his anger flares up in his eyes. He fights harder against the restraints, which makes Sara smile.
"A strong reaction... but I need to hear you speak the words."
Cree says nothing, and instead just keeps burning his rage into her soul, but she remains patient and unfazed. She walks up to him and cups his cheek.
"Tell me, my love. What do you want to say?" she purrs in that entrancing voice, but he barely reacts.
"...Go fuck yourself."
Sara chuckles venomously and steps back from him. "Strike him," she orders to the guards.
They raise their spears and slice down across his torso, leaving an 'X' in his blood. He inhales sharply and bites his tongue until it bleeds against the stinging pain. He tries closing his arms over his chest but can't with the shackles restraining him. So instead, he just takes deep breaths, trying to focus on not losing control.
Sara smiles. "I can tell you want to say something... Go on. I'm waiting, my love. What do you wish to say regarding this woman in Eutria?"
"Don't you dare fucking hurt her..." he growls.
"As I thought. You know this woman. You care for her." She brushes her fingers over his cheek. "Your lover, by chance?"
Cree snickers. "Not a fucking chance in hell," his voice holds nothing but pure unbridled spite.
Sara leans closer. "Good. However, you've just disproved all your lies. You know of this woman, and thus you know of the continents and the rifts. The only people from Aramora who know such things are those in the Dev'al Ordon, which you know nothing about. Therefore, you cannot be from Aramora. You are the man who could bring about the end of our continent, and thus you need to die." She gives him a tender kiss that he can't resist, but when she steps back, his anger immediately returns.
She begins walking away and exits the cell. "Kill him, then deliver the body to Athemar Du'Keldan. Proof that Aramora and the Dev'al Ordon are hereby safe. Then we can send the message to the Imperium of Eutria to begin their hunt for this woman and kill her as well. The barriers cannot fall."
He won't start a fight over something that can't be changed.
But he will for something that can.
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Notes:
Map of Aramora makes a return!