Jun 26, 2016 11:37:36 GMT -5 |
Post by Gilbert Beilschmidt on Jun 26, 2016 11:37:36 GMT -5
We are the Lions...
Free of the Coliseum...
Free of the Coliseum...
Gil was dragging, it had been a long night, staying up late to attend a video conference with the Board members of KNP. There had been a lot of questions, and not a little skepticism regarding Gil’s progress. Jameson had of course, been the main dissenter. Gilbert had been expecting it, had prepared for it, and despite the drawn out meeting, he had felt pretty successful. But there was no time to rest, he was negotiating for the property to place his factory the next day, and he still needed to prepare to wow the Archadian officials, just as he had the board.
But to wow, Gil needed energy, and, today, energy required caffeine. So here he was strolling down the streets of Archadia, hoping that the mix of sunlight and his favorite coffee shop would undue the damage last night had done to his body. Luckily the day was absolutely picturesque.. Young people were milling about, sharing benches and snow cones, playing Frisbee and soccer on any patch of grass big enough to accommodate them. Families were shopping, old men were reading and debating on the patios of local restaurants. Everyone seemed to be outside, soaking in the sunlight with the same need as the plants that lined the streets and surrounded their town. And for the first time in a long time, Gil couldn’t help but feel content, he’d made connections—both legal and less legal—he was moving forward with his plan with surprisingly few obstacles… Sure, there was that detective, who had tried his damnest to trap Gil into confessing something that no doubt would have spelled the end of every plan he’d made, but Gil had managed to talk his way out of it. So long as he didn’t provide any hard evidence of wrong-doing on his part, that bastard could do nothing. It seemed more and more that Gil’s goal, his dream, was going to be a reality. And once he had the stage set, all it would take was some cajoling from the part of the FF and the seeds of revolution could finally take root.
Speaking of FF… Gil stopped, squinting against the light. That blonde hair, that stubborn lick of hair that always seemed to defy gravity, it was impossible to mistake it. Alfred. Gilbert actually felt a twinge of guilt at the sight of the man, given that their last meet up hadn’t exactly been ideal… and as much as Al had deserved it, Gil really shouldn’t have slugged him. But they had ended on at least civil terms, and though Al had messed up, his willingness to help put it right, had struck a cord with the German. Alfred had told him time and time again that he could assign another member of the FF to help Gil out, but Gilbert had steadfastly denied. Any man could talk big when things where going well, but the true measure of a person’s worth was how they conducted themselves when things went to hell. Al had proved himself in Gil’s eyes, and he wouldn’t hear of working with anyone else. In such a delicate situation, you have to be able to trust your partners completely, and Gil did, so far as Al was concerned.
“Hey, Al! What perfect timing!” Gil called out with a smile. He jogged up to the American, ready to share the good news of the meeting. Maybe Al could join him for coffee and—
Gil stopped dead, eying the man before him. Alfred was winded, his skin pale under his reddened cheeks, and… was that blood? Gil saw the stain on his jeans first, then raked his eyes over Al, searching for the source, fearing the worst. He finally spotted the angry cut on the boy’s hand, it looked painful, but not life threatening. There was a small sense of relief that surfaced in his chest, but was quickly pushed aside by concern. Alfred looked… well shaken wasn’t really a strong enough word, Alfred looked as though something had rocked him to his very foundation. Whatever had happened to him, it was more than a simple mugging, of that Gil was sure.
Without thinking, Gil pulled Alfred into the nearby alley, away from the bustling street. He pulled out a handkerchief and held his palm out for Al to rest his injured hand on it. “Okay, Alfred. Tell me what’s going on.” His voice was kind, but stern. He knew how stubborn Alfred was, but now was not the time for such nonsense and he wanted to make sure Alfred knew it.
Al was going to get his help, whether he wanted it or not.
by worldie for kat