Freckle Bitches

The old man looks down from the foyer and sees the receptionist floored, the patrons looking away like they had nothing to do with me, and me, grinning like an idiot. 

[What the hell did you do to Barney? Most of these good for nothing sacks of meat and disappointment don't even stare at Barney let alone beat the shit out of him. Who the fuck are you?]

[Little old me? Call me Al, you see old man, I came in looking to join the Mercs Comp and this mass of meat got rude, so of course I got rude as well, and after mentioning his mothers affair with me he tried to swing at me so I put him in his place.]

Everyone recalls the mother joke and tries to hold in their laughter. Even the old man lets out a little chuckle.

[Sheesh kid, come up to my office and we'll get you cleared. The name's not old man by the way, it's Root. I'm the Mercs Comp branch manager.]

[Yare Yare, I'm coming]

And so I climb up the stairs, mentally steeling myself for the possibility that he will utterly wreck my shit. I see the door he went in and go inside.

[Take a seat son, and take off the mask while you're at it.]

[I would rather NOT take my mask off. Any possibility I keep it on?]

[Of course not, while we may be mercenaries, but we are very aware that mercenaries sometimes go berserk and lose themselves after a battle and turn into bandits or raiders so we pride ourselves on knowing each and every merc with red flags, and you my boy, raised one hell of a flag.]

[Of course I did, dammit. Alright look, I'll take it off, but if you tell anyone who I am I will burn down your house down with your entire family in it. Understand?]

[You're only raising more flags but fine, I get it, I doubt you're anyone big anyways. Let me see.]

I snigger a little inside as I hear him doubt my notoriety and proceed to take off my mask. I see his pupils dilate and hear his heart beat a little faster. He's scared, or excited. Let's find out which.

[You said your name is Al, of course you're prince Alscepius. Why the hell are you here? The armies of the Empire are trying to kill you and the Fay are trying to capture you for your secrets, you must be fucking stupid trying to be a merc, one side wants to kill you and the other wants to make you a political prisoner, neither will benefit you.]

[That may be true, from YOUR perspective, now let me tell you my side of things. My beloved father, the Star King himself tried to kill me, and succeeded in killing my only friends. I am very angry. Personally I want to walk into the palace and impale the entire royal family and burn the palace to the ground and water the gardens with the blood of the royalty. However, realistically, that's not happening. So here is what's going to happen. I have two options before me. I can side with the Republic, and slaughter my countrymen to get back at my father and maybe rescue a beautiful elf and she'll fall in love with me, OR, I can side with the Empire, help my countrymen, slaughter some traitors, rape some elven whores, and bring the head of the enemy commander before my elder brother Julius who will be leading the campaign, and unmask myself and send some shock waves throughout the entire Empire. Honestly, I don't know which one has more benefits. But I am most definitely leaning towards Operation: Shock and Awe.]

Root gets incredibly uncomfortable and starts fidgeting with his hands. He's thinking so hard I can hear the cogs turning in his head and see the steam coming out of his head. After some time passes he finally speaks.

[I see why your father wanted you dead. Necromancy, vengeful, and willing to kill and rape just because. You are an incredibly problematic existence, and I would very much like to throw you out of the building and get the guards. The amount of money I could get from selling you out would make me never have to work again. BUT. This is a very big but. for some reason I don't think I would live long enough to see the money. Look, I'll let you do whatever, but for the love of the Author please don't group up with anyone or tell anyone.]

[Wasn't planning on it pops, when is the battle again?]

[5 days from now. I uh, recommend you get some better equipment. I can't lend you any armor, but I can give you a sword or axe?]

[I would be willing to take you up if you had any armor, but the cleavers are mine, I already named them after all.]

[I...see. Good fortunes? I guess?]

[Don't need them, I plan on having fun pops, see ya!]

[Oh here, take this, its a mercenary tag, go see Lizbeth, she's the backup receptionist, Barney never really leaves so most people don't even know she exist. She handles the behind the scenes things usually. She's two doors down the right.]

[Why do I need a tag?]

[Lets you enter and leave the city without a hassle, also can be used to identify yourself when guards or whoever else needs it.]

[Fine, whatever gramps, I'm out]

[THE NAME IS ROOT BRAT!]

I giggle a little as I leave and head over to Lizbeth's. I hear the mechanical whirring and hammering of tools from outside the door, and prepare my ears for the cacophony that will soon invade my skull. I open it, and to my surprise, is a girl, with short pink hair and freckles hammering away at a sword, and behind her I see some machines doing...something, I'm not a machinist I have no idea what the hell is going on.

[HELLO!]

...

[HELLO!!]

...

[FRECKLE BITCHES!]

As soon as I said bitch she turned her head so eerily it was like a fucking monster. I got so creeped out I accidentally made bitch plural. The machining stopped and the room became quiet. Too quiet. I prepared myself for an hysterical blacksmith complaining about something stupid like how I smashed her baby and if I would smash a baby with another baby to test its durability. Good thing I did.

[WHO THE HELL ARE YOU CALLING A FRECKLE BITCH YOU CREEPY CHIBI SKULL WEARING FREAK! I'LL SHOVE THIS UNFORGED SWORD DOWN YOUR THROAT AND KEEP IT THERE AS THE METAL DRIPS DOWN YOUR THROAT AND BURNS YOUR INTESTINES YOU SEXIST UNCULTURED PIG!]

[I AM NOT SEXIST...that...cut surprisingly deep. Well played. Well played indeed. I just wanted to get your attention. The old man wanted me to bring you this tag and put my name or whatever on it.]

I hand her the tag after she gets done flailing her fist weakly on my chest.

[You don't even know what the tag has on it? He even gave you a silver tag off the start? Who the hell are you and what did you do?]

[Is silver good?]

[You don't even know the ranks and what they mean? Fine, let me give you a crash course. These tags are used by the Big 7, you don't even know what those are do you?]

...

[Course not. Ok, the Big 7 are organizations are the 7 intercontinental organizations that swear absolute neutrality. They are, the Mercenary's Company, the Adventurers League, the Mage's Circle, the Hunters Pride, the Merchants Union, the Craftsmen Consortium, and the Hands of Death, AKA the Assassins Guild. These tags are universally used to Identify who the hell you are, which organization you belong to, and how important and powerful you are. The tags from worst to greatest are: Bronze, Iron, Silver, Gold, and Platinum. Most people only make it to Iron in their entire lives, and here you are immediately at Silver, Which means you're either important, powerful, have connections, or all 3. Who the hell are you?]

So that's how the world works. Thanks Socko. I wonder why Gramps put me in at Silver. I thought he didn't want me to stand out. Whatever.

[You can think whatever you want you adorable blacksmith, but please, just do the thing.]

A tinge of blush can be seen on her cheeks, whether that's frustration or embarrassment remains to be seen.

[Fine give it here. I need to ask you some questions so I know what to put. I need name, age, your reason for becoming a mercenary, and I also need a drop of your blood.]

[Oi, what's with those last two?]

[We need the reason so it's easier to identify you, since some people have identical names and ages, and the blood thing is for the same reason, plus it makes it so someone can't impersonate you. If someone tries to put your tag on it will become unbearably hot and even melt their skin.]

[That's hardcore. I like it. Name, Al, age, 16, reason, money, vengeance, and fun. Where do I smear my blood?]

[Money, vengeance, and fun huh? You're either gonna die fast or make one hell of a name that's for sure. As for the blood, you don't have to smear it, you see that stamp there? Make a wound that bleeds well and put the stamp directly on the wound.]

I promptly raise my arm to my face and take a healthy bite out of my arm. I forget just how much that shit hurts. I hurriedly put the stamp on the exposed muscle and bone and give Lizbeth the stamp and heal my arm. Lizbeth looks like she's about to puke. Not that I can blame her, not many people just rip their flesh out with their teeth like it was nothing. She proceeds to scold the shit out of me.

[You didn't have to bite your arm like that you freak! Most people just make a cut on their hand or something, what the fuck is wrong with you? sounds of human gagging. Look at you! You got blood all over the place! You gunna clean it out right?]

[Of course not, you're the one who needs my blood. This is YOUR job, not mine. Anyway, I'll be back tomorrow to pick up my tag, have fun!]

And with that, I leave the room and head downstairs.