#and yes ive also gone ahead and tweaked the first preview if anyone wants to give it another look

[athina-blaine]

you can't carry it with you if you want to survive (Nimona 2023) - Chapter 2 (Preview #2) (New)

(Note: this is not the finalized draft; anything featured is subject to edits or deletion)

Preview #1 (Updated 01/21/24)

Crouched beneath the desk, scanning the floor for one last stray budget document, a sudden, sharp chime rang from his pocket, startling him so badly he jumped and banged his head into the underside of the drawer. Eyes watering, he settled back onto his haunches, bringing his phone to his ear with one hand and rubbing the back of his throbbing head with the other. “This is Ambrosius,” he said, vaguely noting the late hour and the unfamiliar number, but primarily relieved that his words hadn't emerged as a slurred, incoherent mess. “Sir Goldenloin?”  At the unfamiliar woman’s voice, Ambrosius narrowed his eyes, confused. “Yes?”

At his reply, the woman's sharp sigh of relief crackled the receiver, her voice straining with tears. “Thank Gloreth. I am so, so sorry, sir, I know this isn’t exactly protocol and it’s late and I'm not technically supposed to have your cell but I didn’t know what else to do and I–”

“Hey, whoa–” Ambrosius’ eyebrows shot up in alarm as he hoisted himself to unsteady feet. “Who is this? Are you hurt?”

“No! No, sir, I’m just–” The woman’s voice hitched with a wet sniffle. “I’m sorry. This is Officer Laurel, sir, reporting from the Starcrest hotel over on Willowbrook. The patrolmen's guild has received reports of a disturbance, sir.”

His stomach lurched. It could be a coincidence—the Cynarian workers weren't scheduled to arrive at the Starcrest until next week, why would there be any trouble now? And yet, apprehension flooded him as fleeting images of the angry, fearful faces he'd seen in the crowd earlier that afternoon raced through his mind. 

“What kind of a disturbance?”

“Around 2100 hours, a group of five young men were witnessed breaking and entering the lobby of the hotel and have begun vandalizing the property. One witness believes she saw one carrying a bat. Sir, they—” Her voice wavered. “We suspect they’re a group of knight-cadets, sir.”

Drawing in a sharp breath, Ambrosius pinched the bridge of his nose, struggling to keep his frustration from bleeding into his tone. “Where are you exactly? Are you in the lobby?”

Silence, followed by a sheepish sigh. “I’m in my squad car, sir. I’m– I gave them a stern warning, but I’m not a knight, sir, I'm just a meter maid! I’m not even authorized to carry a baton!” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m pretty sure they’re inebriated, sir.”

Understanding surged through him with a jolt. “You’re alone? Where’s your backup?”

“I, um, am the backup, sir. Captain says we’re stretched real thin and–” She let out another shaky sigh. “He said the kingdom comes before a bunch of foreigners, sir.”

Ambrosius clenched his jaw as he grappled with his escalating anger towards the captain, the cadets, but most of all, himself. Of course. The patrolmen’s guild had been spread thin for months. He’d known that. He just hadn't thought to do anything about it until it had already been far too late to take any meaningful action.

He’d need to take care of this before it grew into something he couldn't handle. He could argue with the patrolmen’s captain and demand they send proper authorities to take care of this, but that could just make things worse. On top of wasting time, he might just receive a gaggle of meter maids and other ill-suited ilk, and Gloreth only knew how things would spiral from there.

The involvement of the knight-cadets ensured that news of this incident would be plastered everywhere by tomorrow morning. It could hand Ambrosius’ detractors even more fuel in their campaign against him, and that wasn’t even mentioning what Ambrosius would do if the Starcrest's belligerent executive officer, after receiving word of this, decided to rescind their agreement. He would have nowhere left in the whole damned kingdom willing to give the Cynarian workers a place to sleep.

It would unravel everything he's been building towards. Six months of late nights and skipping meals and suffering the unfathomable growing gulf between him and Bal, and he’d be right back to where he started.

No, this required a delicate touch; better to take the initiative and get as far ahead of the situation as he could than risk leaving it to someone less capable. It would grant him much more control over the fallout, and, besides, Ambrosius had never been very good at sitting back and watching someone else do his job for him.

Never.

“Let me take the lead, Director,” Todd had said, eyes glittering with malice. “I’ll make it hurt. I’ll make it–”

“I’ll do it.”

The words had spilled out before Ambrosius had a chance to consider them. Not that it would have made a difference. He knew, with a fierce, burning certainty, that there didn’t exist a world where he didn’t, at that moment, assume command. The agony of taking the lead himself paled in comparison to standing aside and allowing Todd, cruel, bloodthirsty Todd, take charge of Ballister's manhunt in his stead—even if the difference amounted to little more than having to choose between carving his heart out or just driving the knife clean through his chest.

No. Ambrosius had never been very good at sitting back and watching someone do his job for him. Not when he couldn't live with the consequences.

He could still hear the patrolwoman’s sniffles over the receiver.  “Officer?” 

She hiccupped. “Yessir.”

“Officer, I need you to call your captain and let him know what’s happening. Confirm there’s no other patrolmen or knights else available to assist.” He doubted it would manifest anything useful, but he still had to do things properly. “Keep me informed of any changes at the scene, alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Stay calm,” he said, reaching over to grab his messenger bag. “I’m on my way.”

A shuddering gasp broke the receiver’s pitch. “Thank you, sir. Really, sir, I don’t know what I would have– I’m sorry, I know this isn’t exactly standard procedure–”

“None of this is your fault.” If Ambrosius had a better handle as to the goings-on of his own damn kingdom, perhaps none of this would have come to pass in the first place. This was his mess, it was only fair he cleaned it up. “Stay where you are. I should be there in about 20 minutes. Maybe 30.” 

“Thank you so much, sir. I’ll keep you updated just like you said. Those boys won’t be able to sneeze without me letting you know, sir.”

Ambrosius chuckled. “Let’s not get carried away, Officer.”

“Yessir! I won’t let you down. Officer Laurel, out.”

He hung up the phone and brought it back to his ear just as quickly to phone a cab. With his car on the way, he grabbed the liquor bottle by its neck and shoved it into the back of the dark, dusty cabinet.

Glancing down at his phone again, he pulled up Ballister’s contact ID, thumbing the side of the screen. Taking a deep breath, he started typing.

Hey Bal

Something came up. Shouldn’t take more than an hour

I’m sor–

But he deleted that part. After the things said that night, Ballister deserved to hear any apology from his own lips, not from behind a screen.

Instead, he said,

I love you

The response didn’t take long.

Okay. Just keep me posted

I love you too

With a weary sigh, he pocketed his phone and slung his messenger bag over his shoulder. The cab wouldn’t arrive for another five minutes—just enough time to brew a hot, sobering cup of black coffee.