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Tranquil Waters: The Lead Crown Ch 7.2, Proclamations

Batholomeu sat with his feet up on his work desk, chair leaned back on two legs as he slowly swirled a half cup of cognac around in his wine glass. It was a fine Ilysean vintage, and one he had come to appreciate when he had finally made it big enough to afford it... the first time. Of course, his life changed quite a bit on the day he learned he had started as a big fish in a small pond-- when he swam to deeper waters he had a rude awakening upon discovering that lake fish were a lot smaller than those of the ocean. It was the day he was shot... in the head... and left for dead.

Alarice. It was a name that had heard on occasion but had been mistakenly unconcerned; he had several city blocks he could call his... how could anyone stand against that? Yes, Bartholomeu realized far too late that he was blind to truly understanding how everything worked and he overextended himself against a woman that all but owned the high end street businesses in Newport and had, he was supposed to have believed, for over 80 years. Of course, that last part was far too far-fetched to believe and so he had wrongly assumed that the rest of her fame and reputation was just as overstated.

She and her people destroyed Bartholomeu's entire operation and assimilated the parts of it she wanted into her own underworld empire. She had ended his reign as 'King of Church Street' with the barrel of her pistol in his muzzle... and only by the grace of some divine intervention or unequalled luck did he survive. He sipped at his drink and grimaced as a portion of it spilled out the side of his muzzle where his lip no longer worked. Yes... he survived... but not without paying a steep price.

Alarice had taken everything from him in one decisive blow, and it had laid him low. He had to spend years rebuilding himself before he could even focus on regaining his power. Forced to flee, Bartholomeu fled Newport and the whole of Lehsunia. It wasn't until he arrived in Ilyse that he learned of Alarice's reputation there-- truly, the scope of her reach shamed him... until he learned something else: Alarice was dead... and had been, for many years.

It took time for him to put the pieces of the puzzle together but, eventually after hard work and ruthless dedication (along with a few necessary executions), Bartholomeu found himself back in Lehsunia and, by a strange twist of fate, in Vallara... where some very interesting information found its way to him... and, more importantly, where he first learned about the existence of the Mechanists. The Doberman smiled to himself, twisting the cog-crowned ring on his finger; he'd come a long way in a short time, and things were only improving.

The sound of the downstairs door opening caught the Doberman's attention. He pulled his boots off of the desk and gently cocked back the striking lever on his pistol that sat in his lap, all without setting down his glass of cognac. The office held many interesting memories for Alarice or, more accurately, Nicole Arnswold, and he fervently hoped that his men had managed to take her alive.

He was elated at the sound of the soft knock at the door to his study and he careful composed himself, eager to see his old foe face to face with a dramatically different resolution. THIS time, he reminded himself, SHE would be the one with HIS pistol stuffed into her mouth. He idly toyed with the idea of starting with a different 'pistol' first, but that thought fell from his mind when the door opened; it wasn't the hunting party he'd sent after her.

It was, instead Mortdecai, one of his oldest surviving associates: a human... a skilled and refined underworld 'cleaner' he'd met in Ilyse. Bartholomeu let out a breath, "What ih it, Mordehai? I'm awaitin werd abouh Nihole."

A head peeked into the study behind the Human. It brought back memories of Bartholomeu's past... many years ago. Even though the Doberman looking in on him was many years older than when they were together last, Broderick looked enough like himself that the resemblance was unmistakable. The younger Dog's ears went straight up, "BART?!?"

Bartholomeu finally put his glass down as he stood up, "Bodie..."

As blunt as ever, Brodie stopped in his tracks, "Good GOD, Bart!!! What happened to your FACE!?!"

Chuckling, the older Doberman dismissed Mortdecai with the wave of a paw. He stepped closer to his little brother and gave him a hug; Brodie accepted it but, Bartholomeu noticed, shied away from his broken muzzle. As they disengaged, he looked down to his little brother, a paw on either of the smaller Dobie's shoulders, "Nohin impohtent... it's in the pas'."

"It looks pretty damn current to me."

A deep, commanding voice spoke up from the open doorway, "And you were afraid I would be making a bad impression."

Bartholomeu glanced to the the speaker, a tall, broad-shouldered Wolverine with the unmistakable armor and tabard of a Church Templar. "Bodie has always had a way about him..."

As if to illustrate the point, his younger Brother was rather blunt, "You can't say your 'r's anymore, huh?"

Smiling, he replied calmly, "A bullet to the head will do that, yes, Bodie."

Brodie stepped back, recoiling. "So... you really WERE... um... shot?"

Bartholomeu nodded, "Shaht... left foh dead... yes. I had evehthin taken fhom me and I have had to get it back one coin at a time."

The Templar continued standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, "I assume your line of work counts that as an occupational hazard."

The Doberman nodded, looking down to see that his nose was bleeding again; Nicole's recent assault to his old wound had done a fair share of damage, but he refused to let it get him down. He reached for his handkerchief, but Brody got to him first, blotting gently at the end of his muzzle. Once his brother was done, Bartholomeu stepped past him and extended a paw. "Only to the stupid oh fooliss... I am sad to sah I was both yeahs ago. Bahtholomeu... and I assume you ahe an associate of my bhotheh? I didn't espect him to associate so closely with the chuhch."

The Wolverine accepted the paw. "Sir Umberto Marino."

Brody spoke up from near his desk. "Sir Umberto is a Royal Guardsman for Prince Thaddius."

The Templar frowned. "Prince Regent."

"For Prince Regent Thaddius."

Bartholomeu looked back to his brother, then returned his gaze to Sir Umberto. "I see. And how is it you find youhself out heah in Vallaha?"

The imposing man remained in the doorway, practically filling it with his sheer size. "I was tasked by the Princess to bring Brody back to Graddin."

Chuckling, Bartholomeu returned to his desk, brushing his brother's paw away from a stack of papers, "Ah... but Vallaha is a little out of the way if you ah on youh way to Ghaddin fhom Newpoht."

Sir Umberto's ears, small though they were, still perked as he looked at something on Bartholomeu's desk. A moment later he realized that the Templar was admiring his ring. The Wolverine cocked his head to the side appraisingly, "Where did you get that ring?"

Brody's eyes widened, "You're a Mechanist?"

Although the younger Doberman had always been astute and perceptive, Bartholomeu honestly hadn't expected his brother to be familiar with the organization. "How do you know about the Mehanists?"

Leaning closer, Brody smiled as he spoke quietly. "I served the Princess for years... how could I not?"

The explanation was not out of the ordinary for Brody, but Sir Umberto's was much more helpful. "A man named Sandoval de la Rocha wouldn't stop going on about them."

The bridge of Bartholomeu's muzzle ached fiercely as his eyebrows and ears raised, but he ignored the pain. "Sandoval?"

Brody cocked his head to the side, "Do you know him? Human? About this tall?"

Bartholomeu's smile returned. "We may be acquainted in a manneh, yes."