fic: Frost Fair 2/5
Dec. 5th, 2010 07:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: Frost Fair (2/5)
Day/Theme: December 17 [2010]: Almost there, but not quite.
Series: FE10
Character/Pairing: Ike/Soren eventual, Pelleas/Micaiah
Summary: Soren, the head CEO of Nevassa Corp, is entirely tired of his mother's nagging, and so
sets out to hire a date for the holidays and his brother's upcoming wedding. After several disastrous interviews, he comes across Ike who thought it was a bodyguard job and really needs the money.
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 4616
Author's note: Merry Christmas,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kiu22.
Soren sent the check out in advance, as Ike had requested. With that, so became their partnership, and so, began Ike's transformation. Kyza and Ranulf were called to do the honors, and both stood aside in Gucci suits that cost more than Ike made in a year. Kyza was wearing a black Jimmy Choo scarf tied about his neck, while Ranulf was casual chic with an open blazer, and loose tie. Ike wore much the same outfit he had in the interview, right down to the orange sneakers. He was tapping his hands on the seat while Ranulf and Kyza talked about completely foreign concepts like Sephora and Dolce and Gabbana.
Soren was sitting in on this 'consultation' to ensure that his faux boyfriend to be didn't come out looking like Kyza in the end.
Kyza and Ranulf had pulled out a bunch of magazines, and now laid them over the table. Soren gave a cursory glance, and Ike looked downright perplexed at the sort of clothing the models were wearing.
Kyza lit up. "And now, are we to the part where I get to play fairy godmother and give him a makeover – with haircuts and mousse, and manicures, and make him into a proper gay man?"
Soren looked up from browsing stock prices. "No, you're just going to get him a tuxedo for the wedding."
Kyza pouted. "Not even a little bit? I know the perfect moisturizer and he seriously needs to exfoliate. And one little mani/pedi won't hurt–"
"No," Soren said.
"Can I burn his shoes at least? They're an affront to humanity," Kyza said.
"I like my shoes," Ike said.
"His shoes are his business," Soren said, without looking up from his laptop.
"Really though, Captain, we should go outside to...catch our breaths. I think I've got the perfect surprise for him," Kyza said.
Ranulf grinned. "Consider this breath caught."
They left, and Ike still looked perplexed through it all. Soren was beginning to think he might as well have just hired Kyza. At least Ike had shown no interest in looking down women's shirts or up their skirts, but as it was, to the casual observer, he appeared completely straight. Of course, to the casual observer, the only gayometer involved fashion, Broadway, and questionable music tastes, which Ike would fail on all accounts. Soren knew better than the casual observer on such matters, and did not subscribe to stereotypes, but he thought it might be useful should anyone ask about Ike's whereabouts after this date. He would simply say Ike had gone through a phase, a college thing, and had decided to get married. Perhaps they would believe him heartbroken and let the subject alone (though knowing his mother, she wouldn't).
"Kyza, He's...."
"My consultant hired him for his....effervescence. Also he's a hard worker, and my consultant likes to have his ego stroked," Soren said.
Which wasn't the only thing which was getting stroked, but that was another thing entirely.
*
Soren sat in on the other consultations as well, though always with his trusty laptop to check on things back at the corporation. He had been asked to help, and perhaps wield his prestige to get a better deal from the point of their engagement, which was six months ago. He found weddings an expensive waste of time, so he had left it to Kyza and Ranulf to do in his stead, working along with his brother and sister-in-law-to-be.
And it would've been a simple affair, except Kyza and Ranulf were hoping for Vera Wang and the bride-to-be wanted all organic hemp dresses woven from a special company which claimed they apologized to the hemp before using it, and then blessed its soul for the next reincarnation.
However, she wasn't completely unreasonable, and they had apparently come to a compromise of being married in a relatively simple ceremony over the winter holidays. He hadn't heard word on how the dress had been compromised, but he was assured that a way had been found.
"Hey, how about this one?" Ranulf asked.
"They all look the same to me," Soren said. "Just make sure he won't rip it out."
"Doing what? Imitating the Hulk? Picking up a bookcase? Can you say 'Ike smash?'"
"All the same? This isn't bargain bin warehouse suit, this is designer," Kyza said. He seemed personally offended on the behalf of both Dolce and Gabbana.
"It's all right, I guess," Ike said. Shopping for clothes seemed to take a lot out of him, especially with Kyza and Ranulf.
"Don't look at the price tag," Soren warned. "The company will cover it on business expenses, so it's better that you don't know."
"Charging a suit as a business expense? Companies work in strange ways," Ike said.
"It's not like Mr. Nevassa is using them on lavish vacations," Kyza said.
"I am hiring you as my date, therefore, suits related to you are considered a business expense."
"Make sense, I guess," Ike said.
Ike looked to the mirror, and with Ranulf and Kyza distracted, Soren took a less cursory glance over him. It was a far cry from a blazer, jeans and orange sneakers. Ike still infused a casual appearance, even to the high priced navy suit. There was an untold charisma to him, a draw. He was certainly what would be considered handsome, though perhaps not in the traditional sense. There was something in him, a sense of intrinsically being a maverick that made women – and perhaps, men of a certain kind – hold romantic illusions about him.
When Ike turned back, Soren returned his gaze to his laptop, barely even reading the lines of information in front of him.
"Ok! Next we have sweaters to get to," Kyza said.
"V-necked sweaters, I bet," Ranulf said.
"Oh, you know it," Kyza said.
Ike looked to Soren. Soren seemed to think on this a moment.
"Do you have anything suitable for a Daein winter? Crimean winters are mild by comparison."
"If you're asking if I have any snowsuits, the answer is no," Ike said.
"Unless you wish to lose your limbs to frostbite, I advise you should continue on," Soren said.
Ike seemed to weigh the options. "Frostbite is starting to look not so bad by comparison," he said.
"We could get them matching sweaters!" Kyza exclaimed.
"We are not wearing matching sweaters," Soren said.
"Well, at this rate you aren't going to pass as a couple at all," Kyza said, with a distinct hint of a pout.
"Being uncharacteristically sweet would reveal it for the farce it is," Soren said. "We will simply be...one of those composed, restrained couples who feel no need for such saccharine things."
"You know, you could've just bought a hooker," Ranulf said. "It'd have been a lot easier."
"They're called escorts, Captain," Kyza said. "Though I think Ike might have a future in escortry."
"We could ask for a consulting fee, and pimp him out," Ranulf said.
"No one is pimping anyone out," Soren said peevishly.
"Whoa, somebody claimed dibs," Ranulf said.
"A shame, imagine how rich we'd all be," Kyza said. "He has this magnetic field that lures women in. I bet we could visit a gay bar and every straight woman and gay man there would just gravitate to hit on him."
Ike looked to Soren. "Is a gay bar part of the briefing process now?"
"No," Soren said. "After this is finished, Ike and I are going through the details one last time over lunch. If you two wish to go spend your time in a gay bar, I've nothing to say about it, as you are merely consultants."
"Woohoo!" Ranulf said. He and Kyza high-fived.
*
By the time they were done, Ike was thoroughly prepared for the Daein weather. The restaurant they picked food up from was a mid-scale one. Not one of those haute cuisine types, which were exceedingly expensive for two grains of rice and garnish called a delicacy. It wasn't exactly the Country Buffet this time, either. They ordered out something distinctly spicy and meaty and got it in little white cartons. Ike was carrying it as they came outside, waiting for the ride. A black sedan parked stopped before them.
"No limousine?" Ike asked.
"It's an unnecessary expense," Soren said.
The car, however, one more fitted for security than luxury. The windows were darkened and bulletproofed. Both Ike and Soren climbed into the back.
"A private driver isn't a luxury?" Ike asked.
"I can get more things done if someone else is driving," Soren said.
"Ah," Ike said. "So."
Soren cleared his throat. "Yes?"
Now came the talking part. This was why Soren hired publicists and other people to do the actual human interaction for him. The exchange of currency, however, put them on more even balance. Besides, Ike didn't seem to be the type to wax poetic on the weather.
But Ike didn't start awkward conversation. Instead, he started on the meal. Spicy stuff. Soren had never cared for it, but he let Ike choose the lunch and this is what he wanted.
"Mm. This is good stuff," Ike said. "You have any?"
"I'll wait until we reach headquarters," Soren said.
"About the job– .Do I have to return these after?" Ike asked.
"No. They're yours to keep when the contract is fulfilled," Soren said.
"Oh, thanks," Ike said.
"Your tickets will be delivered to you in two weeks time," Soren said.
"Knowing him, they'll be coach," Kyza said.
"I thought all you CEO types had their own private jets," Ike said.
"He's the scrooge of CEOs," Kyza said.
"I believe your attention needed elsewhere, Kyza," Soren said. "Like the road."
"Yes, Mr Nevassa," Kyza said. He then went back to co-ordinating various wedding things which Soren couldn't be bothered to do on his Blutooth while he drove. And flirting with Ranulf for good measure.
"I thought you were going to a bar?" Ike said.
"I'd be a superstar at the gay bar," Kyza said. "But the usual driver had something come up, so it'll have to wait."
Soren closed the laptop and then began sorting through his notes. For some unknown reason, he had been given the task of making the wedding speech. He was on his third draft, and it still sounded like a company memo made by a robotic monkey. He sighed and set it aside.
"As I was saying," Soren said. "You are expected to be packed and prompt by then. I'll have luggage personally delivered to you as well."
"So, is there anything I need to know?" Ike asked.
"Your briefing is in the folder I gave you. Don't go off script concerning the story," Soren said.
"I was a waiter at your table and the rest is history?" Ike said.
Soren leveled his eyes at Ike. "Would you prefer I say that we met at the gym?"
"Good point," Ike said.
"What about saying we met at a hardware store? Or a library?"
"You're hardly the kind to peruse libraries," Soren said.
" I could be fixing the shelves or something," Ike said.
"The backstory has already been written. Changing it this rate will only result in mixed stories which will put doubts to our claims of veracity."
Ike browsed through the folder. "How would a low-class waiter and a rich corporate guy meet anyways?"
"Obviously, you were fired the next day for your incompetence concerning waiting, but it was long enough for us to mean and I quote — 'fall in love'," Soren said the last in the utmost disdain. "It happens in poorly written romance novels all the time, and is just the sort of tripe they'd buy."
"I never thought I'd be the hero in a romance novel," Ike said, frowning at his background.
"Well you are now," Soren replied. "I expect you to act accordingly. Your task is to save your flirting and admiring of women until after the terms of the contract are fulfilled. I'd also prefer you not to assault any members of my family, no matter how tempting it may be."
"The first was never really an issue, and the second–Uh, what?"
"My family is infuriating," Soren said.
"Isn't everyone's?" Ike replied.
"Mine is in a whole different level," Soren said.
*
The booking went as smooth as was possible. The woman at the desk was annoyingly perky, and rather incompetent to boot, but other than that, it could've gone far worse than it did. It wasn't coach. Largely because constantly crying children made Soren want to chuck his book at them. And knowing Soren, it was a very large tome indeed. Soren thought it was worth the extra money it would involve, just to avoid the possible homicide charges.
Ike loaded the carry-on luggage in the top compartment, and handed Soren a piece of paper.
"Here," Ike said.
"That's your ticket," Soren said.
"Everyone loves the window seat, right?" Ike said.
"I've seen Daein many times before," Soren said. "After you see snowy mountains once, they tend to lose their appeal."
"I've seen it before too, and I just figured I'd offer," Ike said. He sat down and closed the window.
"You're a gentlemen? How...unexpected," Soren said.
"Just because I have orange sneakers doesn't mean I don't open doors," Ike said.
"It was more the fact you put them on the coffee table and nearly gave Kyza a heart attack," Soren said.
"Yeah, my father was always saying I had horrible manners," Ike said.
"Manners are overrated," Soren said. "I'd rather have someone insult me to my face than one who puts on a show of cordiality and insults me behind my back."
"Me too," Ike said.
This wasn't to be one of those times where great and meaningful things were learned on a conversation on a plane, as Ike proved to not be a morning person in the least, and nodded off soon after they had gotten on. Soren could never get comfortable in the air. He worked on his laptop when he could, and caught up on his reading when he couldn't. Soren never wasted a minute if he could help it. It was a six hour flight from Melior to Nevassa. Ike only groggily stirred when they landed, even sleeping through the turbulence over the mountainous regions between Daein and Crimea.
It was lucky for the airports themselves that they didn't lose the luggage, because Soren would've ranted at them as long as it took to find them. Plane rides only made him if possible, crankier than usual.
It was Bryce who met them in a spotless black suit, with white gloves and a several knives concealed over his body. At his foot, his waist, his arm.
"Master Soren," he said, nodding. "Everyone is waiting for you and your companion."
"Of course," Soren said. Ike hauled the luggage, leaving Soren simply his light rolling luggage.
"Your companion is yet to come?" Bryce inquired.
"My companion is already with me," Soren said, his voice growing silky, in a way that made his workers fear for their jobs.
"I see. Shall I inform the madame?" Bryce said.
"No need. She'll see us soon enough."
"She will worry," Bryce said.
"She always does," Soren said.
They climbed into a black sedan, which Bryce himself drove. It was a short enough drive, and the car was silent, save for the sound of classical music from the disk player. Bryce at times hummed along. Ike looked out the window, and Soren looked through his notes for the speech he couldn't quite get a handle on. All too soon, they were pulling up at the massive gates that separated The Keep from the rest of Nevassa.
Ike stared up at the architecture of The Keep, his hands in his pockets of his faded jeans to keep from the cold. It did have that effect, especially on those who hadn't seen its gothic construction up close before. It was covered in snow and patches of frost, with the tall black spires looking as if they were trying to spear the sky. Gargoyles and other beasts were carved into the stone, looking down with snarling jaws.
Ike took the luggage, despite Bryce's attempts to carry it up himself. They walked up, into The Keep. The room was dimly lit, in shades of dark red and grey. A motley group lolled about. Friends of the bride, he assumed. They looked like thieves and activists, and of the two his father had always hated activists more. He could at least admire the thieves for their talent.
He caught sight of the bride-to-be. It was rather hard to miss her, given her transcendental all organic tie-die ensemble with many gold bracelets and necklaces making tinkling sounds as she walked. Instead of her being on Pelleas' arm, it looked more like Pelleas was on her arm, and utterly in a state of disbelieving bliss that he was lucky enough to be her armcandy.
His mother rose up from where she had been seated. She wore only the most fashionable gown, yet always dressed as if in mourning, even though Bryce was probably the only person in all of Daein who mourned Ashnard's passing. She wore pearls at her neck, and a black veil over her face. Perhaps he was mourning the loss of her youngest child to an activist. It wouldn't surprise Soren, given the bitter glances he'd seen her giving the bride. His father had always said that the only good activist was another activist chopped up in the garden next to the rest of his collection.
"Now Soren, don't tell me you forgot to bring your date after I asked you time and time again to remember," Almedha said.
They had apparently mistaken the situation, deeming Ike some luggage handler, bodyguard, or other assistant.
"This is Ike," Soren said. "My date."
Almedha's smile tightened. Pelleas looked perplexed, as he looked from Ike to Soren and back around. Micaiah simply looked serene and understanding, which only made Soren distrust her more. No one was that understanding without an agenda, or a hypocrisy hidden behind closed doors. The others weren't paying attention, caught up in their own plans in the room beyond.
"As you can see, any grandchildren will have to be Pelleas' job," Soren said, unable to keep the smugness from his voice.
"That's no excuse. You could always get a surrogate," she hissed.
Soren rolled his eyes. They could have this argument later – surely they would, in time. "We should get unpacked."
"Where do I put them?" Ike asked.
"Follow me," Soren said.
It was up a winding stone stairway that Soren lead him. The stones were of a dark sort naturally mined in the Daein mountains. It gave the Keep an even eerie feel, to say nothing of the occasional messages foretelling of doom carved from bloody daggers – their father had been quite a handful when drunk. But eventually, they were at the summit of the stairs and Soren opened up to his room. It was much as he had left it: filled with bookcases on nearly every wall, and containing several weapons and gruesome paintings which were 'gifts' from his father to try and impose manliness on him. His large bed dominated most of the room. It was a four-poster variety, with dragons carved into the mahogany wood, and red curtains which could be pulled down on cold nights. The adjoining bedroom was much the same, just with less bookcases. These beds had housed princes and princesses, queens and their lovers snuck in for trysts.
The only side which wasn't filled with bookcases or weapons was the east wall which had a fireplace. There were very few rugs, save for one made of bear pelt for his father thought the crocheted kind not manly enough, and the only fitting thing to cover the stones of the keep was animal pelts
Either that or he was getting revenge for Almedha's crazed knitting and crocheting stage, which had come up with some truly atrocious sweaters along the way, to say nothing of the awful rugs.
Ike laid Soren's luggage at the foot of the bed and disappeared to do the same with his own. A few seconds later he was back.
"So, about your mother – two seconds in and she's calling dibs on what to name the grandchildren?" Ike said.
"And planned the wedding date, don't forget that," Soren said. "To say nothing of the color of the bridal dresses, entree, and what the floral settings will be."
"She's..." Ike said, struggling for words.
"Entirely insane?" Soren suggested.
"I was going to say 'dedicated', but ok," Ike said.
"Either way, we should get ready for lunch," Soren said. "She'll pitch a fit if we're late."
"I'm good to go," he said.
"I'll only be a moment," Soren said.
Ike was leaning against the stone wall, thankfully not against one of the priceless tapestries. Right next to him was a tarnished and rusted suit of armor holding a spear.
"Interesting place," Ike said. "Very....medieval."
"Below were dungeons where people were tortured to death. It's quite an museum of torture devices. Everything from racks to Iron Maidens."
Or at least it would have been, had all those implements of torture not had recent use under Ashnard's reign. His father's motto had apparently been 'spare the rod, spoil the subject.'
"Nice to know," Ike said.
"Are you afraid of ghosts, Ike?" Soren asked.
"Not even remotely," Ike said.
"Good. They're little more than tales which have been kept alive due to superstitious help. Either way— " Soren broke off, noting that Ike had become more rumbling in the time it had taken them to arrive and drop off their luggage.
"Your tie is crooked," Soren said.
Ike looked down, and made an effort to correct it
"Stop, you're just making it worse. I'll fix it," Soren said.
Soren was fixing Ike's tie, and it was in no way a simple excuse to better view him, despite him being admittedly aesthetically pleasing and smelling very good. His fingers lingered at Ike's neck for a moment as he was distracted. A sudden, and strange thought of licking Ike's neck came to him. He focused on his Adam's Apple, and thought about licking over it, and down to the hollow of his neck.
He shook his head. It was a fluke. Somehow Kyza and Ranulf's exuberance had rubbed off on him.
Soren cleared his throat. "There," he said unnecessarily.
"Something the matter?" Ike asked.
"Nothing," Soren replied. "We should go."
With that, he went out, gaze turned strictly in front of him.
Ike followed along, only a step behind him. Soren paused at the top of the stairs, looking down the spiral staircase.
"I forgot to mention the cruelest torture implement of all: the dinner table," Soren said.
"The food is that bad?" Ike asked.
"Not the food, the company," Soren said.
"Can't be worse than Shinon," Ike said.
They walked in, a step apart and came to the table. It was a very large room, with tall ceilings covered in cobwebs which hadn't been cleaned in years. The wood was dark, adding to the overall atmosphere of dreariness in the Keep. Various animal heads and pictures of the heraldry adorned the walls, while stone carvings of dragons and wyverns chased deer and Pegasi.
The size of the table and the absolute distance between one side and another always took some getting used to. Ike muttered a do you need a loudspeaker to ask to pass the peas or something? Soren even had a mild chuckle at that, which he covered up with a discreet cough.
The dinner went long, not only because Almedha took every chance she could to be cold and slight Micaiah, or make backhanded comments towards her. Ike seemed to enjoy the food at least.
However, Ike had spilled sauce down the front of his white shirt midway through, so he excused himself and headed up to change – Soren came along as well, because anything would be better than witnessing his mother's descent into trying to win the worst mother-in-law of the century award. When he reached the door, Ike's back was turned to him. There was a surprising amount of scars on his body. One at his elbow, a large one across his back which must have been a sizeable gash. These weren't mere football injuries. When he turned, more scars were revealed.
Soren didn't ask. Even if it was in his right as an employer to do so. Instead he decided to take this moment to unpack, to try and clear his mind from the strange fixation and results a simple glimpse of flesh had given him.
The suitcase was left on his bed, and not Ike's. There was a picture in his things, set atop his folded clothes – if folded could in fact be applied to something so slipshod. There was a large house, a motley assortment in front of it. There was a younger Ike, the rest were mere ciphers. The group looked happy – save for a dour looking man with a red ponytail, whose eyes were narrowed to slits. A younger Ike was in the back. The same old intense look from him, and yet there was an awkwardness to him. The rest of the group came as snippets of color, red hair, green hair, a wide smile with a crooked tooth, a scar. Soren studied it closer. The house behind looked as if it had been found in a state of disrepair and hadn't quite shed its own idiosyncrasies, the rust stains and slightly outdated wooden shutters needing repair and a new coat of white paint.
But it looked happy. Soren wondered what it would be like to live in a house like that, one without torture, without bloodstains which would never truly fade.
"My family. Well, most of it. Father is gone now."
Soren dropped the photo, and stepped back. "I wasn't prying; I thought it was my own suitcase."
"I know. It's all right," Ike said. He was wearing a new, clean white shirt now. Ties were less necessary at this point, and formalities could be lessened until the actual rehearsals took place.
What an idyllic sort of mismatched family. He did background checks, but never pried into personal effects. Strange, he never thought an accident like this would leave him uncomposed. He shook it off, and attributed it as jet lag.
He was tempted to just take a nap, but that would likely throw his schedule off even more. The Keep wasn't one for long walks at night. While Soren took the stories of ghosts with a grain of salt, there was the very real threat of weapons and unsprung booby traps. Ashnard liked to keep his staff on their feet.
He noted Ike looking out the window, gazing at the patterns of frost and ice left from the snow. In the far off distance, there were the colors from the banners raised, the faint brown of stalls and restaurants below the stone turrets of The Keep.
"Put on your coat," Soren said. "We're going out to see the sights."
Day/Theme: December 17 [2010]: Almost there, but not quite.
Series: FE10
Character/Pairing: Ike/Soren eventual, Pelleas/Micaiah
Summary: Soren, the head CEO of Nevassa Corp, is entirely tired of his mother's nagging, and so
sets out to hire a date for the holidays and his brother's upcoming wedding. After several disastrous interviews, he comes across Ike who thought it was a bodyguard job and really needs the money.
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 4616
Author's note: Merry Christmas,
kiu22.Soren sent the check out in advance, as Ike had requested. With that, so became their partnership, and so, began Ike's transformation. Kyza and Ranulf were called to do the honors, and both stood aside in Gucci suits that cost more than Ike made in a year. Kyza was wearing a black Jimmy Choo scarf tied about his neck, while Ranulf was casual chic with an open blazer, and loose tie. Ike wore much the same outfit he had in the interview, right down to the orange sneakers. He was tapping his hands on the seat while Ranulf and Kyza talked about completely foreign concepts like Sephora and Dolce and Gabbana.
Soren was sitting in on this 'consultation' to ensure that his faux boyfriend to be didn't come out looking like Kyza in the end.
Kyza and Ranulf had pulled out a bunch of magazines, and now laid them over the table. Soren gave a cursory glance, and Ike looked downright perplexed at the sort of clothing the models were wearing.
Kyza lit up. "And now, are we to the part where I get to play fairy godmother and give him a makeover – with haircuts and mousse, and manicures, and make him into a proper gay man?"
Soren looked up from browsing stock prices. "No, you're just going to get him a tuxedo for the wedding."
Kyza pouted. "Not even a little bit? I know the perfect moisturizer and he seriously needs to exfoliate. And one little mani/pedi won't hurt–"
"No," Soren said.
"Can I burn his shoes at least? They're an affront to humanity," Kyza said.
"I like my shoes," Ike said.
"His shoes are his business," Soren said, without looking up from his laptop.
"Really though, Captain, we should go outside to...catch our breaths. I think I've got the perfect surprise for him," Kyza said.
Ranulf grinned. "Consider this breath caught."
They left, and Ike still looked perplexed through it all. Soren was beginning to think he might as well have just hired Kyza. At least Ike had shown no interest in looking down women's shirts or up their skirts, but as it was, to the casual observer, he appeared completely straight. Of course, to the casual observer, the only gayometer involved fashion, Broadway, and questionable music tastes, which Ike would fail on all accounts. Soren knew better than the casual observer on such matters, and did not subscribe to stereotypes, but he thought it might be useful should anyone ask about Ike's whereabouts after this date. He would simply say Ike had gone through a phase, a college thing, and had decided to get married. Perhaps they would believe him heartbroken and let the subject alone (though knowing his mother, she wouldn't).
"Kyza, He's...."
"My consultant hired him for his....effervescence. Also he's a hard worker, and my consultant likes to have his ego stroked," Soren said.
Which wasn't the only thing which was getting stroked, but that was another thing entirely.
*
Soren sat in on the other consultations as well, though always with his trusty laptop to check on things back at the corporation. He had been asked to help, and perhaps wield his prestige to get a better deal from the point of their engagement, which was six months ago. He found weddings an expensive waste of time, so he had left it to Kyza and Ranulf to do in his stead, working along with his brother and sister-in-law-to-be.
And it would've been a simple affair, except Kyza and Ranulf were hoping for Vera Wang and the bride-to-be wanted all organic hemp dresses woven from a special company which claimed they apologized to the hemp before using it, and then blessed its soul for the next reincarnation.
However, she wasn't completely unreasonable, and they had apparently come to a compromise of being married in a relatively simple ceremony over the winter holidays. He hadn't heard word on how the dress had been compromised, but he was assured that a way had been found.
"Hey, how about this one?" Ranulf asked.
"They all look the same to me," Soren said. "Just make sure he won't rip it out."
"Doing what? Imitating the Hulk? Picking up a bookcase? Can you say 'Ike smash?'"
"All the same? This isn't bargain bin warehouse suit, this is designer," Kyza said. He seemed personally offended on the behalf of both Dolce and Gabbana.
"It's all right, I guess," Ike said. Shopping for clothes seemed to take a lot out of him, especially with Kyza and Ranulf.
"Don't look at the price tag," Soren warned. "The company will cover it on business expenses, so it's better that you don't know."
"Charging a suit as a business expense? Companies work in strange ways," Ike said.
"It's not like Mr. Nevassa is using them on lavish vacations," Kyza said.
"I am hiring you as my date, therefore, suits related to you are considered a business expense."
"Make sense, I guess," Ike said.
Ike looked to the mirror, and with Ranulf and Kyza distracted, Soren took a less cursory glance over him. It was a far cry from a blazer, jeans and orange sneakers. Ike still infused a casual appearance, even to the high priced navy suit. There was an untold charisma to him, a draw. He was certainly what would be considered handsome, though perhaps not in the traditional sense. There was something in him, a sense of intrinsically being a maverick that made women – and perhaps, men of a certain kind – hold romantic illusions about him.
When Ike turned back, Soren returned his gaze to his laptop, barely even reading the lines of information in front of him.
"Ok! Next we have sweaters to get to," Kyza said.
"V-necked sweaters, I bet," Ranulf said.
"Oh, you know it," Kyza said.
Ike looked to Soren. Soren seemed to think on this a moment.
"Do you have anything suitable for a Daein winter? Crimean winters are mild by comparison."
"If you're asking if I have any snowsuits, the answer is no," Ike said.
"Unless you wish to lose your limbs to frostbite, I advise you should continue on," Soren said.
Ike seemed to weigh the options. "Frostbite is starting to look not so bad by comparison," he said.
"We could get them matching sweaters!" Kyza exclaimed.
"We are not wearing matching sweaters," Soren said.
"Well, at this rate you aren't going to pass as a couple at all," Kyza said, with a distinct hint of a pout.
"Being uncharacteristically sweet would reveal it for the farce it is," Soren said. "We will simply be...one of those composed, restrained couples who feel no need for such saccharine things."
"You know, you could've just bought a hooker," Ranulf said. "It'd have been a lot easier."
"They're called escorts, Captain," Kyza said. "Though I think Ike might have a future in escortry."
"We could ask for a consulting fee, and pimp him out," Ranulf said.
"No one is pimping anyone out," Soren said peevishly.
"Whoa, somebody claimed dibs," Ranulf said.
"A shame, imagine how rich we'd all be," Kyza said. "He has this magnetic field that lures women in. I bet we could visit a gay bar and every straight woman and gay man there would just gravitate to hit on him."
Ike looked to Soren. "Is a gay bar part of the briefing process now?"
"No," Soren said. "After this is finished, Ike and I are going through the details one last time over lunch. If you two wish to go spend your time in a gay bar, I've nothing to say about it, as you are merely consultants."
"Woohoo!" Ranulf said. He and Kyza high-fived.
*
By the time they were done, Ike was thoroughly prepared for the Daein weather. The restaurant they picked food up from was a mid-scale one. Not one of those haute cuisine types, which were exceedingly expensive for two grains of rice and garnish called a delicacy. It wasn't exactly the Country Buffet this time, either. They ordered out something distinctly spicy and meaty and got it in little white cartons. Ike was carrying it as they came outside, waiting for the ride. A black sedan parked stopped before them.
"No limousine?" Ike asked.
"It's an unnecessary expense," Soren said.
The car, however, one more fitted for security than luxury. The windows were darkened and bulletproofed. Both Ike and Soren climbed into the back.
"A private driver isn't a luxury?" Ike asked.
"I can get more things done if someone else is driving," Soren said.
"Ah," Ike said. "So."
Soren cleared his throat. "Yes?"
Now came the talking part. This was why Soren hired publicists and other people to do the actual human interaction for him. The exchange of currency, however, put them on more even balance. Besides, Ike didn't seem to be the type to wax poetic on the weather.
But Ike didn't start awkward conversation. Instead, he started on the meal. Spicy stuff. Soren had never cared for it, but he let Ike choose the lunch and this is what he wanted.
"Mm. This is good stuff," Ike said. "You have any?"
"I'll wait until we reach headquarters," Soren said.
"About the job– .Do I have to return these after?" Ike asked.
"No. They're yours to keep when the contract is fulfilled," Soren said.
"Oh, thanks," Ike said.
"Your tickets will be delivered to you in two weeks time," Soren said.
"Knowing him, they'll be coach," Kyza said.
"I thought all you CEO types had their own private jets," Ike said.
"He's the scrooge of CEOs," Kyza said.
"I believe your attention needed elsewhere, Kyza," Soren said. "Like the road."
"Yes, Mr Nevassa," Kyza said. He then went back to co-ordinating various wedding things which Soren couldn't be bothered to do on his Blutooth while he drove. And flirting with Ranulf for good measure.
"I thought you were going to a bar?" Ike said.
"I'd be a superstar at the gay bar," Kyza said. "But the usual driver had something come up, so it'll have to wait."
Soren closed the laptop and then began sorting through his notes. For some unknown reason, he had been given the task of making the wedding speech. He was on his third draft, and it still sounded like a company memo made by a robotic monkey. He sighed and set it aside.
"As I was saying," Soren said. "You are expected to be packed and prompt by then. I'll have luggage personally delivered to you as well."
"So, is there anything I need to know?" Ike asked.
"Your briefing is in the folder I gave you. Don't go off script concerning the story," Soren said.
"I was a waiter at your table and the rest is history?" Ike said.
Soren leveled his eyes at Ike. "Would you prefer I say that we met at the gym?"
"Good point," Ike said.
"What about saying we met at a hardware store? Or a library?"
"You're hardly the kind to peruse libraries," Soren said.
" I could be fixing the shelves or something," Ike said.
"The backstory has already been written. Changing it this rate will only result in mixed stories which will put doubts to our claims of veracity."
Ike browsed through the folder. "How would a low-class waiter and a rich corporate guy meet anyways?"
"Obviously, you were fired the next day for your incompetence concerning waiting, but it was long enough for us to mean and I quote — 'fall in love'," Soren said the last in the utmost disdain. "It happens in poorly written romance novels all the time, and is just the sort of tripe they'd buy."
"I never thought I'd be the hero in a romance novel," Ike said, frowning at his background.
"Well you are now," Soren replied. "I expect you to act accordingly. Your task is to save your flirting and admiring of women until after the terms of the contract are fulfilled. I'd also prefer you not to assault any members of my family, no matter how tempting it may be."
"The first was never really an issue, and the second–Uh, what?"
"My family is infuriating," Soren said.
"Isn't everyone's?" Ike replied.
"Mine is in a whole different level," Soren said.
*
The booking went as smooth as was possible. The woman at the desk was annoyingly perky, and rather incompetent to boot, but other than that, it could've gone far worse than it did. It wasn't coach. Largely because constantly crying children made Soren want to chuck his book at them. And knowing Soren, it was a very large tome indeed. Soren thought it was worth the extra money it would involve, just to avoid the possible homicide charges.
Ike loaded the carry-on luggage in the top compartment, and handed Soren a piece of paper.
"Here," Ike said.
"That's your ticket," Soren said.
"Everyone loves the window seat, right?" Ike said.
"I've seen Daein many times before," Soren said. "After you see snowy mountains once, they tend to lose their appeal."
"I've seen it before too, and I just figured I'd offer," Ike said. He sat down and closed the window.
"You're a gentlemen? How...unexpected," Soren said.
"Just because I have orange sneakers doesn't mean I don't open doors," Ike said.
"It was more the fact you put them on the coffee table and nearly gave Kyza a heart attack," Soren said.
"Yeah, my father was always saying I had horrible manners," Ike said.
"Manners are overrated," Soren said. "I'd rather have someone insult me to my face than one who puts on a show of cordiality and insults me behind my back."
"Me too," Ike said.
This wasn't to be one of those times where great and meaningful things were learned on a conversation on a plane, as Ike proved to not be a morning person in the least, and nodded off soon after they had gotten on. Soren could never get comfortable in the air. He worked on his laptop when he could, and caught up on his reading when he couldn't. Soren never wasted a minute if he could help it. It was a six hour flight from Melior to Nevassa. Ike only groggily stirred when they landed, even sleeping through the turbulence over the mountainous regions between Daein and Crimea.
It was lucky for the airports themselves that they didn't lose the luggage, because Soren would've ranted at them as long as it took to find them. Plane rides only made him if possible, crankier than usual.
It was Bryce who met them in a spotless black suit, with white gloves and a several knives concealed over his body. At his foot, his waist, his arm.
"Master Soren," he said, nodding. "Everyone is waiting for you and your companion."
"Of course," Soren said. Ike hauled the luggage, leaving Soren simply his light rolling luggage.
"Your companion is yet to come?" Bryce inquired.
"My companion is already with me," Soren said, his voice growing silky, in a way that made his workers fear for their jobs.
"I see. Shall I inform the madame?" Bryce said.
"No need. She'll see us soon enough."
"She will worry," Bryce said.
"She always does," Soren said.
They climbed into a black sedan, which Bryce himself drove. It was a short enough drive, and the car was silent, save for the sound of classical music from the disk player. Bryce at times hummed along. Ike looked out the window, and Soren looked through his notes for the speech he couldn't quite get a handle on. All too soon, they were pulling up at the massive gates that separated The Keep from the rest of Nevassa.
Ike stared up at the architecture of The Keep, his hands in his pockets of his faded jeans to keep from the cold. It did have that effect, especially on those who hadn't seen its gothic construction up close before. It was covered in snow and patches of frost, with the tall black spires looking as if they were trying to spear the sky. Gargoyles and other beasts were carved into the stone, looking down with snarling jaws.
Ike took the luggage, despite Bryce's attempts to carry it up himself. They walked up, into The Keep. The room was dimly lit, in shades of dark red and grey. A motley group lolled about. Friends of the bride, he assumed. They looked like thieves and activists, and of the two his father had always hated activists more. He could at least admire the thieves for their talent.
He caught sight of the bride-to-be. It was rather hard to miss her, given her transcendental all organic tie-die ensemble with many gold bracelets and necklaces making tinkling sounds as she walked. Instead of her being on Pelleas' arm, it looked more like Pelleas was on her arm, and utterly in a state of disbelieving bliss that he was lucky enough to be her armcandy.
His mother rose up from where she had been seated. She wore only the most fashionable gown, yet always dressed as if in mourning, even though Bryce was probably the only person in all of Daein who mourned Ashnard's passing. She wore pearls at her neck, and a black veil over her face. Perhaps he was mourning the loss of her youngest child to an activist. It wouldn't surprise Soren, given the bitter glances he'd seen her giving the bride. His father had always said that the only good activist was another activist chopped up in the garden next to the rest of his collection.
"Now Soren, don't tell me you forgot to bring your date after I asked you time and time again to remember," Almedha said.
They had apparently mistaken the situation, deeming Ike some luggage handler, bodyguard, or other assistant.
"This is Ike," Soren said. "My date."
Almedha's smile tightened. Pelleas looked perplexed, as he looked from Ike to Soren and back around. Micaiah simply looked serene and understanding, which only made Soren distrust her more. No one was that understanding without an agenda, or a hypocrisy hidden behind closed doors. The others weren't paying attention, caught up in their own plans in the room beyond.
"As you can see, any grandchildren will have to be Pelleas' job," Soren said, unable to keep the smugness from his voice.
"That's no excuse. You could always get a surrogate," she hissed.
Soren rolled his eyes. They could have this argument later – surely they would, in time. "We should get unpacked."
"Where do I put them?" Ike asked.
"Follow me," Soren said.
It was up a winding stone stairway that Soren lead him. The stones were of a dark sort naturally mined in the Daein mountains. It gave the Keep an even eerie feel, to say nothing of the occasional messages foretelling of doom carved from bloody daggers – their father had been quite a handful when drunk. But eventually, they were at the summit of the stairs and Soren opened up to his room. It was much as he had left it: filled with bookcases on nearly every wall, and containing several weapons and gruesome paintings which were 'gifts' from his father to try and impose manliness on him. His large bed dominated most of the room. It was a four-poster variety, with dragons carved into the mahogany wood, and red curtains which could be pulled down on cold nights. The adjoining bedroom was much the same, just with less bookcases. These beds had housed princes and princesses, queens and their lovers snuck in for trysts.
The only side which wasn't filled with bookcases or weapons was the east wall which had a fireplace. There were very few rugs, save for one made of bear pelt for his father thought the crocheted kind not manly enough, and the only fitting thing to cover the stones of the keep was animal pelts
Either that or he was getting revenge for Almedha's crazed knitting and crocheting stage, which had come up with some truly atrocious sweaters along the way, to say nothing of the awful rugs.
Ike laid Soren's luggage at the foot of the bed and disappeared to do the same with his own. A few seconds later he was back.
"So, about your mother – two seconds in and she's calling dibs on what to name the grandchildren?" Ike said.
"And planned the wedding date, don't forget that," Soren said. "To say nothing of the color of the bridal dresses, entree, and what the floral settings will be."
"She's..." Ike said, struggling for words.
"Entirely insane?" Soren suggested.
"I was going to say 'dedicated', but ok," Ike said.
"Either way, we should get ready for lunch," Soren said. "She'll pitch a fit if we're late."
"I'm good to go," he said.
"I'll only be a moment," Soren said.
Ike was leaning against the stone wall, thankfully not against one of the priceless tapestries. Right next to him was a tarnished and rusted suit of armor holding a spear.
"Interesting place," Ike said. "Very....medieval."
"Below were dungeons where people were tortured to death. It's quite an museum of torture devices. Everything from racks to Iron Maidens."
Or at least it would have been, had all those implements of torture not had recent use under Ashnard's reign. His father's motto had apparently been 'spare the rod, spoil the subject.'
"Nice to know," Ike said.
"Are you afraid of ghosts, Ike?" Soren asked.
"Not even remotely," Ike said.
"Good. They're little more than tales which have been kept alive due to superstitious help. Either way— " Soren broke off, noting that Ike had become more rumbling in the time it had taken them to arrive and drop off their luggage.
"Your tie is crooked," Soren said.
Ike looked down, and made an effort to correct it
"Stop, you're just making it worse. I'll fix it," Soren said.
Soren was fixing Ike's tie, and it was in no way a simple excuse to better view him, despite him being admittedly aesthetically pleasing and smelling very good. His fingers lingered at Ike's neck for a moment as he was distracted. A sudden, and strange thought of licking Ike's neck came to him. He focused on his Adam's Apple, and thought about licking over it, and down to the hollow of his neck.
He shook his head. It was a fluke. Somehow Kyza and Ranulf's exuberance had rubbed off on him.
Soren cleared his throat. "There," he said unnecessarily.
"Something the matter?" Ike asked.
"Nothing," Soren replied. "We should go."
With that, he went out, gaze turned strictly in front of him.
Ike followed along, only a step behind him. Soren paused at the top of the stairs, looking down the spiral staircase.
"I forgot to mention the cruelest torture implement of all: the dinner table," Soren said.
"The food is that bad?" Ike asked.
"Not the food, the company," Soren said.
"Can't be worse than Shinon," Ike said.
They walked in, a step apart and came to the table. It was a very large room, with tall ceilings covered in cobwebs which hadn't been cleaned in years. The wood was dark, adding to the overall atmosphere of dreariness in the Keep. Various animal heads and pictures of the heraldry adorned the walls, while stone carvings of dragons and wyverns chased deer and Pegasi.
The size of the table and the absolute distance between one side and another always took some getting used to. Ike muttered a do you need a loudspeaker to ask to pass the peas or something? Soren even had a mild chuckle at that, which he covered up with a discreet cough.
The dinner went long, not only because Almedha took every chance she could to be cold and slight Micaiah, or make backhanded comments towards her. Ike seemed to enjoy the food at least.
However, Ike had spilled sauce down the front of his white shirt midway through, so he excused himself and headed up to change – Soren came along as well, because anything would be better than witnessing his mother's descent into trying to win the worst mother-in-law of the century award. When he reached the door, Ike's back was turned to him. There was a surprising amount of scars on his body. One at his elbow, a large one across his back which must have been a sizeable gash. These weren't mere football injuries. When he turned, more scars were revealed.
Soren didn't ask. Even if it was in his right as an employer to do so. Instead he decided to take this moment to unpack, to try and clear his mind from the strange fixation and results a simple glimpse of flesh had given him.
The suitcase was left on his bed, and not Ike's. There was a picture in his things, set atop his folded clothes – if folded could in fact be applied to something so slipshod. There was a large house, a motley assortment in front of it. There was a younger Ike, the rest were mere ciphers. The group looked happy – save for a dour looking man with a red ponytail, whose eyes were narrowed to slits. A younger Ike was in the back. The same old intense look from him, and yet there was an awkwardness to him. The rest of the group came as snippets of color, red hair, green hair, a wide smile with a crooked tooth, a scar. Soren studied it closer. The house behind looked as if it had been found in a state of disrepair and hadn't quite shed its own idiosyncrasies, the rust stains and slightly outdated wooden shutters needing repair and a new coat of white paint.
But it looked happy. Soren wondered what it would be like to live in a house like that, one without torture, without bloodstains which would never truly fade.
"My family. Well, most of it. Father is gone now."
Soren dropped the photo, and stepped back. "I wasn't prying; I thought it was my own suitcase."
"I know. It's all right," Ike said. He was wearing a new, clean white shirt now. Ties were less necessary at this point, and formalities could be lessened until the actual rehearsals took place.
What an idyllic sort of mismatched family. He did background checks, but never pried into personal effects. Strange, he never thought an accident like this would leave him uncomposed. He shook it off, and attributed it as jet lag.
He was tempted to just take a nap, but that would likely throw his schedule off even more. The Keep wasn't one for long walks at night. While Soren took the stories of ghosts with a grain of salt, there was the very real threat of weapons and unsprung booby traps. Ashnard liked to keep his staff on their feet.
He noted Ike looking out the window, gazing at the patterns of frost and ice left from the snow. In the far off distance, there were the colors from the banners raised, the faint brown of stalls and restaurants below the stone turrets of The Keep.
"Put on your coat," Soren said. "We're going out to see the sights."
