Chapter Text
The leaves were changing in Leyndell, and the autumn wind brought a chill to every soldier’s bones. But this year, the arrival of autumn brought more than just the changing of the seasons. With the crisp wind and the festive sales of rowa cider came a sense of dread and annoyance that fell over the entire capital.
The triannual safety inspection had arrived.
In a cold, drafty office within the Leyndell citadel, Private Bernstein and Private Gershwin, two inspectors-to-be, sat in square wooden chairs and waited to be briefed. Like everything else in Leyndell, the room was immaculately decorated: the chairs were carved to resemble the Elden Throne in all its glory, the walls were decorated with the finest velvet tapestries, the tables were covered with enough gold to pay each man’s salary, insurance, and taxes for a lifetime, and that of his children too. Like everything else in Leyndell, the appearance of beauty and finery belied the reality of things, for all the gold and velvet in the world can’t make a room less drafty or a chair more comfortable. Bernstein shivered in his armor, cursing both the drafty room and the chair that was violating his backside.
“Bollocks, it’s cold in here,” Bernstein muttered to himself. “Marika’s tits.”
“Don’t blaspheme.” Private Gershwin looked up from his papers and tsked before returning to his reading.
Bernstein looked up and furrowed his brow. “What?”
“Don’t blaspheme,” Gershwin said again. He did not look up from his papers. “It’s uncouth.”
Bernstein blinked. “What did I say?” he asked.
Gershwin sighed and put down his papers. “Marika’s… breasts,” he said. “It’s vulgar and disrespectful.”
“Shit, alright. My bad.” Bernstein raised his hands.
“Don’t curse, either.”
Bernstein sighed and let his head clunk against the chair. He offered a silent prayer to the goddess he had just blasphemed that he would never take her name in vain again if she spared him from this man.
Suddenly, the door burst open and their commanding officer, a fat, corrupt man who barely fit into his uniform, rippled into the room. Gershwin shot up like a misfired glintstone shard, scattering his papers. Bernstein also struggled to his feet, having found even the torturous chair preferable to standing.
“Ah, good, you’re both here,” the commander said. He pulled out his chair, which was even more ornately and tackily decorated than the one Bernstein was using. “Private Gershwin, this is Private Bernstein. Bernstein, Gershwin.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” Private Gershwin said coolly.
“Yes, a real pleasure,” Bernstein said. He turned from Gershwin’s intense gaze and to his commander. “We were informed that we were to become, er, safety inspectors? At least I was.”
“Yes, yes,” the commander said, taking a seat. His chair groaned violently in what appeared to be a cry for mercy. “You two have been selected on the recommendations of your staff officers to become the city’s two safety inspectors.”
“We thank you for the opportunity, sir,” Private Gershwin said. Some of his scattered papers had inexplicably returned to his hands. “On that matter, I already noted some possible violations on the way here. For example—”
“I’m sorry, did you say the ‘city’s two,’ sir?” Bernstein interrupted. Gershwin shot him a brief glare before turning his attention to the commander.
The commander seemed unfazed. “Yes, the city’s two,” the commander said. He looked at Bernstein with a mix of expectation and impatience.
“As in, we are the only two inspectors for the city?” Bernstein said. He glanced at Gershwin. The other private’s face was impassive, but his hands had tightened around his papers.
The commander sucked the air in through his teeth. “Yes, we are a tad short-staffed as of late. You see, we’ve heard tell that the Tarnished has been spotted nearby.” He kicked his feet up on the desk, balancing his chair on the two back legs. Bernstein wondered if the chair legs would snap or sink into the floor first.
Gershwin blinked. “Is there more?”
The commander raised his eyebrows, as if Gershwin was stupid for asking. “And we have allocated most of our men to the walls or patrols to keep our city safe, of course. But we must still take stock of Leyndell’s interior safety, so it will be just you two making sure our regulations are followed and reporting where they are not.”
“When do we begin?” Gershwin asked. His neat parchments were crinkling in his rapidly constricting grip.
“Where do we begin?” Bernstein said.
The commander shrugged, a grotesque movement that caused his whole body to ripple. “I haven’t the damnedest, gentlemen. That’s up to you. But I trust you boys will figure it out.” He reached under his desk and produced a tome almost as thick as he was, which he let fall on the desk with a resounding thump.
“This is the collection of Leyndell safety guidelines,” the commander said. He reached into a separate drawer and plopped down a sheaf of papers nearly as thick as the tome and the commander combined. “And these are the reporting sheets. If you see anything, file it under the appropriate section. Please submit this all in a timely manner. He pushed the papers and the tome towards the two men and leaned back into his chair. The chair creaked again, begging them not to abandon it. “You are both dismissed.”
“Thank you sir,” the two men said in unison. Gershwin added the commander’s papers to his already substantial stack, while Bernstein grabbed the fat book of regulations. In lieu of a salute, they gave their commander a small nod and turned out of the office.
Once outside, Bernstein sighed and flipped open the tome. He found a section about proper planting guidelines for young Erdtree Avatars and his vision instantly glazed over. Gershwin, who was flipping through a whole city’s worth of report forms, did not seem much happier.
“Wow, this is a lot,” Gershwin muttered.
“It’s not any better where I’m standing,” Bernstein said. The two men looked up at each other, silently acknowledging their new camaraderie from their shared burden.
“Hey, Gershwin,” Bernstein said. “I, uh, I’d like to apologize for cursing earlier.” Gershwin said nothing. Bernstein cleared his throat. “If we’re going to be working together, then I’d like to keep things clean between us.”
Gershwin let his breath out. “Yeah, fair enough. I’m sorry for sniping you like that, I suppose. I’d prefer not to hear it, but it’s not the end of the world if you do swear.”
“Good, good,” Bernstein said. “Glad that’s behind us now.”
The two stood in silence for a minute longer, looking out over the enormous metropolis, considering the great duty that fell to the two of them alone. God damn the staff cuts, Bernstein thought.
“So,” Gershwin broke the silence. “Where do you think we should begin?”