Chapter Text
Above the Detainment Core, the Suncross was rising over the Eastern Luminant. The Moonseye slipped beneath the waves, into the horizon. The various workers at Port Merit began waking up and beginning their shifts, the banker, the antiquarian. Same too did the Peacekeepers, waking up and grabbing their riflespears, and beginning to go on patrol around Fort Merit.
“MUNET!” The roaring voice pronounced, ringing the sleeping Peacekeeper from his slumber. “It’s 9:00,” his eyes finally adjusted to reveal Captain Amarico, her polarized glasses reflecting his tired face. “you were supposed to be down there in the Detainment Core an hour ago, Gods above, you want another goddamn jailbreak!”
He rolled to his side, staring at the watch his childhood friend whom joined the Divers gave him. “Mercy, Captain! I wasn’t alerted! I’ll be at the ready immediately!” She turned away from him, the Felinor shook her head as she began walking through the door. “We ought to feed you to the ‘Daunts. Or let that…monster of a Khan…send you straight to the second layer!”
Pebbles Munet; which isn’t his actual name but instead one given to him by his many, many brothers—whom of which sported him the name upon finding him picking rocks up and examining them instead of watching an Authority March. He’d never wanted to become a Peacekeeper, was always a incredibly good chef, even so at his age and with minimal training. Mushroom bisque, crab pizza, he’d even managed to tame and make the dreaded Megurger into something…decently edible.
Unfortunately, life has a unique way of ruining dreams. The Munets were an extremely powerful family. Growing up in the Central Luminant as well as being heirs to a line of noblemen from the old Adretian Empire. Meaning that they’d always be able to slip the Wardens some notes to ensure favorable roles in the army, or to avoid service outright. Atleast that was the hope.
Pebbles was denied from the Inquisition, Shock, and Command Corp due to “little qualifications, and disregard for authority.” Thus, shunned by his family and community alike, he agreed to join as a private and attempt to gain status in the East. Unfortunately, he was not assigned to missions and instead was told to guard the vast dungeons of the Detainment Corp.
He arrived, standing in a long hallway of cells filled with members of the Children of Navae, Etreans, and most importantly a small sect of 33rd Legionnaires. The other guards were standing around, chatting, some polishing their blades and others staring off in silence. He didn’t have any friends in his area, and thus he remained silent.
As the hours passed of little change, besides the occasional clash of the swords on the bars and telling prisoners to shut up. You couldn’t see it, but under his helmet his began closing as he dazed off into the void.
”MEALTIME, MAGGOTS!” Amarico’s voice rang out as she marched in along side two chefs—if you could call them that—whom handed out wooden dishes and water cups fashioned from gobletto. Pebbles was one of the ones to receive this. He peaked under the thin metal lid, wishing he hadn’t. The concoction on the plate could barely be described as a meal, made from what appeared to be mudskipper, thresher, and whatever other “ingredients” they could find in the Valley.
Begrudgingly he handed it off to the inmate closest to him, snatched it through the small slit in the bar and having an equally as disgusted reaction, less so, having to have eaten this multiple times. Though he glared at Pebbles as if wanting to kill him where he stood.
The Legionnaire was rather well-built. His posture upright doubling his massive size, only a little less than the monster a few halls away. “You treat us like fucking rats, y’know that?” He said, emphasizing the obscenity with a long drawn out pause. “Look, I’m sorry,” Pebbles said, turning to face him. “If I were the chef, I’d make something good. But I’m just the delivery boy, don’t get angry with me.” He said, leaning his back against the bars again.
“Then make something good for me.” The prisoner said, grabbing his shoulder.
“I can’t.”
“Sure you can. If you’re so sure about being a good cook.”
For some strange reason, he felt charmed by this stranger, perhaps it was the fact he spoke with a certain accent to his voice, perhaps it was the fact he couldn’t help but blush when staring at his purple eyes. He shuddered, but reluctantly sighed. “Alright fine. I’ll make you something.” The Khan smiled, grinning slightly and raising a brow. “That’s it. Bring it in tomorrow.”
Before he could finish, a voice came out from one of his fellow guardsmen. “Hey, Private! Stop fraternizing with the enemy!” He turned and acknowledged the callout with a nod before turning back to the Khan. “I—Gods, I…What’s your name damnit?”
“Khanus, Orpheus. Don’t forget it, boots. Centurion of the 33rd Scouting Legion.”
That night, he couldn’t get the vision of the Legionnaire out of his head. Frustrating him to no end. He’s exiting his home and gathering ingredients to make a meal for this…stranger! But he couldn’t help it. He grabbed some goblettos, some browncaps, and even some Redds from a small tree, leaving it over a slowburn fire through the night to ferment into the perfect hearty stew for the Khan.
The morning after, he snuck it in by waking up extra early, and moving in during shift rotation. Orpheus took the stew with his firm hands and raised it over his head, drinking nearly the entire stew in one gulp. Using his rather muscular forearms to wipe away the remainders on his mouth, turning to face Pebbles.
”Edible enough.”
”Is that a compliment” Face turning red,
”If you take it as one, boots. Say; take the helmet off.” Pebbles flushed even harder, every bone, joint, and ligament in his body telling him to refuse. But it felt as if he had no control, or perhaps felt too inclined to stop himself. In any case, the deed was done and his helmet was removed.
Orpheus looked his face up and down, every contour and bruise from the roughhousing, every dimple and the mole beneath his eye. His red tattoos he’d received when he came of age some what masking his redness, but his blue skin betrayed that. The Khan bit his lip and smiled. Though as footsteps became increasingly audible, he had to quickly slip it back on.
”Tell you what, everyday, bring me some grub. I have plans for you, you’re different from the rest of the bubs here.”
And thus became Pebbles life for the next month. Constantly cooking new dishes at night before delivering them to the Legionnaire the next day for approval—which he always got. And other small gestures of gratitude and respect, a little ounce of love, which they undoubtedly felt for eachother. Orpheus’ natural charisma and appearance and Pebbles…lack of it. Thus one night, before Pebbles left Orpheus grabbed his arm.
”Listen, boots. And listen real damn well. I notice you and all your signs you’re showing. Think I wouldn’t? Right, here’s the deal, you best ought to just tell me, yeah?” Pebbles flushed even more, practically about to faint, his mind overloaded with the possibilities of what would happen for every response. Stammering out a simple yes to which the Khan leaned back and smirked. “Me too, bub.” He said, “Stand back, yeah? Wouldn’t want to get hurt.”
What Pebbles hadn’t noticed is that he was using bits of the stew to degrade his handcuffs into something more easy to break—shattering them before rearing his fist back and shattering the cell bars with a strong punch from his left hand. “C’mon, we’re leaving.” He said as he began marching through the hall, grabbing onto a pair of cestus’s on the table. Others pleaded to be broken free too as he applied them, but he paid them no mind.
Expectedly, the Authority soon took notice of the break out, and soon mustered a force by the doorway of the Detainment Core, headed by Amarico. “Escapee, Traitor! Drop your weapons and raise your hands above your head! I do not wish for this to become violent.” Orpheus merely tilted his head, Pebbles tugged on the bottom of his shoulder plate to tell him it was a terrible idea. “And if we don’t? I’d like to see you try, all of you!” Instinctually, he shielded Pebbles behind himself.
Amarico sighed, pulling out her sabre and pointing it towards them. “Men, dispatch these criminals immediately. Send them to the gallows, please.” The others nodded, nine men total, three with rifle spears, two with swords, and two wielding the fearsome Sovereign’s Punishment. They walked forward and prepared for combat. One rushed forward and prepared a clean strike to Orpheus’s face.
Bzzt!
Crash!
”You idiot! Strike them not me!” Amarico was standing where the two criminals were, bleeding from the slash across her cheek. Orpheus’ had swapped places using his Thundercall, thus meaning the two were standing at the door to the Detainment Core. The guards turned around and began to give chase as they exited Merit’s basement.
As they continued through the fort, they amassed quite the congregation of guards chasing them. As Amarico continued calling out to the other Peacekeepers whom were just standing around. “They’re going for the port, block off the dock!” She was right, that was Orpheus’s plan, but now he had to change it. Spotting a glider left abandoned by the cliff-face overlooking Cascabel Bay, he got an idea.
Pebbles grabbed onto his chest, holding on for dear life as they glided over Port Merit. Amarico was furrowing so hard she could’ve popped a blood vessel. She pulled out her remote to call in a Buster Call, but one of the officers talked her down. The two lovers glider snapped, wherein they fell down a few hundred feet into the boat of a Etrean whom was overlooking the fort from a small dinghy, whom was happy to take them away upon hearing their story.
”Where are we going?” Pebbles asked, Orpheus turned to him, crossing his arms. “Meteor Isle.” Pebbles heard of it before, a relative safe haven. Thus he smiled, took one last look at his helmet, before dropping it into the water to be reclaimed by the Depths below. Finally, they turned to each-other, embraced, then kissed. Sailing away to the isle to live out their days in peace, as traitors to two empires.