FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

One of those days

Chapter 6

It’s surprising how everything can be going to shit one minute, but then miraculously come together at the eleventh hour, and all of a sudden you’re there, and sorted, and wondering what’ll happen next.

As winter wound down, the snow began to melt and the first signs of spring burst itself into life, new buds sprouting from the dormant trees and the birds again began their annoying morning chorus. With this new found excess of life, our deadline approached at an alarming pace.

Those final weeks were a nightmare of preparation and obstinacy, with ever insurmountable obstacles thrown in our path. If it wasn’t a weapons shipment delayed, or an insufficient number of horses to pull the wagons, it was a sickness sweeping through the ranks of those soldiers selected to undertake the trip. Personally, I found my hands increasingly twitching to encircle the necks of those morons causing many of the delays, but I resisted, with difficulty. Even Argy lost his temper a number of times, which was interesting to observe in the otherwise stoic dragon, and ironically I found myself needing to present a good example; something I’d diligently avoided for most of my life. After all, there was nothing worse than having someone punch your face in while a dragon was gnawing on your limbs, to make your day.

But the weather slowly improved, and while my temper didn’t exactly follow linearly, our organisational progress continued until, finally, we were pretty much ready.

In “we” I mean the collective “we”, as “I” was a bundle of stress and angst, not remotely ready in the slightest.

Argy was a particularly good wall to hurl my pig-headedness against, as he patiently listened to my rants, commenting quietly and offering reassurance, much to the profound relief of whomever I was accosting at the time. He also effectively managed to break my habit of throwing knives at things; the doors, the walls, the occasional merchant; and didn’t have a bar of my excuse that I was simply “practicing”. I mean, I do need to keep my skills up, and if there happens to be a convenient moving target handy, sometimes you just needed to go with the flow.

But finally the equipment was sourced, the wagons loaded, the perishables perished, and when the last of the military equipment arrived, I suddenly found myself without a driving goal, and a whole lot of time to think about things.

Things like marching through deadly mountains to take on a bunch of huge ferocious fire-breathing monsters, in a land where our reception was uncertain, and with nothing more than the word of a smooth-talking silver dragon of questionable bed habits.

Fucking awesome.

I’d like to say things could have been worse, but they often were. I thought getting the gear set up would be the most difficult part of our planning, but the human factors were even worse. A small part of me had just hoped the military people the king were sending would toe the line and just follow my orders, but deep down I knew I had about as much hope of that as a virgin in a brothel.

The commander, James Halliday, wasn’t the problem. I knew him well enough, and Dad knew him better, having been instrumental in ensuring the man was selected as the authority figure amongst the military men in the trip planning. Sir James had the experience, the skill and (even more unusually for a military man) the tact, to handle himself in extreme and often difficult situations, and after the King had agreed to put him in charge, I breathed a sigh of relief for a moment. Too brief, as I then cursed after hearing who his second was supposed to be.

Captain Phillip Brittock, or “Phil Buttocks” as his men called him condescendingly behind his back, was an arrogant little toe rag of noble birth. The kind of man born with a silver spoon firmly lodged up his ass, which should have said it all but somehow didn’t do him justice. Worse, we shared a somewhat unfortunate history that would have better been forgotten.

A few years back, I was working an assignment involving tracking down stolen military equipment. Stuff that was being smuggled in quantity out of the King’s garrison storerooms, right under the eyes of the quartermasters in charge. The goods being smuggled were increasingly prolific, , not to mention profitable, and when they began turning up in the hands of the soldiers fighting for a neighbouring kingdom, then used against our own people in one of the petty little squabbles that kept cropping up over the apparently fluid boundary bordering the two lands, the King took Dad aside and asked him to look into it.

Since Dad was busy, as he usually was, he did the next best thing, took me aside, and in no uncertain terms told me to do it.

Lucky, lucky me.

Back then, I looked even greener than I do now. I was just turning twenty, was long legged and rather stunning, if I do say so myself, and my more lethal side was still far from common knowledge to the plebs I kept company with in court.

So little old lucky me was given the task of infiltrating the guard, locating the source of the theft, and ensuring it stopped through whatever means at my disposal.

It turned out, “whatever means” was more fluid than I could have imagined.

Joining the army in disguise and working my way through the ranks wasn’t an option. I could take care of myself for sure, but the constant harassment, not to mention the prolonged time involved, made it unfeasible and impractical. Besides, there’s only so many times marching in line you could put up with being felt up by your male colleagues, whose idea of sexual liberation was ten minutes behind the work shed with a barmaid, before knifing someone unintentionally became a real possibility.

Instead, since it was fast, easy and came with unlimited quantities of free booze, I found myself a spot in the officer’s bar, dressed in the sluttiest outfit from my extensive wardrobe of disguises, making small talk with an admiring ring of officers all keenly trying to engage my attention, and ultimately make it into my pants for the evening.

My job is just so glamorous at times, I could vomit. It’s when you begin thinking fondly of skulking in a gutter somewhere with a head wound as a better alternative than your current mission, you know you’ve hit rock bottom.

Spying the likeliest target, the aforementioned Buttocks, I simpered up to him in the most disgusting and demeaning fashion I could think of, and discretely pumped him for any information on life in the garrison, weaving myself towards information regarding the thefts. He didn’t recognise me from my time at court, which was a blessing in some respect. I’d like to imagine my skill in disguise was a contributing factor, but reality was, it was most likely his excessively state. For whatever reason, he spilled the beans on everything and everyone, and I managed to gain a wealth of information regarding the goings on in the barracks. However, in other ways, my act as bar floozy was too successful.

While I really did do my best to keep his groping hands from getting too lucky, when he stuck a hand beneath my dress and a cold finger somewhere unmentionable, while whispering into my ear in no uncertain terms what he planned on doing to me when he had me alone later in graphic and rather disturbing detail, I decided that particular avenue of investigation was now closed, and I should call it an evening.

I should have realised there’s a point with some of these types where “no” no longer means “no”. my enlightenment came as I was grabbed roughly, spun around to be thrown face down against the bar with my dress hiked up around my waist, to the raucous cheers of his watching, and generally inebriated, colleagues, as he made to drop his hose and perform a public exhibition of the most explicit kind.

Now, I’ll do a lot for a mission, and have done much worse than that to achieve an objective, but it’s on my terms always.

This wasn’t on my terms by any means, and at this point my patience with the testosterone fuelled bullshit was well and truly over.

After a swift elbow to his solar plexus I spun on him, my next punch taking him by surprise as the roundhouse connecting with his jaw most satisfyingly. A twin blow to the stomach had him double over winded, bringing his face to a gratifying meeting with my knee. He reeled backwards, eyes wild, and I swung my leg around high and hard, connecting with the side of his head to propel him a dozen feet to crash in a splintering heap amongst the wreckage of a nearby table, leaving the drinkers who had been sitting there staring down at him in disbelief.

I dusted myself off, patting down my dress for a moment, then turned to the closest of the stunned men to smile politely and apologise for interrupting their evening. The man nodded, overly frantically, and I patted his flinching cheek gently, ready to leave the scene with aplomb.

That should have been the end of it, of course, but as we all know, some people are simply too stupid to live. Still, my fault in some ways; I shouldn’t have expected anything more from someone with an arse for a nick-name.

A resounding crash of timber had me turn to coolly regard Buttocks staggering to his feet. Struggling to throw off the wreckage of the table, and with one arm gripping a roof supporting post as he rounded on me wildly, he made to draw his long knife with the other. Cursing me resoundingly, he nearly had it free. That was until he froze, regarding with alarm the quivering dagger perfectly placed in the timber post between his ring and index finger even as his colleagues stepped back, shocked motionless as I stood upright from my throwing stance, wished them all a pleasant evening, and closed the door gently behind me.

I recall being in hysterical laughter all the way home, the priceless look on the prick’s face as he stared at the throwing knife dumbfounded more than I could bear, at least until I found Dad waiting for me, a scowl dark on his face, from within our keep’s entrance. While I wasn’t surprised that he’d already heard of the situation, his spy ring being better than most royals, I wasn’t up for a lecture, not then and not ever.

“Was that showy bullshit really necessary?” he demanded quietly, and for a change, I didn’t take the bait, rounding on him furiously.

“I don’t like being raped, Dad. While there are many things I’ll do for you and the family, that isn’t one of them. Be warned, next time some prick tries that without my permission, you won’t have to worry about soothing their feelings. I’ll stick the knife in their throat, and to hell with the consequences!”

Marching to my room without a backward glance, I didn’t see the proud smile break across his features as, with a quiet chuckle, he returned to his own quarters, leaving me in peace to fume alone well into the evening.

That was all ancient history, at least for me. Obviously my feelings on the matter weren’t shared by everyone present.

Before me yet again was Feely Buttocks, the biggest arsehole his royal Highness had collected amongst his officers. Someone whom I had subsequently found had gone out of his way to volunteer to accompany us on the mission, as second in command of the military contingent.

Oh, fucking swell!

“Camilla. So nice to see you again” he nodded politely, looking down on me with a smirk on his lips I had an overwhelming desire to remove with a cold steel pole. I nodded back, deciding there was no point pretending to like the prick, and said jovially “Captain Buttock! I was so glad to see your name amongst those coming on such a dangerous journey to protect us. It’s so very noble of you!” I smiled falsely, which had him drop his own to scowl darkly, fists clenched at his side.

“It’s Brittock, bitch, as you very well know!”

Chuckling lightly, I apologised. “Oh yes, I do get those two words readily missed up where you’re concerned, ever since handing you your own behind all those years ago. My apologies.”

Snarling, he stepped close, only to freeze at the guttural growl from the dragon, who had stepped forward to hover menacingly over my shoulder.

“A friend of yours, Camilla?” Argy asked, voice quietly menacing as I reached up to pat his cheek soothingly.

“Not really, Argyrus. We’re simply acquaintances from a brief, and really rather enjoyable encounter, some years back. At least, I enjoyed it. Captain Buttocks may remember the evening somewhat differently.”

The captain stepped back, straightening his jacket as the smile again forced its way again across his face.

“Well, to be fair, as I recall you were dressed like a prostitute whore that evening. In hindsight, my actions may have been a little rash, although you have to admit, not out of place given the circumstances. Then again, I do hear you share your bed with all sorts nowadays, Camilla, so you can understand my confusion.”

I saw red then, hand slipping down my jerkin ready to retrieve something sharp and toxic to aggressively reply to his jab, when a chuckle from Argy broke through my angst as the dragon shrugged, fobbing off the inferred insult.

“It’s all a matter of taste, you see. Some people are just more attractive than others, Buttocks. Unfortunately, some people just aren’t so appealing.”

“It’s Brittock, you cold-blooded scaly bastard!” he hissed, reaching for his sword, but a swift paw lunged, catching the man around the throat with claws biting into his flesh in a vice like grip as he was dragged towards the dragon’s face. The dragon’s second paw locked the human’s weapons arm to his side, immobilising the threat.

Eyes narrowed, Argy snarled again, long canines visible as his thin lips curled menacingly, a tendril of smoke sneaking past to thread itself towards the low ceiling. His long, wet tongue emerged, swiping across Buttock’s jowl cheek to cheek as the man visibly flinched, pale features blanching further as the organ curled back into the dragon’s mouth with a satisfying lip smack.

“Aah, I have your scent now, Buttocks. I’ve tasted you, and I know you. No matter where you go, or where you hide, even to the ends of the earth, I can track you down now. So, be warned, human. If you insult me again, or pester Camilla further, I will find you, no matter where you go. When I do, I will hand your still beating heart to you after I claw it out of your living flesh, your screams just feeding my lust for your blood further. So, I would offer you a piece of advice, once that perhaps even someone so fundamentally stupid as to insult me to my face might comprehend. I would suggest you reconsider your assignment on this trip, human, before you find yourself in the very likely situation of ending up as nothing but dragon shit. Do you understand?”

I held my breath, captivated by the scene as the Captain paused uncertainly, locking eyes with the dragon for long moments before nodding abruptly. Give the bastard his due, he had balls, for sure. Most wouldn’t have the courage to take on such a creature. Then again, some people mistook courage for stupidity, and in Buttock’s case, both options may have been possible.

Argy released him then, letting him stagger back to his men, who had missed most of the quiet exchange as they spoke amongst themselves a dozen feet away. Regarding their gasping officer with confusion, Buttock’s fobbed off their questions and straightened, brushing himself off to then storm out of the room without a backward glance.

Giving the dragon a sideways look, I noticed anger still locked him in place. I touched his shoulder lightly, causing him to flinch, but it was distraction enough to break him from his thoughts to turn and give me a sudden, guilty look.

Grinning, I patted his neck and asked “You were serious about that? Tracking him by scent and suchlike?”

Angst momentarily forgotten, Argy sniggered, dropping his head beside mine to whisper “Of Course not! What does he think I am? A blood hound?” Looking up towards the door the Captain had departed through, he pondered and chuckled darkly “Put the fear of death into him though, didn’t it!”

I laughed, and he joined me, until he suddenly scrunched up his muzzle, long tongue licking his lips in distaste.

“Besides, he tasted like crap! I wouldn’t eat him even if I was desperate!”

Smirking, I shrugged and said “What do you expect Buttocks to taste like? Roses? Still, I’m going to speak to Dad about this. He’s had it in for me ever since that night I embarrassed him, and I can’t imagine he plans anything positive for this journey. I don’t trust the bastard as far as I could throw him. We don’t need him with us, and we’re much better off without him!”

Rolling his eyes, the dragon replied “I think I need another drink!” groaning at a quip that was in poor taste, on several levels.

I had no problems joining him, and the evening deteriorated significantly after that.

________________

Authors note:

This started out as a single chapter...

Reached 500 words

Then 6000

Then kept going...

So, split into two :)

100% nasty.