Author's Note:
I hope that someone out there likes this.*grins.*
Disclaimer: I would just like everyone to know that I do NOT own Sailor Moon or any of the characters related to the series, so don't sue me! I don't have any money anyway, but you could always take my student loans *giggle.* Enjoy!! :P
Just a note: please do not take my ideas without asking. The platform etc. belong to me.
**************************************************************************** **********
Age was not an issue for those who desired a position in the front lines; so when Jedeite had first met Endymion eight years ago, the twelve- year-old did not shock the older man. It was common for the poorer families to sell their sons to the military and their daughters to the whore houses at that time. It was not even Endymion's innate skill for swordplay or ability to kill that disturbed the long-time general. Instead, it was the knowledge that Endymion had willingly sacrificed the life of a noble, and a loving family, to fight in the war. At twelve-years- old, the small boy had consciously decided to bind Fate to a leash and lead his own life, a decision which, eight years later, still seemed to be the correct one.
Jedeite's lips curved upwards knowingly when Endymion waved over the nearest tavern maid to refill their jug of ale. His slight motion immediately attracted every wench in the tavern. His nearly dangerous good- looks could stop the heart of any woman--wench and noble alike. Endymion's interludes never lasted more than one evening, and even that was a rare occasion for one who was continuously offered irresistible pleasures. Jedeite felt as though Endymion only accepted the offers as to fend off his friends' jealous and consistent commentary. The general had never understood why Endymion's dark, ebony hair, cold blue eyes, and long, strong physique defeated his own short blond hair, gray-blue eyes, and stronger build. Yet it occurred regularly, without fail.
Presently, a wench with blinding red hair and a generous hourglass figure slid into Endymion's lap with a new pitcher of ale and refilled their mugs. Endymion's hand slid around her rotund waist and pulled her deeper into his lap. The woman squirmed playfully, causing him to grunt in both pleasure and acute pain.
"I can make you be doing more than that, lovey," the woman giggled, her hands suddenly running over his broad chest and through his loose, soft hair. "Much more. . . . Why don't we go to your room, lovey? I'll see to your needs."
"Ha! She'll deal with your needs alright, milord! Just like she deals with every other man's!" a rowdy blonde called out across the crowded room. "I'll be a virgin for you, milord! Virgins have all the energy, you know!"
"At every bloody tavern, Endymion," Jedeite chided. "You're a whore- magnet. We'll never be able to make a descent man out of you!"
"Good! I have no wish to be a descent man, Jedeite. I gave that up long ago."
"And rightfully so, lovey," the redhead cooed, pressing her ample chest close to Endymion. "But even the descent ones come to beg for my tricks."
"Why don't you try some of these tricks on someone else while my friend and I finish our drinks? I will come to you should I find that need, though," Endymion reassured the wench, his words sounding sincere, but Jedeite knew he would not call on her. Endymion pressed a gold coin down the front of her low-cut blouse between the rough swell of her warm breasts and laughed as she squirmed from his grasp and moved onto another man.
"That was a waste of a bloody gold coin. We don't have a lot of those to throw around, you know? Despite what the whores call you, you're not a bloody lord any more," Jedeite glared with disapproval; he had been eyeing the flirtatious woman all evening. "You're far too young to be engaging in these activities."
Endymion pushed the ale away from himself and locked his cold eyes on Jedeite. "I'm not that young, Jedeite. I'm a bloody full-grown man now! I don't need you to baby-sit me!"
"Well, somebody should! You bloody idiots are supposed to be on the towers!"
"Calm down, Nephrite. Pull up a chair," Jedeite waved the heaving general towards an empty chair. "Have a drink with us."
"I'll have none of that poison," Nephrite snapped before coming to hover over both men. Only Nephrite would have the gall to call insult on Jedeite. Endymion was a soldier, and the term 'bloody idiot' was well within the range of names one can call a man of lower ranks (especially when the one labeling the soldier a 'bloody idiot' is a general, himself). Jedeite, however, was one of the highest ranking generals in the army. Had Nephrite's own rank not been identical to the older general's, Jedeite's response to Nephrite's continuing tirade would not have been so friendly. "How long have you two been avoiding tower-watch?! You could be jeopardizing the entire town while you lunkheads are in here drinking! Drinking!"
"Nephrite, there's no war, man! There is no action out there, and it's bloody cold!" Jedeite persisted before downing the remaining ale. "Besides, the whole town's in here anyway!"
"You're both bloodied idiots," Nephrite snorted before sitting in the empty chair, tossing his long, wavy, red-brown hair away from his face. "If you want to finish your drink, Endymion, I suggest you follow Jedeite's example and down it. You got a letter today."
"Woohoo! A bloody letter," Jedeite chortled. "Now your wenches write, do they?"
"Apparently," Endymion smirked. "So, Nephrite, where's my letter?"
"Well, the commander has it now, dimwit. He isn't pleased with it, either."
"Hmm, maybe it was his wench. Eh, Endymion?"
"Would you shut up? They're talking about kicking you out of the military, Endymion. This is serious. Seems that you got some inheritance that needs claiming."
"Inheritance? That's ridiculous! I have no family, and aside from you two, I have no friends, either," he intoned.
"Well, somebody sure considered you family. The letter referred to you as 'Lord Endymion Shields.' I never even knew your last name! Never mind any bloodied titles you somehow got!" Nephrite nearly shrieked, his dark, ruddy hair falling into his eyes. No one spoke.
"I thought mail was private," Jedeite finally commented, breaking the angry silence.
"Not when it comes all dolled-up like that letter. It's official business, then," the upset general responded with an air of importance.
"They won't go kicking him out of the military, Nephrite. We always knew that Endymion was some lord's legitimate son. We knew what he was."
"What was the inheritance?" Endymion asked mildly, his blue eyes suddenly possessing a commanding spirit.
"My guess would be a lord's estate with all the trimmings," Nephrite snorted. "But you'll need to prove that you're not some savage to claim it. They don't want an unsettled lord."
"Then I'm afraid they'll be out of luck," Endymion rose from his seat. "I think we're off duty now. If you two gentlemen will excuse me."
"Gentlemen? Ha!" Jedeite laughed. "Maybe you're more of a lord than you'd like to think. But seriously, Endymion, you should take a look at the letter. You could use the money."
"No money would be worth the dull life of a noble," the younger man replied smugly.
Both Nephrite and Jedeite burst into loud chortles of laughter. "This from a man who complains of boredom here! And it's not a rare occurrence of complaint! This man complains of boredom throughout his every waking moment!"
Endymion waved off their comments and sauntered into the warm summer's night air outside of the tavern. No one else seemed to be on the streets at the late hour, and Endymion found comfort in the solitude. He was seldom alone. . . there always was someone by his side. . .always someone to temporarily distract him from the hollow emptiness that clenched his chest in quiet moments such as these. A whore could dull his emotional senses and make him unable to possess any emotions. Even in the blissful moments of mind-numbing pleasure, Endymion distanced himself from the emotions he felt. Lately, the feeling of quiet suffering, of silent loss, had begun to speak-up. He craved the same distractions from emotion that he had once taken for granted. Endymion craved a release--an state of something close to amnesia--to touch him and hold him prisoner, to enslave him and make him care about life again. . .
. . .but he had been desiring the release--the blessed torture of enslavement, of forgetting--for six years without avail. Ever since the war ended, and life had lost its purpose, he had been waiting for something- -a dream--to make him care again, to make him feel. . . .
I hope that someone out there likes this.*grins.*
Disclaimer: I would just like everyone to know that I do NOT own Sailor Moon or any of the characters related to the series, so don't sue me! I don't have any money anyway, but you could always take my student loans *giggle.* Enjoy!! :P
Just a note: please do not take my ideas without asking. The platform etc. belong to me.
**************************************************************************** **********
Age was not an issue for those who desired a position in the front lines; so when Jedeite had first met Endymion eight years ago, the twelve- year-old did not shock the older man. It was common for the poorer families to sell their sons to the military and their daughters to the whore houses at that time. It was not even Endymion's innate skill for swordplay or ability to kill that disturbed the long-time general. Instead, it was the knowledge that Endymion had willingly sacrificed the life of a noble, and a loving family, to fight in the war. At twelve-years- old, the small boy had consciously decided to bind Fate to a leash and lead his own life, a decision which, eight years later, still seemed to be the correct one.
Jedeite's lips curved upwards knowingly when Endymion waved over the nearest tavern maid to refill their jug of ale. His slight motion immediately attracted every wench in the tavern. His nearly dangerous good- looks could stop the heart of any woman--wench and noble alike. Endymion's interludes never lasted more than one evening, and even that was a rare occasion for one who was continuously offered irresistible pleasures. Jedeite felt as though Endymion only accepted the offers as to fend off his friends' jealous and consistent commentary. The general had never understood why Endymion's dark, ebony hair, cold blue eyes, and long, strong physique defeated his own short blond hair, gray-blue eyes, and stronger build. Yet it occurred regularly, without fail.
Presently, a wench with blinding red hair and a generous hourglass figure slid into Endymion's lap with a new pitcher of ale and refilled their mugs. Endymion's hand slid around her rotund waist and pulled her deeper into his lap. The woman squirmed playfully, causing him to grunt in both pleasure and acute pain.
"I can make you be doing more than that, lovey," the woman giggled, her hands suddenly running over his broad chest and through his loose, soft hair. "Much more. . . . Why don't we go to your room, lovey? I'll see to your needs."
"Ha! She'll deal with your needs alright, milord! Just like she deals with every other man's!" a rowdy blonde called out across the crowded room. "I'll be a virgin for you, milord! Virgins have all the energy, you know!"
"At every bloody tavern, Endymion," Jedeite chided. "You're a whore- magnet. We'll never be able to make a descent man out of you!"
"Good! I have no wish to be a descent man, Jedeite. I gave that up long ago."
"And rightfully so, lovey," the redhead cooed, pressing her ample chest close to Endymion. "But even the descent ones come to beg for my tricks."
"Why don't you try some of these tricks on someone else while my friend and I finish our drinks? I will come to you should I find that need, though," Endymion reassured the wench, his words sounding sincere, but Jedeite knew he would not call on her. Endymion pressed a gold coin down the front of her low-cut blouse between the rough swell of her warm breasts and laughed as she squirmed from his grasp and moved onto another man.
"That was a waste of a bloody gold coin. We don't have a lot of those to throw around, you know? Despite what the whores call you, you're not a bloody lord any more," Jedeite glared with disapproval; he had been eyeing the flirtatious woman all evening. "You're far too young to be engaging in these activities."
Endymion pushed the ale away from himself and locked his cold eyes on Jedeite. "I'm not that young, Jedeite. I'm a bloody full-grown man now! I don't need you to baby-sit me!"
"Well, somebody should! You bloody idiots are supposed to be on the towers!"
"Calm down, Nephrite. Pull up a chair," Jedeite waved the heaving general towards an empty chair. "Have a drink with us."
"I'll have none of that poison," Nephrite snapped before coming to hover over both men. Only Nephrite would have the gall to call insult on Jedeite. Endymion was a soldier, and the term 'bloody idiot' was well within the range of names one can call a man of lower ranks (especially when the one labeling the soldier a 'bloody idiot' is a general, himself). Jedeite, however, was one of the highest ranking generals in the army. Had Nephrite's own rank not been identical to the older general's, Jedeite's response to Nephrite's continuing tirade would not have been so friendly. "How long have you two been avoiding tower-watch?! You could be jeopardizing the entire town while you lunkheads are in here drinking! Drinking!"
"Nephrite, there's no war, man! There is no action out there, and it's bloody cold!" Jedeite persisted before downing the remaining ale. "Besides, the whole town's in here anyway!"
"You're both bloodied idiots," Nephrite snorted before sitting in the empty chair, tossing his long, wavy, red-brown hair away from his face. "If you want to finish your drink, Endymion, I suggest you follow Jedeite's example and down it. You got a letter today."
"Woohoo! A bloody letter," Jedeite chortled. "Now your wenches write, do they?"
"Apparently," Endymion smirked. "So, Nephrite, where's my letter?"
"Well, the commander has it now, dimwit. He isn't pleased with it, either."
"Hmm, maybe it was his wench. Eh, Endymion?"
"Would you shut up? They're talking about kicking you out of the military, Endymion. This is serious. Seems that you got some inheritance that needs claiming."
"Inheritance? That's ridiculous! I have no family, and aside from you two, I have no friends, either," he intoned.
"Well, somebody sure considered you family. The letter referred to you as 'Lord Endymion Shields.' I never even knew your last name! Never mind any bloodied titles you somehow got!" Nephrite nearly shrieked, his dark, ruddy hair falling into his eyes. No one spoke.
"I thought mail was private," Jedeite finally commented, breaking the angry silence.
"Not when it comes all dolled-up like that letter. It's official business, then," the upset general responded with an air of importance.
"They won't go kicking him out of the military, Nephrite. We always knew that Endymion was some lord's legitimate son. We knew what he was."
"What was the inheritance?" Endymion asked mildly, his blue eyes suddenly possessing a commanding spirit.
"My guess would be a lord's estate with all the trimmings," Nephrite snorted. "But you'll need to prove that you're not some savage to claim it. They don't want an unsettled lord."
"Then I'm afraid they'll be out of luck," Endymion rose from his seat. "I think we're off duty now. If you two gentlemen will excuse me."
"Gentlemen? Ha!" Jedeite laughed. "Maybe you're more of a lord than you'd like to think. But seriously, Endymion, you should take a look at the letter. You could use the money."
"No money would be worth the dull life of a noble," the younger man replied smugly.
Both Nephrite and Jedeite burst into loud chortles of laughter. "This from a man who complains of boredom here! And it's not a rare occurrence of complaint! This man complains of boredom throughout his every waking moment!"
Endymion waved off their comments and sauntered into the warm summer's night air outside of the tavern. No one else seemed to be on the streets at the late hour, and Endymion found comfort in the solitude. He was seldom alone. . . there always was someone by his side. . .always someone to temporarily distract him from the hollow emptiness that clenched his chest in quiet moments such as these. A whore could dull his emotional senses and make him unable to possess any emotions. Even in the blissful moments of mind-numbing pleasure, Endymion distanced himself from the emotions he felt. Lately, the feeling of quiet suffering, of silent loss, had begun to speak-up. He craved the same distractions from emotion that he had once taken for granted. Endymion craved a release--an state of something close to amnesia--to touch him and hold him prisoner, to enslave him and make him care about life again. . .
. . .but he had been desiring the release--the blessed torture of enslavement, of forgetting--for six years without avail. Ever since the war ended, and life had lost its purpose, he had been waiting for something- -a dream--to make him care again, to make him feel. . . .