Idle Tales, #1

by Esk

You're unsure of what's happening now.

You were ordered to her cabin in order to receive information on your next job, after all, she is the one you report to most often. Her office is mostly bare, save from the desk and two chairs. There is of course a large poster of the All Seeing Leader on the wall behind her, and various newspaper clippings that feature her in particular are stuck all over the walls. A bare bulb burns upon its last legs, dangling from the ceiling.

She is late. You sit in your chair and fidget, getting more and more nervous by the second. This wasn't the sort of place where you were provided with distractions, and the Idle is never one to get distracted from a task at hand. You wonder what the job will be, most likely you and a few others are to be bundled together to hastily bash someone's skull in, nothing too onerous in the tactics department, you are very low ranking after all and there is a saying in the Army that "The Newbies are there to slaughter, not to suppose." You ask yourself how long it'll take to shake off the nic-name of "Newbie", and how long it would be before you're delivering brutal beatings to the new kids yourself. The door opens.
She is the same as she ever was; unmarred and unyielding in her uniform, the only things differentiating hers from yours are the medals that detail the front, and the brilliant red sash that she wears around her hips. She locks the door behind her and takes her seat: this does not help your nerves.
"I'm glad you're here." She says, not dropping the formality from her voice, and she doesn't even look up from the papers already spread out in front of her. You nod, even though it's obvious that she's not really paying attention to you. Part of you wants to sneak a peek at those clearly important papers, but fear holds you rigid in your seat.

"To be perfectly honest, the reasons for why I asked you here are not entirely business related." The Idle announces, looking up at you at last, although you wish she hadn't now. You suddenly feel intimidated and you're not really sure what to reply to that, or even if you should at all, as speaking out of turn can result in some rather gruesome punishment. Your fearful eyes suddenly spot the straps of a thigh holster under the sash; something in the back of your brain tells you that she's most likely to be carrying her favourite white pistol. The Idle's aim is infamous. You decide it's for the best if you try not to get into any circumstances in which she might be pointing it at you.

She's staring at you now, her laser-guided-smolder is so unnerving and it fucking terrifies you. Your voices catches in your throat, you begin to sweat a little. What the fuck does 'not entirely business related' mean? There was very little here that wasn't 'business related' and to be honest you don't like to think about it very much. The papers are dropped onto the floor, the bulb begins to flicker. You hear the sound of a chair being scrapped across the floor. The bulb goes out.

"Yes. Well. Let's get down to the nitty-gritty of it shall we? Please try to relax, otherwise it'll make things terribly difficult for the both of us." The Idle breathes, suddenly behind you. You stare ahead into the dark, now aware that the piercing eyes of the Leader are invisible to you. You're sweating even more now, your fingernails digging into the fabric of your trousers. But you take a deep breath and try to remain calm, you feel your muscles relax a bit. Even in situations like this, even your body knows that orders are orders.

She places her hands gently on either side of your head. Her hands smell clean, and you briefly and foolishly wonder if she's at all disgusted by how dirty you are; soap is scarce even for those higher up the ladder than you, but the Idle and her team are always pristine, always perfect.

"Not business. Just dinner." The Idle croons, as her perfectly manicured hands break your neck.

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