Garth Selachii
Feb 22nd, 2003, 02:48:02 AM
Sarah Florence fell back against her pillow with a blissful sigh. Finally, after dreaming all of her childhood of a perfect life, her wishes were begin realized. As she sunk into the quilting beneath her she once against admired her newly acquired engagement ring, fighting back more tears of joy at the simple sight of it. How romantic the proposal had been! Robert was sooooo dashing!
“My darling,” she stated, her voice noticeably lowered, “I must tell you something!”
There was no one else in the room with her and so she swept to her feet, spinning delicately on tip-toe towards her dresser. In front of the mirror she sat, brushing long dark locks from her eyes as she pouted at her reflection.
“Marry me,” that same thick, masculine voice purred. She giggled to herself as played the scene over and over in her head. The small slip she wore was nothing more than a night gown, but in her mind at that time it was a wedding dress. Through muffled squeaks of excitement she recited almost all of the wedding ceremony…
*
”Mornin’, Cellar,” a small voice called.
Reluctantly, and with a carefully concealed sigh, the boy stopped. From behind footsteps approached quickly and within a moment or so a hand had fallen onto his shoulder.
“I said morning, Garth,” the person reiterated, finding their hand being charily shrugged away from the black velvet it had rested upon.
“Good morning, Sarah.”
Garth Selachii, a boy that appeared to be eagerly awaiting his ascension into man-hood, spoke with one of those voices that seemed to be perpetually in a state of indifference. One thing that was noticeable about him was the calculated expression he wore, that matched this neutral manner of speaking. The small, polite smile always rested on his lips, beneath the struggling narrow moustache. It could hide any number of things, and people knew that. It could just be that he was genuinely happy, or on the other hand it could be that he was ready to snap your neck.
Who knew.
“You look tired. Late night? Madam won’t like you being late. You should get to classes. Could you help me with this?”
All at once a string of statements passed out of Sarah’s lips, all of which meant little to Garth. His mind was on auto-pilot when it came to conversation, and he was in no mood to deal with easily excitable juniors like Florence.
“A little. No. I know. Yes I should. And No.”
It took a while for Sarah to equate this response into something understandable, but after a few seconds of silence passed it dawned on her. Beneath thin black eyebrows, Garth’s eyes stared off at some point mid-distance in front of himself. Not realising he was attempting to give her the brush off, Sarah craned to look at the same thing, though failed and eventually wandered away sadly.
Selachii relaxed, and the air around him felt all the better for it.
*
Hours later he found himself in the training room of the Guild, a set of throwing knives in his hand. One by one he threw them cleanly across the room into the back of a wooden dummy, each time hitting it in the neck. It was all too easy, he thought. Plucking them from their holds one by one, he became aware of another in the room.
“… I assume that they’ve put the contracts list up, then?” he stated as he removed the last long blade from the dummy’s jugular, with a loud sching.
“Yup,” said a voice, whose mind was really thinking ‘How the hell did he know I was here?’ and ‘Is he going to lob that knife right in my throat?’. Not particularly wanting to know the either of these questions, especially the latter, the other presence slipped away as quickly as it had come.
Garth pushed each of the delicate weapons into the belt he wore around his waist and padded soundlessly out of the room into the hallway, where others had already amassed. A stout woman had just pinned up a large notice on the wall, under the plaque that said ‘Game’. As always, Garth hung back whilst the others read over the listed names. He wasn’t really interested in the small contracts that were on offer to the whole of the school. The most challenging things were always the personal calls.
“Prince Selachii?” a voice said from behind. People liked to think they could sneak up on assassins from behind. They couldn’t.
“Yes?” replied Garth, turning to look directly at the young man who had addressed him.
“Contract for you.”
Where had he seen that face before? The man was dressed all in black, like each of the students at the Guild, yet he couldn’t quite place a name to the expression. With his thumb nail he broke the seal on the envelope he now held, and slowly eased out the contract just enough so that he could catch a glimpse of the client and target.
“Thank you, Robert. I shall keep this strictly confidential.”
A small, polite smile spread over his lips.
*
He always felt a small tingling sensation on the back of his neck when he stood on the window ledge of the Vician House dormitory. From this vantage point almost all of the whole of east side of Coruscant could be seen. It you went up to the clock tower at about half past five, when the sun was in just the right place, you could see everything.
But no one could see you.
Providing you were dressed in traditional assassin black, you became invisible to the eye. That was all part and parcel of the job though, however. You were just that patch in the shadow that looked faintly darker than the rest of the black around it. You were the silence. Or at least, that’s what the instructors aimed for you to become. It took a great deal of time for this to actually be realised. For Garth his probation period had ended long ago, as had been expected from the young Selachii.
A utility belt was strapped around his waist, containing each of the eight sizes of throwing knives he would need. As well as this a small skin tight bag was strapped over his shoulders, with his two stilettos sheathed neatly in scabbards on his boots. Leather was too noisy for one in Garth’s profession, so the more subtle – and comfortable – velvet was used. Velvet boots and cloak with hood, silk shirt and trousers made out of some highly adaptable black cloth that the assassins went through like pies on All You Can Eat day.
Well… now it was time to go. His chrono was telling him that young Sarah Florence had been waiting long enough for her visit, so he took to the rooftops and sprung across the skyline like a leaping bat.
Sarah Florence fell back against her pillow with a blissful sigh. Finally, after dreaming all of her childhood of a perfect life, her wishes were begin realized. As she sunk into the quilting beneath her she once against admired her newly acquired engagement ring, not noticing the momentary glint of dark metal to her left, fighting back more tears of joy at the simple sight of it. How romantic the proposal had been! Robert was sooooo dashing!
“My darling,” she stated, her voice noticeably lowered, “I must tell you something!”
There was no one else in the room with her that could be seen and so she swept to her feet, spinning delicately on tip-toe towards her dresser, beside which the shadows had just grown much thicker. In front of the mirror she sat, brushing long dark locks from her eyes as she pouted at her reflection and the concealed figure beside it.
“Marry me,” that same thick, masculine voice purred. She giggled to herself as played the scene over and over in her head. The small slip she wore was nothing more than a night gown, but in her mind at that time it was a wedding dress. Through muffled squeaks of excitement she recited almost all of the wedding ceremony…
“Till death do you part?”
… And suddenly was filled with terror.
“Me?!” she shrieked.
It didn’t matter if she saw him. Everyone was permitted to see just who was about to end their life, it was common curtsey. Garth just happened to be the person she had least expected to spring out of the shadows.
“Why not you?” he responded, following the old code of answering a question with a question. When it came to ‘old codes’, Selachii was as loyal as they came. He followed the profession to the number, did everything by the book and ensured that his customers were very satisfied with the results.
“Because,” she began, watching the black stiletto blade being drawn from its scabbard.
“I,” she continued, feeling a lump grow in her throat as Garth drew nearer.
“Am,” she was almost whining now. Garth couldn’t blame her, though he did hate her for it.
“One,” now it was definitely a plead. She even had pulled the old ‘doe eyes’ trick on him, but it wasn’t going to work.
“Of,” in a split second she’d be silenced for good.
“You.”
The blade struck on the final syllable of the word, cutting it off just as the blood supply to Sarah’s brain was ended. She collapsed backwards as crimson spilled out over her young body. Garth allowed himself the pleasure of a moments look at her whilst he delicately cleaned the blade of his stiletto on her night gown.
“Robert sends his regards,” he muttered, dropping a small card down onto her dresser before melding back in with the shadows of her room and successfully slipping out of the window into the night.
The card read, should anyone notice it: “The Assassins Guild, Coruscant. Don’t call us, we’ll call you.”
As Garth Selachii took back to the rooftops, once again becoming a shadow amongst others, he mulled over the fickle nature of the world. He didn’t let him concern him of course. It was this indecisiveness that paid his wages.
*
After a hard evenings work, there was nothing better than a mid-morning meal. The Guild café was closed at such early hours, but Coruscant City never slept – there was always some diner willing to cater for the night owls.
Finding one such place was easy and, with a quiet sigh, Garth ordered himself a coffee as he slipped into a stool at the bar – causing everyone around him to noticeably slip away.
“My darling,” she stated, her voice noticeably lowered, “I must tell you something!”
There was no one else in the room with her and so she swept to her feet, spinning delicately on tip-toe towards her dresser. In front of the mirror she sat, brushing long dark locks from her eyes as she pouted at her reflection.
“Marry me,” that same thick, masculine voice purred. She giggled to herself as played the scene over and over in her head. The small slip she wore was nothing more than a night gown, but in her mind at that time it was a wedding dress. Through muffled squeaks of excitement she recited almost all of the wedding ceremony…
*
”Mornin’, Cellar,” a small voice called.
Reluctantly, and with a carefully concealed sigh, the boy stopped. From behind footsteps approached quickly and within a moment or so a hand had fallen onto his shoulder.
“I said morning, Garth,” the person reiterated, finding their hand being charily shrugged away from the black velvet it had rested upon.
“Good morning, Sarah.”
Garth Selachii, a boy that appeared to be eagerly awaiting his ascension into man-hood, spoke with one of those voices that seemed to be perpetually in a state of indifference. One thing that was noticeable about him was the calculated expression he wore, that matched this neutral manner of speaking. The small, polite smile always rested on his lips, beneath the struggling narrow moustache. It could hide any number of things, and people knew that. It could just be that he was genuinely happy, or on the other hand it could be that he was ready to snap your neck.
Who knew.
“You look tired. Late night? Madam won’t like you being late. You should get to classes. Could you help me with this?”
All at once a string of statements passed out of Sarah’s lips, all of which meant little to Garth. His mind was on auto-pilot when it came to conversation, and he was in no mood to deal with easily excitable juniors like Florence.
“A little. No. I know. Yes I should. And No.”
It took a while for Sarah to equate this response into something understandable, but after a few seconds of silence passed it dawned on her. Beneath thin black eyebrows, Garth’s eyes stared off at some point mid-distance in front of himself. Not realising he was attempting to give her the brush off, Sarah craned to look at the same thing, though failed and eventually wandered away sadly.
Selachii relaxed, and the air around him felt all the better for it.
*
Hours later he found himself in the training room of the Guild, a set of throwing knives in his hand. One by one he threw them cleanly across the room into the back of a wooden dummy, each time hitting it in the neck. It was all too easy, he thought. Plucking them from their holds one by one, he became aware of another in the room.
“… I assume that they’ve put the contracts list up, then?” he stated as he removed the last long blade from the dummy’s jugular, with a loud sching.
“Yup,” said a voice, whose mind was really thinking ‘How the hell did he know I was here?’ and ‘Is he going to lob that knife right in my throat?’. Not particularly wanting to know the either of these questions, especially the latter, the other presence slipped away as quickly as it had come.
Garth pushed each of the delicate weapons into the belt he wore around his waist and padded soundlessly out of the room into the hallway, where others had already amassed. A stout woman had just pinned up a large notice on the wall, under the plaque that said ‘Game’. As always, Garth hung back whilst the others read over the listed names. He wasn’t really interested in the small contracts that were on offer to the whole of the school. The most challenging things were always the personal calls.
“Prince Selachii?” a voice said from behind. People liked to think they could sneak up on assassins from behind. They couldn’t.
“Yes?” replied Garth, turning to look directly at the young man who had addressed him.
“Contract for you.”
Where had he seen that face before? The man was dressed all in black, like each of the students at the Guild, yet he couldn’t quite place a name to the expression. With his thumb nail he broke the seal on the envelope he now held, and slowly eased out the contract just enough so that he could catch a glimpse of the client and target.
“Thank you, Robert. I shall keep this strictly confidential.”
A small, polite smile spread over his lips.
*
He always felt a small tingling sensation on the back of his neck when he stood on the window ledge of the Vician House dormitory. From this vantage point almost all of the whole of east side of Coruscant could be seen. It you went up to the clock tower at about half past five, when the sun was in just the right place, you could see everything.
But no one could see you.
Providing you were dressed in traditional assassin black, you became invisible to the eye. That was all part and parcel of the job though, however. You were just that patch in the shadow that looked faintly darker than the rest of the black around it. You were the silence. Or at least, that’s what the instructors aimed for you to become. It took a great deal of time for this to actually be realised. For Garth his probation period had ended long ago, as had been expected from the young Selachii.
A utility belt was strapped around his waist, containing each of the eight sizes of throwing knives he would need. As well as this a small skin tight bag was strapped over his shoulders, with his two stilettos sheathed neatly in scabbards on his boots. Leather was too noisy for one in Garth’s profession, so the more subtle – and comfortable – velvet was used. Velvet boots and cloak with hood, silk shirt and trousers made out of some highly adaptable black cloth that the assassins went through like pies on All You Can Eat day.
Well… now it was time to go. His chrono was telling him that young Sarah Florence had been waiting long enough for her visit, so he took to the rooftops and sprung across the skyline like a leaping bat.
Sarah Florence fell back against her pillow with a blissful sigh. Finally, after dreaming all of her childhood of a perfect life, her wishes were begin realized. As she sunk into the quilting beneath her she once against admired her newly acquired engagement ring, not noticing the momentary glint of dark metal to her left, fighting back more tears of joy at the simple sight of it. How romantic the proposal had been! Robert was sooooo dashing!
“My darling,” she stated, her voice noticeably lowered, “I must tell you something!”
There was no one else in the room with her that could be seen and so she swept to her feet, spinning delicately on tip-toe towards her dresser, beside which the shadows had just grown much thicker. In front of the mirror she sat, brushing long dark locks from her eyes as she pouted at her reflection and the concealed figure beside it.
“Marry me,” that same thick, masculine voice purred. She giggled to herself as played the scene over and over in her head. The small slip she wore was nothing more than a night gown, but in her mind at that time it was a wedding dress. Through muffled squeaks of excitement she recited almost all of the wedding ceremony…
“Till death do you part?”
… And suddenly was filled with terror.
“Me?!” she shrieked.
It didn’t matter if she saw him. Everyone was permitted to see just who was about to end their life, it was common curtsey. Garth just happened to be the person she had least expected to spring out of the shadows.
“Why not you?” he responded, following the old code of answering a question with a question. When it came to ‘old codes’, Selachii was as loyal as they came. He followed the profession to the number, did everything by the book and ensured that his customers were very satisfied with the results.
“Because,” she began, watching the black stiletto blade being drawn from its scabbard.
“I,” she continued, feeling a lump grow in her throat as Garth drew nearer.
“Am,” she was almost whining now. Garth couldn’t blame her, though he did hate her for it.
“One,” now it was definitely a plead. She even had pulled the old ‘doe eyes’ trick on him, but it wasn’t going to work.
“Of,” in a split second she’d be silenced for good.
“You.”
The blade struck on the final syllable of the word, cutting it off just as the blood supply to Sarah’s brain was ended. She collapsed backwards as crimson spilled out over her young body. Garth allowed himself the pleasure of a moments look at her whilst he delicately cleaned the blade of his stiletto on her night gown.
“Robert sends his regards,” he muttered, dropping a small card down onto her dresser before melding back in with the shadows of her room and successfully slipping out of the window into the night.
The card read, should anyone notice it: “The Assassins Guild, Coruscant. Don’t call us, we’ll call you.”
As Garth Selachii took back to the rooftops, once again becoming a shadow amongst others, he mulled over the fickle nature of the world. He didn’t let him concern him of course. It was this indecisiveness that paid his wages.
*
After a hard evenings work, there was nothing better than a mid-morning meal. The Guild café was closed at such early hours, but Coruscant City never slept – there was always some diner willing to cater for the night owls.
Finding one such place was easy and, with a quiet sigh, Garth ordered himself a coffee as he slipped into a stool at the bar – causing everyone around him to noticeably slip away.