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Ogrim
Ogrim snickers as he walks down the hallway through the White Palace. This is going to be fun. The Pale King had given him a faint smile when Ogrim had laughed at the assignment, and stated that he expected his orders to be followed implicitly.
Snickering again, he rounds a corner and heads out across a courtyard. He grins and waves at the two guards on duty, who nod back as he passes by. Reaching the other side, he crosses another hallway and heads through an archway to head down the sweeping stairs circling a fountain. He beams as he catches sight of Isma, waving when she notices him bounding down the stairs.
He diverts from his intended destination to greet her. She’s on duty, so he nods as he steps up beside her.
She smiles back as she finishes up her current discussion, and he waves at Lorial as they take their leave.
“Alright, spill it. What has you grinning like a fool?” she asks him with a smirk.
“I have an assignment. From the king!”
She turns to face him, one hand on her hip, the other on her chin as she gives him a mock once-over.
“That generally isn’t a cause for glee,” she says. “Frustration, yes. Curiosity, yes. Dread, frequently. Are you certain you are feeling well?”
She steps over and places a hand against his cheek. “You don’t seem to be running a fever.”
Ogrim chuckles as she stretches up to look into his eyes. “Your eyes might have a little extra gleam, but I diagnose mischief and not illness.”
He laughs and captures her hand for a moment, squeezing gently before releasing it. “Ah, Isma! The glee is not only due to the assignment, but also because of what it is, who it is for, and whom I am going to rope into helping.”
She snorts. “This should be entertaining. I’ll bite, who’s it for and what are you going to be doing?”
He pulls a folded letter out of his armor with a broad grin. “The Pale King has, and I quote, ‘no clue’ what Lord Furzkopf is trying to locate. I can only imagine how many questions he had to ask; see for yourself!”
Isma shakes her head as she takes the letter, and he smiles, bouncing on his feet as he waits for her to get to the best parts.
He sees her eyes widen, and she gasps, “No!”
“Oh, yes!” he says, knowing she has only made it about halfway through.
She snorts, and jams her hand against her mouth as her eyes crinkle up in glee. He watches as her shoulders start shaking, and she finally bursts out laughing as she reaches the end.
“Stars above, Ogrim! Are you certain the Pale King didn’t know exactly what he was trying to get Lord Furzkopf to describe!?” she laughs.
He shakes his head. “I am not! That makes it so much more exquisitely wonderful, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, gods, Ogrim. I don’t know which to hope for. Lord Furzkopf is an ass and this?” She waves the letter back and forth. “Knowing he had to describe this in such particular detail is a joy unto itself. Because you just know, whether the Pale King knew what was being described or not, he would have taken these notes with exactly the same intensity.” She grins at him. “Lord Furzkopf would have no way to know for sure if it was sincere ignorance, and I’m sure our king just kept asking in that deeply focused way he has.”
She starts snickering. “Not that I didn’t already know who you were going to be grabbing to help from the bounce in your step, but for once I completely agree. This is right up his alley, and one should always consult with the appropriate experts.”
“I am glad we are in agreement!” Ogrim laughs, and Isma smiles at him as it echoes around the fountain courtyard.
Her eyes crinkle and she captures his claw in her hand, squeezing lightly as she says, “Enjoy your assignment, I’ll see you this evening.”
He takes the letter as she hands it back, touching her face lightly with his claw before stepping back to give her a small bow. “As always, my lady,” he says softly.
She scoffs, but he sees the faint flush of white as she turns away, and smiles.
Time to go find his victim… er, partner.
Ogrim strides through the barracks, grinning widely. It’s late enough in the afternoon that the second shift is waking up, and he watches bleary-eyed guards stumbling around as they try and get enough stimulants into their systems to begin functioning for their day.
He knocks on one of the doors towards the end of a hallway, eliciting a quiet groan and “Go ’way!” from within.
He chuckles and knocks again, eliciting further incoherent mumbles. Figuring he’s given plenty of warning, he opens the door and walks in with a bright “Good morning!” as he heads for the window.
“Gods, Ogrim, what do you wa—don’t you f—argh!!” comes from the bed as he gets to the window and opens the blinds.
Turning towards the bed, Ogrim is greeted with, “You ass!” and he laughs.
“No, my friend!” he says, as he heads towards the bed. “This makes me an ass!” he says as he grabs a corner of the top blanket and yanks it away, uncovering the bugs hidden beneath.
The larger of the two bugs ducks and hides against the pillbug, who puts his arm over them as he glares blearily at Ogrim.
Ogrim smiles and retreats to lean against the desk. “How’d you get Galien out of here? He seems fundamentally incapable of condoning transgressions.”
“Ugh; you would be correct. I found him a date of his own, that’s how.”
Ogrim snorts. “Surely it couldn’t have been that difficult.”
Quirrel sighs, hugging his bedmate and whispering something to them. They relax, but don’t uncurl from their position of hiding.
“No, not particularly. It was more a matter of getting things moving along in such a way that he wouldn’t be here, which meant arranging for Delian’s roommate to be somewhere else, which meant… you get the idea, I’m sure,” Quirrel says.
“I most certainly do,” Ogrim chuckles. “You can be quite determined to entertain your companions. How on earth do you manage not to get caught?”
The companion in question flinches, and Quirrel says, “Technically, we just got caught, didn’t we?”
“True enough! However, in the grand tradition that has existed for centuries, since I am not your direct superior or even their direct superior, I don’t actually have to cope with this particular aspect of your shenanigans.”
Quirrel snorts, getting up onto one elbow and then leaning over his companion again, whispering to them. They shake their head, and he chuckles softly as he kisses their cheek and hums quietly. Pushing himself up and over, he deftly snags the blanket back and throws it over them, once again hiding them as he stands up.
“And for what glorious reason am I being subjected to your over-cheerful presence?” Quirrel asks.
“Ahhh, that’s the joy! Although the orders are to be kept quiet, so I’ll meet you in the commissary in five minutes, and we can head back to one of the offices from there.” Ogrim snickers. “It was lovely seeing your carapace, Miranda.”
The lump under the blanket twitches, and she throws the blanket back to glare at him.
Smiling at her, Ogrim sketches a small bow as Quirrel glances at the ceiling and shakes his head.
Ogrim stands up, calling back as he leaves the room, “Five minutes! Don’t be late!”
Having located a small empty conference room, Ogrim holds the letter aloft. “We are to locate a missing possession, as requested by the Pale King.”
Quirrel looks at the letter dubiously. “The Pale King has lost something, and – out of all the available options –” he waves his hand around in a vague circle, “he asked you?”
Ogrim shakes his head with a snort. “No. A visitor has lost something, claims it has been stolen.”
“I’m still stuck at the Pale King having asked you.”
“My heart weeps at your lack of faith!”
“Ogrim, the Pale King has at his disposal the entirety of the Guards, including the Investigators. Your job, last I looked, was to beat shit up, not find shit.”
Ogrim chuckles. “Ah, but you see, this visitor has requested… let me think… how was it put.” Ogrim thinks for a moment before continuing, “requested ‘the utmost delicacy and discretion regarding the item that was lost.’”
Quirrel crosses his arms and give Ogrim a flat look. “Now I am definitely calling stagshit. Unless the Pale King has suddenly become feeble-minded and forgetful?”
“My friend! I am hurt – nay, wounded – that you would question my ability to be quiet and careful!”
“…right.”
Quirrel ducks forward, snatches the letter, and opens it to start reading.
After a few seconds Quirrel asks, “So who is this theoretical illustrious guest that has not only managed to lose this whatever, but has the clout, courage, or outright idiocy to actually ask the king to be personally involved in the hunt for a thief or – far more likely, knowing most of the nobility – find it wherever they… uh…”
He stumbles into silence, and Ogrim starts grinning.
Quirrel boggles at the letter, bringing his other hand up to feel it and no doubt check to make sure it is real. He flips it over and looks at the back, then goes back to staring at what has been written.
He finally looks up and meets Ogrim’s eyes.
“Nice forgery. There is absolutely no way that you of all people were asked to investigate this as a favor requiring ‘discretion and delicacy.’”
“I assure you; it is quite real! And I was specifically requested by the Pale King to investigate this in ‘my usual thorough fashion.’”
Quirrel crosses his arms as he stares at Ogrim. “You. He requested you.” Ogrim beams. “My friend, you are a wonderful person, but you don’t have a single fiber of discretion anywhere within you. Every single rumor in this place makes it to you, through you, and is redistributed by you with extreme glee. Everyone knows this. The Pale King holds himself above most things, but he is not unobservant; he is, in fact, quite the opposite. This is not something he doesn’t know. And you are trying to tell me he specifically requested you to find this!?”
“Yep!”
“Does he know you are recruiting me?”
“Yep!”
Quirrel stares at him in silence, and Ogrim smirks back; he was right – this is fun!
“…I suppose the only person I could ask to get confirmation of the assignment is the Pale King?”
“Yep!”
Quirrel slaps the letter against the middle of Ogrim’s chest with a groan, and Ogrim grunts as he grabs it. Most definitely fun!
“Who asked for this help?”
Ogrim grins broadly. “Lord Furzkopf.”
Quirrel stares at him, his whole posture lighting up with unholy glee as the situation finally sinks in.
“You don’t say,” he murmurs.
“Oh, I most certainly do.”
“Utmost discretion,” he purrs.
“Indeed.”
“As provided by one of the Great Knights themselves.”
“You are now seeing the picture!”
Quirrel laughs. “I am indeed, my friend; I am indeed!” He points at the letter and asks, “We get to go interview the victim, I hope?”
“Last I knew, the proper investigative protocol involves verifying the witness statement by any investigator taking over the lead on an investigation.”
“Wonderful. It is a lovely day to be a horrible investigator, is it not?”
“It has turned into one,” Ogrim snickers as he grabs Quirrel’s shoulder. “I trust you can ask the appropriate questions and not giggle? Because there is no way I will make it through this interview.”
Laughing, Quirrel grabs the letter again. “My friend, if Lord Furzkopf stammered through this description of his ‘enhancement aid’ as awkwardly as this letter indicates, while the Pale King laughed his metaphorical ass off behind the guise of a sincere desire to properly ensure his investigators can find the item in question? I am going to assume I have implicit permission to bring the full force of what I am so well known for to bear, in the same way that your discretion is implicitly understood.”
“It is good to see you understand what the Pale King desires from this investigation! Shall we go find Lord Furzkopf?”
Grinning, Quirrel nods as he hands the letter back. Ogrim tucks the letter into his armor and heads out the door, Quirrel following behind.
They find the Lord in question lounging in one of the gardens, entertaining himself by attempting to… flirt with one of the gardeners working nearby. She looks up and meets Ogrim’s eyes with a pained expression. He nods at her as he says, “You’re excused for now, Gaiea. We need to speak with Lord Furzkopf privately.”
“Yes, of course,” she says as she dumps her tools haphazardly into her bucket.
Lord Furzkopf sputters as she stands. “Now just wait a minute! We were having a friendly discussion and we weren’t done; you can’t just interrupt like that!”
Quirrel steps around Ogrim’s side, breaking into Furzkopf’s line of sight to Gaiea as he says, “We are here regarding your missing figurine?” He turns and blasts a charming smile at Gaiea, who has just stuffed her rags over the top of her tools and is ready to flee. “I’m certain she would love to stay here with you and offer comfort.”
Ogrim sees her grip the handle of the bucket and worries that she is ready to chuck it at his friend. Quirrel turns a little further – making sure Furzkopf can’t see – and starts to sign something Ogrim can’t see either.
Furzkopf shakes his head and says, “Figurine?”
Gaiea relaxes as Quirrel signs, so Ogrim turns to Furzkopf and says, “Yes, the one you reported missing to the Pale King. We have some questions about the descri—”
“Oh!! That figurine, yes, quite so! No, my dear, no need to fuss about this, I’ll be simply fine; don’t you worry!”
Ogrim turns back to see Gaiea shake her head, and Quirrel turns to speak to Furzkopf again. “Are you certain? I can see how losing such a precious item would be hard to bear, how you might need a hand to hold in your time of need. Ogrim can go ask—”
“I am absolutely certain that I can remain… strong during these trying times, there is no need to go to all of this fuss! She may go!”
“As you wish,” Quirrel says, and turns back to Gaiea to bow slightly as he says, “Your time will not be required today, thank you for your enduring patience.”
She scoffs quietly and returns the bow before fleeing down the path.
Quirrel waits until she’s disappeared around one of the trees before turning back to Furzkopf. He holds his hand out to Ogrim as he says, “I just have a few questions about your descriptions.”
Ogrim pulls the letter out and hands it over.
“Are you certain that there is suitable privacy here?” Furzkopf asks, his voice quavering.
Quirrel looks around, startled. “You didn’t seem to think there would be an issue in what you were suggesting Gaiea do for you, I don’t see how this is any different. This is fairly secluded, as you were mentioning.”
Ogrim almost snickers, but catches himself. Quirrel had heard what the ass had been suggesting; good. Ogrim had been planning on making sure that she didn’t need to work anywhere near this end of the palace for the rest of the week – and he still will – but getting Quirrel worked up would generate additional solutions that were usually far more entertaining.
What Ogrim can do is make sure the White Lady is aware she needs to temporarily double or triple the garden staff, so that the seclusion is no longer available.
“I… suppose, if you are confident we won’t be interrupted?”
Quirrel shrugs and gestures around vaguely without saying anything.
“Go ahead then.”
“As you wish,” Quirrel says, unfolding the letter. “From your description, this novelty figurine is made from gold, onyx, and emerald?”
“I made it very clear what the materials were when describing it, I don’t know why you need to be asking me this again!”
“It’s standard procedure, my lord. Please bear with me, I know it can be quite hard. From these notes, I understand that it’s about this long?” Quirrel asks as he holds his hands a little ways apart.
“Not quite, well, more like this,” and Furzkopf holds his hands apart, but much closer together – although they keep wavering about, refusing to settle on a specific distance.
“Ahhh, ok, I’ll note that then. Accuracy is important.”
“I’m sure, quite sure, yes.”
Quirrel skims down the notes again, tapping his finger near the bottom of the letter. “Is this a downward or upward version?”
“…I am quite sure I have no idea what you mean.”
Quirrel looks up at Furzkopf, innocently puzzled. “Do you put it in upwards or downwards?”
“This isn’t… it doesn’t go into me anywhere!”
Ogrim nearly gasps, trying to keep from laughing. He grabs his claws together behind his back, and stares off into the trees just over Quirrel’s head. He knew he had chosen the right bug for the job.
“Really?” Quirrel looks back at the letter. “This description is fairly straightforward for a standard model. Barring the materials involved, I don’t see anything particularly special about it.”
Lord Furzkopf stares at Quirrel, speechless.
“You have the hinged version, which I must say is a wyrm to keep clean – honestly, I’m impressed by your dedication on that front – and the little protrusions are definitely a bonus in my experience—” Quirrel has taken to moving his hands as he describes the… novelty figurine in question, demonstrating the various… options he is describing “—but being made from metal and stone means that it will stay cold for quite a while. Which in itself can be quite pleasurable, but… well, that’s a whole different topic, of course.” He looks up and smiles at Furzkopf, holding his hand out slightly, palm up.
“Of course,” Furzkopf whispers.
“Regardless, I suppose whether it goes upwards—” Quirrel curls his fingers up and then tweaks his wrist to rock them forward as Furzkopf watches, stunned, “—or downward—” Furzkopf whimpers as Quirrel rotates his hand and curls his fingers again, providing another helpful demonstration, “—doesn’t matter so much as we search. Hmmm. Where was the last place you saw it?”
“Ahhh, that would be in my rooms of course,” he says faintly.
Quirrel skims the letter and nods. “You wouldn’t have happened to take it with you while visiting Vashnia?”
Ogrim looks at Quirrel. That wasn’t in the letter. He knew Furzkopf was doing his level best to get into Vashnia’s bed, but in addition to his naturally repellant personality, he continued to harass anything that moved in an attempt to get it to move on him. Last he knew, Vashnia wouldn’t do much more than taunt him.
Quirrel is assiduously reading the note, as if the answer to his questions were present somewhere within. Which they are not, because Ogrim has re-read the note several times in absolute amazement.
“…I perhaps may have happened to have it in my robes when she suggested we have drinks, to show her, you know, simply as an amusement of course.”
Quirrel nods, “Of course, as one does.”
“Yes! As one does, certainly there was nothing meant by it at all!”
“Well, it obviously means something, or we wouldn’t be here having this conversation, would we?” Quirrel says, looking up and smiling brightly.
“No, of course not… I mean yes, it does!”
“Right! Thank you for your time, Lord Furzkopf. I believe we have enough information to get a firm grasp on the situation. We will be sure to keep you updated of any changes or progress. Have a nice day!”
“Yes, of course, please do that,” Furzkopf replies weakly.
Absolutely positive he won’t be able to say anything without laughing, Ogrim simply nods his head at Furzkopf, and follows Quirrel out of the gardens.
“I’m going to shove his novelty figurine into him sideways,” Quirrel growls once they are out of earshot.
Ogrim grabs his shoulder and shoves him into one of the sheds, wedging the door shut behind him.
“No, you will not.”
Quirrel glares at him, crossing his arms.
“Vashnia knows how to handle creeps like him, she’s been doing it for years. He’s making a fool of himself.”
Quirrel snorts. “And Gaiea?”
Ogrim gives him a tight smile. “The White Lady will have a report of my observations by the end of today. I know she’s been lightly monitoring him; it won’t be so light after this.”
“Good.”
He stares at Ogrim for several moments before grinning. “I know where his blasted novelty figurine is, by the way.”
Ogrim laughs, and grabs his shoulder. “I was wondering! I take it Vashnia has it?”
Quirrel nods with a snicker. “Miranda is her cousin, and has been staying with her the last few weeks. Vashnia has taken to spiking his drinks and then flirting with him shamelessly.” He gestures back towards the gardens with a sigh. “Unfortunately, the side-effect of that frustration seems to be an increase in his harassment of others. My guess is that the White Lady missed it simply because it’s only stepped up in the last two or so days. Your report may not surprise her all that much, to be honest. Her staff seem quite comfortable reporting up to their supervisors, it may just have been the normal delay of bureaucracy in inaction.”
Ogrim scoffs. “That doesn’t help Gaiea much.”
Quirrel grins wickedly. “Gaiea was armed with trowels, at least two pruning shears, a turning fork, and a trimming saw. Two of those items you never saw, because she had tucked them into her shell when he started getting suggestive. She’s strong, she’s fast, and volunteered to be the one in his presence today. If he’d done more than talk – which is all he’s ever done, according to Miranda – he would have been missing parts faster than you or I could see.”
Ogrim stares at him.
“My friend, never piss off a gardener. They have tools and chemicals, and are not afraid to use them.”
Ogrim shakes his head. “Duly noted.”
Quirrel snickers. “Let’s go talk to Vashnia and see what her plans were for this… toy, because I’m guessing it’s far more entertaining than anything either of us could come up with.”
Grinning, Ogrim follows his friend out of the shed and into the palace.
Several days later, an interesting novelty figurine was found in the hallway outside of Lord Furzkopf’s door, laying as if dropped from the pocket of a robe.
The cleaning staff considerately placed it on a towel and gave it to the serving staff, who placed on his tray as they brought him breakfast, lying beside his fork and knife.