[collab] Week 288: Quaere

[Inks]

Word Count - [3,984]
Quaestor Laermont - [Moon]
Voxifer - [Inks]​

For someone so large and made of a bio-metallic substance, Quaestor Laermont moved very quietly. He was tailing his target cautiously, keeping him in sight while managing not to be seen. The inspector had many years of experience at following targets, so he continued to track the oddly fox-like young man without feeling particularly worried.

The opportunity he was looking for presented itself and Laermont took it, rushing forward and seizing the slight figure by the collar, spinning him around as he ducked into a dark alley with him and pressed him up against the rough brick wall. “I believe you and I need to have a little chat about a certain mission you were tasked with by one Mortuus.”

“Easy there,” the figure said. His hands came up – one wrapped in a glove of heavy, overlapping leathers, the other covered in intricate tribal tattoos – and curled lightly around the demvir’s arms. “You’ll hurt someone that way, robot.” The figure stood surprisingly tall for someone so slight, with a head of shoulder-length hair the color of dried blood. He wore a short, dusty-brown cloak with a large collar, and under that, a simple forest-green linen shirt, loosely laced up to his collarbone. A myriad of pelts and furs were tied at his waist and secured with a few belts, over a pair of grey pants and a pair of boots to match the heavy leather of his glove.

Still, the most striking thing about the figure had to be either his smile – cuttingly-thin and strangely threatening – or his eyes. They were pale and green, flat as his smile was sharp.

There was also the hint of tails and ears, deeper shadows in an already-dark night.

Voxifer smiled placidly at Laermont and said, “Now…who are you talking about?”

The gigantic metal man set Vox down. His massive hands could have easily enfolded the creature’s throat and crushed it, but he wasn’t so inclined. Something in the slight being thrummed through his hands and made him relax. His face was impassive but a smile was implied in his voice. “Let’s just say that I’ve got credible information that you had a task to accomplish. It was a task that related to me. I’d appreciate your cooperation in helping me get to the bottom of it.”

A darker tone brushed his voice. “I’d hate to have to give you an incentive to cooperate. It’s so much better when people see their own best interest in things.”

Although his posture had relaxed, Laermont’s powerful metal hand floated near his sword’s hilt and his eyeplates never left Vox.

Voxifer’s smile remained where it was, although something darker flickered through his eyes. “Easy there,” he repeated, softer this time. “It’s not smart to threaten someone before you even know who they are. What they’re capable of.” His eyes ticked down to Laermont’s sword, then back up. “Their name, even. You can call me Voxifer. And yes, I think I do remember getting paid to complete a task. I got sidetracked, though. Never saw it through.”

Vox bared his teeth in a sharp grin, gleaming white in the dark. “You may have been mentioned. You’re a detective, yes? Inspector? The ‘stick your nose into other peoples’ business’ sort? I can sympathize.”

“I’m the ‘stop people from trying to kill me’ sort really. I’d be curious to know what else was said and I’m sure there are quid pro quo arrangements that we can come up with, Voxifer, in order for me to learn more about who wanted me out of the way and why.”

The demvir, thanks to his expressionless features and eyeplates, seemed utterly impassive. He didn’t appear to show any real interest. “My main concern is simply information. I’ve got no interest in having you locked up somewhere when you can be useful to me. Are you up for discussing terms?”

His hand moved from his sword hilt and his entire gigantic metal frame exhibited a slackening of tension, as if he were trying to de-escalate the situation with purely physical cues.

“Your name,” Vox said, in lieu of an answer. “What is your name? You do have one, right?”

“Quaestor Laermont is my name. Why? Does it matter so much to you?”

“Names are important,” Vox said without missing a beat. “Maybe not to you, but to me…names are everything. Now, Quaestor. Really? ‘Investigator’ in your old tongue?” Vox’s grin took on a teasing edge, and he tilted his head. “Well, I suppose most of your kind give yourselves your own names, so…” His hand fluttered in a dismissing gesture. “Why not.”

Laermont, Vox remembered. He remembered thinking it an odd name at the time he heard it – the word for ‘rushes or water plants’ combined with the word for ‘mountain’.

Now, it felt a little more appropriate. This demvir seemed like a solid, immovable mountain, but he had a hidden slyness to him. Vox could appreciate that.

Still. Still. The robot had threatened him. Almost carelessly, like his superiority was a given in this situation. It dug at Vox, needling under his skin.

“Don’t worry, Quaestor, I have absolutely no fear of you…locking me up.” A threat – or challenge – glittered in Vox’s faded green eyes. “As for terms, oh yes. I’m game. Here are my terms. You’re an inspector, so maybe it’ll appeal to you.

“First, I want to leave this alley. It’s no place for…negotiations, wouldn’t you agree? You can choose where we go, it makes no difference to me. Then, I am going to give you a chance to win your information. You want it, though, which makes me wanna keep it,” Vox’s grin broadened. “Just a bit. So to win it, you have to make a few…inspectorly guesses. I’ll make a statement, you say whether it’s true or false. I’ll do this…”

Vox looked up, eyes narrowed thoughtfully at the night sky. “…Let’s say seven times. Seven is a strong number. If you get more correct than incorrect, I’ll answer all your questions to the best of my ability.”

The detective gave a curt nod. “I accept your terms. There’s a café down the street that we can go to. We won’t be bothered there, you’ll see what I mean.”

As the incongruous pair made their way down the street, one small and lithe shadow accompanied by a gigantic block of blackness in the guttering lights of the streetlamps, Laermont watched Vox without watching. The man, if indeed that’s what he was, had a certain lithe insouciance to his walk and exuded the sensation of someone who was ready for any challenge.

Eventually they reached their destination. It was The Spinning Cog, an establishment that mostly catered to the city’s demvir population. As Laermont walked past the barkeep, a gesture was made and a nod given. Without pausing, the detective went through a door at the back of the establishment, holding it open for Vox.

Once inside the heavily padded and windowless room, the detective took a seat and motioned for his vulpine companion to sit as well. Once they were situated, Laermont regarded his companion through his eyeplates. “Now we won’t be disturbed, so let’s get on with this little game. Go ahead with your questions!”

Vox slouched easily in his chair, grin still in place and hands tucked loosely into his pockets. His chin was tucked into the collar of his cloak, and he surveyed the room Laermont had taken him into with an unreadable look. “Cozy,” he said with amusement tinging his voice. It wasn’t cozy. It felt like a coffin – or an interrogation room. Still, Voxifer let it slide; he had nothing to fear from this demvir yet.

“But, as you say: let’s get on with things. I’ll start you out easy, Quaestor. See how you handle something basic.” Vox’s grin turned sharp. “True or false: I am me. I am sitting right here in front of you.”

“The evidence of my eyes tells me that you are, but I suspect that with you, that doesn’t always do.” His eyeplates flashed for a moment before he continued, “However...I think it is you or at least a version of you. I’m quite sure that if you wanted to do so, you could create an illusion that was nothing like you at all.”

He inclined his head at Vox. “How’d I do?”

“A version of me,” Vox echoed. He clicked his tongue. “I like it. I’ll take it. You’re far smarter than you look, Quaestor.” Vox pulled his hands from his pockets and leaned forward, folding his arms across the tabletop instead. “So that’s one for you. How nice!” There was something cruel and mocking in the undercurrent of the lanky man’s easy tone.

“Let’s move right on, then. How about this one? True or false: I am one hundred and thirteen years old.”

A laugh rumbled up from Laermont’s metal chassis, sounding deeply amused. “That’s a good one. Oh, of course, you could be but I doubt it. I wouldn’t like to speculate. You are either powerful beyond your years or old beyond your looks.”

He made a sweeping gesture. “Are we moving on to the next question then, Voxifer?”

Voxifer’s gaze narrowed, although his razor-sharp smile remained in place. One of his shadowy ears twitched. “Smarter than you look,” he repeated. “…A bit too much confidence, though. Two for you. Since you seem to be getting bored with things already, though, I’ll try my best to…” the figure’s gaze drifted, thinking,”…to give you more of a challenge.”

Games weren’t really usually Voxifer’s sort of thing. No, they were – but usually they were far more one-sided than this. He preferred to play games where he was the only one who knew there was a game to be played. And if, by chance, the other players thought they’d figured out the rules, then it was only because they hadn’t noticed him change the game they were playing. Two steps ahead, if possible. Three, even.

But Voxifer was in a decent enough mood, and this demvir had sought him out; why not make some entertainment of it? Even if the robot’s assuredness was starting to rub him the wrong way.

“A preface, so you aren’t totally lost: I am a fox,” Vox said. “You may have noticed the ears, the tail, even if they’re not quite there.” Indeed, the flickering hints of a pair of vulpine ears, of an impossibly long, bushy tail, seemed to dance in the room’s light even now. “You see one tail, I’m sure. Now, true or false: I have five tails.”

The demvir continued to watch, eyeplates sweeping back and forth over Vox’s features. His impassive face gave nothing away, but he was whirling thoughts around inside of that biometallic head. After a more lingering pause, Laermont gave his answer. “False. I hear tell that certain kinds of foxes have up to nine. I feel that you are one of these sorts of foxes. Am I right?”

Vox blinked. For the barest of moments, a look of surprise flickered across his features.

Nine tails.

He thought, abruptly, of the creature who had raised him. His mother, he supposed. An imposingly large, lithe creature with radiant white fur. Nine tails billowed at her back at all times, the ends ringed in black. Don’t trust, little one. Not mortals, not our kind. Not even me. Her teeth bared in a malicious grin.

“Well,” Vox said, smoothed his expression into something unreadable, pushed the memory away like the irrelevant little thing it was. “Almost. Since it’s just a true or false game, I’ll give you that it was false. And I suppose I will have nine tails,” he grinned, absently. “One day. Not yet, though.”

Actually…maybe he would use that memory. It had given him an idea.

The figure flapped his hand in an absent gesture. “Alright, how about this one? True or false,” said Vox, “I murdered my mother.”

The detective didn’t hesitate. “True. I won’t try to speculate as to why, but I know that you did.”

His face, as always, as it inevitably must, betrayed nothing but there was something solemn and grave in his tone. This was a man who had seen much murder, much death and many terrible things. There was no sadness, just a grim acceptance in his voice as he watched the fox-like being in front of him.

“How sure you are,” Vox said, “Inspector. Quaestor. It was false.” Vox’s gaze, intent on the detective, seemed to glitter with malice now, a barely-veiled threat of violence.

How dare this creature presume to know him. How dare this mortal pet, this robot, dare pretend he was so easy to read.

As if he ever could’ve killed his mother. She was far stronger than Vox would ever be. It would’ve been suicide. “You should know,” Vox pressed on, voice dangerously quiet, “that just because someone would have done something, doesn’t mean they did. Would I have killed the creature I knew as my mother? Probably.” He rolled a shoulder. “If given the opportunity and reason. Did I? No.”

Vox bared his fangs, razor-sharp and far too big for a laicar’s mouth, at Laermont. For a moment, his flat eyes seemed impossibly dark. “Your kind got to her first.”

His frozen mask of a face couldn’t betray emotion or else Vox would have seen a flash of something nervous there for a moment. As it was, he remained impassive and kept his tone neutral. ““I’m far from infallible and it seems that I misread the cues. What now? Do we continue?”

In spite of himself, his hand had floated towards his pistol, rather than his blade. Part of him knew that it would be useless, but it was still better than only naked steel if things went that way. This Vox was potentially the most deadly assassin that TorBru had ever considered sending after him.

“Of course we continue.” Vox eased back into his chair, gaze hooded. If anything, he seemed satisfied with Laermont’s wariness, quietly pleased by the demvir’s nerves. “I don’t recall saying the game’s over if you missed a question.” But maybe I should’ve, whispered something in his tea-green eyes.

“Steady on, Quaestor. Now, my next question. I am driven by a singular purpose, the complexities of which you would struggle to understand. True or false: this purpose is greed.”

Laermont was silent, his expressionless face locked still as he stood, statue-like. The silence stretched on past where people might start to get uncomfortable before he replied. “True. It isn’t merely greed as most people would conceive of it though. You are hungry for...for...everything. You are greedy in a way that wants to devour the world.”

“Wrong!” Vox said brightly. The phantom tail at his back danced with unbidden glee. “Or. Well. You have a clever way with words, Quaestor – it’s hard to say you were wrong, exactly. I’m certainly greedy. And devouring the world doesn’t sound half-bad.” Vox’s grin stretched, bearing his sharp fangs. He kicked back in his chair, crossing his arms loosely over his too-narrow chest. “But still, the answer I was looking for is false. Unfair, maybe, but there it is! I don’t let greed drive me. The reason I have for wanting to...devour, as you put it, is something a little different. And, I think, a story for another time.”

Vox tilted his head, his glittering gaze mocking. “Ready for the next one?”

Laermont didn’t reply for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. One might have thought that he was vaguely put out by his incorrect answer, if any expression were possible for his metal mask of a face. Eventually he crossed his heavy arms across his thick chest and nodded. “Yes. Please ask the next question, Voxifer.”

Vox inclined his head in assent. “You got it, buddy,” he said with a broad, off-putting grin. The more put out Laermont got, the more it soothed Vox’s fit of pique that the demvir had ever assumed to be able to guess everything about him. “Let’s see…”

Arms still crossed, the fox tapped his fingers against their opposing elbows, seemingly deep in thought. “True or false,” he drawled finally, eyes challenging, “you know my name.”

The detective shook his head. “Names have power. I doubt very much that you’d give me your real name. Besides, what kind of hired killer would you be if you didn’t have at least one alias, hm?”

Watching him still, Laermont uncrossed his arms, seemingly becoming aware that he was giving more away than was strictly necessary. His face might not move, but he was still a sentient being with all of the flaws inherent in that.

“Names do have power,” Vox agreed. “Mine more than yours, I think, as much as I wish it weren’t the case.”

The lanky redheaded figure straightened again and stretched, his arms out overhead, fingers interlocked and back arched. He settled his hands on the table after, a sharp smile in place. “I think that’s you won, my metal friend, but humor me one last question. It’ll even act as a bit of that information you want so badly!” Vox’s eyes glittered, a spark of malice in the otherwise flat, unreadable green. “True or false,” he snickered, “I’m a hired killer. True or false, even: I was hired to kill you.” The fox’s light, musical voice seemed to taunt Laermont, mocking his every word and relishing the opportunity to throw them back in his face.

Laermont shrugged. “I concede the point. You would kill anyone as long as there was some reason in it for you. It could be me or a total stranger. Money isn’t the reason you kill, is it?”

He sighed. “Now that the game’s at an end, why don’t we talk about who it was that suggested I be knocked off. Ready?”

“Money,” Vox agreed, ‘is not at all the reason I kill. Now, as you say – you’ve earned your information fair and square.” There was still a hint of amusement dancing in Vox’s eyes – whether or not that was a good sign was up to interpretation. “The one who wanted you out of the way was a demvir,” Vox inclined his head, “like yourself. It wasn’t your life he was after, though. Not…per say.”

The figure’s gaze drifted, lifting up to the room’s lights and straying to the walls – looking it over as if for the first time. “It was more of a ‘if this guy gets in the way, please get rid of him for me’ sort of deal, yeah? So you see, you’re much less important than you might’ve been afraid of!”

Laermont shrugged. “I was less important to him than I am to the people who had him employed. It seems their views on me are a little less charitable. This brings me to...an interesting proposition for you.”

The detective had a half-smile in his voice as he regarded the fox-like being. “May I go on?” If the demvir had eyebrows, one of them would have quirked upwards as he spoke.

Voxifer tilted his head to the side. “Since you were such a good sport about my proposition,” he said easily, “sure. Why not? I can at least hear you out. I don’t promise anything else, though.” Vox grinned. “But then, you probably knew that already. Given my…track record with following through with ‘interesting propositions.’”

“I propose that we turn the tables on these people. They think they have me cornered, but they are unaware of my meeting with you. I think it would be a lovely surprise if you were to pay a visit to the chairman of TorBru and...persuade him that I am not a lead he should wish to pursue.”

The demvir’s eyeplates flashed with some unknown emotion but it felt dark and threatening. “You would, of course, be compensated in a fashion suitable to you. I know this man’s schedule and details. Interested?”

“Interested?” Vox echoed. “It sounds to me, Quaestor, like you’re just trying to find someone else to do your dirty work for you.” The man bared his teeth, his fangs, in an unpleasant expression. “Now, usually I’d find that respectable - why do something yourself when you can get some fool to do it for you? - but not when I’m the fool. Get it?”

Voxifer scratched at the back of his neck, seemingly in thought. “Although...” The chairman of TorBru. Vox wondered, what kind of envy might a chairman have? Surely he had something: it was Vox’s experience that, with mortals, there was always something. Some felt it stronger than others, but envy was a sin that everyone was guilty of, to some extent. “Although,” he repeated, louder, “I might be convinced. Tell me, and be honest, friend - what do you envy?” He leaned forward, eyes one Laermont’s. “What is it you want, more than anything else? More than anyone else?”

Laermont paused, silence and stillness pervading his entire metallic frame, before he turned to look down on the...whatever exactly Vox was...and answered. “What do I want...can I ever answer that question? What I really want, more than anything else is the ability to put smug bastards in their place, even if that means killing them. What I really want is the power to decide what to do with people like the chairman of TorBru, free of the usual constraints.”

He paused again, as if thinking, before adding, “Does this surprise you, Voxifer?”

“Power, hm?” Vox tilted his head, considering. “Nah, not really. It’s a little boring, actually.” How often these mortals railed against the very trappings and bindings they put on themselves. Setting in place laws, social conventions, complex societal constructs, then resisting them in whatever ways possible.

“So what you’re saying,” Vox drawled, “is that you envy the people you’re after. These, uh, TorBru people. After all, they were able to hire someone to kill you. Steal things. They've clearly done even more than that - enough to get on your bad side. And they were able to do it free of worry. They certainly weren’t concerned with the usual constraints."

Vox leaned forward, fingers steepled. “Here’s my deal, Quaestor. I’ll agree to go have a chat with this chairman of yours. What I end up talking to him about, or what I decide to persuade him to do...that depends on how things go.” Vox’s flat gaze sparked, briefly, with amusement. “If I feel like the outcome deserves your compensation, I’ll make sure you know it.”

“I am not sure that envy’s the word I’d use, but your basic premise is correct. I do not believe they should be outside of the law.”

The demvir paused, a silent giant for a few minutes, before giving the strange being a curt nod. “I have asked you to have a chat, so I can’t do more than that. You’ll be compensated, Voxifer. I do not think it fair to ask for a job to be done for free.”

He added, “Please contact me when the job has been completed and we will discuss terms.”

The inspector bowed, a strange gesture, returning to an upright position and extended his hand to Vox.

Vox glanced at the hand, then up at Laermont from under raised brows. “I don’t do anything for free, Quaestor,” he said wryly, and reached out. Where their fingers would have touched, however, Voxifer’s hand flickered and faded away. The rest of him followed suit, wavering, then disappearing altogether. Laermont was left alone in the room. Mostly.

“I’ll be in touch,” Vox’s voice murmured in the inspector’s ear, like a ghost in the wind.

The gigantic metallic man stood utterly still for a moment, shook his head and then went on his way.