Searing 2, 122
Franky hadn't gotten an ounce of sleep following his meeting with that man the night prior. This was not due to fear, though perhaps it should have been. Franky was courting too many powers beyond his own as a mere mortal these days. After all, he was merely a retired soldier, a Major, which was respectable, but by no means a game changing position. He owned a successful tavern and a budding newspaper that was doing what it was designed to do.
But he'd made a mistake by accepting that offer from Veronica.
Perhaps if he'd chosen to give himself over as sacrifice to the Imperium instead of pursuing that test of loyalty, he wouldn't have to worry about the care of his loved ones. But no, here he was, the crux between some sort of conflict between deific beings that he was beginning to think that the world might be better off without. The entire lot of them.
Franky had been stupid. He'd acted out of fear, operated on the assumption that he was retired and wanted the relaxing life as a bartender until he entered an early grave. What a fool he'd been. He climbed out of bed, watching his wife stir, rolling over to cuddle his pillow in his absence. It was still early. Franky listened, the tavern was silent, mostly. The floorboards heaved a bit as he stood up, and someone down the way was snoring impressively loud.
No, Franky had been up all night considering a dangerous choice, making plans, so many plans. Meanwhile, he was haunted by her eyes. He could still see them, as bright as they were that day they met as children, filled with fire and passion, only to glaze over as her life poured out over the knife he'd jammed into her stomach. Franky wandered over to his sink, splashing cold water on his face, gripping the sides of the counter tight. They could've succeeded against the Imperium, if he'd joined her. He could've put a baby in her stomach instead of an Imperial steel kukris. He knew what he was capable of, and she'd asked him to join her. Three times.
And all three times he'd been a coward.
He was always afraid of what he'd have to sacrifice to be happy. Afraid of the Imperium's reach. He was a coward and a fool that was now staring at his scarred and withered face in the mirror this morning. He looked back over at his wife's naked back, seeing how content she was. All she'd ever wanted in this world was to be happy with him. And he'd given that to her. And he loved her dearly, he loved their children and grandchildren more than himself. But his heart was pained for the one who got away.
For the one he'd taken away from himself.
He walked over to his desk, slipping the key from his necklace, opening a drawer. He reached into the back, sliding aside a tiny false bottom and grabbing another key from the crevice. He inserted that key into a space that appeared to be just a crack, a flaw in the wood, and turned it the wrong way, and another draw unlocked. He reached in, grabbing both boxes within, and locking it back.
Franky made his way downstairs to his bar. It was empty now, after the all day birthday party for Florian. Even those who'd past out had been placed into rooms, some of them shared. And Franky hadn't even billed them this time. The tavern was, of course, spotless. His staff were beyond amazing at their jobs. Franky walked around the bar, his hand rubbing over the back of the Throne he'd had made for Yeva, her own personal seat that she'd earned in competition, a seat none would dare sit in for it belonged to her. Franky looked forward to seeing her back from her journeys. But he sent a silent prayer to Galetira to delay her, to keep her safe in Ecith while he finished this impossible task.
Franky sat on his own barstool at the foot of the bar, where he normally balanced his books. He opened the first box, a bottle of Royal Bourbon, stamped with the Emperor's crest itself. A bottle that had been given to him upon retirement, and a beautifully shaped crystal whiskey glass, commissioned by his mother, forged at the hands of dwarves. Franky didn't wait, he sliced the wax seal with his fingernail, and yanked out the cork, pouring the beautiful, amber liquor into the glass.
He picked up the glass, swirled it a bit, then tossed it back, taking the entire drink in one go. To steady the nerves. Then he poured another. And opened the second box. Within it, a soft glowing was emitted. A tiny feather, the iridescent colors of the rainbow shining off of it in this darkened room. Franky knew it belonged to Talon. How it had even made its way to him, he did not know. He stared at it, wanting to believe that he'd made up his mind. But the heart never agreed with the mind and now was no different.
Could he have that life he let pass by being a coward?
Franky drained the second glass and refilled it again, sighing.
