Solo Mocha Choke-Ah Latte

[Coltyn]

The Forty-Sixth Day of the Winter Season, Five Hundred and Eleven Years After the Valterrian ''Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.'' -Norman Cousins

Naked. Coltyn was naked and standing... In a field? Yes, it was a field of wheat. Without even opening his eyes, he knew it to be true. He could feel the soft tops of the grain - the beard, he believed it was called - gently brushing against his exposed skin, and he could hear the slight rustling of the leaves and stems, making a music all their own. It felt oddly reassuring, comforting even. It reminded him of a simpler time in his life, not so long ago, when he and his older brother, Derik, would chase each other through their grandfather's crops. But those days were gone...along with his brother. Opening his eyes, Coltyn's attention was immediately drawn to the vast expanse of sky above him. A storm was swiftly rolling in and it looked like it was going to be a rough one. If he didn't find shelter soon, he would most likely end up soaked from the top of his dirty blond head to the bottom of his black leather boots. His clothes would most certainly become saturated, too. Wait. No. He wasn't wearing any clothes. He was... Naked... ...and alone. Or was he? As the wind began to howl, Coltyn swore he could hear his older brother calling out to him, telling him danger was near and imploring him to run. Yet, as he swiftly scanned his surroundings, he saw no sign of his sibling, just a field of thrashing wheat and a sky of threatening clouds. However, the advice was sound - regardless of where it came from - so he heeded the warning and did as he was told. He ran... ...naked... ...in the field. How he came to be here seemed somewhat irrelevant at this moment in time, and why he was even here in the first place appeared to be a moot point, too. The lack of clothes was a mystery unto itself and would have to wait its turn to be solved. All that mattered now was getting inside somewhere safe, away from the coming storm. But, the further he ran, the sooner he came to realize that shelter was not a viable option. The field was unending...or so it seemed. It stretched out, as far as the eye could see, never changing, never producing anything more than wheat. Enough wheat, as a matter of fact, to feed every man, woman, and child in existence. Every man, woman, and child...save one. "You better listen to your brother," a familiar voice suddenly informed Coltyn, which startled him just enough that it caused him to lose his footing and, in a flash, fall. Suddenly, he was down among the stems of the wheat, lying on his back, completely exposed to the elements...and the scornful gaze of his mother, who was now standing over him with an expression of utter disgust upon her freakishly youthful face. "Mother," he found himself crying out as he made every attempt to cover himself, suddenly feeling both vulnerable and ashamed. "Coltyn, please, I bore you from my womb, I bathed you as a child, and I dressed you until you were old enough to do it yourself. I've seen it all before," she mocked. "Although, I must admit, the Baker family jewels have never appeared so abundant...or appealing," she added with a slight smirk and a lift of her right brow. "MOTHER!" he exclaimed as he scrambled to his feet, all the while keeping a minimum of one hand in its proper place upon his private parts. "Are you sure you want to do that?" she questioned. "You seem to have a little, uh...something...upon your hands." Bringing his free appendage into view, Coltyn immediately saw what that 'something' was. Thick, red, and running a bit too freely down the length of his arm as he lifted it - not to mention, filling every line, crack, and imperfection in his palm - he somehow knew in an instant that the still warm, slightly sticky, bodily fluid was not his own. "Well, no, it is most certainly not," his mother informed him, rather understatedly, somehow knowing exactly what he was thinking. "It's his," she continued to educate her son who seemed at a loss for words. Drawing his eyes away from the bloody sight, Coltyn followed the length of his mother's arm as she pointed at the ground just behind him. Turning, he instinctively recoiled, nearly tripping over his own two feet, as he came to view the disturbing sight of his older brother's mutilated body, which was sprawled out upon the once golden - now blood-soaked - field of wheat. "No," was all he could utter as he fought to catch the breath that nearly didn't come. "Yes," she confirmed, without an ounce of emotion in her voice, before awkwardly inquiring, "How about a cup of coffee to turn this rather dreary day around?" "Excuse me?" he barked as he whirled around to face the heartless beast that called herself a mother. "Coffee, you know, that bitter drink, which you seem to love, made from those shiny, little, brown beans," she informed him as if he were a mere child who couldn't completely comprehend what she was saying. "ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?" he suddenly screamed. "No, but clearly you are. I mean, after all, it's not every day you murder your own flesh and blood...is it? That doesn't sound very sane to me." "What?" Coltyn now spat, suddenly feeling as if he were punched in the gut. "I...I didn't. I mean...no...that's...THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE!" "Well, why don't you ask Derik yourself? Come on, honey, get your lazy arse up and explain to your brother exactly what happened," she instructed her eldest - very dead - son as she bent to give him a helping hand. With a sickening mix of dread and disgust roiling around in the pit of his stomach, Coltyn watched in absolute silence and, as would be expected from anyone with half a soul, utter horror as the cadaver staggered to its feet and then proceeded to amble toward him with its cold, lifeless, milky gaze locked firmly in place. "N-no. This...this isn't happening," he muttered. "This is just a dream," he told himself. "IT'S JUST A DREAM!" "Actually, it's more like a nightmare," his mother informed him as she presented a steaming, porcelain mug, which she seemed to produce out of thin air. "BOTTOMS UP!" she then screamed as she tossed the scorching, brown contents of the vessel into his face, laughing like a maniac as it first burned and then melted the flesh right off the bones of his skull!

Awaking with a start, Coltyn's hands flew right to his face, checking to ensure that the flesh was still there. Thankfully, it was, albeit slick with a fine layer of sweat. Furthermore, as his eyes adjusted to his current surroundings, he was glad to see that he was home, safe in his bed, and not in some field of nightmares, fending off an undead sibling or battling with a mother he hadn't seen in roughly two years. "Ok, well, that was...interesting," he noted aloud as he raked a hand through his tousled hair and then proceeded to wipe the sleep from his eyes. "Colt, my man, you're gonna have to cut back on the amount of coffee you drink," he continued to converse with himself as he swung his legs over the edge of his single-wide bed. "Yep. Definitely gonna have to cut back," he concluded as he made his way to the chamber pot in the corner of the room.

[Coltyn]

The act of dressing for work was easy. It was something Coltyn had been doing for over a decade of his life. However, today, as he stood looking at the selection of clothes laid out before him, he had no idea where to start. Sure, undergarments would be worn, pants, a shirt, shoes...but which pair and in which combination? His new job as an undercover guard at the Studio of Yae Varone was too important to screw up. Mistress Varone was an influential woman in the city of Ravok and, so, when she deemed you worthy of employment, you took it very seriously or you didn't take the offer at all. The problem being, while Coltyn knew how to act professional, work hard, and get things done, his wardrobe screamed the exact opposite: unprofessional, far too casual, and, to a degree, inappropriate for both the line of work and the setting. "Why did I ever say yes to her?" he muttered as he ran a hand over the clothes set out before him. This wasn't the garb of an upscale guard, it was the costume of a male whore. Although...maybe he could work that angle. Right? Just maybe. Mistress Varone had informed him at the time of his hire that he would need to blend in. She didn't want her patrons to feel as if they were being watched. Observed from a safe distance? Sure. But not fully aware that they had the eyes of the establishment watching their every move. Perhaps if he could take on the unassuming role of an upscale escort, they wouldn't come to realize - until it was too late - that he was really there to send them packing if they simply looked the wrong way at one of Yae's priceless possessions. So, deciding that this was probably the best course of action to take, Coltyn played up the fact that his gear was a bit too sensual. Why fight it? Why not run with it? If Yae took issue, so be it. He would at least show her that he had the guts to take risks. She'd have to appreciate that. Wouldn't she?

"And what exactly are you supposed to be?" Shelton Dragomir the III, Yae's right-hand man - who Coltyn had been briefly introduced to the day before - questioned from his place behind the large, antique desk that dominated the front foyer of The Studio. "I, uh...," Coltyn found himself sputtering, suddenly feeling very foolish in his skin-tight leather pants, equally tight leather doublet, knee-high boots, and matching gloves. "At least have the decency to remove your hat as any respectable gentleman would do upon entering an establishment of this caliber," Shelton scolded as he stepped out from behind his usual perch and swiftly closed the gap between the two of them. Fumbling a bit, Coltyn did as he was told, removing the narrow-brimmed hat as fast as he could. "Honestly, Baker, what were you thinking?" the man now questioned as he circled around, judging every detail with his dark, unwavering eyes. "I, uh...," Coltyn stammered once more. "Can you not produce more than those two words?" he barked. "Actually, the one is not even a word. It is an expression of stupidity, which, I guess, suits you well." Feeling the blood rush to his cheeks, Coltyn did everything in his power to remain calm. However, in his mind's eye, he saw himself punching the man square in the center of his smug face. "Would you like me to return home and change my attire?" he managed to question in a composed voice, keeping his temper in check. "I would prefer that you return home and never come back, but, regretfully, I do not have the final say in such matters. So, for now, you shall leave this foyer, take the first alley you see to the rear of the building, and wait there for further instruction. One of your fellow guardsmen will be along shortly. They will know what to do with you." "But...," Coltyn began to question. "Good day," Shelton snapped, clearly finished with this conversation. "But...," "I said, good day," he firmly repeated before promptly returning to his roost. Not wanting to cause a scene, Coltyn, once again, did as he was told. He removed himself from the foyer, took a sharp left into the alley that ran the length of the building, and proceeded to wait for one of his coworkers to arrive. He felt foolish and, oddly enough, very much alone in the world as he stood waiting. Would he ever catch a break? Why was it that every single time he felt like he was taking a productive step forward, he was so easily knocked back two? Fate had a way of being consistently cruel and today was no exception. "Hey. Baker," a voice suddenly called, drawing Coltyn's attention to a doorway that appeared to lead back inside the Studio. "I've been sent to deal with your pretty, little arse. Ya ready for me, babe?" Okay. Today would be the exception to the rule. Fate was not only going to be cruel...but viciously cruel.

[Coltyn]

Locking eyes with the man standing in the doorway, Coltyn inwardly flinched. The guy was short, but built like a bull. His bulbous shoulders nearly hit the frame of the door as he stepped through it. "I asked ya a question, fancy pants," the dark-haired beast spat as he sauntered closer. "Listen, I don't want any trouble," Coltyn replied as he took a step back and offered up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "No, you listen, Baker," the guy boomed as he took three quick steps closer, putting himself near enough to swat Coltyn's hat from his head. "When ya signed up for this job, ya signed up for a shiteload of trouble!" Bending to retrieve his hat, Coltyn was taken completely by surprise when the guy grabbed him, spun him around, and rammed him, face first, into the nearest wall. "What the...!" Coltyn cried out as the guy twisted his left arm up behind his back and then proceeded to throw all of his weight into the attack. "All looks and no brains," the guy whispered as he leaned in closer, so close that Coltyn could feel his hot breath along the side of his neck. "I figured as much." Bucking back, Coltyn managed to throw his assailant off just a little, but, clearly, this only ticked the guy off more. The next thing Coltyn felt was a sharp blow to his lower back that nearly took his breath away. "Man, you are stupid," the guy barked as he twisted Coltyn's arm a little bit further. "Now, we're gonna play a little game, you and I. It's called Strip Choker. Grunt once if ya understand." Silence. "I said," the guy growled as he pressed harder still, "GRUNT!" "Fraq!" Coltyn managed to bark as he bucked yet again. "Not now," the guy replied with a hint of laughter in his deep voice. "Maybe later," he added with yet another sharp twist. "Now, do as I say or I'm gonna rip this arm right out of its socket and then beat ya with it. Understand?" Unable to break free of the guy's grip, Coltyn did as he was told. He let loose with a grunt that was more of a growl; however, the sound seemed to please his attacker. "There we go. That's my Beautiful Baker Boy," he mocked as he let up just a little on his vice-like hold. "How do you...?" Coltyn began to question the use of his nickname. "...know your cognomen?" the guy replied before the question was even fully formed. "Let's just say I get around and leave it at that. So, back to our little game." The guy released Coltyn now and took a few steps back, giving him room to regain his composure. "Here's how it's gonna go down. You're gonna try to get me in a chokehold. If ya can, you'll get to keep your clothes on and, maybe, salvage a bit of your dignity along the way. If ya can't, you're gonna have to remove a little something, each time ya fail. We'll go...six rounds...and, just so ya know, those pretty gloves and pretty boots count as one item. Got it?" Coltyn just looked at the guy now, unable to comprehend why they were even doing this. "Listen, babe, if ya want to work here, this is how you're gonna show me ya have what it takes to be on my team. Ya feel me?" Silence. "Ok. Have it your way. On the count of three," he announced as he bounced a little from one foot to the other, readying himself for the first round. "One." "Two." "THREE!"

[Coltyn]

It was winter, it was cold, and Coltyn was feeling it more and more as he and his newfound 'friend' went at it in the alley behind his new place of employment. Well, he was hoping it was going to be, however, at this point, his on-the-job training wasn't going all that well. Actually, could this even be considered training? No. Probably not. It was more a matter of show-me-what-ya-got and I'll-let-ya-live-to-see-tomorrow. At this point, he had been stripped of his gloves - no big deal - and his boots - not so great - and as they entered round three, he was sure he was going to quickly lose his doublet next. Fan-freakin'-tastic. For some reason, Coltyn couldn't get a good hold on this guy. He was large, but swift. His overall style of fighting was rather sloppy, but precise when it mattered most. Each time Coltyn thought he had the upper hand, the table was turned on him so fast he hadn't had time to think, let alone react. "Ha!" the guy now barked as he spun Coltyn around and worked his beefy arm around his neck. "Three for three!" he cheered as he flexed his arm. "Allow me to help ya out of this, babe," he remarked, with far too much joy in his voice, as his free hand began to unbutton Coltyn's leather doublet. "I...can...do that...myself," Coltyn grunted as he bucked hard against the guy, attempting to break free of his headlock. "Nah, this is more fun," the guy nearly rejoiced as he worked the last button. "Far more humiliating...don't ya think?" he added as he finally loosened his hold so that both of his hands were now free, giving him the ability to strip the doublet right off Coltyn's back. "Oh, man, ya didn't wear an undershirt?" he remarked, with yet more laughter in his voice, as he stood swinging the leather garment through the air. "I did say six rounds, babe. This could get interesting," he noted with a twinkle in his eye as he scanned Coltyn's leather pants. "I hope ya wore undergarments." Fuming, Coltyn was on the verge of spitting back a nasty reply, but then, in a flash, the guy was on him again. "Come on, pretty boy, show me what ya go," the guy teased as he half-heartedly pushed Coltyn around. "I must admit, for someone who looks as good as you do, ya have very little skill to back it all up," he continued to tease as he proceeded to push a little bit harder. "I mean, man, what would your brother think of you now?" he jabbed, somehow knowing the exact button to push by bringing up his sibling. "Maybe that's one of the reasons Derik left your sorry arse high and dry. Maybe he was ashamed to be around ya. I know I would want to put a little distance between the two of us if you were my flesh and blood. Especially if the rumors are true about the two of you." Rage. Yep. Sheer and utter rage suddenly consumed Coltyn and something inside of him snapped. This guy just crossed a line and there was no going back. Nope. This guy was going to pay for his ill-chosen words, even if it meant breaking every last bone in his body to make it happen.

[Coltyn]

Launching himself at the smug son of a sow, Coltyn took the advantage for the briefest of moments. He aimed for the guy's mid section and succeeded in grappling his thick torso. As they flew across the alley, he gave the guy a quick squeeze just before they connected with the unforgiving stone wall, which seemed to put the finishing touches on knocking the wind from his lungs. Enraged, the guy instantly struck back by landing his balled up fists into Coltyn's temples. In a flash, the young Ravokian was unceremoniously dropped to the cobblestones below like a sack of wet flour. "Are you kidding me?" the guy barked as he now stood over Coltyn's prone form. "ANSWER ME!" he shouted as he struck out with the tip of his boot, connecting with the young man's jaw. Words were about to form, when the stiff leather made contact, sending whatever sentiment Coltyn was about to share back down his throat. "You're pathetic," the guy sneered right before he launched an impressive wad of spit that landed squarely in the center of Coltyn's exposed chest. "Get up, babe." Readying himself for yet another blow to the face, Coltyn was outwardly surprised - and inwardly relieved - when it didn't come. "Come on, pretty boy, get up," the guy continued to order. "I usually only kick losers like you once, maybe twice, while they're down. There's just no fun in it when it goes beyond that." Getting to his feet, Coltyn ran a shaky hand along his jaw to ensure that it wasn't broken. From what he could tell, it was still in one piece. There would probably be bruising, but that would be the extent of the damage...for now. "Oh, come on," the guy mocked, "I hardly touched ya. I mean, come on, if you can live with your brother's deep, sensual caresses, you can certainly handle a few superficial blows from me. And speaking of blowing..." "ENOUGH!" Coltyn barked as he lunged at the guy once again, only to miss him by several feet, hitting the wall hard. "Really? At this rate you're only gonna end up hurting yourself even more." "Unless I step in," a third voice announced from the doorstep of the shop, which caught the attention of both men, regardless of the fact that the words were spoken softly and with very little emotion.

[Coltyn]

"Leave it, Bloom. This one is mine," the mound of muscle growled at the well-dressed man in the doorway. "Mistress Varone will not be pleased if you break her newest acquisition," the man evenly replied as he stepped into the alley. Addressing Coltyn now, he added, "I do not believe we have met. The name is Plebloom, formerly of Wind Reach, now of Ravok. I am also a guard here at The Studio and unlike my coworker, I have no intention of beating you within an inch of your life." He offered a hand now. Relieved, Coltyn took it...and instantly regretted it. In a flash, he was spinning through the air, literally head over heels, until his broad backside came into contact with something unwaveringly solid. Oh. Right. The cobblestone ground. That's what that was. Stunned, Coltyn simply remained where he was, sprawled out like a child's cloth doll. "Now that's how you handle your opponents, Zinto," Plebloom announced as he set his topcoat straight. "One clean sweep." "I...I thought you weren't going to, uh, beat me within an inch of my life," Coltyn muttered as he continued to remain in his prone state. "Are you not still very much alive?" the Inartan questioned as he offered the Ravokian a hand up. "My goal was not to kill you, but incapacitate you in a quick and efficient manner. Unlike Zinto, I prefer to finish things in a timely fashion. He, on the other hand, takes great pleasure in making people bleed." "I see," Coltyn replied as he now stood between the two men. "If I am not mistaken, you must remove yet another article of clothing," Plebloom informed the young man without a hint of humor in his voice. "From the looks of it, it may be your last, too," he added with a slight raise of an eyebrow. "But..." Coltyn began to argue. "Well played, Bloom," Zinto barked. "Come on, Baker Boy, off with the pants!" "But..." "Nope. You lost round four. Granted, it was at the hand of Bloom, but it still counts. So get those pants off or, like your doublet, I'll help ya take 'em off," he added with a wicked grin as he bounced from one foot to the other, similar to a child eager to receive an extra piece of candy. "Okay. If you insist," Coltyn replied as he began to undo the single lace that kept his leather pants in place. "But don't say I didn't try to warn the two of you." "Warn us of what?" Plebloom questioned. 'Damn," Zinto interjected, before his mouth fell slack, as his eyes drifted low and then went wide in an expression of disbelief. "No wonder you're such a bad fighter, Colt. The blood flowing to your brain must be minimal with such a co..." "Cocksure attitude," Plebloom was quick to note in a slightly louder voice, which drowned out Zinto's off-color exclamation, as his eyes also drifted toward the now naked Ravokian, seeing that Coltyn had in fact not worn any undergarments. "Be sure to keep it in cheek." "Don't you mean check?" Zinto howled as a big shyke grin emerged on his lips. "That is what I said," Plebloom evenly replied. "No it's not." "Yes, it is." "No. You said cheek, not check." "Guys!" Coltyn suddenly exclaimed, feeling more than a little foolish standing in the middle of the alley completely in the buff. "Are we finished here?" "Oh. Right," Zinto replied as his attention was drawn back to the young man. "No. We're not. We still have two more rounds to go!" he added with a smile as he flexed his fingers into fists. "Put 'em up!" "I would strongly recommend rethinking that last instruction," Plebloom informed his coworker as he now stepped to the side. "If Mister Baker puts 'em all up, you may just lose an eye."