Seven Thunders Spoke

A Guilty Gear Alternate Universe

By Seishuku Skuld (skuldchan [a] gmail.com)

            and Skuld no Shinpu (chang.459 [a] osu.edu)

Chapter Two

It was already late at night when Commander General Slayer propped his slippered feet on the ottoman.  He lit his pipe and settled back to read over the latest message he’d received from the Jellyfish Pirates.  Millia Rage stood at his side and watched, her hands folded patiently behind her back as she waited, despite the late hour.  The expression on Slayer’s face soon changed from neutral to cross, and Millia calmly observed as he sat up, put his pipe on the end table beside the lamp, crumple up the sheet of sheet of paper and threw it at the wall.  It bounced off and landed on the floor with barely a sound, rolling a bit before it settled on the ground at the foot of one of the room’s many bookcases.

Slayer growled, no longer in a mood to enjoy his pipe or a relaxing evening.  “That man…that boy has the finesse and subtlety of a charging bull.”  Millia’s eyes followed him as he went to his desk and sat down, an angry and annoyed expression on his face as he drew up a clean piece of paper and a pen and began to compose a reply.   “I’m surprised he managed to negotiate his way to the President’s office.”

“Well,” said Millia, with composure and serenity, “foreign policy must be different when you’re the only country.”  Slayer raised an eyebrow and Millia added, “Or, when you’re supposed to be the only country.”

Slayer snorted with a hint of displeasure and put his pen down.  It had occurred to him already that replying to President Chipp in the heat of anger was not the best or brightest idea, but it certainly made him feel better, even if the reply would eventually end up tossed in the wastebasket. 

“That’s what they get for electing some punk kid as President.”  He stood and picked up his pipe, puffed on it a bit, slowly exhaling tendrils of smoke into the still air of his office, pacing back and forth in thought.  Millia stood by quietly, with nothing to contribute to the conversation.

It was late; she fought back a yawn as her eyes followed Slayer back and forth across the length of the room.  He seemed to be walking off most of his ire, and his expression slowly softened into one of deep reflection.  There was a reason, as there were to all political maneuvers—secret or otherwise—and though the young upstart President may not have the finesse of an aged, experienced politician, it was nevertheless clear that Chipp was aware of what his country needed in order to guarantee its survival.  What he wasn’t clear on, unfortunately, was what Zepp needed in order to hide itself from the Gears, and therein lay the root of all of the Commander General’s displeasure.

Commander General Slayer was a not a man to be trifled with.  On the outside he resembled one of those smug, pretentious aristocrats that Zepp seemed to be full of; and it was quite certain that he was.  His family was one of the original Zepp bourgeoisie, his father had been a close friend of the Commander General Gabriel who had nearly single-handedly ordered the creation of Zepp with the destruction of Japan, before western Europe fell.  Slayer’s father had risen to power as one of the original founders of Zepp and had managed to maneuver in the government for enough land to build a sizeable house, and had gathered enough resources to have several successful business ventures aside from being a prominent man in the Commander General’s cabinet.  As much as one could be rich on a floating continent such as Zepp, Slayer was one of the wealthiest.  As the Commander General he held the highest ranking office of the Zepp Self-Defense Body in addition to being the head of their government. 

Governing Zepp was an easy task as far as domestic matters were concerned—the people were docile and they did all they could to forget about the war and preserve their old way of life.  Though most of them did not like to acknowledge that the war existed on the land far below them, the constant and impending threat of Gear attack in the back of their minds kept them obedient and helpful to their fellow citizens.  Even so, they rarely talked of the war and did their best not to keep up with the news, and some even pretended that there was no news at all.  As far as they knew the war was still going on until they heard otherwise, and that was all the news they wanted of it.  The people were easy to keep content, for as long as they were able to go about their lives they were happy.  Foreign matters however, were entirely different.

“So,” said Slayer finally as he stopped pacing about the room, “what other news do the Jellyfish bring from the Continents?”

“Here.”  Millia had been waiting for the right moment.  From behind her back she produced a thin sheaf of papers.  “Brief reports directly from General Baiken herself.  In short, the UFFP is still defending its borders against the Gears, though they are slowly being pushed east.”

“That doesn’t bode well for President Chipp.”

“No sir, not at all.”

Slayer sighed as he flipped through the pages, eyes squinting as he tried to read the General’s small, spidery hand.  He wondered why she didn’t bother to type up her reports, but he suspected that she wrote faster than she could type, even with just one hand. 

“I am left wondering if the good General is holding her borders at all because the Gears are biding their time.”

“I’m sure she is thinking the same,” Millia replied with a hint of expectation.

Slayer looked at her sharply, but the young blonde held her ground and gave no reply or any indication that she had said anything impolite.  Slayer went back to reading.

Slayer finished his reading and put the papers on a stack on his desk.  “That’s probably the reason why President Chipp was so desperate.”  Slayer’s gaze went to the crumpled ball on the floor, a blunt response from the President of the United Federation of Free Peoples, but still candid and honest.  “He must not like the fact the ocean’s at his back and the Gears are pressing further forward everyday.”

There was a moment that Millia paused, considering her next words carefully.  Ostensibly she was Slayer’s secretary.  Not only was she beautiful and young, she had been educated at one of Zepp’s premiere institutions and in addition to being intelligent, she was practical and had a good eye for organization and logistics—the perfect choice for the Commander General’s secretary. 

“If I may say so, sir,” Millia began, “The Reformation has made considerable progress on the matter of combining electricity and magic…”

Slayer raised a hand.  “No, my dear,” he said simply, “now is not yet the time.”  It seemed that all the anger had sapped out of the Commander General. He sat down and picked his pipe back up, ready to sit back and smoke again.  As Slayer relaxed Millia noticed the lines, the wrinkles across his face.  Slayer was not young, he had been born early in Zepp’s short history; he still remembered the vivid stories of his father’s day, of the Continents and what they were like before the war.  Zepp was the last hope of humankind, and the last vestiges of that race should the Gears manage to exterminate everyone on the Continents.  That knowledge was a heavy burden to bear which was why most of the citizens of Zepp’s cities preferred to forget it, but for the Commander General, that thought was always at the forefront of his mind. 

The Reformation, as its name bespoke, was an underground organization of many of Zepp’s best scientists, philosophers, and young upstarts who were dissatisfied with Zepp’s foreign policy—or its ostensible lack thereof.  As a continent floating in the mesosphere 150,000 feet above the land below, discovery by the Gears was always imminent.  Their technology, which was carefully maintained to shield the Zepp inhabitants from such a high elevation and from Gear detection, allowed them to maintain a life that was in close semblance to that before the attack, though their isolationist way cost them much—it was projected that their resources would run out in fifty years and the tiny fraction left of humanity would be overrun by the Gears not soon after that.  While most of Zepp’s citizens preferred to pretend that such a thing was not happening, there was a small faction of people willing to acknowledge the reality that the Continents needed their help and in turn, Zepp needed the Continents to ensure humanity’s survival. 

And that was why Slayer himself—not yet Commander General back then but still a well-known and well-respected member of the government’s administration—had started the Reformation.  Not only did they have the best scientists at work on anti-Gear weapons, the Reformation was also in charge of recruiting and training an elite strike force that eventually, when the time was right and all the pieces fell into place, would be the centerpiece of humanity’s counterattack against the Gears.

Slayer sighed and raised his hand, stopping Millia’s protests.  “We must wait longer,” he said, the realization heavy.”  They were doing all they could yet it was not enough.  It was still too early.  So far the Gears had not discovered Zepp’s existence, and his plans could not be revealed before their time. “The Reformation’s scientists have not yet perfected their technology, and until they do it will be unsafe for us to make a move.  And,” Slayer added, “Sharon will also say that we are missing a critical piece of the puzzle.”

“But Sir,” Millia began again, her brows furrowing in defiance, “I don’t think the UFFP can hold out—“

“Enough, Millia,” said Slayer firmly.  He rarely raised his voice even when angered, though his quiet voice still held the same commanding tone.

Millia bowed her head.  “Yes sir.”

Slayer laughed, put his pipe back in his mouth.  “You’re still young, there are a lot of things you don’t understand.  Let me teach you.”  Slayer stopped to exhale, and then he pointed his pipe at his young secretary, also his personal liason to the current head of The Reformation.  “First of all,” he began, “General Baiken is making things out to be more dire than they really are.  The UFFP needs our help to win this war eventually; both she and I know that.  We also both know that the sooner we join forces the better, though Zepp must not jump the gun.  If the UFFP falls, we will be the last bastion of humanity, Zepp will be all that remains of humankind, and Zepp cannot support itself for long.  We need the UFFP, and the UFFP needs us.  Therefore, we must wait until the time is right, to ensure the highest possibility of success.”

Millia nodded.

“Furthermore,” Slayer continued, “if the General really needed our help, she would have sent out an urgent message, not several reports.  This means they are able to hold the line for the meantime, though they may give a little ground.  She is informing me of the situation.  She too knows the time has not yet come.”

Millia nodded again, though she did not look pleased. 

“I have something which you can give to Zato when you see him tonight,” Slayer said with some finality, settling back into his armchair as if all were not awry.  He took a few minutes to scribble on a piece of paper, and then he folded it and handed it to Millia.  “You also can tell him that I will not consider joining the war until I am sure he has amassed a great enough force or sufficient technology to mount a successful counterattack.  And,” Slayer added, pointing his pipe at her emphatically in the air, “tell him that he’d best not forge anymore documents or research data or I will personally come and resolve the problem he has with honesty.”

“Understood, sir.”

Slayer waved a dismissal.  “Enjoy your night, my dear.”

“Thank you,” Millia smiled slightly, a grim, forced smile.  “Oh, and one more thing, sir.”

“Yes?”

“Johnny would like to see you tonight.”

Slayer nodded.  “Of course, of course.  Are the Jellyfish still staying in the mansion?”

“Yes, they are.”

“Well,” Slayer said simply, “tell the maid to bring some wine and then we’ll talk.”

*~*~*

It was the middle of the night when Millia left the Commander's mansion. As she let herself through the iron gate she could still see a couple of lighted windows—Slayer was still in his office, and the small silhouette pacing around the library was most likely the Commander General's wife, Sharon.  To Millia, Sharon was a bit of an oddity.  Sharon was a tall, slim brunette with hair that fell past her shoulders and halfway down her back.  She was almost a full twenty years younger than her husband, and despite having been born and bred on Zepp, she seemed to know more about the Continents and its history and customs more than anyone else.  A self-declared historian, Sharon spent most of her days and nights in the library which was also served as her study and oftentimes her bedroom, poring over old documents and relics she paid the Jellyfish to scrounge for her in the ruins of old, destroyed cities. 

What Sharon pored over Millia had no idea; Sharon was quiet and unassuming when she did come out of her study so Millia had only heard a handful of her ideas, all complicated conspiracy-like theories to explain the events that had led up to the first Gear attack and the Crusades against them.  To this day it seemed that nobody still fully understood where the Gears had come from in the first place nor how their original leader, Justice had been slain in Rome before the fall of Europe.  Nobody could say how the new Command Gear, Dizzy had surfaced so soon after Justice’s death, or how she could have declared Justice her mother when it was common knowledge—at least to all the foremost Gear scientists—that they could not reproduce.  These things were all an enigma, and the world had no time to set about solving it while protecting itself from extinction, and so Sharon, Commander General Slayer’s clever and good-natured wife had apparently one day come across some important documents and decided to take on this quest herself.

Millia lingered outside the Commander General’s mansion, watching Sharon’s slim shadow pace back and forth across the room before it finally turned off the light and shut the door.  Taking that as her cue to finally retire, Millia left the compound and made her way back Reformation headquarters alone.  Zepp was silent but light at night, the sparse, low buildings cast with a silvery glow from a moon unobscured by clouds—something Millia had only seen pictures of—and Millia cast a shadow upon the pavement as she walked, the heels of her shoes making mute clicks with each step.

The Reformation’s headquarters was an unassuming townhouse complex, home to a collection of good, law-abiding citizens who had a giant anti-government operation happening in their basements.  All of the residents of the complex were ranking members of the Reformation, one of them the Overseer himself, a blind but smart businessman by the name of Zato.  He had been personally appointed to the head of the Reformation by Slayer, to spearhead the Reformation’s weapons manufacturing, personnel training, and scientific research.  By day Zato was a guru of Zepp’s flourishing entertainment industry, the owner of several clubs, casinos, and bars which offered a myriad of ways the ordinary citizen could forget the goings-on down below.  Directly beneath him in the chain of command was a young man named Venom, the manager of “Solitude,” one of Zato’s bars and a popular billiards hall he used to frequent as a youth.  The three of them—Zato, Venom, and Millia—were the highest ranking members of the Reformation living in the complex.

Millia was one of three people to have the keys to Zato’s apartment.  She walked in nearly every day after her day job and passed messages from Slayer—still the Reformation’s commander—to Zato and Venom.  And if there was nothing to report, she simply sat herself down at table and had a couple of drinks.

Venom looked up when Millia walked in, dropping her bag on the floor as she strode immediately to the kitchen and helped herself to a glass of amaretto.  Zato turned his head, following the sound of her every movement until she sat down at the table.

“We were just speculating on the state of the UFFP’s armies,” Venom said.  He appeared to be idle; there were no reports on the table, either from the UFFP or any inventories from the Reformation itself, which in part may have explained Venom’s ire and the passive frustration he exhibited as he tapped his fingers on the table.  He half-glared at Millia, the only sort of look he ever gave her and waited expectantly.

Having worked late and had a long day, Millia was not in the mood for Venom’s games.  It had always been clear to her that Venom desired to be Zato’s favorite pet, and that more of his energies were being directed toward that goal than had ever been directed at the Reformation.  She strongly suspected that the only reason Venom was in the Reformation at all was that it was Zato’s cause, and to be Zato’s favored right-hand man had been all that Venom had ever aspired to be.  Because of her close contact with Slayer as his secretary, Millia had lately risen to favor with Zato, a fact which only fed the fires of resentment in Venom.  Had it not been their mutual respect for the Overseer, Millia and Venom would have been at each others’ throats much earlier.

Suppressing a snort of disgust, Millia turned to Zato and spoke directly to him, ignoring Venom entirely. “Reports came in from the UFFP today via the Jellyfish from General Baiken herself.  She indicates that they are still being pushed eastward, but they are slowing the Gears’ advances.  They are still holding the original borders of western China, but she believes there will be a major Gear attack within the next six months.”

Zato nodded slowly.  “Six months is not a very long time.”

Venom frowned, echoing Zato’s sentiment.  “Certainly not enough time for any technological breakthroughs to be implemented, should they even happen at all.”

“But of course,” Zato said at length, “the Commander General intends to help the best way he can.”

Millia nodded.  Zato, though blind, was very good at reading the motivations of others.  Though he could not see the faces he interacted with every day, his deep understanding of human psychology and cunning sense of manipulation placed him at the head of his business—a natural born leader in spite of his disability.  Millia pulled a piece of paper out from her pocket.  “Slayer gave me a list of all the provisions he wants you to ready for the Jellyfish for transport to the UFFP within the end of the week.”  She handed it to Venom who then read it aloud to Zato.

“A considerable amount of weapons,” Zato said when Venom had finished reading.  “Hopefully enough to keep the Gears at bay for the meantime, even through a major attack.  I hope the UFFP Army is missing just firepower, and not manpower as well.”

“I have a feeling they have more manpower to spare than we do,” Millia replied, though in truth she preferred not to think of manpower as ‘spare.’

Zato turned his head to Venom, who immediately put a hand on his arm.  “How long will it take you to transport all these supplies to the Jellyfish?”

“No more than three days.”

“Good.  I expect them stowed on the ship by then.”

Venom bowed.  Though Zato could not see it, he could hear the rustle of Venom’s clothes.  “It will be done.”

Millia rolled her eyes at Venom and decided she ought to call it a night.

*~*~*

Not long after Millia departed, the door to Slayer’s study opened again and Sharon walked in with three glasses and a decanter of port.

“Good evening,” she said simply as she smiled, seeing her husband still awake as he smoked his pipe.  She set the glasses down on the side table beside his favorite armchair and bent down for a kiss. “I heard Johnny was joining you, so I wanted to be here too.”

Slayer smiled back at his wife as she pressed a short, sweet kiss to his lips. “How unusual for you to be out of your study at this early hour,” he remarked, bringing a hand to caress her hair as he placed another kiss on her cheek.

Sharon tossed her long, brunette hair behind her shoulders and laughed.  “I’m hoping Johnny will have good news for me on my search.”  She sat on his armrest and looked down fondly upon her husband, one hand rubbing lightly at his shoulders. 

“Hmm,” Slayer grunted noncommittally in reply.  Sharon was very gifted with great intuition, with an ability to be able to see connections where ordinary people simply saw coincidence. It made her a good historian, but lately she had been making some wild leaps of logic and faith lately that brought out the skeptic in him, even if he did love her dearly.  Slayer had a hard time fathoming how Sharon could conjure such complex, bizarre hypotheses from so little data.

“He’s there,” Sharon said with serene certainty, sensing her husband’s doubt.  She accepted it calmly, a mark of a good academic.  Sharon picked up the decanter and poured a glass of wine for her husband.  “Sooner or later, we’ll find the evidence, or we’ll find him.”

Slayer took the glass but didn’t have time to respond to his wife’s comment before there was a knock on the door and it opened.  He set his pipe down on the table beside him.

Coming through the door was a man draped in a black trench coat and an outlandish black hat with a brim so wide it barely fit through the doorway.  His coat was open to reveal that he wore no shirt, and even in the dark of night he had on a pair of sunglasses and an open, disarming grin.  While most would dismiss this man as some eccentric fop, both Sharon and Slayer knew that Johnny was a clever and powerful man not to be underestimated. As the able captain of the Jellyfish Pirates, Johnny and his crew were one of the dwindling few who still dared to carry raids into Gear-infested territory for salvage, loot, glory, and whatever else their clients asked of them.

"Good evening, Commander," Johnny said, sketching an overly elaborate bow. His gaze turned to Sharon and his expression brightened. "Ah, and to be graced by your presence once again, Madam. Truly I am honored." Johnny bent to a knee and took her hand, kissing it. Sharon smiled gracefully and blushed a faint crimson. She had to admit, Johnny's antics were always amusing; Slayer simply gave a brief scowl and motioned vaguely to one of the chairs about the room, inviting Johnny to make himself comfortable.  Sharon smiled sweetly and invited Johnny to sit across from the both of them.  She handed him a glass full of port and was sure that beneath Johnny’s dark glasses he winked at her.

"I received a letter from Chipp," started Slayer after Sharon had taken her customary seat beside him.  He sipped at his wine, enjoying the sweet spice of the aged port, an import from the Continents that Chipp had sent with Johnny early in their correspondence as a sign of goodwill.

"Yes, he told me," replied Johnny. He leaned back in his chair and propped his boots up with a contented sigh.  He buried his nose in his wine glass and made a show of inhaling its scent.  "Part of the reason I'm here is that I'm supposed to convince you as to the wisdom of his words." Another sip of port, another sigh. "I'm sure you're going to tell me that that's impossible."

Slayer grunted, holding back a snort of disgust as he looked over to Chipp's note, which was still lying on the floor in a crumpled ball where he had thrown it earlier that evening. "That was the most ridiculous and politically inept letter I have received in my life." Seeing his glass empty, Sharon poured him another glass of port and Slayer helped himself to half of it.

"Help is not impossible at the moment," Slayer said. "We're simply not ready. So," Slayer waved his glass in the air, "try to convince me otherwise."

Johnny shrugged. "That's what he wants me to do; that doesn't mean I feel like doing it." He raised his glass to his lips only to find that it was already empty. Odd considering he had only been sipping it. "Politics is not my business. I may be doing business with the both of you; that doesn't mean I'm going to be used as a diplomat."

Sharon picked up the decanter and offered it to Johnny. "Indeed, you're not the only one of us who has no stomach for politics,” she said as she poured, smoothly interjecting herself into the men’s conversation.  “Diplomat or not, we certainly appreciate you relaying messages between our two governments.  I’m sure you know how much both our sides appreciate your hard work and bravery.”  She flashed Johnny the smile she used to use as a young girl—the one she employed when she wanted to charm another man into doing her will.  “You wouldn't happen to have a response from a certain Anji Mito, regarding my last correspondence with him?"

Johnny's tone immediately dropped, a frown painted on his face. "Alas, madam, it pains me to tell you that I have no news from him. My pirate senses tell me, however, that he has been quieter than usual." He accepted the newly refilled glass from Sharon with a grateful nod. "Next time I speak with him, shall I demand a duel for your honor?"

Sharon laughed lightly. Some might interpret Johnny's words as sarcasm and be offended, but she knew that in his own way he was being serious, if not to the degree that his flamboyancy would indicate.  “I would never dream of asking you to duel for a lady,” Sharon replied.

Slayer cleared his throat loudly, and Johnny turned back to him.

"Let us set that aside and talk about what I'm here to talk about," Johnny said, again leaning back.  He dropped his playful demeanor and instantly the smile was off his face.  "I'll be blunt,” he said seriously. “Things are getting quite dangerous.  The Gears are pushing further into UFFP territory, their numbers are swelling if slowly. Therefore the Jellyfish would like to request extra compensation for our future business with you."

Slayer did not like the sound of that "extra compensation." Resources on Zepp were stretched thin as they were, and this meeting wasn't supposed to be happening anyway. As far the rest of government and the citizens were concerned, Zepp was solitary and had no contact with the people of the Continents.  The UFFP wasn’t even supposed to know that Zepp existed.  Nothing was supposed to pass between the land below and Zepp in the air. Everything Johnny and his crew were doing, as well as Slayer himself, was highly and very clearly illegal by Zepp's laws.

"Zepp’s resources are already spread pretty thin," Slayer replied.  “If you want extra compensation, you're going to have to think about carrying extra cargo."

Johnny cocked an eyebrow. "What sort of extra cargo?" He peered over his dark sunglasses—still on even inside Slayer's dimly lit parlor—and fixed an eye on Slayer's face, which remained its calm, serious self. "I appreciate more than anyone that resources are thin," he continued. "But whatever trouble you're having with resources, believe me, my crew is operating under the same conditions; maybe even worse. We barely have enough to keep the ship functioning. Next thing you know, one of our energy coils blows and we go down in Gear territory." He waved a hand nonchalantly, the motion incongruous with what he was saying. "But we try and make do as best we can. What I'm saying is that if we're to continue making these runs into enemy territory, we need help to make sure that we succeed. That's in everybody's interests. Yours and mine."

Slayer took a sip of wine and suddenly missed the old days, before he was the Commander General, before things had become incredibly complicated. Anything he took for payment to the Jellyfish he had to take from the Reformation, and anything he took from the Reformation set them back that much more. Of course, Johnny was right. The Jellyfish took quite a beating from the elements every time it descended and ascended to Zepp, and should the Gears ever discover their operation, all humanity would be in danger.

"Equipment," Slayer said severely, "it's what everybody wants these days. Chipp wants our technology, our weapons, but they have to come from somewhere."

Either way he looked at it, the resources were a moot point.  If Zepp offered no help to the UFFP, they were doomed to failure.  They would be overrun by the Gears sooner or later, and if the UFFP fell, Zepp would not be able to sustain humanity for long.  Only the Earth had the resources to sustain human life for an extended period of time.  Sooner or later they had to take it back from the Gears or perish trying. It was all a matter of timing, and a rather harsh reality to wake up to sometimes.

Sharon put a reassuring hand on Slayer's arm. "Remember, we're still waiting for that scientific breakthrough. Until that happens..."

"I know," Slayer replied quietly, he pattered her hand in reponse and turned back to Johnny. "Give my secretary a list of what your ship needs, and she will do what she can. In exchange, you'll carry one more ton of cargo directly to General Baiken on your next run."

"And," Sharon added, "I want you to keep an eye on Anji Mito and President Chipp for me. I want to know if they're trying to hide something from me."

“I suppose we can handle that," said Johnny after a moment of contemplation. "Of course, you wouldn't have us carry anything dangerous now, would you?" He gave a wry smile, realizing that everything was dangerous these days. "I'm glad we could come to an agreement. And now that I find my glass is empty once again, I shall take that as a sign that it's time to take my leave of you." He stood and tipped his hat. "Don't worry. I already have my eye on what they're doing down below. As soon as I find out something interesting, you'll be the first to know."

Sharon was already at the door, holding it open for him.  “Thank you for your visit this evening, Mr. Sfondi.  And thank you also for your services.”

Johnny gave her another nod as he stepped out the door. "I long for the moment when I can see you again, madam," he added, and smiled as he saw yet another scowl from Slayer. "Ah yes, May sends her regards. She wishes she could have made it, but like everyone else we're all busy these days."

“Tell her drop by if she has the time,” Sharon said.  “I have more books for her.”

“Will do,” Johnny replied and nodded his goodbyes to Slayer.  “Goodnight, Madam.”

“Goodnight.” 

And then Sharon shut the door and Slayer picked up his pipe again.  The Commander General glanced up at his wife who was staring absently at the door, eyes glazed in deep thought.

“It’s so nice to see that somebody’s still keeping chivalry alive nowadays,” Sharon finally said in a wistful tone.

Slayer lit his pipe and snorted.  “You call that chivalry?”  Slayer had a different name for Johnny’s flamboyant displays, but far be it for him to argue historical semantics with his wife. 

Sensing her husband’s jealousy, Sharon turned to him and laughed gaily.  She let her hair fall over her shoulders as she picked the pipe from out of Slayer’s mouth and straddled him in his armchair.  She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her lips to his jaw and murmured warm whispers that tickled the hairs of his beard. 

“How about you show me what your type of chivalry is?”

“Gladly,” Slayer answered before Sharon pulled him up for a kiss and her hands began to wander down the buttons of his shirt.