[baxter & anson]: the beginnings of a serial killer
Who: Baxter & Anson
When: June 27th!
Where: Somewhere in the Hold.
Ratings & Warnings: Someday, you will see Baxter in the news.
It won't be good news.
Baxter was not happy. He was rarely happy, but still, right now he was extra not happy. His aunt was blaming all her subordinates for letting Sergeant Grey's Other-ness get past them, and he'd suffered through at least one family dinner since Grey's death that had been nothing but her talking about how she'd never trusted Grey anyway.
He'd suffered in silence, but what he wanted to say was that Grey had been a good man and an excellent sergeant, and she hadn't noticed either, so why was she blaming it on everyone else when she was the one in charge? He'd bent a spoon in half, but at least he hadn't said anything.
And now, added to all that, was the fact that Anson Kratochvil had been promoted into Sergeant Grey's position. It felt disrespectful, almost, to just replace him like that so suddenly. To replace him with Anson, especially. But that was how the Guard worked. People died, left, whatever--other people replaced them. Baxter just hoped he wouldn't have to interact with him anytime soon.
Baxter's luck was always consistently awful, though. It would stand to reason that, as he stood guard in one of the interior hallways, Anson Sergeant Kratochvil would just happen to show up.
And show up he did, distinctly out of sorts; Anson had officially become a man with entirely too much on his mind for his liking. The subsequent promotion and careful harping lecturing instruction by one Miz. Lt. Jeanné had done about as much to soothe his nerves as getting absolutely shitfaced had, which is to say it hadn't helped in the slightest.
Muttering to himself as he went, the man nearly blew past the other guard, so distracted was he; a pause as he realized that hey, ah, hadn't there been someone there?, and he whirled around, frowning vaguely. Just the little Jeanné. The frown deepened slightly, then disappeared. His moodiness getting back to his... superior was the last thing he wanted, right now; Anson was sure the woman would hunt him down for the smallest of things, at least for now. "Hey, Jenny!"
Baxter held his breath as Anson walked by, hoping he'd just keep walking, but then he'd turned and addressed him and said it wrong. He let out a short, harsh sigh and looked to Anson. "Jeanné," he muttered under his breath, before responding at normal volume with, "Good morning, Sergeant."
It was pretty hard not to cringe at the title, really-- and it was absolutely impossible not to grimace. Sergeant. Really? Really.
Was there an Other in the guard who brought back luck, or something? Hell, if there was, it was probably Baxter himself. "Finally met your aunt, Jenny! She was fantastic. Everything I'd ever hoped for in a lieutenant." Was he gritting his teeth, now? Oh, yes, yes he was. Anson forced a smile; gotta be a dick, man! Start acting like a tool for once! This should be easy for you.
He frowned, narrowing his eyes at Anson. "Yeah, she's great." Nobody liked Gertrude Jeanné. Baxter could see those gritted teeth and the forced smile; he wasn't stupid. "A real model Guard. Just wait until she starts doing inspections. You'll do great, I'm sure."
"Hopefully at least as great as you do. Isn't your family supposed to be a bunch of all-star guards, Jenny?"
Actually, Baxter always did amazingly during inspections, but nobody ever noticed him unless he was doing something wrong. Glowering, he looked away from Anson, eyes focused on the wall. "They are," he replied. He knew where Anson was going with this, he was sure of it, and he found himself fantasizing about just punching him right in the stomach before he could bother saying anything. The look on his face would be priceless. But Anson was a sergeant and Baxter was a Baxter, so the mental image was as far as that got.
Hrm. He folded his arms, fingers drumming against one arm. "It just makes me wonder where you came from, especially..." and a sweeping glance up and down the hall. Nobody else was around; hell, Anson had only ended up here because he was completely lost. "... In such a remote part of the hold." It was honest curiosity, really, though his poor mood probably soured the tone of his voice. Ah, well.
Now he was picturing shoving Anson off the bulwark and watching him fall. That would be pretty amazing. He kind of wanted to do the same thing to his aunt, in all honesty. And the duchess. He didn't believe her for a minute that Sgt Grey had attacked her first.
Anyway. "This is my post," he muttered in response.
"Awfully shitty little post, isn't it?" For some reason, the first thought that came to Anson's mind was 'fitting.'
... Ah. That would be too much, even if it were the truth. "There has to be somewhere more useful for you to be."
He shrugged. Truthfully, it aggravated him to hear that. He knew he'd been shoved off to a remote post because nobody believed he was capable of accomplishing anything. He didn't need it pointed out. "Aren't you a sergeant? Isn't there somewhere more useful for you to be?" he replied.
"I'm supposed to be checking up on my men. Last I checked, you were one of them."
"Well everything is fine here, you can move on!" He threw his hands up as he said it, flashing Anson a glare. And an afterthought, "Sir."
Wow. He actually burst out laughing at that, and only felt a little bit bad about it. Poor Baxter; Anson did feel a bit guilty at being so amused at the other guard's expense, but he couldn't help it. At least the kid had almost tried to maybe stand up for himself, a little bit. He'd give him that much, at least. "If you insist, Jeanné! I'll just let you keep doing," a glance around and a grin, "whatever you're doing." Guarding. Sometimes it seemed like such a useless job.
Anson turned away, then, still smirking a bit. He still had to figure out how to get where he was actually going, and there was only so much time he could waste.
When: June 27th!
Where: Somewhere in the Hold.
Ratings & Warnings: Someday, you will see Baxter in the news.
It won't be good news.
Baxter was not happy. He was rarely happy, but still, right now he was extra not happy. His aunt was blaming all her subordinates for letting Sergeant Grey's Other-ness get past them, and he'd suffered through at least one family dinner since Grey's death that had been nothing but her talking about how she'd never trusted Grey anyway.
He'd suffered in silence, but what he wanted to say was that Grey had been a good man and an excellent sergeant, and she hadn't noticed either, so why was she blaming it on everyone else when she was the one in charge? He'd bent a spoon in half, but at least he hadn't said anything.
And now, added to all that, was the fact that Anson Kratochvil had been promoted into Sergeant Grey's position. It felt disrespectful, almost, to just replace him like that so suddenly. To replace him with Anson, especially. But that was how the Guard worked. People died, left, whatever--other people replaced them. Baxter just hoped he wouldn't have to interact with him anytime soon.
Baxter's luck was always consistently awful, though. It would stand to reason that, as he stood guard in one of the interior hallways, Anson Sergeant Kratochvil would just happen to show up.
And show up he did, distinctly out of sorts; Anson had officially become a man with entirely too much on his mind for his liking. The subsequent promotion and careful harping lecturing instruction by one Miz. Lt. Jeanné had done about as much to soothe his nerves as getting absolutely shitfaced had, which is to say it hadn't helped in the slightest.
Muttering to himself as he went, the man nearly blew past the other guard, so distracted was he; a pause as he realized that hey, ah, hadn't there been someone there?, and he whirled around, frowning vaguely. Just the little Jeanné. The frown deepened slightly, then disappeared. His moodiness getting back to his... superior was the last thing he wanted, right now; Anson was sure the woman would hunt him down for the smallest of things, at least for now. "Hey, Jenny!"
Baxter held his breath as Anson walked by, hoping he'd just keep walking, but then he'd turned and addressed him and said it wrong. He let out a short, harsh sigh and looked to Anson. "Jeanné," he muttered under his breath, before responding at normal volume with, "Good morning, Sergeant."
It was pretty hard not to cringe at the title, really-- and it was absolutely impossible not to grimace. Sergeant. Really? Really.
Was there an Other in the guard who brought back luck, or something? Hell, if there was, it was probably Baxter himself. "Finally met your aunt, Jenny! She was fantastic. Everything I'd ever hoped for in a lieutenant." Was he gritting his teeth, now? Oh, yes, yes he was. Anson forced a smile; gotta be a dick, man! Start acting like a tool for once! This should be easy for you.
He frowned, narrowing his eyes at Anson. "Yeah, she's great." Nobody liked Gertrude Jeanné. Baxter could see those gritted teeth and the forced smile; he wasn't stupid. "A real model Guard. Just wait until she starts doing inspections. You'll do great, I'm sure."
"Hopefully at least as great as you do. Isn't your family supposed to be a bunch of all-star guards, Jenny?"
Actually, Baxter always did amazingly during inspections, but nobody ever noticed him unless he was doing something wrong. Glowering, he looked away from Anson, eyes focused on the wall. "They are," he replied. He knew where Anson was going with this, he was sure of it, and he found himself fantasizing about just punching him right in the stomach before he could bother saying anything. The look on his face would be priceless. But Anson was a sergeant and Baxter was a Baxter, so the mental image was as far as that got.
Hrm. He folded his arms, fingers drumming against one arm. "It just makes me wonder where you came from, especially..." and a sweeping glance up and down the hall. Nobody else was around; hell, Anson had only ended up here because he was completely lost. "... In such a remote part of the hold." It was honest curiosity, really, though his poor mood probably soured the tone of his voice. Ah, well.
Now he was picturing shoving Anson off the bulwark and watching him fall. That would be pretty amazing. He kind of wanted to do the same thing to his aunt, in all honesty. And the duchess. He didn't believe her for a minute that Sgt Grey had attacked her first.
Anyway. "This is my post," he muttered in response.
"Awfully shitty little post, isn't it?" For some reason, the first thought that came to Anson's mind was 'fitting.'
... Ah. That would be too much, even if it were the truth. "There has to be somewhere more useful for you to be."
He shrugged. Truthfully, it aggravated him to hear that. He knew he'd been shoved off to a remote post because nobody believed he was capable of accomplishing anything. He didn't need it pointed out. "Aren't you a sergeant? Isn't there somewhere more useful for you to be?" he replied.
"I'm supposed to be checking up on my men. Last I checked, you were one of them."
"Well everything is fine here, you can move on!" He threw his hands up as he said it, flashing Anson a glare. And an afterthought, "Sir."
Wow. He actually burst out laughing at that, and only felt a little bit bad about it. Poor Baxter; Anson did feel a bit guilty at being so amused at the other guard's expense, but he couldn't help it. At least the kid had almost tried to maybe stand up for himself, a little bit. He'd give him that much, at least. "If you insist, Jeanné! I'll just let you keep doing," a glance around and a grin, "whatever you're doing." Guarding. Sometimes it seemed like such a useless job.
Anson turned away, then, still smirking a bit. He still had to figure out how to get where he was actually going, and there was only so much time he could waste.