Hasekura Valentin

Valentin had business at the palace that morning, and as he was leaving he found himself slipping into the chapel. He wasn’t Catholic, but he knew the motions of it well enough. It was rare to find someone else in the chapel at this time of day though. How ironic it was that most religious folk seemed to run from their places of worship the rest of the week.

Valentin loved the beauty that was so often found in chapels and cathedrals. Most of all, he marveled at the silence. It was so much easier to think in silence. But there was a man looking at him from the front of the chapel. “I didn’t expect anyone else to be here.”

“You’re perfectly fine, I don’t mind the company.” He realized the silence, pleasant as it was, began to stretch on a little too long. He didn’t mind, but he knew other people often did. “Do you find comfort in your prayers?” He glances at the man as he walks closer, sitting near the front. “Is that presumptive? I’ve often been told I don’t know how to ease into conversation, that’s why some people find me a little unsettling.”

“Nor did I.” He admitted, his voice seeming to echo in the room. It was far larger than any chapel he had ever known, though the chapels he had been exposed to were small, simple places - nothing like this finery. Ah, to be a King.

He crossed himself and slowly stood, looking back to his companion. He didn’t know the man, but that was hardly uncommon - different ambassadors and dignitaries visiting all the time, lords and ladies coming from all corners, it seemed. Even if this man was a resident of the palace, he could never hope to know everyone who spent their days there.

“Oui, I do. I would not call it presumptive.” He lingered near the railing, studying the man closely. “It is a comfort to know someone is listening. Someone above the powers and struggles in this world.” He shrugged his shoulders, then finally extended a hand to the man with a small smile. “I do not know you, I am afraid, my friend. I am Santiago de la Roche.”

I’ll randomly generate a number between 1-29 for one of the following:

A funny text

A sad text

A scared text

A late night text

An excited text

A taunting text

An angry text

A frustrated text

A concerned text

A loving text

A confession via text

An accidental text

A wrong number text

A text that wasn’t sent

A text for help

A helpful text

A comforting text

A drunk text

A bad idea text

A rude text

A long text

A one word text

A text asking for advice

A final text

A flirty text

A hyper text

A weird text

A sarcastic text

Armaud made a considering noise, and leaned down to open a drawer. He pulled out a scroll of paper, which he opened out on his desk to reveal a map of Paris. With a hand, he beckoned Valentin to come closer. “Actually, if you could, make Villeneuve’s accident look like a common mugging, right over here.” He circled a particular city block with a finger. “We’ve had suspicious activity in this area for quite some time, and Villeneuve’s death will provide ample reason for our men to have a larger presence in this area in the future and to investigate it with a thorough comb.

“And as for Villeneuve’s cohorts,” said Armaud casually. “If you come across any other friends of his within the Red Guard, leave them alone for now. I need it not be obvious that we’re excising tumors out of our own ranks, even if they be cancerous to the body. Better to orchestrate something that implicates our enemies, that way it allows any potential turncoat to think twice before going to them. Jot their names down, and we will keep a close eye on them for the future. And for Villeneuve’s employers, it may behoove us to station a triple agent in case these children try to challenge us in the future.”

Then, Armaud stood, chair scraping as it was pushed back with the movement. He folded his hands behind him as he regarded Valentin with a smiling nod. “This should be amenable to you, Lieutenant. Do you have any other questions, concerns that we might assuage?”

Valentin nodded attentively as he looked at the map in front of them. It would be easy enough, though he did hate that he would have to restrain himself. Besides his parents, the Red Guard was the only family he had known. His whole life he had been unable to connect with his peers, and there were moments in the cavalry he had compared with what a Catholic hell must feel like. He remembered the descriptions from the occasional mass he would attend with his mother, but the stories his father told had always felt more right to him.

Anyone who threatened his family was to be dealt with quickly and without question. And those who tried to impede the Red Guard were standing in the way of protecting Paris. Fools like Villeneuve threatened both. They were not to be shown mercy. “No questions, Your Eminence. I’m here to serve a greater purpose, and you conveniently continue to provide me with tasks.” He bowed politely, adding one last thing before he left. “As always, my sword is ready at all hours.” 

The chapel was quiet as he finished his prayers - empty in this time of the day, so he was surprised when he heard the doors opening behind him, turning his head where he knelt and tucking his rosary away. “Begging your pardon. I won’t linger long if you’d like to be alone.”

Valentin loved the beauty that was so often found in chapels and cathedrals. Most of all, he marveled at the silence. It was so much easier to think in silence. But there was a man looking at him from the front of the chapel. "I didn't expect anyone else to be here."

They’ll have to:

Rate on a scale of 1-10 how much they don’t want to answer that question.

Valentin came forward, casually falling into a chair across from Armaud. His pose looked relaxed to the point of being lazy, but I trained eye could see it was more like a cat, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. “Villenueve? He’s passable. Barely.” The man had been slow to pick up the skill Valentin required of all his men. He’d been improving- but slowly. He might have excused that if the man had shown a talent for literally any other skill needed in the garrison. 

“He’s not that good of a fighter. He seems to have enough of a mind to have ambition, but not enough intelligence to pursue it that well.” He looked across at Armaud, a little pleased that he would not have to deal with the idiot blundering around during his morning warm-ups anymore. “I take it he has overstepped? I suspected he was taking on a little more than he could handle when he first joined, but I had hoped to be proved wrong.”

“How quickly should I pay the recruit a visit?”

“Soon,” said Armaud as he slid the report across the desk for Valentin to read. He did not speak for a moment to allow Valentin a moment to process the report. Villenueve had been one of Marie-Claire’s men, had infiltrated the Red Guard ranks just as Marie-Claire was ousted from power and exiled, but was apparently unfortunate enough not to understand who was the correct person with whom to side now that there was a void of power in court. Foolishly, Villenueve seemed to have thrown his lot in with some other young upstart noblemen hoping to make some quick cash, and Armaud’s eyes and ears in court very quickly sussed out that Villenueve had sold information on one of the Red Guard’s more covert operations, and two guardsmen had been injured because of Villenueve’s loose lips. He would soon very dearly pay the price for his greed.

Still, it was almost embarrassing, really, that Villenueve was this incompetent. It was irritating that the Red Guard had even been affected by him in the first place, but it went to show that even a flea was capable of bringing the plague.