Elliott
My manager is a greedy leech. Persistent, too. Lionel Wayworth always told me he was a better agent than I deserve. As if I was making his life more miserable by refusing fights in the off-season.
"We could both be talking to each other over the Moonsea from our own yachts!" He exclaimed for what must have been the hundredth time as he accosted me in my apartment on the morning of the first of Gytal "If you aren't interested in being wealthy, just what are we doing here?"
We had been through this over and over. His face was red from a solid half hour of hard lecturing and his bushy brown mustache prickled with irritation. It had been a mistake to hire him, I decided then.
"Lionel, your services have been valuable to me, but I don't need to be wealthy. I make enough of a living with my tournament winnings," I muttered, trying my hardest to maintain my patience.
Lionel rolled his eyes and chuckled harshly. "You're the only client I have who has ever been able to say that."
Like many of my opponents in the arena, he showed me a small glimpse of weakness. I had seen this enough times to know that this was the best time to press my advantage.
"That's because I am the best, in case you've forgotten."
"In terms of skill, sure. But I have plenty of other clients who bring in more fades than you."
He thought he had me with that point. He always boasted that he could spar with words at least as well as I did with a sword. He was testing The Silent Slayer. Just because I have no use for words doesn't mean I don't know how to use them.
"Maybe I would earn more if my talents were utilized more effectively," I muttered petulantly.
Lionel's eyes nearly popped out of his skull in response to the insult. I-1. "I have tapped every fucking contact I know and all I seem to do is keep the league from throwing you out on your ass!"
There he goes again. The "you need me" offensive. I decided to allow him this delusion, but it wasn't going to get him the raise he clearly wanted.
"How difficult is it to explain to a reporter that I'm not breaking any rules or hurting anyone intentionally?" I-1. I figured it would put him off his guard to see that I wasn't falling for his trump card.
"You smug son of a bitch!" Lionel cried furiously. "You need someone to take all of this shit for you so you can have your precious training time! And for all this time I spend being the bad guy, I make eight thousand fades a fucking year!"
Ouch. Was he really suffering that much? "It's not my fault you feel the need to talk so much," I said quietly, trying to hide my concern under a mask of disdain.
He grumbled and reached toward the rack beside the door for his coat as I turned on the airwave with a contemptuous sigh. As the screen glowed to life, my own face gazed at me through the glass and a female voice reported, "... Silent Slayer. This was because in 3E4, the wounds inflicted by the nearly mute competitor in the championship match were alleged to have contributed to the passing of his opponent, a 70 year old oni named Orson."
Lionel had walked over to my chair silently as I started at the image of the fated victim, as people would call him in the four years since then. "Do you see what I have to go through? You're the first client I've ever had who has needed me to go so far to convince the public that he's not a monster."
"At least they had the decency to mention that he was an oni," I growled feebly. "Maybe now I'll get less hate mail from the morons who think I beat up an old man.
A man appeared behind the glass next. His long alabaster hair framed a tan, lined face pulled into a tight scowl. He was adorned in the red and gold ceremonial robes of a Spellwarrior. "This is no honorable warrior,” he declared. “He maims all who stand in his way and hides behind the lawful rules of the Freeform Fencing League to turn away justice. He has rebuked countless challenges from my brothers and sisters. Justice calls for his sword and he hides from it! Face us, you coward!"
I continued to watch as this Spellwarrior verbally blasted me for several minutes. When I heard him speaking candidly about Orson, I knew he must be family. A human half-brother, I assumed. Lionel reached for the airwave controller in my hand and switched the machine off.
"This man doesn't even know me," I hissed, barely restraining myself from walking over to the screen and shattering it.
"Nobody does! You practically sent some half-elf to an early grave and now you expect everyone to be understanding? This make-no-assumptions attitude of yours goes both ways, Hawke."
I-2. He had me there. For years, I shunned reporters, refused challengers, and kept to myself. That can't have been good for my image.
"Tell me something," I mumbled with a turn toward Lionel. "Do I look like a violent monster to you?"
I figured he would tell me the truth, so I was surprised when he said, "No, you don't."
I raised my eyebrows at that response, but before I could say anything, he added. "But there isn't a soul in all of Comalan who knows you as well as I do. That's the problem, Elliott."
Not strictly true. Lilah knew me far better than Lionel does. Thoughts of her came to me just then, unbidden and quickly suppressed. Thinking of her only brings me pain, I reminded myself. Stop that!
"You know me," I said, frowning with the effort of keeping my attention on the manager, "I'm just not good with people."
"That is what you've got me for! But if you want the public to see you for what you really are, you're going to have to do some of the work yourself. Help me to help you, got it?"
I-3. Fine, he can start saving up for his yacht. I took my controller back and switched the airwave back on. The Spellwarrior was no longer talking, thankfully, and there was a bulletin displayed in his place.
Ser Willas’ Open Challenge - Today
8 FFFL Accredited Fencers; Guaranteed Entry for Elliott Hawke
Hurricane Gymnasium
1296 Sorrow Lane
Salica District, Resta Citu
Winner will receive 50,000 Fades and a chance to duel with Willas Green.
Lionel stared greedily at the reward announcement, but my mind was on Willas. "Call Ser Willas and tell him I'll be there for his little tournament."
The older man looked at me as if he had misheard me. "You serious?"
"Yes. I think it's time I showed this obnoxious windbag how wrong he is about me."
"You know this is probably a trap, right? This man has almost two decades of training over you! He may not have anything on you, legally speaking, but I'm sure he'd love an excuse to kick your ass!"
I only scoffed. "He can try."
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