Everyone is drunk. The night is as heavy as anything. The bar is basically empty tonight. Most everyone is recovering from the last duel. But there are some who've recovered quickly.
"Damn it, Davis, this is why we can't afford battles like this! Every damned month, every single wave carries the blood of a soul on its head!" There's a drunk man in the center of the pub, railing against the empty ceiling. He's drunk. Drunk, drunk, drunk.
"And the damnation comes right back at you, you dirty little scumbag! How dare you talk about duels in this way, when you were that murderer who sent the souls to hell!" And there's another man steeped in his liquor. He's drunk as anything. There's not enough people here for a riot tonight, but only two fists are needed for a brawl. This man, by the way, was not the aforementioned Damned Davis. This was Joseph. Damned Davis had died last night.
"Scumbag?" The drunkard (the first one, not the second) begins to cry, in a very drunken fashion. "How dare you, call me a scumbag, you dirty, lying, cheating, dirty little rogue!" He's asking for a fight, this one. But please sympathize with him. This is Damned Davis's metaphorical brother, Serus. "In fact, you little peasant, in the name of the law, I charge you with filthy murder! For sending my damned Davis to hell..." Serus breaks off into tears.
"Oi, fools, calm yourselves. We all know the way this works. If you feel as though a duel was unfair, we settle it with another. That's the only reasonable way, wouldn't you say?" A third party joins the conversation. This one's not quite as drunk, but he's had his fair share of drink. And he's right. In this bloody, malfunctioning society, the only way to settle disputes honorably is through duels. But see, these aren't the duels you can see back home, where one man shoots a hole through another man.
"Fine then, O high and mighty Constantine, god of wines and king of rats! I dare to challenge you to a duel. Right now. Come out back, and we'll have a mighty fine shootout, and by the end I'll have sunken you to the bottom of the big black bottomless, and you'll never cause anyone trouble again!" Serus pipes back at him. Our duels are massive, grand scale, no, even the gods dance with the thundering cannon. In a duel, fleets are manned, guns are loaded, and ships are sunk, and the souls of the defeated sink down to Hades. But in all honesty, Constantine is not one to be messed with. Taken alone, he's quite a weak figure, but he has managed to raise the funds for the most fearsome navy none has ever seen.
"Serus! Constantine! Haven't we had enough God-forsaken bloodshed this moon? I will not allow any more souls to drift down into the depths! Not yet, not this month, and if I can prevent it, not on my life. Damned bloody duels, and what is gained from these? Nothing but cold, hard meaningless honor. Not tonight. No more." The drunken Joseph calms the storms on the beach tonight. "No man, sober or drunk, honorable or a rogue, righteous or damned, wishes the loss of innocent life on this land. And the day one such God-forsaken fool shows up at our harbors, we'll blow him to hell! No such demon belongs to walk on this earth, no matter how bloody its waters may be, no matter how long the cannons have been firing. We are men, and at the worst, we are animals. But we are not demons. Please, not tonight. Leave in peace tonight."
"Alright, you little peasants, I'll show mercy on you this time."
"And right back at you, you scoundrel! Next time, no mercy!"
The night is done. The bloody waters from yesterday still wash over the beach. But tonight, no cannons ring, no souls drift down to the depths. Instead, we have a tension. We have man tearing apart at man, and the devil dancing between them, dragging the whole lot down into Hades. Tonight, men are drunk. But tonight, they are not jolly. Every night, every moon, there has to be blood, in order to prevent bloodshed. It's our way of showing to each other that we still compete in the natural arena, and that one step ahead of you, one slip of the tongue, could mean a blast through your belly. And when that happens, you will sink, and be lost forever. But honor lives on. And society drifts on, into the dark night, with one less insignificant rat on board to hinder its progress.
YOU ARE READING
The Gentlemen of War
Aksiyon[ON HIATUS] Love is an ocean, and gents drive the warships. The hardships of a society of war and love are many, but letters written in red strike the heart with a peculiar harmony.
