Cara Lugo [Complete]

Chapter Seven: Royalty

Writing:

Defining someone's worth is a common practice nowadays. Defining them by what they can give and how little they take. Praising the hard-working starving man, rather than the one who lounges in his bed and rests his aching joints. The sick are useless and disposable unless easily fixed and all those who use up more than they produce are either shamed into submission or tossed out with the garbage.

Not a bad system, in theory. The idea of creating and giving rather than taking works well. After all, if everyone takes and no one gives, then we are left with nothing and no foot to stand on. It is better there is a surplus of stuff then a lack. Except there is never a surplus no matter how much is created and shared out. That was the funny little mystery.

Why was this? The one flaw in the system. It was a small enough issue that everyone could slave away and survive; sharing more than they got and putting out more energy then they managed to recoup. The one little parasite that sucked out enough that it weakened the person but left the right amount that they could stand on their own two feet.

Those that sat at the top and collected labour like it was their damned birthright and made people pay the steepest price imaginable for the right to see the skies and put food onto the table they crafted with their own hands; the splinters still stuck under their fingernails, never given time to let that heal before the next job was demanded of them. Around and around and around again until the leeches had their fill and fed the scraps to those who fell to knees and were deemed worthy.

And that leads right around to the original point again. What makes one life better than another's? Weighing between those who worshipped a deity or those who worshipped themselves. Having to choose between a mother or a youngling who still had years to go and potential to build on. The better choice being either the inventor or those who could build what other minds could only dream and draw. Picking the one who could still kneel or those who fell to the ground in total, utter submission, spirits are broken. What was the goal here and which did you choose?

Why was this a choice, when the better option would be not to leach out of the system? To give back and work just as hard instead of accumulating wealth and splendour you were too drunk to appreciate. All dreamed of those positions, making the world a better place, and then collected more and more because it wasn't enough. It was never enough and now you could never give up that wealth because you have it and now, to ensure you keep it, you wield the power that once starved you and retreat into your mile-high walls, never to be seen again.

Then the cycle continues because no one truly wants to give up the power they could just as easily keep. So, they choose to instead attempt at determining the value of one life over another.

* * *

Storyline:

"I've got news on Cara again," James says, far smugger than he had any right being.

"And?" Robert asked nonchalantly, leaving none too gentle prompt to continue talking hanging there, the threat veiled as pleasant conversation.

"And she's alive."

"I'd assume so." Robert shoots back. "Think I would have heard anything regarding her death pretty quickly. Gossip travels faster than any mode of travel you could possibly dream up."

James inclines his head in the Beast's direction. "What are you building there?"

"How's Cara and what's the news?" Robert counters.

"She's alive and the news was an update on the plan," James replies with a non-answer.

Robert turns, wiping the errant strands of hair out of his face, leaving some new sort of dirt on his already-stained face. James, in his impeccable outfits, managed to mask everything except a slight cringe at the thought of getting whatever it was on his clothes. He took far too much pride in his appearance, being an exiled bastard and all. Robert had no such worries and even less patience for posh rebels. Cara was hardly manageable as is.

"What joy do you take in this? There's nothing to gain from withholding this particular information from me." Robert leans back against the cold, gleaming metal, sighing. "I told you, I make sure she's safe every step of the way and at every stage of this plan of yours. Cara isn't your in any sense."

"Perhaps verbally sparring with you is a great enough enjoyment to warrant this back and forth between us." James smiles graciously. "Don't underestimate your mental prowess, even beside your sister."

Robert was almost at a loss for words. "Well then, that's one-sided. I, for one, find this annoying and senseless. And don't worry, I know I'm smarter. She's got the guts, I make sure she doesn't fling herself off the side of a cliff the moment someone dares her to." Robert chucks the spanner into the bin across the room with enough force that it flicks one hair on that perfectly groomed head out of place. "You see? Frankly, if this plan wasn't yours and everyone didn't already acknowledge you as a leader, I would never speak to you. I only do so out of necessity."

"Quite the change from the polite man I met the first day. Making up for your sister's rudeness?"

"No, you're simply not worth the effort to be decent." Robert turns back around, signalling an end to the conversation James isn't ready to leave yet.

"Don't you want to hear the report on Cara and the update?" James asks innocently.

Robert does not turn. "You know I do, so that question is a useless waste of space, air, and my time. Either tell me or leave."

James heaves a heavy, exaggerated sigh. "It seems you really don't like me, what a shame. We would have had so much in common. If that's the hill you want to die on, then be my guest, but that sort of mentality could very well be the end of you in the future." He unfurls the paper he's holding and begins to summarize. "She's doing quite well, having quickly gained the Princess's favour. Apparently, your sister was a quite a source of entertainment for the young mademoiselle in her otherwise bland life."

Robert snorts. "No surprise there. Gossip can lead to all sorts of tales. So I take it Cara has been discovered, but this is ... a good thing now." Robert hums as he thinks about this. "A surprising development, which quite is to be expected."

"Yes, and Cara can now gain an early audience with the king and private one too. No need to search for a reason anymore. The Princess can get it for us."

At this, Robert really laughs. "I know the Princess may seem like an airheaded ninny quite often, but no way she's really going to go through with this. Losing her wealth, father, and position in one fell swoop isn't something she's going to actually go through with and you're naïve to believe that even for a minute."

"Ah," James wags his finger. "I haven't finished yet. Here the crux of the situation. We grant the Princess the right out of this place and she lives out the rest of her life with sufficient wealth and serving staff in some estate she owns. Never wanted the throne or some other shit like that."

Robert mulls that over for a while. "Well, I suppose that would make far more sense."

"Now we're getting to your role in this all." James continues.

"Oh?"

"Yes." James points to the Beast. "Can that thing drive?"

"Why?"

"Can it?" James reiterates.

"Depends on what you're asking for."

"You drive in through the chaos and grab the Princess to take her to safety on the day of the raid. This thing should ensure that no one gets stabbed who shouldn't."

"Perhaps."

"Was that an answer to my request, or was that judgement of the plan?"

"Yes."

James bites his lip to refrain from snapping in annoyance. After all, he had started this dance and failing to go through with it just proves most of Roberts points in one way or another. Instead, he turns to leave with a short 'alright' and an even shorter goodbye. Robert doesn't speak nor dares to relax until the distant squeal of the front door sliding into place can be heard.

Good riddance.