Four days ago, on a pond just outside Reajh, a man by the name of Beinus was fishing in his small rowboat. Beinus, son of a farmer who was son of a farmer and so on and so forth as long as anyone could remember, had never been considered a lucky man by any standard, but on that day Beinus considered himself very lucky indeed.
The journey an angel must take when send down to the mortal world is best achieved through the medium of water. With this pond being both close to Reajh and rather deep, it was ideal for crossing over. It was on that day that the now very lucky Beinus dragged an out of breath, naked and very cold Charmeine out of his pond and back to his house.
The next day the angel left to search for her charge, eventually finding her engaged in an underground fighting competition. After making brief contact Charmeine retreated with psychically gleamed knowledge of Beatrid Al’teir.
Two days after that Charmeine again went in search of her charge, after having done a significant amount of shopping with money gained through…less that reputable means.
Striding confidently through the white stone halls of the Connlaoth royal palace in her knee high boots, short skirt and thin white blouse Charmeine attracted plenty of attention. Soldiers walked past her, the men eyeing her up and down while the few women ignored her or scowled at their male comrades. Noblewomen in their long silk gowns with their high necks and stiff backs held their heads high and walked on, but it didn’t bother Charmeine what these backwards little people thought.
Behind her two boys, no more than sixteen years old, carried the chest that contained her clothes, the copper in their pockets little reward compared to an excuse to watch the exotic woman’s bottom without her knowing.
An oak door led into an atrium where a stout man sat behind a desk scribbling on bits of paper. A few people sat around the room, waiting to be seen. Charmeine didn’t do ‘wait’.
Gesturing for the boys to wait she strode up the man and rested her elbows on his desk, dipping low and letting the dipping neckline of her blouse do it’s work.
“I need to see the commander please,� she said, voice dripping with as much seductive mojo as she could muster.
“Uh, uh, uh,� the man stuttered as his brain struggles between his eyes, which rested firmly on her bosom, and his ears. “Y-yes. Right. You can go in now.�
Flashing him a smile Charmeine slipped into the commanders’ office and closed the door behind her.
Five minutes later she burst back out, past the man behind the desk who suddenly perked up with hope of a repeat performance, and strode into the hall with her boys trotting along behind. She held a sealed piece of parchment in one hand and a key in the other.
Turning a corner led her out into a pavilion filled with gardens and a fountain spraying water into the sky in the centre. Across the other side she went inside and immediately turned to the door on her right. It was unmarked, but the memories she’d gotten off Beatrid meant she knew it was the right door. She knocked once, twice, three times without response.
Right, she wasn’t in. She was a soldier after all, it was to be expected she’d be out and about during the day, and it was only just past midday.
Turning the key in the lock opened the door and let her into a slightly dark room of modest size. The boys put her chest down by the door and left as she bade them to.
The room was long, with the same white stone walls as everywhere else in the palace and polished wood flooring. The single bed sat below the single large window that faced out into the courtyard with the fountain. Charmeine went over and opened the curtains, letting light into the room. There was a bedside table on the far side of the bed, a mirror sitting on top of a chest of drawers, and a large hardwood cupboard sitting opposite the foot of the bed. Torches sat on the walls. Torches, no electricity, nothing. And this was supposedly the most advanced country. Humph.
Unsure of exactly what to do, Charmeine busied herself with getting to know her charge better. She went through every drawer and the cupboard, finding, to her horror, only men’s clothing. Or at least all women sized men’s clothing. Now, Charmeine had nothing against wearing pants and a mans shirt, but not even having a single skirt! What kind of woman was this?
Plunking herself down on the bed she unlaced her boots and tossed them onto the floor. Wriggling her toes in delight she scooted to the other side of the bed to look at the bedside table.
Rummaging through the drawers she came across something very interesting, which she pulled out with glee. A book. A dirty book by the looks of it too. She giggled at Beatrid’s taste. She turned to lay down on her front to read, then winced when the buckle on the front of her skirt dug into her belly.
Standing up again she undid the buckle and dropped the skirt off, kicking it aside. Underneath she was wearing what were effectively short shorts. This country had apparently yet to create proper underwear, so Charmeine had had a tailor make some of these for her. They were black, made out of a fabulous fabric that was thin and clung to your body, clinging to every contour, making it very good for underwear. The shorts were low cut, with legs that didn’t quite cover her bottom. They were still quite decent though, by her standards at least.
Lying back down with her legs towards the window slightly parted and bent at the knees with her feet idly swinging in the air Charmeine began to read. She kept reading for hours, unaware of the word of mouth beginning to circle that she was there, and of the men and boys coming to look through the window.
