#like I swear I remember drafting a post on the trial and today I go and see I never posted it... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bathtubjohnny · 3 years

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Chapter 1: Rough draft (Edited once for spelling/grammar)

TW: Bloody noses, descriptions of a corpse, mild gore and swearing, spooky zombie lady, bad formatting, rushed writing

Note: Please give me your sweet sweet feedback. Oh how I crave honest and good-hearted criticism.

*Thanks to a handful of members from a group chat for convincing me to post this*

The forest was dense enough to blot out the sun, almost completely plunging the path in darkness. It didn’t bother Sydney though; he was too focused on the building at the end of it. It was a church, and he stood in front of it, staring up at the grey steeple protruding from what was left of the roof. It was a miracle that it was still standing. The walls had been scorched by fire, and the once-beautiful stained glass windows had melted into colourful, wax-like puddles. He could still smell smoke even though the church burned an impossibly long time ago. It never occurred to Sydney that the surrounding woods were completely untouched by the fire, as if it had never happened in the first place.

The inside was different as Sydney pushed the double doors open. He didn’t recognize the inside. It was more spacious than what he remembered, but like the forest, untouched by the blaze. Instead of red carpeting there was a wooden floor; instead of oil paintings depicting the trial of Jesus, tapestries with horrific, indescribable images decorated the walls. The interior had an ancient feel to it, making Sydney feel insignificant as he stood before the rows of pews. He could tell that it wasn’t a Catholic church anymore. It was a haven for a religion that existed long before the concept of Christianity.

Across from Sydney and past the pews was a stone table where the altar should have been. There was a white sheet covering something laying across it. As he padded down the aisle towards it, he could see symbols etched into the stone, characters he couldn’t recognize. The closer he got the louder his ears rang, his sinuses becoming so congested that soon fluid began leaking down his chin. It wasn’t until he reached the table and saw the bright red droplets fall onto the stark white sheet covering it that he realized his nose was bleeding.

Ignoring his instinct to wipe away the blood, Sydney reached for the edge of the sheet and pulled it back. Underneath was a girl, or at least the body of one. Her skin was ashen and waxy, a greenish-blue in colour. Small blisters had begun to form on her cheeks and forehead, as if she had been sunburnt recently. Even though they were closed, Sydney could tell that her eyes were sunken into her skull.

“Syd?”

Pulling the sheet down further, Sydney saw that the girl’s arms had been placed palms facing up, leaving the undersides of her forearms exposed. On both of them were deep gashes, starting from her wrists and ending in the crooks of her elbows. The rest of her had begun to decay, but her wounds appeared recent, oozing thicker, darker blood than what was dripping from Sydney’s nose.

“Syd, are you awake?”

The sound of her inhaling made Sydney’s attention turn sharply back to her face as her jaw creaked open, sucking in air. He stumbled away as her eyes, covered in a watery blue film, flew open. Her head turned towards him with a snap, sending him falling backwards in shock. He hit the floor hard as she sat up, bones creaking and popping as she threw the sheet off her bloated body-

“Mr.Patrick!”

Sydney bolted up from his desk as the shout tore through his dream, nearly sending him toppling to the floor. Mrs. Bray was sitting on her desk glaring directly at Sydney, arms folded. A snort of laughter to his left made him blush as he realized he’d dozed off...again. “Uh, sorry.” He mumbled, slowly sitting back down and trying to ignore the eyes on him. Although Mrs. Bray had a stern look in her eyes, Syd was somewhat comforted by the fact that she was obviously trying not to smile.

“I get that there’s ten minutes left, but let’s try to stay awake, alright?” She sighed. “To those of you who may have dozed off, I’m not repeating myself about the assignment. You can ask your group. Now,” She side-eyed the room. ‘Is there anyone who isn’t in a group of three yet?”

Syd sneaked a quick glance across the room over at his close friend Lizzie Abrams. She caught his eye and shrugged apologetically, motioning to two other girls sitting near her. Feeling his cheeks heat up, Syd averted his eyes, staring down at his desk in embarrassment.

“We don’t have a third person in our group.” The voice to Syd’s left spoke up, making him turn. It was a girl in a worn, blue and white baseball cap, someone who Sydney unfortunately recognized. Her name was Morette Woodward, better known as Mo, and Syd knew her as being the one who broke his nose during dodgeball back in fifth grade.

She had one elbow propped up on her desk and was leaning her head against her hand while picking at her braces with the other. When she caught Sydney’s eye, she flashed him a toothy smirk.

Mrs. Bray glanced between the two and shrugged. “Perfect, evens out the groups. Now,” she turned to address the rest of the class. “I’m giving the last couple minutes of class to organize your chapters, so use your time wisely. Remember your book and your portfolio should be in at least six sections!”

Portfolio? Sydney rubbed his eyes and groaned, wondering what else he’d missed. Falling asleep at random times wasn’t a problem before, but lately he'd been feeling lethargic and finding himself unable to keep his eyes open for long periods of time.

“Hey, scooch your butt over next to us so we can talk better.” Mo nodded at a tall boy sitting beside her. Sydney didn’t know who it was, but thought he looked familiar. “Yeah hold on,” he turned his chair to face them before leaning forward. “So… what’re we doing exactly?”

“Man, you were really out, huh?” The tall boy said, giving Sydney a sympathetic grin. “You were pretty twitchy too. Were you dreaming or something?”

Syd blinked. “‘Twitchy’? What do you mean?”

“Like...mumbling and tensing up a lot,” He clenched his fists in emphasis. “It was kinda creepy. What were you dreaming about?” He was already talking again before Syd could reply. “Oh shit, you don’t know me. Sorry, I’m Henry Kaminer.”

Kaminer. Sydney didn’t know Henry, but definitely recognized the last name. He remembered reading about the Kaminers in the newspaper, and made a mental note not to bring it up.

“Oh. I’m Sydney. I don’t really remember what I dreamed of.” Sydney lied. Henry laughed. “Yeah, I heard. Isn't Sydney a girl's...? Whatever, nice to meet you Sydney."

Morette handed Sydney a sheet of paper. “I had an uncle Sid so no, it's not 'a girl's name'. Anyway, literally all we have to do is split the book up to read for a week, then do some fun little questions and activities at the end of each week." She flipped through her copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. "It's like the same stuff we did in grade 5, but with racism."

So she does remember. Sydney looked over his sheet of paper. "Oh."

"Yeah, it'll be easy." Morette leaned back in her chair and scrunched her nose up. "There's 31 chapters, but they're not too long. Let's just do five chapters each week and read whatever's left when we get to the last week." She tossed a stack of pink sticky notes at Sydney. "Use those as a bookmark."

Sydney looked down at the sticky notes. “...Thanks.”

___

“Hey Syd!”

Sydney paused at the front doors of the school just as he was about to walk through them. Henry hurried over to him, lime green beanie clutched in one hand, messenger bag in the other. The tall boy stopped beside him, huffing. “Man, I jumped down the stairs to catch up to you. Sorry, anyway. Walking home?”

Sydney pushed open the doors, nodding. “Yep. What about you?”

“Same here, but uh...which way are you going?”

“To the left.”

“Sweet! Mind if I tag along?”

“Sure,” As they made their way past groups of students waiting for their buses, they started walking down the sidewalk towards the nearby neighbourhoods. Syd, who barely made it to Henry’s elbows, couldn’t help but feel self-conscious with the giant beside him. “Do you live close to the school?” He asked. Henry shrugged. “Well, not really. To be honest I’m just tagging along to avoid my older brother, Marvin.” He chuckled a bit, but it sounded forced. “He’s got his driver’s licence and all, but…”

“But what?” Syd asked. Henry sighed. “He’s an asshole. I don’t feel like dealing with his anger issues today. So I’m here with you instead, little man. If that’s cool with you,”

“I’m not that little! But yeah, it’s cool.”

“Yeah you are, shortstack!!” Henry guffawed and rubbed the top of Sydney’s head with one hand. Syd swatted at his arm, but joined in the laughter. The two boys continued talking and joking around as they continued trekking down the street towards a crosswalk. The weather was warm for being early September, the sun beaming down on them helping to keep Sydney in high spirits.

The first week of school had been rough for him; being as timid as he was, making friends was hard enough in elementary school, never mind being in a new environment. For the longest time he’d considered Lizzie to be his closest friend, but they’d drifted apart over the summer, making him feel even more isolated than ever. As he listened to Henry telling him about his pet cat, Bowie, he felt a ray of hope that maybe he wouldn’t have to be so lonely after all.

“...he’s a really sweet boy, but he’s pretty ugly,” Henry was telling Syd. “He’s got this weird skin condition though so there’s like almost no hair on his body. I think it’s kinda hilarious, but every time he sits down his butthole sticks to our table.”

Syd snorted. “Gross.” He stopped at the edge of the crosswalk as the traffic light turned red, Henry following suit. “I don’t have any pets. My mom’s allergic to animal hair. It makes her sneeze.”

“Damn. No siblings either? Sounds quiet.” Henry leaned against a pole covered in colourful flyers and shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand. Sydney took a couple steps back so he was standing in Henry’s shadow and decided that tall people weren’t that bad. “Hey,” he said. “My house is just up ahead, what about you?”

Henry shrugged and shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets. “Not me little man, I’m heading to the right but maybe I can come over and wreak havoc at your place sometime.” He flashed Sydney a grin and straightened up, a couple flyers sticking to him before fluttering to the ground. “Whoops, those seemed important.”

Syd rolled his eyes and laughed as Henry stooped down to scoop them off the sidewalk. “Nice going there, big guy.” He joked. “Careful you don’t bring the pole down too.” Henry didn’t respond; instead he slowly stood up, clutching a white flyer and staring down at it. Sydney felt his smile fade when he saw the dismayed expression on Henry’s face.

“...What is it?”

Henry swallowed hard before handing Sydney the poster. The white paper was crumpled and soft from being left outside, showing signs that it had been there a while. A photo of a man with a goofy grin and a buzzcut holding a balding cat was in the center. The words were in bright red at the top of the page as he read them.

MISSING PERSON

Jeremiah Lee Kaminer

Also goes by ‘Jerry’

19 years old, blue eyes, blonde, slim build, 6’0”

Last seen November 27th wearing a leather jacket, blue jeans, and brown hiking boots. If you have seen him or have any information of his whereabouts, please contact the Denville City Police.

“Henry,” Sydney glanced up from the page. Henry was fidgeting in place, avoiding making eye contact. “Is he...?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, staring at the ground. “It’s our oldest brother. He’s been missing for over a year. Went into a bar one night for a drink, and just…. Never came out.” A cold gust of wind sent the remaining flyers drifting down the sidewalk as they caught the breeze. Henry’s hands tightened around the poster, creasing the paper before he folded it into a square. “Whatever. I gotta go.” He turned and started heading down the street, leaving Sydney alone.

Syd watched him walk away, wondering whether he should call out or not. Deciding not to, Sydney went home, ignoring the icy loneliness that had begun to creep back.

#writing #creative writing #writing prompts #horror #ocs

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overly-b · 6 years

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True Intentions Made Untrue (A Kingsman Fic) - Chapter 1

Hey all! I am so pumped for you guys to read this first chapter! I have been working so hard on perfecting this and I cannot believe that I am posting it now! I cannot say anything other than thamnk you for the love and enjoy!

Pairing: Eggsy Unwin x American Reader

Summary: Being the daughter of top agents meant that she never had a shot. Until one day, when it seemed that out of the blue, the rules had suddenly changed. But why? How did the rules once so firmly pressed into stone suddenly change? Was it her, was it the agency? Sometimes the truest intentions can turn bitter.

Just a lil disclaimer, this fic will be hard to follow if you have not seen the Kingsman movies (or at least the first one) spoiler alert if you have not! Also, I am American, so I tend to write things as well as my characters with that point of view so the reader is American.

Please feel free to message me or shoot me an ask if you want to be added to the tag list!

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: swearing, a little violence, spoilers if you have not seen the movie

ENJOY!

“So!” I beam excitedly as soon as the door to the alleged tailor shop closes. “Do we have any ideas on who could be our next candidate?” I question Harry as we begin our walk down the stairs.

“We?” He asks. “Ours?” He continues with an amused tone and a slight smirk on his face. “If I remember correctly, I was told to provide a candidate.” His accent thickens as he explains what is already obvious to the both of us.

“Well yes but” I point my finger upwards to show that I have a valid point. “If I remember correctly” I mock his words. “We are partners, of sorts. I know that officially, I do not have a spot at the table, but I think I do deserve to be a part of this process.” I state my case. “So yes Harry” I shoot him a playful glare. “Do we have any ideas on who our next candidate could be?”

To this, the grown man chuckles.

“At the moment, no. But I feel as if my candidate fails, that I will be frowned upon seeing as my last was deemed unworthy of being a Kingsman.” Harry frowns. I remember the man mentioned, the one that saved his life. As well as the one that he lost today.

“I’m sorry about Lancelot,” I tell him. I remember meeting him a few times, but seeing as I am not an agent, those meetings were brief. “I know that you two stayed really close.”

“Thank you, darling.” I can tell that he is pushing emotions back into the deepest part of him so I let the patter of our shoes on the pavement fill the space in which our words used to. “I hope you know that I want nothing more than to bring you in as my candidate. Unfortunately, we both know that it is a bit more complicated than that.”

“I know Harry.” I turn my head that was once facing him to the ground so that he could not see the small sense of disappointment on my face if it wasn’t already obvious in my voice. “It’s okay.” I being to shiver as the London air whips against my bare face. Harry notices this and in a fatherly way, wraps his arms around my shoulders. He then pulls me to his side.

“Come on now, let’s get you home before you catch something.”

We enter the house and are met with the warm feeling that only a home can bring. I shrug off my gray trench coat as Harry unbuttons his usual suit jacket.

Although it was by no means late, I felt tired as we reached the dwelling. I tell Harry this and take an early leave to my bedroom. Once I am there, a shower and warm clothing sooth my racing mind for awhile, but as I drift to sleep, my brain continues to spark with past images and current thoughts. All of the talks of new Kingsman candidates have brought up many.

I want nothing more than to be a true Kingsman, but like Harry said, it is much more complicated for me.

I learned about the organization when I was only fifteen years old.

A letter that my parents left in Harry’s possession revealed the truth about my parents and the truth about my destiny. My parents were agents who found each other when it was of utmost importance not to engage in relationships when you are in the secret service. More or less another agent.

But in love they became, and in love, they stayed.

Luckily, no one found out about the forbidden relationship until my mother found herself pregnant. She left the agency after that. As did my father soon after. But they would always be agents. After I was born, my parents confided in Harry, as he and my father had been best friends long before they were drafted. My mother took a liking to him as well. Our small family of three moved back to the states for a while, where we could be with our blood relatives. What a good way to be raised. For a while, it was as if the agency was never a part of my parent’s lives. And to me, how could I have ever known that it was in the first place?

After ten years, my parents decided that it was time to return to their work. We took back to England where I finally met Harry, the best friend from Europe that my parents always told me stories about. He became my family, an uncle of sorts.

Fortunately for my parents, the agency had them both back, but it was not until the next fives years that I would find how different my parents truly were.

My parents died on a mission when I was thirteen.

Due to the fact that Harry was practically family, he took me in, and when the time was right, he gave me my parent’s letter, followed by his own truth.

I did not believe him at first.

How could I?

There was no way that my parents could have been spies. There was no way that they could have kept it from me. There is no way that I did not know my parents as well as I thought I did.

But it was the truth, and there was no denying that. At fifteen, I was acutely aware of an underground ring of secret spies.

My parents dying wish was that I carried on their legacy in becoming a Kingsman. So when I was fifteen, a few days after I had come to terms with my new reality, Harry began to explain the life of a Kingsman, slowly giving me the only information that he could, which was not much. I wanted to be a Kingsman, for my parents, and for myself. But as he has said before, and he will say again – it is a bit more complicated than that.

And it always will be for me. For various reasons.

See, despite the fact that my parents were top agents, they also broke one of the first rules. Relationships are not to be had, especially with another Kingsman. So I am the living proof that my mom and my dad broke the first rule. That was a given. It was difficult to get Arthur to look past even that. Luckily, I turned on some major charm and he took a liking to me soon enough.

The second reason, however, is even more complicated.

To this day, there is only one way that you can take the role of an agent. When one agent passes, there is an opening. Each other member of Kingsman must provide a candidate to possibly fill said position. The candidates will endure trials and tests until all but one is eliminated and the remaining is appointed to his or her new place on the Kingsman table. You cannot simply be born into it. And even now that there is a position open, I already have the information. From Harry as well as the letter from my parents. The small amount of information that I possess is just enough information to be considered useful in the trials. It is because of this that I would have an advantage over the other candidates, deeming the trials unfair.

There is one way and one way only that you can become a Kingsman, and there is no possible way that I can achieve it. It also does not help that there hasn’t even been an opening since near the time that I was born. Harry has vouched for me in every way possible, but the only way that I can prove myself is through the trials.

So, Harry has given as much knowledge as he can about the ways of the Kingman. Which was not much at all. And still, considering that I can never have a chance to endure the proper Kingsman trials, alongside candidates, there is no way for me to earn a spot. Which is rather upsetting to me, considering that the information I hold that it considered so valuable, is barely anything.

These thoughts spin in my head as my conscious slowly becomes a subconscious, and I sleep, but not soundly. Thinking of who Harry’ s candidate will be, and how they most definitely cannot, and will never be me.

I go into the kitchen and find that there is some coffee leftover from the past day. I sigh, pouring the remaining liquid from the machines glass compartment into my favorite mug. I place it in the microwave to heat it and the machine atop the stove whirrs to life.

Being that it was half past noon, I assumed Harry would be working. So I find Harry’s favorite bottle of scotch and take it from the cabinet. I proceed to stand on my tiptoes to retrieve a glass. The maple brown substance smells rancidly sweet as it travels from the bottle to the glass.

I put the bottle back into the cabinet and stare at the alcohol. Picking it up, the textured material of the glass feels cool on my already cold fingers. I take a sip of the amber liquor, as I have many times before. Still, I find that the alcohol burns my mouth and throat way too much for the taste to be remotely pleasurable. I never really have been a drinker. As I am eighteen and legal to drink, I would still need to wait three more years where I am from. I do not think that this is the reason for my distaste for alcohol. It’s an acquired taste as many says.

I personally just do not enjoy it.

The microwave beeps, signaling that my coffee has now reached the perfect temperature. One minute and thirty-seven seconds. The perfect time to make the drink hot enough to warm me up, but not quite the temperature to burn you. I place the mug next to Harry’s glass on the island and retrieve the cream and sugar, in which I use both in generous amounts. I stir both into the steaming black solution and watch as it turns lighter in color.

My mind wanders to last nights thoughts as I absentmindedly continue to bring the spoon around and around. I snap out of my whirlwind when I lean too far over the table, nearly knocking Harry’s glass over. I blink a few times, shaking the ideas from my head. I breathe out, buzzing my lips and rubbing my hands over my face and through my hair, gently running my nails along my scalp. I snatch the warm mug and textured glass from the table and pad my way to Harry’s office where he sits at his desk. I place the cup alongside his computer while he types.

“Thank you darling” He pauses his work to look up at me and to take his glass in one hand. To this, I give a small smile and an even smaller nod. I turn to exit the room and leave him to his work when he stops me. “Wait, before you go,” I swivel on my sock-clad heels to face him once again, raising my brows to show that I am listening. Do you remember the young boy that I once spoke about, by the name of Eggsy Unwin?”

I search my brain, reaching for the familiar name.

“Isn’t that your trainee’s son?” I remember vaguely Harry telling me this story, once again not being able to disclose too much information. I know that a man died. I know that he did it to save Harry’s life. I know that he had a wife and a young son. That was it.

“Yes, that’s the one.” He confirms. “Seeing that I owed him my life for that day, I gave his son a Kingsman medal. It had a number on it, I told him to dial it if ever he is in trouble. Seems this young man has perfect timing.” He chuckles lightly.

“What do you mean?”

“He found himself ‘up shit creek’ as he put it. He’s at the police station a few blocks down and is calling in his favor.” It is then that I understand that he is saying.

“So you’re thinking that this guy, who is currently sitting in jail could be a decent candidate for a Kingsman?” I furrow my brow in confusion.

“Well in the time that it took for me to explain this to you, Merlin found this kids records.” I had never met Merlin, only heard the way that Harry spoke highly of him. “Fantastic in school, training to be a military man, and one day it simply stopped. Only recently has he began to have a criminal record.” I see the faith that Harry holds in his eyes.

“So, this is your guy then?”

“Nonsense love” He begins. “This is our guy”

So Harry bails him out, and not but a half an hour later he is standing on the steps of the police station waiting for the boy he calls ‘Eggsy’.

Although it was most definitely a terrible idea, I watch Harry through his transmission glasses as multiple people walk past him. I was lucky enough to figure out Harry’s computer password awhile ago.

I nearly stop paying attention when I hear his voice through the microphone.

“Eggsy” Harry’s voice rings. I look up to the computer to find a boy looking to be around my age wearing a puffy black jacket with gray sleeves. A dark blue hat lays atop his head, and I can vaguely see the outline of a Kingman medal hanging around his neck. “Would you like a lift home?”

“Who are you?” His accent differs from Harry’s. It is deeper, thicker, and it has a tone to it that for some reason plants a smile on my face. Even living in England, when you’re American, you can never get used to the accents.

“I’m the man who got you released.” Harry answers.

“That ain’t an answer” He shakes his head.

“A little gratitude would be nice.” Harry muses. “My name is Harry Hart. And I gave you that medal.” You could see Eggsy’s eyes focus in just at those words. “Your father saved my life.” Eggsy’s expression changes even more so. I blow a breath out of my nose. He has no idea what he is about to walk into.

Few words were conserved between the two men as they walked the short distance from the police station to the bar. How conveniently placed. It wasn’t until the two got seated in which they began their important conversation.

“So before you was a tailor was you in the army? Like an officer?”

“Not quite” Harry replies vaguely.

“So where was you posted Iraq or somefin’?” Eggsy throws Harry a sideways smile.

“Sorry, Eggsy, classified.” Harry shoots down the rather excited boy. Classified, something I had gotten used to. However vague Harry’s response, Eggsy’s face remains positive as ever.

“But my dad saved your life yeah?” His head bobs up and down in pride of the man that he barely knew.

“The day your father died, I missed something” Harry goes on explaining the heroic death of Eggsy’s father. Eggsy’s eyes just widen, his lips curled in a seemingly never-ending grin of honor for his fallen father. This somehow makes me happy for him. “But having read your files, I think he’d be bitterly disappointed in the choices you’ve made,” Harry explains. Eggsy’s face turns from a smile to a grimace all within a fraction of a second.

“You can’t talk to me li’ tha’!” Eggsy defends himself, crossing his arms over his chest, closing himself off from the deep conversation that he was involved in just a moment ago.

“Huge I.Q., great performance at primary school.” Harry begins blankly listing. “And it all went tits up. Drugs, petty crime. Never had a job.”

“Aw you think there's a lot of jobs going around here, d’ ya?” Eggsy snaps back, arms still crossed.

“Doesn't explain why you gave up your hobbies. First prize, regional under tens gymnastics, two years in a row. Your coach had you pegged as Olympic team material.” I raise my eyebrows from behind the screen.

“Yeah, well, when you grow up with someone like my stepdad you pick up new hobbies pretty quick.” Eggsy nods his head to state his point. I cannot help but wonder what exactly he means by that. I find myself wanting to know more.

“Of course. Always someone else's fault.” Eggsy turns his head, being careful not to look Harry in the eyes. “Who's to blame for you quitting the Marines?” Harry questions as if he were an interrogator. The light haired boy's neck turns quickly to face Harry. His eyes are wide, unknowing that Harry has all of this information, or how he got it. “You were halfway through training, doing brilliantly, but you gave up.”

“Because my mum went mental. Banging on about losing me as well as my dad.” Eggsy leans forward on the table once more. “Didn't want me being cannon fodder for snobs like you, judging people like me from your ivory towers. With no thought about why we do what we do.” My lips purse tightly together as I listen closely to what the boy has to say. It took me no time at all to figure out that he hasn’t had the easiest life, but his small speech is beginning to make me wonder what has been making it so hard all this time. I’ve gathered that his father died, I understand his mom is not in the best place, which leads me to the stepdad that came up once or twice. I find myself wanting to help him. “We ain't got much choice. You get me? And if we were born with the same silver spoon up our arses, we'd do just as well as you. If not, better.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” A voice belts from just outside my screen view. I watch as Eggsy’s brooding, confident and slightly cocky expression wipe straight off of his face. A slight panic washes over his features. “You taking the piss?”

As Harry turns to face the sudden irruption, I can see his face and it makes me grimace instantly. I recognize the boy in front instantly.

While many girls my age taking college courses like to hang out at coffee shops, mind you I do the same, I spend some of my time sitting at the bar on weeknights, and very occasionally on weekends as well. Not because I like to drink, nor do I scout out men for dating possibilities, but one of my best friends works some night shifts at the bar, and I love to stay and chat with her, seeing as when I am there, the bar is almost always close to empty.

Though Eggsy seemed to know the people working at the bar pretty well when he walked in with Harry, it was obvious that he was a regular. I must not be around often enough to catch him there. But the slightly older boy that just burst through the doors, him I recognize.

A few months ago is when I saw him first when my friend had just started working at the bar. At first, I found his flirty glances flattering, but sooner they turned creepy. He has hit on me despite me telling him off multiple times, and I’ve never quite gotten him to leave me alone. Eggsy seems to have problems of his own with this boy.

“Some more examples of young men who simply need a silver suppository?” Harry quips.

“Nah, they're exceptions. Come on.” Eggsy rushes, suddenly eager to leave.

“Nonsense. We haven't finished our drinks.” Harry stops him. He obviously knows that Eggsy is trying to run away, but Harry stands his ground.

“After you nicked his car,” One of the men surrounding the youngest boy starts, “Dean says you're fair game. He don't give a shit what your mum says.” The old man grumbles, threatening Eggsy. I am quick to assume the Dean is Eggsy’s stepdad.

“Listen, boys,” Harry begins. The posse of men turns to glare at him with unforgiving eyes. Eyes that say he has crossed some sort of line. “I've had a rather emotional day” I chuckle at Harry’s words. “So whatever your beef with Eggsy is, and I'm sure it's well-founded, I'd appreciate it enormously if you could just leave us in peace until I finish, this lovely pint of Guinness.” Harry’s small monologue creates a wave of confusion as well as amusement within the group. I watch as Eggsy sinches his eyes shut, thinking that Harry is ridiculous and making the situation even worse. In Eggsy’s defense, Harry most definitely is. Although, Eggsy does not know this man at all. He has no idea what Harry is capable of. Eggsy opens his eyes, bringing them upwards to see what the group is thinking.

“You should get out of the way, Granddad, or you'll get hurt and all.” I laugh at the creepy boy's statement.

“He ain't joking. You should go.” Eggsy presses him. I laugh even harder at this. Harry looks to Eggsy, setting down his glass and standing up, leaving Eggsy to deal with the mob of testosterone by himself.

“Excuse me.” He asks politely. The first man in line gestures rudely for Harry to scurry.

“If you're looking for another rent boy, they're on the corner of Smith Street.” The man who speaks in a low grumble says. I smirk as Harry stops in his tracks.

“Manners” Harry reaches up to the lock on the top left of the door. “Maketh” Harry follows by sliding the other side shut tightly. “Man.” He finishes, shoving the lock near the handle shut. It closes with a loud click.

“Alright then Harry, let’s go” I mutter the small words of encouragement under my breath. I can almost hear Eggsy sigh in the realization that Harry is not going anywhere. As Harry has not turned away from the door, I can hear the team of men’s feet shuffling as they most likely turn to face the suited elder. “Do you know what that means?” I see Harry glance into a metal sheet with words ‘Guinness’ engraved across the surface. He used this to see the men behind him before he makes his next move. “Then let me teach you a lesson.”

And before anyone says a word, a half-finished mug of beer is sent flying across the room, shattering across the creepers forehead.

“Ooo” I wince. Leaning back in Harry’s desk chair. I grin as Harry defeats each of the large men that come at him with ease.

Though I know his skills, they never fail to surprise me. I could only hope to be that great one day. I become discouraged in my seat simply at the thought of it, knowing it’s unrealistic.

I observe as Eggsy’s eyes widen with every punch dodged and every blow Harry stops. Harry finishes off by shooting the man behind the bar with an amnesia dart and returns to the table, as casual as ever. Harry takes his beer, sipping the last bit from the bottle and placing it back onto its coster. Eggsy’s eyes search him, looking for any shred of an explanation.

“Sorry about that. I needed to let off some steam. I heard yesterday that a friend of mine died.” Harry looks downwards. “He knew your father too actually” Eggsy stares at the man like he is crazy. In his eyes, it probably looks that way.

Harry stands from his spot once more. “Now I do apologize Eggsy,” Harry explains while adjusting his watch. “I shouldn’t have done this in front of you” Harry makes a final click on his watch, switching it to amnesia.

“No, please! I won't say nuhfin’, I swear!” Eggsy throws his arms up in surrender, seemingly begging for his like. “If there's one thing I can do, it keepin’ my mouth shut.”

“You won’t tell a soul?” Harry asks though it sounds like more a demanding statement. His glasses shift slightly, showing that he was raising an eyebrow.

“Ask the feds, I’ve never grassed anyone up” I scoff lightly at this remark.

“Is that a promise?” Harry presses.

“On my life” Eggsy swiftly replies, putting his hands up even further to show that he means well. I can sense that Harry is glaring into Eggsy’s soul to tell if he is lying or telling the truth. Finally, he puts his watch down.

“Much appreciated Eggsy,” Harry says in the blank tone that he has seemed to hold throughout most of their conversation. Eggsy slowly lowers his arms, wondering if that was it. “You’re right about the snobs, but there too are exceptions.” Harry reaches to place an arm on Eggsy’s shoulder. A friendly gesture he supposes, but I know what it really meant. “Best of luck with everything.”

“Smooth Harry” I mutter as Harry walks out of the quaint bar. I close the computer. “Real smooth.”

Less than thirty minutes later, Harry is sitting in the place where previously resided, looking through more of Eggsy’s files. I find myself in the kitchen again, searching for something to eat when Harry’s speakers blast sound waves through the house. The first thing that I hear is a woman's voice. An extremely worried and panicked women's voice. I briskly walk to the office where I find Harry with a slightly concerned face amongst the noise. After the women’s voice, I hear what I assume to be a punch followed by a loud rumbling as if someone ran into something and knocked it over. The sound of a punch, and screaming in agony.

“Stop it, just stop it!” I hear the voice belonging to the woman again.

“Fuck off!” The feminine tone is overpowered by a man’s shout. “Back away, and shut the fuck up!”

A wave of realization hits my brain and I gasp, covering my mouth with my hand.

“Who was with you in that fucking pub?!” The man hollers.

The stepdad.

“I want to know the name of the geezer you was with!”

“I wasn't with no one!” I hear Eggsy’s familiar voice cry out, sounding pained and possibly pinned down. Next is the sound of skin slapping skin. Hard.

“Who was it?” The stepdad pushes.

“I don't know what you're on about.” Eggsy stays true to his word, not telling a soul. Another slap.

“Who was it?”

“I don't know who you're fucking on about!” Another slap.

“Fucking tell me his name!” The man screams.

“I don't know who you're fucking on about!” Eggsy claims, releasing a strangled cry.

“You listen to me! I want to know who you was with in that pub. Do you understand? I want to know his fucking name!” Another blow followed by a wail. “Because I swear, I'll rip your head off. Tell me!”

“I don't know what you're fucking on about!” Eggsy repeats. More punches are thrown.

“Just tell him, Eggsy!” The woman who I assume to be his mother pleads. I then hear that faint sound of an object being picked up, and the light sound of the blade of a knife scraping against a surface.

“Fuck off!” She shrieks. “Fuck off, Michelle! I could kill you right now…” I feel my breaths getting shaky and uneven.

“Harry!” I yelp. “Are you gonna do something?”

“Now now, be patient” Harry stays steady as a rock.

“and no one in the whole world will notice!” Eggsy’s stepdad continues. This is when Harry interjects.

“But I would”

The ruckus comes to a halt.

“What?!” The man calls out.

“I have enough evidence on your activities to have you locked up for the rest of your life, Mr. Dean Anthony Baker.” Harry taunts the stepfather.

“What the fuck?”

“So I suggest you leave the boy alone or I shall be forced to deliver it to the proper authorities. Eggsy, meet me at the tailor shop that I told you about” Harry presses a button, turning off his microphone. I hear a faint yell in confusion from the stepfather who I've recently come to know as Dean. Next is the shuffling and the slam of the door before Harry turns off Eggsy’s mic as well. “Grab your things darling, you’re coming with. Arthur said he wished to speak to you.”

I nearly do a double take. Although I know Arthur, and I have met with him several times, he has never wished to speak to me himself.

“Uh,” I stutter. “Okay” I bring my lips into my mouth, biting them between my teeth. I flee to my room to grab my phone off of the charger and to check my appearance quickly. I run downstairs to slip on my shoes and jacket just as Harry takes outside. I follow suit. We make our way to the tailor shop, still hugging our coats to our bodies.

The bell rings as we enter the shop. I stand for a minute while Harry looks at me, then gesturing to the back room where I know Arthur is waiting.

“He wants to speak to you darling, not me. You know where he is”

I cinch my lips to one side, knowing that he is right. I shift directions, so I am now facing the small stairway that leads to the Kingsman back room. I let out a breath through my mouth before forcing my feet to move from under me.

“Arthur,” I step into the enclosed room where the elderly man is seated at the head of the table reading a file. “Harry said you wanted to speak with me?”

“Ah, yes darling. Come on in” He waves me in, referring to the stationary position I am in near the entrance of the room. I take large strides, keeping my hands clasped together behind me. “Take a seat.”

I do as I am told, putting out a rather large chair from the table just aside where Arthur sits at the head. My hands clasp onto each other again, this time in front of me on the table.

“I’ve decided that I want you to be my candidate to fill Lancelot’s position.” He says. My eyes widen, and I try my hardest not to let my other facial features change too much. I think I may have failed, due to the fact that the elderly man begins to chuckle at my expression. I gather my thoughts for a moment before I begin to speak.

“Sorry sir, but I thought that was impossible for me” My hands open as I state my confusion. “Given my position. I also didn’t think that as head, you were supposed to provide a candidate.” I nearly stumble over my words, and then nearly celebrate for not doing so.

“Well, at first, yes, this would be quite impossible but, as the times have changed, as have you, I want you as my candidate. You have what it takes to become an agent” The man states. A breath of exasperated air leaves my nose in disbelief of the situation. “The small amount of information that you hold would not put you to any advantage. I feel that what you know is about the same amount as any other candidate when they are told what they are in for.” Arthur discloses his monologue and I still staring at the man. I am left speechless. Word try to leave my lips but all that happens is my mouth opens and then closes, a smile etched into it. “Interested?”

“Yes!” I blurt. The first words to leave me in what seems like forever. I compose myself as he chuckles lightly again. “I mean, yes sir. I would love nothing more”

“Splendid. Although I do have to tell you,” Arthur begins. “This will be your only chance to become a Kingsman, just like any other candidate”

To this, a small ‘oh’ leaves my throat and I nod my head slowly.

“You will be just as other candidates are, no second chances after this” My tongue protrudes out of my lips as I lick them, still nodding, looking at the table rather than Arthur. I let out a small breath before whipping my head to face Arthur before I can talk myself out of what I am about to do.

“Understood sir,” I say with a false confidence that I hope covered up my lack or nerve.

“Perfect. I shall give you a moment to say your goodbyes to Harry, and then we shall be off” He stands slowly. I nod quickly before swiftly taking more long strides out of the room. The large closed mouth smiles not leaving my face, because though I am nervous, I now have a chance.

“Harry!” My enthusiasm bursts out of me as I jump in front of the man sitting and holding a new glass of alcohol. “Arthur wants me to be his candidate! I have a shot!” My voice reaches a high pitch as I grin ear to ear.

“Darling” Harry sits up, walking to me. “That’s fantastic!” He embraces me in a hug and we stand for a moment. We are soon interrupted by the clearing of a throat.

We release from each other’s arms to find Arthur waiting for me. Harry firmly grabs my shoulders, looking me in the eye.

“Alright, you listen to me. I know that you have what it takes, but so may every single person in that room” He begins. “I know that you try hard in everything that you do but in this, you must try your hardest. Do it for your parents, but most importantly, do this for you”

I quickly blink away my tears as the father like figure gives his advice.

“Jesus Harry leave some for your candidate” A small rumble of sad-happy laughter shakes my shoulders. I almost say Eggsy, but I technically am not supposed to know who Harry has appointed. I realize now that I am going to meet him soon. I almost grin even wider at the thought.

“Well,” Harry starts. “It’s definitely going to be a competition in who I route for now” He humors. I scoff in another laugh. “I love you Y/N”

“I love you too Harry” The tears cloud my vision again but I refuse to let any fall.

“Go make me proud” He kisses the top of my head and sends me off to Arthur.

Oh my god.

// next chapter>

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