#the people in the streets dancing like flapping crows with their arms being pulled by puppet strings

[an-aura-about-you]

uh oh I might finally have an idea for that TMA/Princess Tutu thing I've been threatening to do

#tma #princess tutu #it might end up being more of a fusion sort of thing rather than full blown crossover? #but let's be real Drosselmeyer's gonna be there #he canonically leaves his own story he can do that #and hear me out on this: ALL of his books would be in Leitner's library #I don't think I'm gonna write a fully fleshed out Thing #but I've seen people doing that thing where they do scenes out of a thing they make up? #and it'll probably be that #with a bunch of classical music sprinkled in #look it's gonna be like key scenes that I got in my head and I think that is cool and sexy of me #I can picture it now #London having the Raven's blood raining down on it from a darkened sky #the people in the streets dancing like flapping crows with their arms being pulled by puppet strings #and the whole time they are screaming like cawing #GIVE US YOUR HEART GIVE US YOUR HEART GIVE US YOUR HEART #consider that your sneak peek

[pilot-boi]

Too Much

Daemons dissolve into Golden Dust when they die, everyone knows this. Their bodies were made of the stuff after all, and they returned to it when their person died.

But then again, so does Pyrrha Nikos.

All are of the Dust, and all turn to Dust again

AO3 LINK

With eyes sharper than any human’s, Qrow Branwen kept a close eye on the battle raging beneath him. Dustakhia flew beside him, their wingtips almost touching with how close they were. Tonight was not the kind of night to get separated.

Grimm tore through the streets and the skies, all red eyes and white bone. The White Fang were still wreaking havoc down there as well. Thank the gods that Jimmy’s damned robots were finally shut off, though who they had to thank for that Qrow couldn’t say for certain.

From his birds-eye view, pun very much intended, he spotted the Nikos girl running out of the tower, followed closely by that one blonde kid. No Oz though, guess he was still below taking care of the would-be Maiden.

Guess it was time for that whole shebang to happen. 

Not a moment too soon, he thought, swooping to one side to dodge a dive bombing Nevermore. Things were getting worse by the second, and they weren’t likely to get another chance by the way the night was going.

“Qrow!” shouted his daemon over the rushing wind. He looked where she was indicating and would have raised his eyebrows in recognition if he currently had any.

Oh shit. Speaking of how the night was going.

A certain dark haired Faunus was weaving through the battlefield, dodging Grimm left and right, all while dragging someone with a hauntingly familiar mane of blonde hair along with them. Behind her, the Faunus’ panther daemon dragged an equally unconscious bear.

Ice flooded his body. Yang and Titus weren’t moving. Why weren’t Yang and Titus moving?!

Meeting Dusty’s eyes he nodded, fairly certain that he would have been unable to verbally respond even if he’d been in human form, but he knew she understood. They were the same person after all.

Wings tucked to his sides, he dove towards the two figures and their daemons. Qrow’s eyes picked up on odd details, like how Yang’s friend was limping, or the tears on her face, or how she was running from something, but there were no Grimm on her metaphorical tail.

Qrow just barely had time to notice how Titus was dripping golden Dust from a wound in his foreleg that mirrored the one in his niece’s arm before he was nearly knocked out of the air by his other niece.

His squawk of alarm was echoed in his daemon, and Dusty looked distinctly ruffled where she flapped a meter or so away from him. Being pulled up short in the middle of a dive was never pleasant, and tonight already had his nerves on their last thread.

He eyed the ground, searching for the tell-tale bright hair that would indicate where his definitely injured niece was, but it was gone. 

Qrow did manage to spot Ruby’s cape and Eurus’s familiar grey-furred form darting through the swarming mass of Grimm. Every so often she vanished in a cloud of brighter-than-normal petals and reappeared behind a soon to be melting Grimm, usually flanked by her daemon to ensure the kill. 

They’d be okay, even in this horror show.

But where was Yang?

“We’ll find her,” Dusty called to him, feeding him reassurances through their bond. He only hoped she was right.

He swooped down alleyways, forever thankful for the sharp eyesight granted to him in this form. It was necessary to find Yang, and finding Yang was paramount. 

The only disadvantage of his enhanced eyesight was it allowed him to see more clearly than any human the extent of the carnage hiding in these shadows. Bodies ripped to shreds and left to rot, most in poses that indicated they’d been slaughtered running or trying to hide. 

Golden Dust from dead daemons covered everything like the most macabre glitter imaginable.

The worst bodies were the ones with injuries he recognized as ones not made by the Grimm. Bullet holes from white-shelled robots and violent extremists alike. These weren’t victims of nature, even twisted nature. These people were victims of other people. 

Qrow’s only comfort was that he had yet to recognize Yang or her black-haired friend among the bodies. And the longer he looked, the more likely it became that they’d made it to the docks were Glynda had ordered everyone to retreat for evacuation.

To his right, Dusty called softly that she hadn’t spotted them either, which was comforting at least. Her quiet words were cut off by the roar of a rocket from overhead, and Qrow looked up just in time to see… a locker? 

The blue flames were unmistakable, he’d used the same lockers when he’d gone here after all. But why would there be a weapons locker being launched this late into the battle? All the kids that weren’t armed by now were probably dead, as horrible as it was to think about.

“We’re not having any luck here,” Dusty remarked, and Qrow would have snorted at her choice of words if he’d been able to. Even without looking, Qrow could feel her rolling her eyes at him. “You know what I mean you idiot.”

He did, but hey, sue him. The world was falling the fuck apart, he was gonna take the levity he could take, even and especially if it was at his own expense.

“We should regroup at the docks,” and he followed her when she soared back above the rooftops, “Glynda’ll be wondering where we are.” Yeah she would, but he knew perfectly well that Dusty was only saying this to hide her own worry about their niece.

Gliding over the rooftops, he saw more bodies than he had since his days with the tribe. And even then, never this many all at once.

His heart sank when he vaguely recognized a group of bodies. Same coating of golden Dust on all three of them, but the weapons in their hands identified them as students. Students he vaguely recognized from alcohol-blurred memories of a tournament fight with Nikos’ team.

“Only three bodies,” Dusty commented, echoing his own thoughts. “Maybe the fourth got away.” At least one of them was around to be optimistic. Qrow didn’t really see the point.

Finally reaching the docks, he let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding at the sight of the huddled form of his firecracker. And if she was here, and not being crowded by medics and other yahoos, then her injury wasn’t life threatening. Thank the gods.

Swooping behind a lamppost, not even bothering to find a less conspicuous place in his hurry, he landed as a human already running towards the cluster of huddled figures. Dusty swooped after him, wing tips brushing up against his head as she kept pace. The cluster of people was much smaller than he’d been expecting, even after seeing the amount of bodies more first hand than probably anyone besides the dead themselves.

He recognized Yang, obviously, and her black-haired friend. His niece was still unconscious, lying more limp and expressionless than he’d ever seen her and… dear gods… her arm-

Qrow shook himself. There would be time for all that later. He’d just barely relaxed upon seeing that Yang was safe when his heart clenched again upon realizing that now his other niece was missing, along with her white-haired teammate. Winter’s kid sister.

Glynda wasn’t here so he turned to the only other adults present. “Where’s Ruby?” he rasped to Oobleck and Port before he’d even fully reached them. Dusty came and settled on his shoulder as he finally stopped, flapping her wings and shifting restlessly, betraying his own emotions.

The two teacher’s daemons weren’t much better, but they both seemed to be holding themselves together as best as they could. “Miss Rose and Miss Schnee insisted on returning to the tower,” Oobleck said sharply before Port could go off onto what would surely be a well-meaning but long-winded tangent.

“You hafta go after them!” insisted a battered looking blonde kid from where he was crouched beside a pair of even more worse for wear kids. 

Qrow glanced down at the pair, who seemed to be struggling to get up for some reason even with obvious injuries covering them head to two. Their poor daemons were soaked in Dust, but they too were nudging their humans into more upright positions. What the hell?

Probably seeing his confused expression, the blonde kid said, “Jaune and Pyrrha are still down there.” As if he was supposed to know who they were. The kid’s teammates he supposed but still...

Pyrrha. 

Pyrrha Nikos. 

He connected the dots. 

“I’ll be right back,” he growled at nobody in particular, taking off at a run back towards the tower where he could see signs of a battle. Fire and gold, but that was all he could see from this distance. That dragon was unmistakable though.

“Make sure Yang gets to a mediship as soon as possible!” Dusty called back to the assembled, ignoring the shocked expressions they bore from his daemon speaking to them directly. Screw the taboos. Enough was falling apart tonight, why not that as well.

Slipping his form back into feathers, he shot through the air like a missile. As the crow flies was the saying, and by the gods he flew that night.

Qrow flew and he saw. 

He saw Nikos’s blonde friend crumpled next to the locker he’d spotted earlier. Dead or dying, probably. A golden dog was lying on the ground beside him, so not dead yet then. He had no time.

He saw Jimmy fighting like the machine he was, his daemon a whirlwind of fur and claws beside him. He saw Glynda brushing Grimm aside with a flick of her riding crop like they were no heavier than paper. He had no time.

He saw Winter’s kid sister fighting almost dancing in a snowstorm of glyphs. The flash of her rapier cutting through the oil-smoke bodies of countless Grimm was only outmatched by the glow from the symbols that swirled in the air around her. He had no time.

He saw a pathway of a dark echo of those glyphs tracing their way up to the top of the tower. He saw the last flicker of his niece’s cape and her daemon’s tail disappear over the lip of the tower. No time, no time, no time-

He didn’t see a flash like a bonfire and a sudden end to the fight at the top of the tower.

He did see a flash like wings of light and fire, and he heard the gut-wrenching scream and howl that accompanied it.

Qrow was out of time.

If it weren’t for Dusty immediately racing for where the brilliantly white light was barely fading, he probably would have dropped right out of the sky. Only the insistent tug at their lengthening bond kept him moving forward.

Summer. Oh gods it couldn’t be happening again. Not Ruby, please, gods, please-

Shooting over the edge of the tower, he was human before he hit the ground. “Ruby!” he shouted, gathering his niece’s body up into his arms. Dusty was at his side nosing her beak through Eurus’s fur. But neither the girl nor her wolf were responding.

They weren’t responding, but the sheer fact that Eurus had yet to scatter into golden Dust was evidence enough that Ruby was still alive. Qrow was shaking with sobs, and Ruby’s head was lolling unresponsive against his shoulder, but she was alive.

Speaking of golden Dust…

After who knew how long, Qrow drew back to look around, suddenly remembering that there had been a fight here. And judging by how the loser had been dispatched, he probably shouldn't lower his guard against whoever was the new Fall Maiden. With a wary glance towards the dragon, he counted himself lucky that it at least seemed incapacitated.

But the Dust… It was everywhere. Far more than there should have been, even from the death of an elephant sized daemon.

And where was the body?

Laying Ruby gently on the ground beside her equally unresponsive daemon, he lurched to his feet and finally looked around. The wind that whipped through the destroyed office made him register on a distant level that his face was wet with tears. But in this disaster area, he had no time for them.

Gears lay everywhere, along with cracked pillars and most of the ceiling. The CCT was definitely busted, but that was barely a concern at the moment. Where was the body?

Stumbling forward, he glanced backwards towards Dusty, who was still sitting beside their niece. She’d keep watch for now, her stance seemed to say. He thought he’d reached the limit for how grateful he could be for his daemon, but apparently he’d been wrong.

Qrow stepped carefully over shattered bits of building and what looked like the remains of Oz’s desk. Dust was covering every surface in a film of glittering sand, and he still hadn’t found the body. 

Reaching what had to be the epicenter, judging on the concentration of Dust and at the very edge of his bond with Dusty, he realized why.

Sitting in the middle, atop a pile of golden powder and beside what looked like a trail of footprints of a woman about Winter’s size, he found a crown of bronze.

Only the crown though. Its owner was nowhere to be seen.

The almost-bonfire he’d barely seen suddenly made sense, as did the abundance of golden Dust, too much for just one daemon. Pyrrha Nikos was gone. Gone the way a daemon went, dissolved into golden light and Dust at the moment of her death.

Not even a body left to bury. Ruby hadn’t died the way Summer had at least, but it seemed like poor Miss Nikos had taken her place.

#rwby #qrow branwen #yang xiao long #ruby rose #pyrrha nikos #blake belladona #weiss schnee #bartholomew oobleck #peter port #glynda goodwitch #james ironwood #sun wukong #mine #my writing #daemons rwby #writing wednesday

[wordsandwickedthings]

the politics of living

Simon and baz meet up at a protest after meeting at a burlesque club and though penny and Lucas insist its a date (however weird a protest date may be) Simon is skeptical and dealing with a lot of strange feelings; but there was no doubt Baz and Simon needed each other there.

warning: homophobia

“it sounds like a date.” Penny was skipping next to Simon, a giddy smile on her face.

“it’s a protest,” Simon reminded her.

Simon Snow was a fish out of water again. Surrounded by strangers in the street, screaming and marching and grabbing at one another. There had been protests and riots ever since the news of the police raids in America a few weeks ago, and because of it, the world was burning. it was a strange but invigorating movement. He didn’t feel like he belonged there – but he wanted to be there, he needed to. This was too important not to be.

That didn’t stop his heart from pounding against his ribcage.

“but he invited you.” Lucas’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“to a political march.” Simon scrunched his nose, flicking at his friend. “That doesn’t scream I like you.”

People had dates in coffee shops, not protests.

Lucas wrapped his arm around his close friend’s neck, evermore an optimist than Simon, “maybe for him it does?”

Simon scanned the crowd, chewing at his lip. He wasn’t nervous – he wasn’t.

“What does Niall say?”

Penny laughed, poking him in the cheek, “that he’s winy and into you.”

“and do I even want to know what you said?” the golden-haired boy groaned.

“The truth,” penny said, smirking at him. “You’re winy and into him.”

“Penny!”

She hit him and laughed, “It’s true, isn’t it?”

“you know it’s not that easy right.”

Penny sighed, “yeah I know. But it should be.” She gripped at Simon’s arm, pulling her best friend to her, “it should be boy meets boy, boy likes boy, boy falls in love with the boy, happily ever after.”

“tell that to them.”

On the outskirts of the streets, there were counter-protesters. Maybe calling them counter-protesters was too kind, to clean off a word for what they really were; they were bigots. Simon breathed out; he knew they wouldn’t call themselves that. The protesters – bigots - were screaming too, but not about wanting acceptance and being who they are, but about God and sin and what they thought about who the people marching were. Who Simon was. The only thing separating them, and the crowed Simon was a part of was a strip of street that the two groups had silently decided was no man’s land – Simon didn’t want to think about what would happen if someone did cross that line.

“I’ll tear ‘em a new asshole if you want!” penny said far too casually.

“yeah baby,” Lucas pumped his fist, “all’s fair in love and riots.”

Simon groaned, “we are not rioting!” he held his hands up, saying, “we are protesting.”

Based on how the last few protests went; he didn’t know whether to believe that or not.

Before he could dwell on anything, he looked up to see Baz. Simon paused to remember how walking worked.

Baz was leaning against a statue’s base, his foot propped up against the concrete so you could see his knee through the rip in his jeans. He was smoking, getting ash on his leather jacket in a move that Simon would call painful. That jacket didn’t deserve that, it was too great.

Baz didn’t look out of place – though Simon couldn’t recall a time he did. They hadn’t spent a lot of time together since that night at the burlesque club, mostly Baz showing up at his school to have lunch with Niall and them. The couple times Baz had called Simon had sent the boy’s stomach into a hurricane of butterflies. But in all those instances Baz had confidence in his own skin that Simon didn’t understand, blending in and standing out of a crowd all at the same time somehow.

The raven-haired boy just had a way of holding himself that looked comfortable surrounded by people.

Lucas and penny catch the look in Simon’s face, fallowing his gaze.

“hey, Baz!” Lucas screamed between his cupped palms, starting to run over to him.

Simon tried not to flush crimson. He didn’t succeed.

Baz whipped his head around at the sound of his name, catching Simon’s eye and smirking at the other boy’s embarrassment.

“penny, you’re about to be an only child.”

Penny cackles, “so you’re my dad now?”

“shut up.” Simon couldn’t hide the way the corners of his mouth curled.

Simon and Penny walked up to see the boys doing the weird handshake ritual again, Baz joining in this time. Simon cocked an eyebrow at the dancer, earning a roll of the eye when Baz caught it. The golden hair boy couldn’t help it, getting a surge of confidence, he winked, which clearly took Baz off guard for a moment before he composed himself, winking back.

“hey,” Baz said, far too casually.

“hi,” Simon prayed to god he was blushing.

The conversation moved idly. The group talked about school, and the war, and the new bakery shop that was opening down the street. Anything that wasn’t that moment; anything that wasn’t the reason they were there.

Not yet, Simon let out a breath, I don’t want to hang my head so heavily yet.

For a moment he just needed to be Simon.

The moment wouldn’t last though, because Baz was looking at him with such intensity that the others were bound to notice.

And of course, the first to notice was Penny.

She glances between the two boys and said, “Hey, Lucas, Niall, there’s someone with spare poster board over there. Want to go make signs that would make homophobes cry?”

Niall punched Lucas’ shoulder. “I like her.”

“Yeah?” Lucas asked, “she’s usually too aggressive for most.”

“I’m blunt! Fuck off!” Penny yelled at him as they shuffled away. Leaving Simon and Baz somehow alone in a crowd.

“hi,” Baz said, “Like hi, hi.”

Simon tilted his head, trying not to giggle. “Hi, hi?”

“Yeah, we didn’t get to, y’know, have like a proper hello.”

The golden-haired boy didn’t try to contain his laughter then, “a proper hello? What did we miss?”

“I don’t know,” Baz laughed along, “we need like a secret handshake or something.”

“well, you did have your man shake with Niall and Lucas.”

Baz burst out laughing, dropping into a squat. Simon jumped back, staring down at the dancer in confusion. The raven-haired boy looked at him from his stance on the ground, “Fucking manshake?”

“It wasn’t even that funny!” Simon rolled his eyes, laughing.

Baz hopped back up, “it's so dumb!”

Simon smacked at his shoulder without thinking, “what do you think 90% of my personality is?”

“dork?”

Simon laughed, hitting him again.

“I like it,” Baz said, looking at the other boy.

Suddenly Simon had to remind himself how to talk – it wasn’t working very well.

“thank you,” Baz whispered out of the blue, “for coming, I mean. I didn’t know if you would.”

“why wouldn’t I?” Simon asked.

Baz bit at his lip, looking anywhere but the golden-haired boy, “because you don’t seem very comfortable with that part of yourself.”

The other boy frowned, “what part of myself?”

“uh,” Baz scratched the back of his neck, “the part that likes me, if you know what I mean.”

“I’m not uncomfortable with liking you the way I do,” Simon insisted, even though he knew it was a lie.

He didn’t feel shame with the way he thought about Baz – at least not wholly. He had felt like this before with other boys, maybe not as intensely, but he had felt a shadow of it.

“but you’re uncomfortable with what that means, and this movement is the embodiment of that.” Baz flared his hands around.

“Stop dancing around and just say what you mean, Baz.” Simon was trying to contain his anger.

“you know what I mean.”

“But I want you to say it!” Simon yelled, catching the attention of a few people around them. “shit,” he muttered, “sorry,” is what he said to the people who had turned.

“You’re still scared, Simon,” Baz brought his voice down, seeing how freaked out the other boy was getting. “you’re still afraid of being gay.”

“I also like girls.”

“You know what I’m saying. You’re scared, and I get it – I really do – but If you never let go of that fear it will eat you alive.”

Simon huffed, “it’s a bit hard to do that when there are so many who would love to see me be eaten alive.” Simon waved his hand over to where the counter-protesters were.

“fuck them!” Baz stepped closer to Simon, cupping his cheeks in his palms, “they don’t get a say in who we are.”

“tell that to them!”

Baz looked between the bigots and Simon, gears clearly moving in his head. “sure,” Baz said while smiling, pulling away from the golden-haired boy.

“wait, no, Baz!” Simon yelled after him, “it was rhetorical.”

“hey!” Baz jumped up on the mount of the statue, towering over everyone in the march – fully staring at counter-protesters. Simon couldn’t help but hide his face in his hands. “listen up dickwads! Who the fuck do you think you are?” he threw his arms up, clearly using his performer’s essence to his advantage, “who are you to speak for some guy in the sky and tell me I’m wrong? Who are you to tell me I can’t have a crush on a dork with cute curls and freckles is abhorrent?” Simon didn’t miss how his cheeks tinted pink, “fine, I’ll tell you who. Fucking assholes. Complete fucking wankfaces. So, you know what?! Fuck off!” Baz was panting, staring at the people as if he expected them to bow their heads in shame. When he realized they wouldn’t – Simon didn’t think they ever would – he flapped his arms, throwing his shoulder back in what the golden hair boy would assume was defeat.

“Okay, okay,” Baz said, far more somber, “Maybe we do need to be better about helping people understand, and maybe we need to educate others so our world can move forward. But you know what? Not today.” The dancer ran his fingers through his hair. “I can’t be your fucking experiment all the time. Sometimes I just want to exist, and live, without having to be someone else growth.” Baz shrugged. I get it, we all need to think about each other, but right now I’m thinking about my wellbeing. Go fuck yourself.”

The performer took a bow and jumped off the stage as the bigots began to scream.

Simon tried to control his breathing when Baz came back to him, looking more sheepish than he had when he headed for the statue.

“That was foolish,” Simon couldn’t help but say it, “brave, but foolish as shit.”

“yeah,” Baz breathed out.

Simon grabbed at the boy’s bicep, “are you okay?”

The raven-haired boy nodded his head in such a way Simon didn’t believe him. The golden-haired boy didn’t think before pulling Baz into a hug, gripping at his leather jacket. Baz froze at first until he let out a breath and wrapped his arms around the other boy.

“it was really brave,” Simon whispered in Baz’s ear, “I couldn’t have done it.”

Baz tightened his hold. “they want me dead,” he mumbled back, nuzzling his head into Simon’s neck, “so I’m going to live. I’m going to live so boldly and bravely – and happily - just to spite them all.”

Simon squeezed back, “let’s do it together.”

#carry on #simon snow #baz pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #Penelope Bunce #niall #snowbaz #snowbaz fic #snowbaz fanfiction #rainbow rowell #My writing #carry on series

[broken-clover]

AU-gust Day 7- Childhood Friends

Taking a bit of a break from Guilty Gear, so today have a Blazblue fic! I know this probably makes no sense in canon for multiple reasons but that’s what an AU is for! So have some tiny Bang and tiny Amane being tiny dorks.

Bang was a very easy person to read. More often than not, one didn’t even have to really try. If he didn’t outright state his opinions or feelings on something, his overexaggerated body language gave him away. The same applied to his interests. Whenever he found something new and exciting, it would be all he talked about.

Tenjo had caught him staring on their way back from training. A traveling caravan was passing through Wadatsumi. She had approved them days ago. As long as they didn’t cause trouble and weren’t too disruptive, she let them come through and take a few days to rest and restock. Her apprentice appeared utterly enraptured at the sight, like he’d never seen anything like it before.

“What are you looking at, Bang?” Was it anything in particular? “Do you like their horses?”

“Sparkly!”

“Sparkly?” A significant number of the travelers did seem to be wearing very eye-catching ensembles, flowy skirts and gem-studded accessories. Tenjo herself did wear some rather extravagant clothing, but she preferred keeping the colors simple. Meanwhile, they dressed in every color of the rainbow and then some. She watched Bang grab at the air towards the procession as it passed them. “Do you like all the colors?”

“Uh-huh! Sparkly!”

She supposed that they could watch for a minute or two. They weren’t in any rush. It was nice to see something happy in her beautiful Wadatsumi, with all the political strife that had been cropping up lately, it was starting to feel like everything was doom and gloom. They could all use something to take their minds off of things, even if it was temporary.

“Ten-jo-sa-ma!” Bang chirped, pointing at something else. “What’s that!”

A man in a beautiful, elaborate outfit was pinning something to the local notice board. A thick stack of papers were taking up his other arm, so it wasn’t much of a surprise to see him rush off immediately to start chatting with a pair of passers-by and offer them another.

“Hmm? I don’t know. Let’s go take a look.” When the road was clear, the two of them crossed the street to get a better look. There were a few notices already put up, but the newest one stuck out like a sore thumb with its bright colors.

‘One Night Only!’ It announced, in elaborate writing. ‘Witness the beauty and grace of the Mikoto Dance Troupe! Be charmed by the stunning visual performance and melodies! Show begins at 8pm in Block 4. Free admission, donations encouraged!’

“A dancing show?” How odd. Those didn’t often come to Wadatsumi. She noticed her charge staring at the paper with bright eyes, bouncing up and down.

Had he ever seen something like this? He was a Wadatsumi native, it was unlikely a troupe had come through, and it didn’t seem probable his parents would take someone so young to another Hierarchical City for something like that. It had to be something new and interesting for him, no wonder he was so excited.

“Would you like to go to the show, Bang?” She asked. “You’ve already finished your training today, so we can go as a special treat, if you’d like.”

“We can??”

Tenjo chuckled. “Is that a yes, then?”

“YEAH!!”

++++++

“Woah…”

It seemed the festivities had attracted quite a lot of Wadatsumi’s inhabitants. She had already seen peasant farmers, politicians, and everything in between lined up to take a peek. A small crowd had already clustered around the entrance, and she could see people inside the performance area frantically carrying out more chairs to set up for their incoming audience.

“Are you alright, Bang?” She gave his hand a light squeeze. Tenjo knew he didn’t do well in crowds. In hindsight, she probably should have expected it, but all she could do now was give him as much patience as possible.

“Mmhm.” He nodded, with his face buried in his scarf to block out all the smells.

“Don’t worry, I promise it will be less crowded once we get inside.”

At least the man at the counter knew how to work fast. It didn’t take long for them to move up to the front. “Hello, ma’am! Two guests?”

“Yes.” Tenjo nodded. “Just a moment, Bang. Let me reach my pocket.” She let go of his hand, took a moment to be sure he wouldn’t immediately be swallowed up by the crowd, and dug into her robes in search of coin. Imperator or not, she could support small artists trying to make a living.

The man looked utterly dumbfounded at the pile of money she offered up. “Wow, th-thank you very much, ma’am! We appreciate your kindness!”

Had people not been donating? She hoped she hadn’t been the only person to do so. “Of course! Happy to help. May we head inside?”

“Absolutely!” He beckoned them to the gate. “Enjoy the show!”

“Thank you for being patient with me. Now we can- huh? Bang?”

When she looked down, he was nowhere to be seen. “Bang?!”

Her eyes tore around, trying to find the smallest hint of trailing red fabric. He may have been a burgeoning combatant and capable of fending for himself, she nonetheless felt anxiety pooling in her stomach.

“Ten-jo-sa-ma Ten-jo-sa-ma Ten-jo-”

Bang tried to peek out of the top of his scarf while still keeping it mushed over his nose. It had been too loud and smelly for him. Tenjo-sama had said that when he got overwhelmed, he should find a quiet place to sit until he felt better. There were a lot of tents over near the big wagons, and those seemed like a good place to hide. If he had a meltdown, then they would have to go home for the night, and he really wanted to see the pretty dancers!

One of the less-big tents across the lawn was already half-open, how lucky! He ducked inside and huddled in the corner.

“Ten-jo-sa-ma Ten-jo-sa-ma-” He mumbled to himself, rocking back and forth on his toes. It was way less crowded in the tent, and most of the bad smells had been replaced by a nice perfume. And thankfully, nobody interrupted his stimming until he started to feel a little bit more in control of himself.

“Hmm hmm, la da da~”

Bang’s ears perked up. Had someone been singing the whole time, and he had only just noticed it?

He stood back up and turned towards the sound. Part of the tent was closed off by another curtain, with light spilling out from behind. Curiously, he approached to peek out from behind.

“La-la-la-la, da-da-dum~”

A boy about his age was twirling around, clutching bright pink ribbons in his tiny fists. His dancing wasn’t as smooth or fancy as the other dancers, but it was probably the same reason he wasn’t as good at fighting as Tenjo-sama or Ka-gu-ra-nii. Kids weren’t usually the best at things, adults had lots more time to practice, so they were really good!

“La-la- oh!” On his next turn, Bang watched him trip and fall on the hem of his skirt. “Owie…”

It must have been a bad fall, because his eyes started pinching and tearing up. Or maybe he was sad he had messed up the dance? He did that sometimes when he messed up a parry or fell off the climbing wall, even when it didn’t hurt.

Well, Tenjo-sama said people got better at things when you encouraged them! Maybe that was just what this one needed to help cheer him up.

So he started to clap. “That was really good! Until the part where you tripped, but I do that all the time too!”

“-eek!” The boy shrieked, jumping back and dropping his ribbons. Why had he done that?

“That was really good!” He said again, in case he hadn’t heard. “You’re really good!”

That seemed to calm him down a little. “I thought you were Tsukiyomi-san.” He said, picking up his ribbons again. “She always yells at me for fooling around before the show.”

“Are you gonna dance up on the big stage?”

“Yeah-huh!” He replied, with a glint of eagerness in his eyes. “I just do small parts now, but when I get big they’re gonna let me do all the important dances!” The boy puffed out his chest, making the pale pink scarf he wore fluff around his head like a halo. “My name is Nishiki Amane. I’m gonna be super famous someday, so you’d better remember it!”

“A-ma-ne Nishi-ki-kun. A-ma-ne-kun.” He liked the way it rolled off his tongue. “A-ma-ne-kun.”

“Amane! That’s me! I’m gonna be so great, people will clap and cheer and throw flowers at me whenever I dance!”

“Mmm.” Bang tilted his head. “My scarf is cooler than yours.”

“What?!” Amane shouted back. “No it isn’t! Mine’s the cooler one! It’s pink! And it looks really pretty when I dance!”

“Nuh-uh!” Replied Bang, with a growing smirk. “Mine is red, and red is the best.”

“Oh yeah?” Just as quickly, Amane was grinning back. “Well if it’s so cool, then give it to me!”

The ninja took off to run around the room. “No way! It’s mine!”

“Not for long!” The other boy started chasing him in circles.

“It’s mine!”

“Gimme!”

“No!”

“Give- oof!”

The dizziness very quickly made them crash into one another and fall in a heap. The two boys sat back up, looked at one another, and burst into giggles.

“That was fun!” Bang crowed.

“I feel dizzy.” Amane began undoing the loops of his scarf. “Wanna try mine? Let’s swap!”

“Okay!”

Amane had to help him tie the knots right so the scarf went around his shoulders, and Bang helped him loop the thick red fabric around so it would fall down his back and flap behind him when he ran.

“Sparkly!” He did a little twirl, watching how the pink material practically hovered over him. “Amane-kun looks like a superhero!”

“You think so?” It looked weird with his fancy dress, but Amane looked perfectly pleased with his new accessory, twirling a little before pulling it back off and handing it over. “It’s a little too heavy to dance in, though.”

Bang hadn’t considered that. “Maybe that’s why I can’t dance good. You’re really good, can you show me how to dance?”

Amane untied the pink scarf off him and put it back on himself. “Tsukiyomi-san says 'dancers can’t be truly great unless they look their best.' So maybe if I do your makeup, you’ll be better at it!”

On the other side of the tent, there was a pretty wooden vanity with a mirror and bottles of all different things lined up on it. Amane climbed onto the chair and began rooting around. “I only get to wear lipstick during big shows, so that’s probably the best!”

He found a tube of something and popped it open. Bang watched in confused intrigue as Amane rubbed it on his own lips. Wherever he put it, they turned a bright shade of pink.

“This color’s my favorite!” Pursing his lips and turning his head back and forth let Amane look at his reflection in different ways.

“Ok ok!” Bang raised his arms toward him. “Do me now!”

“Hold on! Gotta test it and see if it’s dry first!”

“How do you do that?”

Instead of responding, Amane bent down to kiss him on the mouth. Bang felt something sticky rub off on his lips, making him reel back and swat at his face.

“Guess it wasn’t dry…” The dancer sighed unhappily. “What’s wrong?”

“Sticky! Your mouth is sticky! Boys aren’t supposed to kiss!”

“Why not?”

“Hmm…” Bang thought for a moment. He couldn’t think of a good answer. He kissed Amane back on the forehead. Then he didn’t have to worry about being sticky, though he did leave a little smear of pink on his face.

Amane beamed. “See? Boys can kiss other boys! Some of the bigger kids do it all the time.”

How interesting. Amane-kun seemed to know a lot of things. Bang liked learning from him!

“Amane?” Said a strange voice. “The show starts in fifteen minutes, are you-”

A woman bustled into the tent, tying her hair back. She seemed interested in Bang as soon as she saw him. “Ah! Are you little Bang?”

He tilted his head. “No.”

She paused, looking at him with confusion. “Oh. I’m looking for a boy your age, with a red scarf sort of like yours, have you seen him? His name is Bang.”

“Mmhm.” He nodded. “I’m Bang.”

That only confused her further. “But you just told me it wasn’t your name?”

“My name is just ‘Bang.’”

The woman smiled, though it really didn’t look like a smile. “Ah. Alright, smarty-pants, your chaperone is looking for you.”

He wasn’t sure what that meant. Amane was nice enough to explain. “Like, the person you came with. Did you come with your mom?”

“I came with Ten-jo-sa-ma.” He’d nearly forgotten about her! He had been so distracted by playing with Amane-kun. Hopefully she wouldn’t be mad.

At that very moment, Tenjo followed the woman into the tent. “Bang! I was so worried, are you alright?”

“Ten-jo-sa-ma!” He shouted, burying himself in her skirt. “It was too smelly, so I found a quiet place like you told me to!”

“That’s...yes, that’s very good of you, Bang.” She gave him a pat on the back. “But next time, please let me know before you do that, alright? I don’t want to lose track of you in such a crowded place.”

He nodded. “O-k! Look at my friend A-ma-ne-kun!”

“Oh?” Tenjo looked at the other boy. “I’m so happy to see you making friends, Bang! But the show is about to start soon, why don’t we let them get ready and find a place to sit?”

“She’s right!” The other woman started ushering Amane towards another tent. “You still have to change!”

“Bye-bye A-ma-ne-kun!” Bang waved as they departed.

Tenjo gave her apprentice a small smile as they headed towards. “Did you have fun playing?”

“Mmhm! A-ma-ne-kun is a real good dancer! He’s gonna dance up on the stage!”

“We’ll have to keep an eye out for him then, won’t we?” It was wonderful that he was making friends his own age. She noticed he didn’t have much interest in the concept. As much as she wanted him to explore and do as he pleased without being too smothered, it was a tad worrisome that he only seemed interested in talking to her or Kagura.

She felt Bang slipping from her grip. Oh no, this wasn’t going to happen again. “Bang, don’t run away!”

But he didn’t. Instead, she watched him calmly walk over to a bush of lilies and crouch. He carefully plucked a few flowers off their stems and bunched them together in his free hand.

“Bang? What are you doing? The show is about to start soon!”

After plucking a few more, he stood back up and followed. “Mmhm. O-k Ten-jo-sa-ma.”

“What are the flowers for?”

“They’re for A-ma-ne-kun! So I can throw em at him when he dances!”

Throwing them? That was a bit odd. Then again, Bang was a bit of an odd child. But as long as he was enjoying himself and wasn't causing any harm, she supposed it wasn’t a big deal.

#AU-gust #writing #blazblue #bang shishigami #amane nishiki #amang

[queenmina37]

#103: Parade

It was the Grand Reopening of Link VRAINS (again) and the streets of the virtual world were filled with avatars. People looked around, ran around the place, laughed and chatted, making new friends.

 Playmaker was standing away from everyone else, hidden by the shadows. He watched as people chatted with Soulburner and the rest of his comrades, and their Ignis. Even Ai was there, having run there after complaining about him being a wallflower. The Ignis was currently chatting with Ghost Girl, who was smiling down at it.

 “So?” Ghost Girl asked. “Where’s Playmaker?”

 “Right there…” Ai pointed to where he had left him, but as he turned to look… he wasn’t there.

 While Ai was internally screaming, Ghost Girl smirked. “Oh? Did he abandon you?”

 While Ai started screaming at her while being completely ignored, Soulburner hummed, worried. “Where is he? The parade is about to start.”

 “Are you guys a part of it?” Ghost Girl asked, smiling.

 “No.” Soulburner laughed. “They tried to have us there, but we refused. But Blue Angel and Go Onizuka are there, right?”

 They chatted for a while longer, before the sky suddenly turned dark, like the lights had been turned off. Everyone turned to the end of the long street they were standing by as two commentators let their voices reach out throughout Link VRAINS. “Ladies and Gentlemen!”

 “We have the privilege to welcome you all to the new and improved Link VRAINS!”

 “To celebrate this unforgettable night, a parade of the greatest duelists shall walk right before your eyes! Let us all welcome them!”

 “First, we have the undeniable Queen of Link VRAINS, who fought alongside the toughest and bravest heroes against the evil! Blue Angel!!”

 Blue Angel was standing on top of a moving platform, smiling and waving to her fans who cheered loudly for her. Some of her monsters were also on the platform, dancing and giggling.

 As the platform moved to make room for the next one, the same voice called out. “And here we have the King of Link VRAINS, Go Onizuka!”

 The cheers continued as more and more famous duelists made appearances. Charisma Duelists put on a show, as did the others, though not as much as the Charisma Duelists. The crowd watched, cheering and waving back to them, taking photos, videotaping it. Music filled the air as people danced, laughed and chatted excitedly with others.

 When the parade was nearing its end, Blue Girl ran to them, looking around. “Did I miss the end?”

 “No.” Ghost Girl looked at her. “Why? Is something interesting happening?”

 “Yeah.” Blue Girl shrugged her shoulders. “Or, well, I don’t know. The commentator from Neo Domino City was really excited about the last group. I talked with others before the parade, and one of them, Harald from Team Ragnarok, said that they weren’t there yet and someone else said that they’d make a dramatic entrance or something.”

 “Team Ragnarok?” Unnamed turned to look at the, currently, last platform. “Those three?”

 “Yeah.” Blue Girl nodded. “They’re supposed to be the last ones, before Team 5D’s, I think was the name.”

 “Ladies and Gentlemen! It is time for the last duelists to take the stage! And though they’re the last, they’re most definitely not the least!”

 The group watched, surprised, as all the 3-man teams vacated to the sides of their platforms, turning their eyes to the last platform that appeared behind the long line. There was no one on the platform. It was completely empty of people, of monsters, of everything.

 “What?” Soulburner blinked. “Isn’t there supposed to be…?”

 Suddenly, the platform lighted up in an eerie red glow. On the top of the platform, red lines appeared, making up some kind of mark. And, then, just as the mark was done, something dark, something akin a tornado, burst up in the middle of it. Black feathers floated down from the sky, making people let out noises of awe. Then, two red slits appeared in the tornado, before it disappeared with a loud flap of wings, almost as if they were the reason it disappeared. Now, standing on the platform was a black dragon with red eyes, a young man with orange hair in front of it. The man was grinning, waving to the crowd where fans were suddenly squealing and cheering.

 “Let us welcome, Crow ‘The Bullet’ Hogan, the Tail of the Crimson Dragon!”

 “The Crimson Dragon?” Ghost Girl glanced upwards, to where the two commentators were. “What’s that?”

 They had no time to ponder, though. Crow and his dragon quickly jumped to the side of the platform, balancing on the edge. The platform lighted up in that eerie red glow once more, but this time, the mark was different, looking almost like a claw. When the lines had become a mark, it was like lightning shot from the heavens. Red rose petals flew in the air as a strong gust of wind blew, whirling around. It disappeared as soon as it appeared, though, and the rose petals hovered to the ground, like the black feathers earlier. On the platform, there was a black dragon with wings made of red rose petals. In front of it stood a young woman with dark burgundy hair, a smile on her face as she looked around.

 “The Foot of the Crimson Dragon, the Black Rose Witch, Izayoi Aki!!”

 Aki winked to the crowds, making the people gasp. She then jumped to the other side of the platform, nearly facing Crow as she turned her back to the crowds. The platform lighted up, again, lines appearing to make a mark. The moment it was done, flames shot up from out of nowhere, burning brightly and hotly. A loud roar was heard long before the silhouette of a dragon was seen through the flames that condensed around the dragon’s fists, revealing a black-and-red dragon with an almost demonic look. In front of it stood a blond man, dressed in a white coat.

 “The Wings of the Crimson Dragon, Former King of Riding Duels, Jack Atlas!!!”

 Obviously, there was something fun with what the commentator said, because a lot of the famous duelists started laughing, some trying to hide it, some not. Crow was one of the ones who didn’t try to, and Aki tried to. Jack himself shot the man a glare.

 “Oh?” Unnamed chuckled. “I wonder what that’s about?”

 “Who knows?” Soulburner laughed.

 Before they could say anything else, though, there was another light. Jack jumped to the side, to stand a little further away from Crow. The lines made up a mark, almost like a claw that held something. Then, there was a large cracking sound and a burst of light. The sound of jingling bells was heard, as well as the sound of large machinery parts falling to the ground. When the light disappeared, there were two dragons there, one blue and almost like a fairy, one brown with a spear or something attached to its other arm. In front of the dragons were two youngsters, maybe 14 years old at most, with green hair and otherwise identical looks.

 “The Hand and Heart of the Crimson Dragon, the Wonder Twins, Ruka and Rua!”

 The duo laughed, waving to the crowd. Then, they jumped to the opposite sides of the platform, Rua to stand on the same side with Crow and Jack, Ruka to stand with Aki. They smiled and stood there, laughing, and then they waited.

 They didn’t have to wait for long. The platform lighted up once more, the eerie red glow becoming stronger than before. The lines quickly moved, making a mark. But unlike before, the mark wasn’t obscured as a dragon made an appearance. No, the spectators were instead left to gasp as something glittery rained down on them. As they turned to look up to the sky, they saw a white and blue dragon that was softly roaring as it flew over the street, over the people, its wings softly flapping. Whatever the glittery substance was, it was like it fell from the dragon’s wings.

 When the dragon flew over the platform, though, something dropped from on top of it. Or, rather, someone.

 People gasped, horrified and worried, as they saw someone freefall from that height, head first, straight towards the ground. They flipped over in the air, though, just before they hit the platform, landing on their feet in a crouch. The dragon landed behind them, letting out a soft roar.

 “The Head of the Crimson Dragon, Satellite’s Shooting Star, The King of Riding Duels, Fudo Yusei!!!”

 “Oh my, and who is that in his arms?!”

 It was then that people realized that it was indeed two people, rather than one, that had dropped from the dragon. Yusei was holding the other in a tight grip, holding them bridal style. And that other person…

 Ai gasped, shouting. “PLAYMAKER???!!!”

 “I’m going to kill you, one of these days.” Playmaker ignored the loud shout of his name, no doubt coming from the Ignis. Instead, he gave Yusei a glare as he was let down.

 “You would have already killed me if you had any plans to do so.” Yusei chuckled softly, ignoring the crimson red tendrils that began appearing in the air around their platform. “Now, come over here.”

 “Why?” Playmaker gave him a suspicious look but stepped closer. “If this is another one of your…”

 Yusei pressed his lips against Playmaker’s.

 At first, it was deadly silent. Then, people were screaming, because did some bigshot from Neo Domino City just kiss Playmaker???!!!

 The red tendrils began fusing. People noticed them, making confused noises as the tendrils began to take another shape, curling around the platform that was, once again, glowing an eerie red color. The tendrils began to make a snake-like body, like the lines on the platform… making a tail… feet… wings… hands… a head…

 Yusei pulled away, smiling as Playmaker glanced upwards at the replica of the Crimson Dragon that had curled around the platform. “… Isn’t it bad to make fun of a god like this?”

 “We’re showing our gratitude in our own way.” Yusei chuckled. “The Crimson Dragon would understand.”

 “… Yeah, you guys are unique like that.” Playmaker laughed, which made the crowds pause. “The Crimson Dragon would totally understand.”

 Yusei smiled and gave him another kiss before turning to the crowd and waving. His teammates and Playmaker did the same. The dragons roared in tune with the replica of the Crimson Dragon. It was truly a spectacle to see.

#hackershipping #yusei fudo #yusaku fujiki

[reekierevelator]

Cadavers Can’t Dance

a short, vaguely allegorical, tale

‘I tell you, it was him, coming towards me, slowly, white staring eyes, the rest completely black and dripping, ghoulish, little lopsided steps, twisting from side to side like some hellish dying dancer.’

‘Get a grip de Pfeffel, dead men don’t dance. You’re paranoid. Fear and imagination are running away with you.’

‘You weren’t there Pret, I was.  Saw it with my own eyes. Horrible. Ghastly.’

‘So did you move it like we said?’

‘Move it? Was I going to grab it, wrap it up in that old length of carpet, tie a lump of concrete round it and roll it into the old dock? You’re not hearing me Pretty. The goddam corpse was alive.  It was coming towards me. Staring at me.’ His thin high voice rose in a crescendo to almost a shriek.

‘So, what, you mean you didn’t introduce it to the dead dogs and sewage in the old dock? You just, what, scarpered, lumbered off as fast as your big flat feet would carry you?’ Her mocking tone made no attempt to disguise real anger.

‘What else was I supposed to do?’ he screeched.

‘You were supposed to get rid of it fat head. You were meant to do what we couldn’t do when that idiot dog-walker clocked us and got too close.’

‘Cut off the hands, smash in the face, tie it up, into the water and offski, - I know all that. I know what we said.’

‘Yes, then weeks till any DNA results, that’s if it’s ever found.’

His voice grew louder. ‘I know that.  I know the score.  I’m not dense.’

The stick thin woman, Pretty Charterhouse, with her crow’s beak nose and gaunt taut face, tight as an angry headmistress, drew closer to the fat, trembling man, his layers of fat wobbling like jelly.  She whispered urgently in his ear. ‘Shut up, de Pfeffel, people will hear.  What next? Going to tell them all it wasn’t possible. Mundy couldn’t be staggering around large as life since we knocked him unconscious with a brick, stabbed him through the heart, and buried him a barrel of creosote yesterday? You want to shout it out real loud from the rooftops, make sure nobody’s missing the news?’

‘Ok, ok, so you go then Pret. Get yourself down that mouldy old canal basin dock tonight. See for yourself. Then move the bastard yourself if you can find him.’  The blubber where de Pfeffel’s waist might have been wobbled extravagantly as he attempted to raise himself from the park bench with a mighty sigh. ‘Me, I need a drink.’

Pretty’s small eyes narrowed even further as she watched the triangular mountain of high dudgeon turn its back on her and plod out the gate of the little urban park and into the darkness, its little legs buckling under the weight. She saw de Pfeffel for once ignore his old Vauxhall estate that was parked at the gate and stumble straight across the road into the welcoming Queen’s Arms.  

‘This is a bloody joke,’ she thought, and sniggered, suddenly assailed by an image of de Pfeffel as Oliver Hardy. Only when it registered that that made her the straight man, the English buffoon Stan Laurel, did she scowl, turn in the other direction, and scuttle off, back towards the parked black cab, its meter still running.

Within ten minutes she was ringing the doorbell outside a door of dirty black flaking paint on the seventh floor of Gutteridge House, an offensive glass and concrete monstrosity in the suburbs.  When there was no response she opened the battered letterbox flap and shouted, ‘Jacob, it’s me, Pretty, we need to talk.’

A few moments later her anxiety level dipped as she heard the bolts being released. The door dragged open a fraction and Pretty trickled inside. The curtains were drawn. As her eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom they met the bulbous staring brown eyes of Jake Reece. He was known in her line of work as Mad Jake the Ripper, a man who lived in the past, somewhere between an eighteenth century gin palace and nineteen fifties austerity. His big brown eyeballs swivelled through a hundred and eighty bloodshot degrees, directing Pretty towards a beaten up old sofa, maybe once coloured oatmeal, and now sagging more than a wet sandwich.  Pretty paused, briefly considered remaining on her feet but reluctantly sat down, pulling her Burberry coat tightly around her thighs. ‘You think it was the Jehovah’s Witnesses or something?

Jake ignored the question and proferred the half-drunk can of special brew he was holding in one giant paw, a cigarette smouldering in the other. Pretty understood well enough that it wasn’t his first aperitif of the evening. She bit her lower lip and gave her head a token shake.

Jake took a huge gurgling swig from the can, belched extravagantly, dropped the can to the floor and stared at Pretty expectantly. She blurted it out. ‘You’ll have to do something. Looks like de Pfeffel has botched things.’

‘Botched?’

‘We had to hide the body temporarily last night. I told him to come back when it got dark today with some weights and so on and finally rid us of it. But he’s gone flaky, full of some Halloween nonsense about a half-dead creosote-encrusted Mundy still staggering around the dock.  Scared him so much that instead of finishing the job he lost it altogether and took off.’

Jake scratched thoughtfully at the tear-hole in his filthy green pullover as he considered this implausible scenario. Then he resorted to scratching his arse, an evil-smelling protuberance encased in knuckle corduroy of a sickly green colour. ‘But you got it?’ he asked, taking a long drag on the cigarette.

‘The note? Of course we got it.  As you said, promissory note to an Arlene. It took a bit of working him over. In the lining of his jacket.’

‘Give it to me.’

‘I’ll deliver it myself.’

Jake bared his teeth and leaned in towards her exhaling a stream of alcohol flavoured tobacco smoke.

‘You don’t know who to.’ He grinned triumphantly, his hands reaching for her throat. ‘Play that game and a girl could get her head ripped off.’

She winced but kept talking. ‘The note itself makes that clear Jake. And take your hands away.  I haven’t got it with me.’

Jake nodded, scowled thoughtfully, and took a step backwards.

‘Anyway, it was like you said with the little Caledonian lapdog. Needed putting down after entertaining the idea of going freelance. We couldn’t leave him around to talk, could we?’

‘Where?’

‘Did the job at de Pfeffel’s place. Was where we’d dragged him after rounding him up again. Used de Pfeffel’s motor to move it. We were almost at the water on the old canal dock, carting the body between us, when we realized we’d have to weigh it down with something. It was dark, foggy, no street lights.  Looked around. Lots of rusty old bits of industrial debris, half bricks, twisted metal, and such lying nearby. Then this idiot dog-walking punter drifts on to the quay at the far end.  There was a big old steel barrel that had been dumped, pushed up against the bit of broken wall next to us. So de Pfeffel picks up a length of rusty old iron and prises the lid off. Looked empty in the dark.  We poured the body in. Turned out it was half full of creosote.’

‘The prowler?’

‘The punter walking the alsatian didn’t see nothing.’

‘Mundy – the cops?’

‘No chance. That’s one thing Mundy wouldn’t do. They’d party like it was Christmas if he walked in.  Things he’s done. Due to go down for a ten stretch at least.’

Jake ran his sausage like fingers through his greasy grey hair. ‘Identification?’

‘Searched him as per. Careful like.  When he was out cold.  Usual shite. Few quid.  Crap phone. Just labels on cheap chain store clothes is all.’  

‘Well Pretty my dear,’ Jake growled, ‘you want to deliver you got to put things right then, don’t you?’ and his mouth opened into a menacing smile that favoured Pretty with his foul sewer breath. ‘Better make it real quick too. That or Arlene gonna have to be told in’t she?’ Jake paused a moment as if allowing time for her known links to violent extremists to sink in while he himself calculated the possible outcomes of such an eventuality. ‘Won’t be best pleased, will she, my dear? Need to hurry.’

Pretty quickly made her excuses, needing to deal with it immediately, and shot out of Jake’s stinking den. She fumbled for the piece of paper in her pocket and trembled at the thought of what Jake would have done if he’d seen through her bluff. And if Jake wasn’t going to come with her to help out she had to work fast. Mundy couldn’t go far in that condition. He might be able to find a temporary hiding place, but badly injured and covered in gunk he wouldn’t survive long.  The creosote would dry and harden. He’d have to find a hospital or some kind of chemical cleaning works. What were the chances?  How would a detective go about locating him? Could she still count on de Pfeffel to help? And suddenly, she thought ‘footprints’. She pulled the mobile from her Burberry pocket and phoned de Pfeffel. Above the noise of the pub he eventually conceded. ‘Ok, ok, just killing off a double brandy and chaser.’ Pretty offered a silent prayer to Dutch courage.

But then he said ‘See you back at the dock then Pret.’  

‘No, I need to get the piece of paper to Arlene. If we both spend time fixing Mundy that mad bastard Jake will be looking after himself, phoning Arlene and blaming us for bolloxing the job. Then where will we be?  No, I’m taking it straight to the main woman and I’m telling her the job’s done – and when I’m telling her that in half an hour or so it better be true.’ She ended the call before de Pfeffel could reply.

So instead of taking a taxi to the dock she got the driver to pull up at a safe distance from Arlene’s town house. Best no-one could connect her with Arlene. She filtered quietly through the affluent streets without drawing attention.

De Pfeffel was quickly back on the disused dockside, treading carefully, the stagnant oily water still stinking and as noxious as ever. Winter and already black dark.  Only a clouded moon to provide minimum visibility. Sure enough, in a far corner of the quayside creosote had oozed across some moss-covered stone slabs from a barrel that had tipped over.  Approaching closer he observed slimy black footprints next to it.  ‘So,’ he murmured to himself, ‘now say de Pfeffel tells fairy stories.  Somehow that corpse lives, like some zombie returned to haunt me.’

The trail of footsteps was as erratic as a drunk blind man’s.  Following them, de Pfeffel identified clear signs where the man had fallen on the ground a number of times, blood mixed with smeared creosote. In the pitch dark, seriously wounded, wondering where he was, trying to escape, he’d tripped up more than once. Remarkably, he’d failed to fall into the dock. De Pfeffel found himself waddling up the full length of the quay and then, as he reached the darkest shadows formed at the corner under the overhanging roof of a dilapidated warehouse the black traces on the slabs began to fade into hard to discern outlines.  ‘Need a bloody red indian tracker after this,’ he murmured and his head suddenly buzzed with a terrible pain. His lights went out. He’d been hit with such force that he dropped like a felled tree on to the old flagstones, blood pumping from his temple and running across the stones into the tall weeds growing between them.

Pressed up against the wall of the ancient warehouse Mundy forced his near rigid legs into an almost robotic forward step and, grimacing as he clutched one hand tightly over his chest he dropped the metal bar and spat on the fat man. As it clattered to the ground de Pfeffel moaned, drifting in and out of consciousness. With a huge effort Mundy rolled and kicked the obese body to the edge of the dock. And after slowly searching his pockets for car keys, he gave de Pfeffel one final shove. After a splash and a little gurgling silence was restored.

Shuffling back in the direction from which de Pfeffel had come he found the fat man’s car. He threw open the doors and lay exhausted over the back seats, breathing heavily. He knew trying to drive in clothes stiffened by creosote would not be manageable and forced himself to searched the glove compartment. Sure enough he found the knife, still blood-stained, its sharp pointed blade matching the gash in his upper body, the gash which had had surely only missed his heart and aorta by millimetres. Struggling painfully, he cut off his clothes, leaving them in the back as he shuffled into the driver’s seat. It struck him that north of the border he’d been wearing the emperor’s new clothes for too long anyway. But he wondered again whether he’d made the right decision in trying to keep the piece of paper he’d found in the house he’d been ordered to burgle for himself.  It hadn’t worked out. Not by a long way.  But he’d read the handwritten, signed piece of paper and knew who would pay a king’s ransom to keep its existence secret.  He no longer had it, but of course he’d read it.  He knew the secret. And he knew who would push him a hefty wedge to keep his mouth shut. He turned the key and drove off, perfectly naked.

Pretty nervously fingered the crumpled and bloodied piece of paper in her coat pocket as she threaded her way through the streets to Arlene’s house. She halted in a doorway and rehearsed what she wanted to say. ‘Good evening Mrs Frost, I appreciate this visit might be unexpected. We haven’t met but Mr Reece has asked me to deliver something you wanted.’ Then what, demand cash in advance? ‘Of course I’ve also been asked to collect the payment.’ How much? Reece promised each of us a measly few hundred. But I’ve seen it now.  It has to be worth a hell of a lot more to her than that. Forget it, forget it. Too late to negotiate.  No traceable cheques or bank transfers. She has to have it in banknotes ready to pay Reece. The note says five hundred grand so it has to be thousands, tens of thousands. Just grab the money, give her the crappy little IOU, and go. Forget Jake and de Pfeffel. Take the dough and run. Get out fast. Spain. They’ll never find me.’ She smiled a private smile and resumed walking, briskly, purposefully.

A short flight of stone steps between black railings led up to the door. She climbed the steps and rang an obscenely large doorbell.  She was disconcerted when a woman dressed as a maid of some kind swung open the door and in a noticeably Scots-Irish accent demanded her name and what business she had in calling there.  

‘Listen, just tell Arlene - Mrs Frost – that it’s a friend, a friend she’d asked to get something for her.’ The maid screwed up her face in a dubious expression. ‘Just tell her!’ Pretty bawled. Stung, the maid pulled the door half shut and scurried off just as a car raced up the street and screeched to a halt outside the house.  Pretty turned and observed dumbfounded as a naked man, his bruised and bleeding body marked with black stripes and splodges, got out the car and staggered towards her. She took a few tentative footsteps down the staircase towards this pitiful figure before the knife he’d held behind his back was suddenly pointing at her. She turned to run, but tripped on the steps, fell, and experienced a most peculiar sensation as the knife plunged into her back.  She tried to get up, felt the blade once more as it ripped through the soft tissue under her shoulder blade, and collapsed again onto the stairs. The man had already retreated back into his car and was driving away when the maid pulled the door wide open, saw the horribly injured woman and the streaming blood and screamed.  As her blood flowed Pretty’s thought was still that if both she and the secret survived then so would her blackmail leverage over the illustrious parties to the IOU. She summoned enough strength to speak. ‘Tell Arlene. Phone Terry. Madman on the loose. Either of them could be next.’

Mundy was in hardly better condition. Consciousness constantly threatened to desert him and his driving was increasingly erratic. But he almost laughed remembering the story Jake had spun of a lady gambler who’d won an IOU at a private party. Having drunk too much she’d stuffed it in the inside pocket of a coat hanging up in the hall which looked like hers but wasn’t. She’d only realized her mistake when she saw the real owner leaving the party wearing it. Jake working so hard at maintaining a deadly serious an expression, insisting that the gambler couldn’t ask the coat’s owner to return the note as she would then read it and realize her husband had lost an awful lot of money. And so, after speaking to a friend of a friend ‘who knew about these things’ the gambler had phoned Jake and arranged the burglary. Of course, the burglary had to be right away, that very night. No time to case the place. So Jake had called him and got Pret and de Pfeffel too, needed as back-up, lookout and driver.  Minders more like.  Of course, he was merely the expendable foot-soldier who had broken in, found the note, and got out again without a problem. But he’d read the note. It was no gambler’s IOU. It was a straightforward direct personal bribe, one politician to another.  Half a million. The PM’s signature was unmistakeable. And the Arlene it was made out to wasn’t any old Arlene. She led the party from one of the forgotten countries of the united state whose votes the PM desperately needed to stay in power.

Mundy smiled a painful smile recollecting the instant he’d realized how much it meant to both politicians that the note remain secret. And he’d balanced that against the meagre two hundred he’d been promised for the job and found it wanting. Then he’d exited over the back garden wall rather than re-joining Pretty and de Pfeffel in the car.

Mundy had to pull up. He was hyperventilating, making the pain in his chest unbearable. Thinking about it was what was making the pain worse. How they’d spotted him on the side road trying to force a car to stop and pick him up. Of course it had mounted the pavement and accelerated past him. Then there was fatso de Pfeffel dragging him, beating him badly, openly discussing how to turn him into an unrecognisable stiff.

He knew the cut was way too close to his vital organs for him to survive like this much longer. But government was on holiday so he was in the country driving towards Terry’s private home.  The delay to allow his breathing to ease gave him some time to think. How to blackmail them if he didn’t hold the hard evidence any more? They could both front it out, deny everything. And one way or another he knew the cops would soon be after him. He had to act quickly. He tossed the knife into a deep roadside ditch, spun the car round in a U-turn, and hit the accelerator.

When he arrived at the Daily Mercury’s office it was getting late. He staggered in, crossed the wide foyer still naked, bruised and stained black, and addressed the stunned receptionist. ‘Listen pal, this is urgent. I got to speak to the British home affairs editor. I got a story that might change the course of British history. All I’m asking is fifty grand, and a guarantee that he’ll keep his source secret, anonymous, and well protected.’ Eyes glancing nervously between the naked man and the handset, the receptionist made the call. But the night editor took a rather dim view of naked men harassing his staff late in the evening. Refusing to countenance Mundy’s unorthodox approach, he simply called the police on his hotline.  Mundy couldn’t move fast enough and soon found himself clutching a rough grey blanket in a dimly lit police cell.

The up-market street providing Arlene with her pied à terre town house was now a blaze of lights and noise as the police and ambulance service made themselves busy. Arlene and her maid stood at the top the steps staring in disbelief. As Pretty was stretchered away she managed to fumble in her pocket before losing consciousness, felt the blood drenched IOU note was still there, and promised herself that someone was literally going to pay dearly for her suffering, even if she had to wait till she got out of prison to make it happen.

Arlene didn’t wait too long after that before deciding Jake had failed on his promise to deliver the note before morning. A loud knocking on his door forced Jake awake in the early hours. Assuming the usual wild drugged up kids of the estate were responsible he picked his way across his litter-strewn floor intending to do them some damage. But as he flung open the door three heavy-set men pushed past him, forcing their way in. Taken aback he was left asking, ‘What, rozzers?  This a raid or something?’

‘No fella,’ came the Irish-accented response, ‘this is the price of failure.’ And Jake was fortunate. For the next few days he merely had to experience the delights of the local infirmary’s ICU.

And de Pfeffel hadn’t drowned. Pitched into the water his bloated body had touched bottom, briefly mingling with ancient scrap iron and more recently discarded bed springs and other detritus, but floating back to the surface again quite quickly.  And the cold water caused the blubber mountain to regain consciousness. He floated on his back staring up at the clouded moon thinking he’d endured failures as bad and survived. So despite his terrible injury he was eventually able to haul himself out of the dock, find his car gone, and end up in hospital. There he made a complete recovery except for a little brain damage resulting in occasional symptoms akin to St Vitus Dance. De Pfeffel didn’t mind this strange effect. It reminded him that he’d danced with death and survived. Almost a dancing cadaver.

Terry had always needed someone to be keeping an eye on Arlene and those Arlene relied on for her ‘little private jobs’. That was de Pfeffel. Terry had used him as her inside man, inside monitoring the dark and dubious activities of the political world in which she tried surreptitiously to keep her friends close and her enemies even closer, where she tried to distinguish reality from obfuscation. So she found de Pfeffel a post in her official circle.

It was many months later, only when de Pfeffel was absolutely sure of the long-term fates suffered by Mundy, Pretty, and Jake, that he publicly re-emerged, making his continued existence known to all as he climbed the greasy pole.

And though Terry had rehabilitated him he still knew what he knew, and in time made it clear to her that he would have no qualms about using it, reinforcing the message by hiring Jake, now recovered and back living in squalor, as his assistant.

So the government and its ministers continued on their chaotic course, pursuing their peculiar and sometimes illegal activities. The shambolic PM prudently resigned in favour of yet another opportunistic charlatan, a fat man with even fewer moral scruples. And as all this occurred prior to the shit from Terry’s various nefarious activities hitting the fan it allowed such events to be treated retrospectively as just several more curious and inexplicable footnotes in the colourful old history of a rotten, decayed, and ruinous state once established by countries in a co-operative political union, a union that now hung by a thread.

#Reekie Revelator #scotland #politics #government #short story