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Id love to see “Run Boy Run” with Race and Jack please!! I love your writing

Ahhh thanks! I’m really fucking sorry that this took so long! I kept losing motivation and stuff like that whoops. I hope you enjoy even though you can probably see the parts I gave up lol. Also, I don’t know why but for some reason, I decided to research about the real lodging house and included that in here because ???? Who the FUCK knows.

TWs: Mentioned abuse and one small scene (Snyder slaps Jack( and attempted drugging (Jack tries to slip Snyder a sleeping drug so he and Race could escape). Briefly mentioned homophobia.

Also, for most of the story, Jack and Race go by ‘Francis and Tony’. In this world, some people are born with powers and because I like to torture myself, I decided to go through about fifty different names to what to call people like that instead of just saying they’re magic???? 

Also, I threw in some ocs, so yeah.

Francis knew his very existence was hated by people in his town. Well, at least the ones who knew what he was. A small-town mindset like the one he lived in was horrible for someone...Different. For someone who was a Cosma. Someone with powers was an outcast in his town. A monster to some. One of the only people who knew was his step-father and he held his status above his head, always threatening to out him, but he could handle it. 

However, he knew the new kid wouldn't be able to handle it. One look at he knew that the boy was like him. A Cosma but he hadn't shown many signs yet. Francis knew the second Snyder caught on to the fact that Tony was a shifter and communicator, the boy's life would become a hell of abuse and experiments. The things that had happened so far were easy to explain as a trick of the light. Different eyeshade? That was the light. Slightly sharper teeth? Nah, your eyes are playing tricks on you, Sir, there's no need to worry. 

Francis couldn't help but wonder which of them was more powerful. His new brother with the ability to shapeshift and control horses with his voice, or himself with the power to bring drawings to life. He placed his bets on Tony. The boy was a double after all.

Francis knew they had to get out and after a month of searching, he finally found a way. Someone had agreed to help him travel to a safer place, one where he could be himself. Where others would help him and his brother no matter what

Run boy run! This world is not made for you.

The small town had him trapped. He and his brother didn't belong there, but his contact promised him freedom. Sure, there wasn't much fresh air there like there was here in Santa Fe but New York offered freedom...A place where Tony could grow up without having to hide a major part of himself. 

He was scared though. He somehow needed to sneak not only himself but Tony out of the house in the middle of the night and get across town in the middle of the night so the two could cross the town borders and escape for a better life. 

It would be worth it though. If it meant Tony was safe, it would all be worth it. He'd lay his life down for his little brother and he knew that his brother wouldn't like it if he found out but it was the truth. Tony meant everything to Francis and he'd give up anything for the younger boy. 

But even planning to escape was hard. Francis wasn't a moron. He knew Snyder had placed trackers in all of his clothes, though, that wasn't the most obvious thing. The most obvious tracker was the dog tags each boy wore under strict orders not to take them off at any point. 

Tony may find no issue in it but Francis did. He knew it wasn't for their 'safety'. No. It was for Snyder's. Snyder knew that Francis could out him at any time. Multiple bruises and scars weren't easy to explain away when at least one of them was a brand baring Snyder's name, set on the back of his shoulder. 

There was no way he could hide the truth if anyone was to ever see that so it was vital he kept tabs on the boys at all times. After all, he didn't want his image of a respected man to be ruined. 

But Francis' contact already had a plan for that. Spare clothes would be brought for the boys and their own would be thrown somewhere once they left town, along with the dog tags. He was also bringing a friend who could easily disable things in case Snyder had injected them with a tracker. 

Run boy run! They're trying to catch you!

Tonight was the night. Francis had everything planned and all he could do was hope that it would work. It was dangerous, but any plan that had to do with running away was and if he could ruin the man's reputation at the same time, he'd gladly do so. 

He knew that the second he stepped out of his 'house', Francis Sullivan and Tony Higgins would be dead and two boys without identities would be born but he was okay with that. The two could find themselves new names and Snyder would never be able to hurt them again. He'd be okay. They both would be okay. Even if Snyder moved to New York which he had mentioned a few times, he wouldn't be able to touch them. He wouldn't be able to know who they were. e

It was surprisingly easy to slip the drugs into Snyder's beer, something that he was terrified of doing. After all, he could be caught doing it but luckily, the man was already drunk and didn't seem to notice a difference. Idly, Francis tapped his fingers on his leg, knowing that the ten minutes would be the longest ten minutes of his life but he had been assured that the man would sleep for hours, giving him and his brother time to run. 

Still, he couldn't help but question everything. What if he hadn't put enough in? What if someone walked in before he and Tony could escape and realized something was up? What if they got caught on the edge of town and returned to Snyder's house? What if they got locked up? His brother wouldn't survive in jail and he knew he wouldn't survive Snyder's torture if they were sent back. He wasn't sure if both of them would survive but he knew that Tony wouldn't. As much as he loved him, Francis knew the younger boy was weak and would make for easy prey for the sadistic man who took him in. 

His heartbeat raced each time he saw the man shift until he was finally sure he was asleep. Swallowing, he took a few silent steps, only to have a hand roughly grasp his thin wrist. Shit. He forgot Snyder was a master at hiding things. The asshole had never even drunk the beer. He had just pretended to drink it when he wasn't looking. 

"How stupid do you think I am boy? You think I haven't caught onto your little plan?" The man stared up at the frightened teen with a blank face. "I'm the reason you're still alive Francis and you're trying to throw it in my face like an ungrateful brat?"

"I.."

"I know what you're planning. You're trying to leave aren't you?" 

"N-no Sir! It's just I know you haven't been sleeping well lately so I thought I c-could help!" Francis could fill the panic building up, wondering how long Snyder had known about his plan. He couldn't help but wonder if he knew all of the plan or only that he wanted to leave and take his brother with him. 

Before he could open his mouth again, he found himself laying on the ground, cheek stinging. He hadn't even registered the loud crack that came with the slap. Taking a few seconds to collect himself, he looked up, staring at the man, eyes holding hatred disguised with fear. Snyder was right. If it weren't for him Francis would be dead and so would Tony, but he didn't care. The man may have kept him alive but that didn't mean he had to stay and be grateful. He always seemed five minutes away from killing Francis so there was no way he would be thankful for that.

He was drawn out of his thoughts at a thunk, watching as his so-called 'step-father' fell to the ground. His eyes drifted to the shaking boy standing above the fallen man, thick math book clutched in his small hands. 

Quickly, he snatched the shaking boy up and ran, refusing to look back. He hadn't even told Tony what was happening. All the boy knew was that Francis had been thinking about something important. "W-What's going on?"

"Don't worry kid. We're gonna be safe soon." At least, that's what he hoped. They had already been caught once but they were close to the edge of their small town and he could just see a small group of people, each holding the reins to at least one horse. He couldn't but let out a sigh of relief, dodging around small holes in the road, feeling the boy's grip tighten. Tony didn't really like strangers but if Francis trusted them...He could try. 

Run boy run! Running is a victory!

"Didn't realize how many people you were bringing Rags." 

"Needed someone to help bring the horses 'nd stuff. Plus, they'se the best ta help out. Specs here can disable any trackers the Spider might a put in ya, Albert will help us light fires 'nd shit. Sniper 'nd Finch can keep an eye on the surrounding area. Patches and Bink will help wit' any disguises we need." The older teen gestured to each boy, each member of the ragtag crew ranging in age with Patches and Rags being the oldest though not by many years. "They'se all 'Hattan newsies like I am. Hotshot 'nd Rai are from Brooklyn though."

Tony honestly was surprised at how young Rai was. The boy didn't look a day over eight yet somehow had been brought along for the small mission. 

"I didn't want ta bring him but the kid wouldn't stop botherin' me. I guess he could be useful." Despite the words, Hotshot's face held a faint fond smile, hand ruffling the boy's hair. "He's a communicator after all."

"You're all Cosmas?"

"Yeah. That's why they're helping us, Tony. They'll get us somewhere safe. Speaking of wish, we should leave right now. Dunno how long the Spider will be out. Tried drugging him but he caught me so Tony knocked his ugly fat ass out."

Rags nodded towards one of the horses with a grin. "Hope ya know how to ride cause that's how we'se headin' ta New York." 

"Not really but we'll figure it out." Francis shrugged, carefully placing his brother in the saddle before pulling himself up, reaching around the boy to grab the reins. Surely it wouldn't be that hard to ride a horse. At least, it seemed calm and with Tony there, he felt that the horse would at least listen to them. That and they had everyone else to guide them. 

The two blinked, feeling a small gentle tingle flow through their body. Specs smiled at the two. "It's all disabled but we'll still dump your stuff on the way. Otherwise, the change of clothes we carried here for you guys would be a waste." 

Albert smirked, gently tapping his horse's sides with his heels. "Let's ride ya morons!" With that small whoop, the boy raced off, sparks flying from his red hair. Rolling his eyes, Rags chuckled, riding off after him to make sure the reckless boy wouldn't do something stupid.

Sniper looked over at the two boys they were bringing along with them. "Don't worry. She'll follow us so just focus on ya balance and try to relax. She'll be able ta tell if you're all tense 'nd shit. 'Sides, your ass will hurt if you're stiff. Especially considering ya've never ridden before." With a soft click, the boy started the journey home, causing the brothers' horse to follow them, Specs, Finch and Hotshot riding with the two, the Manhattan boys alongside them as Hotshot brought up the rear, watching as his own baby brother raced off. 

At first, he never wanted to come and help 'rescue' the two because it meant losing money, but he owed Rags a favour and the older boy had decided to cash it in. Besides, Spot had been acting like an asshole lately and he could do with some time apart from him, even if they were best friends.

Shaking his head, he freed one hand from the reins, only moving it back after adjusting his bag. He couldn't help but wonder what the boys in front of him were like. Rags had given them a short briefing but seeing the angry red mark on the older one's cheek reminded him that there really were fucked up people in the world and by coming here, he was helping to do the right thing.  

The fact Specs had confirmed that trackers had been placed in their bodies just worried him even more. At least they were free now. They were safe from the house that they had been trapped in. 

Run boy run! Beauty lays behind the hills.

Sure New York wasn't the most glamorous of places but to Rags, it was home and now, Manhattan would house two more newsies. They'd get new names later but for now, they would be nameless. He smiled to himself, looking over his shoulder at the figures riding behind him. He could tell that they would fit in with the rest of his family.

The rest of the Manhattan kids knew that he was bringing home two more kids except for once, they weren't from New York. 

Tony sighed, leaning into his brother as he closed his eyes. It felt weird running away and guilt was settling in his stomach from the memory of knocking out the man who took him in. He knew Snyder was cruel but he had never laid a hand on him...Only laying hands-on Francis who couldn't fight back. He had never actually seen it but he had heard it countless times. Had seen the way his brother stumbled into their small bedroom before collapsing on his bed, hiding his face in the pillow in an attempt to hide his tears from the boy who looked up to him so much. But Tony saw them each time. Saw the way his body had shuddered and heard the muffled noises that escaped him. He knew Francis couldn't be strong 24/7, no matter how hard he tried. 

But now that they had gotten out of there, maybe Francis wouldn't have to take the hits for him. Maybe now he wouldn't have to curl up in bed, trying his best to hide his shaking. He couldn't help but smile slightly as he closed his eyes, resting a hand on the mare's wither, calmly letting himself connect with her. Sliding his hand up, he gently ran his fingers through her mane, relishing in the feeling of the silky strands running through them. 

At least with her, he'd feel safe on the journey that he had never expected to take. He couldn't wait to see what would happen when they reached New York. Despite only being with them for a short time, he found the boys charming in their own way, from Albert's excitement at riding off into the distance to Hotshot's firm yet protective presence behind them. He felt safe with them and that's what mattered to him right now and by the way, his brother had slowly relaxed behind him, he knew he felt the same. 

With a soft nudge from his horse, he opened his eyes, taking in the appearance of the land around the group. It was something he had never seen before. Something he never expected to see. He couldn't help but grin, looking down slightly so he could watch the land race beneath her hooves. It was beautiful honestly. Much more beautiful than where he had been trapped mere hours ago.

Run boy run! The sun will be guiding you.

Leaning back, he felt Francis' arms tighten around him for a few seconds. Without even looking, he could tell the older teen was smiling as he too took everything in, awe filling his body.

The two were brought out of their thoughts as the horses slowed down, gently lit by the setting sun. Without Rags opening his mouth, Albert jumped off his horse, quickly gathering up wood, surprisingly serious considering the way he had been so hyper and willing to lead the group before. Carefully flicking his fingers at the pile he had made, the ginger grinned as flames burst up from the middle, quickly engulfing each bit of wood. "Fire's done! Who brought the grub?"

"Al ya always hungry."

"Oh shut up Snipes, I know you'se hungry as well." He grinned, dodging as his friend through his cap at his face. "I'll burn this if ya test me!"

Hotshot rolled his eyes, silently helping Tony off of the horse, setting him down as he watched Francis dismount. Well more like stumble as he slid off, almost falling on his ass. The Brooklyn boy forced himself to hold back a laugh while Albert did no such thing. He was more than happy to laugh at the poor teen despite knowing that he'd never rode a horse, let alone for hours at a time while leaving an abusive house far behind them.

Specs just sighed, shaking his head as he grabbed his pack, having been the one trusted to carry the food for the three-day trip. "Alright alright. We can 'ave dinner now. Calm ya shit DaSilva."

The two brothers looked at each other in confusion before nervously moving towards the fire to sit down with the people who came to save them. The group might be helping them but the two still didn't know how much they could trust them. Francis had been desperate, grasping onto the first offer of salvation. The first offer to drag him out of the mental river he was drowning in, being dragged further under the surface with each hit, each insult, each threat both against him and his brother. 

So when a cocky boy from Manhattan had shown up to deliver something to his neighbour and pulled him aside to tell him that he couldn't hide from him. That he knew what he was, Francis, had been terrified but the skinny boy had offered him a free trip to where he'd be welcome, a seed had been planted in his brain, but at the same time, he was full of doubt. Why would this stranger offer to take them to where he lived? How had he known what he was? He had been given two weeks to think about it and by the time Rags returned with his small group of friends, the seed had grown and he had agreed the day the group arrived. 

Rags sighed as he sat down, watching as Finch scaled a tree, a bird soon swooping down to join him after the boy let out a soft whistle. "So, have you thought 'bout a name yet?"

Francis shook his head. "Not yet. It's not easy honestly to think of one."

"Eh take ya time. After all, you'll be stuck wit' it." Rai hummed, idly poking the fire with a stick, ignoring the warning look his older brother gave him. "You can keep the one you have now, shorten it, change it or just give yaself a nickname and run with it. If you don't think of one, 'Hattan might just give you one."

Tony looked up at his brother startled. "Names? Are we changing our names?" Finch just grinned from his perch. "I mean, as Rai said, you don't have to but sometimes it's easier to just change it...A lot of us are running from something and it's helpful to change our name. Finch ain't my real name 'nd Specs wasn't called Specs by his birth family. That came from us newsies cause o' his glasses." 

Said boy chuckled, adjusting his glasses. "I should admit that it didn't appeal to me at first but it grew on me."

Albert grinned. "Don't bullshit us. The main reason you like it is that Romeo kept calling you it."

"And you take Albie cause that Jojo boy. You're both hopeless idiots." Rai shook his head with a grin. "Manhattan's weird like that. Rai is just short for my name and you're being all gay 'nd shit and that's why you accepted your newsie names." 

Tony's eyes widened, surprised that they were speaking so openly about something that Snyder said was wrong. Well, 'said' was the wrong word. The man attempted to force his own ideal into his charges' minds, not wanting them to think for themselves. It's wrong. You'll go to hell for looking at a boy the way you should be looking at a girl Tony.

But these boys didn't seem to be 'cursed' as Snyder said gays were. They seemed...The way everyone else was, just more friendly but not in a strange way. No, they were just joking around like brothers. They were people who were comfortable in their own skin while Francis and Tony weren't. They both had confided in each other that they had each secretly looked at boys the way Snyder and others in their former home condemned people for. These boys may tease each other but it was friendly, it was in an attempt to make each other flustered. That meant they'd be even safer in the Manhattan lodging house.  

After a few minutes, Specs handed around the cooked meat, warning the group that it was still hot. "You'll be safe in a few days. As for now, just relax though we need to burn your clothes soon just in case ya know?" He smiled over at the two nervous teens. "Don't worry, we brought you spare clothes. One of the boys back home made them fa ya. That's why Rags asked for ya size."

"Buttons is great...Gonna need him to fix my shirt though." Albert sighed, looking at a rip in his shirt. "Don't even know when I tore it. I swear it wasn't like this when we left!" 

"It's called you're a fucking clumsy moron who fell in a river because you thought getting off your horse before walking over a fallen tree was smarter than the bridge."

Tony couldn't help but laugh, knowing he had done something similar before. Sure it got him into trouble because he made a mess when he got home but he had a good time so it didn't matter.

Run boy run! They're dying to stop you! Run boy run! This race is a prophecy! Run boy run! Break out from society!

Yelling brought the small group back into the world of the woken, Tony and Francis instantly freezing. Snyder and his friends had found them and the two knew they'd stop at nothing to get their hands on the two. 

"Shit. Get back on the horses. We should have dumped your clothes earlier but I didn't want to stop for a while just in case." Rags quickly jumped back on his horse, watching as his newsies rushed around to pack up their small camp before jumping on their horses. Hotshot had already boosted Rai onto his horse before getting on his own, Albert helping Francis and Tony up onto theirs. The second the red-head was on his own horse, the ground raced off, the newsies pretending that they didn't hear Tony's soft and scared sobs mixed with Francis' soft words of comfort. 

They hadn't been planning to move so fast but they had to otherwise they'd all be in trouble. "Finch! Sniper!" 

"On it!" The two boys quickly pulled out their slingshots, each loading small sparklers into them, firing them off in different directions in hopes of distracting their pursuers. Despite not being given orders from his leader, Albert set off small flaming balls, sending them away from himself, making sure they were small enough to avoid setting the nearby trees on fire. 

Hotshot sighed, raising his voice so the two scared kids in front of him could hear. "Don't worry. The 'Hattan boys know what they're doing, even if they don't seem like it most of the times. We'll keep you safe." 

"See Tones? We'll be safe. Promise." Francis tightened his arm around his brother, wondering if his words would prove to be true or if they were would become false. He just hoped that they'd get away and find their way to New York as Rags had promised. 

With a single whistle from Rai, animals seemed to flood from every corner of the forest before they rushed towards the sounds of the group chasing them down. 

Each second seemed like an eternity to the two brothers, their hearts both frozen still and beating erratically at the same time. While the horses were speeding up by the second, they seemed to be forcing their way through snow with Tony and Francis feeling the chill while no one else did.

Their safety...No, their lives were on the line here and each member of the small party knew it. If one person were to get caught, it'd be over for everyone. They all knew the risks that came with this mission and had accepted the idea that they may be caught but that didn't mean they weren't scared shitless as the idea swirled inside their minds, taunting them with what their future could hold. It was clear that Cosmas' weren't welcome in the town they were fleeing from but right now, they had to shove that thought away, focusing instead of escaping.

The shouts faded behind them but that didn't slow down the group, if anything, it pushed them to go faster just in case the group had decided to fall silent in hopes of catching them off guard. Granted, Francis wasn't sure if Snyder and his pals were smart enough to do that but still, you never know.

They ate lunch on the run, Specs moving to each person to hand them small sandwiches before moving back to his own spot. Sure, the plan had been to eat warm meat with the sandwiches for a snack but plans sometimes change on the fly and newsies were masters at changing things instantly. After all, there were times they had to quickly run from where they were selling to escape the clutches of the police. 

The group rode through the night, their way lit by Albert's flames, only pausing for an hour or so by a river to allow their horses a break to drink, each boy quickly shoving food into their mouths, too on edge to take their time. 

Specs sighed, looking up at the stars, tracing each constellation with his eyes, remembering all the stories he had been told by an older newsie. "We'll be there in two days. We'll stop by Brooklyn ta return the horses and drop Hotshot and Rai off before headin' across the bridge."

Tony nodded, curling up next to Encore, the mare nuzzling her young rider. "Is New York really as big as they say? Fat-...Snyder always said that it's big." Despite correcting himself, the fact that he had almost called Snyder his 'Father' filled his stomach with guilt and anxiety.  

Albert grinned and nodded. "There's a lot of us newsies from all over New York. We'se the Kings 'nd Queens of the damn place! Sure we ain't the richest but we'se the people who help spread the news. Without us, the damn city will shut down." He chuckled under his breath. "You'll be 'Hattan boys in a few days...We'se the second most important borough in my mind. I would say the most important but that's Brooklyn. They're the real rulers in the Newsie world. They've got the toughest folks there." 

Rai snorted and nodded. "Damn right we do! We'se'll soak anyone we need ta. No one messes wit' us if they have a good mind. We'll kick their asses if needed. No one messes wit' us and it's great!"

Hotshot rolled his eyes, setting his small bowl of thin stew aside so he could gently slap his brother on the back of the head, gently chuckling at the boy's mock offended cry. "Don't go boasting 'bout it ya nerd. We're not that bad. We're just tougher than most of than the New York newsies." He looked over at the two new boys, picking up his stew again. "Simply put, don't mess wit' us and we don't mess wit' you...Though that's really any place I guess. We're just respected more than everyone else in our world."

Francis nodded, filing the information away. He knew what it was like to get on someone's bad side and the idea of a whole New York borough after him was frightening to him. The bullies he had faced were one thing but the idea of having stronger people after him was terrified. Hotshot already proved that all of Brooklyn was strong, just by his arms and Francis didn't feel like the idea of throwing hands with him or any of his friends. He was pretty sure Rai could easily break his arm despite being eight. 

Blink groaned, speaking up for the first time. "We get it. Ya, all tough 'nd scary now shut up. I'se wanna sleep." He adjusted his eyepatch, not bothering to look over at the group. "You all take to much." 

"Aww, ya just a spoilsport Blink. First thing ya say is to tell everyone to shut up?" Albert couldn't do anything but laugh as Blink flipped him off. "Someone's just grumpy he had to leave his boyfriend behind."

"Or maybe I'm sick o' your dumbass voice." Idly, the boy pulled his eyepatch to the side, glaring at his friend with a glazed over eye. "I can fucking destroy you Albert DaSilva. Remember that." 

"I'm sooooo scared." 

Patches sighed, knowing that it was time he should step in, his soft voice floating above the crackling of the fire. "Both of you stop being morons. We're heading out as soon as we can in the morning. Rags and I'll take the first watch, Blink and Specs will take next than it'll be Hotshot and Al. That's all we'll need really need because it'll be light enough by the time your shift is up and we'll be able to have a quick breakfast before going again. We'll be home very soon. Two days and we'll be done and we can relax and go back to selling and stuff. We'se'll get Tony 'nd Francis set up as soon as we can. We'll probably be back during the day." Noticing Tony's subtle glances towards Blink's eyepatch, he smiled. "Don't bother askin'. He tells a different story each time so no one knows what actually happened ta his eye."

"Oh...Okay. Sorry for staring."

Blink just grinned at him. "Don't worry 'bout it. You'se starin' without hate or disgust or whatever. Ya just interested is all. But yeah. I'm up for taking watch wit' Specs. Now, all o' you zip ya mouths so I can get some shut-eye." With that, he slipped his cap over his face after tucking his eyepatch into his pocket. 

Albert chuckled softly but listened, pulling his blanket up over him after gently coaxing the fire to burn a little brighter before eventually falling asleep, his teasing turning into soft breaths that were soon joined by the breathing of others, knowing that his brothers and friends were safe under the watch of his leader and said leader's second. 

It took Francis awhile to be comfortable enough to fall asleep, each small noise causing him to subtly flinch, scared that they had been tracked down yet again. It took the comforting presence of his brother who was silently breathing as he held onto his shirt mixing with the fires and the soft chatter of the two boys who were going to be watching over them for a few hours.

Despite his fear, he fell into a deep sleep, only woken by the feeling of Tony gently shaking him. The second the teen was sure the elder was awake, the blond moved to help clear up camp, silently watching slight awe as Albert easily put out the coals with a single wave of his hand, making sure they wouldn't light again. 

Francis hummed, feeling his new shirt slip slightly as he stretched. Soon, he would be in a place that accepted who he was, among those who were like him and his brother.

Tomorrow is another day, and you won't have to hide away

It was a new day, one that was bringing the promise of freedom ever closer. Coming out of his thoughts at the feeling of bread being shoved into his hands, a familiar cheeky grin greeting him as he looked down, chuckling at his brother's puffy cheeks. The bread role was small yet for some reason, Tony had felt the need to shove most of it into his mouth at once. Though once he looked at Albert due to the sound of choking, he realized it was most likely a dare or a challenge designed to test the hubris of the two teens, clearly set by a smirking Rai. 

He could already tell that moving into the Manhattan lodging house would just increase his brother's not so concealed chaotic tendencies. He sighed, a silent chuckle escaping him as he chewed on his own small role, awkwardly standing still when Rags assured him that he didn't need to do anything to help to pack up camp.

It didn't take them long to start up their journey again, with laughter and friendly taunts filling the air instead of the fear and silent tears that had been their unwelcome comrade the last ride. 

Adjusting his cap, Finch grinned and carefully shuffled back slightly before carefully raising to his feet, having slipped off his shoes over an hour ago. Calmly, he pulled out a small stone, biting his lip as he aimed for a familiar head. He couldn't help but let out a whoop as Sniper's head whipped around, the other boy glaring at his fellow shooter. "Finch I swear ta fucking God!" 

"Don't swear at me."

"Albert ya ain't God!" 

Hotshot just sighed, ignoring the laughter of the other boys, speeding up so he could take matters into his own hands, knowing full well the arguing newsies probably wouldn't listen to their leaders in this situation. In his mind, the Manhattan boys tended to be more chaotic and at times disobedient than the boys who lived with him. Not that it was surprising. Other than being known for being tough, Brooklyn newsies were known to be well-disciplined despite the way a new ruler could come to power by fighting the current one and they listened to each other. 

"Alright, you guys. Shut ya traps before I make you." Sure, that caused the two shooters to aim for him for a few seconds but it was easy for him to dodge considering the two were ever so slightly intimidated by him, despite knowing he wouldn't actually do anything to them. 

"You're no fun." Despite his annoyed words, Finch carefully moved back to the saddle, sitting down again, not wanting to test the Brooklyn boy too much. 

Rags just shook his head with a smile, looking at the sky, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to avoid the sun's rays as he judged the time. He knew by now that they most likely wouldn't be tracked down anymore considering how far away from the tiny town they had come from. His new brothers were safe and that's all that mattered right now. Soon, he'd be back with the rest of his family and he'd be bringing in two new members. 

He could tell already that they'd fit in almost instantly though he knew that they'd naturally come to terms with what had happened and that they were safe...That they could grow up properly. 

You'll be a man, boy! But for now, it's time to run, it's time to run!

However, they still had a while to go before they would be racing around the streets of Lower Manhattan, selling papers to random people to pay the six cents needed to pay for a bed and batch at the lodging house. His smile widened slightly as he thought of the meals that a few extra cents would get him. Pork and beans on Monday, Thursdays, and Saturdays. Roast beef on Sunday and beef stew on Tuesdays. Corned beef and cabbage came on Wednesday and fish balls were served on Fridays. If he focused hard enough, he could not only taste the meals he often paid for but also taste the tea and bread that each meal was accompanied with. The newsie could practically smell the soup that was often served with pork and beans. Just the thought of the meals made him feel full and he couldn't wait to return for dinner again.

Sure, breakfast was also served but why pay for it when you could get food off the nuns before rushing to the gates? Though he couldn't lie. There were times he spent money on some cents on some oatmeal in the morning, savouring the small burn that came as he quickly ate it. Some of the boys may tease him for buying both food and getting free coffee from the nuns but he didn't care.

Patches grinned, looking over at his brother who rode with closed eyes, able to picture what the other was thinking about. He too loved meal times at the lodging house, even if everything just repeated with not much change. It was nice to know what to expected and if he wanted a change, he could always save up a little extra and buy something at Jacobi’s or even just ask if he could take some leftovers with him. 

He knew everyone, not just the newsies that stayed in the large building looked forward to the nightly meals, shared in a large room, surrounded by friends as they joked about what sort of customers they had dealt with that day, lowering their voices whenever they felt the need to swear, knowing full well it was against the rules.

He sighed softly, looking ahead, wishing he could see the familiar outline of New York on the horizon, yet he saw nothing but the landscape he had seen on the way to pick up the two boys.

Focusing on his companions, he swallowed back a laugh as he heard Rai explaining newsie rules to Francis and Tony while Hotshot corrected him when needed. After all, the life of a newsie was far more complex than the life they had just left behind. The life was full of tricky politics between boroughs where one wrong move could incite a war which would just bring every newsie across the whole damn city involved which was never a clean thing. No war was clean really but newsies were a group of kids who handled their wars with fists while the leaders scrambled to arrange a deal. Though, from the short time he's spent with these two kids, he could tell that they would be respectful, at least of the borders. Not that they would be going anywhere near them for a while. No new kid was ever allowed to sell near the borders for a few weeks just to make sure they learnt the ropes.

Run boy run! This ride is a journey to. Run boy run! The secret inside of you

Francis internally sighed, glad to see his little brother smiling and laughing along with those who had been strangers not too long ago. It was nice to see that the boy wasn't scared of them. He didn't know what he'd do if the boy would be scared of those who they were now living with. No longer would the two have to walk on eggshells to avoid letting anyone know who they really were...What they were. No longer did they have to deal with Snyder, who seemed to always be a hair's breadth away from snapping at them, whether it be just yelling at Tony or hitting Francis across the face, shouting insults down the fallen boy who knew better than to yell back.

Sure, he himself was still a bit hesitant about being with the group but knew that it would be easier to disappear in New York than disappearing from a small town with no aid from an outside force. The smile and laughter coming from his thin brother made his worry worth it though.

He could still faintly hear his mother's final words as she lay on her death bed, finally admitting the abuse she had watched. "You'll escape one day Francis. I know you will. You'll find a way out of this hell hole. I'm sorry I didn't protect you and Tony. I'm so sorry baby."

Forcing himself out of his thoughts, he kissed his brother's head. His mother had been right. He was getting both him and Tony out of an abusive household. He felt like he could finally breathe properly for the first time since his mother had married the cursed man. 

Slowly, he allowed his thoughts to be drowned out by the gentle shuffling of the leaves that the wind danced through as they raced through the trees, closer to their new destiny.

Run boy run! This race is a prophecy! Run boy run! And disappear in the trees!

Night settled around them once more, the moon and stars smiling down gently on the group of laughing boys who surrounded a crackling fire. Seeing that the two brothers were still nervous, the group took turns telling stories, ranging from safer ones to ones that had Rags and Patches lecturing their younger brothers on safety, having never heard such things come from the young teens' mouths.

Eventually, the stories died down, though the silence didn't last long, replaced with giggling and annoyed swears as Rai and Sniper attempted to roast marshmallows over Albert's flaming hair, not caring when the melted treat dripped into the red locks of the struggling boy clamped tightly in Blink's arms.

Soon after, the three were stopped, Albert wrestling the two boys as soon as he was free, laughter filling the air yet again even when the three were pulled apart.

Tony smiled as he stared up at the stars, opening his mouth to break the silence that eventually fell over the group, happy to tell them stories of the sky and stars, ones that he had learnt years ago, back when he was still oblivious to the cruelty that his older brother faced daily. 

Eventually, the group settled down, knowing that they'd be back home by tomorrow night, able to relax in a proper bed, surrounded by their family once again instead of resting on the hard ground.

Tomorrow is another day, and you won't have to hide away.

The small crew grinned as they once again got settled on their horses, excitement buzzing through their veins, knowing that in a few hours that they would be home. It was as the air could sense it as well, sending a gentle breath to soothe their excitement,  helping the group speed through the landscape, the horses gladly pushing themselves even more, already able to taste the treats they would rightfully get for the hard and long journey they had untaken.

Francis and Tony could both feel a small part that would miss riding through the open land, feeling the ache that came with a living creature speeding under them, carrying them where they wished, letting them feel the wind in their faces as they rode closer and closer to safety and a new life.

The newsies happily spoke of what they planned to do when they got home once again, excited to not only see their family and partners again but to invite and accept the two brothers into Manhattan. Albert grinned, already thinking up plans to annoy the Delancey brothers and their uncle at the gates, wondering if how easy it would be to draw Tony into his schemes, already knowing that the other had the sense for mischief that he had in his own soul. Sure, it might get Francis annoyed but he didn't care. He had a new brother and had to bring him into the life of chaos, so it could wrap him in its embrace, filling his mind with plans to commit with the redhead.

You'll be a man, boy! But for now, it's time to run, it's time to run!

Hotshot was relieved to almost be back in Brooklyn where he could just relax with his friends. Maybe take a dip in the river. Hell, he might throw Rai or Spot off the pier for shits and giggles, not caring about their reactions. They both could swim after all and it was normal for the boys to throw each other around sometimes and well, he deserved to have a little fun with his family after such a harsh journey. Sure, he hadn't been too happy to join the 'mission' in the first place but he had found himself enjoying himself. Sure, he lost money doing this but it was nice to escape the chaotic life that happened when you lived in New York while being poor. 

No matter how hard and chaotic his life was, he found himself enjoying it. After all, it was better than working in a factory or at the pier, hauling stuff around or sailing on a boat, unsure if he'd ever return.

Yes, he hadn't been happy to come on this trip, nor was he happy for his baby brother to join him but to hear Rai laughing along with Tony as animals joined the ride for a short time before they pulled away, it was worth it. If he could get the young boy out of Brooklyn for a few days so he could get some fresh air and a change of pace, well...He'd do it a million times over. He wished he could take all the littles out for journies like this but alas, he couldn't. He had no reason to leave New York, let alone had the money to do so. Still, being able to take one of them out was an amazing feeling, one he wouldn't forget. Rai had lost too much at a young age yet always kept a grin. He deserved to be able to spend time, free in the land with wild animals rushing by him.

It's what the small child deserved. 

Tomorrow is another day, and when the night fades away

Breaking for lunch just made all of them antsy, wanting to hurry up and get back home. Even Specs, a normally calm boy was bouncing on his toes, not bothering to hide his excitement at the idea of seeing everyone he cared about. He quickly scoffed down his sandwich, not caring about taking his time. He was going to be home soon and could take his time savouring all the tastes that came with a homecooked meal while surrounded by those he missed.

While the break only lasted thirty minutes, it felt like a lifetime to the small group. Their hearts started to beat faster with each step their tired horses took towards home.

Time travelled slowly, the stars starting to peak out again when New York's outline started to rise in the distance, an excited whoop escaping Albert as he urged his horse to go even faster, unwilling to wait any longer. He wanted...No needed to be back in that city. He loved fresh air but still, he craved the smog of New York. Couldn't wait for it to fill his lungs as he walked around feeling like a king despite people viewing him as nothing more than a street rat. 

With the city in the distance, it was as if someone had pressed fast forward, landing the group at Sheepshead racetrack before they knew it. Hotshot couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of a short boy waiting near the empty stables. "Why am I not surprised you showed up Spot?"

"Wanted ta see the new 'Hattan boys fa myself." In all honestly, Spot had just wanted to see his brothers' safe returns was he wasn't going to say that in public. Besides, he couldn't help but be somewhat curious about the two new boys who would be joining the team just across the bridge. To him, it was easy to get a glimpse of what the boys had lived through. He hadn't been told much about them but judging by the bruise on the older boy's cheek, it was clear that they hadn't come from a nice place. Not that many of the newsies had come from a good place that is. 

Considering Hotshot had said they were going to a small town, he could tell that it was a small town that hated people being born with powers, whether that hatred was born from jealously and fear or just out of pure stupidity, the Brooklyn native didn't know and he wasn't sure if he even cared to know.  

Right now, he did his best to ignore where they had come from, instead, turning to Rai to talk about his trip, already knowing that the rules and boundaries had been explained. Even if they hadn't, the two looked smart, especially the blond who had decided to ignore everyone so he could focus on thanking his horse. God, were all Manhattan boys dorks? Shaking his head with a sigh, he clapped his hands. "Right. Curfew's comin' up in a bit so you'se best start gettin' back over the bridge."

"Giving orders now are we Conlon?"

"Blue's handlin' stuff in Queens so it's my job ta kick your bum asses out of Brooklyn. Now fuck off." 

Rags rolled his eyes but still spat in his hand and held it out to the younger boy, nodding as he returned the gesture. "We'se'll get outta ya hair Conlon. Gotta get these two set up and Al looks ready to die."

"Oh fuck off I do not!" Despite his words, Albert was rocking ever so slightly, having not slept much the night before due to excitement. "Let's just clear out already. I don't wanna miss out on the food!" 

Shaking his head, Rags laughed watching as Blink started shoving Albert around. "Yeah yeah. Tell Blue I said hi." He smiled at the two Brooklyn boys who had come along with his small crew. "Thanks you two. We'll be off now." With a single wave, the lanky teen ushered the others out of the racetrack grounds, chuckling internally at the way the two new brothers stuck together, looking around in both awe and suspicious hesitation. 

Idly, his eyes scanned the crowd, easily able to notice who was a normal person and who was a newsie who were lurking around after selling, watching them silently to make sure they didn't break any rules, wanting the small group out of their turf, yet also silently relieved that they had returned safely as that meant their own had been returned as well.

Feet gently joined the countless others walking on the bridge, their voices mingling with those of people hurrying to and from Brooklyn. Before they knew it, they were back on their own side. Sensing their neves, Specs smiled over at his new brothers. "Don't worry. You'll get used to this all before you know it. I will warn you though...The lodging house can be loud and a bit overwhelming at times. You'll fit right in though. I already know it."

Francis just nodded before turning back to Patches, mumbling something under his breath, relaxing as the other smiled and nodded, allowing the group to lead him and his younger brother around.

You'll be a man, boy!

It didn't take long for them to find themselves walking down Duane Street, watching a few kids eagerly look up, some running towards them as others rushed off towards a building, no doubt to let them know of the groups return. Subconsciously, Francis took a closer to Tony, watching as Specs, Blink and Albert were almost tackled, each by a different boy, all dressed in the same ratty attire as the group. 

Shaking his head, Rags nodded for the two brothers to follow him, leaving the six boys to reunite with their boyfriends. "They'll come along eventually so don't worry about the nerds. Let's just get you set up for now. Everyone's been dyin' ta meet you two, not just us newsies."

Grinning, he threw open the door to the lodging house, chuckling as he was greeted by cheers from a wide variety of kids. Silencing them with a single hand in the air, he grinned at the two new boys, remembering the few words Francis had muttered to him. 

"Everyone! I'd like ta introduce you to Jack Kelly 'nd his little brother, Racetrack Higgins!"

But for now, it's time to run, it's time to run!

Imaari’s Tale: Part Three

Crossposted to Ao3.  CW for apparent character death.

Nothing was alright.

Imaari sat in her solitary cell, staring at the worn stone wall in front of her, and tried again to figure out where things had gone so terribly wrong.

That second morning with Hardwin had started out well enough, but they’d passed a troupe of Sister Lakes Rangers only an hour after rejoining the main road into Shinwaud.  Hardwin had gone stony the moment he saw them, and Imaari’s stomach had sunk to her toes, they initially passed by with only hard searching stares. 

“Let’s go,” Hardwin had murmured when they were out of sight.  “I have a bad feeling.”

Sure enough, the Rangers doubled back almost immediately and taken both Hardwin and Imaari into custody.  She’d tried to resist, but only briefly.

“Don’t fight it,” Hardwin had said.  “It’ll be alright.”

But it wasn’t.  The Rangers had been unnecessarily rough in spite of Imaari’s and Hardwin’s cooperation, and few people they’d encountered since had treated them any better.

The young man appointed as their defense in Sister Lakes was one of those few.  “Unfortunately for you,” he’d told them, “one of the Rangers who brought you in lost his entire family in an Elven raid during the war.  He was only too glad to make sure that his brother would be adjudicating your case.  It...doesn’t look good for you.”

“Imaari was not involved in the killing,” Hardwin said, frowning.

“She’s an Elf,” their Defender had said sadly.  “The judge will find you guilty on that basis alone.”  Imaari’s heart had sunk, and it must have shown on her face.  “I know,” he’d said consolingly.  “But I’d rather paint an accurately bleak picture than give you false hope.”

As it turned out, though, he’d actually underestimated just how badly it would go.  Not only was the judge predisposed to hate them, not only had the Ranger been there to testify to her initial resistance, but they’d actually brought Lothien in to testify against them.  Imaari had felt a brief, misguided flare of hope when she’d seen him, but it had died a quick death.

“They were vicious,” Lothien had said, staring at her in open abhorrence.  “Taunting the poor man to draw him out away from the other townsfolk, then beating him brutally in front of everyone.”

And as if that testimony hadn’t been damning enough, the prosecutor then went on to paint a lurid portrait of Elven insurgency and terrorism.  Hardwin, the poor old man, had been duped by the half-Elf whore into joining her terrible cause.  Truly, there was no other option but to send them both to their deaths--or at least, to life in the main prison complex in Arch.

The judge, predictably, ate it up.  He actually smiled as he gave the guilty verdict, then offered the ‘merciful’ sentence of life in the Arch prison.

That was the last time Imaari had seen Hardwin.  They’d been removed from the courtroom through different doors immediately after sentencing.  Imaari had been sent on to Arch that very afternoon; if they’d done the same for Hardwin, she hadn’t seen him at any point on their journey.   

Imaari had been utterly alone then, and she’d been utterly alone since being thrust into this cell days ago.  Or had it been weeks?  Imaari hadn’t bothered to count.  She was struggling not to give in to despair.

Her life now consisted of these four walls, a bare cot, and a scanty meal delivered at dusk each day.  No contact with other people, no opportunity to feel the sun on her face or the wind on her skin or the pulsing life of the earth beneath her feet.  She couldn’t even think about living the rest of her life in this fashion.  If she did, the walls pressed in on her even more tightly and black spots crowded her vision.

If only she had listened to Andeana!  She might have chafed at the realities of her life back in Tessington, but at least she’d had a life to live.  Andeana had tried to warn her that things could be worse, but she’d been so sure of herself.  So certain that she was moving on to better things.  Well, “better things” had lasted only a matter of days before it had all gone awry.  

Days of freedom, for a lifetime of incarceration.  Yes, her life had gotten so much better.

The clanking sound of a key turning in the outer lock was followed by the thud of footsteps down the corridor.  Imaari moved to the door curiously, and heard other prisoners in neighboring cells doing the same.  It was still morning, so far as she could tell; no one ever came down this corridor except in the evenings, when their daily meals were delivered and chamber pots were emptied.  This was the first time that there had been any deviation since the day she’d arrived.  Did that mean they were bringing in another prisoner?

To her surprise, the footsteps halted right outside her own door.  What--?

“Against the wall, stone eater!”  

Imaari complied, eyes wide, as a key grated in the lock and the heavy cell door swung in on creaking hinges. Hope and fear warred in her chest, leaving her weak kneed. What was happening?

Heavy footfalls crossed the small cell, and then a large hand shoved her roughly into the stone.  “Against the wall, I said!”  

Imaari swallowed her whimper, but could not stop the tears that sprang to her eyes.  Why had she even bothered with the hope? Whatever was happening, it was unlikely to be anything good.  

As if to confirm her thoughts, the guard at her back grabbed each of her wrists in turn and bound them behind her, uncaring that he’d wrenched her shoulders painfully in the process.  Then he jerked her back, away from the wall, turned her to face the still-open door, and shoved her forward.  

“Prisoner 849?” asked another guard, his tone bored and his attention on the scroll in his hands.

“This is her,” replied the one at her back.

“Proceed,” said the Scroll Guard, nodding.  “Then come back up for the next one.”

Rough Hands grabbed her arm in a bruising grip and led her down the corridor, through the outer door, and through a warren of dark hallways that all looked the same to her unfamiliar eyes.  He jerked her to a stop outside a large holding cell, one unlike anything else they’d passed.  It was huge, with three walls made of the same stone as her own cell and the fourth made entirely of heavy iron bars. Several people milled around on the other side of that wall, each looking as confused as she felt.  

 Another Scroll Guard stood near the bars, next to what she suddenly recognized as the door. “Prisoner ID?” he asked in the same uninterested tone the last one had used.

“Number 849,” Rough Hands said..  

The second Scroll Guard scanned his page, then nodded. “Very well. Put her in.”

Rough Hands jerked the ropes from her already abraded wrists as yet another guard unlocked the door.  No sooner had one of them shoved her through that door, than the door was slamming shut behind her.

Imaari took in her new surroundings in a daze.  Fear had her almost lightheaded, but she knew that she needed to at least try to keep her wits about her.  This new cell was dim and stale, as her old one had been, rather than dark and dank as she’d always imagined dungeons to be.  A slight air current raised the fine hair on her arms; she rubbed at them, and looked around to see that others had felt the breeze as well.  Some rubbed at their arms, like she did, while others held their hands out experimentally to search for its source. 

“Prisoner ID?” the Scroll Guard said again, and Imaari turned back to see that another prisoner was being checked against the list, then shoved into the communal cell.

“How dare you?” demanded the new addition, rubbing his wrists delicately.  “When my guild hears of this, you will all be seeking new positions!”

Imaari’s brows rose.  This man, whoever he was, still wore his own well-tailored clothing.  How had someone like him ended up in this cell?

“Imaari?”

“Hardwin!”  Imaari spun towards his familiar voice with a cry, and wrapped him in a hug that he clearly hadn’t expected, and just as clearly didn’t appreciate. She released him quickly and stepped back, too happy to see him to feel properly embarrassed. “You’re here!”

“Hm.”  Then he frowned at her scraped cheek.  “You good?”

Imaari touched the spot and grimaced.  “Good enough.”  He grunted, and she shrugged.  “Any idea what’s happening?”

“No,” he said.  “I’ve never heard of anything like this, but they had some reason to put all these people in here together. Whatever it is, it’ll be soon.”  He glanced down at her, then went on in an attempt to reassure her.  “I’m sure It’s going to be okay.”

Given that things hadn’t exactly worked out the last time he’d said that, it wasn’t as comforting as he’d likely intended it to be.  Imaari was kind of glad for it, though.  Hope kept trying to claw its way to the surface; she’d needed the reminder that hope was a dangerous thing.

More people had been thrust into the cell, all of them looking about in confusion or murmuring quietly with another person, and it was beginning to seem crowded.  The well-dressed man was still shouting, alternating between demands for someone’s supervisor and dire warnings about the consequences of treating him so poorly.  Another man stood off by himself, leaning against the bars at the front of the cell and glaring with particular malice at the Scroll Guard. 

“What’re ya in for?” someone asked, his voice overloud, and a momentary hush fell across the cell.

“I wonder if they’re finally gonna get me for fucking the magistrate’s wife,” answered another voice at the back of the room.  A low ripple of laughter met his flip response, but Hardwin frowned.

“Shut up!” yelled the Scroll Guard, not even looking up from his scroll.

“No fucking way,” Hardwin murmured, and she turned to follow his gaze.  It was locked on a man near the back wall.  He glanced down at Imaari, making sure she had seen, then began to slip through the crowd towards the other man.

“Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?” Hardwin asked when they were close enough.

The man turned, blank-faced, and she was shocked to see the pointed ears of an Elf on a man obviously built like a Human.  She felt her mouth fall open; she knew that there were others like her, other half-Elves, but she’d never met one and had never expected to.  

“Oh yeah,” the man said, nodding in recognition.  “Yeah, ah, Hardwin, right?”

“Yeah.  You’re, uh...” Hardwin trailed off, frowning.  “Um.”

“Daetrik.”

“Daetrik,” Hardwin repeated, nodding as if the name had been on the tip of his tongue when clearly it had not. 

“Hey man.”  Daetrik rocked back on his heels.  “It’s uh, it’s been a long time. What, uh--”

“Oh, fuck, fifteen--”  Hardwin broke off awkwardly, looking as if he regretted the impulse that had led him over here.  Imaari had to stifle an almost hysterical giggle.   “Was it the Low River Valley?  Around there somewhere?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Unlike Hardwin, Daetrik seemed to be amused by the awkward exchange.  “Somewhere around Shinfael Gift, wasn’t it?”

“Shut the fuck up, people!” Scroll Guard shouted again, and the low hum of conversation became apparent only in its absence.

“Hey Ansel,” someone said into the quiet, his voice nasal and strangely accented.  Imaari recognized him as the one she’d noted by the bars earlier, glaring at the guards.  “I don’t suppose you can spare one of those toothpicks you're always carrying around, eh?”  

“Shut up, Skeet,” answered another of the guards, scowling.

“What, not even a cigarette for an old friend?” Skeet said, sounding ironic.

“I said, shut up, Skeet!” The guard, presumably Ansel, reached through the bars to grab the man’s shirt and yank him forward, slamming his head into the bars as he repeated himself. 

Skeet shook his head dazedly, grinning in spite of the blood trickling from his split lip.

“I demand to be released at once!”  Ansel glared at the well dressed man, a threat clear in his expression, and the man took a cautious step back from the bars.  “This is not how it is done,” the man muttered.

A few of the other people agreed, but the atmosphere had turned oppressive.  There were so many people crowded into the cell now that it seemed to have shrunk and Imaari could no longer feel the breeze she’d felt earlier.  The approaching sound of heavy footsteps became audible; All at once, she was terrified once again. 

“Someone’s coming,” Skeet said, waggling his brows.

Daetrik snorted.

“Shut the fuck up, Skeet!” Ansel shouted just as the newcomer entered the room, carrying a torch.  

The man, who was obviously superior to the other guards, raised a brow at the suddenly red-faced Ansel.

Skeet snickered, drawing the Superior’s attention, and made a rude gesture.  

The Superior ignored him, and passed the torch off to another guard.  When it was set in its sconce, he nodded to himself in satisfaction.  “All prisoners, against the wall!” he said loudly, in a tone that demanded obedience.

There were too many people for all of them to find a place against the wall, but they all tried to.  Imaari found herself pressed against it with Daetrik and Hardwin to either side of her, and the well-dressed man standing shoulder to shoulder with Skeet in front of her.  It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but she was glad to be screened from view.

She could pretend, at least for a moment, that she might get lost in the crowd and just...disappear.

Too soon after that--Imaari assumed it was when everyone had moved back far enough to satisfy him, but couldn’t see anything past the men in front of her--she heard the grating of the key in the lock and the sound of many booted feet on stone.  “You,” the man began.  “You, you, you,” he continued, and the woman beside Skeet stepped away from the group.  With her gone, Imaari could see that the man was pointing, choosing people to break off into another, smaller group.  Each of these people had their arms pulled behind them, their hands shackled with something that looked like metallic rope.

“Son of a bitch,” muttered the well-dressed man, his dismay clear. “Those are mine!”

What?  That made no sense. Imaari glanced up at Hardwin, but he looked confused as well.  She went back to watching the selected prisoners.  When there were ten of them, each one shackled and accompanied by his or her own guard, the Superior nodded.   “Go.”

“Go where?” asked Well Dressed, ignoring the people who filed out of the cell and focusing on the man in charge.  “Where are they going?”

The Superior ignored him, and began selecting more people to come forward.  As with the last group, all of them were cuffed, and when there were ten, led from the room in a single file line.

Then, they were among the last ten people in the room and Imaari knew what to expect.  

“It doesn’t look like they’re going to kill us,” Daetrik murmured sotto voce.  “We might as well go along with it.”

Imaari did see that any of them had any choice in the matter, but Hardwin nodded his agreement.  “It doesn’t look like a firing squad.  I’m good with that.”

“Shut up, stone eater!  Get over here, you’re next.”

Daetrik’s jaw tightened at the slur, but he complied easily enough.

They took Well Dressed next.  She thought she saw him palm something that glinted like metal, just as the guard secured his cuffs.  Perhaps it had just been the glint of torchlight on the metal of the cuffs, but she didn’t think so. He looked too satisfied with himself.

Then it was her turn.  This guard, though far more gentle than the last one had been, made sure to tighten the cuffs enough that even she couldn’t slip her slim hands free.  Her heart sank.

“You sure I can’t have one of those toothpicks?” Skeet asked behind her, his accent making all of the words seem drawn out.  He was the last one to be cuffed; had they been avoiding him?

“Get him out of here,” the Superior said with a grimace of distaste, in an apparent confirmation of her assumption..

Imaari wondered why as the guards led them through another series of dark corridors, because it was better than contemplating her current situation.  It was the sun that brought her back to herself.  The blindingly bright sunlight stung her eyes after the dark of the building, but she welcomed it, taking in the endless blue of the sky over a large field of terraced green.  

Outside.  She was finally outside.  

Imaari drew in a deep breath, savoring the feel of fresh air in her lungs.  It brought goosebumps to her skin, cool and crisp and refreshing after the close stench of the cell.  She could smell the grass, hear the cries of sea birds in the air, and almost taste the salt of the sea.  She felt invigorated.  

Her euphoria lasted only for as long as it took her to notice the row of newly-built gallows ranged across the opposite side of the park.  She counted ten of them, and knew it was no mistake that the prisoners had been brought out in groups of ten. At least I will die in the sun, she thought.

Her group was herded to stand in a tight knot behind the first two with all of the various guards ranged around them. The gallows, their bright wood a stark contrast to their somber purpose, loomed tall, casting a pall over everyone.  

“Hey,” Hardwin said, making her jump.  “They wouldn’t have bothered with the good cuffs if they were going to just kill us.”

Daetrik scoffed.  “They can take ‘the good cuffs’ off of us pretty easily when we’re dead.”

“Shut up,” yelled one of the guards.

Imaari swallowed thickly, her eyes darting around in a panicked search for some avenue of escape, and saw Well Dressed sidle forward.  The movement arrested her gaze.  He moved again, obviously trying to be discreet but just as obviously working at the mechanism of his cuffs with a narrow shim.  Imaari glanced back at the guards.  If she had noticed him, it was only a matter of time before one of them did.

To her surprise and relief, they all seemed so confident in their numbers that none of them were paying much attention to the people they’d been set to guard.    Still, she didn’t want him to be caught and shifted to help obscure their view of him.

Two more men strode out onto the field, drawing her attention away from Well Dressed.  They wore uniforms, but were markedly different from the ones worn by the guardsmen.

“You recognize either of them?” Daetrik whispered.

Hardwin grunted a negative.  “You?”

“No. I don’t even recognize the insignias.” 

“Hm.”

The two men spoke briefly with the Superior, who nodded.  Then one of them stepped forward, unrolling an official-looking scroll, but was interrupted before he could do more than open his mouth.

“Hold!” called an officious looking old man, striding hurriedly onto the field.   “Hold a moment! You cannot conduct official business without the oversight of a Royal Magister.  It is a good thing that I am here, else you could not have proceeded.  Here, give me the Royal Writ.”  The two men in the odd uniforms shared an irritated look, but neither argued when the Magistrate took the scroll.  He began to read, paling as he scanned the lines, and Imaari’s stomach dropped yet again.   “This--this is unconscionable!” he stammered, appalled.  “There’s no way this has gone through the proper channels, no way it was approved.”  He looked up, scowling, and rerolled the parchment.  “You will not proceed until I return,” he said with every expectation of being obeyed, then turned and went back the way he came.

The officials shared another look, then sent two of the guards after the Magister.

“Fuck,” Skeet said.  “That’s not good.”

Well Dressed stopped in his fiddling to gape at the guards, who’d begun hauling the first group of prisoners up onto the platform.  Wails split the clean morning air as the condemned people realized the certainty of their fates and sobbed out their pleas for mercy.  

“Please, no!” shrieked a woman right in front of where Imaari stood.  Tears streaked her dirty face, and her complexion had gone ashen. “I’ve not even had a trial! Please, you can’t do this--”   The guard trying to drop the noose over her head cuffed her, and the desperate flow of words cut off.  After that she just stood there, quietly weeping.   Similar scenes played out all along the platform and the horror of it all tore at Imaari’s mind, eclipsing her own terror.  

This was wrong. Imaari knew, somehow, that few of these people were actually guilty of any crimes.  None of them deserved this.  Why was it happening? Who was responsible? And how under Rillifane’s blue sky had she wound up in the middle of it?  

Imaari closed her eyes, willing herself to forget what she’d seen in those faces just before the dark hoods had been dropped over their head.  She couldn’t forget, though, and couldn’t shut out the sounds. The squealing hinges, creaking ropes, and cracking of bone hammered her mind.  Imaari felt each death, could almost see as each life was snuffed out before its time. For a long, frozen moment, Imaari was held immobile.

“This is unspeakable,” shouted the man beside her as he began to work more frantically at his cuffs.  Well Dressed, Imaari thought, remembering.  The spell holding her broke, and she turned her back to his.  She’d seen what he was doing, and realized that he already had one side of the cuff almost loose enough to pull his hand through. With a bit of help, he would be free.

“I am a valued member of the Artisans’ Guild in Arch City!” the man went on, keeping everyone’s attention on his face.  “You have no idea the kind of trouble you will pull down on your heads if this situation is not rectified immediately!  My Guildmaster will have your hides if not your heads!”

Skeet resumed his heckling then, distracting the guards further.  Imaari wasn’t sure if he did it to help or just because he enjoyed jeering at the guards, but she was grateful for it.  The loosened side of the cuff slipped again, and Well Dressed wrenched his hand free.

“Hurry,” Hardwin said, straining at his own bonds.  “They’ve almost finished clearing the bodies.”

Well Dressed didn’t stop his litany, but continued to rail at the guards as he worked at Imaari’s cuffs.  It went much faster, with his hands unencumbered and hers so much smaller, but neither dared bring their hands to the front and risk being caught.

“Hey, smaht guy,” Skeet said, nudging Imaari aside as the next group of prisoners was led up to the gallows.  “Back to back.”

Unfortunately, what little luck they’d had ran out.  It seemed only moments later when the guards came back for them, the gallows already clear and waiting for its next set of victims.  Skeet was still securely bound, and they were too exposed.  

“You!  Get back!” yelled a guard, pointing at Imaari, then Skeet.  “You, get over there!”

Well Dressed panicked, and turned to work at Skeet’s shackle facing forward, so that he could see what he was doing..

Someone yelled, “He’s loose!” and the guards surged forward as a single unit, arms outstretched.  Time seemed to slow again, as it had when the first of the prisoners were hung.

Imaari could see that Daetrik was trying to cast a spell of some sort, but for one reason or another, conjured nothing.  Hardwin strained at the iron ropes again, groaning with exertion, but was forced to relent with a gasp of pain. Three guards had successfully subdued Well Dressed. Skeet spat in the face of another, while a fifth reached out to take her own arm.

No, Imaaari thought, her entire being rebelling.  “No!” she screamed, darting away from the man just as his fingers grazed her skin.  

“Aw, shit,” he said.  “She’s loose too!” 

She could hear the thudding of his footsteps behind her, could hear it when more joined the chase.  She had no idea where she was going, no idea how to get out of this walled yard, but she ran on knowing that to stop was to die.

It wasn’t enough.  The man at her back leapt, grasping at her, and managed to overbalance her.  She went down hard, panting.  “No,” she gasped out as several hands grabbed her roughly, hauling her to her feet.  

“No,” she moaned as they set the noose around her neck.

“No, no, no,” she thought as the hood came down over her head, its strange, cold touch making her shiver.

Nonononono!

Imaari felt a sharp, indescribable pain, and then--nothing.  

Welcome to the Heart Pirates, Nami-ya Chapter 5: The Masks We Wear

“You are, without a doubt, the most arrogant asshole I’ve ever met!” Nami screamed, her voice echoing down the steel hallway. Most of the crew had taken cover in any room they could find—things had been tense ever since the sunburn incident over a week ago, everyone walking on eggshells waiting for Law’s inevitable revenge. They all knew it wouldn’t be right away; the man liked to take his time, meticulously planning while his victim was lulled into a false sense of security, thinking he had forgiven and forgotten. There was already a large betting pool on what would happen and when, with theories ranging from her waking up to a room full of organs to being forced to wear a skimpy nurse uniform.

Most were silently praying for the latter.

Across from her, Law glared, arms crossed and knuckles white as a small vein popped in his neck out of frustration. They’d been arguing for nearly ten minutes, and for a man who was used to having his orders followed immediately and enthusiastically, it was quickly growing wearisome. “And you’re the most infuriating little witch I’ve ever encountered. I’m not even asking much; it’s completely within your skillset.”

“Like hell it is! You’d have more luck convincing me to wear your crew’s stupid jumpsuits!”

“And deprive my men of seeing you prance around in practically nothing? Morale would tank.”

She crossed her arms, scowling. “Then we agree; I’m not doing it.”

“Our agreement was that you work for me; that means you listen to my orders and carry them out, no arguments.”

“I absolutely never agreed to the ‘no arguments’ part.”

“All I’m asking is for you to pull your weight by using your skills as the Cat Thief to assist me in a little infiltration job. Or do you not know how to act like a lady?” he taunted.

She bristled at the insult but refused to take the bait. “I already pull my weight; I help Bepo with his maps, guide you through storms, and do my share of chores.”

“I’ll concede to the first two, but I know you’ve been conning the men into doing your cleaning.”

She didn’t even try to stop the pleased smirk from curving her lips. “I can’t help it if they feel like being gentlemen by taking on some extra mopping so I can dedicate my time to more important matters.”

“And you thank them by stealing their wallets.”

“It’s no secret I’m a thief; they should know better than to let their guards down around me. Consider it training; you said I shouldn’t let my skills degrade, and a pretty face like mine could be their downfall if they don’t smarten up.”

“That’s the only reason I haven’t removed your hands for it, Nami-ya,” Law replied sourly. “That being said, I’m ordering you to stop stealing from them. It’s not nice to take advantage of your crew.”

Infuriated, she jabbed him in the chest. “They’re not my crew! We’re in a temporary alliance, and I’m fine working with them, but I’m a Straw Hat! Get that through your pigheaded-skull!”

A hand shot forward, grabbing her wrist and pulling her close to Law’s tall, imposing form. “For all intents and purposes, until the year is up, you’re a Heart Pirate. I said when you first arrived, I intend on making the most of having you on my crew, and I meant it.” Arguing was getting him nowhere, so he quickly changed tactics. A shiver ran up Nami’s spine as he leaned close, hot breath ghosting over her sensitive ear and neck. “You’re stealthy, clever, beautiful, and one of the best burglars on the Grand Line. I can’t imagine a better partner. With our combined skillsets, a job like this should be both easy and extremely profitable. I just need your help searching the place for some classified documents once the party’s in full swing.”

A hint of pink dusted her cheeks at his flattery. “Documents?”

“Inside the main study is a safe full of Marine codes, reports on the various atrocities they’ve caused in the name of ‘justice,’ names of soldiers infiltrating pirate crews—all things that go for millions of belli on the black market. Besides that, our target is known for having expensive tastes. Bejeweled trinkets, high-end art, gold statuettes; the man’s loaded.”

Nami couldn’t help it; belli signs flashed in her eyes at the thought of getting her hands on that treasure. Law’d said he had a big job planned, and clearly, he wasn’t kidding.

It was clear that he had her attention, so the Dark Doctor pressed on, voice dropping an octave to seductively murmur, “And that’s just the study. Imagine all the rich pockets you could pick at the party. Far more profitable than my crew, and anything you manage to steal on your own is completely yours; I won’t even demand a cut.” Brushing his free hand across the sleeve of her borrowed shirt, he added, “I was even generous enough to buy you a new dress for the occasion, since you’ll need to look the part of a rich doctor’s lover.”

As much as she hated it, she was wavering. When he’d first proposed—or more specifically, ordered—she escort him to a party as his date, she’d refused on principle. But damn, after only a month, he was starting to figure out her weaknesses, and right now, money was a big one. She had very little to her name on the ship; most of her clothes were borrowed from Ikkaku, and while they’ve made port a couple times, she hadn’t been able to get much beyond the essentials. So the idea of having fresh, wealthy victims and an outfit of her own that she didn’t even have to pay for was tempting indeed.

Too bad she knew pirates like him didn’t do anything for free.

Ignoring the overwhelming heat of his proximity and her natural greed, hazelnut eyes met his hooded gaze suspiciously. “What’s your real game here, Law?”

To his credit, his lazy grin didn’t falter. “Maybe I just think it’ll be amusing to watch you force yourself to shower me with love and adoration all night.”

Nami didn’t buy it for a second. Beneath the sharp scent of soap and antiseptic, she could smell a con. “And who, exactly, owns the house we’ll be infiltrating?”

The confident expression finally slid off his face. “Baron Harpin Gerald, former Head of Intelligence for the Navy.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“He’s over 70 years old—far past his prime.”

“Whitebeard was 72 and still considered the Strongest Man in the World! Garp’s even older and he can throw cannonballs like baseballs! And do you really think a couple of pirates won’t be recognized at a former Marine bigwig’s gala? Especially one of the fucking Supernova?!” she shouted, trying to pull away for the certified madman who’d managed to rope her into service.

Not budging or releasing his hold on the slippery thief, he stated, “Lucky that it’s a masquerade ball, then. A good mask, some temporary hair dye, and no one will suspect a thing. Besides, no pirate would be brazen enough to walk right into the lion’s den.”

“You mean stupid enough.”

“And here I thought you’d enjoy making a little extra cash.”

“I like staying out of jail more. Besides, I’ve seen what your powers can do; you don’t even need to attend the party!”

Gold eyes narrowed in annoyance, though she got the sense it wasn’t fully at her. “On that scale, everyone with eyes will notice a mysterious blue bubble springing up out of nowhere, and someone is sure to raise the alarm,” he countered. “The other problem is that the safe is made out of Seastone—that means my powers are useless, and even touching the damn thing weakens me. So, I need a more traditional thief by my side as back-up.”

Realization hit her like Luffy’s Gum-Gum Bazooka. “You’ve tried to rob him before, haven’t you?”

“Once, about six months ago. Far from a success, though at least the injuries were minimal and he never found out who got past his defenses.”

She frowned. Now it definitely made sense why he wanted to infiltrate the masquerade, but she was still skeptical. “How do you even plan to get us in? If this party’s as fancy as you say, there’ll be a guest list, invitations, at the very list some kind of ID check at the entrance to keep the riffraff out.”

Law reached into his jean pocket, drawing out a shiny, embossed invitation. “Then it’s a good thing Dr. Goodheart Adrian M.D. and his plus-one have already RSVP’d.”

“You really think they’ll fall for a fake invitation?”

“I sent Uni ahead to switch out the guest list with an updated version. Bribed a servant to let him take his place. He sent me a message this morning that he was successful, so we’re in.”

“Like anyone would believe you’re a real doctor.”

“I am a real doctor—I wouldn’t have been able to save Mugiwara’s life if I weren’t,” he said pointedly.

Nami winced. There was that painful reminder of exactly how much she owed this man and that, whether she liked it or not, she was obligated to follow his orders for the sake of their deal. The whole plan sounded absolutely insane, but it was still a plan—far more than she was used to on her own crew.

And she really needed the money. Not just for shopping; being so poor again brought back too many painful memories of her childhood, of being poor and watching Bellemere eat nothing but mikans so her kids would have enough to eat. Of putting aside the majority of her haul after every job, counting down the days until she’d have enough to buy back her village. Of watching those shady Marines destroy the mikan grove, hauling away her stash so Arlong could keep her forever. Treasure was more than just shiny coins and cute outfits to her—it was a safety net, something she clung to as tightly as a child might a security blanket.

Money could keep monsters at bay, and now that she was stuck on a ship with the Surgeon of Death, that fact was more prominent than ever.

So as much as she wanted to refuse and wipe that smug glint from his eye, she knew he had her backed into a corner, where the most she could do was give in gracefully.

At long last, she sighed, “My dress better have pockets.”

XXX

Though she generally preferred casual clothes, Nami appreciated expensive things, and the gown Law had gotten her definitely screamed “money.” The gold satin overdress, embossed with darker gold leopard spots, draped over her curves magnificently, cinching tightly at the waist with a black and gold belt; the bottom had an under layer of stiff interfacing, allowing it to flare out like a ballgown without the need for tulle or petticoats while concealing a daring slit where she could slip her ill-gotten goods into the many hidden interior pockets or expose the pale flesh of her leg as a distraction. The plunging neckline was nearly to her sternum, and the long, billowing sleeves hid her signature tattoo. It was more like an extremely fancy robe in its design, and underneath was a skintight, black, spaghetti-strap bodysuit much better for sneaking around in, her Clima-Tact strapped to her thigh. A string of pearls and matching earrings completed the look—it wasn’t quite as fancy as what she was sure other women would be wearing, but it was what she had, and it was less conspicuous than going unadorned. If she were lucky, maybe she’d have the opportunity to swipe something better off a drunk heiress.

“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” the Cat Thief grumbled as she carefully applied eyeliner. A long, dark purple wig covered her orange hair, the loose, elegant curls pinned away from her face with a few barrettes inlaid with pearls, letting the rest cascade down her back like a midnight waterfall. Ikkaku had given her permission to use as much of her makeup as needed, and with a bit of contouring and highlighter, Nami could hardly recognize herself.

“I can,” the engineer chimed from her bed where she’d been studying the mansion’s blueprints. She and the rest of the crew were tasked with causing a number of diversions throughout the island that would draw away the guards and authorities, giving the pair inside the perfect opportunity to sneak away to the study. “He made you an offer you couldn’t refuse. Honestly, I’m kind of jealous.”

“What, you want to be Law’s girlfriend for the night? Because I’m willing to trade.”

“Hell no—last time we tried that cover, I couldn’t keep a straight face. Nearly tanked the whole plan. But it’s cute how far he’s willing to go to get you on his side. It’s even funnier that you pretend you don’t like it.”

Nami snorted, brushing on some mascara, pleased with how sultry the fanned-out lashes made her almond eyes. “I don’t like it. He’s a creep, and Luffy’s rival, and I’m still waiting for the day I wake up on his operating table, heart and liver and kidneys on display and ready for sale. Or for him to sell me wholesale to the highest bidder.”

Shaking her head, Ikkaku replied matter-of-factly, “He wouldn’t do that to you unless you really tried to fuck us over. Like, there was one guy who joined up not long after me who tried to sell Bepo to some slavers—Minks go for a lot at auctions. Captain’s not usually one for cold-blooded torture, but he made that bastard suffer. Last we saw him, the guy was in pieces being shipped off to separate corners of the four Blues.”

She shuddered at the image, though she couldn’t bring herself to fault his reaction. The more she got to know Bepo, the more she wanted to protect him, too, and from what she’d gathered, the bear was one of Law’s oldest and closest friends. “Now that I believe, but are you seriously not afraid of him? You’ve seen what he can do, and while he’s not as bad as I thought, you can’t tell me all of his reputation’s government propaganda.”

“Why would I be? Even if he was as ruthless as the papers say, Captain Law takes care of his crew. Plus, I’m indispensable around here, and I grew up with four older brothers, so I know a thing or two about how many buttons I can push before I’m in any real trouble.” She smirked, as if she’d just discovered a big secret. “You’re not scared because you think he’ll actually slice you up—otherwise, you wouldn’t backtalk him so much. What you’re really afraid of is the fact that you’re not at the top of the food chain anymore.”

It gutted her that her friend wasn’t wrong. Though Luffy was captain, from the get-go Nami had basically been the one who ran the ship, bending the others to her will with either her feminine wiles or her fists. And while she certainly had most of the Heart Pirates wrapped around her finger, she didn’t like that Law had real power and authority over her while her usual threats and tactics had minimal effect on the cool captain. “It’s far from the only reason, but yeah, it doesn’t help. Don’t get me wrong—you’ve all been super nice and accommodating—but I’m not exactly a trusting person. And Law’s way more…I guess intimidating is the best word to use, than Luffy ever was. So I’m not going to be joining the guy’s fan club anytime soon.”

“Fair, but just give Captain a chance, yeah? He might surprise you.”

Before she could argue that she wanted absolutely no surprises from the Surgeon of Death, there was a knock at the door, the raps against the metal quick and precise.

“Seems someone’s here to pick you up for your date,” Ikkaku sing-songed.

Hazel eyes glared at her bunkmate as she got up to answer the door. “It’s not a date, and if you call it that again, you’re gonna find out why exactly why I’m Head Bitch in Charge on the Sunny.”

Steeling herself, Nami smoothed down the stiff fabric of her gown, determined to treat this night with the same level of professionalism Law used in the infirmary. A few hours of acting, looking pretty, and sneaking around, and then she could plan her next shopping spree. And despite his arrogance and innuendos, she was sure Law would take this just as seriously—after all, it was his plan, and the payout affected the whole crew. He knew what he was doing, and with the amount of thought and care he put into crafting this elaborate scheme, there was no way he’d risk it by pushing her buttons. Perhaps the night wouldn’t be a total disaster.

Those reassuring thoughts flew out the window into the ocean depths to probably be eaten by a sea king the moment she opened the door.

“Please tell me that’s not your disguise.”

Looking down at himself, the Dark Doctor’s brow furrowed. “I see nothing wrong with it.” Admittedly, he looked good; midnight blue hair, including his goatee and sideburns, was dyed black, and he’d put in grey contacts to cover the distinctive gold. His suit was sleek black satin, the knee-length, high-collared coat cutting a rather dashing figure. The vest was black and gold brocade, shiny gold buttons and matching watch chain adding a little extra flare. In his hand was a polished mahogany cane with a silver handle shaped like a bird’s skull, and Nami wondered if it was secretly a sword like Brook’s.

Yes, she could admit Law looked very handsome, but it was a shit disguise. For god’s sake, he was still wearing his hat!

“You think some colored contacts and dying your hair is enough to fool people?” she said, exasperated. “You’re a Supernova; your wanted poster’s one of the most recognizable this side of the Grand Line. You didn’t even bother to cover up your tattoos!” she shrieked, pointing at his hands.

He seemed genuinely surprised at her criticism. “You think I should wear gloves, then?”

Nami could have screamed. She’d expect that kind of answer from Zoro or Luffy, not a man who prided himself on his intelligence. Grabbing his arm, she dragged him into the room, pushing him down into the chair by the mirror and snatching off his hat, tossing it onto her pillow. His lanky figure looked almost comical in the too-small seat, long legs sticking out awkwardly. “Stay there. You’re going to wear gloves, but if you need to take them off for some reason, we want those things covered.” Squeezing out some foundation into her palm, she mixed it with some bronzer until the shade matched his skin tone. “Hold out your hands.”

“I don’t care for being ordered around, Nami-ya,” he growled in warning. “Keep it up, and you’ll regret it.”

“Well, I don’t like the idea of getting caught and thrown in jail because you didn’t think the Marines would be suspicious of a guy with DEATH tattooed on his fingers.”

Though he didn’t look happy, he conceded her point, hands steady and still as she applied the makeshift concealer. Definitely the hands of a surgeon, she thought, admiring his natural control. It was comparable to her own when she picked a lock or drew a map; not so much as a tremor, even when under intense scrutiny. Pleased that the black ink was sufficiently covered, she quickly spritzed on some setting spray and finishing powder, hoping the foundation wouldn’t rub off inside the gloves.

Inspecting his face, she then tilted the captain’s chin up, dabbing some concealer under his eyes.

“The fuck are you doing, woman?” he snapped, jerking his head back as if she’d slapped him.

“Covering up those massive bags under your eyes.”

“The hands were one thing, but I’m not letting you put makeup on my face. Besides, I like the world knowing that I’m tired of its shit and ready to kill at any moment.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s totally the mindset of a respectable, non-pirate doctor,” she sassed, jutting out her hip in annoyance. “It’s not like I’m turning you into a drag queen; just covering up some of your more recognizable flaws.”

His brow twitched at the insult. “I’ll be wearing a mask, so why does it matter?”

“You can still see under your eyes, and they might make you take off the mask at check-in. Are you really willing to risk your ‘perfect’ plan because your fragile male ego can’t handle a little cover-up?”

“Oh, just listen to her, Captain,” Ikkaku chimed from her bunk, the Cheshire cat grin on her face declaring to them both that she was mostly getting involved for her own amusement. “Nami’s the infiltration expert here, and you’re the one who insisted she come with you. Just suck it up.”

“You’re fired,” he snapped, pointing at her sternly as he once more dodged Nami’s attempt to dab him with the sponge.

“You’ve fired me six times since I joined, and I’ll tell you the same thing I always do—get rid of me, and Shachi’s the most qualified person to touch up your tattoos. You want that?”

Law shuddered. “Fine, you’re not fired, but you’re on kitchen duty for a month.”

“Eh, fair enough. Now be a good boy and let Nami tart you up.”

His glare could have melted steel, but he stopped resisting as the navigator carefully covered up the proof of his insomnia. Nami had to admit, she was impressed; Ikkaku hadn’t been kidding when she said she had no fear of the Surgeon of Death. It was also nice to see someone else backtalk him, as most of the time the Heart Pirates seemed to worship the very ground he walked on. It made her feel less like the enemy.

As the dark circles disappeared, she had to admit, she kind of missed them. Even though they could make her tired just by looking at them, they were distinctive and a major part of his normal appearance, and he just looked so different without them. Younger, maybe, and less mysterious.

Normal. Boring. Just…not Law.

Sensing her scrutiny, he raised a dark eyebrow. “Something on my face, Nami-ya? I mean, besides the makeup.”

Suppressing a blush at having been caught, she replied, “Just trying to figure out if you need any highlighter or lipstick. I’ve got a lovely flamingo pink—”

“Try it and Mugiwara-ya will have to find a new navigator,” he snarled, the hard look in his eye and the openness of the threat sending a shiver down the spines of both women.

Not willing to risk her life just to embarrass a man, Nami backed away, hands raised in surrender. Relieved that he wouldn’t be subjected to any more of her powders or creams, Law inspected himself in the mirror, lips twisted in a grimace as he studied the difference it made to his face. Nami couldn’t tell if he was more annoyed at the indignity of it all or the fact that she’d clearly been right, but grey eyes flicked to his messy black hair.

“I guess the hat did clash with my outfit, huh?”

“To say the least.”

Without a word, he grabbed her hairbrush and began combing it back into something a bit neater and more respectable, even as Nami groused, “Don’t use my things without asking.”

“Fine. May I use your brush?” he asked, not even glancing at her as he kept brushing.

“No, you may not,” she snapped petulantly.

“Oh, dear. Whatever shall I do, then?” he chuckled, tossing it back on the vanity, smirking at her grinding teeth. His mood was infinitely improved now that he was back in control, and while Nami appreciated not having to worry about being dismembered, a minute part of her wished he’d go back to sulking. “Best get that anger out now, Nami-ya. Once we’re on the island, it’s all smiles.”

“You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

Getting out of the chair, he smirked down at her, pleased to once more have the height advantage so he could both figuratively and literally look down on the Straw Hat thief. “No, I’m enjoying this. What I’ll love is watching you try to keep that cute little temper of yours in check while we’re in public.”

“Asshole.”

“Only for you, sweetheart.”

A small vein throbbed on her temple. “Call me sweetheart again and there won’t be enough makeup on the Grand Line to cover up the bruises I’ll give you.”

“What an abusive girlfriend I have. I hope you at least kiss them better.”

“You wish. And if you’re going to be this much of an absolute prick all night, I’m charging you ten million belli per hour.”

“You want me to pay you to be my date? I wasn’t aware prostitution was part of your repertoire.”

“Congratulations; it’s now fifteen million.”

Ikkaku eagerly watched their back-and-forth like a particularly intense tennis match, grinning the whole time.

She didn’t feel particularly sorry for her captain or her roommate; both knew what they were getting into, provoking the other like that. No, she pitied the poor party guests, who had no idea what kind of unholy terror they were about to face.

Ah, to be a fly on the wall.

XXX

Tokken Island was one of the lushest and most beautiful little islands on the Grand Line, but the majority of the land was owned by Baron Harpin, forcing the port town to desperately cling to a jagged shard of the coastline while his enormous mansion and manicured grounds dominated the rest. Luckily, there were plenty of rocky outcrops and sea caves ideal for hiding the Polar Tang, and after teleporting his crew into position, the well-dressed pair made their way through the town.

“And why couldn’t you have Shambled us there or whatever it is?” Nami groused as she nearly stumbled for the third time. She was an expert at maneuvering in high heels, but that didn’t mean she was immune to the inherent dangers of cobblestone streets, especially ones so torn up.

Law chuckled as she finally accepted his proffered arm for support. The stubborn woman had refused to endure and physical contact with him until absolutely necessary, but it seemed the threat of a broken ankle before they could even get to the mansion had finally won her over. “My abilities take a lot of energy, and I’d rather save it in case we need to make a quick escape. Besides, I don’t want people getting suspicious if we pop up out of nowhere.”

She grumbled under her breath that he was probably doing it just to annoy her, even if, logically, he had a point. Wrapping her arm around his bicep for balance, she was finally able to turn her attention from the uneven road to the state of the town itself. Only about half the lanterns were lit, and what illumination they did give didn’t paint a very pretty picture.

The houses were run-down, roofs thatched haphazardly and some windowpanes packed with paper or rags instead of glass. The shops weren’t much better off, the display windows showing off rough-looking fishing supplies, underripe fruit, and cheap clothing. Only a few people were out, most looking worn-out or underfed, and those that didn’t stare at the pair of well-dressed pirates with envy watched them with hunger.

“If the Baron’s so wealthy, why’s the town in such a sorry state?” she wondered aloud. “I mean, just setting up this gala should have brought plenty of business to the port. Docking fees, restocking supplies, even sailors picking up cheap souvenirs—”

“There’s a private dock on the mansions’ grounds that he uses for deliveries and the like,” Law answered, barely sparing a glance at a skinny woman hoarsely calling out to passersbys, a basket of small trinkets thrust out towards them. “None of his business comes to the town—plus, he owns most of the farmland, so any crops are considered his property. All that’s really left is fishing, and the guy’s notorious for hating seafood, meaning these folks are shit out of luck.”

Biting her lip, Nami looked towards the woman again, freezing as a small child, yellow hair tied in twin pigtails down her shoulders, poked her head out from behind her frayed skirts. The little girl looked marginally less skinny than her mother, and without even thinking, the thief broke away from Law to inspect the woman’s wares. It appeared to be mostly jewelry—nothing particularly fancy but in the warm light of a nearby streetlamp she could tell it had been carefully made with decent materials.

“What are you doing?” Law hissed, looking around to make sure they weren’t drawing too much attention—most of the Baron’s guests wouldn’t lower themselves to pass through the slums like this, but he’d didn’t want to take any chances. That, and he wasn’t entirely sure there weren’t villagers desperate enough to try and mug them. He’d rather avoid a fight this early in the evening, and he didn’t want to get his nice, new suit dirty.

Ignoring him, she picked up a simple gold chain with a pendant made of four gemstones. They were beautifully polished, the marquise-cut purple tourmaline the color of the sky at sunrise. Their arrangement was reminiscent of Polaris, or perhaps the compass on her maps. “This is lovely,” she commented. “Is it locally made, or imported?”

The woman hastily explained, “My husband was once the Baron’s personal jeweler. He made beautiful pieces, but they were too simple for the Baron’s tastes. He wanted to impress lady callers, and demanded gaudier jewelry without providing the proper materials,” she said sourly. “My husband got sacked, and I’ve been trying to sell these off for a while. The necklace is 6000 belli on its own, or you can make me an offer for the set?” she said hopefully, indicating the matching ring and earrings in the worn basket, their delicate star designs winking in the dim light.

Immediately Nami could tell this woman hadn’t had any luck for a long time. The quality of the gems alone showed she was drastically underpricing the pieces. It was doubtful anyone in town could afford luxuries like jewelry, and if the Baron monopolized all the outside business at his own port, she probably never even saw other potential clientele. She was probably only even trying her luck now out of desperation. After all, you can’t eat gold, and with a small child to care for, any amount of belli would do.

“It would look really pretty on you,” the little girl murmured politely, large, purple eyes watching her in wonderment. Nami was certain she was the closest thing to a princess the child had ever seen, dressed in finery and on her way to an exclusive party at the glorious mansion on the hill. A real-life Cinderella, something out of a fairy tale she’d use to comfort herself on cold, hungry nights.

Nami had certainly been in those shoes, long ago, and she’d never been able to turn her back on a child in need. Her eyes were even the same color as the tourmaline in the basket.

Well, damn, she thought with a rueful smile. Poor kid could use a fairy godmother. Or at least a Cat Thief.

Pulling a black leather wallet out of her cleavage, she said, “I’ll take the set. How does 30,000 belli sound?”

Law’s jaw dropped as his eyes widened in recognition, immediately patting his pockets to confirm his suspicions. Coming up empty, he glared bitterly when the saleswoman replied, “Tha-that’d be perfectly fine!”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Law grumbled as Nami pulled out some bills, handing them over with all the care of a woman who was fine spending money that wasn’t hers.

The thief matched his glare, tossing him the wallet. “What kind of boyfriend wouldn’t lavish his lover with jewelry?” she huffed, giving the child staring at her with blatant adoration a conspiratorial wink.

“What kind of girlfriend pickpockets her lover’s wallet?” he countered, checking the contents to make sure he was only out 30,000 belli. Satisfied that the rest of his cash was safely in place, he glanced at the little girl, his scowl faltering as his eyes fell on the awestruck face of the little girl. Quickly, his gaze darted back up to the woman who wronged him, glaring like a basilisk.

Fluttering her eyelashes, Nami replied, “The kind who knows just how generous her lover is,” she quipped before turning back to the jewelry seller to collect her purchase. For a moment, a pair of gold barrettes inlaid with clear stones—possibly diamonds, again in the marquise cut—caught her eye, but she knew better than to swipe Law’s wallet twice in one night. So, reluctantly, she only took her purchase, patting the little girl on the head in farewell. When the kid bobbed a curtsy in response, Nami couldn’t hold back her giggle, returning the gesture.

That kid’s going to have one hell of a story to tell her friends tomorrow, she thought cheerfully, jogging slightly to catch up with Law, who’d been less than the image of a handsome prince by storming off up the road without her.

Joining her date, she rolled her eyes in exasperation at the dark scowl on his face. Even without his hat, his black bangs cast ominous shadows over his eyes. He was walking even faster now, and she had to work to keep up with his long strides. It was petty, petulant revenge against the woman who had dared to get the better of him. “Are you mad that I took your wallet, or that you didn’t even notice?” she taunted lightly.

Even from the corner of his eye, his hawk-like glare made goosebumps rise across her shoulders. “I’m mad because you wasted our time and my money,” he snapped. “I already bought you your dress, mask, and wig. My ‘generosity,’ as you put it, has its limits.”

“I’ll pay you back,” she ground out, refusing to feel guilty for her actions. That little girl’s smile had been well worth the price of Law’s irritation, but she also knew she had to appease his anger if they were going to pull off their grand scheme. When he scoffed, she added reluctantly, “With interest.”

“Why’d you even bother?” he asked, indicating the jewels in her hand.

Pulling him to a stop under one of the streetlights, Nami switched her original earrings out for the bejeweled ones. “It’s for the cover. I’m supposed to be a rich doctor’s arm-candy, and my boring pearls would have looked way too simple, especially with this dress. With these, I’ll blend in better.”

“You could have just stolen them.”

She frowned at him, genuinely offended. “I steal from pirates and rich idiots who can afford it. Did you see that woman? I’d bet all the treasure on the Sunny that any money she got went to feeding her kid. I’m not going to even haggle with someone in that kind of situation.” A soft, sad smile graced her lips. “My mother did that. Claimed she was on a diet when she really couldn’t afford to feed all three of us.”

There was a moment of silence as she turned away from him, hoping to collect herself before she started bawling at the memory of Bellemere’s sacrifices. Silently, she thanked her adopted mother, willing back the stinging sensation of tears forming behind her eyes. Ruining her makeup before they even arrived at the gala would do them no good. Besides, Law would probably have some kind of smart-ass comment about it.

The refusal to let her temporary captain see her so weak, she brushed away her sadness to focus on her new jewelry. Slipping on the ring, she admired how it gleamed under the warm lamplight. It was a tad too big, fitting most comfortably on her middle finger, but she found the style suited her. She might even wear the set on a night out sometime; maybe to celebrate tonight’s success. Assuming the plan didn’t go to shit, that is.

She jumped when he finally responded, “I hate to say it, but that does look good on you.” When she turned her head, she couldn’t fight the sudden blush that spread across her cheeks. Worryingly, she couldn’t tell if it was due to his sudden, intimate proximity or the small, appreciative smile lifting his lips. Such an expression seemed too gentle for the famed Supernova, and yet she found she rather liked the way it softened and relaxed his features. “You’re surprisingly soft-hearted for a pirate, though.”

“Shut up,” she grumbled, struggling to maneuver the tiny clasp through her thick wig. Suddenly having so much hair was a real pain, and she wondered how she’d ever manage if she grew her own hair out. Short was more practical, after all, and looked cute on her to boot.

“Here, let me help,” his smooth voice whispered in her ear, and she felt her curls carefully gathered to rest over her shoulder. Nimbly, he took the necklace and fastened it securely around her neck. Tingles ran down her spine as the smooth leather of his black gloves brushed her bare skin, and the whole thing felt strangely intimate. Turning her around, Law studied his date. The pendant rested just above the dip of her bountiful cleavage, sparkling invitingly. “I’m pretty sure it’s still too simple for this crowd, but it works better than the pearls.”

Her reply was cut off by the curls she’d pinned up tumbling into her face, only to be swept back into place, secured by his deft fingers. He cupped her chin, appraising his work before nodding. Suspicious, because Trafalgar Law’s approval was never a good thing in her mind, she reached up to touch her hair, russet eyes widening when she felt gemstones instead of pearls. Head snapping back to look at the mother and daughter, her jaw dropped when she saw the little girl holding a wad of bills, beaming even more brilliantly than before while the saleswoman looked close to tears.

Turning to her partner in crime for the night, Law responded with a nonchalant shrug, though she could see his grey eyes soften as they lingered on the child excitedly waving back at them. “The pearl clips didn’t match the rest, and if we’re going to pull this off, we’d best go all-out. Plus, that cash’ll ensure their silence should they be questioned by the authorities later. I’d rather your kindness not get us identified.”

It was all very logical and well-thought-out and total bullshit. Nami had to smile as she once again took his arm, matching his easy gait as they made their way up towards the mansion. “Right. Because I’m the soft-hearted one.”

“You’re paying me back for those, too, by the way,” he quipped, smirking at her annoyed growl.

Before she could argue, he halted; the brilliant lights of the mansion were in sight, and small groups of well-dressed guests were gathering at the ornate front gate. It was time to stop being Cat Thief Nami and the Surgeon of Death Trafalgar Law, bickering pirates, and become a loving couple. Gently as a forest stream, Nami adjusted her body language, leaning comfortably against her partner, hand clutching his bicep possessively, face switching from a seething scowl to the deliriously happy grin of a woman pathetically enamored with her companion.

For his part, Law seemed to morph into his role just as fluidly, posture straightening into something more refined, his smile relaxed and charming; perfectly playing the part of a man who knew he was smart, good-looking, successful, and could easily use all that to get a woman as beautiful as the one on his arm.

Inside, Nami groused that he had the way easier acting job.

As they made their way up the mansion’s long, winding front path, crushing artfully sprinkled rose petals beneath their feet, Law slipped on a raven mask, the sharp beak curving over his nose and the shiny black feathers fanning out like little spikes over his cheeks and forehead. Nami was grateful she’d covered up his dark circles—the eye holes were definitely wide enough where they would have been distinctly visible.

In contrast, her mask was modeled after a cat, the color and leopard spots mimicking her gown perfectly. It flawlessly concealed the upper half of her face, while the large eyeholes showed off her beautiful eyes and wouldn’t block her sightline too badly.

Approaching the doorman, Law handed over their invitation, smirking when the servant checked it against the guest list before nodding, ushering them both inside. Another servant led them down an extravagantly decorated front hallway. The doctor hadn’t been kidding when he’d said the Baron was an art collector with expensive tastes; masterpieces in gold frames hung along the walls, marble statues and painted porcelain vases were displayed on opulent pedestals, and even the crimson rug beneath their feet was luxuriously soft.

Nami had to briefly bury her head against Law’s shoulder to hide the belli signs that sparkled in her eyes.

Eventually, they reached the ballroom, and as they waited to be announced, Law affectionately brushed his lips across her hair. “Ready for some fun?” he murmured, his tone affectionate but the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips screamed of devilish intentions.

She mirrored his smile and tone, eager to line her pockets and relish in luxury for a while before the real job began. “Absolutely.”

As the ballroom doors opened, the servant next to them announced them to their fellow guests.

“Presenting Dr. Goodheart Adrian and his escort, Ms. Chaton Bellemere!”

flares

chapter: 25/? summary: Dan’s body has been broken for as long as he can remember, and he’s long since learned to deal with it. Sort of. But when his symptoms force him to leave uni and move into a new flat with a stranger named Phil, he finds that ignoring the pain isn’t the way to make himself happy. word count: 3065 rating: mature warnings: chronic illness, chronic pain, medicine a/n: a huge thanks goes to @obsessivelymoody for beta reading this for me!

Ao3 link || read from beginning

Dan wakes up on Thursday to a heaviness in his chest.

He groans before he even opens his eyes. His face is squished against a pillow, his ribs pressed too harshly against the mattress. Stabs of pain burst between them, make his muscles spasm and send his breath escaping in a stutter. He has to count, one, two, three, four to keep it from happening a second time.

It eases some when he rolls onto his back.

And he tries to comfort himself further by counting out how long it’s been since he’s been able to sleep on his stomach. Too long, probably.

He’s been getting better, though. Even staring at the bedroom ceiling through his tears, Dan knows that. Knows the he’s helped Phil with dinner the last few nights, and managed to handle the curtains being open for a few hours yesterday.

His hand smoothes across his sternum, and he pokes at the painful spots in his sides until the sharpness dulls.

It’s enough to let Dan sit up, then stand on shaky knees. He tosses Phil’s pillow back to where it belongs and tucks the duvet into place to prove the voice in his head, wondering why he’s suddenly worse again, that he’s fine.

And to ignore the second voice, telling him it’s anxiety that causes your pain, over and over again.

His appointment is in a day.

Dan’s hardly slept for three.

He tries to swallow back a sigh. Whatever rush of adrenaline had dragged him out of bed has faded, left fatigue settling heavy in his bones again. He could drag himself to the lounge, curl up in his blankets and continue his new daily routine of watching people on YouTube for hours.

But his body aches and his eyes burn, and he crawls back into bed instead.

The voice in his head grows louder.

Dan grabs Phil’s pillow, clutches it ot his chest and presses his face against the fabric, breathing deeply.

It smells like Phil.

He holds it until he falls back asleep.

---

The afternoon drags.

It’s past two when Dan wakes up again. The flat is still empty, the bed unmade again. He crawls out without bothering to fix it, makes himself a sandwich, and settles back on the sofa, where he can rest his head against the cushions and ignore the tightness around his heart.

Every time he turns on his phone, it’s too a notification reminding him he has an appointment tomorrow that has his muscles seizing, making it ache to breathe.

And to a reminder he half regrets setting, since he’s ignored it for days.

Call mum.

There’s only a few hours to follow through with it now.

He glances back at the clock that tells him it’s just ticking past three. Twenty-five hours left, says the voice in his head. It sounds like the last GP he saw, who looked him in the eyes and told him to try acting like he had more energy, who told him it would help.

You should try it, his mum had said afterwards. You never know unless you do.

Dan’s thumb swipes across the screen. He finds her contact, sucks in a breath, and hits the call button.

He doesn’t breathe again until she picks up on the third ring.

“Hi, Dan,” she says.

He hasn’t heard her voice since he decided to stay here. It feels like a lifetime ago, suddenly.

“Hi, mum.”

There’s silence for a long moment. He can hear her breathing over the line, low and steady, and wonders if she can hear the shakiness in his.

“How are you?” she asks

“I’m okay,” he says. “I, uh, have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow.”

“Oh?”

He swallows, nodding even though she can’t see him. “Just with my new GP, but I’m hoping he might be able to help me,” he says. “With, well, you know.”

“I hope he can.”

She sounds sad. It’s been a long time since Dan’s heard that.

“Me too,” he says. And then, because he can’t handle the silence: “But, uh, I was hoping you could maybe help me figure out my medical history, to prepare? I don’t remember all of it from when I first got sick.”

Back when she was responsible for it, he doesn’t say. Back when anyone could keep track of all of it.

“I’ll text it to you, okay?” she says. “I know your memory isn’t always the best, and your wrists tend to ache from writing.”

“Really?” He slams his mouth shut, the click of his teeth probably audible over the phone. “I mean, thanks.”

She chuckles, quiet, distant, like he can hear the miles between them. “I’m not always heartless, you know,” she says.

Dan’s breath comes out in a rush. Guilt bursts in its place, painful, bringing tears to his eyes. And he wants to tell her he never thought she was, but he can’t. She knows he can’t. He doesn’t even know what he thinks about her now, crying, hands shaking as he clutches his phone too tightly.

“Can I ask you something?” she says. “Without you getting mad?”

“Yeah.”

“How are you doing?” she says. “I know you don’t think your problems are with your mental health, and I’m not implying they are–” the not this time goes unspoken “–but I know you’ve had bad experiences with doctors and you’re my son.”

His breath catches. A tear rolls down his cheek, and he wipes it away with his hand.

This is his first appointment without her, he realizes. The first one in six years that she’s not driving him to, waiting outside or sitting next to him for the length of it. The first time she won’t smooth his hand over his knee in the waiting room, telling him it’ll be okay, that doctors can be trusted, even though they’d been proving otherwise for so long.

“I’m okay,” he says. “Phil’s coming with me.”

“That’s good,” she says, like she means it. “I am glad you have him, you know.”

He almost reminds her what she thought of him living with Phil last time they spoke, but his heart aches and his eyes are stinging and he doesn’t want to fight, not this time.

“Me too,” he says. “He’s the best, mum.”

She sounds like she’s smiling when she says: “I’d love to meet him, one day.”

Dan swallows. He can hardly picture it, bringing Phil back to a house filled with terrible memories and people he still doesn’t trust entirely. And yet there’s a tug in his chest, a bittersweet image forming in the back of his mind.

He doesn’t say anything.

Neither does she, for a while.

“I should get going,” is what she ends up saying. “As long as you’re okay? I’ll text you your medical information in a little bit.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’m okay. Thank you.”

She hums. “And Dan?”

“Yeah?”

“You should call your grandma. She misses her sofa buddy.”

He chuckles. It aches. Suddenly, he’s exhausted again. “Okay. I will,” he promises. “And mum?”

“Yeah?”

“No news is good news, okay? If I don’t call you after the appointment, I mean.”

“Okay,” she says. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

The line goes dead.

His head falls back against the cushion and his phone drops onto the sofa. Tears are rolling down his cheeks, and he’s not entirely sure he knows why.

Or maybe he just can’t untangle all the many, many reasons.

---

Phil’s quiet when he gets home.

He takes the smoothie Dan didn’t touch and sets it on the coffee table before dropping onto the empty cushion. His arm is draped across the back of the cushion, his hip just inches from Dan’s, as he turns his gaze to the open laptop, lit up with another Smosh video.

Dan’s been watching them mindlessly since his tears dried on his cheeks.

“This is a good one,” says Phil.

It’s an older one, the production value a little cheaper and humour a tad outdated. Probably more similar to what Phil had watched back at uni, Dan thinks. He tries to imagine it, a younger version of Phil, one with longer hair and a slightly narrower frame, sitting in a uni room like the one Dan moved out of before coming here.

He hardly can. Maybe because his mind is still muddled, hanging onto words he said during the phone call, onto all the things he should have said but didn’t.

“It is,” he says, just as the video ends.

He doesn’t start a new one.

Phil’s fingers sweep across his shoulder. In Dan’s peripheral, he can see Phil turn to look at him, but he doesn’t look back.

“Are you okay?” asks Phil.

Dan swallows. There’s a lump in his throat, a pressure behind his eyes so harsh it aches.

“Didn’t sleep very well,” he says.

Phil squeezes his shoulder. “I know.”

That makes the corner of his mouth quirk up. Of course Phil knows. He was there, arms wrapped around Dan as he fidgeted, tossed, and turned. His hands had combed through Dan’s hair, and his quiet questions about if Dan was okay were mumbled against his shoulder, his reassurance felt in his touch.

Phil usually falls asleep pretty quickly, Dan’s learned. Last night, he didn’t.

The hand at his shoulder tightens. Dan finally turns to face Phil.

“Is that all that’s bothering you?”

His eyes are soft, almost sad, as his hand rubs gentle circles against Dan’s skin. He knows. He must know something’s up. Dan has to remind himself that Phil’s seen him after countless sleepless nights, curled up in soft blankets on the sofa and dozing when his mind gets too tired to keep racing.

Today isn’t like that.

Dan reaches out to rest a hand on Phil’s knee, needing to feel grounded, as the first tear rolls down his cheek. Phil draws him closer, so Dan’s head is by his shoulder, his tears dripping down onto the fabric of Phil’s shirt.

There’s no pressure, none but the weight of Phil’s hand on his shoulder, when Dan says:

“I called my mum.”

Phil goes tense. “Oh,” he say. “How did that go?”

Dan swallows. “I don’t know.”

He really doesn’t. His chest feels too full with contradictions, the weight of past accusations crashing up against her understanding tone and he doesn’t know what to think anymore. He’s never been sure how to exist around her, not since pain first settled in his bones and she told him it was growing pains, it would pass, it would get better.

And it never did.

“I haven’t talked to her since I told her I was staying in Manchester,” he says, maybe as an afterthought, maybe because it’s felt heavy on his shoulders since he answered the phone.

“Was she nicer this time?”

He nods. Another tear falls. “She’s texting me my medical history,” says Dan. “She offered, because she– she knew I had trouble writing and remembering.”

Phil hums. His breath has gone even again. His mouth is close to the top of Dan’s head. He sounds hesitant when he speaks. “It sounds like she cares.”

Dan feels that, sharp and painful in his gut. Another tear rolls down his cheek, and his breath catches, and Phil holds him tighter like he’s scared Dan will fall apart.

Maybe he will.

It’s been so long,

He’s been so that sure she doesn’t actually care.

Now, he doesn’t know what to think.

---

His mum texts him.

Dan almost cries. His teeth dig into his lip and his ribs ache and he stares, wide-eyed, at the list of diagnoses and unexplained symptoms he’s had over the years. There’s the migraines they never treated at the beginning, the lightheadedness it took them four years to explain, the instructions to do more exercise that dot the whole six years that he’s been ill.

The first time he went to therapy, and the antidepressants they put him on, and the second time he went to therapy.

And every time he told his doctor he was still sick after that.

Phil’s hand lands on his wrist, gently pushing the phone from Dan’s line of sight. His voice is barely a whisper when he says: “Are you okay?”

Dan swallows. His throat aches.

Laid out like this, it doesn’t look that bad, a distant voice in his head that’s haunted him for too long tries to remind him that maybe he’s just making it all up. Maybe it wasn’t that bad. But Dan can remember the A&E doctor who turned him away because it was growing pains. Can remember the so many times his blood pressure was low before anyone bothered to point it out.

The time his doctor looked at him and said–

“Can we do something?” says Dan. “I want to– I need a distraction.”

Phil nods. In Dan’s peripheral, his phone screen goes black. The knot in his chest loosens, just a bit.

“Wanna play video games?” says Phil.

He shakes his head. “Wanna go out. It’s been too long.”

Phil’s brows furrow, like he’s about to point out that there’s a reason it’s been so long, about to warn Dan that he doesn’t want to make himself sick before such an important day.

Except part of Dan does. He’s done it before, forced himself to be in pain because maybe that way the doctors would actually see that he wasn’t lying. Not that it’s ever worked.

“Please?” he says.

Phil squeezes his wrist. “Okay.” His thumb drifts across Dan’s, careful and comforting. “Where do you want to go?”

---

Dan squeezes into his skinny jeans, even though the fabric burns his legs. He pulls a shirt over his head for what feels like the first time in forever. Though his knees are shaky, he bends down to tie his own laces, as Phil watches from where he’s leaning against the door.

“Are you sure about this?”

He reaches out, without a word, to help Dan stand again.

“I’m sure,” says Dan. “And don’t worry, you won’t need to take me to A&E this time.”

The corner of Phil’s mouth quirks up, and Dan knows he’s forcing it. He can feel his worry in the too-tight clench of Phil’s hand around his, the way his gaze trips over Dan legs when he wobbles as he stands.

He squeezes Phil’s fingers, forcing a smile of his own, as he opens the door.

It’s warm outside. The sky’s going purple as the sun sinks below the city. Dan realizes, staring up at it, that he hasn’t left the flat since he trip to A&E, hasn’t enjoyed being outside in far too long.

If his joints would let him, he’d suggest they walk around a bit. Instead, he stares up at the clouds and reminds himself to spend more evenings, when the sun won’t burn his eyes, on their little balcony, just to feel the wind against his cheeks again.

Phil tugs on his hand when the cab pulls up in front of them. They pile in, side by side in the back seat. Dan doesn’t put on his seatbelt. He can’t be bothered to deal with the harsh rub of fabric against his ribs.

His chest is still tight, the quiet buzz of anxiety at the back of his mind growing louder. He can still feel his phone, heavy in his pocket, can still imagine the text he hasn’t yet responded to. He can remember their last movie night, laughing and gasping and falling asleep with Phil’s hands trying to massage the pain away.

They hadn’t even gone out last time.

Dan stares out the window and hopes he can keep his promise that it’ll be okay this time.

They slip out of the car at the cinema. Phil pays the driver. Dan leans against the wall as he waits, wondering if the lines inside are long. It’s been so long since he’s been to the cinema, he can hardly imagine it anymore. The screens usually hurt his eyes and the audio gives him a headache and he doesn’t care today.

“You okay?”

Phil’s smiling at him, standing by the door. He holds it open for Dan, and buys their tickets for a random comedy neither of them particularly wanted to see. He lets Dan go find a seat as he buys them popcorn, soda, and a chocolate bar to share. He hands it over, in the darkness of the theatre, with a smile.

Between them, their knees bump together as the film starts.

---

They’re holding hands when it ends.

Dan’s eyes are starting to burn and his chest aches from laughing, but the voices in his head have dulled just enough that he can breathe a little easier. He doesn’t think about the appointment he needs to show up to tomorrow, or the doctor he hasn’t met yet who might dash his hopes all over again.

He stares at their joined hands as the cinema empties, smiling.

“You ready to go home?” says Phil.

Dan shrugs. He probably should give his spine a break by sinking into the sofa again, close his eyes against the bright lights of the city before a headache wells in his temples. But he doesn’t want to sit in the dark and wait until tomorrow, letting his fears return.

“Can we get pizza?”

“You up to walk?”

He nods. Phil helps him to his feet and leads him out of the cinema. He knows Manchester better than Dan does, and tells a story about coming to watch movies with Ian when he was younger as they find the nearest pizza place. Dan listens, maybe more attentively than he needs to, to keep his mind from going hazy as the city moves around him.

There’s still a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Dan wonders if him of a few years ago would have believed that he’d end up here.

The restaurant they end up in is small and quiet, and they slide into a booth in the corner of the room. Dan sinks back against the cushion, realizing that Phil’s smiling, too.

His chest feels warm. His fingers twist in the tablecloth, because part of him misses holding Phil’s hand.

“Thanks for tonight,” says Dan. “I had fun.”

Under the table, Phil knocks their feet together.

“I did too,” he says.

Fell - Chapter 1 - The First Day...

Just a story I started last night when I couldn’t sleep due to my fan breaking down. Was originally going to be dialogue for a comic, but got too long-winded, plus I hate drawing proper comics. Finished it up just now.

This isn’t going to be a continuous story, but I figured it’d be interesting enough to post here. Give you guys a sample of my rare prose, haha. Also, backstory.

Axl awoke to the sound of chirping birds. Groggy, he slowly sat upright, rubbing his eyes and adjusting his glasses. The grass was soft, and the morning light glimmered through the light canopy formed by the forest's unusually round treetops. Fluffy white rabbits and other small creatures rustled here and there, painting a strangely idyllic scene. "Where... the Hell am I..?" Axl asked himself as he pushed himself to his feet, dusting off the ironic Nirvana t-shirt he usually wore to annoy the overbearing mother who'd cursed him with his name. The last thing he remembered was browsing an antique shop in his hometown, and finding a peculiar mirror. It had no price tag, and the shop owner claimed to have not seen it before. Moreover, when Axl looked closely at it, it reflected him, but not the shop behind him; in fact, it had reflected a scene that looked an awful lot like the one he was in now. As he had stared into it more and more closely, he'd felt like he was being drawn into it. Then he blacked out, and woke up here. Axl looked around, running his fingers through his wavy ponytail to dislodge some of the grass in it from lying down. He was trying to find any signs of the mirror in the grass. There was no sign of the mirror. What he did find, though, was a small patch of cartoonishly large orange mushrooms, and a collection of tools leaning against a nearby tree stump; a short sword that looked like it had seen better days, a rather nondescript axe, and a surprisingly fancy pickaxe that seemed to be etched with faint runes. All three tools seemed to be made from copper. Axl reached down and picked up the sword, examining it. The hilt and pommel almost resembled the characteristic trees surrounding him. "What on Earth is-" he began as he reached into his back pocket for his embarrassingly old phone and flipped it open. He wanted to know what time it was, and see if he'd gotten any messages since he - what he assumed - had gone missing. Much to his chagrin, it wouldn't turn on. "...Geez, I just charged this thing," he mumbled to himself, irritated. He shook his head and pocketed the useless electronic, idly letting the arm holding the sword swing, "How long was I out?" he asked nobody in particular. "From what I saw, you more or less just arrived." "Wh-aah!" Axl jumped slightly, startled by the new voice, which he turned to face with his hands held up defensively, sword ready. Standing there was another man, looking about his age, with short hair, a long-sleeved gray shirt, and jeans, somehow appearing exceedingly unremarkable in spite of the fact that he seemed to have materialized out of basically nowhere. He was smiling a very sarcastic smile, unperturbed by having a weapon brandished in his direction. Feeling like an idiot, Axl lowered the sword and adjusted his glasses, slightly askew from his start, "Alright, who are you?" "The only person who's going to help you get your footing here," was the only response he got. Axl tilted his head and waited for more of an explanation, maybe a proper name, but when he got none, he just arched a brow, "...Riight," He wasn't sure he trusted this guy, "And where am I?" "Well, I'm sure lots of people have lots of different names for this land..." the other man waved, gesturing to the surroundings, "but most of the locals end up calling it Terraria." "Uh huh," Axl sighed, arcing his neck back over-dramatically to gaze up at the sky, "Great, spirited away to some weird forest in the middle of nowhere and now a crazy person's telling me that-" A wet thump and unfamiliar motion in Axl's peripheral vision nearly caused him to jump again, barely avoiding falling over due to his posture. A weird, globular blue shape appeared from the overgrowth, bounding clumsily in his direction. This was definitely not just 'some forest.' "Don't believe me if you don't want to, but you'd best be prepared for even more surprises if you don't," the man pointed at the gelatinous organism, if it could even be called that, "For instance, that. Meet the most numerous of your new neighbors; the humble slime." "Uh... whoa," Axl warily knelt down, holding up a hand to see if somehow this strange thing could perceive the gesture, "Hey there little buddy." He mumbled, cautiously. Behind him, he could hear the other man snort, as if holding back a laugh. He turned momentarily to shoot a nasty glare back, before returning his attention to the slime. The slime wiggled a bit and hopped closer. It almost seemed curious, and certainly not threatening. Not really thinking, Axl placed his hand on it. It had the bouncy consistency of cold gelatin. The other fellow chuckled. "I wouldn't do that if I were you." Axl turned, leaving his hand on the slime. The surface was pleasant under his palm, but it did little to stem his slowly rising temper, "Look, man, not to be rude, but why should I listen to you?" "Let's just say I'm a guide, here to keep you from dying within a minute of your arrival." He held up a finger matter-of-factly, "My first piece of advice is to stop petting that slime and cut it up. You're going to need the gel to make torches." "Right, because indiscriminately attacking the native wildlife unprovoked when it's clearly passive is such a great ide-" Before he could finish, Axl suddenly fell forward with a yelp as the gelatinous creature suddenly became a lot more fluid, causing him to fall over as his arm sunk into it up to his elbow. He quickly tried to push himself up to his feet, only for the slime to stick to his arm and come up with him. He stared in horror as his skin began to dissolve inside the slime. "-aaaAAAHHHH! WH-WHAT THE-AAAAAAGHH!!!" he tried to shake it off, but to no avail as it started to climb further up his arm, taking flesh with it, exposing muscle beneath, and bone in his fingers. "Again, you should probably cut it up," the other man said, calmly, with a patronizing smirk and exaggerated shrug, "The gel loses its ability to move and digest at lower volume." As smug as this jerk seemed to be, there was no other option. Axl frantically grabbed the ratty copper sword and began to stab furiously at the slime, carving pieces off, nearly taking off his own fingers. Once it was small enough, the rest of the slime simply dripped off, puddling on the ground and going inert. It hurt. Axl sat down roughly, holding his mangled arm and breathing heavily. It hurt a lot. He'd have cried at the pain if it weren't for the shock. His shock was interrupted by a mushroom being shoved in his face, one of the large orange ones he'd seen nearby. The other fellow was holding it, still smirking, "Congratulations, you nearly died to one of the weakest creatures you'll ever meet here." The sarcasm almost burned more than the exposed muscle, "Eat this and you'll feel brand new. Well, kind of." "L-like hell I am!" Axl backed off, nearly falling off the stump. He stood up, still holding his arm, growling at this smarmy know-it-all, "Like I'm just going to eat some random, poisonous-looking mushrooms off the ground in a strange place offered by a jerk like-" "Ah, so you're one of the stubborn types," The guide backed up, holding up the mushroom and waving it a bit, "Like I said, I'm here to keep guys like you alive. Eat this, and you might stay that way." He shrugged again, with a slight chuckle, "I mean, you'd get more out of it if you mixed it with some of that gel you just cut up, but first you'd need a bottle," he held up a finger as he said that, then another, and another as he continued, "You could make bottles out of glass, which you could get by smelting sand in a furnace... but you'll need stone and torches to make a furnace. And to make torches, you-" Axl hissed both in anger and pain, "Oh, go to Hell-" "Been there. You'll know when you get there, yourself," The guide's smile was insufferable. Axl resisted the urge to spit. "Tch-" He turned and stomped away. Now he really was tearing up. The burning in his arm was unbelievable, but all he wanted to do was get away from this jerk goading him. The further he walked, though, the more he couldn't ignore the pain, and it clouded his perception. He only realized that the surroundings had changed as he trudged along, with a sudden heat biting at his exposed arm, his foot sinking into... "...Sand..." Axl mumbled, eyes clearing slightly, "...He said sand could be made into glass, which could-" He took a few more steps, when suddenly the loose ground gave way under him. With a surprised shout he tried to jab the sword into something, anything, to keep himself from falling into this new pit. However, when it lodged into the tougher soil just above the sand, the velocity at which he fell away with the sand caused him to lose his grip, drawing him into the pit. He looked down just in time for a pair of heavy, razor-sharp mandibles to sink into his leg. The impossibly massive antlion's red eyes gleamed for a second before it retreated into the soft sand, its new prey in tow. "N-no no no NO NO NO NO-" Axl screeched as he reached upward, in vain, for the sword dangling in the soil above his head, but he was already waist-deep. Then chest-deep. Then shoulder. Then neck. He clawed frantically, but within seconds it was over his head. Soon, his flailing arm disappeared, as well. His screams were stifled by the sand filling his lungs and- -he woke up. With a start Axl sat up, clutching his throat, breathing ragged. He grabbed his wrist, which showed no signs of having just been digested by slime. It was as if nothing had happened. The memory was so vivid, though. "What-... what was... Was it just a dream-?" His eyes darted around. Everything was as it had been, with the pile of faintly wriggling gel to one side, the axe and pick still leaning on the stump. The guide was also there, sitting on said stump. "Nope," the guide smiled, looking amused, foot on a rock, elbow on his knee so he could rest his chin in his hand, "You totally just suffered a gruesome death by giant sand insect. Probably had your guts sucked out, followed by the rest of the moisture in your body," The calmness of his smile was gone, replaced by a twisted sort of dark sarcasm that sent shivers down Axl's spine, "Good thing you drowned in the sand before then, huh?"  The gory description certainly didn't help. It was too much to take in all at once and Axl gave a shaky, terrified sigh as he reached into his other back pocket for his pack of cigarettes. When he found it was not on him, he whimpered, curling up and burying his face in his hands. "So, Axl Colin Eyre," Axl's blood ran cold. How did this man know his full name..? "You gonna start listening to me now?"

from gods slit wrist

  Halogen Incense

  Daddy stopped when he left her car seat on the roof.

She was born into it. Early she saw everyone was born similarly  She lived in horror at the world’s endless supply of heretics.

  Consuming confusion was brilliant in her entrance. A blinding that you tried to look through. The star, the yesteryear, the livid hopes; all under her banner. She entered stage center, dazzled and smiled the smile of small deaths and caught breath. Mississippi. A single precious tear from Gods face, a single drop of blood from Gods slit wrist, dropped in th mud. Seemed the whole state was confused, she never understood that. How was all a God’s country so turned around? Sometimes she thought maybe it was in her eyes.

  They were catching a bus Daddy said, but she didn’t figure as much. She held his hand, comforting him. Our Lady of Perpetual Grace was passed without so much as a spit. Daddy wouldn’t look at it. Catholics. Mostly we called em the harlot. She knew what a harlot was. She’d been one.

  Grady was supposed to be around Carthage. Hard boys up there, Momma said. Last time he was around he gave Momma some of his teeth. They were always doing that type of thing. They hugs was long uns.

  Katherine Robertine Elizabeth Toter-Cobb. We was all flummoxed by such a regal name. Mama has some history attached to it but she only showed us the peeking corners and dirty obscurities.

Momma stole books and burned them after ‘eating’ them. She’d whisper that it felt like eating anyway.  She’d say this every time. Perhaps these were only time she wasn’t listing. Momma believed in divine winds. She wouldn’t ever fight em. She wanted a hero, so bad. Her favorites were the ones who died at the end. Nothing confusing about that.

  Katy-Rob they called her. Daddy called Momma pretentious. Or pretty contentious. It was one of the only times she looked at him with love. I magine she thought it witty. I know I did. After that look she went on to the pharmacy and Daddy went to buy tickets.   I caught up to her looking real intent on some new tennis shoes on this dude with a Cat hat n’ those damn sequined jeans.

Know when you gaze up and on a thing…cher, you change it?

I know that mama.

Oh youre so erudite, you.

What?

Momma was Acadian and though she was supposed to be so smart she talked just like everyone else, cept kinda dumber for that couy’on shit. In every picture I every saw of her she was showing her long white teeth, like she was trying to sell something. Later I came to see she was trying to prove to the world she wasn’t poor.

Id seen Mama do some sketchy shit, some wicked shit…one time she rented Grady out for 3 months. Stabbed a girl in Germantown outside a Memphis because she was too high. In the heat of demon attack mama looked sinistral, eyes seemed almost all black and shadows moved about her profile like they was alive. Face would be all fucked up. I hated looking at her like that. You just wanted to put yourself inbetween her and that.

I wote a poem for her. She loved to dance. Long lines a sweat in every right place. Everyone looked at her when she was dancing… like they everyone wanted to hump ’er…momma had dat juju.

We leak through the clicks you clock and mourn for the rocks we see carried about Demure with reverence but cannot rationalize just feel within as we all watch our loved ones spin to try and place an eye on the thing That produces the suffering and in this spinning habitual it metastasized into ritual and the dance in its ignorance is beautiful lenocinant sinistral

and i wish we could all be still

    “Feet pue tan, mi amor”

Mama don’t cuss. Never would.

I loved lines like that. The whole lot of us lived on that line.

    There wasn’t ever gonna be any bus, and she was startlingly not shamed by his lie. Heretics. Small feet kicked at a Fanta Orange. Katy-Rob couldn’t be sure if they was black or dirty so she looked up a bit. Confusing who was proper and who wasn’t. She’d heard some ministers ministerin’ on keeping birds with birds and cows with cows.

  She wanted to scratch when she itched but she never did.

  Holed up at the non-denominational she took a moment to do her 4th dailies while she watched the transactions. Time and money for peace of mind, she knew there was no equanimity in that purchase for how can you sell somin inside the body. Only time she felt that was in the rock and roll church’s, that precious theater inside her heart singing out the most amazing dance numbers. Gold and purple feelings. Like Mamma’s Tigers.

  Bus trip in the none-to-crisp suit pocket, they stayed for the Wed. prayer meetin. “Lord, clarity!?” is all she heard.

She let em. In her mind she wouldn’t say any of them words, though she knew em all. Not anymore. School want ever much of an option. She imagined she’d gone some 86 days counting Sunday school. Down in Delta Daddy drove the pickers and Momma would help her people at the gin. She guessed they also make juniper liquor, but she had never seen anybody so much as talking too much.

  Usually she let em. Long as Grady wasn’t in the county or parish.

      Carthage

  Inside of the pain management clinic Momma wagged a smidgen more than usual.

  The Cave. Yeah she felt like she understood what that peasant man had been on about. Inside of her the beasts walked behind her eyes projecting outward before the flame. Spirit. It was in there, everyone cept the great harlot believed that, maybe the Jews too.

The connection with the nebulous. A shadow moving over the death waters. Spirit. All of us believed in it, we just didn’t know what it did exactly. People loved to say ‘god-bless’ or ‘Lord have mercy’ without any effect registerin’. To my mind that just made it a cuss word.

  She loved the swamp. Would try and draw it out on some papers she kept in a plastic sack. She would rub the expensive paper between her fingers and something stirred.  The cicadas song was richer there, the air tugged back, weightier somehow. She felt like her house would one day be in the swamp, clapboard painted green with mesh to keep out the critters but not else.

    It sounded like a side of deboned meat being hit with a Louisville slugger, he’d been there and few people went around with bats. Guns mainly. Breaking his hand had been a salvation. He thought he’d found religion but he’d found instead a boy from Colombia. Alerts rang. Grady felt drugs were a last option. Open but last on line. Everyone he grew up with said “in line” but Grady was careful with his mastery of what he considered the only separation betwixt man and dog.

Manfreid Israel Romele was Russian. Perhaps German. Older. Beautiful. Cement blonde. How is a fighter so beautiful? Grady knew.

Smoldering halogen incense prayed for them. Pissing on the carhood altar.

The boy was a fucking nightmare. Glowed. Darkness. He’d seen it before. Everything was loose when he prayed, like the boy standing feet away, steam roiling off of his neck, with “Molon Labe” tatted across the front of his windpipe, where he got hit 45 seconds later.

  The Chevelle was purple and Grady wouldn’t lean on it. Surrounding the Big Red Barn choking the purity of the moment were the ‘chickens’.   Grady had said, ”clucking foul” but his folk just spit out the gumbo. Grady did not respect a man who watched blood-sports.

  Ancient and comfortable. It was more than he could bear, of at time he would sit in the pot till he’d eatin it. A marvel of his power, kneeling on the commode in communion. Particles of hay and heat, cicada’s his private herald. Easy 220.   Easy. Against his knees fabric calmed his fingers, he thought of his sister; the smile closed. He thought of Teddy on his horse, the pompous, articulate fool.

  “It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood…”

  So fucking obvious, like ham-in-hand. Natchitoches. Ham-in-Hand Festival 94. You could walk across the Sabine on boats, smells of the Cajun Microwave’s buried in the soft loam some 100 paces from the water. Whole hogs stuffed with chickens and doves. Grady wondered if dogs trusted smell the way humans subscribed to sight. It was over tween them and he should have seen it. Grady looked coldly at his need. Only the slightest of scowls. Chemicals he thought, chemicals and blips.

    He didn’t think it much, to go to war. He was plied with Mozi, Xenophon and 1st Chronicles 4:10 early. Daddy leaning over him and pointing to sketches momma had drawn to go with the Gideon Bible which was in constant circumlocution with others of its ilk. He always walked hunkered down, tied firmly to many things that were not tied to him.

She scuttled over the grooved Cyprus, kaleidoscope of man reduced, he saw her; languidly absorbing the violence to come. Beneath her impressive multi-spectacled visage was her load, atwitter. Looked of fine hairs in a sharp breeze, her brood beneath her belly. She leaned back as if to sit or box or pray, front legs circling in the direction of the bigger man’s dead face.

  Lawd have a way, boy you ready?

The man was a fat, suspender framing a whet shirt with nowhere to go came up on Grady’s boy Ara too fast.

Ok we ready?

Ill kill you ifin you don’t step back.

Things was tight, Grady knew all bout this here.

Aight then.

  Theys a bit a nonsense bout that bet?

No. Straight up.

Mine’ll be in money orda?

Ara’d get it after the fight now, cause I’ll be on my way, Briar Rabbit style, gros cul.

    Fat man took on a greasy bugger as backward he moved, “that man fittin to fuck you.”

Tingle. Mmmmmmm. Grady felt like Ehud preparing to assassinate the fat king Eglon of Moab.

Hear that Schvartze, eer dat fat man.

God give me a verse. He chewed a small hangnail.

Ha. He knew it. 2 Kings 9:20, 20 The watchman [a]reported, “He came even to them, and he did not return; and the driving is like the driving of Jehu the son of Nimshi, for he drives furiously.”

The Lord gave this verse a lot.

  Ehud and Jehu. Lawd have mercy son.

    This boy was car black, and it really aint right, that type a black. That sheen of purple that made Grady think of dinosaurs and that painter Turner. Give em almost like invisibility at night. And nobody wants that shit. It’s like that shine you can see you’re reflection in… but it gives pause cause it’s a black you staring back. How fucking mad you’d be.  Grady wouldn’t look at those shiny black cars, he even avoided dark purple.

Fat man giggled into his cerchief and sat down on a bale; he thought, looking toward the unimpressive white boy, that this’d be soon over.

  Grady prayed a bit, squatted and thought of something like a dwarf star painted on a canvas the side of the barn.

He knew the boy’d come over the top and heavy, he knew hed move left and the boy’d come in with a quick step and a lunge at his knees.   All the cat in that man was now cutting its way to the top. the breath was bull-like in intensity but shallow. The red rims mean he’s a drinker probably and he favored his left knee a bit. Grady felt sorry then. Sorry for his life and his momma, sorry for the man who was gonna try a kill him, sorry for the fat man who bet against his own kind, sorry that Mississippi water that he smelled on everything was growing less pungent.   Sorry God was real and poetry was to hang him. Sometimes things seeded afor birth ripen when they aint wanted. He always felt tears was fine where laughter was.

They drummed him out of the military for being too young. Sure at that time it would be the catalyst for a life riding the dark horse, he considered killing himself but didn’t. Grady’d look in the mirror most days to check and see if it was time.

    I read somewhere that poor people typically name their kids names like Unique, Kandy, Sherry and Amber. Later, I read somewhere that girls with some particular names wind up being hookers and dancers and in the porno’s. It bothered me it took two studies to not say that poor girls went to stripping a shade faster than rich ones. Academicians are so fucking stupid. Not only this but everyone knew that strippers changed their names. I thought then and think now I should be in charge of a hair more.

I guess I followed her around some.  I remember the taste of bubble-gum scented shampoo and her face.  We were protective of each other as should be expected.  Daddy woednt too much of a provider, nor a daddy.  I guess she burned out that wild streak cause she came back directly. “I wish I was in Dixie, hurrah hurrah In Dixie land Ill take my stand to live and die in Dixie. Oh way Oh way Oh way down south….. in Dixie.” She loved the word Dixie, long as I knew her though I believe she thought it more of a state of being, like glory or honor.  She may ah never known it was holding all our heads under water.  Grady knew all about it and loved it anyway.  Some things just don’t figure.  Soon as I could I got out. Not sure anyone else ever did, not really.

I remember him takin pictures of her holding onto a lit lighter and a squeeze bottle a lighter fluid. I remember when the men came in and he couldn’t protect us.  He tried.  Grady says, “tryin dyin.”

I read an article somewhere bad things happen to poorer people more often, it was more nuanced than that but that’s what I got. “Katy-Rob, bring us that phone.” “your cellular phone?” “We aint go no…little smart-alec.” She was always doin stuff like that.  I couldn’t ever figure who she was making fun of, Daddy or this Democratic Republic. Maybe Jonny Locke. Momma was a Rhodes Scholar, I do not know how.

    The slovenly way she met my laughter got her a lick. She called herself red velvet, not a nickname, her color. Said mamma was white as the driven snow cept a little Cocoa and a dash’a red food colorin. At a certain age I started realizing that I was gonna be mostly for myself, like my cousin Fay. I took to strippin like anybody’s business. First night in, this little Indian girl told me we do private parties, all naked. I couldn’t see much difference anyhow. It was illegitimate and the girls were indifferent to the men sucking on their titties and stuff. It just suited me fine.

  I told Grady that he was to keep my little sister outta my world. There was only room in Carthage for one Cobb stripper.

      The striker clicked down and something happened but it sure did not fire a round. White slipstream stepped quickly and quietly inside and hit the man with the gun in the throat. That noise is a thing. Everyone knew he’d done killed him. Grady remembered Niccki Bercham getting punched just so and dying. He guessed he coulda just knocked the gun away. Somewhere, someone was probably holding a little nigglet, waiting on daddy to call. It’d be a wait.

  There were eight Cobbs all said but they slithered off, most of em anyway, to Bama and Nam and Peru. Doesn’t matter too much because once they left sight of the Mississippi River, they was good as dead.

        Why’d they decide to try and kill him? Grady had a small warrant out on him that left the Boss little choice. That’s what I heard.

  Theys four of us around and we all came. Amber, Bo, Katy, and me. Grady stood up from a Shaker stool he loved.

Grady said they’d maybe come for one of us.

They got Katy Rob two nights later, sent in her fron tooth wit they diamond set in it. Fucked up but shed done talked about rippin it out her own self.

  Similies was supposed to be a real swanky joint but it was not. Owner by strategery has built a damn motel in the back. Lord have mercy, sulphur factory. I went to pills in the first month. Once you have gonna church and believe, shit gets real hard to do…after the first couple times anyway.

  Grady wasn’t blood related to all the girls and he knew to divide his attentions. You cant just go around fighting the whole wrestling team. Amber was neck-tatted and out from around at 14. Our older cousins had done some strippin down on the redneck riveria and I reckon it called her harder’n dope.

Katy took to the hard life too but came back to me and Daddy, Momma and her never cared to talk to one another. She came back quieter and only wore beige and grey. She wrote long letters to Amber and cried some but I would have had her cry all the time if’n she’d just stay.

  You’se too young buddy.

I knew you’d say that shit.,

Amber drove up in a fucking Infinity with something clanking under the jappy hood. I knew Grady wouldn’t even look at her, not even one time.

Amber and me gonna go talk to Joe-Block. See if we can figure something out.

  There wasn’t any reason to hate Grady for being what he was but I had me a weapon too.

I never knew a way to complete the things that others completed. I reckon I’m slow or I ain’t totally grown up yet.   Somin’. When I saw those men take Katy and beat Daddy, there was some sort of wet click and I seemed of a sudden to be able to see it all. The vast expanse and the precipitous nature of the wealthy and the bright. left us all killing each other over a double wide and an abortion.

  I watched myself, knowin somehow I had made a decision that was about being a man, about being a Cobb n’ a Toten but there wasn’t anything movie about it.  I stole a ladies cruiser out front a the Winn Dixie and played with myself all the way to Biloxi.  I felt greasy and popped a pimple on my back.  Somehow the Ruger felt lighter the further south we went, like it was becoming less offended by its own.

    I was in love with the purity of my little brother. He would never talk to me in front of other people but in private he asked after my girlfriends and me. Once I got a bit too graphic and he white’nd up so I was sure he was gonna kill me. I think he’s still a virgin at 24.

    I had made 1200. I have no damn clue where that fucking money is now. Jessie and I were working on a routine, she had this idea for a ‘concept piece’ with Moors and an allusion to the Hearst family but we just wound up kissing and smoking cigarettes till it was our turn.

They could see her now. More whispers to Letty, “This place gone turn out.”

“mmm”

“Im gone go bump th doe man and see if he got a piece.”

Letty smiled a ray of rancid rainbow.

5’1 or 5’3 he guessed. Wadnt no 5’2. Tatted up like her momma didn’t give a fuck. A little bump in his chest somewhere reminded him of another girl, another stripper, another piece of meat in the wily trades of men.

She caught his eye and may have winked, which sent Letty whom everyone called Lessy to the potty to laugh in the stall.

Men with huge dicks walk a bit different she whispered to a man sticking a 10 in her g. Lets the whole world who cares to know. The roxi’s in her were turning everything a little less than, like life was amped up but she was at regular speed.  She kept seeing > signs. In the glass of the bowl, in her reflective panties, in her eyes in the cracke john mirra. Pulling his head she thought momentarily of licking his ear but these was Halliburton boys, fresh oft the rig and in Hub City to be jackass’s but not to take a good shower.

When she threw up the front row moved toward anywhere that wasn’t there. Same time a rukus in the commode and a gunshot out the back.

  A week later a tall boy walks in and politely asks after Robert-Earl. No one really wanted to tell him.

Everything I did the hardest I ever done. I worked all my life with Daddy at whatever we was doing then so I always knowed I could throw a bale a bit harder than most. I was always taught to be polite even if they weren’t, so I thought Id just ask after Katys old boss. Figured with his lip Id go on ahead. His eye popped out with that first one, his ocular cavity crushed, and I walked toward the back looking at the mirrors for boys coming up on me. I know I punched some girls and I hope to high hell they aint no videotape a me but when it started in earnest it couldn’t be helped. I know one of em kissed me on the back of my neck while I was stomping on this colored boys. Heard later he got paralyzed some. Gottim a check anyway.

I learned that night why mama said them Carthage boys is hard. Robert-Earl. I had a drown his brother in front a him and it wernt no easy thing.

  Amocitea

Your Daddy aint gonna recognize you.

Still that little girl. When under all of it, peach flame tripped along at the word. She wanted so much for him to swoop, it was pure. A clean thing, her vision of Daddy just doing what all real animals did. Maybe he was too human.

That golden blanket that she just expected to keep on being, didn’t; and she stepped out really believing that they was gentlemen in this South, in this here state. One night looking deep in her own eyes while everyone elses in the room were on her crotch she realized that this southern thang was a crock. She spected Margaret Mitchell probably just cold wishin like every other Dixie brat split-tail. It was a precious pity that she thought in that manner, she thought…probably affecting her self-image or the like.

    She’s hurt I felt. Hurt people, hurt people but with such a swirlin tide, a man just got to decide when to jump in, not if.

  Once I heard that Grady involved everybody in his business, I knew I hadda get us outta town. I didn’t really think Momm’d come wit her doctors here and whatever else she was into. Since Id come back from the Wilderness I had taken to wearing full length skirts and not shaving. I know my flesh well and I knew that just like this skirt, I could put it back on rrrrrreeeeeaaaalllllly quick. And that’s the plan, back to the hotel to make us some money.

Half-way from the bus-stop to the club I thought just maybe I was being a bit drastic, but I cant remember what my next thought was after that.

  Bo adjusted the mirror on the 91 Olds to see if he’d indeed gotten dip on his collar. A birth canal in the back seat caused him to blink for a second longer than average. The strip-club owners Daddy used to be a Marine and it showed. Punching and biting his way out of the trunk into the car was a feat, Bo’d be the first to tell ya. He’d blindfolded, zip tied and hit the man with 75000 Watts but this Minotaur was now in the backseat. Fucking Carthaginians.

  They realized quick they’d done fucked up with this one. She prayed aloud all day long, was unfailingly polite and every chance she got she tried to kill em. Lessy had knocked her tooth out purely on accident but after he reckoned the diamond to be fake, he sent it on to the boss.  Almost all his spare time went to kittens. More had received some care from a witch the Dixie Mafia used for dogs. Little bitch had fought harder than any man ever would. In the end she’d ripped off a testicle and with that they put her in box.   She calmly told em she couldn’t breath.

  I hada shoot him through the seat and we wrecked. He was hurt even worse, so I lit a floor mat afire and ran off in the other directin than Angola, Fuck that, Daddy’d worked there as a guard for 3 days till they done found out he’d been in Parchman for vehicular homicide. Mamma said that great clouds a nephalim hung over those places. I couldn’t see them but I smelled em. Mamma and Katy-Rob always had eyes for that type of thing. Maybe they both lyin though.

I figured theyd run they dogs from around the car so I needed to get gone.

Did not like taken anything from white folks, I did not know how I was gonna pay for that ladies car I done wrecked but it’d get done. The little Kawasaki three wheeler cranked up nice and I left them my hunting license to show good faith.

  You aint gonna believe this shit.

Francis-Jean Prichideaux III really could have done without hearing another person say that. It seemed to preface every comment. As a boy he’d felt something akin to the feeling he had now when other nut-brown Acadian boy’s ud say, “Wanna see something…hold my beer.”

Nothing good eva come outta dem type a commentary’s.

What?

Claudius came over with a note. Says here that Similies had another big da-doo.

Whan?

Last night.

  Itd been 2 weeks since they colored boys come up in that terrible place and Blanc Bebbette got taken, now what dis shit?

Dixie Mafia used for dogs. Little bitch had fought harder than any man ever would. In the end she’d ripped off a testicle and with that they put her in box.   She calmly told em she couldn’t breath. More heard, “I feel free.” thought long and hard about that medicine Melodina gave him, the plan was he was, of a time, to go back. ER out the wustion. She told him he could still sire a brood, if he chose.

  Right now the chose was in nose. That moment, eternal, universal, when you know for certain that thing are bout to get lit.

  I hada shoot him through the seat and we wrecked. He was hurt even worse, so I lit a floor mat afire and ran off in the other directin than Angola, Fuck that, Daddy’d worked there as a guard for 3 days till they done found out he’d been in Parchman for vehicular homicide. Mamma said that great clouds a nephalim hung over those places. I couldn’t see them but I smelled em. Mamma and Katy-Rob always had eyes for that type of thing. Maybe they both lyin though.

I figured theyd run they dogs from around the car so I needed to get gone.

Did not like taken anything from white folks I did not know how I was gonna pay for that ladies car I done wrecked but it’d get done. The little Kawasaki three wheeler cranked up nice and I left them my hunting license to show good faith.

      You aint gonna believe this shit.

Francis-Jean Prichideaux III really could have done without hearing another person say that. It seemed to preface every comment. As a boy he’d felt something akin to the feeling he had now when other nut-brown Acadian boy’s ud say, “Wanna see something…hold my beer.”

Nothing good eva come outta dem type a commentary’s.

What?

Claudius came over with a note. Says here that Similies had another big da-doo.

Whan?

Last night.

  Itd been 2 weeks since them colored boys come up in that terrible place and Blanc Bebbette got taken, now what dis shit? Least he didn’t have any crackers around to be yapping about…”oh what now you gonna do colored ssherrff”

  The problem we have with God honey is related to expectations and not based in the hard VERITAS of life. See here, what happens when youo to church?

I listen to the preacher

Right, sure but when you’re singing a good Hallelujah song. Or something real once make you cry every time. That jut Him leeting us know that we are cared for.s like that one goes, “Lord You are more precious than silver…

Lord You are more costly than gold.

Together, “Lord You are more beautiful than diamonds.

And nothing I desire compares to You.”

Lord, honey you have a voice like angel blast-furnace. When you get that deep purple swell….

Purple and Gold.

Yesssa, and that is the real thing and it is a thing that belongs in this world yet has a hand fully in the next. But what you looking for there is that feeling to keep on keepin on.

Yessir.

But it don’t.

No.

Is that Gods problem or yours?

I feel like sometimes it is Him.

Cause you just go home and go straight to sinning.

And I wonder why in all His Greatness, I just can’t get a little help in that department.

But you care don’t ya?

I care a great deal.   I expect it’s my conscience.

Yes. But a conscience ain’t a stopper, it’s just a fuse light indicator.

So then where’s the stopper?

That’s the catch.

Meaning its all up to me.

Honey, you ever look at a real life hero?

Maybe Rooster Carley?

Hmm. Ain’t none. He died 2000 years ago, therebouts. Now we just hunker down. Oh you gone sin.   I’m gone sin. Yo Mamma, Lawd have a way. Its not about ‘not doin’ its about accepting your place in grace.

My place in grace.

  From behind him mamma stepped, lightly, elegant specter. White on white on white, yet the air hovered lightly around it as if mistrusting. Mama’s essence was rebellion. Born with a dead twin boy, she lay never crying once in granny’s arms. Said she wouldn’t look nobody in the eye. They was alarmed from the get go. Mamma was said to have spent some of her teen years in Walnut Gove. She supposed to have found God in there, in the gladiator school. Once when she came home to the Shady Acres #3 after being out for a minute, she took me and we sat behind the dumpster; she told me about the first love of her life while she smoked up a cool bill a rock. Some people get all crazy scared of people on hard drugs, like they got special powers or summin. I ain’t but but a buck and change and I’m telling you I have cold knocked fuckers out who go too close. It’s best just to warn white folks up front, but when mamma slumming or Im at school and we dealing wit regular street niggas, I just stay loose, if mamma grab and go…then well, Im just down wit mine.

Oh Daddy.

I love my Daddy…

  What are ya’ll ssscheming on. Lemme see your billfold.

Daddy’s trying to tell me all the war we got with sin is just an illusion.

Woman, that’s not what I said.

That we have to learn to accept our weakness as part of life. And personally for me, cause I listen to all them preachers and I read all them books and I pray on the Bible…I do it all with a knife in my belt and Im down for the clan but I do not wanna keep on living this way.

Ooh its one of them talks, you…what your daddy is remise in sharing is that there are other forces at work in this world.

NO.

Well talk later honey.

We never did.

I believe Mamma occupies some special place in this world, like a gold key that is made for just one lock, the most magnificent things await behind it; but you put that fucker in your back pocket with a handkerchief and they key is lost in the Misty Mountains.   Myrrh and aloe and decay and female sex and the heat after summer rain and moss and Cyprus and dawn and linen white. Mamma mind was fine. Mammas body was the problem. She worshipped it to hurt her.

She saw a movie once at the Motel 6 in Latham Springs Texas called Jennifer’s Body, she said that though the metaphor was sloppy and the genre “totally LA” a poor excuse, yet she understood that somehow this connected us, because I was watching her becoming self aware.

Of an aspect only I believe, but a crack in the wall blinked a purple light in my eye and I realized that indeed “the affections of the heart are Divine”. If God dropped the veil once in a while, it somehow ran through my mother.

  But even though I am slower than other folks, I can tell you that if Daddy believes that things are moving behind the scenes and mamma sees em too. Man, these things are making them worse…not better.

                Man out of trunk

Boy wrecks.

Runs into St Francisville swamp

The kidnapping event

Tearing the tooth

Too much “arm”   dead girl

Grady gets pickeup

Amber breaks him out

Bo meets someone unexpected

Daddys lie

Gradys brother is Robert Earl.

Daddys bet

    Layerdown. from gods slit wrist   Halogen Incense   Daddy stopped when he left her car seat on the roof.

free star trek porn - The Upside to Felicia Ftv Girls

This is the first part of a story Im working on. Their thin braches whipping my face and tearing at nightgown. Behind me I could ftv 2014 hear the faint sounds of fighting. **This first part does not contain any sex Leaves crumbled under my feet as I ran hastily through the woods. Before I was able to turn my head I slammed into something hard, knocking me on my back against the raw ground.

The dark night only allowing me to see slight shapes of trees. I could not see the source of the voice, but quickly pulled myself as far away as I could before my back hit a cool stone. An explosion caused my head to jerk back seeing flames rising from the now lost capital of Afrela. I heard the sound of boots heavily hitting the ground and a blade being drawn as the shape slowly came into shape. It appeared to be a tall, dark man. "Well, look what we have here. He donned a simple leather jacket, tight jeans and a t-shirt. Black hair lay smoothly against the left side of his long, lean face. Wide, black eyes inspecting me closely. A torch approached and was handed to the figure, illuminating his features. I remained silent, analyzing the man now in front of me. " A throaty voice rang through the woods. The hair on his right side was shaved, adorning several tattoos including a snake starting at his jaw and intertwining with the others. It was clear that he was a dark-elf although Id never seen one before. Along his right cheek, trailing over his eye and ending near his ear was several deep scars. Beneath it sat a green rectangular pin with three black stripes revealing him as a commander in the Utrorian army. I could see that not only where his pupils black, but the entire eye was as dark as a starless night. Id greatly ftv panty stuffing free clips appreciate any feedback. A pin on his jacket showed a green coat of arms containing a silver dagger through a bird with spread wings. " The figure spoke authoritatively. "I will not repeat myself. " His hand raised in anger, the backside slamming into my face with full force. "I dont answer to scum like you. As I woke up I quickly realized my hands were tied in front of me. Stars glittered before my eyes as my head hit the ground. I spat on the ground between his feet. Without trying to alert my captor to my state of consciousness, I gently attempted to move my hands. They appeared to be only tied to each other, giving me pepper ftv some room of movement. My hands slowly find their way to the horn of the saddle and in one swift motion I slide off, my bare feet hitting the ground hard. I blinked several times trying to regain some vision as my head and cheek throbbed with pain. A cold blade caressed my throat, just enough pressure to not draw blood. Instantaneously my legs start moving and Im running. I let out an audible "Fuck" as my body slams into the ground. A brittle scream escaped my lips. My mind not processing, just my feet taking me in any direction away from my captor. Against my back I could ftv gym kali feel the hard body of a man as our bodies moved as one with each step of the horse. " My captor bellows to his men. Before I could reach the nearest tree, I feel a strong tug on my ankle making me go face first into the grass. "Not a very smart move, doll. Fuck, I shouldve thought about the legs or the fact that its hardly possible to outrun a horse on foot. They quickly get off their horses and start setting up as he approaches me. The heat of the fire is a welcome feeling to my frozen body. " He says laughingly as he lifts me up with ease. I pull my knees up to my chin allowing some warmth and a false sense of security. In my sheer nightgown I hadnt realized how cold I was until now. He pulls me forcibly to the campfire, putting down a bedroll and pushes me down. Yet any escape is better than none. Following the rope with my eyes, I could see that it was secured around my captors wrist. " My eyes dart up to the man several feet away. The commander dismissed the man with a slight motion of his hand as he moves in front of me. The rope around my ankle had left red burns from my unfortunate escape. My eyes swiftly move to the ground, not wanting to meet his eyes. "It appears this is where we camp tonight, lads. A finger touches my chin, motioning it upwards. I was content with ignoring it, not allowing my gaze to meet his. "Now, that wasnt so hard. Fuck, no chance of sneaking away. A strong hand gripped my jaw, forcing me to look directly at me. "Commander, the camp is finished and guard shifts have been established. His face was only inches from mine, his breath heavy against my face. He let his fingers slide into my hair, tucking what I assumed was a curly mess behind my ears. We sat there for a moment, eyeing each other. His fingers moving towards my cheek, ever so gently brushing of some dirt. " He asked impatiently. " He said inspecting my face. "I had considered keeping you for myself, but you may fetch a pretty penny at the markets. And who might you be, little lady? "Im Samuel, Commander of the Kings 31st battalion. It wasnt I who kidnapped a defenseless girl and knocked her out. " I replied, almost shouting. As footsteps neared, he pulled away placing his hand on my knee. " His voice was dark with a hint of amusement. These lands are now officially a part of Utror making you, a human, a piece of property. "Fuck you" was all I managed to get out before he grabbed my hair, forcibly pulling me to my feet. One hand placed on my shoulder while his eyes trailed along my curves. And as my property I can do as I please. His hands jerked my wrist forward, inspecting my forearm. My body trembling under his touch. I jolted away from this touch, but as soon as I moved his hand grabbed hold of my hair, pulling me backwards and slamming my back against a tree. His hand slid towards my neck, brushing my soft curls over my shoulder. This time I could feel a small drop of blood trailing down to my collarbone. " His stern voice whispered into my ftv adult gilr ear. Wed have to fix your manners first though. He moved slowly to my back allowing his hand to slide along my waist. "No one" I said with panic in my voice while I tried to wriggle away. "Then explain the fucking tattoo on your neck. His other hand still firmly holding my hair. His body pinning mine as I felt a dagger against my neck. Since anyone could remember when a member of the royal family of Afrela was born, they were given three simple tattooed dots on the back of their neck. "Would you believe me if I said it was dirt? He didnt seem to notice my movement, mostly because there was hardly any room to move. If you're ready to find more in regards to pepper ftv look into the webpage. One for protection, one for knowledge and one for strength. Since the war started between humans and creatures two centuries ago, they were simply given as a sign of tradition and royalty. My heart started racing and my fingers clawed at his chest from the lack of air. In the old days a Warlock would infuse the dots with magic. " His voice fierce and terrifying. He dropped the dagger and closed his grip hard around my neck. I knew I had to do something soon. " I said jokingly, not being able to think of any plausible excuse. " I spoke in a soft yet hoarse voice. He rapidly attached the rope around my ankle to a nearby branch before disappearing into the shadows. " I whispered breathlessly. His grip loosened and I dropped to the ground, couching hard. My hands quickly dropped to my side as I stepped away from the knot. His hand only tightened. His footsteps in a heavy stride towards me made my body cower. A few minutes later he returned to find me fumbling with the knot on the rope. " He loosened the knot in a simple motion and tugged my arm, motioning me forward. I shook my head, careful to not meet his gaze. "Does anyone know you escaped? " His hard eyes peering down at me. "Dont worry, little princess. " My voice angry and loud. "What the fuck are you going to do with me? My feet refused to move and before I could think it slipped out of my mouth. " He said with a smirk making my skin crawl. Small dark spots started appearing in my vision. Itll all soon be revealed.