Renny: This is like one of those one-word-prompts things I sometimes see on the internet.
Green: And the majority of them suck, so this will likely suck too.
Renny: You just keep finding the bad ones, I sometimes find the good ones. Now, this idea kind of came about because I had a weird idea about a new headcanon for Green.
Green: Yay.
Renny: Shush. Basically, you know how some people say that mirrors are the windows to the souls? Well, ever since he got possessed, Green has had some weird ability where, if he looks into a mirror, he can see what a person's soul looks like. It's kinda useless since it's mostly himself he'd look at, but whenever there's another person with him, he can also see their soul.
Green: And basically I develop a goddamn phobia about mirrors because I don't wanna see the horror of another person's soul- or mine.
Renny: Exactly! But in this case, you don't have a phobia because it's basically the only way you can tell people's futures and attempt- and fail- to make money. It's also a massive AU so no being possessed, you were born with this thing. Disclaimer!
Green: One of these days . . . Renny doesn't own pokemon.
Renny: On with the show!
OOOOOO
The fortune teller was always there, every day.
He sat there with his little box, with the old mirror he always set on top of it. A little cup was his way of holding what money he got for the fortunes he was paid for, but it rarely ever got filled beyond halfway.
He didn't wear fancy clothing.
He didn't even wear shoes.
He just wore the rags of a young man who didn't have a home and lived on the streets.
He was a homeless fortune teller who could hardly make enough money to feed himself.
Mainly because he couldn't tell people what their futures would be like. Not how you'd think, anyway.
The homeless fortune teller could only tell people how they were going to die, using that old mirror of his.
The way it worked was like this- a person sat down in front of the fortune teller, and the fortune teller held up the mirror so it was reflecting them. He then looked into the mirror, making sure he couldn't see himself, and told the person how they would die.
It was said that mirrors could show what was in a person's soul.
What most people didn't actually know was that this wasn't actually complete bullshit, it was actually true. But it was just a select few who could see the souls of anyone who was reflected in a mirror.
As you probably guessed, the young homeless fortune teller was one such person.
However, most people- if you can believe it- don't really take kindly to being told every detail of how they're going to die.
One man, a police officer, certainly didn't. The fortune teller had warned him not to go to work on a particular day, but the officer didn't listen and instead promised to send another officer to shut him down for running a scam when he didn't die.
Well, today was the day that officer was going to die- and also the day that the other officer would come to shut the fortune teller down.
He watched the crowd, silent but waiting. The badly-written sign beside him said something like 'FORTUNE TOLD FOR FIFTY PENCE' although the words were slightly misspelled and the writing was so shaky you could hardly make out the words.
It was cheap, for a street fortune, but the fortune teller knew that he'd never get people to pay if the price was anything more. Though he didn't get much, as stated before, because he didn't ask for the money before the fortunes.
Finally, he saw a police officer walking down the street towards him. The fortune teller sat back and waited for the man to finally stop in front of him.
"Are you the Teller of Death?" the police officer asked.
"Is that what I'm called?" the fortune teller replied calmly.
"Well, you've got a mirror . . . and apparently the Teller of Death uses a mirror to tell people when and how they're going to die."
"That's me." the fortune teller confirmed.
The police officer nodded and folded his arms, looking down at the homeless fortune teller sternly.
"You realise that, without a licence, you're breaking the law by being here?" the man asked.
"Mm."
"So . . . I could arrest you for this."
The fortune teller just shrugged. "If I had the money for a licence, I wouldn't be doing this in the first place. Hell, I wouldn't even be on the streets."
"Maybe." the police officer murmured. He looked less sure of himself now, but he had a job to do- the fortune teller knew this, and he held no grudges against the man for it.
"Sit down." the fortune teller invited. "Maybe I can tell your future."
"You mean my death." the police officer scoffed. "You tried to con Carlson into believing that he's gonna die today. It hasn't happened yet, so I guess this really is all fake."
The fortune teller shrugged again and gestured to the police officer's radio. "Check your walkie-talkie."
" . . . What?"
"Your walkie-talkie. Radio. Check it." the fortune teller said.
The police officer stared at him for a few seconds, and then slowly pulled out his radio. He turned it on, and froze when he heard the news.
"-officer down, I repeat, officer down! Officer Carlson has been shot, requesting backup immediately-"
The police officer put away the radio and stared down at the fortune teller in stunned silence.
"You better go." the homeless man told him. "Not every future is set in stone. I remember his death has a few different paths- if you go now, you could set him on a path that leads to him living."
The officer gaped for a couple of moments, but then common sense overrode him and he dashed off as fast as he could.
The fortune teller turned back to his mirror and waited for the next customer.
oooo
Two days later, the police officer came back. This time, he didn't look like he wanted to shut down the homeless fortune teller's not-very-good business.
" . . . You were right." the officer said, sounding stunned. "Carlson . . ."
"Did he die?" the fortune teller bluntly asked.
The police officer went defensive. "No, of course not!" he snapped. "He's alive!"
"I was only asking." the fortune teller said, shrugging. "Is he in the hospital?"
" . . . The bullet only grazed his heart, so he isn't dead." the officer explained, when he'd calmed down enough. "It was only thanks to you that anyone had any warning at all."
"You don't need to thank me."
"I wasn't going to." the officer said, voice suddenly turning sharp. "I still think this is some sort of con, though I'm not sure how."
"You ever considered that maybe it's real?" the fortune teller asked curiously.
"No, because I don't believe in this supernatural bullshit." the police officer told him. He paused for a moment, and then sighed. " . . . You said you'd tell my future. Is the offer still open?"
"I'm surprised you want me to." the fortune teller answered, as the officer sat himself down on the concrete.
"Don't push your luck, I'm only doing this because I'm curious." the officer scoffed. "Is there any special ritual you need for this?"
"No ritual." the fortune teller said. "I just need to look at your reflection in the mirror, so if you'll hold still for a few moments . . ."
The police officer, still doubtful and probably thinking how stupid this whole thing was, sat as still as he could while the fortune teller steadied the mirror to stand up where it could reflect just him and not the teller himself.
The fortune teller looked at the police officer's reflection for a while, and tilted his head curiously.
"Well . . . you're an interesting man, Red Stevenson." he eventually said.
The police officer- Red- jumped, startled.
"How do you know my name?" he demanded. "I don't carry a damn tag around with me."
"I'd like to point out my profession." the fortune teller dryly replied. "I heard your name being yelled in several of your deaths."
"Several?"
"You, sir, have many different paths you could take. It seems like the way you die can't actually be decided. In one circumstance, it's a peaceful death surrounded by those you love- you're an old man, dying of old age." the fortune teller murmured. "In another, it is what you could call a 'blaze of glory'. A gunfight, to be specific. Another one, you're saving children from a bomb threat, and die trying to shield a little girl from the blast. She lives, by the way. Traumatised and ever thankful for the man who gave his life for her, but she lives. And then there's-"
"Stop." Red snapped, holding out a hand. " . . . You . . . You can tell all that from looking into a mirror?"
The fortune teller hardly reacted to the sceptic and doubtful tone. He was used to it in his line of work.
"Mirrors are said to be able to show your soul." the fortune teller said. "Most people can't see this. I can, and I use that to see how a person can die."
"That's a bit fucked up." Red huffed. "Why not use it to see someone's actual future, like if they're going to find love or something?"
"Love is slightly irrelevant to a person who will die fairly soon, don't you think?" the fortune teller asked.
Red paused and frowned. He didn't seem to have a response to that.
"I only warn people of their deaths." the fortune teller continued. "Some live a long and peaceful life, dying when they grow old and surrounded by those they love- or occasionally alone, because they're such grumpy people that no one can stand them. Until they die, and then they were the kindest man or woman on the planet. Others, however, have different paths."
" . . . Like?" Red asked, curious despite himself.
The fortune teller looked at the crowd briefly, and saw a few people he recognised.
"That man there." he said, pointing to a young man in an expensive suit. "He came to me last week, and I warned him about crossing the road today, three hours from now. He's wearing the exact same suit, same hairstyle . . . right now I think he's going back to work- it's his lunch break, maybe. In three hours work will end for him, and he'll be walking back home. He won't make it back. He'll be run over on that road down there, and he'll die before the ambulance gets here."
Red was gaping at him now. Most likely he hadn't expected so much detail about a single person's death, nor would he have expected the fortune teller to even remember so much detail.
"You . . . you can remember that much about him?" the police officer gasped. "You didn't just pick out some random man, did you?"
"Why would I?" the fortune teller asked.
"To prove it." Red tried to explain. "You know, to prove that you really can see a person's death."
"I'd never lie about someone's death. I didn't lie about Carlson's. My warning helped to save him."
"Then help that man!" Red exclaimed.
The fortune teller shook his head. "There are some deaths which can be avoided, and others that cannot. No matter what happens between now and three hours from now, he will die- even if he decides to cross a different road. The same truck will still hit him, and he will still die. Carlson's death had several different paths. He could have died from that bullet wound, bled out because no other officer- except for you- was nearby. He could have been shot again, saving his partner from a hidden gun-man. Instead, he was saved, because you went and helped them instead of staying here to arrest me for no reason."
By now, Red looked incredibly guilty.
"It . . . it wouldn't have been for no reason . . ." he muttered, sounding unsure of himself. "What you're doing is technically illegal. You don't have-"
"-a licence, I know." the fortune teller agreed. "And had you actually arrested me a couple of days ago, Carlson would not be alive."
Red sighed and stood up.
"I'd better go now." he said. "I've stayed for far too long, there are people who might need help . . ."
"Like Carlson?"
The officer winced and walked off, disappearing into the passing crowds.
oooo
Red came back a few days later. The fortune teller hadn't really been expecting him, after all this and the conversation they had last time he'd been there, but the officer still came back.
"So . . . have you ever had an old person come to you?" Red asked.
"An old person?"
The officer nodded, shifting uncomfortably on the ground. It couldn't have been very nice for someone who was used to sitting on cushioned seats or whatever, but the fortune teller was used to it and didn't bother to make a comment.
"Like someone who wanted to know how they were gonna die, but they were old and just wanted to know if they were gonna die peacefully." Red clarified.
The fortune teller thought for a few moments, looking at his mirror.
"There was an old lady who's going to die this Saturday." he eventually replied slowly. "She came to me last month, and wanted to be reassured that she won't die alone."
"And . . . will she?" Red asked quietly.
"Yes. But there are actually two paths for her to take." the fortune teller explained, tapping his fingers on the box in front of him. "One, where she dies alone, in her sleep- peacefully- and isn't found until the next morning by a cleaner. The other, where she tries to avert this future and has a person with her at all times, and therefore doesn't die alone. Which path do you think she decided to take?"
"The second one." Red asnwered, and was surprised when the fortune teller shook his head. "But . . . who wants to die alone?"
"Originally, she didn't want to." the fortune teller said. "But I told her that if she did die with someone by her side, her funeral would be a time of sadness and tears. That's not what she wants her funeral to be- she wants people to celebrate her life and remember her fondly. If she dies with someone by her side, she'll have a sad funeral. If she dies alone, she will have a happy funeral. She wants a happy one, so she has chosen the path where she dies alone."
"You saw all that?" Red whispered.
"Yes. It's rare, but sometimes I can push my abilities to see beyond a person's death, to see how it affects those around them." the fortune teller told him. "I'm not always sure how the different paths can come into play, like with this one- I don't know why the type of funeral the old lady has is affected by how she dies. But I know there are different paths, and I know the direct consequences of them."
"You said I have several deaths." Red remembered, frowning. "What exactly does that mean, then? In one, you said I die as an old man. In another, you told me I die in a gunfight. And then the third one was something about a bomb?"
"You're special, it seems." the fortune teller said, shrugging. "Your life has a lot of different paths it could take, which are largely affected by those around you, and your own conscious decisions. The one where you die an old man is likely a result of you deciding to stop being so reckless. The gunfight one is something about a riot that'll happen in a few years. The bomb one, a terrorist attack that might not even happen if the riot- which is set in motion because of the death of a young black boy who does nothing wrong- does happen."
"Were there anymore?"
"Yes, but you cut me off before I could speak." the fortune teller answered, amused. "But there are too many paths for your life to take, and it could possibly take all week just to get through the majority of them."
"Well . . . that's not helpful at all." Red muttered. He blinked, and seemed to realise something. "I almost forgot!"
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few fifty pence coins, setting them on the box next to the mirror.
"Here." he said. "Three of them are for the fortunes you gave me, and the last one is from Carlson. He's kind of . . . well, he definitely believes you've got some sort of ability. He's basically said that if anyone tries to shut you down, he'll make their lives hell and set you back up here even if he gets fired for it."
"And people listen to him?" the fortune teller asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, sort of. He's nice, but he can be really scary when he wants to be."
"Very well then. Tell him I said thank you, this might actually get me dinner for once." the fortune teller said. He took the four coins and put then into his cup, which had been empty up until now.
oooo
Despite Red being a police officer, the fortune teller saw him a lot over the next few weeks. Sometimes the man asked for his services, and always gave him fifty pence- even when the death the fortune teller told him about that time wasn't exactly one most would want to hear.
Sometimes Red just sat down and talked.
Every time Red visited, he brought the fortune teller something to eat- the homeless man wasn't sure why, but it could have been something to do with his comment a few weeks ago, about finally getting dinner.
Maybe Red didn't want to see him starve to death.
"Here, hope you like pancakes." Red said, one afternoon.
He handed the fortune teller a bag with hot food in it.
"I haven't had pancakes in years." the fortune teller replied, already digging in. "Where did you get these ones from?"
"McDonald's, if you can believe it." Red chuckled. "If you want some syrup or whatever next time, just ask. I'm not sure what you like."
"I'm not sure what syrup is." the fortune teller retorted.
The next time Red came, with syrup on top of the pancakes, the fortune teller decided he loved syrup.
He'd been eating far better than most homeless people would, and he was fully aware of that- so if he sometimes left half of his food to be 'eaten later', Red didn't comment on it.
The fortune teller wasn't sure why Red kept on coming back. It was nice to have someone to talk to, someone who wasn't a customer- well, kind of- and someone who wasn't also homeless (though they didn't often bother to talk to the fortune teller either).
But he did wonder.
Did Red maybe have a wife and kids at home? Was he visiting the fortune teller instead of being with them?
In the path where Red had died an old man, the fortune teller hadn't recognised anyone who could have been his wife or children or anything like that. Then again, he hadn't recognised anyone period, so for all he knew there could have been someone there like that.
oooo
The customer- a big man with big muscles but certainly not a big brain- predictably got mad at the fortune teller.
"You say I'm dead in the next hour?" he growled.
"No, I told you that you're possibly going to die in an hour." the fortune teller calmly corrected him. "Don't take your shortcut today."
As the fortune teller expected, this only got the big man angrier.
"You wanna say that again, punk?" the big man hissed, leaning over the box threateningly.
The fortune teller didn't even blink.
"I'm only warning you." he said.
"Yeah? Well, I don't need no fuckin' warning from some homeless idiot who thinks he's got the sixth sense. Drunk-ass bitch." the big man snapped, looking triumphant at his insult.
"You realise bitch is another term for a dog?" the fortune teller asked flatly. "I can assure you, I am no dog. Though I wouldn't mind being one."
"Why, so you can whore yourself around more?" the big man sneered.
"I beg your pardon?" the fortune teller deadpanned.
"Don't think I don't know nothin'." the big man whispered, grinning smugly. "You sit 'ere with your damn mirror and your little scam in the day, and then at night you go 'round and get fucked up the ass for a pretty penny or two."
"I'm no whore."
"The fuck you're not." the big man snapped. "I just want you to know- I'm fuckin' onto you. You scammin' little slut!"
The big man suddenly reared up and punched the side of the fortune teller's head.
He had no chance to react, and was picked up and then slammed into the wall. People walking by stopped to watch but made no move to help out- and why should they? A homeless man being beaten up was of no concern to them, after all.
"Go on then, admit it." the big man whispered into his ear. "Admit that you're just some common street whore."
"If I was, do you think I'd be on the streets?" the fortune teller choked out.
"Big mouthed motherfuckin'-"
"HEY!"
But there was one person who would care.
Red pushed through the crowd that had gathered, and grabbed the big man's shoulder in a tight grip.
"Let him go." Red said firmly. "Or I'll arrest you for assult."
"Fuckin' arrest this bitch for runnin' a scam!" the big man snapped back.
"There's no confirmed proof that it is a scam. Put. Him. Down." Red ordered.
The big man didn't react for a few moments.
The crowd watched in silence as he growled, and then let the fortune teller go. He collapsed to the ground and pulled himself up, only to find Red helping him.
"You alright?" he asked quietly.
The fortune teller only nodded. He didn't dare speak to Red with all these people watching.
"If I see you again, whore . . ." the big man said, getting the fortune teller's- and Red's- attention. "I'll fuck you up, and Mister Star Officer there won't be around to help you."
He kicked the box and the mirror fell to the floor, and then he stomped on it as hard as he could, grinding his foot into the shards.
The fortune teller flinched at the sound of breaking glass, and the big man laughed- sneering- and walked away without another word. The crowd parted to let him through, but didn't make a sound beyond a few uneasy murmurs.
"Man, what a goddamn dick." Red said viciously. "If Gold was here, he'd have kicked that guy's ass . . . lucky he wasn't, he's already been warned."
" . . . You . . . didn't have to help." the fortune teller mumbled. "These people will think less of you for this."
"If they think I'm just gonna leave someone to be beaten up just because they're a hobo, they've got another thing coming." Red retorted. He stood up and looked around at the crowd. "Show's over, you selfish cowards. Get moving."
A few of them glared at the insult, but they all soon cleared off when Red's gaze grew more intense. Eventually the passing crowds became its' usual hustle, and Red turned back to the fortune teller.
"C'mon, let's get you up." Red sighed, reaching down to help.
The fortune teller reluctantly took his hand, and stood up. He looked down at his broken mirror, and somehow felt a little piece of himself die.
He'd used that mirror for years. Now it was broken, all because of some idiot who didn't want to hear his warning.
He wasn't ever gonna find another one in such perfect condition either. People didn't throw out good mirrors, they threw out broken and shattered ones. And the fortune teller needed an unbroken mirror for his ability to actually work.
"Don't think there'll be any fixing that." Red said, glancing down as well. "Do you want a new one?"
The fortune teller looked up at him, shocked.
"You- . . . you already give me food on a regular basis." he said shakily. "I can't make you pay for a new mirror too."
"What do you mean, 'make' me?" Red grinned. "I want to. And it's not like people throw out good mirrors anyway, so it might be ages before you get a new one. Come on, I'll take you down to the station- we've got our own doctor there, she won't mind seeing to you."
"If . . . you're sure . . ."
The fortune teller didn't really own anything else besides his broken mirror (and even that didn't count, he'd just found it in a rubbish bin a few years ago), so he just followed Red without bothering to pick anything up.
He even left the sign behind, because he could always make a new one- or tell people the price if they didn't storm off straight after he did what he was supposed to do.
The police station was about half an hour away, which led the fortune teller to wonder why Red came so far just to see him almost every day. It was obviously out of his way.
The people in the station- other officers, people working at the front desk, and so on- turned to look as Red led the fortune teller through to the back. Normally the fortune teller wouldn't care, but this was incredibly uncomfortable. It felt like he was being led to his execution or something.
"Hey, Red!" someone shouted.
Red and the fortune teller turned to see a man rushing over to them. He stopped short of slamming straight into them, and looked at the fortune teller curiously.
"You finally arrested him then?" the officer asked. "Wondered when you would, Carlson's not really making much noise about little Fortune anymore."
"I haven't arrested him, Gold." Red explained. Or tried to.
"The fuck? Why not?" Gold demanded. "He's running a scam, ain't he? Told Carlson he was gonna die- and he didn't!"
"And if it fucking wasn't for him, Carlson would be dead." Red snapped. "Doesn't Crys have anything for you to do?"
"Nah, she's on lunch break." Gold shrugged. "But if you ain't arresting him, how come he's looking so beat up?"
"Jack." Red said, which apparently explained everything because Gold winced and looked at the fortune teller with some concern.
"Fortune's still walking." he said. "Lucky break. Last guy to get beaten up by Jack didn't really live."
"What?" the fortune teller gasped, and then flinched back. He wasn't even supposed to be here, what right did he have to speak?
But Gold didn't really seem that bothered.
"Yep, you got lucky, dude." Gold grinned, and patted the fortune teller's shoulder. "Red's basically the only fucking officer that prick listens to. You taking Fortune to see Yellow?"
"Yeah- and then maybe we should probably set him up somewhere else, Jack kind of threatened him." Red sighed. "That guy needs to go into anger management, seriously."
"Fuck, I know right?" Gold agreed, and then wandered off.
The fortune teller watched him for a few moments, and then turned to look at Red.
"Fortune?" he asked.
"What- oh, right!" Red exclaimed. "Yeah, we don't really know what the hell your actual name is, and you never told me . . . Fortune was really the only thing that fit. No one here wanted to call you the Teller of Death, especially after you helped save Carlson. Some people might not believe it, but they do believe that you helped somehow. So, we called you Fortune instead."
" . . . Oh." the fortune teller said, blinking.
He'd honestly expected Red to not even mention him at all, really.
But then, he supposed, people would notice who he was going to visit on a daily basis. It wasn't exactly hard to miss, after all.
The doctor- who was actually called Yellow- was more than happy to see to him.
She had him sit on a table which was more comfortable than it looked like, and carefully treated the bruises that had turned up within the several minutes.
"Does this hurt?" Yellow asked, gently prodding the place where the big man had first hit him.
"Ow. Yes." the fortune teller told her.
"Good, I've seen what Jack can do it's never a good sign if you can't feel anything." Yellow informed him. "Any pain in your back?"
"It kind of aches." the fortune teller admitted.
"Getting slammed into a wall does that." Red snarked, and the fortune teller glared at him.
He was there for a few more minutes, with Yellow giving him some pills for the pain.
And then came the one thing he was kind of dreading at this point.
"I'll need your name and address, just in case." Yellow said, completely obvlivious to the fortune teller's uneasiness and Red's sudden spike in interest.
" . . . Uh . . ."
Yellow looked at him. "Don't be difficult." she said, suddenly sounding less friendly and more stern. "If I don't know your name I won't know who I'm calling for if I do a checkup on you. Tell me your name and adress."
The fortune teller looked at her defiantly for a few seconds, but then deflated.
" . . . Green." the fortune teller murmured. "My name is Green."
"Hah!" Red exclaimed. "Now we don't have to call your Fortune anymore!"
Green glared at him, and he wisely shut up.
"And where do you live, Green?" Yellow asked, bringing them back to the original subject.
Green hesitated on that one too.
"Green." Yellow said. "I already told you, don't be-"
"Nowhere." Green interrupted. "I don't live anywhere."
Yellow blinked, and looked at him like she was seeing him for the first time.
" . . . That certainly explains everything." she murmured.
"What exactly is that supposed to mean?" Green flatly asked her.
"The smell. Also your lack of shoes. And the horrible condition of your clothing. You're homeless." Yellow said.
Green didn't look at her.
"This is the first time I've seen you actually upset about this." Red blinked.
"I'm in a clean place filled with clean people who all think I'm a fraud, what do you expect?" Green snapped at him. "I've been upset the moment I walked through that door!"
" . . . Red, you should have taken me to him." Yellow turned around, scolding the officer. "You know damn well how people in his situation feel about people like us, it's better if we treat them where they're comfortable!"
"But I don't even know where the hell he sleeps!" Red exclaimed. "How was I meant to take you to him? Besides, I couldn't leave him- Jack threatened to attack him when I'm not around!"
"In that case, you can just stay together." Yellow said, as if that solved everything.
Both Green and Red had their misgivings about that. But for very different reasons.
"What? He can't stay with me, I don't have the room!" Red exclaimed.
"He wouldn't want me stinking up his house." Green said.
Red glanced at him. "Fortune- no, wait, Green. I don't really live in a house, it's . . . basically just a flat." he explained. "I wouldn't mind letting you stay there- really, I wouldn't- but I just don't have the room."
"Bullshit." Yellow snapped. "Your bed's big enough for two, and he could always sleep on the sofa."
"But-"
"Red. He's your friend, isn't he?"
Red glanced at Green, and nodded qwithout hesitation. Green was shocked.
"So what's the problem?" Yellow demanded.
"It's just . . . I'm used to being alone." Red sighed. "No one else has been in my flat since . . ."
Yellow blinked slowly, and then nodded.
Green looked between them, confused. Had there been a previous flatmate? Had they died, and that was why Red didn't want to have Green in there? Maybe he was too scared.
Sometimes Green kind of wished his ability didn't just allow him to see a person's death. If he had different abilities, maybe he'd be able to see into a person's past or future- but he couldn't.
"I think having Green in your flat could help you." Yellow told Red gently. "Maybe he'll stink the place up, and he's most likely got no clue how to keep himself clean . . ."
"Hey." Green frowned.
"What? It's true. You're probably one of those people who've never been able to grow a beard, so you don't know how to shave or anything. Look, just take him home with you, Red." Yellow sighed, tired of trying to explain herself. "He's homeless anyway- why not give him a place to stay, somewhere that's actually safe?"
"Well . . . Green? What do you want to do?" Red asked. "I'll only say yes if you're interested. I mean, this is mostly to just make sure you're not alone . . . you know, in case Jack turns up again."
Green tilted his head and watched him for a while.
He didn't know to answer. Should he say yes, and gain a home- a place to sleep? A safe place to return to, if he ever left? Or should he say no, and have life continue as it always had? Only with the danger of being cornered by Jack hanging over his head.
It was actually kind of obvious once he thought about it.
"Alright." he sighed. "Just don't expect me to be able to adjust straight away. I haven't slept in a clean place for years."
"Don't worry, I'll come by daily to check up on you." Yellow promised. "I'll help you with basic hygiene and all that."
"Who says I don't know that myself?"
Yellow looked at him.
" . . . Fine, I don't." Green muttered.
"Congratulations Red," Yellow said, turning to the police officer. "You've got yourself a new flatmate. Look after him or else."
"Y-yes ma'am." Red said quickly.
OOOOOO
Renny: I'm not sure whether or not I should make this into a fanfic . . .
Green: It's probably a bad idea.
Renny: I know but I wanna write some porn for it.
Green: That's probably an even worse idea.
Renny: Whatever. I'll just basically see how other people react to this, if they like it enough I'll try and write another chapter for it- if the general air of reviews basically gets summed up to 'wow this was good but I'm not that arsed' I won't bother with a second chapter. Read and review, and if you want a second chapter, you'd better gimme a damn good reason.