Deep Water - part Two
Tania Walker
Disclaimer: Yada yada, original Ducks who appear in this section (incidentally, only Falcone) are copyright Disney; all other characters aside from Nylessa, who is only mentioned (Copyright 1999 Vicki Eden), are copyright 1999 Tania Walker - that includes Leila herself, Joss, Duane, Russel, Hallam, Sleet, Sal, Hew, and anyone else incidental.
Second Disclaimer: Yes, this fic contains some swearing. No, I didn't "star" it. I consider the warning on the Fiction page and this second warning to be fair acknowledgment. *chuckles* Besides, I see little point in starring words when those reading them know what they all are anyhow. I'm not counting on this story holding the attention of anyone too young to know, that's for sure. Starring is a pointless exercise in semantics, and I refuse to be drawn in by such false politeness and shallowness. If my characters are gonna swear, they're gonna SWEAR, dammit! >;)
Now for the real disclaimer, and I'm assuming you've all read Part One of Deep Water.
Leila deSilver ain't an easy character to like. You might have already formed that opinion from Part One, but if you haven't, you'll probably realise it at some point through this part. I took a risk making her that way, but frankly I was sick of superheroes and perfect characters. I wanted to do somebody real. And nobody real, *nobody*, is possessed of perfect looks, perfect judgement, and perfect actions under the kind of circumstances Leila endures during the course of this story.
That aside, I'm not saying Leila's a bad character, either. What it comes down to is that she's a victim - a victim of society, of other people's cruelty, of plain and simple bad luck... and now and then, a victim of herself and her own bad decisions. I'm not asking that you pity her - she certainly wouldn't want it - but I'm asking that you try to understand her before casting judgements down. I said it in the text, but I'll say it again - the only thing she's really guilty of is bad judgement.
Enjoy part two of Leila's story. :)
The blonde duck swaggered up to them, smirking. "Youse guys must really think I'm stupid, huh?"
Duane moved slightly so he was a little in front of Leila, but stayed silent. Surprisingly, it was Hallam who broke the silence. "How'd ye know we'd come out here?" In a flash of uncharacteristic anger, he added, "And don't feed us any tales about ye anticipating our moves; we're not clueless enough te think ye're that smart."
Joss's expression didn't even flicker. If anything, the smirk grew. "Ask him."
Russel was shoved to the front of the crowd. Shamefaced, he kept his gaze to the ground. He was covered in cuts and bruises; one of his eyes was virtually swollen shut.
"How could ye?!"
The redhead stayed sullenly silent. Joss grinned and shoved him back into the crowd, where he was roughly intercepted by a scout and held.
"So..." Joss swaggered up to them and stood directly in front of Duane. "So... who remembers how we punish deserters?" His eyes wide and cheerful, he looked from one to the other. "Duane?" The drake in question refused to meet Joss's eyes. Unruffled, Joss turned his smirk and his attentions elsewhere. "Hal?" The tall duck lowered his eyes.
"How disappointing," the blonde sighed, but he didn't look too disturbed. In fact, his almost insanely cheery expression didn't change much at all. "Wait, I know. Hows about... Leila?"
She forced herself not to shrink back as his gaze landed on her. The way he drawled out her name... Layyylaah... made her stomach lurch. Gathering a few stray shreds of courage, she made herself to stare straight back into Joss's eyes. His gaze held hers for a long moment, and the sneer gradually slipped from his face. Abruptly, he turned to Duane again. "That's a nice lookin' bird ya got there... shame about da personality."
"Hey!" Duane snapped, "You leave her alo-"
Click. Duane found himself staring down the barrel of a gun which had previously been concealed beneath Joss's jacket. Joss's finger was taut on the trigger. Duane swallowed audibly.
The silence deepened. Joss finally broke it. "Did I or did I not say that nobody was to leave here?" When Duane didn't answer, he pressed the cold metal of the gun under his jaw and yelled, "ANSWER ME!"
"You did," Duane gasped.
'Oh stars, he's insane!' Leila gritted her teeth against the sheer panic flooding her mind and tried to focus.
The pressure of the gun loosened slightly, and Duane swallowed painfully again. Joss's voice was a little softer as he continued. "So... Why'd you leave?" His tone was confused, hurt, betrayed... but the emotion was, as usual, exaggerated. Unreal. Larger than life. Joss was a showman, and this was his finest hour. Every gaze in the alley was firmly focused on him, every breath held as the motley group of teenagers hung upon his very words. And he was feeding on it like a vampire bat, sucking the fear and anticipation of his audience from the thick air until it bloated him. His actual size no longer figured into the equation; he was charismatic, spellbinding... and, to the eyes of the youths in the alley, a terrifying, imposing figure.
They'd all forgotten about Hallam. With the group distracted by Joss's 'performance', he'd taken the opportunity to sidle unnoticed towards the mouth of the alley, and had almost made it out into the street when a scout had finally spotted him. Even as Joss's scout opened his mouth to yell, Hallam's fist crashed into his jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground. And even as everyone in the alley turned, simultaneously, at the sound of knuckles connecting with jawbone, the young man turned and fled.
With a few loping strides he'd vanished around the corner, leaving the mouth of the alleyway empty. By the time the nearest gang members recovered from their surprise and ran after him, he was long gone.
"DRAKE DAMMIT!!!" Joss screeched, flecks of saliva spraying from his mouth. He tightened his grip on Duane's arm, furious. "I've HAD it with you and yer worthless cronies!" Joss took a step back from Duane and raised the gun to his forehead, and Duane turned his face away and squeezed his eyes shut with a look of acceptance that frightened Leila more than anything she'd yet seen that night.
A terrible feeling of movement, of rushing, assailed her, and only the grip of the scout holding her back kept her from crumpling to the ground. The world faded into a fast-moving blur, and it was just Duane, stopped forever in that one frozen instant in the centre of moving time, eyes closed as if he was already dead. "Joss, NO!"
He fired.
The sound reverberated through Leila's head, and she felt as though she'd waited her whole life to hear it, as if it was a start and a finish to all. Closure. And she remembered...
The world spun a final time before her. Then everything faded away into a field of bright white, sprinkled and spattered with little red stars.
Joss, we gotta get outta here!
I ain't finished with the girl yet.
Leave her, man! Someone's gotta have heard that! The cops'll come! We gotta fly, man!
*shooting pain. A boot in the side*
...fine. I ain't gonna kill no girl anyways. *a short, almost frightened laugh*
*a heavy, unnerved silence, then footsteps. Then nothing at all. Silence. Then the soft wailing, like the wailing of a lost soul, up and down and up and down in a repetitive, hopeless, inhuman pattern... flashing blue lights, and a moment of awareness. Eyes flutter open for a moment.*
Everything was hazy. Her face was pressed to the dirty concrete. Duane lay beside her, eyes closed. 'He's okay... oh thankyou thankyou thankyou...' Then a streamer of blood ran down the front of his forehead, tracing a dark line between his eyebrows and his hair, and everything mercifully faded away once more.
Sarge! This one's alive!
Voices. The wail of a siren. The world is moving, somehow, rocking from side to side. A soft thrumming beneath her... an engine. The siren changes key. Three voices. Snatches of conversation...
"...in shock..."
"...the other one..."
"...crime scene..."
"...interview her when she wakes up..."
"...point blank through the head..."
"Quiet. She's coming to."
Leila forced her eyes open and found herself looking at the ceiling of an ambulance. Two white-shirted medics sat on either side of her, and a policeman was at her feet. They all looked at her.
Her mouth was dry, and she swallowed with a little difficulty before speaking. "Duane... the guy I was with... Is he okay?"
The policeman looked at her, his gaze curiously comforting and pitying all at the same time. "He's... not in any pain."
She sighed and let the blackness take her over again.
White light.
A soft, comforting thudding. Rhythmic. Thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud...
Awakening.
"Mah word, honey, but you've been out a while! Welcome back to tha land o' tha livin'!" With a friendly chuckle, the plump nurse helped Leila sit up against the pillows. Satisfied with her work, she straightened and crossed her arms, and Leila got a good look at her. Black-feathered with a snub beak and a friendly, round face, and short dark curls tucked under a neat matron's bonnet.
"Where am I?" Leila asked blearily.
"Finest community hospital this side o' Keltor City, dearie. Lean forward please." She plumped Leila's pillows.
The room was whitewashed and pleasant. It didn't look in the least bit modern, but sunlight streamed through the windows, and it was very clean and airy. A row of beds stretched away to Leila's right; all of them occupied. Some of the patients slept, others talked quietly with visitors. Somewhere from the hallway Leila could hear a young baby bawling.
"Nonsense!" the old woman to Leila's left said crabbily. "This is a poor man's hospital and you know it!"
"Oh now hush, Mrs Wingstone, the child is tryin' to get some rest!" The nurse, who appeared to be in a perpetual rush, gave a slightly annoyed wave at the older woman and scurried out into the hall.
The old lady snorted. "She's gonna kill us all with cheerfulness."
Leila turned her head to take a better look at her roomate. The woman was at least seventy, with cream feathers and straggly silver hair to her shoulders. Her eyes were sharp, but not cruel; her dry smile revealed her true character.
"What are you in for?" the old duck asked dryly.
Blinking, Leila sat up a little higher against the pillows and looked around for the glass of water she'd seen the nurse leave on the bedside table. "Ta be honest, I got no idea." Her mind was fuzzy; she couldn't seem to put two thoughts together. And where was that damned water? She paused, as something far more interesting caught her eye.
Today's paper, and the headline rang out - "NEW YEAR'S DAY GANG BUST". She grabbed it automatically and scanned the headline again, just to make sure. Even if she'd been able to read the whole article easily, it wouldn't have mattered - the headline was all it took.
Leila's chest tightened painfully as her metal floodgates opened, triggered with those words.
The old woman hadn't noticed. "Interesting news, that! They finally rounded up that gang of vandals who'd been wreaking havoc on the inner city. Apparently they were hiding in the old subways, of all places!" She rolled her eyes. "Of course, it took them murdering some kid in an alleyway before the police went and DID anything serious about them. Why, when I was a youth, the police were-" She broke off. "Why, what's the matter?"
Leila had leaned forward into herself, letting the paper slide onto the bed unheeded. After a long moment, she hid her face in her hands and let out a single, strangled sob.
Half an hour later, when a police officer showed up to interview the as yet unidentified girl about the New Years Eve stabbing of the similarly unidentified young man in Keltor City Central, she was gone.
The old crone in the next bed chuckled and jerked a gnarled thumb towards the window, which was open and flooding the room with cold air. "You're five minutes too late, officer. Now close that before I die of pneumonia."
After ditching the hospital gown for some clothes and shoes she stole from a charity bin, Leila allowed herself ten minutes of self-indulgence and sat in an empty carpark and cried.
'Ash left. Alexia left. Russel betrayed us. Hallam ran. An' Duane went an'... went and died on me! What's wrong with me?! Why do people keep leaving me?!' In that moment she almost hated them all, especially Duane; and then she unwillingly recalled how gentle he'd always been to her, how he'd wanted to escape with her... how he'd even loved her. Hating him had been easier; this just hurt.
Her grief seemed endless, but when she forced herself under shaky control and got up to leave, she found that suddenly all she could feel was a strange kind of hollowness. She was empty, desolate and bare, like her inside was one big emotional desert. Wandering aimlessly up a nearby flight of stairs, she found herself on the roof of a carpark. Numbly, she leaned over the side and stared at the ground, thirty meters below. It was a dizzying drop, straight onto icy concrete.
She backed away from the side and shook her head, then wiped her eyes and beak. It wasn't fair! Duane was... gone. She never even got her chance to say goodbye. And the goons who'd done it... Oh, what she would have given to go after them and... She spent the next few minutes picturing the things she'd do to them, Joss in particular. Then she spent the next few minutes after that wondering if she was going crazy. This wasn't how you were supposed to react when someone died.
I'd better consult the manual, then. She choked out a short, bitter laugh which sounded almost like a bark in the echoing emptiness of the carpark, and the odd sound made her laugh harder. She knelt by the barrier at the edge of the building and laughed until she cried again, so hard that she started retching. She stumbled to her feet and grabbed the barrier as she struggled to breathe without choking.
She felt hysterical, and it frightened her. She didn't have any control over her life as it was, it seemed - and now she was loosing control of her mind?
Leila turned abruptly as determination took it's place as her prime emotion in the quickfire parade she'd had within over the last few minutes, and stalked away from the edge of the building, gritting her teeth with new resolution. She couldn't change what had happened; and she would probably never get her chance to deal with those who had made it happen, either.
She felt tears welling up again, and forced them away. I WON'T cry any more! It won't do me any good anyway... I won't cry! Gotta think about something else.
So she pushed all the painful thoughts of Duane down into one of the deepest recesses of her mind and left them there, locking the memories up tight, far from conscious thought. And then she thought about something else.
Joss was in jail; the article had mentioned him as the ringleader of the gang who'd been busted in the early hours yesterday morning. So she'd been deprived of everything. Including her goodbye. Including her revenge.
Another quick emotion switch, and this time complete and utter fury took the driver's seat. Leila clenched her fists and screamed out all the worst curses she could think of, and then some. The sharp, unpleasant sounds echoed thunderously around the carpark. She waited, desperately hoping someone would come, even if only to yell at her and move her on. But nobody came.
Now, she was truly alone.
"No..." she muttered to herself as she walked out of the carpark a few minutes later. "Yer not alone until you have absolutely nowhere ta go. An' I still got somewhere..."
Sal turned in his plush chair to face her. "I dunno..." he said casually. "You walked out on yer job months ago. Why should I hire you again?" He shook his head. "Let me rephrase that; what can you do fer me ta make it worth my while?"
Leila's stomach clenched up; surely he wasn't asking...
He laughed aloud at the look on her face. "Aside from that, sweetheart."
She grimaced at having had her thoughts so accurately read. "I could work fer half rates," she said, her voice still hoarse from crying. "But... I need a place to stay, too." She knew she was asking a lot, and treaded carefully. "So I figured if I could stay somewhere here... I mean, I know ya got storage rooms out back could be used fer accommodation..."
He rubbed his beak. "Half rates and you get ta stay on premises..." He looked sharply at her. "Would you be prepared ta work every night if need be?"
"Dancing, yes." She left what she wouldn't do unspoken, but it hung in the air between them as clearly as if she'd said it aloud.
He considered a moment longer. "Done." As she stood up to leave, he added, "And do something about those red eyes, they ain't attractive."
"UGH!" Leila jumped back as a large rat ran over her hand. Swearing foully, she aimed a kick at the furry creature and watched in satisfaction as it ran out the door and down the hall. There was a nice surprise for the other girls when they came though...
Forcing a slightly nervous chuckle as she got over her shock, Leila surveyed what she'd made of the storeroom. Cramped and small, the dingy room was lit by a bare bulb hanging from the centre of the ceiling. No windows, of course. And she'd had to shove everything stored back here - the costumes, curtains, chairs and tables - all to one end. She was basically left with enough room to take two steps along the breadth of her room, and three along the length. But she'd found an old bed back here, which was a plus...
All in all, she was doing pretty well for herself. The smile faded away and she sat heavily down on the squeaky old bed. The first show she was in was at eight that night, two hours away. For the first time since she'd left the hospital, Leila found herself with nothing to do, and thus nothing to occupy her mind.
She sat heedless as a black depression crept over her. It was to be the first of many in weeks to come.
I need a drink or something...
"Yo, Sleet."
"Hey, Lei." The thirty-something nightclub bodyguard paused, looking at her with concern. "What've you got there?" Sleet was tall. Very tall. And slim. He had pure white feathers, almost white blonde hair and very light blue eyes. All in all he looked very strange, but not harmful, which was precisely why Sal liked him as a bodyguard. Sleet's thin frame was deceptive; there was iron beneath those white feathers.
She tucked the bag of pills into the crook of her arm protectively. "Nothin'."
The white drake grabbed Leila's wrist.
"Sleet! Whaddya doin'?"
"Something that's for your own good, Leila." Ignoring her protests, he prised her fingers open and calmly took the little paper bag out of her grip.
"DAMMIT! That was three days wage!" She was both furious and close to tears.
He easily held the bag up out of her reach, and barely flinched when she landed an angry punch on his stomach. "Two reasons, Lei. One, Sal doesn't like his dancers doin' drugs on premises." He glanced at the pills. "Even if it ain't the real hard stuff, if we're busted and they find that, HE'S busted. And if Sal doesn't like it, I don't like it."
She glared at him.
"Second reason, I don't want you doin' that to yourself."
"Well we don't always get what we want," she hissed.
"Obviously. If we did, you wouldn't be popping pills in the first place." He sighed. "Lei, there's more than one way to release pressure. Ever thought about trying to talk about it?"
"What, wit' YOU? Right, Sleet." She turned away. "Thanks fer makin' my day a WHOLE lot better."
"Anytime!" Sleet called to Leila's retreating back. "Someday you'll thank me."
Leila slammed her door. Safe in the solitude of her room, she dug into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a second bag, identical to the first. "Thank THIS," she muttered, and swallowed five. Then she lay her head down on the pillow and slept. And didn't dream.
Over the last few weeks she'd become remarkably wily at slipping drugs and whatever else she pleased past Sleet; it had almost been a game. Now it became deadly serious. Leila would sometimes spend days in a blur of drugs, or alcohol, or whatever else she could get her hands on. And under the influence of any or all of those, she did things she'd once shied away from.
The ironic thing was that they never made the depression go away completely, just kept it at bay. In fact, they just added to her problems. The cost of keeping up her supply; the constant risk of loosing her job, such as it was; the hangovers... And the moment she came back to reality, the black cloud of depression would come thundering back to engulf her again.
Like Ash once had, she'd discovered a way out that was worse than what she was trying to escape from. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.
Unlike Ash, though, there was no-one willing to step up and help her out of her self-made prison.
She could have gone along like that forever. But one morning she was clear enough to realise she'd taken things a step too far.
Leila was awoken by the sound of snoring. Her bed seemed softer than usual, somehow... until she realised it wasn't her bed. And who was snoring?!
Blinking awake, she sat up rather too quickly to look around. Her vision doubled, then tripled, and finally solidified into a recognisable image. Fighting a mild headache, she tried to concentrate on working out where she was.
White-walled and cheap-looking, it was a hotel room. And asleep beside her was a middle-aged, sandy haired white drake Leila didn't even recognise. She sat dazed for some minutes as it all sank in. Finally, with a growing feeling of disgust at herself and the world in general, she got up and collected her clothes from where they'd been strewn.
His clothes, too, were all over the place, and in a fit of anger she picked up his trousers, dug into the pocket, and retrieved his wallet. A small voice in her said that it was her fault, her responsibility, but she didn't want to face that. Blaming him was ever so much less painful. So, she was going to make him pay... make him pay where it would hurt him most. She opened the wallet up.
And stopped.
It was stuffed full of money and credit cards, as she'd expected. His clothing, even crumpled on the floor, practically shouted 'expensive'. But it wasn't the money that had caught her attention. It was the picture window.
A small family portrait was nestled there. The man, smiling broadly; his wife, a gentle-looking brunette, and his children, two of them, both as blonde as he. Feeling sick, Leila closed the wallet slowly. 'What have I done?'
Five minutes later, she left the hotel, slipping unnoticed into the parking lot and away. She would desperately have liked to stay for a while and at least have a shower while she had the chance, but she couldn't for fear of waking the man up. The man... she could have easily found out his name from his licence or any one of the cards in his wallet, but she didn't want to know.
Behind her, she left an empty space in the double bed, the pillow still indented from where her head had been. And there on the pillow where she had lay not long before was pinned a photograph, with the faces of a happy family smiling up from it, ready to greet the eyes of the man when he awoke.
"I hate myself."
"Tell me something I don't know," Sleet said casually, pushing his sunglasses up onto his forehead.
"Alright. I hate them too." Leila was pointing vaguely at the curtain concealing them from the view of the rowdy audience on the other side; the same crowd she'd just left behind. Sleet peered through a crack in the curtain and snorted, but kept his opinions on the audience to himself.
He glanced at Leila; she was curled up miserably in a plastic chair backstage, wearing very little, and damp with sweat. Sleet sighed and handed her his coat; then wrapped her in it when she was unresponsive.
"How long has it been, Lei?"
"Is it that obvious?"
"Uh-huh. You always get miserable as hell when you're not high... Still, I prefer the misery. So how long?"
"Just a day. About a day. I mean... Well, I can't remember much of last night..." She trailed off, remembering the man in the hotel. "I woke up this morning and vowed to stop." She stared up at him, gaunt and dark-eyed. "I wanna stop, I really do."
Sleet rubbed his beak in thought, then slowly smiled. "I can help you, if you want to help yourself."
"Whatever it takes."
"Good. You're going to hate me later, though."
"Hell, I hate everyone else, why not add you to the list?"
"That's the spirit."
"SLEET! YOU GODSDAMNED SONOFABITCH! UNTIE ME!" Leila thrashed around on the bed.
Sleet glanced up from his magazine. "Not a chance."
They were in Leila's room. Leila was on the bed. Or, more specifically, tied to it. It was two in the morning, and Leila was shaking and covered in sweat. "Please, Sleet... I'm begging you... I'm damn well BEGGING YOU SLEET!! LET ME OFF!!" She choked on her own panting breaths and tried to calm down, but she was almost hyperventilating. "I promise, after this time I'll keep off 'em... Just help me out... make it easier fer me... Please, just help me out here..."
"I am helping you out."
"FUCK YOU!"
"Maybe some other time."
"I hate you."
He shrugged and tried to go back to the magazine, but he couldn't concentrate. Tossing it aside, he starting pacing the room. He paused by Leila's bed; she had quietened down a little. Mute tears were trickling down the sides of her face. Frankly, Sleet decided, she looked pathetic. He avoided asking himself why he was even doing this; chances were he wouldn't be able to give himself a satisfactory answer. "You want something to eat? Or drink?"
"Water."
He gave her what she asked for, then held her head as she threw it all up again five minutes later. Leila groaned as her empty stomach cramped up again and again; this was torture. "I can't stand it..." she sobbed.
"Hey, it's okay..." Not unsympathetic, Sleet stroked her hair back from her face and wiped at her forehead with a washer. He was aware she'd brought it all onto herself, but she'd been genuine about wanting to change before. And they'd come so far... He checked his watch. If they could make it through to the morning, she should start improving from there. "Not long now, Leila," he soothed.
At around five in the morning, Leila slipped into a deep, natural sleep. Sleet loosened her bonds and wrapped her tightly in her blanket, then sat back down and waited.
"Good morning, sunshine."
Leila blinked and stared up at the ceiling. Morning or not, it was dim, as usual, in her windowless room. She felt sticky and dirty, and she ached all over. That was about as much as she wanted to be conscious of.
Of course, her companion didn't let her get off that easy. "Sleep well?" he asked dryly, chuckling when she turned her head to give him a deadly glare. "Or not... Well, how do you feel?"
She favoured him with an unprintable answer, but he didn't seem to mind. Helping her sit up, he looked rather seriously into her eyes. "Leila. I'm gonna fire something at you, and I just want you to answer me, short and simple." She nodded mutely, so he continued. "First, I'd like to make one thing clear - I'm here to help you as long as you want to help yourself. No more, no less. I'm not going to force help on you."
Wearily, Leila contemplated making a point about tying someone to a bed, but she didn't have the heart. Besides, he was sure to have a reply for it, damn his black heart. She almost smiled.
"So, are you going to tell me what's wrong?"
The directness of the question threw Leila off for a moment, and her tone was irritated and vaguely sarcastic when she finally answered. "I... Gee, should I start from birth or conception?"
"Don't be like that. I had hoped you could actually talk to me maturely and reasonably."
"What're you, a freakin' shrink?"
"No," he answered mildly. "What are you, a head case?"
Leila stared at him. "Tell me, Sleet, are you ever NOT calm?"
"Are you ever not angry?"
"Rarely," Leila answered shortly. Sleet's habit of answering questions with questions really got to her sometimes.
"And why is that?"
Leila could see what he was doing, how he was moving the conversation in a certain direction. Oddly enough, she wanted him too. She'd talk a little. Just to humor him, of course. Just to humor him. "Well, I ain't got much ta be happy about. Look around ya."
He didn't bother. "We're all in the same place, Lei. The other girls, too. A lot of them grew up on the streets, just like you!" There was an undercurrent of tension in his voice, a certain sharpness she'd not heard before. Maybe even anger, something Leila wasn't accustomed to from him. "Seems to me you're feeling a tad too sorry for yourself. We're all as bad off as you, yet we manage to make something of it! What makes you different? What makes you so damn special?"
Exhaustion took it's toll; where a moment ago Leila had thought she'd been in control she suddenly found herself out of it. A night of what amounted to physical torture and a short interrogation was really all it had taken. Leila's last shreds of self-control finally snapped. "YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ME! Everyone I've ever trusted has betrayed me, and everyone I've ever really loved is DEAD!" She choked, her throat tight. "I might as well be, too."
Sleet grimaced inwardly; the kid had some problems. It had been surprisingly easy to get through her defences, though... but she was still young. There was still hope. As she started to cry, he reached out and drew her into his arms, cradling her head.
"I want... him... back!" she sobbed.
He'd gone and helped her open up, and now Leila couldn't stop talking. A couple of times as she poured out her woes it occurred to her that she barely knew Sleet; but even that thought didn't stop her. She allowed herself to think about and speak about things she'd buried deep for months, even years. She cried a lot. It was incredibly painful, but cleansing at the same time.
She'd been blaming herself for things that hadn't been her fault, and yet at the same time she'd been avoiding taking responsibility for those things she'd gotten herself into. The first step towards changing, Sleet had said, was to take responsibility for what she'd done wrong.
And she did. She took responsibility for having driven Ash and Alexia out of her life in envy of their relationship; she took responsibility for having taken Duane for granted until she lost him, she took responsibility for never having been her own leader and for constantly having followed others around through life - Ash, Alexia, Duane, even Joss to a degree; and she took responsibility for her drug habit. All of these things were things which had been within her power to change at the time; and she hadn't done anything. In most cases, it was too late to change that, and she would simply have to learn for next time; but in some cases there was still something that could be done.
For the first time, Leila actually considered doing something for herself; taking charge. The prospect was both frightening and a little exciting.
The second step was to stop blaming herself for things that hadn't been her fault. She'd had a rough start, and ended up in her current situation mainly through bad luck; as a child she'd done nothing to deserve the fate she'd ended up with. The respective fates of her friends were from their own mixture of bad luck and bad management, and her blaming herself for anything in that regard was not only wrong, but harmful.
The third step, Sleet said, was to forgive herself for those things she HAD done wrong. In his opinion, the only thing she was really guilty of was bad judgement; unfortunately the effects of her bad judgement had snowballed to the extreme.
She wasn't sure she quite believed him, though it was tempting to do so. But self-hate was a hard habit to beat, and Leila wasn't sure she had the courage to fight it.
It was lunchtime before they knew it, and Leila realised that for the first time in weeks she was ravenously hungry. She walked along the snowy streets with Sleet to the local QuackDonalds for lunch. It was the first time she'd had a proper meal in a long time; and it was also the first time she'd walked around outside in the daylight since the day she'd fled the hospital.
Sleet leaned his elbows in the plastic table and watched, pleased, as Leila ate her second cheeseburger. "About time you got some real food into your system, kiddo." He reconsidered. "Well, whether it's real or not is debatable, but at any rate it's better than nothing." Leila smiled at him through her mouthful, but even as he smiled back Sleet was wincing inside. In the daylight Leila's sunken eyes were even more obvious; she was painfully thin, her hair was limp and her feathers were dull. Her thick parka hid her frame, but he'd seen her; he knew her to be unhealthily skinny under there. And her jeans hung loose on her.
Sleet was surprised out of studying her when he realised that she was looking right back at him - scrutinising him with a strange look in her eyes... He hid a laugh at the thought of what she might be thinking. But she wasn't smiling, and his own smile faded.
"Sleet, I..."
He held up a hand, somehow knowing what she was thinking. "Don't."
They walked again, for a while. Arm in arm, as friends.
"You know what I really do feel bad about?" Leila brushed some snow off the handrail of the little wooden bridge and leaned on it, looking out across the frozen lake.
"What's that?"
"The little girl who was in Joss's gang - Nylessa. She was twelve when I left. I wish I coulda taken her wit' me. I mean, I don't really, considerin' what happened... but I feel bad fer leavin' her behind. She was a nice kid, an' clever... Drake knows where she is now. The cops probably got her when they flushed out the gang... maybe she's in a foster home now or somethin'." The thought wasn't comforting. "I hope she's happy."
They looked over the snow-covered park in companionable silence for a while. The pond was full of kids ice-skating; some of them were in the process of organising an impromptu game of hockey, with much argument amongst themselves, of course.
Finally, an age later, Sleet spoke. "Maybe you'll see her again someday."
She sighed. "Maybe."
As twilight descended over Ducaine Metropolis, Leila and Sleet arrived back at the Rook's Nest. Skirting the bar and stage area, they made their way through the back halls to Leila's room. He paused outside the door. "I'm almost due on duty for the night, Sal's expecting some crowds tonight. You sleep well, Lei."
"Sleet..."
"Mmm?"
"What about you?"
"Pardon?"
Leila shook her head. "I mean... all this time, we been talkin' about me. How about you? How'd a guy like you end up a bouncer? No offense, but... ya don't seem the type."
He actually smiled. "Oh, believe me, none taken." He scratched the back of his hand and frowned slightly. "Well, so.... how did I get here? There's an interesting question..."
"Stop stallin', Sleet."
He sighed, resigned. "Stop learning from me. Alright. Well, I grew up in a nice home... good education, so on... but when I was eighteen I had a little... altercation with my folks. See, I'd come to some realisations about myself, and they didn't approve of my choice of lifestyle. Choice of partners, specifically."
Leila paused a moment, then realised. "Oh... I didn't even guess."
He shrugged. "I got used to hiding it. A habit I never broke." He smiled a little wryly, then went on. "So I left. It's not like I didn't try to work it out with them, but I'm a realist - I know when to let go of a hopeless cause and move on. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of dropping out of uni and ended up leaving myself with a limited range of job options, this being one of them. I guess I always thought of it as a transitory thing, just until I got back on my feet, but a place like this sucks you in. You know that as well as I do."
She nodded slowly, frowning a little. "But... you yerself said it's never too late ta change yer life. Why not give it all another go? Try uni again? Maybe even visit your parents? I mean, yer a wonderful person... I'll bet they're sorry they lost ya. I would be." The compliment was genuine and Sleet knew it; Leila didn't bother giving out false niceties.
But the rest of what she'd said tickled uncomfortably at the back of his mind. Why HADN'T he given it another shot? Was this why he'd helped Leila, and others before her? Had helping them simply been a way for him to take the focus off his need to sort out his own mess? He grimaced inwardly and pushed the thoughts away for later; but on the surface his face was emotionless.
Leila broke into his train of thought. "It must be hard ta be rejected by yer whole family. I wouldn't know, I never had one ta begin with. Maybe I was lucky."
Sleet looked at her with a slight smile. "That's a remarkably positive way of looking at things, Leila. Not at all like you."
She didn't smile back. "It's more like me than anything I've said since I've known ya, I think."
He patted her on the shoulder, and left.
Leila lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. She thought about what Sleet had told her. She thought about herself, too.
'How high a price does someone have to pay to be themselves? Ridicule? Exclusion? Persecution, even? In Sleet's case, the love and acceptance of a whole family?'
She sighed, wondering if it was all worth it, if it wasn't just easier to let the flow of life carry you along. Wouldn't it all be simpler just to go along with everyone? Keep others happy and be happy yourself? More importantly, COULD you be happy if you weren't being true to yourself?
And why bother fighting to find yourself anyhow? It seemed that, in the end, either nobody cared or it just made life more difficult.
But then, didn't the best things always come at a price? She was starting to find herself buried under all the layers of hurt and anger and loneliness that had begun growing like a shell around her, and she liked what she was finding. Someone who was strong enough to lead herself and not allow others to dictate the direction her life took. Someone who was also kind, though, and deep and thoughtful... things which she'd never credited herself with before.
The best things always come at a price. Always.
'Was it worth it, Sleet?'
She thought she might go and ask him, and then decided against it. She already knew what his answer would be.
Now she just needed to find her own.
"Are you sure?" Sleet frowned and leaned against the doorway, keeping a careful eye on the people entering the nightclub across the room. His shift was finished and the next bouncer had taken over, but Sleet considered himself never completely off-duty.
Leila nodded. "I wanna go, Sleet. Duane was right - this ain't the life fer me. Not this," The silver duck jerked a thumb behind her, roughly in the direction of the stage. "But I heard there's opportunities in Ducaine Metropolis, so that's where I'm goin'."
He frowned. "Leila, your optimism is great, it really is... but, Drake forgive me, I'm also a realist. What are you going to do when you get there? These things take planning..."
"I know, I know. Don't worry, I got my next few steps worked out at least. I talked ta Sal - he can get me a place as a waitress in a joint his cousin runs over there." Leila grimaced. "He said I lost too much weight ta continue dancin' anyhow." She lowered her voice in an imitation of her boss: "Dey like ta see curves, sweetheart, curves."
Sal smiled slightly. "Go on."
"From there I got an income comin' in, and wit' that maybe I can rent a place, share wit' somebody. Rent's cheap in some parts of Ducaine Metro, they say. An' I'll save up some cash, do some job-huntin'... jus' work on it from there. Try an' work somewhere a little more respectable - like where the uniform consists of more than a G-string an' a skimpy bikini top."
"You're such a lady, Leila," Sleet sighed. "I'm gonna miss you."
"Me too." On impulse, she hugged him, and he hugged her gently back.
"If you ever need to find me, ask Sal. I'll keep him posted where I am just in case." He rested his chin on the top of her head. "Not around here much longer, that's for sure." Releasing her, he produced a fifty dollar note seemingly from nowhere, pressing it into her hand in a way that forbid any argument. "Take the subway. Good luck."
As the train hissed through the dark tunnels, Leila slept into the night.
She had everything planned, this time. She was in charge of her own destiny. It was a new and scary feeling, but for once she seemed to be in control.
Life often has a way of shattering that conception.
It was late when Leila arrived in the Ducaine Metropolis central station. The platforms were almost deserted, as were the streets above. The chill that hit Leila as she ascended the stairs to street level was terrible, and she momentarily toyed with the idea of going back down and sleeping somewhere in the subway for the night. But subways didn't have good connotations for her, and she pulled her coat tighter around her and continued into the snowy city.
It wasn't a nice part of town, but compared to what Leila was used to it seemed positively pleasant. Keltor, her city of origin, was a dirty hole; Ducaine Metro, on the other hand, was a planned city, and even its darkest alleyways came across as fairly harmless. Of course, looks could quite definitely be deceiving.
"Hand it over, hooky!" The youthful voice echoed faintly from a street to Leila's voice, and something made her turn and head that way. She wasn't stupid; she knew the sound of a robbery in progress, but her new resolve was making her brave. Or perhaps just foolhardy. At any rate, she rounded the corner a moment later to see a tall, cloaked man facing a ten-strong group of street waifs, ranging in age from mid-teens down to one little boy who looked around seven. The eldest of the group wielded a rusty switchblade; but the cloaked figure didn't look overly concerned. Then again, his lack of concern was unsurprising, considering the guy was built like a brick wall.
He was a raptrin - his hooked beak was the first thing she'd noticed - and as such was tall; although Leila had seen a few raptrin in her time, and he was larger than most. And he looked strong. Unlike Sleet's quiet strength, his physique practically screamed "muscle"...it was almost a showy strength. She wasn't sure how else to think of it. It was difficult to make out any more detail in the darkness of the alley, but his feathers were a light color, perhaps tan. At any rate, he looked more than capable of defending herself, which was in turn more than enough of a good reason for Leila to leave now, before she got herself into trouble. But something compelled her to stay, and she pressed herself into the shadows and watched quietly, unseen and without interference. This didn't appear to be an everyday, run-of-the-mill mugging.
Then she spotted the girl. Skinny, around twelve years old, and with a crop of hair that even in the dark was evidently bright red. 'It can't be...'
Ernie Falcone looked away from the leader of the pack of street brats for a moment. A quick scan of the alleyway confirmed that he was surrounded. He knew for a fact that the street he was in was completely abandoned; and no-one listened to cries for help in this part of the Metro... not that calling for help would be necessary, of course. The raptrin stood straight and glared at the gang. "What do you want?"
The leader, a medium-height lad with long, ragged brown hair and sharp eyes, held out a hand. "Anythin' of value. Whaddya think? Now hand it over, hookbeak!"
"I haven't got anything," Falcone replied calmly, inwardly wincing at the racist slang. His hand tightened on the saber hidden beneath his cloak.
The young man's expression became icy. "Don't gimme that packshit, man. No-one wears clothes like that-" he gestured at Falcone's cape "- an' lays claim ta bein' poor."
"Well there's a first time for everything," Falcone growled, and began to push past them. His patience was wearing thin.
"Get 'im."
Falcone spun as they closed in on him, their bare fists and gleaming knives wielded. The leader of the gang was already airborne, leaping catlike toward him and swinging the rusty blade toward his throat. In the blink of an eye Falcone had his saber out and activated; but he swung too quickly, the boy leaped aside, and the flat of the blade caught a younger, red-headed girl on the side of the head. She crumpled to the dirty concrete without a sound.
Falcone didn't particularly care. "You chose the wrong day" he muttered, and drew his saber back. The leader advanced, naturally, and a well-timed kick of Falcone's foot sent the boy sprawling to the ground next to the redhead. The boy froze, cowering, as the large raptrin stood over him, his saber held high. The rest of the gang hung back, watching the blade with its dancing blue sparks warily.
Two less brats would make Ducaine Metropolis a far better place, in Ernie Falcone's opinion. Without a second thought, he swept the saber down towards the boy's neck
*CLANG*
The saber bounced off a thick steel pole which had been shoved in its path by - Falcone looked up, momentarily shocked out of his anger - a young woman with silver-grey feathers and black hair. Her eyes blazed.
"Pick on someone yer own size, hooky!" she snarled. She was gripping both ends of the steel pole, holding it like a bo staff between the girl and Falcone's saber. Seeing his chance, the boy dragged himself a safer distance away from Falcone. The girl lay unconscious on the ground.
The raptrin drew back his saber once more and moved into a defensive position. "Like you, perhaps?"
She spat on the ground and glared defiantly at him.
"Now, now, where are your manners?" he smirked, and swung the blade towards her again.
Leila had run into the alleyway when she'd seen the girl go down; it had taken her only moments to lay her hands on a weapon and get between the cloaked raptrin and the kids. Her anger hadn't fully had time to take hold, even then - but as that bastard swung at her...
(She's just a girl, just a little girl and he was going to-)
...A red haze of hate and fury filled her vision; and from that point on, Leila deSilver abandoned all logical thought and worked on adreneline and instinct alone.
Reflexively, the silver duck swung the pole up in front of her. The move probably saved her life. The saber and pole clashed together and bounced apart, and the duck and raptrin fell back again. Out of the corner of his eye Falcone saw the hurried movements of the street kids; a moment later they'd vanished into the mists of the night, and it was he and the girl alone, standing over the body of the red-head.
Three more times the raptrin struck at Leila, and three more times she reflexively parried the blows. But she was tiring fast.
Falcone deactivated his saber and slipped it back into his belt, and she took the bait - seeing him unarmed, Leila swung the pole in a high arc, bringing it down towards his skull. Falcone reached up and felt the metal slap into the palm of his hand with some satisfaction; he adjusted his grip and lifted the pole - and the young woman - high.
She dangled there, two feet off the ground, clutching the end of the pole. Falcone saw a flash of fear cross her eyes, and smirked.
She lashed out and kicked him in the stomach.
A second later Leila was on the ground. The steel bar dropped with a clatter beside her, and the raptrin stood doubled over in pain in front of her. But she only had eyes for the girl lying, so still, in the middle of the street; Leila crouched, gathered the child up in her arms, and hurried off with her.
The raptrin's angry, pained voice echoed down the alleyway. "Mark my words, if we ever meet again you will pay for that!"
She ignored him and kept going.
It wasn't until they were in the next street and the girl began to wake up that Leila realised her error. As she walked into the silvery ring of light cast from a street lamp, she knelt and propped the child against a wall, and looked at her face. The girl came to with a suddenness that startled Leila, and she was on her feet a split-second later. "Get away from me!" she spat.
Leila backed off, her hands up defensively. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I thought you were someone else."
The twelve year old gave her a mistrustful look, then picked herself up and staggered away into the darkness. Leila watched her go silently.
'It wasn't her. I'm so stupid! She'd be, what...? Fourteen. What was I thinking?!'
Leila sighed and brushed the snow off her jeans. She didn't want to spend the rest of the money Sleet had given her, but she was tired and hungry and more than a little scared. She'd unnecessarily put herself directly into a life-threatening situation back there; and the first law of the street was that you should NEVER do that. She shook her head and decided she needed sleep before she started running up to every little redhead she saw in the street, thinking they were Nylessa.
Leila walked slowly off into the night. Somewhere in the darkness, the watcher pulled his cloak tightly around him, and silently started to follow her.
Leila used half of the remaining money that Sleet had given her to get some cheap accommodation for the remainder of that night. She awoke late the next morning, sore and tired from her unexpected workout the night before in the alleyway. Taking a much-needed shower, she dressed and left the hotel, clutching the scrap of paper with the address of the Red Eagle, the nightclub Sal's cousin ran.
Sal's cousin was nothing like Sal, thankfully. He was cool and businesslike, and seemed to have no desire to play mind games. He ran a critical eye up and down Leila and told her she was hired. When she explained her accommodation problem, he agreed to advance her a couple of days pay. Leila was surprised by this at first, but when she left his office and was able to take a look around the nightclub, she could see why. The guy obviously had more money to spare than Sal; his club was nicely decorated and far more open and well-lit than the smoky, beer-scented hole she'd worked in previously. The place was comparatively classy, in fact.
Her new employer had given her a uniform to try on for size, along with directions to the changing rooms she'd use. On the way there, Leila passed a short black duck with spiky brown hair who leered at her rather unpleasantly as she passed. A sixth sense of hers told her that he must work there in some way, but exactly what his job was escaped her, and she didn't feel inclined to ask. She ignored the look, and promptly forgot about it.
The uniform, as a note, fit well and covered far more territory than her old outfits had, for which she was thankful. Perhaps it seemed just one small step up the ladder of self-respect, but for Leila it was, well... a giant leap.
Over the next week she met and grew friendly with the other waitresses of the Red Eagle. They were a decent bunch - down-to-earth city girls - and never failed to tease Leila about her accent, or trade complaints about the patrons they'd served that day, or share with her the latest tidbit of street gossip that invariably filtered from the patrons to the employees at the nightclub.
She was happier than she'd been in a long time, but somewhere deep within, Leila knew that none of this was permanent. Perhaps it was just her old uncertainties surfacing - after all, there wasn't much at all that had remained solid and dependable for her during her lifetime - but she just somehow felt that this place wasn't where she was supposed to be. Nicer outfit aside, she was still working in a nightclub. Nicer co-workers aside, there were always a lot of jerks coming through nightclubs, and Leila had taken just about her fill of jerks.
Jerks, of course, was a nice term for some of the patronage the nightclub got. Leila was sure she recognised some of the people who passed through now and then, and word had it that Brotherhood members were frequently seen at the gambling tables.
But, criminals and cutthroats aside, some people were just plain jerks. Like Hew.
Hew was the black duck Leila had passed by in the hall on her first day, and her first impression of him had been more than correct. She was starting to form an altogether unsavoury impression of men in general, and he only helped reinforce it. He was notorious for his womanising; unfortunately for him he wasn't particularly good at it. Not that he was bad-looking, but his personality was positively repellent. He was so full of himself Leila often expected him to burst. The other girls all disliked him with a vengeance.
Unfortunately, he took a shine to Leila.
The girls regarded his pressing attentions on her with a mixture of pitying amusement and annoyance, but it made Leila positively ill. He reminded her somehow of Joss, despite the physical differences, and Joss was someone she did NOT want to be reminded of.
Nontheless, she continued with her work, living in a cheap hotel a few blocks away, and simply continued giving Hew the knock-back. And for a while, the knock-back was enough.
She'd been at the Red Eagle for about a month when it finally happened... and "it" wasn't exactly what she'd expected.
Picking up a couple of empty glasses from a deserted table, Leila headed toward the kitchen. It was almost two in the morning, and the last few patrons were tiring and starting to straggle - or stagger, in many cases - out of the nightclub and back to their respective beds.
That was why she noticed when someone actually came in. Hearing the outer door in the foyer swing open, Leila glanced up from the sink where she'd just dumped the two mugs. There was a one-way glass panel set all along the wall of the kitchen so that the kitchen staff could keep an eye on the patrons, and the foyer was very visible from where Leila stood.
It took her a moment to recognise the person who'd come in, and in the end it was the strong frame that gave it away. It had been too dark in the alleyway to see his face properly.
It was, of course, the raptrin.
Her heart skipped a beat, and she remembered his dire warning for the first time in weeks - 'Mark my words, if we ever meet again you WILL pay for that'.
"Shit!" she muttered, clinging to the counter. He was walking into the bar area, looking around as if he was searching for someone. It was quite clear that he knew she worked here.
He wasn't wearing the full cloak he'd been wearing in the alley; this time he was wearing a trenchcoat over loose black pants and a white long-sleeved shirt, along with leather boots. It struck her that he looked a little overdressed. Then she wondered how many weapons he could hide under that trenchcoat. 'Not that it matters... He only needs one!'
Leila swallowed and glanced toward the kitchen door. It was the only way out of the kitchen at this time of night - the back door was always locked after midnight, ironically enough for security reasons. So to leave the kitchen, she'd have to risk him seeing her. But if she stayed and he found her in here, she'd be trapped.
Leila took a deep breath and crept silently out the door.
She'd almost made it clean out of the bar area and into the hall when his voice rang out, strident, from behind her. "You! Wait!"
Naturally, Leila bolted. Unfortunately, the raptrin gave chase. He was stronger, taller and had longer legs; and Leila had only just made it to the door of the changing rooms when she felt his iron grip close on her shoulder, jerking her to a stop. She spun in his grip, trying to wriggle her way out of it, and when she realised that it wouldn't work she opened her mouth to scream.
"Please, don't scream," he said calmly, "You may wake up the guards." There was a trace of humor in the remark, and Leila caught herself before she made a sound. The raptrin added quietly, "I'm not going to hurt you."
"What do you want?" she asked nervously, trying to keep her voice down.
"To apologise." While Leila was still reeling in surprise over that remark, he loosened his grip on her shoulder. She didn't run.
The raptrin glanced around. "Look, what's say we go into this room here to talk, hmm? I have a proposition to make."
Leila's brow darkened in suspicion. "What... kind of proposition?"
He glanced around. "You'll find out. Come." Pushing open the door to the changing room like he owned the place, the raptrin swept in. Leila held back a moment, then followed. If she didn't find out, she'd be wondering forever...
She closed the door gently behind her and looked at him, not moving away from it. "Well?"
"Firstly, I should like to sincerely apologise for the way I acted that night in the alleyway. I had no right to attack you in that fashion, and... I certainly shouldn't have retaliated as I did against those street waifs." He sounded so contrite that Leila felt drawn to believe him, but she couldn't reconcile the image of him bringing his sword down towards the neck of that little girl with the polite, well-mannered man standing before her with his head down slightly. He must have seen the doubt on her face, because after a short pause he continued, "I wasn't myself. My younger sister had passed away that afternoon; I was a little mad with grief, I'm afraid."
Leila softened immediately; she knew all about that... "I'm sorry."
He shook his head. "Oh, it's quite alright."
Finally, the raptrin glanced up at her, and Leila took the opportunity to study his face. He had an imposing look about him - not just his figure, but his face too. His beak was powerful and curved, a fine example of the unique Raptrin physique. His brow was low and serious, and his deep-set sharp blue eyes glittered. Altogether, he looked intelligent... proud.
He looked back from the corner of his eye, neither smiling or frowning. She got the impression he was studying her as hard as she was studying him. She wondered briefly if he liked what he saw... and then mentally rebuked herself for it. What was she thinking??
The raptrin broke the silence first. "You have remarkably good reflexes."
She smiled slightly. "The, uh... metal bar thing, huh?"
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Yes. You come across as a natural fighter." He was matter-of-fact. "Have you had any experience stealing? Pickpocketing, perhaps?"
Immediately on her guard, Leila crossed her arms. "You a cop?"
"No." He reached under his cloak, and Leila froze as he drew out the familiar hilt. He hadn't extended the blade, however, and he made no move to do so. "I'm a... well, thief is such a vulgar term. Let's just say I make a career out of redistribution of wealth."
Realisation finally dawned. "Yer... a member of the Brotherhood of the Blade!"
As he opened his mouth to answer, footsteps sounded in the hall. The stranger immediately slipped into the shadows of the dressing room and appeared to virtually vanish, belying his physical size. A split-second later the door flew open and Hew strode in.
"Heyyyy! Lei! Sweetheart! I thought I'd find ya here..."
"Don't call me Lei. An' I ain't yer sweetheart."
"Well maybe you should try it, babe - ya might find ya'll like it." With a smooth chuckle, Hew closed the door behind him and advanced on Leila. "C'mon, sweetie, playing hard ta get is all well an' good, but the game's draggin' on a bit now, don'tcha think?" His voice, she noticed, was slightly slurred.
Damn. Hew in his normal mood was one thing; Hew drunk was entirely another. Alcohol seemed to deprive him of any small shred of sense he usually possessed... and her rejection of him at any time just seemed to fuel his fires. 'Be diplomatic, be diplomatic...' "Hew, look, I hate ta tell ya this, but... I ain't interested. Maybe we can go out sometime, I dunno. But I... yeh, I gotta get changed an' get home ta bed; I gotta meet a friend early tomorrow-"
"You got a shift first thing tomorrow, Leila," Hew interjected, the slur fading a little as hardness crept into his tone.
Leila sighed between her teeth, trying not to show her nervousness. He was only small... she could defend herself against him unarmed, surely. "Enough, Hew! Okay? I ain't interested! I gotta get changed now, so couldya leave?"
The short duck shrugged and sat on one of the nearby dressing tables. "So get changed. You should be used ta an audience."
Choking back a gasp, Leila felt herself go hot under her feathers. "You son of a bi-"
"Uh-uh-uh..." he smirked, pulling a small knife out of his pocket. "I had enough o' your little games, ya tease. This time I'm gonna get somethin' outta ya."
Sick with horror, Leila couldn't respond. Fortunately, she never needed to - at precisely that moment, she heard an aggravated mutter from the shadows: "This is too much"
A silver-blue glow lit the room, and the raptrin materialised from the darkest corner of the room, wielding his blade. Leila had all but forgotten he was there. Now he had his weapon out, and he was conceivably a greater threat than Hew himself. Sh'd heard the saying "Better the evil you know than the evil you don't", but she wasn't about to get up and tell her apparent saviour to rack off either. She was prepared to take help in whatever form it happened to come in.
It didn't seem she had a say, anyhow - the raptrin swept past her and put the sharp tip of his blade to Hew's throat. The short duck froze, and swallowed nervously. "Hi I didn't, eh, know you were here" he said weakly.
The raptrin looked neutral. "Get out of my sight, or I shall have to dirty my blade." he said conversationally.
Hew ducked away and scrambled for the door; when there, in relative safety, he turned and glared at Leila. "You'll pay for this!! I'll tell the boss you been takin' guys in here behind his back! An' filthy raptrin, too!" he spat. "You'll be outta here! No-one crosses the boss - and no-one crosses Hew!!" With that, he stormed off.
The raptrin glared after him for a moment, then turned to Leila. "Are you alright?"
Leila looked at him gratefully. "I'm fine. But we should really get out of here - that little weasel's squeaking to the guards right now, if I know him"
The raptrin just smiled as if he knew something Leila didn't. "Oh, never mind them - they have something else to deal with for the moment." He refocussed his attentions on her. "I don't believe we've been formally introduced? I'm terribly sorry. My name is Falcone."
"Falcone who?" Leila pressed.
His face changed. "It's a surname," he said shortly. "And you are Leila?"
"Leila deSilver," she said, sticking her hand out to be shaken. To her infinite surprise, he took her hand in his and kissed it.
"A pleasure," he said, "and such a suitable name. Now, I do suggest we vacate this hellhole before one of those goons gets wind of us." Falcone deactivated the saber and slipped it back under his cloak. "Take everything you need. I'm afraid that after that little fuss with our obnoxious friend, you won't be welcome back here anytime soon..."
Leila nodded and scooped up the nearby pile of her regular clothes, then glanced down at the so-called uniform she was wearing. She wouldn't be needing it anymore...
As if he'd read her mind, Falcone glanced at her outfit, but his eyes didn't linger for a moment longer than was necessary. "And do bring your normal clothing. That shameless outfit mustn't be doing any wonders for your self-respect."
Leila's opinion of him instantly skyrocketed. Hiding a quick smile, she put her own long coat over what she was wearing, knowing that Hew may just decide to come back at any moment - there wasn't time to linger here.
The raptrin held his hand out to Leila. "I'll take you somewhere safe."
Oddly touched, she took it; her slim grey hand was engulfed by his powerful tan-colored one.
Unable to absorb the strangeness of the night's events, Leila allowed herself to be led out of the changing rooms, through the narrow corridors of the nightclub, and out into the night. It was the last time she would ever see the inside of the Red Eagle, and the last time she would ever work in a nightclub.
Perhaps the cold night air knocked some sense back into her, but Leila realised as they walked down the street that she had absolutely no idea where they were going.
"Where are we-"
"You'll see."
Leila subsided, and glanced at her new companion suspiciously once more. Was it possible this was all some sort of ruse to get her off her guard? But no, it couldn't be - if he'd wanted to hurt her, he could have done it at any time in the changing rooms. She'd been unarmed, he'd had a sword. It was the early hours of the morning. Aside from Hew's brief intrusion, they'd been alone.
So no, it didn't make sense that he was taking her somewhere secluded to do her in. On the other hand, there was something downright freaky about the whole situation. "Do ya always make yer social calls in the early hours of the mornin', or am I a special case?" she asked dryly.
"Why, you are a very special case," he said, actually looking at her this time, with a slight smile. "I've been watching you for a month, on and off."
The icy early-morning breeze was finding it's way under her coat, under which she was still wearing her uniform - her legs were cold. That chill made its way from her legs up her spine, now. "I never saw ya, not once!"
He chuckled, the sound coming from low in his throat. "You weren't supposed to." Suddenly switching topics, he asked, "Would you like to learn how to do that?"
She hesitated. "Well... yeah, I guess it'd come in handy."
"Well, then. How would you like to join the ranks of Puckworld's finest?"
"The army?" Leila kidded. She was stalling... she knew exactly what he was asking.
He snorted derisively. "I said, Puckworld's finest. I only go with the best. Leila, how would you like to become a member of the Brotherhood?" They had reached the very heart of Ducaine Metro as they'd talked. Here, the tightly-packed dark streets with tiny cramped apartment blocks crowded together, jostling for space, towering darkly above the dirty street with only narrow alleyways separating each tall building... and here, they stopped.
Leila glanced around. It must have been almost five in the morning, because the first glimmers of light were appearing in the sky, and the stars were fading. She was tired, now, the kind of tired that makes the muscles of the legs ache and the head swim. They were standing at an intersection - crossroads. The irony did not escape her. "What happens if I say no?"
"I leave now, and let you go untouched."
She looked desperately around. How dare he spring this on her at the last minute! Saviour or none, it was frank manipulation. There was a hidden meaning in the statement 'I leave you now' - because, in leaving her, he was leaving her with absolutely nowhere to go. "So what if I say yeah?"
"Why, I couldn't possibly spoil the surprise now, could I?" He was smiling again, but this time not with his eyes.
"Of course not," she sighed. It was plain to see that this occasion was really a lot more weighty than he was making out... and Leila realised with sudden clarity that a lot rested on her decision not just for her sake, but for his. She wondered what his story was... "Well, I really ain't got much choice, have I?" She rubbed her beak, thinking, then looked up at him with a frown. "Do I get ta choose what I wear?"
He laughed aloud. "Of course."
"Fine. Count me in."
The blindfold was probably the scariest part. See, it turned out that they weren't as alone as she'd thought. The moment she answered, he'd taken her arm in that familiar iron-strong grip, and before she knew what was happening, a cloth was slipped over her head and tied tight. Two hands! It took two hands to tie a knot, and one of Falcone's was holding her arm.
Frightened, Leila only managed a strangled gasp, and was quickly hushed by a voice she didn't recognise. More hands and arms took her, leading her along, sometimes pushing, and she had to trust that they'd stop her from hitting anything, or falling... Leila winced and braced herself as she stumbled along, just in case.
It seemed a long way they were taking her, and it occurred to Leila that they could be leading her around in circles and she wouldn't even know it. They conceivably were doing exactly that, in fact... Ducaine metro had a fairly complicated icepath and road system, after all. Even without the blindfold it would have been easy enough for them to get her lost.
"Falcone, why the blindfold?" she asked, firmly keeping any unsteadiness out of her voice.
His voice was suddenly close beside her, murmuring in her ear. "Don't be afraid." It was a familiar sound, and she took some comfort from it.
There were doors, and the air was damp, and she could feel that she was somewhere... small, narrow. Sounds echoed around a little, here. Another door was opened, and closed behind her. Another set of footsteps joined the three that were with her. Finally, they went through one last door... and the blindfold was torn off.
Leila was momentarily blinded. Her first impression of the place where she was to experience her greatest triumphs and greatest failures was of shining white light, soft voices, and stinging eyes.
"Welcome to the Brotherhood of the Blade."
To be continued
Close this window to return to the Vault Fiction.
Tania Walker
deSilver@myrealbox.com
This story copyright © 1999 by Tania Walker
Most recent revision Friday, 27 August 1999.