NOTE:
The story was originally started a couple months after the intermission ended. Doc Scratch decided to show up when I was about halfway through writing. Also, Matchsticks and Quarters' real powers being revealed has screwed a few things up. Some things could be added/modified for the story as the comic went on, some couldn't. So let's call it an AU of sorts, just based mostly in the intermission itself.
RING RING RING
Eggs did not remember exactly what he needed more duplicates for, and had long slipped past the point of caring. He greeted each copy fervently as he waded through the undulating green sea. Eggs' eyes lit up as he saw Biscuits' burly mass parting the copies like curtains to meet him at the center of the congregation.
"I don't think this is how you play Red Rover?" Biscuits spoke loudly over the chatter and ringing. Standing together, Eggs and Biscuits were approximately the same height, although even without color-coded hats it was not difficult to pick his friend out from the crowd.
"Uhh," Eggs scratched his head. "That's what we was doing?"
Biscuits shrugged and cast his glance about the room.
"Well if we was," he said, his voice covered by that of the others, "you're cheating! You only made more yous."
"What?"
"I said you're cheatin'!" Biscuits shouted.
"No, you are!" Eggs exclaimed, an automatic response. He was not even sure what it was they were arguing about.
"What?"
The babble combined with Eggs and Biscuits' shouting masked the noise of heavy footsteps, the creaking of the door in the back, the exasperated curses. The knock of a crowbar smashing a skull or two.
Biscuits paused his tongue and watched Crowbar's slow approach, his dark red hat just barely visible, plodding through the Eggs. He chiseled away a path, weapon mechanically swinging, blood flying.
"Biscuit!" Eggs took his friend by the shoulder. "What're you lookin-"
He went down with a thud and would have landed on Biscuits, had he not sidestepped out of the way. He kneeled down, practically fell down, to prod the fallen with a finger. "Eggsy! You okay?"
Then he heard Crowbar's voice, something like a whispered apology. His eyes rose to meet his, instead finding a red weapon about to bear down on him.
An Eggs' arm shot out, grasping Crowbar's and balking the near-attack. Crowbar did not struggle against the larger Felt, for lack of strength to do so. Otherwise motionless, Crowbar inclined his head over his raised shoulder.
"Um," Eggs said, "There's a lots of me but not'a Biscuit."
This statement prompted Crowbar to raise an eyebrow, to scan the room of destroyed antique clocks and turned over furniture, all the work of a plethora Eggs. And here on his knees was Biscuits. Only one.
"Take him and leave," Crowbar said after a moment, gesturing with his unrestrained hand at Biscuits, and to the door he entered from. Eggs nodded and finally let go.
"Les'go finish our game outside," Eggs said, gently pulling him out of the room.
"'Kay," Biscuits said blithely, "I gots a better idea for a game anyways!"
Crowbar lowered his weapon and watched them leave, standing there for several moments amongst the rest of the mostly oblivious Eggs. His attention snapped back when he heard glass shattering. Crowbar twisted and forced his way past the copies, towards the wall, arriving just in time to see an Eggs brushing off his slightly tattered clothing. He stood on the other side of a large window, now an opened maw of ruined glass teeth. The wayward Eggs glanced up and spotted him staring at him, and ran. Crowbar cursed under his breath, deciding to get that one last as he returned to cleaning up the bulk here in this room. Stitch would pitch a fit if he allowed all this excess to linger too much longer. But one, individual straggler could wait a bit.
- TEMPORALGERNON -
Biscuits had burst through the door to Stitch's boutique just as he was making an exit, hand inches from the handle when his ass was nearly sent to the floor. Stitch was ready to yell at him, until he saw, and did a double-take at, the large dart lodged deep in Biscuits' forehead.
"Eggs missed the apple," he said with an accusatory tone, staring daggers at his friend.
Eggs inhaled sharply, taking a defensive stance. "Nuh-uh, your apple missed the dart!"
"Children, please. Pipe the hell down." Stitch said, voice gravelly, tired. A moment's hesitation and he extended a scarred arm, gesturing towards a couple of sturdy chairs hugging a coffee table. "Just sit."
"You'll help him?" Eggs plopped down onto a chair, as did his companion. "'Cause you're like, a doctor, right?"
"I ain't a doctor. Just a tailor," Stitch said. He languidly started across the room to his tool shelf. It was not necessarily his old age that caused him to move at such a slow pace, but the prospect of traveling down to the warehouse to tend to Biscuits' effigy. If it were nearly anyone but Biscuits, he would have hurried, felt a bit more surprise at seeing him walking and talking with that thing possibly impaling his brain. But, it was Biscuits. Not that he did not particularly care, but these two were much hardier than they had any right to be.
"Yeah but," Eggs said, precariously balancing his chair on its back legs, "a tailor's like a doctor for uh, clothes."
"That's deep," Biscuits gasped.
Sewing kit secured under his arm, Stitch found another chair and sat across from Eggs and Biscuits, thinking. The dart victim became restless and moved to touch it. With a surprising speed Stitch leaned over and slapped Biscuits' hand away from it.
"Don't touch it," he sternly said. Yes, Biscuits was hardy. But there was a little, tiny inkling of care for the big dope in the very bottom of his heart. It made him warn him repeatedly and take bandages and begin to secure them carefully around Biscuits' head. "You need a sitter while I'm gone?"
He slapped his wandering hand away again. Eggs watched Stitch intently, seemingly fascinated. It bothered Stitch. Then Eggs fell backwards when he leaned too far back, confirming even further the answer to his question.
"Why can't we touch it?" Eggs asked, dusting himself off.
"Because I told you not to," Stitch curtly said as he finished wrapping the bandages.
"Can you pull it out?"
"You shouldn't."
"Why?"
"It's just safer to fix your effigies."
"But why?"
"Sawbuck!" Stitch ushered Eggs and Biscuits into the garage, eager to find a car, any car, and drive away from Eggs' constant questioning. With curt instructions he made haste past the portly, middle-aged man. Sawbuck marveled at how Stitch moved when he was motivated enough, then turned his head to find Eggs and Biscuits standing by the door, stupid smiles on their faces, a foreign object in one of them.
"Just um, just... have a seat on the bench there, I guess," Sawbuck said, voice thick, slightly lispy. He made a face like a frown, his odd fish-like jaw of exposed serrated teeth distorting not just his voice but most expressions. What he was to do with these two, he was unsure. He was reluctant to go back under the hood of the DeLorean, to let these two out of his sight. As if watching them would prevent any potential disaster, like watching a pot of water supposedly prevents it from boiling.
"Your car's lookin' nice, Buckie!" Eggs said. "But it needs racing stripes."
"Yeah it'll make your car go faster!" Biscuits agreed. His hands wandered, eventually coming back up to the dart in his head. It was Eggs, this time, that slapped Biscuits' hand down.
"Stitch said don't mess with it!"
"But it itches," Biscuits whined. Eggs took his hands and held them down, and his friend struggled against him.
Sawbuck leaned against one of the garage's support pillars, watching them fight with vague amusement, and a sense that something was off about Eggs, something he could not quite place.
The warm suns hung high in the colorful sky, clear of clouds save for a few sinuous wisps. The Felt manor sat perched on a large hill, almost a mesa, overlooking the grandiose Midnight City. Much like a viridian haunted house, it loomed, creaking, green paint peeling, windows cracking and sometimes broken after various cinderblock-related incidents, repairs only occurring in random, often temporary bursts. The buildings below the hill were even more derelict and swarming with bums and petty criminals
Beyond the slums, in the heart of the city, could be seen a forested park and partial mountain range surrounding a large hot springs. The entire area was simply called Oasis, and all around it was where all the action was. Casinos and night clubs and bars and restaurants and brothels circled the city's center, spiraling out from the park and fading into suburbs and more boring buildings and offices once hitting the outer ring.
Eggs and Biscuits thoroughly enjoyed the few trips they took into the inner circles of the city, and looked out at it with a sort of nostalgia. But, they were content to lay on the prickly grass behind the manor as well. To stare at the suns, fight, multiply, break more windows for shits and giggles and blame it on meteors. Usually.
"When's last time we went with them?" Eggs said, looking out at the city with a deep longing.
"Went with what?" Biscuits said.
"They ain't taken us with them in a long time. Y'know, for fun?"
Biscuits yawned and rolled over. He propped his head on one hand and prodded Eggs' shoulder with the other.
"Yeah, this is boring. Let's play darts."
"I dunno," Eggs grimaced. "'Member what happened before? We're not allowed to play darts no more."
"Oh. But that wont happen this time."
"You said that yesterday, and it happened!"
"Oh yeah," Biscuits sat up, feeling the stitches on his forehead. Flashing a grin, he insisted, "oh, but it wont happen this time!"
Eggs, too, sat up and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. It was a compelling argument, but,
"maybe we shouldn't throw darts at people."
It was a novel idea, just crazy enough to work. A few targets painted crudely on the walls made a nice game of it, but like most everything the two of them did together, it devolved into something else entirely, something that caused rocks to fly through the air and and through a window. And into someone's head.
"Oh shit!" Eggs gripped Biscuits by the shoulder and took to the ground the moment he heard that short yelp and the cocking of a gun. A hail of bullets screamed over their heads as they both tried to crawl away.
Snowman appeared behind them, snatching the two by their collars. They strained like dogs on leashes, dragging her by the heels for a short distance.
Eggs finally stopped, and turned, and begged, "so sorry Snowy! Sorry sorry sorry!"
"Yeah, he's sorry!" Biscuits insisted. "He's sorry he throwed the rock last time too, and for-"
"Yeah I," Eggs paused and punched Biscuits' shoulder when he continued to confess things for his friend. "Shut up Biscuit!"
Snowman scoffed and half-smiled, for a second. A small stream of blood tattooed her face, coming down from a cracking gash in her carapace. She stared at them for what seemed like forever, finger resting on the trigger, as if debating whether or not she should shoot them. Biscuits stared back dumbly, in his typical fashion. But Eggs, he looked genuinely... remorseful.
She relaxed her arm, put away her gun, and faded out of sight without a single word. Eggs and Biscuits, once assured that they were safe, sat up and exchanged worried glances.
"She scares me sometimes," said Biscuits.
"Yeah," Eggs wearily agreed. He stood, then helped his friend up. "But she looks so pretty when she's mad. And did'ja see her dress? It was all sparkly in the sunshine! She's so pretty."
Biscuits giggled like a child. "Eggsy has a crush!"
"Nuh-uh!" Eggs quickly said. "Wait... yeah," he added, fidgeting shyly. Biscuits took him by the arm, dragging him back towards the house.
"Let's go make her real mad!" he said.
"That sounds real stupid!" Eggs hesitated against Biscuits' tugs. He stopped and spread out his hands, expressing his idea.
"Is not! If you make her real mad, then she'll look real pretty, and, that's what girls like: being pretty. Right?"
"Uh," Eggs bit his lip. He knew there was something strange about his friend's logic, but could not quite place what that thing was. "I guess so."
"Yeah! Let's go!"
As it turned out, Snowman did not appreciate these small acts of "kindness" bestowed upon her in the following week. She came home to find her makeup decorating things other than her own face, among other far less forgiving things. She considered taking a nice chunk of change out of the vault and staying at the Oasis Hotel a while. Her death threats certainly did nothing helpful.
"You can't kill all of us!" Biscuits had teased. She begrudgingly had to admit that he was right, for once. Besides, she had no real desire to kill them, even extras. They were annoying twats, but they were also, in a way, family.
As she ran her fingers over the ruins of one of her skirts, her body flickered in and out of air and finally faded from sight. She soon reappeared on the bedside of a resting prisoner.
"Snowy?!" Crowbar shot up, dropping his book. "You couldn't knock?"
She shrugged and leaned back a bit, getting comfortable."How's jail?"
(As if her voice had pulled a trigger, the prisoners in the nearby cells rang out. Is that a girl? You got a dame in there?)
Crowbar cocked his head with a laid-back smile. Seeing those tired eyes soften, tense muscles relaxed caught her pleasantly unawares. He always, to her initial chagrin, struck her as particularly handsome for his kind, even if he was a little on the short side. But seeing him in this mode, even dressed in that ill-fitting black and white uniform, amplified this tenfold. She silently chided herself as just for a heartbeat, she felt a spike of longing for him.
"I need to get caught more often. The food ain't so good, but it's worth not having to deal with those chucklefucks back home."
From the cell across from theirs, Matchsticks chimed in his agreement. She looked up at the large man lounging on his cot. The prison uniform looked even sillier on him. In his hands was what appeared to be smut, but Snowman's sudden appearance has siphoned his attention from it. His eyes struggled between her face and chest and legs. She had always reveled in such attentions, until such attentions got out of hand. Hence, her main motivation for coming here in the first place.
"Wonder how Quarts's holding up by himself," he said, his voice distant.
"He can handle it," Crowbar said. "Don't get too comfy. Gonna be your turn to watch the house next time."
Matchsticks groaned.
"You sneaky bastards," Snowman snickered. She heard a wolf-whistle from afar. Don't bogart the pussy!
"What's the occasion, anyway?" said Crowbar, ignoring the shouting.
"Wingus and Dingus-"
"Shit, they haven't been duplicating, have they?"
"Well," Snowman tapped her chin, "no, actually, now that I think of it. Strange."
"Seriously?" Matchsticks said, raising up on his elbows. She nodded. "Well, then what's the problem?"
"Look, Snowy," Crowbar touched her arm, "We appreciate the eyecandy," he said warmly, "but me and Sticks are on vacation. If the problem ain't duplication, talk to Quarts." She hesitated, before Crowbar continued in an attempt to reassure her. "I put him in charge for a reason. I trust him completely. You can, too."
"Yes, I know," Snowman said. "I know. But there's something else, about Eggs-"
She sounds fucking hot!
"-Snowy. Go bug Quarts about it. Ain't our business right now. He can deal with it." Matchsticks said.
Deal with them titties-
"Shut the fuck up!" Matchsticks slammed the wall with his fist, cracking the cheap material of the wall and quieting the other inmates.
"Fine. Fine." Snowman raised her hands in defeat. "Don't take too long escaping, boys." She flickered and blew Crowbar a playful kiss before disappearing.
Knock knock
She managed to catch Eggs, dragging him by his shirt and shoving him through the door as Quarters, his eyes screaming that he had just awoken from a deep sleep, opened it and pushed him aside. He stood there in nothing but trousers and bandages tightly binding his chest. Tall and somewhat lean, and as she now saw, well-muscled. The elbow-spikes, usually hidden by looser sleeves, were new to her as well. She might have found him attractive for a middle-aged man, if not for the bizarre, off-putting fleshbeak and forked tongue.
"Good, you're home," Snowman said as she gently kicked the door shut. Eggs waved his hands about and wriggled out of her grasp as she lessened it.
"It ain't even all my ideas!" Eggs blathered on, "Biscuits- he said to do this stuff! I dunno why I listen to him! He's dumb! I'm dumb too 'cause I keep doin' the stuff he tells me to do!" His shoulders slumped, face fell. "I'm... really dumb. But I'm sorry! I shouldn't listen to him no more. I shouldn't..."
She palmed her face, marked with exasperation, and turned to Quarters with spread hands as Eggs continued on and on.
"He's been acting like this all- haven't you noticed?"
Quarters came in closer to Eggs. He looked him over.
"Yes," he said. Eggs stopped talking as his eyes met Quarters' perpetual poker face, unsure by that nigh-unreadable expression of whether or not he was in any trouble.
Yes, Quarters certainly had noticed, and heard odd murmurs winding about the house, about Eggs. It was glaring to him in this moment, how Eggs looked at him with that uncertainty in his eyes, gauging him, perhaps trying to decide if he should make a break for the window.
"Are you alright, Eggs? Have you seen Stitch lately?"
Though his words were calm, tinted with real concern, it made him no less tense. Eggs shook his head rapidly.
"I feel pretty good!" he said quickly. "I only seen him when I took Biscuits to him, when he hurted himself. But I'm okay. I just..."
"You just...?"
Eggs fidgeted. "I just feel kinda different? In my head," he lightly tapped his skull with a finger. "I been noticing things I didn't never see before." He dug into his pocket, feeling and removing his timer. Snowman and Quarters braced themselves, preparing for a barrage of ringing and for cramped quarters. His fingers, however, never turned that dial. They lay on it, stationary, as he continued to speak, his words slow and careful now. "And I been kinda sad. Like, when I use my toy, when me and Biscuit is lonely. I keep thinkin' 'bout that last time, when Crowbar almost hit Biscuits. He coulda," Eggs gulped, "he coulda killed him, right?
"And he did it before, lots of times. To all the mes. He's... he's been killing me and Biscuits. And, it kinda scares me, 'cause, 'cause... what if that was me?"
"Well," Quarters said after a long moment. "That was... unexpected," he said to Snowman.
"I think Crowbar might have finally knocked some sense into him," she said, similarly stunned. Quarters made a non-committed sound.
"Does he hate me?" Eggs said, lip wavering.
He placed a comforting hand on Eggs' shoulder. "No. Crowbar does not enjoy killing you," he said sincerely.
"Really? But he keeps doin' it," Eggs said as he hugged his chest. "I didn't think he cared 'bout us."
"He cares more than you know. He does not do this to you for fun. It," he fished for words Eggs would understand, "it makes things difficult for Stitch, when you use that timer."
"Okay," Eggs said quietly. Snowman and Quarters were sure they were told this before, long ago, until they realized that explanation would do no good. He tried to place his timer in Quarters' hands. "I don't wanna use this thing so much no more."
He gently refused it. "Perhaps I can teach you to use it more smartly?"
With those words, Eggs' face suddenly lit up. Snowman had to smile, finding that flash of joy quite adorable. She faded out, satisfied that her problem was about to be taken care of.
These "toys" did not come with instruction manuals, and those whom would know anything about them were never around or accessible. The Felt had been left to fend for themselves, with immortality and powerful time-manipulating artifacts and abilities. It was Crowbar who stepped up, becoming their defacto leader when no one else would, or should. And Quarters and Matchsticks came to stand right by his side, and together, they learned to use their new powers.
In their time together, they had come to know each other's powers and limitations quite well. Never as well as the user, however, especially if its user barely knew his own potential.
The timer brought duplicates of its user and whatever its user carried from the near future. It had often been pondered if they could be sent back. Eggs, of course, had no idea. He had hardly began to comprehend the time aspect of his ability, until Quarters sat the both of them down and slowly explained to him, in the most basic way he could manage, all that he and others had managed to gather from observation.
"Hey, that's kinda neat," Eggs had said after letting it sink in. "What 'bout Biscuit? Does he got powers like that?"
"Well," Quarters leaned back in his chair, fingering his favorite coin as he thought. "...Not that I know of."
"But he gots that oven," Eggs said, making a box with his fingers. "It's gotta do something! Other than being a super good hiding place."
"Perhaps it does, but it is only he that can find this out. I... do not forsee this happening any time... soon."
"'Cause he's..." Eggs balked slightly at the words. "...dumb. I mean, both of us is."
"You are not dumb," Quarters said. He cocked his head at Eggs, looked into those large, thoughtful eyes where days ago one would see nothing. "You... are not dumb."
Quarters kept a close watch on Eggs. His personality had not changed. He goofed off, got into fights with Biscuits, made up quickly, annoyed Crowbar when he and Matchsticks returned home. But he had stopped duplicating himself, completely, and had stopped bothering Snowman (as well as blocking Biscuits from doing it himself). Lessons learned had never stuck more than perhaps a few hours until now.
Eggs noticed Quarters watching him. He did not mind, and decided to take advantage. He started asking him questions, advice, and much to Quarters' mild surprise and delight, he took his answers to heart. He practically made a project of him; he even took notes.
"Oh my god, Quarts. If you love Eggs so much, go marry him."
"Sorry," Quarters laughed and sipped at his drink, his forked tongue running over his soft-beaked lips. The atmosphere was warm, Dersites and Prospitans, some even of rival gangs- some Hatchets, some Black Knights, paying the squishy green men no mind. This tavern, Desert Rose, was silently considered sanctuary.
He and Matchsticks and Crowbar went out drinking on those rare nights when the three of them could sneak out together. Sometimes Desert Rose, though fights sometimes occurred even here just like any other bar, especially should the Midnight Crew show up. Quarters kept track of their rotation, and of venues that they were outright banned from, a list that was growing almost as fast as the city was birthing new bars.
"I just wanted to share with someone."
"Yeah, yeah," Crowbar shrugged. Teasingly, he said, "that's the price you pay for having friends. They talk at you." He held up a fist, moving his thumb up and down creating an ersatz mouth.
"But, have you given it any thought?" Quarters continued. "I think he would do well with an actual role. He only needs a little instruction."
"Then you teach him," Crowbar said. "My patience stretched thin enough tryin' to get these idiots to follow instructions, let alone... him."
"Maybe you just a shit teacher, Cro. Ever think of that?" Matchsticks sneered.
"Hey, it ain't me," Crowbar said. "Isn't just Eggs and Biscuits. Runnin' that house... it's like fucking daycare sometimes. I always wanted kids but anymore I ain't so sure."
"You don't have to be the boss, y'know," Matchsticks said. "English is supposed to be doing that."
"English is a fucking deadbeat!" Crowbar suddenly shouted, slamming his fist onto the table, startling his companions and the Dersites and Prospitans around them. "I mean," he breathed deeply and relaxed his shoulders. "I mean, they're a bunch of pains in my ass, but... I can't just gonna abandon them."
Quarters was always moved by Crowbar's vehement refusal to give up, to walk away and never come back, though he always seemed to teeter on the edge of that ultimatum. He reached across the table and took Crowbar's hand in his, a comforting gesture.
"Quarts," Crowbar patted Quarters' hand with his free one. Warmly, he said, "Quarters, I love you, but you're such a fag sometimes."
Quarters chuckled and squeezed his hand before drawing away. Matchsticks had a few jokes on the tip of his tongue that he decided to withhold.
"If I start teaching Eggs," he said, "you will give him a chance? You will not walk out on him?"
"You know the answer to that," Crowbar said. "You know I trust you."
Quarters nodded. He took out his notepad, checking it over. A few minutes later, he said, "Ah, a new bar opened recently. The G-Spot. Perhaps we should check it out."
Crowbar shrugged. "Sure, if we can find it."
It was another warm night, drawing most of the Felt away from the house. The plans for tomorrow had them pulling together another large heist, which they should have been resting and preparing for. With the gift of time manipulation came the freezing of the aging process, and most of them were frozen relatively young. They went out, and they made the most of this perfect night.
Few of them stayed home. Die was a recluse, Cans an introvert, Doze was satisfied to nap, Stitch only wanted to relax. Eggs and Biscuits were not trusted far from home.
The house was rarely empty, but the Midnight Crew rarely had an opportunity like this. Crowbar and his right hand men were away, all three, spotted walking into Desert Rose. Spades Slick watched them from his car, pointed teeth grit, murderous desire welling up in him. How so much violence and rage could possibly fit into such a scrawny, almost child-sized body was boggling. Slick gripped his weapon, ready to run out and start a fight when Diamonds Droog placed a restraining hand on his shoulder, pulling him back.
It would be all too easy to snap back and drive a dagger into his chest. But he did not, and he breathed deep and calmed himself. Instead Slick slowly turned, eyes shaped like slits staring at Droog. The cold, lanky man was his friend, he sometimes had to remind himself. It was a volatile friendship.
Slick knew that they were unprepared for a random scrap with those three particular Felt. He knew too well, and so did Droog. But seeing them incited Slick. He had bitten his lip when he saw them, drew blood which he spat out the window and wiped the remainder with his sleeve. Droog groaned as if Slick ruining his clothing personally offended him.
It amused Slick, transforming his grimace into a grin.
"Let's kill their friends for fun."
With a great shove, Hearts Boxcars' massive form brought the front door of the house down, after spending what was apparently 'too long' attempting to pick the lock legitimately.
"Oh just knock the damn thing down!" he had hissed, his temper shortened since Droog apparently had better things to do than mindlessly kill. Clubs Deuce would have done anything for anyone, and apparently decided to join Droog in whatever he had planned for the day. It was just the two of them, spending quality time together.
Boxcars did not mind indulging Slick in this bloodsport, for the most part. He had long, long grown complacent with murder, and it mattered even less when the victims always managed to get better. He hated this house, however. The empty, dark place creaked and moaned like a creature dying, and the endless ticking and tocking of clocks was maddening. Slick smashed whatever clocks he came across, property of the Felt or not, and Boxcars could not blame him. They entered, grimaced at the endless green, skulking down the hallway stretching out from the foyer. As they came upon the stairs, they started to hear noises.
RIIING
Oh fuck no.
The two stopped abruptly, brandishing their weapons- Slick's cast iron horse hitcher, Boxcars with a mourning star. He shuddered as the ringing echoed through the halls. Murder was no hobby to him, not like Slick. He would not personally go out of his way to kill someone. But for Eggs? Eggs was different. (And Biscuits, he hated Biscuits, although alone he really should not incite such furious feelings.)
As if on cue, Eggs appeared from the dark hall, timer clutched tightly to his chest. He approached them slowly, almost nervously, and it unsettled Boxcars deeply seeing him act so cautiously for once. He hesitated. Slick did not.
He raised his knife, ready to leap at Eggs' throat and gut him, but when his feet left the floor, they did not return. He had been snatched from behind, arms pinioned to his body as he was lifted and restrained, and Boxcars could do nothing as two duplicate Eggs took him by surprise and held him as well. He swore he felt them shaking, hearts racing as he struggled against their tight grasp.
Slick kicked and cursed as his cards accidentally spilled from his hands onto the floor. The Eggs in front of them kept a safe distance, eyes wide, quiet for he could not, for once, find anything to say.
Matchsticks and Crowbar could hardly believe what had happened while they were away, but they had no reason to disbelieve the words of Cans and Stitch, having appeared on the scene shortly after Eggs had captured the two Dersites. Even after flicking them each away, Cans had remained in a state of semi-disbelief. Quarters looked at Eggs with his version of a smile.
"Crowbar's gotta get rid of them, don't he?" Eggs ruefully said, voice muffled by the kitchen table he half-lay on, slumped over in his chair. Quarters sat across from him and poured him a drink. Eggs took it reluctantly, his expression saying something like whiskey? you sure?
Quarters had pulled him into the kitchen for this reason. To make him forget. He was disappointed to find that this tactic would not work.
"Yes," he nodded sadly. "He-"
"-I know," Eggs said. He straightened himself slightly and held up the glass of whiskey, staring at it a moment before tasting it. He shuddered deeply. "He-he's gotta do it, or it screws up the timesquares or something. I'm sorry."
"Timeline. And, no need to be sorry," Quarters insisted. "You did well."
"But I'm sorry for the other mes, too. You know, that big guy, Boxcars, he really scares me! Since, well, I started to figure out what he been doing to my copies," he gulped. "I bet they was real freaked out while they was holding him down. I kinda was. But they did good, and this's what they get."
"Yes. That is unfortunate," he sincerely said. "But you cannot simply stop using your timer."
"Why not? Biscuits and me did fine before we got that thing."
"What of today? What would have happened?"
Eggs looked up at Quarters, considering, swirling his finger about the rim of his glass. Quarters continued.
"Think of it as an emergency button, not to be used every day."
"Do you got a power like mine?" Eggs said. "I never seen you use yours."
Quarters never gave him a real answer to that. Though still he was loathe to use it, he held onto the timer, keeping it on him at all times. It weighed heavily in his pocket and on his mind, a thing that bothered him deeply. He wondered why it took so long for him to realize. Or, how he suddenly realized it.
And they, the other Felt, all noticed. They passed him by with strange looks, and sometimes personal questions. He became frustrated. Even Biscuits, the dense manchild he loved as a brother, irritated him to the point where he could barely stand it.
I don't know! I don't know, don't know what's wrong with me!
Eggs left the room he shared with Biscuits in a huff, straining not to slam the door behind him. The suns had just started to set. He leaned against the wall of the manor watching them fall below the glowing cityscape. Snowman rested in a chair nearby, cloaked in the shadows of the house, the glow of her cigarette revealing her. She sat there quietly, having not stirred at all watching Eggs storm out from the door and practically throw himself against the wall. He failed to even notice her there until he had calmed down some.
Never was he the quiet type, always the first to strike up conversation, but tonight he appreciated being ignored. She smoked silently, tolerating his presence until she finally faded away.
He stung when he and Biscuits were left behind on a major heist, again. The house was so empty, and it moaned and echoed as he strolled through the halls and the ticking and tocking became blindingly evident. It stabbed his brain. And several times he thought he saw flashes of something trailing him, just him. He decided to dismiss it. Paranoia, time travel shenanigans, stress.
Biscuits followed him quietly, reluctant to speak, worried that his words would offend somehow. He relearned every day that Eggs was different, sometimes every hour. Eggs wanted to talk. He was a social creature, but his friend's worries were not formed of nothing. He felt so alone.
He fingered the timer in his pocket, the little dose of medicine that could relieve him. But he refrained. Instead, he turned and he looked straight into Biscuits, whom eyed him meekly in return.
Eggs opened his mouth to speak, not quite knowing what to say. Words uneasily came working their way out from the back of his mind.
"You lonely, too?" he said. "We live in this big house with a buncha guys, but we're still alone, you 'n me."
Biscuits said nothing, letting Eggs speak.
"We're in this gang, but we don't hardly do nothin'. They only ever taken us 'cause of this thing here." He brought the timer out, touched the dial but did not turn it. "We like their oh shit button, but we screwed it up worse for them more 'n the other guys. Now I don't use it no more and now we're'n here, alone.
"I don't wanna be alone, I know you don't neither. I wanna fix it. Be of some kinda use. I gotta make 'em respect me, and then I can make 'em respect you, too. I'll find a way."
He had accidentally fallen asleep, one night, slumped against the cold manor wall. A series of kicks to his side wrested him awake. Once his eyes fluttered open and focused he saw Trace hovering over him, shoving his side with his foot.
"What?" Eggs demanded. Trace backed off.
"Most folks don't like to sleep on no concrete and brick," he shrugged and picked up a sack of stolen goods that he had set down, slinging it over his shoulder with a little difficulty; he was a small, slight man, and the top of the sack had been torn and tattered with the scrabbling of his little claws. Once he gained purchase enough, Trace, looking quite exhausted, started towards the door.
"Thanks, I guess," Eggs murmured and adjusted a bit. He indicated the bag, saying, "you do that yourself?"
"Yeah," Trace turned slightly, his partially-webbed hand still on the door. His tone was curt.
Eggs easily picked up on Trace's eagerness to leave, but he had not had a real conversation the entire day. Even this little bit of unfriendly small talk helped.
"You see the future, or past, or somethin', right? Must make it easy."
"Past. And I don't need to," he said proudly. He lowered his loot sack once again, and faced Eggs. "I can't never turn it off, not without- I used to do it all the time before all this."
"You think I could do it?"
Trace snorted brief laughter.
"What makes you think you even got a chance, baby grand?"
"What makes you think I don't?" Eggs straightened himself, though his bravado was not nearly what it appeared on the outside.
"I just said," Trace gently nudged Eggs' side with his foot. "Big guys ain't supposed to be sneakin'."
"Bet I could if I wanted to."
"Yeah, sure," Trace smiled, showing off his rows of sharpened shark teeth. All of the acid had left his voice. Now he was amused and curious. "No... yeah, I wanna see this. No, really. Ohh!" He snapped his fingers. "Hell, I can teach you to do it, then Crowbar'll send ya on these little damn missions! Then I can solve your crimes."
"...What?"
"Uh, nothin'," Trace waved his hands. "Nothin', just I got this hobby- don't worry none, it's nothin'. Shit," he breathed, losing his smile. "Gettin' ahead of myself. Look at you. You're huge. Not Cans-huge but you're pretty damn huge! I don't gotta see no past trails to know where you been stompin' round-"
"-I get it!" Eggs said. "I never tried to be sneaky before, but that just means you gotta, uhh, what's it called. Blank. I'm all blank," he spread his hands. "So it's got all this room for you to be teachin' me. I'll be the best at sneaking!"
Trace shifted his weight, becoming quiet for a long moment.
"Yeah, alright," he said. "I'll teach ya. Starting tomorrow."
The suns had just set and the neon of the city blotted out any stars that may have shown otherwise. Draped completely in black with a backpack over his shoulder, he crouched in the shadow of a darkened ally. So long as he sat completely still, he was not too visible, but his breathing was heavy, and his hands shook ever so slightly. He rolled back his sleeve to look at the watches covering his wrist, then watched the street, trash skirting across the cracked asphalt with the slight breeze. The buildings all were tattooed in graffiti and blood. The soft scream of cars passing was distant.
The manhole across the way popped up from its slot and slid over and off, the sound loud and grating, making him wince. One by one, black-carapaced figures climbed out of the hole, grumbling and arguing amongst themselves. They crossed the street and entered the banged-up garage on the other side and soon, in a flurry, their car screeched out of there.
He remained merged in shadow for several minutes, steeling himself to move until he forced himself up and across the street, to the manhole. He kept reminding himself that these past weeks of practice, the additional week of scouting, had prepared him enough, that he would do fine, should do fine. He pried it open and slid down the sturdy ladder and into the main room. On each wall were doors marked with card suits and a hallway leading into darkness. In the room's center was a table, coins and knives scattered atop it. Under them were heist plans. He slid the plans free, rolling them up and slipping them into his pack, and replaced his prize with one of Biscuits' doodles.
SCCCHHH
He nearly dropped his bag. Quickly, he composed himself and darted towards the nearest door, fumbling the knob before finally pulling it open and locking it shut before propping himself against the other side. There was the gentle clink clink clink of someone descending the ladder and plopping down ungracefully onto the floor and stumbling across it. There was the scooch of the table as if it were crashed into, shuffling of trinkets and paper, and as soon as he had come, the mystery person was heading out the exit again.
He exhaled with relief.
The dark room was all black save for splashes of red and the silver of blades and white of scattered cards. Above him, pinned to the door via knives were photos, many many photos, and most of them were Felt. All of them had been crudely scribbled over and commentated. The dearth of marker mustaches left him aghast. He found a pen and remedied this immediately.
Someone was missing from the gallery: Snowman. He wondered where her photo was, and began searching the bed and desk for it, pocketing anything particularly shiny or edible, and of course any money. The dog magazine caught and held his attention for a moment as he flipped through it. A photo fluttered out from between the pages.
A subdued wow slipped out from under his breath as he stared at the photo of Snowman. A lump of guilt welled up deep in him as he pocketed this as well, his last prize before leaving and breaking for the Felt manor.
"What the hell is this?" Crowbar said, crumpled up the sheet of paper and tossed it back at Trace. Shocked, he squatted down to pick the wad up, nearly losing his balance as he stood and peeled it away from itself. It took him a moment to realize: these were not heist plans.
"But I didn't... I- this was... nevermind," Trace balled up the sheet once more and tossed it in the trash by Crowbar's desk. He started back towards the exit, swaggering like a drunk, jolting as he overreacted to a past trail. Crowbar arced an eyebrow.
"You... okay, Trace?" he said.
"Uhh, fine," Trace shrugged off the question with a dismissive hand wave. He opened the door and crashed into Eggs.
"Trace! I-"
Trace quickly slunk away without looking up. Eggs watched him go, stumbling down the hall, then gave a few cursory knocks before entering the study and presenting his catch.
"You can't be serious," Crowbar said after looking the recovered plans over carefully, "How did you get-?" He muttered: "...good work, Eggs."
"H-hey," Trace said as he caught up to Eggs. "You done pretty good."
"What happened last night?" Eggs said. He looked down at Trace, steady on his feet now but looking more sleepless than usual. The bags under his red, hazy eyes had bags. As they spoke those eyes darted around, easily distracted by that only he could see. "Trace?"
Trace frowned and scanned the hall briefly, looking this time for people that were here in the present. His hand slipped into his coat, taking a small vial out from his pocket and holding it close. It was nearly empty, its remaining contents reddish-orange dust.
"I told you, 'member, I can do it without my power," he said in hushed tones. "I been outta practice a bit, gotten complacent some-"
"What is it?" Eggs whispered back, unsure as to why he should be whispering.
"Merlin," Trace said. Eggs thought hard. He recognized that name, had heard it tossed around before. He had no idea what it was. "The drug, merlin," Trace clarified. "I can't see no trails no more when I take a bit of this," he said and gently shook the vial between his thumb and forefinger before putting it away. "But I ain't exactly on the ball neither. Don't tell no one I got this shit. Especially don't tell Crowbar. Got it?"
"Uh, yeah, sure," Eggs said.
"Anyway, enough 'bout that," he said, voice returning to normal, "You done good. I just gotta wonder... I mean, I heard things. Things goin' round 'bout you, and I now I seen it myself. I don't mean no offense but, you been playing dumb all this time so you ain't gotta do nothin'? Suddenly decided you want you some respect? Is Biscuits in on this shit? It's a pretty good fucking scam you had goin' then. Should'a thought of that myself!"
"What? No," Eggs shook his head. "No. I just, uh," he hesitated as he tried to find the words. "I just... woke up."
"Woke up, huh," Trace cocked his head and smiled. "Maybe you been playin' with that egg timer too much."
Maybe, Eggs thought. Maybe.
"He ain't that smart."
Itchy sucked on a cigarette as he aimed at the cue ball, the stick practically vibrating in his unsteady hands.
"He ain't that fucking smart," he said, "he ain't that special. What's he gettin' all this attention for?" Itchy struck the ball, sending it sailing over the table and into Doze's head. He fell backwards with a thud and a quiet grunt.
"Jesus," Crowbar said, kneeling down to check on him. "Maybe lay off the fucking coffee and smokes a bit?"
"Fuck you!" Itchy shouted, sending the cue stick to the floor.
"I'm okay," Doze said, sitting up. With a smile, he said, "I'm fine, Itchy, in case you were wondering."
"I'm wondering," Itchy narrowed his eyes at Crowbar as he stood up, "why you're plannin' on taking Eggs on a job instead of me."
Crowbar rolled his eyes and sighed deeply.
"Is this the only reason why you asked me to play?"
"Yeah, it is."
"Well," Crowbar said, "for one thing, he's not a fucking prick."
"I'm a fucking prick?" Itchy laughed and took a drag off his cig. "Being honest is a prick thing now?"
"The way you go about it? Yeah, it is," he said.
"Come on," Itchy said, leaning over the pool table, resting on his hands. He shook involuntarily as his arms supported him. "Come on. He don't know shit from shit. You don't really feel safe puttin' a fucking gun in his hands, do ya?"
Itchy's jittering hands made Crowbar grimace.
"I don't feel so good about you waving no gun 'neither."
"But at least I know how to use one! Eggs is a fucking idiot. He can barely read!"
"He's workin' on that," Crowbar said. "And he's learning."
"Um," Doze quietly said, rubbing the black and blue bruise forming on his forehead. "We're done playing, aren't we? That's alright. I'm just... going to go lay down. Right here."
Crowbar found the whole situation a conflicting thing. He had seen Eggs' progress with his own eyes. It was a welcome change. But his friend, Quarters, was prone to obsession, something he and Matchsticks knew well. It was tiring. Even when Quarters caught himself talking about his 'project' and shifted the subject out of courtesy, it was always ready to breach. And that was when they managed to get together at all.
"I'm not bugging you, am I? Distracting you?"
Eggs had seen the way Quarters' friends looked at him, especially Crowbar. It was the same way Biscuits had been looking at him lately. Quarters' eyes widened in mild surprise or remembrance when he saw Matchsticks pass and greet him briefly at the kitchen door. Brief, because he immediately spotted Eggs sitting there with him.
"Not I," Quarters said to Eggs, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Cro and Sticks, however..."
Eggs had been growing to learn to read Quarters' natural poker face. His posture and gestures and eyes spoke loudly, if one would listen. And what they said now was obvious to him: he would have liked to be with his friends.
"I think I got it now," Eggs said, half-truthfully. He smoothed over the mock plans with his hands. "Can I take a break?"
Quarters stood and leaned over to lightly touch Eggs' shoulder.
"Thank you," he said, and left to follow Matchsticks, calling after him.
Eggs lay his head over the table, eyes peeking over his folded arms at the plans in front of him. The schematic was of their own house, a copy, tattooed with different colored pens representing individual Felts, special instructions written in Quarters' tight cursive, and Eggs' doodles in the empty corners and edges.
He sat up slightly at the sound of heavy footsteps that he recognized immediately as Cans'. When he looked up, the usually gentle behemoth was all that he saw, moving past the table and towards the fridge. Eggs couldn't help but smile seeing the large, powerful man in dainty reading glasses.
Eggs greeted him, and Cans quietly returned it and a polite smile. He said, "Doing well?"
"Yeah, pretty good," Eggs said and turned back to the plans on the table. "You like to read a lot?"
Cans felt the glasses on his face, apparently having forgotten that he had been wearing them. Eggs pointed at a word on the sheet.
"Can you tell me what this word is? Quarts told me once but I forgot."
Cans loomed over him, engulfing him in his shadow. It would have been frightening if he was not familiar with the man.
"Timeline," Cans said clearly.
Eggs rested his head in his palms, staring at the word. "Oh. I seen that word before, but it looks different now."
"Well, this is cursive," Cans said.
"It's confusing," Eggs lamented.
"Are you," Cans said carefully, "just memorizing words? Like pictures?"
"Uhh... is that wrong?"
Cans pulled out one of the sturdier chairs, and sat beside him. "When you start out, you need to learn the sounds of all the letters, and how to put them together."
"Oh, that alphabet thing?" Eggs said. "That song that sounds like twinkle twinkle little star?" he said in sing-song, swinging his hands in arcs to the song. "I always liked that song."
Cans could not help but smile. "Yes, that alphabet thing. And once you've been reading for a long time, you'll memorize words on your own, and you wont need to sound them out anymore. It'll be automatic."
Without a moment's thought, Eggs asked, "can you teach me?"
Cans blinked. He thought, palmed his chin. Eggs looked up at him with pleading eyes. "I'm a fast learner!" he insisted. "Well, pretty fast. And you'd be super awesome for helping me."
Cans breathed deep. He shrugged. "Alright. I'll teach you."
Despite all appearances, Cans certainly was no dumb brute. It did not take long for even Eggs and Biscuits to figure this out after first encountering him, although that time in which they did not know him was spent in relative fear, shouting and dashing for safety should he accidentally surprise either of them.
Cans never struck them. He had never struck any of them, save for Itchy on occasion (he always deserved it) and Eggs always found it strangely fascinating, how restrained he was. He knew that if he had Cans' temporal power, even minus his strength, he would use it liberally, just for fun.
But not Cans, never. Shy and gentle and intelligent, a mind born to the wrong body. Eggs became used to it. He could not imagine Cans any other way.
He skirted between sessions with Quarters and Cans, learning to be a criminal and learning to read and write. It was not as difficult as he imagined it would be, memorizing the sounds of the alphabet, putting them together. Concepts that he could not wrap his mind about before were somehow glaringly obvious now.
Then one day, he walked in on Cans practicing on his specially-made flute, a piano record playing in the background to which he improvised to. Never had he known this flute's source before, nor had he ever truly listened to it. It was energetic and jazzy with a temporal flavor filling the room and enticing Eggs into bouncing his head to the rhythm. He was stricken with inspiration like a fist to the gut.
"Teach me to play like that!" he practically shouted. "I don't care if I can read if I could play like that!"
He was inspired and jealous and then excited when Cans sighed and agreed to squeeze some lessons in. Eggs pictured his cowbell with disdain, ready to defenestrate it and take up something more interesting.
Cans brought him instruments, many different instruments, all of which Eggs tried. All of which Eggs failed to play with any modicum of skill. Not for lack of trying or listening; he was simply terrible.
Unfortunately, he refused to stop practicing. He even snuck them away and shared them with Biscuits. Cans could not apologize enough for them.
"Eggsy!" Biscuits dropped his drum sticks. "You really gotta go again? Let's play s'more!"
Eggs hovered at the door to their room, fingering the flute in his hands.
"I don't... need to," Eggs said. "But I want to!"
"Why?" Biscuits said, standing up to meet him. "You never cared 'bout none of this stuff before."
Eggs turned away, guilt preventing him from leaving right then and there.
"You just don't get it."
"No I don't!" Biscuits said defiantly, reflexively as if having been insulted. He repeated himself, more calmly, "I mean. No, I don't."
"I'll be back," Eggs meekly said.
Biscuits touched his arm. "What do I do while you're gone?"
"What've you been doing?" said Eggs, inclining his head. Biscuits shrugged. He reached down and touched Eggs' pocket, the timer, with his usual lack of regard for personal space.
"What 'bout this thing?" he almost pleaded. "Can't ya use it? Just today?"
"I... can't. It's... broken," he lied, uneasily. "We used it too much and we broke it."
"Oh," Biscuits murmured, accepting this as far as Eggs could tell. "Can you fix it?"
"I don't know," Eggs said, placing his hand on the doorknob. "Maybe some day."
"Oh. 'Kay then." Biscuits, steps heavy, returned to the bed and sat on the side. "Then have fun, Eggsy."
Eggs opened the door and moved out, a heavy squirming feeling settling itself in his heart as he shut the door and left Biscuits behind him, alone again. Almost he was tempted to call to him, invite him to join, but he knew his friend too well.
Eggs was torn, drifting further away from Biscuits, distressing them both. But he loved learning, practicing, gaining back all that he felt that he had missed out over the years. He found the time, forced it. He would make it up to Biscuits.
"Look in your oven. I got you a surprise!" Eggs said. Biscuits' weary frown swiftly disappeared. He eagerly dashed to the oven, practically skidding on his knees as he pulled the door open. It was full of toilet paper.
Eggs had cleared his entire schedule, to spend it with Biscuits, tp-ing the entire Felt manor. Crowbar was far from amused.
"You know you live here too, yeah?"
Eggs and Biscuits both chortled, "you do too!"
Crowbar stood and lightly bopped both Eggs and then Biscuits on the head with his crowbar, a warning. Then, a threat.
"Get that shit off of the house," he said, shooting Eggs a look like a mixture of disappointment and not this shit again and it pierced through Eggs as he imagined losing all that respect he had been attempting to build. The risk he took against the Midnight Crew, the weeks he spent learning to steal from them...
"I ain't gonna kill you but I can get damn close," Crowbar finished, narrowing his eyes. Eggs and Biscuits straightened and made for the door, knowing full well that he would not balk on his threat. Crowbar called Eggs as he was halfway through the exit of his office.
Eggs hesitated and turned his head, some parts nervous and slightly regretful and other parts bubbling up and making him smile, which he quickly caught and quelled. But Crowbar's expression had softened slightly.
"You're alright, Eggs. Don't be so scared," he said and lifted his crowbar and bounced it on his palm. With a cheeky smile he said, "but I will kick your ass if you don't take care of the mess you made. You can be scared plenty about that."
"Uhh, yessir!" Eggs quickly said. He lifted his hand in a half-wave and ran after Biscuits.
Eggs found that he did not regret this, though Biscuits whined a bit at first. He quickly warmed up to the work, knowing that Eggs was there being punished with him. The whole day was a pleasant break from intelligent conversation for Eggs, his chance to be his old self for a little while, though sometimes he noticed, he confused Biscuits. Explaining things to him made for an interesting challenge.
"Wait, that's cursive?! I thought that squiggly word stuff was just how girls write."
"Well, you don't got to be a girl. Quarts writes in cursive."
Biscuits leaned in close. "Is he a girl?"
"I don't think so?" Eggs scratched his head. "I mean, he doesn't have..." Eggs cupped air in his hands at his chest. "Like Snowy."
"Clove' doesn't either and she's a girl," Biscuits insisted.
Eggs' froze a moment, as if having a revelation. "Whoa. Wait. Is Clover a girl?"
"She's gotta be a girl! Clover's a girl's name. And she wears purple. Girl color!"
Eggs slowly shifted his gaze to look directly at his friend. "Uh, Biscuit," he pointed to his own hat, "I wear purple."
"Eggsy," Biscuits gasped. "You're a girl too!"
"Am not!" Eggs protested. "...am I? No... I can't be, at least... I don't think... shut up Biscuit!"
It was a fair bit after sunset when they finished. Exhausted but pleased they walked together down the ticking halls.
Something flashed in Eggs' periphery. He thought nothing of it, assuming it was the work of another Felt. Such was normality in this house. Then they caught a glimpse of a flicker and transparent obsidian body slipping in and out of air, and there was no mistake whom this was. She was almost more beautiful like this, leaving just barely an impression and most everything to imagination. Then she solidified, became real, standing there, looking at Eggs and Biscuits. Presumably bracing herself.
Eggs had had little contact with Snowman. He did not count the shameful little liaisons under cover of darkness and blankets with her special photograph. Biscuits nudged Eggs roughly, insisting, talk to her or something dummy! Eggs gulped and straightened and nodded. Biscuits greeted Snowman heartily but briefly, and disappeared down the hall towards his room. Eggs ran up to join her side as she continued on her way, remaining solid.
"Can I walk you to your room, Snowy?" Eggs inquired sweetly. She smiled and sighed and murmured something that sounded like sure why not, then put out her hand for Eggs to take, nevermind the fact that her room was only several feet away.
They paused at the door, and before Eggs could say much of anything, she blew him a friendly kiss and disappeared.