Author's Note:
Okay, so, written for the rvb_jamboree on dreamwidth for the first main round, but I didn't get it done in time. *shrugs* Oh well.
Anyway, the theme was "genre blending" and I used a generator and got the following:
Bildungsroman: German for a coming-of-age story, I guess? Though Idk how I did with that.
And:
Candlepunk: Which was really difficult to actually find a definition for, but is basically a "late medieval civilization with futuristic technology." All I really did was take some knights, added electricity, but kept the horses. Bam, I'm lame.
Enjoy?
If Tucker weren't too busy spitting blood onto the cobblestone road in some back ally he really shouldn't have been in, then he would have taken a moment to ask himself how his life had come to this –
Punch!
– but since he didn't have a moment he would just have to settle for clutching his stomach with one arm and blocking his face with the other, his side throbbing and likely to become an impressive bruise in the morning.
Lavernius Tucker, current human punching bag, will be fourteen years old tomorrow. His mother had spent a few hours last night using nimble fingers to style his hair into a beautiful array of dark black braids laying close to his scalp as he talked ('prattled', his mom called it) on and on about how excited he was for his birthday party and how that jerk (ass), Church, was not invited (which was untrue, but might as well have been a tradition by now with how many of each other's birthday parties they had gone to in which they "weren't invited"). His mother had hummed, fixing the last braid into place, causing Lavernius to whine, saying it was too tight, and for her to shoo him off to bed, telling him he wouldn't even feel it in the morning.
And she was right, he definitely wasn't feeling it right now, but that might have had more to do with the fact that someone had kicked him in the back of one of his legs, causing his body to fall forward, one knee landing too hard onto the stone road before someone shoved him over into the wall, his body bouncing off the brick before hitting the ground and curling up in the hopes that they would think he died and leave him alone.
The mix of boys and girls towering above him likely didn't believe he had suddenly died of his injures, what with his heavy breathing and attempts to muffle his cries into his elbow, but they seemed to have gotten all of their fun out of him that they wanted.
Tucker didn't hear them walk away. The blood sung too loudly in his ears, telling him get up get up they're gonna get you get up run, but he couldn't listen. He felt woozy and tired and just wanted to sleep.
So he did.
It must have been a few hours at least that he lay in that dank alleyway because when he finally managed to crack his eyes open, all he could see was blue.
Tucker blinked, starring at the rippling waves of blue a moment before lifting his head off the cobblestone, head feeling like it was full of rocks and wool at the same time.
He eventually found the will to sit up right, head leaning on the brick wall, eyes darting around his surroundings while he debated whether he wanted to brave being completely vertical yet.
The alley was lit, though not as well lit as the street. Barrels and trash bins littered the walls. Puddles were standing in the crevices between the stones and had the positive effects of reflecting the town's lights causing them to shimmer and dance on the walls. Unfortunately it also had the effect of making everything around him smell like wet garbage.
Tucker gagged, hiding his nose and mouth in the crook of his elbow. It was late, way later than he was normally out, and he knew his mom was going to be worried.
Tucker looked towards the mouth of the alleyway, watching as people walked by, not even glancing his way. He wasn't surprised though. Most people didn't seek out trouble, instead keeping their eyes forward, mouths shut, and noses firmly out of other people's business.
Tucker wishes he had remembered the but about keeping his mouth shut.
Tucker rose, stumbling forward, legs having forgotten how to work, before slowly making his way out of the alley.
His head hurts. His nose feels swollen and gross and there's dried blood on his shirt. Nothing appeared to be broken, but his side hurt. He lifts up the damp, crusty shirt, but can't see anything in the dim light. He hopes the blood was just from his nose.
When he gets to the mouth of the alley, he clutches his fingers against the brick. Tucker was in the Blue Light zone, the origin of the name obvious what with the bright blue lights running along the roads. He could see a few late night carriages go by, some loaded with people looking too well dressed for this part of town, others with a few late night workers, likely trying to get home so they could sleep.
Tucker wanted to be asleep, being awake was painful.
A horse nickers, the late night patrol marches by, their shiny metal suits glowing cobalt in the light, and Tucker breathes quietly, waiting for them to leave.
They don't leave.
Someone shouts, a horse trots up to Tucker, far too large and far too close, hot breath is flung across his face in an angry snort. Tucker stumbles back, feet skidding in a puddle of mud, looking up at a rider clad in metal, a sword dangling casually by their side.
The knight stares down at Tucker, but all Tucker can focus on are the bright yellow lights that form a circle across the knight's temple, going around the visor in dashed lines, before ending in the same circle across their other temple. They say something, but Tucker doesn't catch it.
The rider dismounts, metal boots surprisingly silent against the stone, before approaching Tucker.
Tucker backs up, eyes darting around the solider, looking for an escape. He twitches, thinking about making a run for it.
There's a blade at his neck, he reconsiders the thought.
The clock tower chimes once, its bright, neon screen reads 2:15am.
'Happy birthday, Lavernius Tucker, you fucked up.'