Don't own it. Wish I did. This one I was inspired by SioUte's hug of doom. So I really only took part in the writing of this particular story. I love Sio's drawings and she is a huge inspiration to me.
The market was so crowded. Shuffling the few copper pieces she had left, Smellerbee walked carefully through the busy, bustling gush of people, mindful of pickpockets. Slowly passing by stand after stand, looking at, but not seeing the items displayed before her. She knew she needed food, needed to eat something or she'd starve herself to death, but nothing seemed any better than revolting. Jet and Longshot will never eat again. Why should I get to? What makes me, gives me, the right to live after they died trying to protect me. It's not right.
Not really paying attention to what she was buying, Smellerbee made the last of her purchases, and started back to their….her apartment so she could steal some strong whisky from the bar next door and drink herself comatose, or at least enough to make her forget.
"Jet…..Jet come on wake up….please Jet! Longshot come help me get him up, he passed out again." Smellerbee was on the verge of panicking. Putting his bow on his back, Longshot grabbed onto one of Jets shoulders, and helped her pull him onto his feet. "Longshot we need to get out of here. They can't be too far away." As if on cue, a dozen Di Li agents burst through the doors, surrounding the trio. Jets' breathing was shallow, but his voice croaked out in a whisper into his two friends ears. "Get out of here guys. It's so late to do anything for me. I'm already gone, the walking dead almost."
His body slumped against them, relaxing into its eternal sleep. The Di Li, sensing an opportunity to strike, shot earthen fists at the two freedom fighters left standing. Smellerbee dodged, kicked out, fought with all her skill, and somehow managed to take down five agents. She was going after the next, when Longshot cried out. Whirling in time to see him fall to the floor, gripping his shoulder with a look of what could only be described as pure pain, she ran to him, bowling past the agents focused on him. Two grabbed her by the arms, and three grabbed him. She could easily have freed herself, but she didn't want to leave him. Opening her mouth, about to tell him just that, their eyes met and she could hear him voice in her head. You need to leave. You can get out. Go now! She shook her head but he kept talking (kinda) I'll be fine, you just need to go. Jet wouldn't want you; I don't want you, to give up your life for me. GO!
Smellerbee passed the tea shop, the place that had started this entire mess. Why did Jet have to attack them, they were nice enough people, even though the old man had called me a boy, it was an honest mistake. Why did I run, I should never have left him there, not they are both gone, and I'm alone. Again.
Tears blurred her vision again and, caught up in her depressing thoughts, stumbled into one of the men in front of her. "Hey watch where you're going dumbass!" the man shoved her back, into a wall. "You got a problem with me man? You wanna fight! Let's go!" he reared back a fist and brought it down onto the side of her chest. Crumpling to the ground, she smiled. Finally, something to take my mind off them. The man pulled back for another strike, but Smellerbee grabbed his fist, twisted, and heaved him into the wall above her. Spinning before he could rise again, she planted a boot on his neck and leaned in closely, her breath caressing his terrified face. "Listen here buster, I really am having a bad week, so you can just walk away, and I won't tear your balls off and feed them to you on a spoon carved from your pathetically small dick. Just walk away." As if to demonstrate, she lifted her boot and, grabbing her food, walked back into the crowd.
Well that was fun while it lasted I guess. A glimpse of movement, different from the others around her, caught her eyes. Whirling, she saw a sight she never thought she would see again, a cone shaped straw hat, covered with chips, and chinks, battle scars from times passed. It can't be him, it's not Longshot, he's dead. Don't let yourself hope Smellerbee; it will just let you down. But no matter how she tried to talk herself out of it, she followed the hat, south through the lower ring, gradually getting closer, until she was only a few feet away. The back of the hat, pulled down over a short crop of black hair, tied up into a pony tail, and his clothing was so dirty and faded; she couldn't tell what it was supposed to look like. But there was defiantly something familiar about this figure.
A man pushed through the crowd, knocking the boy to the ground, and Smellerbees heart stopped. The hat had fallen off, revealing black hair, tied back with a red band. "Longshot!" he whirled, searching for his friend, knowing not where to look. Launching herself forward, hunger and despair vanishing with the sight of him, she plowed over men and woman alike, tackling her companion in a blubbering, tearful hug. "Longshot is it really you, I can't believe you're alive! I thought you had died. Oh I missed you so much!"
Hugging his lifelong friend tight, Longshot felt tears falling onto his shirt, and smiled. "It's really me. I'm here Bee."