Ohh-boy. Another short little piece. This one is about Garfakcy and his past just before he meets Kharl, it's kinda dark, and not funny at all. And I don't know what's up with the title, but maybe it fits in some strange way.

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Knights, or anything related to it.

Warnings; Unpleasant (possibly squick-y) imagery, but nothing graphic. Mentions (in a roundabout way) of rape. That's it I think.

And thanks to all of you who rewieved my other two DK pieces, wether you read this and see my thanks or not.

/bla/ this is thoughts, only one thought was without the slash on the end, and I don't know what's up with that... Rawr.

Fun and Games

/Insignificant little maggots./

The lithe shadow moved silently and easily between deeper darkness and feeble, moon-lit areas, moving over the silent rooftops as easily as a squirrel among trees.

/Disgusting vermin./

Small drops of sweat formed over a pale forehead, glinting in the silvery light as they fell. Green eyes narrowed, but the figure never stopped running, never missing a step.

/Nothing, am I?

One hand was drenched in the blood that was slowly running down from the blade of the knife, but was ignored. The blood was part of it, after all, part of the thrill, the hate, the hunt, the very proof that he was better than they could ever be. A laugh bubbled up, harsh and muted in the razor-darkness of the night.

/I'll show them. Again and again and again. Who's better now, huh?/

It had been fun, he had to admit. In the middle of the raging storm of feelings (Hateangerdisgusttriumph), he'd found something that was entirely unsuspected, but, on the whole, very welcome. It had been fun.

Soft chuckles permeated the air, vibrating in the still night.

/Cattle. All of them./

Blood was now drying on his forehead, as he had dried away the sweat with the hand that held the knife. Oh, well, no matter. With a grin he lifted the knife and carefully licked the blade, once again recalling the triumphhappiness and outright glee at being able to spill the blood of those who had wronged him. Maybe they were right. Maybe he was a freak. But that didn't give them any right to do what they had done. The sneer that traveled over the young face twisted it in a horrible way no child should have to know.

/They will all suffer again and again and again. For what they did. For my amusement./

The sneer turned into a grin, the shadows and light and blood turning it into a terrifying mask, the cruel expression so much more cutting due to that it was a child who was expressing it.

Launching himself from the last roof and flying over the expanse of space between the tiled roof and his own window, Garfakcy landed with a soft thump on the floor of his small room, limber as a cat. Stretching with a soft grunt he threw he knife into a small, cracked basin on a rickety stool, the weapon making a rather loud splash-clunk sound as it landed. It didn't matter.

While the blood on his clothes and his skin hadn't bothered him during the heat of the moment and the run, now it was just disgusting to have it clinging to him. Not because it was blood, or because he had spilled it, (those were the good points after all) but rather because he was now dirty. And he hated being dirty. Mother, the weak creature that she had been, had died in sickness she got from dirt, and from not ever cleaning, even after she had taken sick. Had she done that, had he insisted more, maybe she would be alive.

/Insipid, weak being. Better off dead. She left me. To them. To the rest of the world. All her fault./

The teen sneered, habitually ignoring the sting of hurt and longing that came every time he thought of her and wrestled out of the now disgusting clothes, saturated with dried blood and sweat.

The water was cold, but as long as he got clean, it was all right. Scrubbing longer and harder than most would do, he washed his clothes right after, not willing to let them lie until tomorrow, when the various fluids had gotten a chance to set into the cloth even more.

Hanging them to dry in the little washroom, Garfakcy walked naked to the clean, if barely serviceable bed and sat down, leaning against the rough wood of the wall behind him. There were a few hours to the dawn yet, so he would get a few hours of sleep.

Hmm...

Maybe he should kill some other people, not only those that had been responsible for his unjust "trial", otherwise he'd be the first suspect, and that wouldn't do. Not until he was finished anyhow. Besides, the young teen thought with a grin, it had been fun. Exhilarating as nothing else had been.

/And him last./

With that comforting and uplifting thought, Garfakcy burrowed down under the thin and threadbare blankets, for now content. They would get what was coming to them. And he'd have some fun on the way.

It had been surprisingly easy.

/Of course, they're blinder than a deaf bat without eyes in daylight, and scurry around like scared chickens, destroying whatever evidence I could have happened to leave behind./

But that was just good for him, since he could go on his very satisfying hunt every other night, picking off those responsible for him, for what had made him into this, had made him find his darker enjoyments, in-between totally innocent victims. They were all so funny to hunt down, breathe down their neck for a while, before pouncing. But he wanted to kill the man who had hurt him the most, who had left him in pieces like a broken mirror, the bloodied shards lying all around him and gleaming in the light that could not warm him.

Licking his lips in anticipation of what he'd do to that spineless creep, Garfakcy took another bite of the apple he'd stolen and frowned. Problem was, the mayor had a guest. A very strange one too, with wild, white hair, ditzy like one of those air-headed females, but the teen was sure, could almost taste it in fact, that this guest was not what he pretended to be. There was a darkness there, and it called to him.

Biting his lower lip in thought, Garfakcy decided it didn't matter. He'd kill the mayor tonight anyway. Besides, he had delayed it for a week now, all because ofthe mayor's creepy guest. With a shrug he threw away the pip, snickering when it hit a prettily dressed lady on the head, getting stuck the elaborately styled hair. An improvement in his opinion, he thought with a snigger and darted away into the crowd.

The smell of excrement was sharp in the air, and Garfakcy scrunched his nose in disgust. The man couldn't even die with any sort of dignity.

Of course, that had been the idea.

The town's beloved mayor had hardly left him with any sort of dignity, and making it seem as if he'd been let off easily. Not that the upstanding mayor had told the townsfolk that he had used and abused a child in the most appalling and disgusting way as the "milder option" of the punishment.

"How does it feel, vermin? To be torn up from the inside? Lying bleeding and broken and just waiting to be taken by the neck and thrown out into the light, where they'll all stare at you, while someone else tells them that you've been let off 'easy'? Tell me, maggot." Garfakcy's voice was velvet and honey, dark as bleeding onyx. The man stammered and blubbered, but couldn't form any words behind the gag, incoherent with fear.

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he tried to recoil at the sight of the, what? fourteen, maybe? year old boy that sat on the edge of his bed, a congenial smile on his face, the three-colored hair casting sharp shadows over his face and his green eyes glittered with maliciousness. The stench of piss suddenly strengthened, and Garfakcy grimaced.

"Here, now. You're a grown man and can't hold it in? Doesn't matter. I was going to cut it off anyway."

The man gave a rasping scream, cut off by sobs at the grin on the teen's face. Holding up the already bloody knife for the mayor to see, Garfakcy moved slowly, deliberately, leaning down over the man's body and taking his time. The only reason why the screams didn't wake the whole household up, despite the gag, was probably because the pain was so blinding, the middle-aged man simply couldn't scream. Stuffing the bits he had cut off into the man's mouth, he did nothing to stop the flow of blood. The mayor had fainted, but it didn't matter. He'd done what he had planned, and the mayor would be dead very soon.

"I'm impressed. And fascinated." The soft voice from the door was silent and sounded almost breathless. Garfakcy jerked around and froze, staring wide-eyed at the pale-haired man in the doorway. The mayor's guest. Shit!

He'd been found out.

Nothing for it, then. Taking a deep breath, the teen tugged at the bloody broom-stick, getting it out from its snug confinements and after a nonchalant glance, threw it into a corner of the room.

"So? Aren't you gonna wake everybody up?" Garfakcy asked from between gritted teeth, fairly oozing aggressiveness. The man chuckled, pale-violet eyes glittering in the moonlight.

"No. Why would I do that? I have a proposition for you." The man smirked, eyes widening in a mockery of innocence. The teen frowned in surprise, but realized it didn't matter. There was nothing left for him here anyway. So why not?

"You gonna tell me what it is?" He was curious he had to admit. This man in front of him was full of complexities, and he was fascinated. He wanted to know.

"Oh, no. Not here. Let's leave, and I'll tell you what my proposition is." The man giggled and turned around, walking out of the room and down the hallway. Garfakcy sat stunned for a second, then shook himself and jumped off the bed. Okay, so the man was a little loony. But there must be more to it, and he intended to find out what it was. However long it took.