So, first we have angsty Scaramouche life. Sad times. It gets a bit graphic… be warned
Disclaimer: (sings to the tune of Bohemian Rhapsody) I don't own it! She don't own it! I don't own it! She don't own it! I don't own it! She don't own it! I don't own it! She don't own it! No, no, no, no, no, NO! Mamma mia mamma mia! (clears throat) hem hem. Well. Yes.
Galileo opened his eyes to see black. Again.
He groaned as he realised he was lying awkwardly on his stomach, with his face pressed into the floor and tried to push himself up. His head throbbed slightly as he lifted it, feeling heavy and sluggish. Squinting into the darkness, he tried to remember where he was and what he was doing there.
"Mmph," he moaned sitting up and cradling his head in his hands.
"Quit with the crybaby act," a familiar voice scolded and Galileo jumped.
"Brit, you scared me!" he yelped. "Wait… Brit?"
Brit rolled his eyes. "Not again," he huffed, smacking Galileo firmly on the back of the head.
"Ouch!" Galileo protested, but the hit worked – Galileo remembered what was happening to him with a jolt. "Where are we?" he hissed to Brit, who was crouched next to him, army style, adjusting his bandana so his sunglasses sat neatly on top of it.
"Scaramouche's World Tour of Ways Her Life Could've Gone!" Brit exclaimed, sounding quite proud.
"Right… but where are we?" Galileo repeated with more emphasis.
"Look for yourself," Brit nudged. Galileo looked up, his eyes adjusting to the light slightly. "I think you might recognise here…"
Galileo shakily stood up, feeling weak and disorientated. He wobbled around in the semi-darkness for a moment, before noticing shapes beginning to form around him.
He was in a prison cell – the one he had been in for a short amount of time when Khashoggi questioned him about Daisy – but it was darker, colder, scarier than when he'd been in it. The air was damp around him, making him want to cough as it wafted down his throat and twisted round his lungs. He noticed the door, plain and grey, made out of some metal he didn't recognise, that needed a passcode and ID to be opened. Apart from that, the walls were bare, grey and haunting.
A muffled moan came from behind him and he froze. His eyes travelled to meet Brit's slowly and warily, pleading for it not to be true. Brit gazed at him for a moment then turned his face to where Galileo couldn't see.
Galileo turned, unsure if he wanted to know what – or who – was behind him. His eyes landed on a figure hunched over, sat on what looked like one of the most uncomfortable chairs in the world. Wooden and stiff backed, it made the person sitting, or rather curled up in it look tiny in comparison. Galileo moved forward and dropped to his knees.
"Scaramouche…" he whispered, as the figure moaned slightly again, greasy long hair obscuring her face and baggy black dress acting like a blanket around her in the freezing room. Galileo leaned forward slightly, trying to get her attention as his eyes became more accustomed to the dark lighting. As soon as they did, she wished they hadn't.
A dirty shard of glass was in one of her hands, being pressed down onto the opposite wrist until blood ran through her fingers. Galileo quickly reached to grab her, but his hand passed right through her upper arm and hit the floor with a painful slap. The figure didn't seem to notice, pushing down harder and sobbing slightly.
"Scara…" Galileo gasped, trying again to hold her, but failing as his hand failed to grasp her.
"You aren't born, remember?" Brit said gruffly. "You don't exist. She's never met you." Even though he hadn't known Scaramouche for long before he died, he understood that she was a lively girl full of energy, and it pained him to see her in this state. "She's been arrested, for dressing as a rebel. Just like when you existed, except you're not here to bust her out."
Galileo looked from Brit to Scaramouche, who was shaking with the effort and pain she was putting herself through. He felt like crying.
"Can you make her stop?" he whispered never taking his eyes off his baby. Brit shook his head sadly.
"I'm miles away at The Heartbreak Hotel looking for the Dreamer in this reality – except I'm never gonna find him." Brit told him. "Cause he was never born." He added.
Galileo swallowed, then winced as the door clicked and swung open, throwing white light across the floor. From it, he could see Scaramouche properly – her hair was still deep purple, but it was limp, not tied up in the spunky knots he loved so much. She was wearing the dress she'd worn when they first met, he knew that, but it was ripped and torn more than usual, with no red thread to keep her modesty. Her feet were bare, except for droplets of red, which, Galileo realised, was the blood dripping from her wrists splashed on them.
"Well, well," Khashoggi sauntered into the cell, looking smug. "Our little rebel, eh?"
Scaramouche pulled herself in tighter, dropping the glass and wrapping both arms around her knees as she rocked slightly.
A guard followed Khashoggi into the cell, lasergun cocked to the ready in case it was needed. "Are we taking her to the Seven Seas of Rhye?" he asked in a monotone.
"Don't be stupid," Khashoggi smirked, satisfied. Galileo felt like pounching him. "We only send them to the Seven Seas if they need their spirit to be broken – look at her: she doesn't have any spirit at all."
A broken sob emitted from Scaramouche.
"Oh, we know how you wanted someone," Khashoggi continued smoothly, mockingly. "'Someone to love!' Well, he's a bit old for you, but you can have him anyway!"
A second guard marched in, gripping an older man tightly round the arm. He was protesting half heartedly, long stringy hair falling across his face as he was thrown to the ground next to the chair. Scaramouche scooted weakly away from him, balancing herself on the edge of the chair while making herself as small as possible.
Khashoggi smiled. "Have fun," he said mockingly, leaving the cell, followed by the two guards, who slammed the door shut behind them, setting the room back into darkness with a bang.
"Hey baby," the man whispered, and Galileo was startled to hear the familiar voice. "Whats your name?"
Scaramouche just hiccupped slightly.
"Well… my name is Pop," the man said and through the darkness, Galileo could see him move forward to put a reassuring hand on Scaramouche's shoulder. She flinched visibly, trying to move away but unable to without getting off the chair.
"I'm not gonna hurt you, baby," Pop leant in. "I'll tell you a secret: I'm gonna reak you out!"
Scaramouche looked up with tear stained cheeks. "…how?" she whimpered.
"Well… I don't know yet," Galileo almost snorted, his response was so Pop-like. "But I've done it before, and I'll damn well do it again!"
Scaramouche lifted her head fully and Galileo's heart did the fandango; she was smiling.
"Time to go," Brit put a hand on Galileo's shoulder and gave him a soft tug.
"Wait!" Galileo walked round to behind Scaramouche. "She was sassy before she met me – I have nothing to do with her attitude. Why is she like this?"
"The day you met was the day she was going to give up," Brit told him reluctantly. "I guess you gave each other something to live for," he added, looking at Galileo as he leant down and whispered 'I love you' next to Scaramouche's ear. When she didn't respond he looked up sadly.
"Where next?" he asked. Brit just held his arm and pulled him back.
In the darkness of the cell, Scaramouche glanced at Pop. "Did you just say something?" she asked him, her voice coming out in a croak.
Pop frowned. "…no," he replied, before going back to his escape plans.
Woohoo :)
That's probably as angsty as its gonna get – unless you like angst then I'll write more.
I think I'm gonna have four or five possible lives for Scaramouche and then two or so chapters on Galileo's decision and possibly an Epilogue :)
Review? :)
