Happiness is a Warm Gun Chapter 3, a kung fu panda fanfic

Spoilers! For KFP2.

Notes: Thank-you everyone for your comments and reviews, they are very much appreciated- and I mean that. x) This one took me a bit longer. I was out for vacation for about two weeks. I think things after this chapter will start to pick up a little bit more. Once more, enjoy, and any and all comments/reviews are welcomed, including critiques as long as they're constructive.

"Do you think he knows?"

The mouse paused; the needle in her nimble hands wavered briefly.

"My queen?"

"Don't be modest, Ting." A soft sigh surfaced the air.

"I've never… felt so helpless- afraid, that my own son believes I am just as critical of him as the rest of the world." The mouse was diligently repairing the silk gown, minutes from now- her highness would find herself at the forefront of maintaining the northern peace treaties.

"I wish people would change." A slight hiss carried over, as the mouse finished her work and the peahen swept her eyes over the adjustments.

"Do you tell him?" She laughed dryly, walking away from the bench and inspecting herself in front of a mirror. "If it were that simple, my little mouse…" The fair haired rodent stood vigilantly beside the bench. At last the peahen turned around, the sound of her garments, light and soft; reflecting the quality of silk.

"Appearances are everything." Resentment held those words together, as the Queen of Gongmen City exited her chamber and made her way into the council room.

Consciousness was like a beach, the waves gently rolled in and out in sequential intervals. At times, the waves would stretch out and long without warning, sometimes a great force provided this energy. Otherwise, the same hush and lull swept carefully against its surface, dragging the smallest grains of sand closer within its depths.

Shen was not in the right to believe he held any control, and he knew this, to some extent. He had drifted often into sleep without knowing it, and now his mind relentlessly brought him back to his cannons. Unlike his armada, shattered and fragmented across the stretches of an ocean, beaches, the resiliency of his weapons lit a dying spark- for which remained uncertain, and flickered dimly in the wake of his losses. Regardless of any achievement, he possessed an army of corpses, an indefinite loss of resources and time. Ships and cannons, let alone gun powder did not magically build themselves up from one factory alone. It had been just about thirty years; enough time for the world to ignore he had ever existed, enough time to manufacture and strategically plan his method of attack. Which had at first fell together rather superbly.

Memory would serve as a backdrop for his floundering ambition. The forces inside of him would not retaliate, wedging in, deeper to the roots of his soul. It had been the first taste of battle, he recalled- the satisfying wrench of metal against flesh. He could also remember fear, the stench of a nervous air that not only wafted from his own senses, but that of his men and warriors. For such a sickly thing, condemned by his appearance and his inheritance for weakness, he had finally found himself in a position of control.

The men were worried, not only due to the fact that death appeared near and crawling closer; they could not help but gravitate their doubt to the young prince. This was - after all - his first battle in a seat of total command. Compared to his involvement with his teachers, the generals or his father, nearly half of the forces would follow his stead. The rumors however, flew around like wild flies, and chewed away at their clouded judgment. They'd glance at their supposed leader, and felt the close proximity of death, pale - like those feathers, blood red gushing out from their veins.

Shen ignored it, to the extent of how much his stomach could tolerate it. He assumed confidence, steady – he had told himself. 'The men look up to you,' his father had said. 'If, at any moment they see you falter, your army will fall to pieces, and the enemy will not hesitate to tear you apart.'

Several contingents were posted just at the end of a field. Shen's was the largest, allies to his right and left. They took a position in the forest at the end of the meadow. The main forces, farther than the meadows, had already begun their attack on the rebel base to the north. Shen's end was at the precipice of the oval embankment, where fleeing rebels and terrorists alike would find themselves pinched towards the south end when defeat proved eminent. Ending this debacle would ensure peace, for the sake of many- a future would be restored without the presence of a rift and war stirring the calm and content.

Hours could have passed, perhaps even mere minutes, but the rush of fresh rebels hoping to evade the siege at their doorstep trickled out into view. The tension at first was unbearable; Shen could not deny how well it had seized him. Regardless, by a matter of insight his wing herald the archers in calm disposition. "Steady," he ordered, keeping his focus on the group as a whole. He could already feel the eyes of the commanders keeping his right and left; head archers waiting on his signal… their eyes burned, but did not crush his confidence.

He waited for the perfect timing, the very last moment, that sweet spot - watching the wave approach them. Knowing they'd all be fooled brought a chill throughout his body when his arm drove down, and the sound of thundering arrows cut through the air above him.

Two volleys provided enough damage for the melee forces to advance. Three might have ensured it further, though Prince Shen had quickly found himself lured by the heart of battle. The commanders wouldn't have realized this, as they would later dictate this decision to be an error of agitation, nervousness perhaps. No matter, Shen could feel the confidence in his troops take an opposite direction; was it trust then, that they had slowly settled on?

Regardless, he could not afford to hesitate- that was final.

Efficiency followed his blade, and made short work with the grunts he made contact with. Several years would have already provided him with that foundation for which any warrior possessed, though he ultimately lacked years of experience in its exact field of practice. For all its grace and swiftness, Shen had grasped that brutality as its end result. One does not think about the families behind a face, the children dependent on a father to provide a thriving life, regardless of where he has taken his ideologies. The world was simple here, life and death balanced on Shen's blade; his command was final and set in stone. He couldn't fathom any other time where he had proven himself capable of carrying the doubts of those eyes, and inspiring the weight of their criticisms to break free, follow, assume confidence and decimate their enemies. His father, he thought, would be proud.

The sun wavered in the light, tinged red, bleeding while smoke bellowed out from the northern stronghold. The previous ferocity of the enemy sweltered, began teetering as bodies dropped, pushed back. There were losses either side, but the rebels were overwhelmed, and did not realize their escape routes would be cut off in such short notice. Their commander proved resilient under these circumstances, but he knew his heart was not in it; his comrades, more than soldiers, faced an enemy they could not possibly defeat. Shall they die in vain, or should they seek mercy in hopes death might be spared from them?

"Sir?" Voices wavered, the rebel commander grit his teeth and took one more glance at nearly half the men he had already lost.

"Signal the surrender," he growled out. The officer before him hesitated.

"Well? Sound the surrender, now!"

"Y-yes, sir!"

The commander glared into the foray ahead of himself, his spirit torn away. It showed in his eyes; that of a lynx held a golden hue steady and strong, now it was left dull and lost.

A thick layer of drying blood coated Prince Shen's blade. He had just fooled his enemy by faking a movement to the left, distraction flared in the presence of his plumage before he darted right, underneath the stooping figure his sword gleamed at the exposed neck from such an angle. It happened so quickly then; Shen felt the stiff body in front of him slump into his blade, and against his shoulder. It was such a bizarre feeling at first, to have his opponent's last breath drift across his body. The flow of viscous, warm fluid brought him out of it. His mind caught between whether he had felt horror, or fulfillment preside.

"My lord." A sharp jerk brought the sword out, and the body crumbling to the ground.

"What is it?" Shen twirled the blade once to shuck off any residual blood with a sharp shink.

"They've called in a surrender, my lord."

"So they have…" Was it disappointment at those words? Despite the initial fears that had plagued him up until this point, he could now see clearly through his expectations, feeling immediately driven at that point to overcome them far beyond their boundaries. "Round them up," he barked. "Separate the officers and group them together."

He paused, drifted his eyes across the battle field, the last few cries rang out before all at once – the air stilled.

"The enemy commander requests your presence." He hadn't thought about that, who he would face… in all respects he could only see his goal, but as the battle started to wind down and he could feel himself dropping from the excitement, these words provided a sobering thought. His eyes had narrowed, when he regarded the messenger a smirk resided on his features. "Have him wait," his head lifted, "In front of his troops, on his knees."

"Is there anything else his majesty requests?"

"Call in the commanders; I want them by my side." There was no weakness in a victory, only strength, cunning and prowess. There may be rumors, they may still hate him, one way or another he would make them fear him.

When Shen's eyes finally settled on the lynx with his gaze to the ground, the young heir appeared flanked by his commanders several feet away. The feline's ear twitched, and at once raised his head to meet the victor; what he saw did not impress him. Confusion perhaps, surprise shifted against the weight of his brows. They had sent a juvenile to fight him, he thought, that sickly disappointment from Gongmen City.

"This can't be -" he groaned underneath his breath, cut off from the jab to his back.

"Why don't you speak up?" The prince approached his prisoner.

"Don't be shy. After all… the lives of your men depend on it." Shen waved his wing in their direction, a pitiful lot, holding on to the last shreds of faith spent up in their leader.

"I was expecting… someone with a bit more caliber. Though, I admit, I'm quite surprised his lordship hasn't caught a fever from all the excitement." The lynx knew how to pull his weight, he had information, and there was a certain price tag for his life. Banter had become a pick, for which he might use to unlock the certain snags in a confident façade. The gruff and worn faces of his soldiers chuckled in response, and for a moment there he could sense Shen's irritation.

Another jab, sharper this time to the side of his face made him reel forwards. A defiant grin held, as the lynx doubled over, hands bound at his back with a dying cough.

His head was forced up by the edge of Shen's blade. "Don't be mistaken," Shen warned, his glare sharpened, "I won't tolerate disrespect… if any mercy should find its way to you - I swear it will be the mercy of a clean and quick cut through your neck."

That sound, that malleable presence broke him out of those waters- became the force that drove him beyond the water's edge. A sharp breath of air brought him back into the sunlight, in the confinements of that large and old tree. He bore his eyes into the roof, and dug his feathers- grasping the sheets.

For a moment, he felt the anxiety, knowledge for which he could not easily move from where he lied. Perhaps he should have found familiarity in his situation, though he could not. Memories of a bedridden childhood would not instill normality into his situation.

The windows were opened, a breeze filtered through as the mouse sat a bit away. She played her erhu, lost in notes, its melody - gave life to the voice hidden behind strings. It would quench his agitation, calm.

"You knew my mother?"

She had had her eyes closed, they barely opened, her instrument becoming softer.

"One of many aids... I tended to her, traveled with her."

The last memory he had of her, the most impressionable was when she stood behind his father in the wake of his exile. Not even a word, let alone a glance. She would remain mute. Despite losing the sight of the heartbroken mixture driving her voice away, he only saw the vast amount of shame spill out in her silence. Her speechless mouth, more than knives that drove into his heart – and here he had thought, he'd become less impenetrable to these feelings.

No matter how shielded - whether out of spite and anger; could have prepared him for those long years without them.

He hesitated, alarmed of whether he should speak anymore in fear of revealing his weakness for feeling. The mouse appeared a simple creature compared to her companion. No matter, a level of frustration would always find a way to disrupt any clear thoughts on Ting, for the simple fact that she had sacrificed her time and efforts to keep him living, breathing. Whether it had been for any good, remained questionable… Shen refused to regard his disappointment, ignoring its lasting burn and the desire (the courage- he thought) to kill himself instead.

"You knew of her then, you didn't actually know her."

Aids were like flies, they worked around you – prepared you. They had jobs to commit, not socialize, unless it was required of them. Most of the time it ended up being mindless chatter about social affairs, rumors, the next celebrations and so on and so forth.

He didn't know her anyhow, not very well. Having himself compared to this mouse, a peasant who worked as an aid sharpened his expression ahead of that ceiling.

"She had many friends," the mouse seemed to be retaliating with his thoughts. "Her circle included many of her people, not simply reserved for officials and dignitaries." She leaned back a bit more in her seat.

"With time, our experiences, we both opened up I suppose- little by little."

"That's hard to believe…" a sharp whisper.

Nianzu immediately became nervous when they ushered him past the meeting rooms. But since they had passed that room long ago – the nervousness began to eat through his thoughts when they reached the gates of the palace. Another part at least, besides the building they had toppled. He expected to see the faces of the Kung Fu Masters, Ox and Croc, instead he saw her instead.

"Soothsayer…"

She remained a distance away, standing at the opened door to a balcony with her back partially to him. Her warm air faltered, and did not regard him until several seconds later.

"Well? Come along now." Regardless of Croc and Ox, Nianzu felt just as nervous as he had beforehand – even a little cautious when it came to the Soothsayer. A part of him, perhaps of what he recalled from his childhood enjoyed her, revered her; as an adult he didn't know what to make of her anymore. Part of him disliked her entirely, while others seemed less committed to a single thought or judgment all together.

He moved then, like a child who'd done something wrong. His head remained low, his wrists and feet shackled allowed for restricted movement only.

He stopped just slightly off to her side. Couldn't help but glance at the city landscape, the world away, busy and alive. "Your future hangs on a balance," despite her calm, firm words, the edge of seriousness in her voice might as well heighten his anxiety. "Justice has many forms, Nianzu," she finally regards him, thought filled eyes glancing. "Which is it that you choose?"

He could feel every hair on his body slowly standing, helpless to fight against his quickening pulse.

"I… I don't quite-"He doesn't like riddles - he's the sort of person who gets strait to the point, quick and simple, no frills or extra seasoning. At the same time he only makes it worse, frightened by his poor response.

"What is it?" He blurts out instead, "What are my options?"

It can't actually be a second chance, can it? In the meantime he's having trouble reading her eyes.

She sighs, "That depends." She leaves a gap, haunted by the past with images belonging to Nianzu. By habit these also include Shen.

"While most of your warriors seemed to have followed your lead, regardless of your condition… There have been small bands, scattered throughout the city and causing trouble."

This is news to him, although he has expected it. "How bad is it?"

"Bad enough that it's put a strain on some of the city's rebuilding, and looting. They seem to be gathering more members from the prisons, too. Random attacks on the groups going out, those willing to follow. And all of them have so far…"

They have locked eyes - they understand someone has already challenged his leadership. This information tightens around his neck, subconsciously his ears have drawn back- his lips twitch, he can feel a snarl threatening his features but he holds back. Nianzu must have thought about it already, too much, but having confirmed his suspicions he is now faced with something he isn't entirely sure he can help. Especially if death hangs just as firmly around his neck; and in that second he caves, he relents, his spirit tries to fight back but is too worn, too tired and beaten to propel back up.

She can see it, too.

"So…" The wolf's one good eye drifts to the floor instead.

"Is this the only time I'll be seeing you?" He thinks he will die, because he's in no condition to challenge and reaffirm his position. Not with his wounds still healing. She's the only visitor he's had for weeks, and somehow this makes all the confusion, nervous air drift away. He will die, seeing someone he has known for most of his life makes that noose feel-

"Hey!"

A sharp, 'innocent' whack comes across his shoulder – it stings.

"Enough of that," she scolds him. "Redemption comes at a high price, and you're lucky enough to have been given that chance." She scrutinizes the wolf more carefully now. A moment of uncertainty passes through her, wondering if she had been wrong- if Nianzu desires enough change.

"Are you willing to die without a fight, Nianzu? You know better than that." She smiles, no- she's grinning.

"Am I dream'n here? Are you actually trying to help me?"

"You can only help yourself. I'm only here to offer you options at this very moment."

"Even, but- the raid? I've killed innocent people, in bloodlust- and you. You're just-"

"Think about it," she says instead, her grin finally softens into a smile. As she regards the city the same smile has finally worn off when the silence inhabits both of them. Without saying anymore words, the stunned Nianzu is escorted back to his cell, and the Soothsayer is once more left alone in thought.

Ting, in a long while, has not encountered this feeling often.

Indecision.

She cannot see very well, but her hearing is superb. It always had been, and she catches his words that fling into view.

She ends the song - the wind moves leaves and tree limbs that have the effect of sounding like the ocean, floods into the silence. The feeling however quickly becomes unbearable, especially from her guest. Before she can thoroughly plan it out, attempt to understand the urge itself, her voice squeaks out.

"But she loved you!"

It's almost a whisper, but he makes it out anyhow. It's not the first time he's heard it either, and there's more of a reason to disbelieve her claim. How could she have possibly understood his relationship with his mother? How could any of them? The very thought this mouse, this little aid with her nimble hands thought she knew better, drove these bitter thoughts deeper.

A cool look of indifference is what he gives her. No sign of surprise or frustration marks him – he makes himself to appear bored instead. He starts to say something, but he's stopped.

It's the mouse, the little creature. She sits there, holding on to the bow with a firm grip that shakes, and holds her instrument close, and closer to her heart. As if she might faint if anyone were to rip it away from her.

"Oh- she loved you so much…" There's this crack in her little voice. The sort that can't be acted out, or rehearsed, it's almost ugly- but it's raw, and it's there. It's the sound of compassion, it echoes somewhere- she understands in one aspect all too clearly. It's different from sympathy, from the act of feeling sorry for someone, but never having to go through any of the pain or torture of their loss or tragedy. Sympathy borders on pity, and shame, but this here is all too sincere for him to barely comprehend it.

His mind blanks instead.

Previous words die.

The sound of leaves fills the gap - it keeps on singing, the air and its gentle breeze.

~Notes:

I really hope that was believable, hehe- well, we'll see… x3

CKDrake: Wanted to say that your help with pointing out errors has been very helpful. My grammar/sentence structure isn't the best. I agree that addressing those issues definitely helps the fic/overall writing a lot. I've tried my best to incorporate your input, I'm always willing to learn, and improve. Thank-you very much! I'm also glade the dialogue is going good so far, it can be so tricky sometimes xP

ToothlessFuture: I was kind of hesitant to bring Wolf Boss into it at first, but now he's here there's all sorts of things to torture him with ;P Glad you're enjoying!

Rekhyte: Glad you like it so far! Been curious as to whether the pace has been too slow or not, I'm glad you enjoy that.

Again, thanks everyone for your comments!