The Mud District buzzed awake like a swarm of startled bees. Naz crawled through the muck desperate to put distance between himself and the gathering of voices behind him. They crossed the line this time. Ransacking Old Gran's garden was a stupid idea. Naz knew as much. He warned Sned, but the bastard wouldn't listen. Now it was too late. Of all the people he thought they'd piss off, Naz never imagined Runt Braun would reenter the game. He had forgotten. They all had. Runt Braun led them while Sned cowered in his shadow. Now he was back and no one stood a chance against him.
Naz clawed and kicked his way into a narrow alley, his left arm dragging limp in the mud. Gritting his teeth, he pulled up to rest his back against the side of a building. He laid there, the numb fading and the pain settling into his bones. Blood oozed from his busted nose and trickled into his mouth. He had no clue how far he had gotten from Old Gran's, but it would have to do. The others he was with were gone. They either fled or were sent flying by Runt just like him. There was no way of knowing. It all happened so fast. Runt was upon them one second and in just a couple blinks Naz was tumbling through the air. Even now his vision blurred from the rapid succession of spins he'd undergone before crashing down more than a street away. Nausea gripped Naz and he turned to retch into the mud. The bitter bile had the iron taste of blood to it.
The mud squished with the sound of approaching footsteps. Naz leaned back, breathing heavily as the shadow of a man appeared in the alleyway. Naz squinted but couldn't make out the stranger's face.
"Who's there?"
The stranger approached with both arms held up to his sides. "Easy. It's me, Buckets."
"Come to finish me then?"
"What? No. Why would you think that?"
"I know you hate me. You all do. You…the panther girl…everyone. I recognize hate when I see it. Been looking at it all my life."
"Perhaps you should stop looking in the mirror then."
Naz started to laugh but the pain in his ribs turned it into a guttural groan. "You coward. Get your faunus friend then. She'd be more than happy."
"Her name is Kiera and no she wouldn't." he knelt beside Naz, "Your arm is dislocated. I need to pop it back into place."
"Thought it was broken."
"No one claimed you were smart."
"Come closer and I'll strangle you."
"Not with that arm." Buckets took hold of Naz's left shoulder and bicep. "Now on three. One-"
An instant of sudden jarring pain followed by a numbing ease. Naz swore and flailed his legs. Buckets helped keep his writhing to a minimum. When the initial wave of anguish passed Naz tried moving the arm. "It still hurts."
"You think the pain would just go away? No, I wouldn't use that arm for the next few days at the very least. Here," Using his own buttoned over shirt, Buckets tied a sling and draped it over Naz's neck before gently lifting his arm into the makeshift sleeve.
"You a doctor or something?"
Buckets smirked but shook his head, "Only since I came here. That's the second sling I made in the last twenty-four hours. You owe me a shirt."
Naz flexed his fingers by slowly closing them into a fist before releasing the tension. "No one was supposed to get hurt. Jules acted without thinking. He's always been over enthusiastic. Took a swing at Greenberg before I could stop him." When Buckets made no comment Naz grunted, "You don't believe me, do you?"
"No…I believe you."
His genuine words only angered Naz more. "Why are you helping me?"
Buckets eased himself down next to him, "This is all my fault. I didn't think Sned would respond so aggressively."
"You don't know him very well."
"True. But I had hoped there was something more to him. Something that could help him see past his own selfish desires."
"You're talking about honor."
"I suppose that's one word for it."
"You won't find any in Sned." Grunted Naz.
"That is apparent to me now." The voices gathering a few streets over grew more tumultuous. "Why did you destroy Old Gran's garden?"
Naz did his best to give a lopsided shrug, "Sned's orders. Figured if we take out the main supply of food for the district, then people would turn towards us for help. They'd have no choice but to depend on our supply."
"I just came from there. Word is you only ripped up the field and destroyed the fences. Runt stopped you before you could salt the ground or do any real permanent damage. The garden will need to be fixed, but that won't take long. Everyone will pitch in to make sure of it. That's what I like about the Mud District. It's a community. People here talk to each other. Help each other. Even you Mudslingers take care of your own and I admire that. The only real difference between you and the rest of the district is that you think you're different. You're not. The sooner you realize that the better."
Naz wiped a hand over his mouth. It came away smeared in dried blood. "Things are going to get ugly, aren't they?"
Buckets was long to respond. "I fear so. Things move slowly here. Not because of any fault or dimwittedness, but because the people here take the time to think things through. Once they reach a consensus though then they'll turn towards Sned like he wanted, but they won't come seeking his help."
"You should stay back...When the fighting starts. Let Kiera and Braun break us. They're more than enough I'm sure."
"Are you concerned for my wellbeing, Naz?" Buckets smiled. Naz hated how he could do that so effortlessly. Just grin as if they'd been pals since the cradle. It was like a sickness, a contagious one at that. Naz couldn't help but grin back.
"I just don't want a weakling like you getting in their way."
Buckets chuckled softly, "Don't worry, I won't. Things don't have to end in violence though."
"Are you really that stupid?"
"I prefer the term, optimistic."
"After tonight, there is no going back."
"That's not true. Bones heal. Fences can be mended. It's never too late."
"Sned won't stop." Grumbled Naz.
"Sned is just one man." Said Buckets, "No man can control the hearts of others. He's bought the Mudslinger's loyalty with gifts of toys and games and sweets. In return, their loyalty will be equally flimsy."
"It's like you said, we care for our own…For the most part, anyway. They won't go against their leader."
"Then perhaps it's time for a new leader. They follow Sned because he is their only option. Quite a few of them look up to you though, Naz. I saw it earlier. They would follow you and Sned knows it. Why do you think he made you attack Old Gran's? Sned is many things but he's not a complete idiot. He knows how much people respect her and all she's done for this district. He wanted to discredit you in their eyes by doing the unsavory deed."
Naz laughed and winced at the resulting pain. "Who the fuck are you, really? Don't like complex games you say? Yet here you are, playing the most dangerous one."
"Just because someone dislikes something doesn't mean they're not proficient at it."
Naz fought to get on his feet. When Buckets tried to help, he knocked him away. That shove alone almost toppled the Mudslinger. Buckets waited, ready to catch him if he fell. Naz recovered and stood, wobbling.
"Thank you." He muttered right before pushing his way past Buckets. The young man didn't protest. Naz left him there in the alley and didn't turn back.
It was daybreak by the time Naz hauled himself in. Few noticed him lingering near the entrance. But from Sned's heightened perspective perched on the podium he took quick note of Naz's presence. He was the last to arrive. The others had already returned, similarly beaten, and were the subject of discussion that filled the town hall. News of what happened spread quicker than Sned imagined. Every Mudslinger was present. They squabbled like children. All of them shouting, each trying to get their voice heard.
Sned let them stew in their incoherent bickering for a while. Did them good to let out all their frustrations. All their brains put together wouldn't be able to formulate even a half-baked plan. So, it was only natural for them to look to him for guidance. They were children in truth. Even the ones beyond those years never seemed to grow out of it. They were an army of meatheads and dim-wits. But they were his army, so they'd have to do. Sned held up his hand, pleased by how swiftly the hall went quiet.
"It's about time we admit to ourselves what this is all really about." He spoke softly so those in the back would strain to hear and move closer. Sned relished how they crowded around him. "We've waited for too long, my friends. This district is ours. It rests in the palm of our hand. All we have to do is seize it."
The crowd murmured amongst themselves before a voice spoke out. "But, we already have. We can take anything we want. Do whatever we want!"
"You raise a good point, but what is better? To steal whatever you wish? Or have it brought and placed at your feet? That's the difference between a crook and a king." Sned stood on top of his podium throne so all heads craned their necks to look up at him. "No more petty theft. No more sneaking about. Why hide our dominance over them? If we want something then they will give it to us or face our wrath."
Sned had them. He could see the look in their eyes, the gears cranking behind them. They are tools for his use. All Sned had to do was rev the engine to life. An unsettlement cut through the growing hysteria when a defeated Naz heaved himself onto the dais like a fat worm. All went silent in full view of the damage inflicted upon one of their betters.
Naz turned one beady eye on Sned, "What about Runt Braun and the panther? They will try and stop us at every turn."
More voices called out and just like that they were back to their squabbling. A fight even broke out. To be expected though. They weren't a wholly unified group to start with. Most were a part of Braun's old crew. They were only with Sned because the giant drank himself into a ditch of self-pity. With news of last night's fight spreading like a bad rash Sned knew that more than a few were rethinking their leadership. Sned fancied himself a strategist and was prepared for a moment like this. His ace up the sleeve was an arm's reach away, stashed inside the very podium he stood on.
The gunshot blasted a hole straight through the town hall's roof. From the Mudslingers came a collective gasp then hushed silence. Sned leveled the firearm in his hands. "Now this, my friends, is the key to dealing with Runt and his faunus bitch and anyone else who tries to stop us." He caressed the rifle, "This baby here fires dust-cartridge rounds capable of taking down a Death Stalker. If Runt stands in our way, he won't stand for long." With a gesture from him, two of Sned's most loyal men cracked open the lid of the cargo container that had been sitting behind him. Reaching inside, each took their own rifles, one in each hand and raised them up high for all to see.
A shiver coursed through them and Sned rode that wave higher. "Step up and claim your destiny. Why be thieves any longer when you can be kings?!" The crowd roared in agreement, their fists pumping in the air.
All it took was a few empty promises and a crate full of guns to win them over. They filed in, each and every one of them eager to claim the weapon that would change their lives. Naz watched the proceedings from off to the side. Any hope of overthrowing Sned was torn to shreds before his very eyes. As if it were any real hope. Just a few well sounding words from a fool unwilling to even throw a punch. He was a moron to believe even for a second. Sned had them now. Yet, this was wrong. Naz knew it. Power gifted is no real power at all. Something like that has to be worked for. One must earn it himself. Naz hobbled for the exit determined to leave this fanatic bunch behind when a hand caught his shoulder.
"You actually did well last night. Despite your failings." Sned wore his signature shit eating grin and bathrobe as if he were some pomp politician lounging in the highest rooms of the Citadel."
"Thanks…" grumbled Naz.
Sned cradled his gun as if it were his child. "You don't seem too optimistic about our new enterprise."
"I have my doubts."
"Speak, let them be heard." Naz noticed two of Sned's most loyal followers flanking him like bodyguards. Already he acts like a king. But king of what? You haven't conquered anything.
"They will fight back." Said Naz.
"I'm sure they would if given the chance. I won't deny that Runt is a threat, but he is a simple one. One that our guns can handle. As for the faunus…well, I've hunted panthers and other animals in my day. All we need is a proper snare."
"What about the rest? This district is more than just those two."
"That's what I like about you Naz. You're not as dumb as you look." Sned took Naz by the face and playfully slapped his cheeks. "It's true, there is another I am concerned about. That's why I've come to you actually. I have a job for you."
The sun beat down relentlessly. Sweat soaked through Clementine's threadbare clothes and stung his eyes. He stepped back and wiped at his face before examining his work. The fence was a patch job, but it was sturdy enough to keep the vermin out. Whoever destroyed it in the first place left the thing practically in splinters. As luck would have it though there was no shortage of scrap wood in the Mud District.
The ravaging of Old Gran's garden left the people in a dazed state. It had been an unspoken rule here in the Mud District. Old Gran's was sanctuary. To openly defy that principle was reckless even for the Mudslingers. Living in such a district, people have grown a high tolerance. A tolerance exploited by the Mudslingers. They could do just about anything and get away with it. No one complained or sought retribution against them. No punishment followed their crimes because as far as the Mudslingers were concerned, they were the law and order in the Mud District. Was it stubbornness or cowardice that allowed such circumstances to linger? Clementine wasn't sure himself. But now it didn't matter. The Mudslingers have gone too far. What they did demanded a response. Clementine knew, things were going to get worse before they got better.
Despite the belligerent mood that so infected the district, the young man at Clementine's side bore a bright smile. Hammering the last nail home, Buckets kicked at the fence to test its durability. "It should hold. May need some refurbishing for the winter. Otherwise, I think we're good. Nice work." Clementine stared long enough for Buckets to notice. "What?" he asked, suddenly shy.
"Nothing, it's just…If I may ask, why are you smiling?"
"Do I need a reason?"
"Usually. It's just that most people do."
"I guess I'm not most people then. I never stop to think about it really."
"Uh-huh," grunted Clementine before gesturing to the wrecked garden. "What about this makes you happy?"
Buckets leaned up against the newly built fence. He stared out at Kiera who was helping Old Gran replant. She was in her usual summer outfit. A sleeveless belly shirt and baggy trousers. The solid blue bandana she wore around her neck contrasted well against her dusky skin and brown clothing. Buckets' eyes sparkled. His fascination clear on his whimsical face. "It's good to see everyone working together on something. Drew you out of hiding."
"I owe Old Gran my life…Just about every person in this district owes that woman a debt. Even those who did this."
"From what I hear, they paid for it."
"Anyone seen him?"
"Runt?" Buckets shook his head, "It's easy to disappear in the Mud District, even for a man of his size. But I don't have to tell you that."
Clementine looked over the garden once more, "The Mudslingers will answer for what they've done."
"I've heard something similar from several people this morning."
"You don't agree?"
Buckets motioned towards Old Gran, "Do you see her growling and spitting in fury?"
He was not wrong. No frown wrinkled old Gran's already weathered face. No tears watered her eyes. Wrath left no blemish on her frail features. Instead, it was replaced with a slight smile.
"What are you trying to say?" asked Clementine.
"I'm saying she is old. She understands better than any of us. I'm saying, the last thing she wants is conflict."
"Kiera told me what you did. If you didn't want conflict then you shouldn't have gotten involved."
Buckets' smile vanished, "I made a mistake. I admit it. No matter where I seem to go violence follows. I thought I could stop it this time. I was wrong."
Hearing the brittleness to his words Clementine softened. "I don't mean to blame you. This would've happened eventually."
"Perhaps you're right." He didn't sound convinced. They were both quiet. The longer the silence stretched the deeper Buckets seemed to slip into melancholy. Clementine scolded himself. Buckets' out of place smile was the only good thing to come out of today and now he ruined it.
"Old Gran isn't the only one." Said Clementine, "The people of the Mud District owe you a great deal as well. They say you showed up out of nowhere with ten buckets on each arm."
That smile played on Buckets' lips once more, "It was actually just four on each. By myself I didn't even do much."
"You rallied the people. Both you and Kiera. Two strangers rushing into the inferno when everyone else was fleeing. Without you two the fire would've spread farther and more would've died. You're a hero, Buckets."
"Now you're just trying to make me feel better."
"I'm serious."
Buckets turned to regard Clementine. Seeing the truth in his resolve Buckets faced the garden again. "You think she likes heroes?"
"Kiera? You've known her longer than I. You tell me."
"That's not true. Contrary to popular belief, we didn't know each other before. First time I ever saw her she was leaping through the flames. Straight for me. Her tail was singed and her eyes feral. Like a wild beast come to tear my throat out. Instead she took my hand. Didn't bother to stop and wait for me. Almost yanked my arm right out of its socket. She found the well and we refilled my buckets. Back and forth we went from there. Not a word passed between us. Wasn't long before the others joined in."
"I never knew." Admitted Clementine.
"You never asked. I think this is the most we've ever spoken before in one sitting." He held up his palm, "Not that I'm complaining. It's good. I like talking to you, Augustus Clementine."
"Please, just call me Clementine." Clementine found himself smiling, "I'm surprised. The way she treated you afterwards. I just assumed you two had known each other all your lives."
Buckets barked a laugh, "Nah, Kiera is just like that. Took me forever just to get her to smile."
"If anyone ever could..."
Buckets spun around, leaning his back against the fence. His modest features crunched in thought. "My father told me this story once of a beautiful faunus woman who never smiled. The gossip in the local village was that anyone who could make her smile would win her heart. So when a traveling performer hears of the tale from a drunken audience member, he decides to try his luck. He visits her at her home every day for weeks. He tells her jokes, performs tricks, anything to get her to laugh. None of it works. The woman rarely even spoke to him and when she did her lips barely moved. The Performer eventually exhausts his entire routine to no avail. Left with nothing but his wit and desperation, he tries one last time. As his final act he takes a different approach, art. He's proven himself the fool to her so he paints himself as one. A self-portrait of him as a colorful jester.
"The painting was so outlandish and crude, yet it possessed a human charm to it. A smile broke out on the woman's face. She tried to fight it, but there was no stopping it. She burst into a fit of laughter. The Performer goes still, frozen in fear because hiding behind those beautiful wet lips were the teeth of a piranha. Horrified, the Performer lets out a scream and sprints from the home, leaving the faunus woman heartbroken." Buckets slowed in the telling of his tale, "She never smiled again."
"A bit morbid at the end there, don't you think?"
Buckets considered that before shrugging, "In other telling's of the story she chases the performer down and eats him."
"Lovely."
"Not all stories have a happy ending."
"Do you believe in them?" asked Clementine.
"Believe in what?"
"Stories. Myths…Fairy Tales."
"As in they're real?"
"Yes."
Buckets wondered a moment, obviously pleased with the strange inquiry. "Every story originates from somewhere. I imagine that long ago, those fairy tales were in truth, real. Over time they're forgotten and became stories, then legends, then myth, and finally fairy tales. The last in the cycle. By that time though more often than not the truth is gone. Lost underneath the layers of time. Why do you ask?"
"Some part of me still thinks they serve a purpose."
"More than just entertainment?"
"Each one holds some kind of message. A whisper from the past hidden deep. We just have to find it."
"And what would be the message of the tale I just told you?"
Clementine ran a hand through his hair as he thought. "That the most beautiful of things can be ugly on the inside, but that doesn't mean you look away."
"Seems like a stretch to me."
"Perhaps. I'm just a naïve kid grasping for straws."
The two of them cracked smiles before laughing together loud enough to catch Old Gran's attention.
"What do you two think you're doing?" she shouted, "You just finished one side. Go fetch more timber."
"What kind?" asked Clementine as he tried his best to contain his laughter.
"Whatever you can scrounge up." Was her reply.
Engulfed in fire, the wood crackled and charred black. The flames rose to lick Runt's skin. Smoke filled his lungs. Each gasping breath was like swallowing needles. He stumbled blindly in the inferno. A distant voice cried out to him but their words were devoured in the roar of the fire. Runt stepped back, the floorboards giving way beneath his weight. With a scream, he plummeted down into darkness. He tore through layer after layer of thick black webbing each one slowing his descent until at last he bounced to a halt.
The silky strings held him suspended in the air. Runt tried to fight his way free but the more he struggled the more tangled he became. From the gloom came a dim glow. Eight burning red eyes watching him. Each one the size of Runt's fist. They circled him. Invisible hands reached out, spinning Runt round and round. The webs thickened until they were as tough as steel. The creature continued to weave its cocoon. The black webbed prison encased his entire body, leaving only a small slit for his eyes. Enough to see the six other cocoons opposite him. Each one punctured, leaving a gaping hole where an entire brood of baby spiders crawled inside.
The glint of a sharpened point lowered right before him. The giant needle bobbed in the air before lifting high and striking.
Runt jolted awake, gasping for air. He tumbled out of bed, clasping a hand over his stomach. His groping found nothing. No gaping hole. No brood of skittering spiders. But he could hear them crawling through the rotted wood of the surrounding buildings. He could hear everything. The whole hum of Refuge jumbled into one maddening cacophony.
Breathing heavily, Runt kicked his way to the corner of the room where he stayed. Numbness coursed through his veins like a poison. He couldn't even feel the floorboards beneath him. The noise in his head sounded distant as if he were underwater. Runt closed his eyes and breathed. His hand moved up and down with every breath. Each one easier than the previous until at last he opened his eyes. Alone. The voices had faded, giving way to silence. An empty quiet interrupted by the knock on his front door.
Wiping the tears from his eyes, Runt stood. The floor of his home was covered in saw dust. Several sculpted wooden figures were scattered on the ground. Runt had knocked them off their shelves in his struggle. He kicked through his old works, empty bottles, and other junk that cluttered his hovel of a home until he reached the front door.
Buckets sifted through the debris of a collapsed building, tossing any good pieces of timber back to Clementine who collected them in a neat little pile. In the sky above soared a pair of hawks. Buckets slowed in his work watching them. Enough for Clementine to notice.
"What do you think about when you look at them?" asked the younger man.
"Life." Said Buckets, "And you?"
"I'm overcome with an urge to go on journey." Mused Clementine, "Someplace far from here."
Buckets considered such a journey. Having taken one himself he knew the joys and dangers that accompanied it. Old memories beckoned him to reminisce.
"Do you miss it?" asked Clementine.
"Miss what?"
"Wherever it is you came from."
"Sometimes." admitted Buckets, "Things were a lot more comfortable in the city. That's for sure. Though too much comfort can be unsettling."
Clementine laughed but there was no humor in it. "It's funny. Everyone always refers to the other districts as 'the city'. As if we weren't a part of Refuge at all. Are we that far isolated that we are no longer a part of this city? This is where Refuge was born…right here in the mud. Did you know that?"
"Artisans say it started up in the Craft District, merchants say the Trade district, and politicians say the Administration District. Ask a rat and he'd say the sewer. Everyone thinks their own home is something special. Since no one back in the day bothered recording that type of stuff down we can't be sure. What does it matter anyway? Wherever Refuge first settled, it has little effect on the city today. There's no value in-"
"Shhhhhh." Hushed Clementine, "Someone's coming."
Buckets quit his rummaging and listened. The squish of footsteps pressing into the mud was soft, yet audible.
"One benefit of the Mud District," said Buckets, "it's impossible for anyone to sneak up on you."
Clementine opened his mouth, but said nothing. The footsteps halted before rounding the corner of the neighboring building. Just out of sight. Tense silence followed. Whoever it was didn't take another step. Buckets leaped down from the ruin.
"Who's there?"
In answer, the man stepped out into the open. Naz's nose had swollen with discoloration spreading across his flat face. In his right hand, he held a gun. A battle rifle so new it still shined. Clementine snarled and picked up a plank of wood as if ready to fight but Buckets stepped between them before either could take action.
Naz stared at the two of them, his finger brushing the trigger. Clementine inched forward, leveling the plank in his hand. Upon noticing the small movement Naz raised his gun and threw it in the mud at their feet.
"We need to talk." He said.
