Uh oh, it's almost two in the morning again. That can't be safe for anyone. D: anyway, I want to apologize for the use of annoying, generic characters. But for story structure, it has to be done. Forgive me...? Please. ; w; here's chapter nine, fresh out of the oven. Just for you, the reader. (;
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
As Bryan walked away from the scene of the crime, he couldn't stop the wave of guilt that washed over him. Guilt was a new concept for him; he didn't much feel bad for anything these days, let alone actions he himself committed. It was an ugly feeling, something he didn't like. He wanted it gone. Now.
Stop. Turn around. Go back. Apologize. Do something, damn it, don't just walk away!
His body had switched to auto-pilot. There was no turning back now.
Ugh… I'm just as bad as he is. Running away like a kicked puppy. Feh.
There was only silence, save for his own footsteps as he traversed the confusing channels of streets and back alleys the town was made up of. He was alone. Alone with his own thoughts that flooded and attacked his conscience. So many questions and so little answers.
What was he thinking? Why had he done… that?
Bryan could hardly blame it on the liquor. As far as he was concerned, he was completely sober. That was why he was having such crystal-clear, cringe-worthy thoughts, right? If he was drunk, the alcohol would have blocked everything out. It was with those thoughts in mind that he dearly wished he had knocked back a few more shots.
Maybe he would have passed out instead of… of… ugh.
Sighing heavily, he pulled his coat tighter around him. The air was brisk, cool, that evening. An eerie wind escaped down the narrow passage, rattling stray cans and rustling tossed papers. The amount of rubbish in the alley was staggering, almost like a labyrinth. It was also… unfamiliar.
Thunder crackled overhead. Bryan felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
A storm was brewing, something he would have been delighted for were it not the foreboding feeling that accompanied it. Somehow, someway, he felt that this particular storm was a bad omen of sorts, a sign of impending doom. Was he losing it, crazy for thinking such a thing?
… Probably.
Shifting the position of his shoulders, the Russian pressed on, determined to ignore each and every thought from then on. While he wasn't exactly inebriated, the little alcohol he did drink had been enough for a headache to spring up.
The streets became more and more complex as he went. A frown began to crease his eyebrows as he realized he was entering the downtown area, the more seedier parts of town. He must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. But that was impossible. He knew these streets like the back of his hand.
Emerging onto one of the main streets, he peered up and down the deserted road for a road sign. After finally locating it, his worst fears were confirmed. Feeling slightly unnerved, he looked over his shoulder before crossing the street. He ducked into another back alley, effectively hidden by the shadows.
This was a notorious part of town, and only stupid people would be caught wandering around after dark.
Bryan liked to think he wasn't on that list of people, but he certainly was on a list.
It might have had something to do with a warehouse fire, and yeah, it might have also had something to do with car theft, but he wasn't exactly welcome around these parts. Far be it from being afraid of anything, Bryan had decided he liked his face how it was; intact and still attached.
The Russian cringed inwardly as his foot struck a conveniently placed can, the noise echoing throughout the narrow alleyway. He cursed himself for not being more careful, picking up his pace a considerable amount. Light from the street beyond flooded the passage, signaling the exit of the shady alley.
Lightning pierced the sky, thunder rumbled again. That same sense of foreboding returned.
As if on cue, a dark shape barred the exit of the alley. Bryan's steps slowed until he finally stopped, standing with his hands clenching the inside of his coat pockets. His sharp eyes narrowed as the figure, a man, stood stone-still, almost like a gargoyle.
"So how's this gonna go down?" Bryan said after a time, loud enough for his voice to reach the tall figure. The other man did nothing, said nothing, merely stared back with slanted eyes that flickered with unknown intentions. "You going to hold me back while one of your goons softens me up?"
He was a thug. Thugs didn't mince words, they spoke with their fists. Or pointy, metal blades, whichever was available at the time.
The faintest hint of a smile appeared on the other man's lips. His form was shrouded by a thick over-coat, much too large for his build. The slight wind teased the ends of his coat tails, giving him an almost ominous appearance. He offered no response, remaining silent.
Bryan felt his patience wearing thin. This man obviously wanted something from him, and the western-style stand-off was growing old.
A flash of lightning lit up the alley, allowing for Bryan to see the man's ghoul-ish features more clearly. He shuddered inwardly, wishing he could mentally erase the picture from his mind. Droplets of rain began to fall from the darkened sky, making plinking noises on the garbage cans.
Another flash of lightning and the ghoul turned on his heel, heavy boots leading away from the alley. Confused, Bryan felt himself relax a little. However, that had almost seemed too easy. Was this a trap? Were they luring him into a false sense of security? Did they have something else—
Crack.
Bryan felt his breath hitch as something hard, something sharp, struck him against the back of his head. There was barely any time for shock to register on his face as he crumpled to his knees, lights exploding in his head shortly thereafter. The back of his head throbbed painfully, a hot, sticky substance matting his hair, rolling down his neck.
Blood…?
A shadowed body shuffled past him, heading in the direction the shady man had retreated in.
Unable to see past the dazzling arrays of light, all his senses distorted, the last thing Bryan remembered was crashing against the ground, a pathetic heap on the alley floor as rain washed against his pallid skin.
"… ryan!"
There was an aweful ringing noise. An aweful ringing, nagging noise. Why wouldn't it go away? Why wouldn't it shut up?
"Bryan! For God's sake, wake up."
Groaning pitifully, Bryan attempted to open his eyes. Blindsighted by the sharp, searing pain that shot through the back of his head, he instinctively closed them again. He reached a shaky hand up to inspect the damage, his fingers becoming tangled in the bloody mess of hair.
"… ow," he breathed. The gesture itself was enough to cause him to groan again, his arm falling limply at his side. He tried once again to open his eyes, at half-mast this time, catching sight of blood-red eyes staring at him critically.
Despite everything, Bryan smiled. An ironic kind of smile. Propped up against the wall, he laughed, regretting it an instant later.
"My knight come to rescue me, huh? Funny…" Bryan rasped, sleepily. "I expected someone… well, someone better suited for the job."
Robert just sighed, unamused, but deciding to let it go. He was crouched beside the fallen blader, holding him by the shoulders so that he didn't collapse against the ground again. The Russian appeared pale, moreso than usual, on the verge of passing out.
"If you have the energy to crack jokes…" Robert began, trying to keep the Russian steady. "Then you have the energy to help me get you to a clinic."
Bryan almost wanted to laugh again, but dismissed the idea. The whole scenario was ironic, as if the two had done a role-reversal. Only this time, one of them really was injured and one of them really was worried for that person's well-being.
He felt pathetic. But at the same time, he was almost… happy.
Even after all the names, the mockery he made of him, the shameless display earlier that night, the German nobleman had cared enough to not abandon him to whatever fate may befall him. That's why he was here, right? Because he cared?
There were a million and one things buzzing around in his head at the moment. The sharp, throbbing pain in the back of his head, the dizzying, nauseous feeling welling in the pit of his stomach, the blinding white lights that obscured parts of his vision…
Amongst everything he could and should be thinking of, all Bryan wanted to do was apologize.
His arms snapped up, hands catching the noble around the face. The sudden gesture must have startled Robert as the grip on his shoulders tightened slightly. Accidentally smearing blood across the German's face, the silver-haired blader was about to open his mouth when something else hit him.
Tilting his head back, he peered up at the darkened sky as cold droplets of water washed over his face.
Oh. It's raining.
As if in confirmation, thunder rumbled ominously. Bryan shifted his attention back to Robert, who was peering at him questioningly. He stared into the endless sea of red, taking a moment to gather his words.
But he was so dizzy and sleepy and sick and oh he just wanted to throw up…
"I… I…" Lost, Bryan fell back against the wall, letting the drizzle of rain wash over him. Releasing his grip on the confused nobleman, he said, finally, "… I didn't bring an umbrella."
