Chapter Twenty-Five
Meanwhile...
Shelly was a pleasant enough woman, Ontario had decided. Well, as pleasant as she could be, considering the fact that she kept shooting suspicious looks at him and Canada; but she was happy to shelter Walt, which was enough for Ontario to put his misgivings aside.
Ontario had turned on the radio that sat in a small nook near the kitchen sink, hoping for some music; one of the conditions Shelly had placed upon the three of them in exchange for asylum was doing odd household chores in her place. Considering she was three months pregnant with another child to take care of, Ontario was only too happy to oblige, even if the woman was a tad overbearing.
"Mackenzie!" she hollered from the living room, "Make sure you get those pots good and clean, yeah? Matthew's offered to cook supper for us, and he'll be needing that kitchen soon!"
"Yes Ma'am..." Ontario mumbled, rolling his eyes as he continued to scrub. He was probably a rather ridiculous sight- a man in a prim suit and tie, sleeves rolled up to reveal rather muscular forearms that were currently submerged in hot, soapy water.
Ontario scowled at the radio. Turning the damn thing on had been a big mistake. He HATED these kinds of songs, all obnoxious noise and yelling...
"LET'S START A RIOT!" The musician howled, over and over again. Honestly, if that was singing, then the easterner would wrap his tie around some French fries and eat it with cheese curds and gravy.
The song ended, and the announcer came back on the radio, sounding rather...disturbingly excited.
"Helloooooo Calgary! That was "Riot" by Three Day's Grace, because we've been getting more requests for it than we know what to do with!"
Ontario's eyes went wide.
"Anyway, we've got a bit of news for whoever's listening...looks like those Eastern Fu- uh, I mean, the, ahem, "Strike team" sent to retake the city's been turned around somewhere near Strathmore and they're heading back to Lethbridge. Meaning we have another day or so to prepare. Once again, this is from the chief of police himself: we need every able-bodied person over the age of 16 to report to the downtown core to help with the counter-offensive. Please bring supplies for an overnight stay, as well as whatever weapons you might have. Further instructions will be given there. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT come if you are pregnant, are an only parent, or are under the age of 16. For the love of god, PLEASE do not bring your children. There's no shame in staying home if you've got kids to look after, people. Your first duty is to them."
Ontario breathed a sigh of relief. Okay, so they weren't beyond salvation. There was still some morals in this province. They could still be saved.
Wait, strike team?
The DJ wasn't forthcoming with any information pertaining to the strike team, and Ontario couldn't help but grind his teeth in frustration. Instead, he just...
"That's about it for the news right now. We're just gonna play some mellow vibes for a bit, yeah? I'm pretty sure you all know the words to this one."
And then the radio just cut to that same fucking white-noise static.
Ontario gulped and fumbled to switch it off, heart hammering in his chest. That white noise was starting to fill his head again, and he hated it; it seemed to swaddle all his thoughts in cotton balls, slowing his brain down to insultingly useless levels. He hammered the radio's off switch, releasing the breath he didn't know he'd been holding as soon as the kitchen was filled with silence instead of static.
There was something about that fucking white noise, something...malignant. It was like it was...alive. It didn't seem to really control people itself; it just...
It just made them lose their fucking minds.
The province scrubbed at the last pot, listening to Walt playing with Shelly's son in the next room. Unsurprisingly for a pilot's son, he had a lot of toy airplanes to play with; and where Walt failed at making airplane noises (Surprising for a co-pilot), little Jason was more than skilled enough to make up for Walt's deficiency.
It was actually rather cute, and much like himself, the First Officer looked just as ridiculous in his pilot's uniform. Walt didn't have any spare clothes either, since all of their suitcases were still aboard the plane; and none of them were in any hurry to get them back.
Ontario ambled into the living room where Canada was sitting on the couch, cradling his head. The province was simply grateful that he didn't' have to suffer the agony that Canada was currently going through- listening to people raging at him in his mind at all hours of the day or night had to be more than a little unpleasant.
Not helping was the fact that Shelly was sitting on the same couch, idly scrolling through some news on her tablet. Captain Price's wife seemed to be simply tolerating his and Canada's presence as an unpleasant necessity; it was clear from the way she looked at the two personifications that she was only doing this for Walt, and by extension her husband. She glanced up from the news and squinted at Ontario, studying his face, before glancing back down at the feed and continuing to read.
Shelly was a pretty woman, all things considered; brown hair and brown eyes and a nicely-shaped face, even if the growing baby bump looked a bit out of place on her frame. Captain Price's second child. The province smiled weakly at her; he couldn't help the slight pang of jealously in his heart. After all, Ontario would never know what it was like to have a child of his own. A personification's immortality was a blessing wrapped in a curse, and one of the many conditions it operated on was reproductive sterility. That was the domain of humans.
On the other hand, living forever and regenerating from any major injury was totally awesome.
Shelly was still giving him the stink-eye, and Ontario just smiled weakly by way of a response. Canada suddenly bolted up off the couch, staring straight at Ontario with an expression of absolute terror on his face.
He quickly forced on the most nervous smile the personification had ever seen, and before Ontario could ask Canada what the hell was going on (in French, obviously, lest Shelly call the police on them) the nation cut him off.
"Ah...Miss Price? What...what would you like me to make up for supper? Would you like me to do up some steaks?"
Steaks?
There was desperation in that man's voice, Ontario noticed; perhaps Canada's plan was to grill up some steaks in an attempt to curry favour with Shelly. Whatever she was reading, Canada must have gotten a good look at it.
Shelly just nodded, closing up her tablet and putting it away.
She was still staring at them.
Ontario gulped.
Meanwhile...
Manitoba grinned and cracked his knuckles.
"Well, well, well. Look who came to play with the so-called parasites." The Métis man spat, hatred burning in his blue eyes. The prairie province had some as-yet unresolved anger issues that normally just bubbled away deep within his brain. It turned out that making a province out of the personification of a group of violent rebels left the kid with some deeply-buried rage. Who knew? The last few days had just been an exercise in bringing those issues to the surface and seeing exactly how angry Manitoba could truly be.
This was not something Corvus really wanted to find out, but he didn't have much of a choice.
And to make matters even worse, the prairie province was standing in front of the door to the cage.
The premier had a spare set of keys that Calgary hadn't bothered to ask for. Perhaps because the city simply didn't know about them; Corvus had taken great pains to conceal them from everyone, just in case he should get trapped in his own cage.
Having the keys was all well and good, but ensuring he'd be alive to actually use them was the situation that he hadn't planned for.
Manitoba was a tall, tall man, and when he lunged, Corvus yelped in fright. A huge, spade-shaped hand grabbed the front of the premier's black suit, jerking him hockey-style into convenient bludgeoning range for the province's upraised fist.
"I'M GONNA TEAR YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF AND THEN GET QUEBEC TO MAKE SOUP WITH YOUR FUCKING BLOOD!"
"...Ew." Québec commented from his corner, unwilling to lift a finger to help the premier but more than a little grossed out by the idea of Corvus Minestrone. It would probably taste like steak sauce and corruption. Blech.
"WAIT! PLEASE, PLEASE I CAN HELP YOU STOP-"
Manitoba didn't give a rat's ass about what the human wanted. He was a fucking monster, and he needed a good hard punch square in the jaw. Get rid of some of those nice white teeth, maybe then he wouldn't go around calling people parasites just 'cause they were born a certain fucking way-
Suddenly, someone grabbed his wrist and held his fist back.
"Manny. Stop."
The Métis man whipped his head around and snarled at Saskatchewan, fist still clenching the front of Corvus's clothes. His younger brother had a death grip on his wrist, and though Manitoba was loath to admit it, the farmer's strength had long since surpassed his own.
"Why? Why the fuck should I stop? Give me one good reason I shouldn't beat this fucking human to death and then piss on his fucking corpse. One. Good. Reason."
Saskatchewan sighed.
"Much as I'd love for you to get rid of him for us...we need his help."
The entire cage went dead silent as BC and Québec stared at the tall blonde farmer like he'd lost his fucking mind.
"...His HELP?!" echoed Manitoba, his voice rattling the bars of the cage overhead and being absorbed by the soundproofing in the walls, "HIS FUCKING "HELP" IS WHAT FUCKED UP ALBERTA IN THE FIRST PLACE! HIS FUCKING "HELP" IS WHY WE'RE STUCK IN THIS FUCKING CAGE WITH NO FUCKING FOOD!"
Saskatchewan sighed. "...That's a fair point, I guess."
Corvus sensed his only reprieve was slipping away from him, and before the farmer had let go of Manitoba's wrist, he spluttered:
"WAIT- I- I HAVE A SPARE SET OF KEYS! I CAN HELP YOU! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DON'T KILL ME-"
Well, there went his ace in the hole.
Manitoba raised an eyebrow, still glaring at him.
"Good. We'll pull them off your corpse on the way out." He ripped his fist out of Saskatchewan's startled grip, raised it up, and-
"MANNY, STOP!"
This time Saskatchewan wasn't alone in restraining his brother. BC had joined the fray, and with the two of them holding his arm back, that limb wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.
And to Corvus's immense relief, Manitoba released his shirt in an attempt to get his siblings off of him.
"Manny, for fuck's sake, if I fall on you, you're not getting up anytime soon-" BC growled, "And you. Human. How the fuck can you help us?"
Corvus swallowed nervously.
"I, I'll...I'll explain the- the frequency! I'll explain everything! Just- Just spare me, please!"
The premier was aware that he sounded weak and pathetic, but that was because he was. Getting out of that cage alive was slightly higher on his priorities list than ensuring his plan came to fruition. After all, he needed to be alive to have that happen, and besides, there wasn't some magical kill-code to switch all the brainwashing off; it wasn't like they could touch him even if he did tell them everything.
Saskatchewan was staring at him, and you could see the wheels turning in his head as he processed Corvus's statement and thought about what he intended to do next. He was here for one reason and one reason only, and that was to save his twin sister. And Corvus had just offered him a golden opportunity to do exactly that.
"You will, eh?" he echoed, eyes narrowing, "You'll explain everything?"
"Yes! Everything! Anything you want to know! Please don't kill me oh please oh please-"
An idea entered the farmer's mind. A germ of a plan, the seeds sown and ready to grow into something greater. Step one was naturally to get the hell out of dodge, which wasn't liable to be easy. They needed both Corvus, and Corvus's keys, and a way to ensure Corvus wouldn't immediately roll on them the minute they let him out of the cage, which was doubtless what the slimy fucker was intent on doing.
Saskatchewan tapped Manitoba on the shoulder and gestured for his brother to move aside, which he grudgingly did, giving his younger brother the stink-eye as he did so.
And then it was Saskatchewan who stood between Corvus and freedom, and he held out his hand. The intimidation factor was somewhat spoiled without his trademark straw hat; he never packed it with him when he went to Council of the Federation meetings, since it tended to get squashed in the plane's hold and he would be damned before he was checking a fucking hat box separately from his luggage.
Still, it seemed to work- the premier shrank away from his scowl, and Saskatchewan crooked his fingers and very calmly said,
"Give me your keys."
Corvus shook his head. No, no a thousand times no. He wasn't handing over his only bargaining chip, no way no how-
"Listen to me, Corvus. Give me your keys or I really will let Manny beat you to death and to hell with the consequences. I, personally, want you alive. Do you understand me, human? I want you alive. I don't need you alive. Now give me the keys or we'll stove your head in."
Sometimes, Saskatchewan was very glad he had the ability to lie with a straight face.
Corvus decided it was best not to test the blonde fellow's temper and grudgingly pulled the keys out of a hidden pocket on the inside of his jacket, revealing the empty handgun holster for a fraction of a second as he did so. The premier was already scheming himself, already formulating a plan of his own. Oh, he'd help these parasites escape, he certainly would. He'd even offer them his blessings for a safe passage to his own house. And then he'd hand over all the secrets of his special frequency, of course he would.
And by the time he was done telling them all his secrets, they'd all be marching to the beat of his drum, as inexorably as the people of Alberta.
Perhaps he'd order the French one to shoot himself. That would be fun to watch, at the very least. The green-eyed farmer he couldn't touch, because he was Alberta's twin; he'd just get him to shoot that other one, Manitoba. That would do a good job of breaking the boy, and also take care of that particular loose end. He didn't care much for the woman who smelt of weed, but she was necessary too; he'd tolerate her presence for now, if only because she had the access to the ocean they so desperately needed.
Yes. That was an excellent plan.
Corvus's keys came to rest in the palm of Saskatchewan's hand, and by the time they had the premier's face had gone from terrified to defiant. Oh, he'd play along with their little game, and perhaps he'd be able to break their spirits along the way.
What fun it was to play with the minds of immortals.
"I take it you intend to escape?" Corvus said calmly, the smile creeping back onto his face. He could feel the power returning to him, where it rightfully belonged. They may have been all-powerful in this tiny cage, but outside the bars he still held the real power.
"Because if you DO intend to escape, perhaps it would be prudent to take me with you. And perhaps it would be even more prudent to allow me to convince mister Edmonton to come with us, too. He can sense you all moving around, you know. And he will know if you attempt to leave. And then he might...call the police. Which would be rather a shame, wouldn't it?"
Silence was the only response. Brows were furrowed, and Saskatchewan had opened his mouth to reply as soon as one came to mind, but Corvus cut him off.
"So perhaps it might be prudent to put you lot in handcuffs and get Edmonton to get a pistol off the guards so we might properly escort you from the building-"
"Or perhaps it might be prudent to just put you in a headlock and threaten to snap your fucking neck. That might also be prudent. I think Sasky can do the holding, and I'll make sure Eddy won't be seeing anything but stars for awhile, you know?"
To everyone's surprise, it was BC that spoke those words. The raven-haired woman had had enough of Corvus's shit, and it was high time they got the fuck out of there.
"Anyway...I think we've argued enough. Shall we, boys?"
A/N:
-I know the rules say no song lyrics, but shhh. I just added that 'cause I felt it was quite apropos. It ain't a songfic if there's no song, right?
So I'm going off to uni in a week, and I had to go shopping for clothes today. Bleh. Which is why your update was so late. Double bleh.
Also, it's officially been an entire week since the story stats worked, and I get the feeling I'm never gonna see those views again. What's with this site and being generally shit? There hasn't even been mention of it on the site news. I'd move to Ao3, but I don't write gay porn so I probably wouldn't fit in.
That was a joke, nobody get butthurt.
Anyway, what with the traffic graph still snorting arsenic off a lead table, reviews, follows and favourites are the only way I have of knowing anyone's reading. Don't be shy guys.