It Could Be Worse
Episode 15: Cleon, My Hero
By Sulia Serafine
[2-2-01. A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. And for the last time! I don't own the Three Stooges! So don't mention how I'm using them! As I've said before, I'm broke, so you can't sue me.
Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!
E-mail me at silverwLng@aol.com, okay? Thank you and have a nice day.
P.S. Sorry this took so long again. I've been busy. It's something you just have to accept. (Not that I want to…) Darn writer's block! Once you've written something like Episode 14, it's hard to make a follow up…]
Cleon Kennan yawned. He was so tired, and so very bored. Idly, he fogged the window with his breath and drew pictures with his finger. He made a little squeaking noise as his fingertips moved over the glass. After a while, he grew disinterested in that, too, and slumped down in his seat.
They had left Galla after the incident at the arena. Garvey Runnerspring had found their motel and demanded Joren's head on a platter. They, excluding Joren, just stared at him sympathetically before the blonde biker stepped out… and punched him again. From there, it was a scramble for Joren's motorcycle and a bus heading out of Galla. They barely escaped the wrath of more arena officials upon hearing of Joren. Everyone but he and Keladry were a bit confused by this, but the two did not speak a word.
In fact, Cleon observed, they hardly said anything to anyone. It was normal for Joren to keep to himself, but every once in a while he was obliged to yell at the redhead or the thief-- which Joren did not do. Cleon had annoyed Lalasa and Roald for half an hour, and not a word from him. Keladry, on the other hand, spoke when she was spoken to. She pretended to be listening in the conversation, and almost about to participate, but she never did. The smile was not real. He knew fake smiles.
"Hey, Tough Stuff!" Cleon leaned over the isle and touched his finger to the tip of her nose. She recoiled and made a face.
"Yes?"
"Is something bothering you?"
She shook her head. "No. I was just… thinking."
He reluctantly sat back in his seat. "Oh. Okay. So, what are you think--"
"Don't you usually talk to Faleron?" Keladry asked irritably, glancing about for the charismatic young man.
"He's asleep in front of me."
She twisted her head to see Faleron and nodded. Then, she sat back and started gazing out the window, choosing to completely ignore him. Offended, he folded his arms and slumped further down into his seat. Each member of his group was being absolutely boring. What in the world was a tall, enthusiastic redhead supposed to do with all his penned up energy?
He stretched his arms to his sides and yawned.
"Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer… Take one down; pass it around-- ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall. Ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall, ninety eight bottles of beer…"
~~
Keladry glanced briefly out the window at Joren on his bike, completely enveloped in his own thoughts. She wondered fleetingly if he even cared about what happened-- if he even acknowledged the ephemeral passage in time when he was human. Flesh and blood. And tears.
"It was all a mistake. I was kind of shook up… My head was messed up. I did something I shouldn't have. Sorry if I led you on or anything…"
Yes. He had been shook up. That didn't explain why he had done it, why he had kissed her. Keladry was not bothered by the action itself more than its motives. Could it be a hidden affection for her? Some sort of love? Or was it just what he had said, a mistake with no reason at all. Maybe their closeness had been so tempting that he just went ahead and took the liberty of giving Kel her first kiss.
She scolded herself silently for letting it consume her thoughts. It wasn't like she was in love. It was simply her first kiss. It was natural to think about it, about every detail. Besides, how could she every fall for an arrogant, disdainful, and rude biker from Tusaine, or actually, Galla? He showed no emotion but hate and anger. He was violent.
He was a lost man who'd been thrown headfirst off the just path. And he'd never actually got back onto his feet on the path after that. Joren just wandered on and off, in search of something he could never find-- something she would never know.
Keladry sighed and decided to sleep off the rest of the bus ride. She snuggled down into a comfortable position and closed her eyes. But sleep did not come.
~~
"Welcome to Scanra."
The billboard in front of the city was bright and cheery. The homes past it were neat and orderly. Every single house was identical. All the buildings of the business district looked identical as well. White picket fences bordered all the fresh green lawns. There were two cars in every garage. There was one flowerbed next to the front door. The only thing that differed was the colors of the houses and the cars in the garages. It amazed the group as the bus passed through the neighborhood and further into the city.
"You'd think this was a movie set or something," Cleon thought. He reached over the bus seat and nudged Faleron. "Wake up, Fal. Take a look at this."
The sleepy young man rubbed his eyes like a child and stretched. "Hmm? Take a look at what?"
"This city," Lalasa said as she entered the conversation. "It's Scanra, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Cleon nodded. "Wake up, Fal!"
"I'm up! Don't talk so loud, Kennan." Faleron sat up and peered out the window. His eyes widened. "That's awfully strange."
The bus went on to drop them off in the middle of the city at the bus depot. The air was cleaner than most city air. But there was an awful stench coming from down the street. Cleon turned and wrinkled his nose. "Garbage truck?"
"And the place was this close to being perfect," Lalasa sighed. Suddenly, her face lit up. She tapped Keladry on the shoulder. "I have to take you and Joren somewhere. You have to meet someone."
Keladry frowned. "Since when did you have connections in Scanra?"
She folded her arms. "I just do. We can find out more information on what's happening in Mithros from him."
Roald stepped forward. "I'll go, too."
Lalasa flinched. She turned to him and clasped his hand in both of hers. Roald meant so much to her, and she didn't want him to feel rejected. So, with a soft voice, she said, "I want you to stay with the rest of the guys. The bumbling fools will need your protection."
"Hey!" Cleon interjected. "That isn't nice, 'Lasa!" He stuck his tongue out.
The vice president's son blinked. "But why? Something might happen to you--"
"I'll be fine." She hooked arms with Keladry and grinned. "I have ex-DJPF officers for protection. Right?"
Joren growled softly as he got off his bike. Then he hung his helmet on the back of the seat. He'd been following the bus and just now decided to join them. "This better be worth our time. Kennan, King, Jasson… you three find a place to stay. How long is this going to take, Isran? We have more important things to do."
"I don't know. We might stay over for a couple of days with him."
Cleon suddenly whooped. "Days without you! Yes! This is gr-- OW!"
Lalasa stomped on his foot. He hopped on one foot, cursing. Roald sighed and Faleron rolled his eyes. After a few more minutes of talking, they decided that Keladry, Joren, and Lalasa would contact the rest of the guys when they were done, and not before then. The three young bachelors were to find a place to stay and secure it while waiting for the former to finish their business (although Faleron and Roald thought it incredibly unfair that they were missing out on the action).
That evening:
Faleron flipped the light switch to their hotel room and trudged over to the first bed. He flung his bags onto it and touched his lower back gently. He yawned from exhaustion. "You know, a lot can happen in a couple of days."
Roald put down his baggage. He sat down on the bed next to that one and scratched his head. "I wonder what was so important. Lalasa never told me she had connections in Scanra. I thought she'd told me everything by now."
"Aww, girl troubles?" Cleon taunted as he jumped onto the bed beside him. He started bouncing high enough to hit his head on the ceiling. "Hey! This bed is pretty good! Can I have this one Roald? I slept on the floor last time!"
Faleron snorted. "No, you didn't. You threw me out of my bed and slept there."
The redhead smiled sheepishly and ceased his bouncing, much to Roald's relief. Cleon leapt off the bed and paced about the small room. There was thin tan carpeting and blank white walls. In a corner were a refrigerator, a sink, and a stove. Then opposite of it was the bathroom. A holo-screen was the only object to adorn the blank off-white walls. "So, Fal, buddy, do you think you'll find your precious gambling circuits around here?"
The dignified young man laughed. "In Scanra? I wish."
Cleon shrugged. "Well, maybe we'll make our own, huh?" He sat down beside his best friend. "I actually feel like playing cards tonight, even if I'm going to lose. So, what do you say?"
His comrade shrugged. "I think I'm going to go out for a walk," Faleron said impulsively. "Something inside me feels like going for a walk." He shrugged again. "And that's especially strange since I'm tired from carrying those bags all day."
"Are you sure that's safe? Uh, going for a walk-- I mean." Roald asked.
He nodded. "Look at Scanra! It's so… quaint. What could possibly happen?" He smiled slightly. "Do either of you gentlemen care to join me?"
"No, thanks. Have fun, Fal. And don't steal anything!" Cleon called after the thief, who promptly gave him a vulgar hand signal, then ironically, a tip of his hat. The door closed quietly behind him. He turned to Roald. "So, what do you want to do?"
"Sleep," he replied. "There's nothing much else to do anyhow. Lalasa's not here to talk to."
"I can talk with you!"
Roald stared at him.
"What?" Cleon raised an eyebrow. "I can't be talked with?"
"Yelled at, yes," Roald chuckled. "Talked with, no."
"Aww, that hurts, man."
A snicker. "I'm sure it does, Kennan."
~~
Faleron walked along the dark streets with his hands in his pockets, hat tilted on his head. Brand new streetlights lit his path. Not a stray dead leaf had fallen on the sidewalk, despite all the trees surrounding him. It was really unbelievable how perfectly average the city was. He strolled down a neighborhood street, listening to the crickets from the pond nearby, and then of the owl in the old oak. The shadows fell across the sidewalk now, and he couldn't see his own feet.
"Need more lights on this street," he commented absently and walked on.
A sudden noise alerted his senses. His head turned sharply toward the source. Across the street, the door to a light blue house stood ajar. Faleron glanced around him. The street was empty save for him. He jogged across and made his way slowly towards the door. He knew the sounds of a fellow thief as he.
Which brought Faleron to the question, Why was he interfering? It was something you didn't do in his line of work, interfering with a fellow thief. Sure, you saw it in the movies all the time. One thief competing against another to get the precious treasure-- but that didn't happen in real life. In real life, every 'thief' kept to his own turf, his own claim. Well, that was how it happened in his world. It was an unspoken rule of respect for him.
So why was he breaking it?
"It's not a burglary," he thought. "Something doesn't feel right."
He cautiously entered the house, flattening himself against the hallway walls as he went. There were scuffles of feet somewhere else in the house. Faleron wish he had a weapon, but he didn't. This was insane. He had to get out of the house and get help. But something else told him it would be too late.
"Thief!" a man yelled.
"Damn it!" another man yelled. There was a crashing noise. Then, the sounds of punches and blows being exchanged made their way to his ears. Faleron ran down the dim hall toward the master bedroom at the end. The lights were on. The lights went on in two other rooms.
"Daddy! What happened?"
Children.
Faleron backed into the shadows again as they doors opened and a boy around nine and a girl around eight came out. He heard the screams of a woman, and then the first man again.
"Billy! Call 911!" the man yelled. The boy ran past Faleron and down the hall. There was a clatter as he knocked the phone off the high counter and started to dial for help. Faleron was frozen in place. He didn't know what to do.
He heard a gunshot. Then, there was a heavy thud. Silence.
"Jon!" the woman shrieked. The little girl started towards the door, but he dashed forward and grabbed her from getting any closer. She screamed.
"No! No, shh," he whispered, covering the girl's mouth. "I'm a good guy!" He picked up the struggling child and ran into her room. He set her down and tried to quiet her, but she was bawling. He cursed under his breath and went back out, locking the door behind him.
"Shut up, bitch!" the intruder screamed. Faleron heard a slap from the other side of the door. He backed up in the hall to get a running start. Then he took off, ramming through the door. He burst into the room. Bullets flew past his head as he threw himself at the dark clad man and assaulted him.
A woman in her early thirties fell to her knees. She was crying hysterically over her bleeding husband. The man, with thinning black hair was lying limply on the floor in a pool of his own dark red blood.
"What the hell!" The man tried to point his gun at Faleron, but the thief was holding on tightly to the other's arm and trying to force it away. They grappled for the gun violently. The man kicked him in the stomach. But Faleron rammed his middle and brought him down to the floor again. He punched him madly in the face, but with one well placed kick, the younger man was thrown off.
"Oh my God!" the woman sobbed. She tried to drag her husband away from the fight, tears coursing down her cheeks as she feebly backed away.
Faleron spat blood onto the floor as he was kicked in the stomach again. He couldn't breathe. It hurt so much. If only he could just die, instead of continue on. But there was an innocent family in the crossfire. They were not going to die. He would not allow it. Faleron grabbed the intruder's foot again as it came towards him and twisted. The man fell on his side, screaming profanities. He tried his best to hold the man down, but again he lost and was struck violently on the side of his head.
"Daddy! Mommy! What's going on?" the little boy cried as appeared in the doorway. His plump cheeks were pale and his soft brown hair was tousled. The woman reached out to him as she held on desperately to her husband.
"Billy! Run!"
"Shit!" the man yelled and aimed his gun.
"No!" Faleron screamed.
~~
The stricken look in the little boy's expression will haunt me forever. His body fell to the floor and made a thud sound just as his father's had. The woman abandoned her husband to cry over her son. But as she turned her back, the bastard shot her, too. I couldn't do anything. I couldn't… I couldn't get to them fast enough.
God, I would have taken the bullets for them. That son of a bitch! I can still hear him scream his curses as he shot at them. Something inside me tore loose. His back was to me as he finished off the innocent woman. I jumped him from behind again, this time, wrenching my arm around his neck. I got a good grip of his head. And with a feral cry, I twisted it.
There was a loud crack as his neck broke. His body slumped down and myself with it. All my energy spent, I landed in the first man's puddle of blood while the blank eyes of the burglar stared at me. I tried so hard to get up. The girl was screaming from her room. She was alive. She was safe. She had to stay that way. Not after what happened to her family… Not…after that…
She was safe. But the problem was that as the police crashed into the house and approached my fallen self, I knew I wasn't.
~~
Cleon was having the greatest dream of his life. He was back home in Tortall, at Headquarters. Not only had he proven his worthiness of his rank, but also proven so much strength and valor that he was quickly promoted to first class. He was wearing a brand new field uniform-- still green-- and a brand new automatic handgun at his side. Everyone was calling him by name.
Ahead of him in the crowd, all his friends were clapping while they stood on a platform, waiting for him to join them. He eagerly reached them and was helped up. They patted him on the back, giving handshakes and hugs of congratulations. He grinned and laughed. Everyone laughed at his jokes. In the back of the crowd, Cleon could see his parents. And for once, they were smiling and laughing, too, at their son's success.
The communications screen beeped.
He awoke with a jerk, his beautiful dream ended. The redhead glanced around. Roald was still sleeping in his bed, too far away from the comm. screen. He was covered in a thick blanket. And since Faleron had not arrived home early enough, Cleon had taken his best friend's bed. So, he reached over to the nightstand and answered the call.
"Hello?"
"Cleon, thank God," Faleron said in a scratchy voice that was so unlike his normally confident one. His face was pale and there was a gash on his left cheek. Cleon tried to adjust the view settings of the screen, but it stayed the same. His friend was really that color and there really was a gash on his cheek. The collar of his shirt was wrinkled. And the imposing eyes of the thief were wide and panicked. Cleon sat up straighter, running a hand through his messy hair.
"Fal, man, you look terrible. What happened? Why didn't you come back last night?"
Faleron bit his lip, something he normally didn't do. Now Cleon knew something was horribly wrong.
"Fal? Fal, what is it?" He paused and turned around. "Roald! Wake up!" The other man did not wake up. Still holding the communications screen, Cleon went over to the other bed and yanked the covers off.
Pillows. "But… where is he?"
"Cleon! I don't have much time!" Faleron said, his voice breaking into a sob.
"Aww, man… Oh shit, what happened?"
"I was walking in a neighborhood last night… I heard something, so I went to investigate… and … a family… burglar… oh, God, he even shot the little boy," Faleron was crying unrestrainedly. "The police…th-think it's me, Cleon. They're not even looking at the evidence! They're shipping me straight to the executioner! God…"
Cleon was speechless. He stared into the eyes of his comrade and saw only fear and sorrow. "But, Fal… Fal, buddy, you didn't do anything. You didn't--"
"I did," he hoarsely whispered. He sniffled loudly and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "I can't talk about it right now. My time's running out. Come down to the police station, would you?"
He nodded grimly. The screen blinked off. The transmission was done. Cleon sat down slowly on Roald's bed, tossing the comm. screen away from him and cradling his head in his hands. He shut his eyes tightly against the light flooding in from the windows and the lamp next to the bed. Numbly, he stood up again. Cleon mechanically dressed himself like an automaton, no flicker of emotion in his expression.
Roald was not there. Where was he? Did he know that something like this was happening to their friend? Cleon was angry that the vice president's son had sneaked out. No doubt he was going after Lalasa like he always did. Love beat friendship hands down. But Cleon didn't have love. He had friendship. That was Faleron.
"Everything's fine," he told himself as he left the hotel room. He exited the place they were staying at and waited at a bus stop for fifteen minutes. During that time, he tried to clear his mind. Being sad sucked. That was a statement of his makeshift philosophy. No matter what you did, bad things happened. It was all a matter of how you chose to handle them most of the time.
"Smile," he commanded himself. "Laugh. Make jokes. Make everyone feel better. You can't let Ice Cream Pants see you so upset. He needs the clown right now." He rubbed his hands together nervously. Since when did he have so many calluses? The redhead blinked and threw the irrelevant thought from his head as the bus arrived. "Be happy. That's the way, Cleon."
~~
Roald squinted with one eye at the man before him. He'd received a black eye no less than thirty minutes ago. It hurt a large amount, but now was no time to fret over it. His assailant was still present and waiting. But waiting for what?
"You're Roald Jasson, aren't you?" he asked. He was a little bit older than he with a very familiar face was.
"Yeah," he answered. "That's me. Now, who are you?"
A smile appeared on the stranger's face. "Vinson Genlith. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"You! You're the one who kidnapped Lalasa!" he exclaimed. He clenched his fists. "I'll make you pay for that."
Vinson glared at him as he rolled up his sleeves. "You're such a wannabe, do you know that? Do you think you can actually pass for the stupid knight in shining armor bit and always defend her?" He laughed throatily. "Because you can't. Not if I've had my time with her." He winked.
"Hey! Don't you talk about her!"
"Oh, looks like I've hit a nerve."
Roald, overcome and clouded by hate, charged forward, preparing himself to attack.
~~
The thief was completely metamorphosed by the time Cleon arrived. Faleron sat quietly in his cell, staring at the floor. Tears no longer hung from his lashes, nor trailed down his cheeks. His head was hung in a shameful, guilty manner. Waves of remorse seemed to drown him in their cold depths.
"Fal?" Cleon whispered. It was very quiet in the police station. He almost regretted talking. "Fal, how are you holding up?"
The normally sophisticated young man leaned back and forced a smile. "I'm fine. What else can a fellow be, huh?"
He nodded. "So, what exactly happened?"
The guard standing nearby shifted, coughing into his hand. Cleon shot a look at him and came closer to the cell's door.
"I struggled with the burglar after he shot the father. Then he had me stunned, and he killed a little boy and the mother," Faleron said, rubbing his temples. He shook his head. "I killed the burglar. Kennan, I killed a man."
Cleon gulped. What was he supposed to say to this? "It was self-defense, man. They're charging you for the deaths of the family and that man. You have to prove you're innocent."
"But I'm not! I killed a man!"
"Stop that! Isn't there any witnesses left alive?"
Faleron pulled his knees up to his chest and sighed. "The little girl. She's an orphan now, I suppose. She's been traumatized. She won't talk to anyone." He closed his eyes. "I wanted to see her and make sure she's okay, but they yelled at me and…"
"It's okay, man. I'll think of something," Cleon said. He scratched his forehead. "So, there's no trial?"
"No trial. The law here is harsher because crimes are hardly committed in this utopian society. They know the real criminal is dead," Faleron said quietly. He shrugged. "I'm just their scapegoat."
Cleon couldn't believe his ears. "And you're going to let them do this to you?"
The guard moved forward. The tall redhead held his hands up, backing away from the cell door. Faleron stood up and grasped the iron bars of his holding cell. He pressed his cheek against the door. Faleron looked so strange, pale and quiet like a ghost. There were no witty remarks made toward him. There were no calls of 'grasshopper' or tips of his hat. His hat was forever gone, cleared away by the police as they investigated the crime scene.
There were five more minutes of silence before the guard cleared his throat. Cleon sighed, folding his arms. "Leave it up to me, Thief-Boy. Everything's going to be cool. You can teach me your poker face when you get out of here."
"You think?"
"Oh yeah. And while you're at it, use the stupid face while you're in here. Don't let them think you want to deserve this. That's just crazy, pal. Crazier than getting chased down 34th street by a couple of cheated thugs."
Faleron chuckled. "I didn't cheat them. They were just really, really bad at poker."
"Sure they were."
"Is this your attempt at cheering me up? Because you're doing a lousy job."
"I know. Hang tight, man. I'll see you later."
Faleron waved weakly as the guard escorted him away. Cleon found out from a woman at the desk about Faleron's sentence. It was indeed execution. The redhead cursed silently, and left. He lingered outside the building for a while, concentrating on the predicament. Scanra was vicious in its laws. He guessed that's why everything appeared so perfect from an outward glance. All the people were kept in line. The city was unbelievably clean and orderly. If something bad happened, they didn't even examine the evidence. They just destroyed all that was connected with disturbing their perfection.
Namely, his best friend.
"This is so screwed up," he muttered. A day from now, they were going to tie Faleron to a chair, blindfold him, and bring in five men behind a barricade to shoot him. The nature of the execution had to fit the crime, they said. It sickened him.
Then, realization dawned on him. Roald was missing. Lalasa had taken Joren and Keladry to who-knows where. Faleron was obviously about to be executed for unjust reasons. That left Cleon to save the day.
"I think I'm going to be sick," he groaned and clutched his midsection. He leaned over into the bushes and up-ended his whole breakfast, which hadn't been much at all. After the nausea had passed, he cleaned himself up and went back to the hotel room. Maybe if he was lucky, he could find Roald and then he wouldn't be alone in his rescue of the thief.
~~
"Ouch. That's got to hurt."
"It's not as bad as it looks," Roald insisted, gasping for air as he spoke.
"Oh really?" Cleon gently poked him in the side.
"AH! Don't do that!"
"Bruised rib. I see," the redhead nodded. "A black eye, bruised ribs, bruised everything and a couple of scratches and cuts." He sat down on the bed beside him. He handed a moist cloth to the other young man. "Someone's been having a bit a fun…"
"Fun? Oh, yeah. Lots of fun," Roald sarcastically replied as he tried to shift the pillows under his head without using his bruised and banged fingers. "Lots of good-natured brawling fun. I would have gotten him if he didn't turn tail and ran."
"Sure you would have."
"He was worried about someone seeing him."
"Uh-huh. Right."
"Stop that!" he cried. His expression turned serious. "What about you and Faleron?"
He looked away. "They're going to kill him for the murders of four people, for only one he did in self defense and the rest not done by him at all."
Roald tried to sit up. Halfway, he flinched and went back down onto the bed. "What the… so, what's going on? What happened while I was gone?"
Cleon explained the entire story while he listened attentively. When he finished, there were a few moments of silence. Then, Roald said, "I want to help."
"I don't think you can, Mr. Black and Blue. You're a mess, dude. Lalasa's going to have a fit when she comes back."
"I can't just lie here while they're going to shoot him! It's enough we have to deal with all this corrupt government stuff without another form of government taking out its anger on our friend." He shook his head and stared up at the ceiling.
"Well, I think I have an idea," Cleon said with a shrug. "It's probably insane, but--"
"You are insane, if I quote Lalasa correctly."
He laughed. "Yeah, but I think we're desperate enough to try it."
~~
Keladry sat next to Lalasa and Joren on the couch. Across from them in an armchair was a dark skinned young man about Lalasa's age. The female Carthakian seemed very pleased to see him again. She was smiling like she did only with Roald, which actually brought a few questions to Keladry's mind.
"Guys, this is my cousin, Kaddar Iliniat. Kad, these are the ex-DJPF officers."
Her cousin flashed a grin. "The ones on the news?"
"Uh-huh," Keladry replied. "Nice to meet you. Lalasa says you get news and the sort from Mithros. Can you tell us what's going on right now?"
He nodded. "They still search for you. Alanna Olau Trebond has left the president's side to personally take on the search as well."
She inwardly cringed. "Anything else?"
"Your families are being constantly stalked by the media to get any information on you. They're not allowed at the DJPF headquarters." He handed her a thin clear plastic sheet with print on it. She read it.
"What about our charges as kidnappers?" Joren asked.
"Still stands. Maybe you should send the guy home."
Lalasa pouted. "But--"
"We can't send him home anyhow. Where the hell would we scrape up the money for air fare, or boat fare?" Joren said. He stood up and paced around. "Can we get some news from Copper City? Is the Mayor still getting away with his money?"
"I can check," Kaddar offered. He got up and left the room. Lalasa continued to pout while sitting dejectedly on the sunken couch. She didn't want Roald to go back. It could be good for him-- good for them, really. But he'd be back in the high world of politics, and maybe they would keep him there forever. Handcuff him to a desk while his parents watched over him like guard dogs. Roald told her many times of these fears. He wanted to stay with her. He wanted to be with her. Politics and family could take a rain check.
In the meantime, Keladry was observing her partner while not realizing that she was. It came naturally for her gaze to be drawn back to him. His gloves were off. His once pink and raw knuckles were back to normal. There were tiny, almost invisible marks-- the only evidence left of his breakdown. It saddened her. He was never going to let his guard down like that again. It was hopeless for her to even try to get him back to humanity.
Humanity.
He looked in her eyes, the fierceness in the arctic depths of his irises melted. And all the intimidation disappeared from him in those few moments. He was human-- not a frozen hearted shadow of a man. He was human.
She suddenly knew why he kissed her. It was not the temptation of their closeness, their foreheads pressed together with his quivering lips so near her own. It was not love, apparently, because love would have broken his stoic attitude towards her. It was his desire to feel human that made him kiss her. Emotionally collapsing like he had was a series of examples showing that there was still a warm beating heart in that icy shell of a man. And the kiss had sealed it.
When they had kissed, Keladry didn't even pay attention to him. She was too overwhelmed with her own feelings to notice how he was reacting during it.
It was an explosion of emotion inside of her. Her heart was pounding between her ears. All the blood rushed to her head. She closed her eyes and basked in the moment. After all the years of a prude and ignoring love, it vented out her unknown desire to want to fall in love. Keladry didn't know what to think at that moment. Her mind was blank as his lips continued to press against hers in a sweet dream.
No, she had not taken enough care to feel his reactions. Her own emotions had clouded her. So, what had he done?
As his lips brushed hers, tears fell down his cheeks, falling gently to the ground where they were absorbed and forgotten. He squeezed his eyes shut almost painfully. It was as if he wanted to force everything out of himself and into that one kiss. It was not with true fervor that he continued to stay with her like that, but something deeper. The feeling behind the kiss for him was not love, nor desire. It was desperation. Was he still human enough to feel something in this so simple of worldly acts?
No. Try as he might, he could not feel anything. And with disappointment, covered by silent rage, he pulled away.
"Keladry," he began.
She could have cried. It was really a mistake.
"What are you staring at, Mindelan?"
She snapped to attention. "Oh, sorry. It was nothing. Nothing at all…"
~~
"You really think you can do this?" Roald asked from his bed. No matter his protests, it was where he was confined until it was time to leave Scanra. Cleon had done an expert job bandaging him up. The only thing left was to save the young thief on his execution day. There were three hours counting down until the first lined up executioner would take aim at Faleron's heart.
The tall redhead tucked one handgun at his side, another under his jacket. He glanced in the mirror. He looked normal enough. With a heavy sigh, he turned toward his incapacitated friend. "This is it. Wish me luck."
"Good luck," Roald replied accordingly. "Bring Ice Cream Pants home, huh?"
"I will."
Cleon wore a pair of sunglasses to hide most of his face. He walked into the police correctional facility where they were supposedly terminating Faleron's life. A woman at the front desk called him over. He took half a second to fake ID and march past. As far as anyone else was concerned, he was a citizen connected to the victims just wanting to see justice. What better way than to see an innocent man shot? He had no right to be there, but neither did Faleron. And with that, he continued on.
In the other room, Faleron was being removed of his handcuffs. The walls around him were made of large gray stone blocks. A large metal chair with tanned leather restraints on it was placed in the middle of the room. Behind it, piles of sandbags were to catch any stray bullets-- not that anyone would really miss. It just put false hope in him.
Facing the chair were five stalls, all set apart by wooden screen dividers, all having sandbags up to the waist. Five policemen with grim-- in Faleron's opinion, sadistic-- faces would march in soon and take their positions to execute him. And he would sit in that very chair with a thin blindfold, waiting for oblivion to come.
He deserved to die. He'd taken the life of a man. Sure, the man was not innocent, but he was a man and in so, deserving of life. Maybe if Faleron hadn't killed him, two men, and not just one would be seated in that metal chair to be shot. Yes. That was what would probably occur.
Tick. Tock.
Time was running out.
Tick. Tock.
They seated him in the chair, untangling the restraints so they could use them. Faleron would most likely stay still anyway. He wouldn't fight against them. So, it was the end. He'd go with dignity. Maybe a quote of literature would mark his final words. A sardonic smile tugged at his features, but afraid of being reprimanded, he kept it to himself. Finally, they tied him up. They pulled the leather straps so tight that his circulation was deeply disrupted. He could see the white of his skin on the arm rests. And he wasn't tensing his own muscles at all.
For a long while, they left him like that, without a blindfold, staring blankly at the five stalls. And after an eternity, the door on the far side opened. A man in a suit walked over and tied a strip of black cloth over his eyes. Faleron gulped. His heart was racing. What was death going to be like? Would it just be one shot, and that was it? Nothing else?
Was it truly like they said? Was death merely that, and nothing more? Was there a God? Faleron had never been the religious type but it was awfully comforting of an omniscient, gentle force to be in charge of the universe. Even if parts of it were corrupt.
A door was opening. Faleron's heart beat more wildly. And in a few moments, it would burst, as several bullets would enter it. His breath became ragged. He had to get a grip. What a fearful coward he must look! In the midst of his final moments, he had betrayed his confidence and dignity enough to be insecure about his appearance and behavior. He clenched his teeth and sat taller in the chair. "Keep your head high. Think of your life. My… my life."
Five policemen, dressed in militaristic clothing uncommon for their station, took their posts in the five stalls facing the accused. They were covered from nearly head to toe. The selection of executioners had been secret and they hoped not to recognize each other afterwards. One man on the end took special care to examine his target. He studied every leather strap, every metal bolt and screw in the chair. Then, he looked through the screens to his left. He could see the silhouettes of his fellow executioners. They moved rigidly, praying to themselves that their firearms were the ones with blanks, and not bullets. But he was different from them.
He was hoping his bullets were not blanks.
"Here, upon the 42nd day of the Councilor's Calendar," an official announced to the people present behind the bulletproof windows and to those inside the execution room itself. "Faleron King, charged with the murders of Mr. and Mrs. Jon Gower, and their son William Gower, shall be executed by right of arms. Officers, take your mark."
The five policemen loaded their guns simultaneously with a fluid motion of their hands as it went back on the safety and the release. They silently took aim at the blindfolded young man, lowering their gazes to his chest so that they may strike him painlessly in the heart.
"Ready."
Faleron tensed even more, sweat trickling down his forehead. But everything was already black. He could not see. And he did not wish at all to see.
"Aim."
The first man shifted unnoticeably. He bit his lip and tightened his finger on the trigger.
"F--"
A shot rang out before the command to fire was issued. The bullet clipped the corner of the metal chair, blowing it backward so that Faleron landed on his back. At the same time, anarchy spread in the room. The lone officer, having taken the shot, leapt back as his fellow men left their stalls. Before they could do anything, he expertly cocked his semi-automatic again, braced it against his shoulder, and fired.
Four shots. One for each man, nailing him in their hands and shoulders, disabling them from using their own guns. There were hysterical and outraged cries coming from the observing room. The official calling the orders gasped in horror and ran to the door. The rogue officer spun around and effortlessly aimed and fired for him. The man went down, clutching his leg.
The whole time, Faleron struggled with his bonds. The sudden relief from his rescue had given him a newfound source of energy. He was not going to die! He was going to live.
"Hurry," his rescuer urged as he came up to him and yanked off the blindfold. The young thief peered up into his eyes. He smiled.
"Cleon?"
"Yes, yes, it's me. Come on! Help me undo your straps!"
One of the wounded men was crawling for the door. Cleon shot at him, causing the man to recoil in panic and fear. Clumsily, Faleron was freed. They ran to the door. The redhead motioned to another fallen man. "Take a gun! Hurry!"
"What if it's the blank one?"
"Take two," he rolled his eyes. He whispered a curse before flinging open the door to the observing room through which they had to pass. The men and women of the media and those representing the judicial system screamed and fled. Those who stood their ground raised their arms up, a sign of submission and surrender.
The two young men slowly made their way across the room. "Don't anyone move," Cleon warned. He pointed to a woman with glasses and a feminine suit. "Open the door and walk out slowly. We'll be right behind you."
She started to sob, but scrambled frantically to the door to do as she was ordered. The woman shakily opened the door, holding it open for the two men as she exited. He regretfully pressed the barrel of his weapon between her shoulder blades. She squeaked, but continued to move forward.
"I'm really sorry about this," he whispered to her. She sniffled.
"We're almost at the entrance," Faleron pointed out. "What now? There's a mob outside waiting for the announcement that I'm dead!" He nudged his comrade in the shoulder.
Cleon ripped off his headgear and threw it at Faleron. "I guess we'll take our chances…"
~~
Lean on me…
When you're not strong…
'Cause I'll be your friend.
I'll help you to carry on.
For, it won't be long…
'Til I'm gonna need
Somebody to lean on.
~~
In the darkness of night, three men traveled down the narrow street of Scanra, barely being able to drag their bags with them. One man's arms were flung about the other two's shoulders as they helped him walk with much difficulty. Exhaustion was spread thickly between them. If they did not reach the city limits soon, they were going to be found and arrested for their crimes.
Crimes? The real ones or the fake ones?
"You paged Kel, right?"
"Yes, Cleon," Roald managed to say in between wheezes. He limped between the two men, who were not as healthy as they first seemed. Faleron now sported several shallow wounds that were bullet grazes as the two men had burst out of the police station into the crowd. It was a desperate run-for-your-life action that miraculously saved them. Cleon had already taken the initiative of leaving an unregistered car nearby with the key already in the ignition. They got on and sped away just as the police got their ranks together and went after them.
"I'm so glad this is over," the tall redhead groaned. "Let's hope it never happens again."
"I won't let it," Faleron whispered, more to himself than to the other two.
Roald coughed before speaking. "It's okay, Fal. It's not… your fault. You didn't intentionally do that at the Gower place. It was… was all a mistake."
He nodded. "I know that's the logic to it. And I'm a logical man. I should accept that. But, still…"
"It's cool," Cleon nodded. "Give yourself some time, Thief-Boy."
"You've really got to stop with the nicknames."
"What? You want me to go back to Faleron? Just plain Faleron?"
"It would be nice. Yes."
"But it's so boring! Right, Roald?" Cleon's eyes lit up. "Hey! Did I tell you Roald's new nickname?"
"Oh, no, here it comes," Roald sighed.
"Mr. Black and Blue! Ha! Lalasa will probably smack me in the head every time I say it, but I think it's worth it."
"You are way, way too much Kennan. I narrowly escape unjust execution and you're cracking jokes?"
"Somebody needs to keep the humor alive in this group." Cleon grinned
"I think I see why my girlfriend calls us the three stooges," Roald muttered.
"I'm not just a stooge!"
Faleron snickered. "That's right. Cleon, my hero."
"Yes! I'm a hero! All hail the almighty--"
"Grasshopper!"
Roald and Faleron burst into laughter.
"Hey now…Bruise-boy, Ice Cream Pants…"
"You're such a dork, Kennan."
"And you're not?"
"No, we're stooges like Lalasa said."
"Can I be Curly?"
~~
Lean on me…
When you're not strong…
'Cause I'll be your friend.
I'll help you to carry on.
For, it won't be long…
'Til I'm gonna need
Somebody to lean on.
~~
Author: Yes, yes. I know what you're thinking. What about Joren and Keladry?? Well, people, I can't focus on them all the time… It kind of turns this story from action/drama/humor/romance to plain romance. And you know me. I'm really uptight about balancing focus. I hope Faleron fans aren't extremely pissed at me. But what I've done here is leave open a lot of character development for everyone's favorite thief and everyone's favorite clown for future chapters. Oh, and our dear prince, too. (Roald fans, please ignore his bruises. He'll get better in no time…) Review, please, and tell me what chapter you're reviewing! The chaptering system makes it so difficult to tell!
Closing Credits:
Special thanks to those who helped me with descriptions:
( Note: These people are VERY cool. Do not mess with them.)
Kestrel
Erin (Hyper Girl to the Rescue)
Sullychkk (Whose name is Caitie…)
And also to the people who volunteered to help with my web page:
FireLily
Jaelawyn Noble