betweenpart5 *Lindblum, not long afterwards
"Rabbit," a shaggy brunette orphan boy with wide, black eyes, rushed through the streets, clutching the loaf of bread to his chest like it was a baby. It had been too easy to slip it out of the handbag of a passerby, so it therefore would have to go into the hands of the "Lions" street gang. He hadn't eaten for a while, so instead of giving his prize over to the older group of orphans, he had decided to make a run for it. It was quickly becoming apparent that this had been a poor decision. John and Statcher, two of the smaller ones, were steadily gaining on him, while the rest of the troupe remained in hot pursuit. And, Rabbit knew, the group that was following him was not the complete pride of Lions, just one of the gangs that patrolled by day. He knew that they were chasing him into the territory of the next group over: the group that possessed the infamous "Big Yug" in their ranks. The thought of Big Yug, the hippo boy, was not a pleasant one.
Rabbit began to panic as he realized that he was running out of alleys. He turned one corner, looking frantically for a place to hide. He found none, and, just his luck; John turned the corner just after him. The alley, he knew, led him into the next set's territory.
"Well, punk, we were gonna letcha off," Statcher, who had just arrived, panted, "but afta yer little stunt, we're gonna hafta teach ya a lesson." The other panting Lions that had caught up laughed at this. John cracked his knuckles and started toward the frightened Rabbit. The younger orphan had at this point decided, much to his own chagrin, to chance a run-in with Big Yug. He turned around and began to run, only to be yanked off of his feet to be carried up and over the ground. He gasped in surprise as the buildings grew shorter and he ended up on top of them. He looked up at his rescuer: a boy about his age armed with a tail and a clothesline. The blonde hair was caught in a breeze as he turned his blue eyes to Rabbit, smiling slightly.
"The only way to fly," he explained with a mild accent and a gentle laugh. The other boy was dumbstruck. The tailed one cocked his head like a quizzical cat's and winked. "Rabbit, isn't it?"
"Oh…are you the eagle?" the other asked, for he suddenly realized it could be the same tailed person whom his pals had told him about.
"Yeah, some people call me that, including myself, but my name's Zidane," Zidane replied with a grin. Rabbit's face lit up.
"I've heard all about you!"
"Really…" Zidane scratched the back of his head.
"Yeah! They say you live on the rooftops and swoop down to fight off the Lions and the police and…oh, you want some?" Rabbit held out his precious loaf of bread. Zidane eyed it for a moment, but then pushed it back at him, shaking his head.
"Naw, if you were willing to stand up to those bad 'uns, you need it."
"Wow! You're as great as they say you are!"
"Not really…"
"How do you get down from here?" Rabbit's eyes filled with sudden worry.
"Fire escape," Zidane said as he pointed to the end of the roof.
"Oh, hey! They can't get up here, can they?"
"They've never tried."
"Hey, my name's Rabbit. Oh wait! You knew that! Hey, how'd you know that? Have we met before? I don't think I've ever even seen you before! So how…?" he babbled on in the hyperactive manner that had apparently earned him his name. Zidane stared at him for a moment, wondering where he'd heard about him, until he heard his name being shouted from below. It was Statcher.
"One moment, please," he said holding up a finger. He went to the edge of the roof to look down at the grumbling gang. "What is it, Stature, o so lacking?" he asked, knowing no one but himself got the joke, but not really caring.
"Lookit, Tribble," Statcher shouted, mispronouncing his name. "We've warned you about bustin' up our affairs."
"Yeah, so?"
"So?! You gone an dunnit again!"
"Yes," Zidane appeared to think as he spoke. "Yes, I suppose I have." The collective expression of the Lions seemed to darken a bit.
"Roquel ain't gonna be happy."
"Hmph. When is he ever happy?"
"When he's grindin' up the bones of punks like you!" interjected one of the others. Zidane curled one lip into a snarl in response.
"I daresay that was uncalled for…besides, he couldn't grind his teeth without proper instructions…"
"Yer all talk, Zidane!" Statcher cut in. "If you ever came offa yer blasted roofs…the king'd whoop yer ass!"
"Heck with that!" John joined in. "Come on down and we'll save you the trouble of waiting! We'll do it!" A rowdy chorus of approval echoed through the alleyway. Zidane glanced at Rabbit, who simply stared up at him, awestricken. He then quickly sized up the group. If he were alert, they wouldn't be beyond his capabilities…he had to admit; the proposition was pretty tempting… He glanced around, to find his discouragement. Officer Warrener was a few blocks away, and his beat would take him in this direction. Zidane didn't want to risk getting chased by the police; life was hairy enough with his opposition to the Lions, despite anything Rabbit and his friends believed about him. His reputation with the orphans would not help anything if he got caught and drafted.
"The sly eagle fights on his own terms," Zidane spoke, causing a near instant silence. He let it sit that way for a moment. "Cop Warrener is on his way here. You'd best be leaving. I know I am." There was an obvious disappointment below, but none of them needed a second bidding. As he left, Statcher uttered one last threat.
"Eagle crap or not, mark my words, Zidane, Roquel will deal with ya."
***
The workers' bell sounded through the streets, calling the first shifts to duty. As usual, it woke Zidane up. He sat up in the pile of flax he called a bed and stretched his arms. His "home," for that was more or less what it was, rested high in the belfry, out of the reach of those aside from himself and the pigeons. He picked the straw out of his shoulder-length-or-so blonde tresses before braiding it down in the back. No sooner had he finished tying the end then had the strands not long enough slid back to his face. He didn't mind because they never got in his way. Skillfully, he leapt down to the window of the bell from strategic areas along the wall. He slid down a rain barrel, washed his face in the deposit at the bottom, and then made his way into the Business District in search of breakfast. He stopped next to a window and stared at his reflection for a moment, checking on the progress of his front teeth. They were growing in steadily enough, although it was uncomfortable as they did so. He practiced his puppy's face once before he moved onto his first target: Pepe's Milk Stand. Pepe was a bit of a scrooge, so the orphans tended to avoid him. His wife however, Zidane had learned, only needed him to give her a pitiful smile when her husband wasn't looking. He slipped a small bowl from the potter's stand and stood at the fountain for a moment. When he saw Pepe go inside the house, he turned to catch the miss's eye. She winked broadly at him and dipped her ladle into one of the large pots of milk. He held out his bowl to her as she poured it in and, mouthing a thanks, then raced down to the synthesist's as she shooed him away. He sat down in a slightly secluded spot to drink his milk. When he had finished, he took the dirty bowl back to the fountain and nonchalantly dropped it in. He leaned against the fountain for a while, and when the coast was clear, he fished it out again. Discreetly, he replaced the bowl as if it had never been moved as he walked back the way he'd come.
Well, it's shaping up to be a boring day. Maybe I can head up to the Theatre District and catch a show…I don't think I'll have anything better to do. A despaired cry from down the street caught his attention. As always, I seem to have thought to soon. He made his way down the more or less abandoned cobblestone to come upon Big Yug's group. They were tormenting a well-groomed and dressed child, about four to five years old, by taking his toy and holding it out of his reach, and by saying threatening things. Zidane didn't like the idea of being ground level with Yug, but the public surrounding emboldened him. Besides, he could never have brought himself to just walk away… He walked right into the center of the incident, between the gang members and the distraught victim. Deftly snatching the toy from the Lion's paw he addressed them:
"Tell me; have you ever even considered picking on someone your own size?"
"You again?! You must wanna fat lip…" the other snarled. Zidane ignored him and knelt down to the child who was sobbing on the ground.
"Hey…don't cry. Here you go." Zidane gently pressed the doll into the younger boy's arms.
"So, Dribble," Yug said from behind him. "You finally show your ugly mug."
"Hey, don't let these losers get to you," Zidane smiled to the boy, ignoring Yug again.
"Losers?!" he shouted back at Zidane's back. "You got a lotta nerve, Dribble!"
"You okay?"
"Yeah…thanks," the little boy managed to get through a sniffle.
"No problem," Zidane said as he helped him to his feet.
"Oh yeah? There is too a problem!" Yug was starting to lose his temper.
"Why don't you go home and get a drink of water of something? You'll feel better." The little boy smiled back at him this time.
"Okay," he nodded and ran off as fast as his legs would carry him.
"Dribble!" Yug was shouting now. "I've been talkin' to you!!"
"Yeah, well," Zidane shrugged, "I don't answer to 'Dribble,' Drool." Though Yug's face turned bright purple, Zidane continued. "Besides, couldn't you see I was busy? Or are you as blind as you are dumb?" The rest of the gang stepped aside, causing Zidane to immediately regret not having checked his mouth. He tensed his muscles…
"GRRR! That's it!" Yug practically roared.
"What's going on?" came a new voice. Yug immediately stopped. The group cleared out slightly to reveal the newcomer: Roquel himself. Zidane gulped slightly, but stood his ground. Roquel was about ten or maybe eleven years of age, with dark hair and heavy eyebrows to shade deceitfully soft brown eyes. He was of average height and lean, but his strength lay mostly in his uncanny ability to control his pack of rogues.
"I asked a question," he reminded the hushed group. All the answers came out at once, but surprisingly, he didn't hush the ruckus; he simply listened. They fell to silence as he stepped toward Zidane; the only thing soft in his eyes was the color. Zidane slid his hands into his pockets and shifted his weight to one leg as he look up into those cold soil-shaded orbs. "Zidane Tribal," his voice was like honey offered to a fly—it sounded sweet but there was a certain lethalness to it. "I'm starting to hear a lot about you."
"No kidding," Zidane said as he twitched his tail to release some of his tension.
"I really haven't cared. I mean, I supposed we orphans hafta stick to our groups to protect ourselves. I figured you were just sticking to yours and that was all." He shot the younger boy a look that almost froze the words that were coming from his throat. Zidane managed to get them out anyway.
"So that's forgivable?"
"It was…if you stayed more or less out of the way. Neither of those is the case. You're siding with the rich kids."
"So?"
"So?"
"Yeah, so," Zidane shifted his weight again. "I must have missed something." Roquel slid closer to him, breathing on his face.
"You're not challenging the Lions for your friends; you're challenging us for your foes."
"Get over yourself," Zidane rolled his eyes. "Just because a person isn't suffering doesn't mean that they should." Even the color seemed to lose its softness for a moment, as Roquel leaned close enough to nearly touch noses.
"You are challenging the Lions," the honey was gone as well. "Do you realize how dangerous that is?"
"Yes, kitty, I do." Zidane began to throw his caution to the wind. "Believe me, it's not as 'dangerous' as you'd like to believe."
"Wow…someone's really asking for it," Roquel's voice rose, making his gang start stretching muscles, and cracking joints.
"You wanna fight me? Here?" Zidane had caught something in the corner of his eye that the other's had missed. He raised his voice considerably. "You're even dumber than you look!" The angry retorts never came.
"All right, boys," came a deep, aged voice. "Break it up." The orphans all looked up to see Cop Kilmer, who had a bit of a reputation.
"No problem here, Officer," Zidane smiled brightly. "I'll just move along." The cop eyed Zidane for a moment, but since he had never been reported for anything, he finally nodded.
"Fine. Then go." Zidane took off at a brisk walk toward the air cab station, thinking maybe he would catch that show after all. Roquel left him a promising glare before turning back to his "pride."
"Well, you heard the man! Break it up!" the orphans quickly scattered.
"Not so fast, Roquel!" Cop Kilmer grabbed his tattered shirt. The boy looked up innocently at him.
"What?"
"Sit down. Now."
"Here?" Roquel asked in a small voice, indicating the ground with his finger.
"Yes, now!" Roquel complied, but he gathered some dirt from the road in his hand as the policeman looked at his little book. "Just as I thought," the man continued. "You've been causing trouble and I have the evidence necessary to arrest you. Put your hands on your head." Instead, the boy threw the grit into the officer's eyes and took off down the road at breakneck speed. "Stop that boy!" Kilmer yelled as he rubbed his eyes. The king of the Lions had to duck, dodge and dart feverishly as he looked for an escape. He finally did, and lay panting in the gutter. You'll pay for that, Zidane. See if I don't break your neck for it…


Okay, I'm gonna be out of town for a week and I'm not sure if I'll have on-line access while I'm gone. If not, you'll just have to wait for a load of new chapters to show up after that. Either way, I have a eight hour car ride ahead of me. I will be writing!!