I know there are several of you waiting for my updating of Turbulence. There are even more of you waiting for me to update my Amarant/Lani pairings but NO! No rest for the weary. So, on with the fanfics.
-----------------------------------------
"So where'd ye dump Creepers?"
Grabs grabbed a fistful of Gil's shirt and hauled him out of his seat. The gray bearded man lolled onto the floor, oblivious to his rough treatment. The red-haired thief, whom settled with an irate look, took his seat. "Couldn't get home. Remembered I lost my last pick, so I gave up. Creep's asleep."
"No doubt," said Slick. He bore an old-fashioned sense of humor to his tone. "Well, that crashes my party. Whaddaya say about tourin' the local candy stand, Rey?"
The prince stifled his exhaustion, but blinked at four-armed man experimentally. "It sounds like fun, but…candy stand?"
"Ferget I said it," grunted Slick, knocking his chair over as he stood up. "I mean let's go check out the city. Ever been around the block yet, or once?"
"N-not really…" Rey felt burdened by the sudden draw of glares by the surrounding drunks.
"What I mean is…I'm not allowed to leave. Well, I wasn't. I suppose I am still grounded by that."
"Grounded!" Grabs pounded the table unexpectedly with his fists. "For eighteen years! You're a
looney, ye know that? Let's go."
"Whoa, man!" Slick passed behind Grabs as he began to rise out of his seat. The shorter thief was forced back down under the pressure of all four of Slick's hands. The tall man leaned over his shoulder. "I didn't think yer invited. Never said so, did I?"
"I fetch'd him, Slick!" snapped Grabs, skillfully ducking out of his friend's hold. He stood up straight, but did not come a close foot below Slick's chin. "Lay off. I got the right to come, anyway."
"That depends, don't it?" Slick turned to Rey and crossed two arms. "Whaddya think, your highness? Who'd best guide you? I wouldn't want to be stuck alone with Grabs, though, so ye'd better choose wisely."
"Huh," Rey stood up, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, but I don't quite trust either of you. If you're planning to kill me, I don't see why a third member in the party would be a hassle."
Slick stared, but only momentarily. "Ha! You're bold to a fault, ye know that? What else, who cares. Fine, we'll both take ye if ye feel that way."
"I don't," said Rey simply. "I acting for your friend's benefit, not mine."
"Yeah. Thanks." Grabs seized Rey by the velvet collar and started to pull him through the crowd. "Jus' let me know when ye start appreciating my effort, ye cushioned baby."
"H-hey!" Rey clung to the hand in front of his face and tried to pull away. At that moment he really did begin to realize how pathetically weak he was compared to these men. Grabs' fist was a rock.
Cool air enveloped them, and the creak of the pub door echoed with a loud bang. A second set of footsteps was detectable from behind them. Slick, Rey supposed, was either coming to rescue him or egg his companion on.
The prince floundered, losing his balance when the red-haired thug let him go. He landed square on his back on the ground. His breath was knocked out momentarily, and his head rung with a thousand bells. Amidst the bleary, starry sky, he could make out the faces of his two new 'mistrustees'.
"Think he'll last?"
"Not a chance."
Their faces disappeared.
"Oi…" Rey coaxed his lungs out of their state of shock. Grimacing subconsciously, the prince scrambled to his feet and furiously brushed the stones and dust out of his hair. "I'll bet you thought that was funny!" he snapped angrily. "But let me tell you it hurt! I mean, I don't recall ever - huh? Hey, w-wait! Wherever do you think you're going?"
Slick and Grabs turned around and proceeded towards the silent square with a backwards pace. Slick shrugged and tossed his multiple hands into the air. "I dunno what yer talkin' about! Don't wanna see the city anymore?"
"Well, of course I do!" said Rey reproachfully. He staggered a bit, but remained standing. At once, he raced forward to catch up. "But I hardly felt that the ground was a necessary destination."
"Necessary," snorted Grabs. He slung his arm around Rey's shoulders, causing him to shirk slightly. "Since when does a little shove have te be necessary?"
"Well," Rey sniffed, lumbering on. "I'm…I'm fragile."
"And I agree," said Slick.
The prince shook off the burdening arm and looked around in wonder. "So…where is it you're taking me exactly?"
"Beats me," said Grabs. He stretched. "Anywhere, I s'pose. We rule Alexandria at night. No offense."
"Trust me, none taken," said Rey, a little darkly.
"Damn, that reminds me." Grabs turned his head towards Slick. "What happened to Rascha?"
"Do I look like a babysitter?"
"Just answer the damn question."
"Yer the one who saw th' man last!"
"He vanished, beansy! You tellin' me that our good buddy 'ol pal who can't remember his way to the damn lavatory is lost somewhere, in the dark, with enemy gangs hangin' about ready to slug him?"
Slick stopped. They all stopped. "Well, somethin' like that."
The trio listened to a sudden bellow of pain. Rey watched as the faces of the two thieves twisted into genuine surprise, and almost instantly recognized the source of the sound. He needed no further motive to race ahead into the grave square, a moment's stride behind Grabs. The red-haired man was evidently slower than Slick, and much less capable to do what the four-armed thug did next.
Grabs rushed forward. Slick dove to one side, grabbed a edge of the roof shingles and practically flew on top of the nearest roof. Despite their showing no signs of fatigue, Rey was already beginning to lag from a side cramp. He slowed down and forced himself to jog the rest of the way. In the meantime, he was left behind by the nimble duo.
He was several yards behind, in fact, when he was faced by the awning of a wide alleyway. The shadowy place was packed with a few more than a dozen men, all dressed poorly and bearing crude implements of torture. Slumped against a wall in the midst of them was a heavily bleeding man, a giant in size but lacking his better health.
"I didna…I diddin' do nuttin'…" Rascha spoke through his own blood. His nose was completely broken, smashed in and splintered. The pack had gashed an eye. He was covered everywhere with oozing wounds that discreetly provoked a certain anger in certain minds.
"Well…" The leader, Rey supposed, spoke. He was a stout man with evil intent in his eyes. "Let me make this clear to you. My boss doesn't want to kill anyone that's useful. So this thing…with Baku tellin' us in? Tell me, big guy, why does your old man want us bagged?"
"I…tellin'…I'm swearin' it…I dun know…" Rascha hardly moved as he spoke.
The unfamiliar gang broke into a cloud of snarls and jeers.
"Yer tryin' me, hero!"
Rey winced as the disgusting sound of a fist striking human flesh reached his ears. He withdrew somewhat, relying on the darkness of the early morning to hide him. He could not help but wonder as the minute drew on - where were Grabs and Slick?
"Answers, pudgy, answers!" The leader struck him again, this time using the shard of broken glass that was already stained with blood. "I killed your breed before, an' this won't be any different."
Rey was getting impatient. This torture had to stop, or else Rascha would, well…die. The concept of that kind of loss moved him, inviting an unwilling chill down his spine. The poor man didn't deserve it. It wasn't a fair fight, even for a man of Rascha's stature. It was, the prince decided, uncultured brutality.
All this time, and not a sign or glimpse of the other Tantalus members! Rashcha moaned after another blow from the leader's makeshift weapon, slipping in and out of consciousness continually. Another hit, and another, and another. By the fifth strike in a moment, Rey felt an unrecognizable fury build up inside of him and lunge from his throat.
"You, stop it!"
The glass flew out of the leader's hand as he spun around. It spun into the darkness, clinking harmlessly against the wall of an empty house. The rest of his gang leapt back, some ducking or shying away to avoid being struck by sharp object as it soared into ignorance. In turn, every one of them turned towards the well-dressed prince, whom realized in his own direction that he had leapt out of the safety of the shadows and was standing well within their sight.
"What's this, then?" The leader crouched somewhat, flipping a dagger out of a sheath on his left boot. He pointed the thing at Rey. "Is it really a stuffy, price-pressed, overrated noble boy?"
"Hehehe," squeaked a very, very small, wild-eyed thug. Rey had never even seen the tiny little man before now. The thug, creature, man -- whatever it was, leapt swiftly onto the leader's right arm and clung there quiet happily.
If the leader noticed his sudden burden, he didn't show it. Instead, he was advancing carefully on the prince with long strides. He sniffed. "Ye smells like one. Ye looks like one. Ye must be one, ye blood-rotter."
Rey was not standing still. He backed away willingly, but found he could move no more when he bumped hands-first into a solid wall. Shaking, the prince fumbled with the hilt of his sword and drew the blade from its holder. The opposing thug was undaunted.
Rey trembled. Page three of Wyerzen's dueling handbook: never hold the blade perpendicular to-
The leader charged at him so suddenly that it stripped his mind bare to his instincts. The creature-man leapt off of his perch and away from the scene of the pending battle, but his buddy was not so ready to leave. Just as Rey's blade flew to protect his face from the slashing dagger, the thug ducked again and attacked his thigh. Rey stumbled to the side, bleeding from a shallow gash.
A groan of disappointment rose from the crowd of thieves. They had been expecting more of a show, but apparently the prince's clumsy movement were less than satisfactory.
"Aw, what'sa matter?" mocked their leader, laughing aloud. "Fancy sword lessons not cracked up to their promise?"
Rey was terrified. But he kept his head held high, reciting another rule from Wyerzen's handbook. Page eight: under all circumstances, over-confidence was a sign of fear. He had to attack! He had no better plan now, in any case. Rey grit his teeth and swept forward.
He cried out in pain. His sword dropped to the ground in a splatter of blood, rolling into a near mud puddle and staining it red. The prince fell to his knees and clutched his right arm to his chest. His hand, whereas it was no longer attached, still lay clutched to his discarded weapon.
The group of adversaries erupted with laughter. Their leader backed away and threw his thick arms into the air for approval. He too, laughed with as much scorn as they. Triumphantly, the squat man tossed aside his dagger. Whistling an innocent tune and tip-toeing towards his companions, he earned an even louder roar of applause and endorsement.
Rey was doubled over, feeling sick to his stomach. Everything around him was a mess, he was going to die, and there was no one around to help him. The pain was overwhelming. The smell of blood and the sound of Rascha's agonized groans were drenching him with waves of nausea that caused his stomach and chest to ache with the stump of his oozing wrist.
Now they were all chanting something. Rey knew, of course, what they were telling their leader to do without even listening to their words. He grew acquainted with sheer malevolence that night. Terror. Evil.
"Finish him! Finish him! Finish him!"
Rey moaned in his half-conscious state. Overall, he kept up his thought, one question that nagged him through all pain, all fear. Where was Grabs? Where was Slick? Why weren't they helping him…?
Something moved towards Rascha's direction. Rolling his eyes to their very corners, Rey saw someone very small, and very affectionate to the bleeding giant dance in nervous circles about his friend. Had it not been for his ill state, the prince would have smiled through his tears. Creepers was here, not asleep at all, but succoring the dying man.
Did they not see him…? Or had they run away after all? Still more questions. Did they even care? Was it funny to him? Would they not step in? The prince felt as if he were already dead. When would it stop…
The sound of scuffling feet brought his eyes back to the space in front of him. The leader's boots filled that space, where he stood with his dagger once again in hand and poised thoughtfully. Like an echo, his voice found Rey's senses.
"Well, no man has no mercy. Let's make it quick, no? I'll be a generous man and slit yer throat then, Mr. Noble? Dyin's not so bad that way."
Rey sobbed. Damn them. Where were they?
"Ach, yer nothin' but a waste of time." The leader reached down for the prince's collar.
Like a dream, the unexpected and painful happened to him. Rey was lifted clear off of his feet, with something like a bar looped under his throat. The prince choked, unable to clutch his bleeding stump to himself any longer. Everything was a mess. Everything hurt.
"Here's the little sucker," growled a man behind him. So the bar was an arm. Most likely, his persecution was just another man on the leader's gang. Rey choked again, his eyes bulging and his own sweat streaking his brow.
The leader's voice boomed. "Who the hell are you?"
"No one important to you," came the starchy reply. The man tightened his grip around the prince's throat, whom continued to gasp as his air supply lessened.
At least he was feeling less of his wound…it was all beginning to fade away.
"What, ye plannin' to take us all on? Who are ye now anyway?" The leader crept forward a step peering into the stranger's shadowed face.
"I never said I'm here to rescue him." snapped the prince's captor. "I've been looking for this prick for a long time."
The leader looked doubtful, but he remained at a still distance. "Ye…ye look familiar. Ye part of Conner's gang?"
"Don't recognize one of your own?" replied the stranger.
Rey was the only one to notice the slight loosening of the stranger's arm. He tried to draw his breaths carefully, to prevent his air being caught in his lungs. The world tilted around him, but he had a faint reckoning that he was not moving at all…
It took a moment for the leader to respond. Once again, his creature-buddy was clinging to his right arm and staring at the occurimg events with round eyes.
"I might've…might've…" The leader coughed. "Whadaya doin' here? This is my turf anyhow."
"Collecting what's mine," came the growled response. Rey felt the cool edge of a blade press into his exposed neck. He whimpered. "This boy is the son of a very wealthy merchant near Treno. I'd hate to see such good money spilled all over the streets."
Rey could have cried. Unless this stranger was mistaken, he could very well be rescued from this mess after all. He decided, more on instinct to survive, to play along with this charade.
"D-don't…" he gasped. Surprisingly, his captor did not try to block his airways again. This encouraged him. "P-please don't! You can k-kill me! Leave my f-father out of this!"
The man behind him grunted. Rey hoped that this was a sign of approval.
But the leader sneered. "A bounty hunter," he drawled distastefully. "Yeah, whatever. Take 'im to 'is little palace and earn yer money, man. I'm done wit' him anyhow." Then he paused, skeptically. "Fer Conner, yeah?"
Another pause, and then the stranger replied. "For Conner."
"Right then." The leader cleared his throat, and walked a pace or two to his left. Rey watched with a deepening sickness as the thug retrieved the bloody sword, complete with his severed hand, from the puddle. The leader tossed it towards the captive and captor, whom, on impulse caught it with his free hand.
The leader laughed insanely. "Ye might be wantin' that back if he's gonna go home in one piece!"
The rest of his gang laughed too, but it was fake and offered very discreetly. Their leader returned to them in an unstylish manner, making a strange signal with his hands. The whole lot cast their last glares in prince's direction, and followed their leader into the darkness obediently. Their grudging attitude stuck in the air for a long time remaining, but they were finally gone.
Rey was slowly becoming aware of how cold he felt. He could feel how much blood he'd lost, covering his fine clothes and washing the street red. He became aware that his captor threw aside his sword, and his hand with it. He became aware that he was being carried, and he eventually began to hear the distorted voices. Everywhere.
His rescuer carried him back along the way he'd run before. Rey felt himself being placed on the ground. And through all this, he did nothing, and said nothing, making no noise but the occasional whimper of dire weakness. But when a searing, burning feeling tore through his arm he was immediately jolted into a temporary state of resistance. He struggled pathetically.
"Cut it out," ordered that same, deep voice from before. Rey was still unable to make out the stranger's face, but he hardly felt he cared. But he stopped moving, trembling with exhaustion all the more.
"Where's…where…" he muttered thickly. He shuddered again. "Huh…Grabs, and S-Slick…Ras…Ra…"
"Rey man, I'm here," said a familiar voice. It was disgruntled, a little more than usual. Rascha. Alive. Wounded, but obviously alive.
"Geez…" hissed Grabs, from somewhere else. He sounded as if he'd woken from a long sleep.
"Stupid." Slick spoke from yet another unseen place.
They were all accounted for, even Creepers, who chirped a wordless confirmation of his presence near Rascha. All counted for, but with an uncounted extra whom was - not gently - wrapping his bleeding stump of a hand with a flexible cloth. Rey's surroundings were gradually becoming more focussed as the pain in his arm subsided somewhat. He continued to quiver, but the worst had already happened and was over.
"Who…?" he mumbled, blinking up at the stranger. Before he could get a clearer picture, the stranger pulled the cloth around his wrist even tighter and tied a quick knot. Rey gasped in silent, but absolute pain.
"Sorry," said the looming man, not at all apologetically. He stood up and left the prince's line of sight.
Rey forced himself to sit up with part of his newfound strength. Although it felt as if his head weighed twice more than usual, he accomplished to keep himself perpendicular to the ground. He absorbed his current situation.
Rascha, adorned with potions and bandages of different varieties, sat across from him. Most of his lighter wounds and bruises had been taken care of by the medicines he'd been given, but his face remained a terrible scar. He looked tired, beaten, and more than not ashamed of himself.
Grabs and Slick were standing in their usual way. Slick was, in fact, hovering above him like a shadow to the wall. Grabs stuck to his distance, rubbing his head for some oblivious reason. On any hand, it obviously hurt. Neither of them said anything, but the four-armed man slapped the prince sympathetically on the shoulder and sat down against the wall beside him.
Rey shook his head, grimacing as his wrist gave him a fresh wave of pain. It quickly subsided, but the dull ache was still there. At least, he thought, at least…
At least I'm always looking on the bright side, he thought bitterly. But his wound had stopped bleeding, after all, thanks to…
Rey snapped his head towards the man that had helped him. Finally, he was able to mildly appraise him without a mask of pain over his eyes. The stranger's back was turned, and in the dull blackness all that was detectable was his build, his clothes and hair. He had his arms crossed, almost as if he were impatient about something…whatever it may be.
The stranger was thickly built, and to the prince's vast amazement, even taller than the willowy Slick character. The most fashionable prospect of the man so far was his...unusual hairdo. There was no doubt - he'd met someone like this before, but with an even weirder - in Rey's opinion, wilder - style. But this particular stranger was bald, save for the gangly, henceforth large mohawk of red hair from brow to neck. Even at that moment, Rey could feel the prying glare of the man's eyes from a corner glance.
"Who…are you?" the prince asked loudly to the turned back. He tried to stand up, but fell back against the wall with a regretful thud. The prince cringed as his bandaged wrist complained about the maneuver.
The stranger turned around, smirking. "You don't care who I am. You want to know why I saved your sorry ass."
Rey raised an eyebrow, but his feeling of confusion was fleeting. The look that man gave him - he'd met him before, a long time ago. And his sire, the 'tall, scary man by the courtroom door'. In any case, the stranger was right -- he didn't care. "Fine then, why did you save my sorry ass?"
The stranger snorted. "'Cause my boss still needs you. Plus I didn't think Jerms would like a public execution."
'Jerms' sneered. "My name's Grabs."
"Shut up, Jerms," said the stranger.
"Eh…" Rey sighed, feeling too weak to carry on. "Fair enough, now I'm interested as to who you are and why your boss needs me."
Slick laughed shortly, in a way that suggested an invisible defeat. "Ye wanna know who he is? Everyone knows who he is."
"Slick.," Grabs warned with an irritated tone.
"Everyone," said Slick.
"Now that's not very fair," said the stranger. He scratched the back of his neck in mock chagrin. Then he chuckled. "Such loyal friends to remember me so thoughtfully."
"Not like ye'd return the favor," Slick muttered, knowing very well that the stranger could hear him. Rey doubted seriously that he cared.
"Heh heh..." Grabs shook his head from where he was standing. "He's not the one you gotta be scared of. It's his old man that's got our ranks nailed."
Rey remembered having a similar conversation about the exact same problem earlier on in the morning. "So, tell me," he said. "Who is this man you keep mentioning? Surely it couldn't be Am-"
"Don't say it!" Slick snapped. "We're doomed, ye know that? We're all gonna get dumped."
"Well, could you at least answer my question?" the prince inquired.
"Yes, yes, it's him. Don't know why yer own father would go and tell 'is kid about something like that, but sheesh." Slick sighed. "That's who a lotta members want to take 'it' over."
"Over? From Baku?" Rey was sincerely surprised.
"Yep." Grabs chuckled again. "Not that we don't like 'im, we just think he's gettin' too old. The poor man's gonna break his hip or somethin' some day and it'll all come apart."
"Amarant doesn't want the job," said the stranger, suddenly. He was not looking at them, but towards the deserted, now bloody square. "I'm supposed to deliver that fact to the head hancho himself."
"There, you've done it," Slick grumbled, mournfully. "I've been dreamin' of this."
Rey sighed. Why should it matter to him? He'd lost a hand! A whole hand! He was a cripple now, lopsided, ugly, not fit to be prince or king when the day came around. However...a thought struck him. Just how many ladies would want to be escorted by a one-handed man? Not very many, he doubted, and those who would probably disliked touching 'cripples' in any uncomfortable sense. This was great. Pathetic was, however, how he should be injured in such a way and be happy about it.
He'd not known he was grinning until Grabs was there, rapping him on the head with a fist. "Hey, hello, Mr. Prince! What the hell you smiling about?"
Slick stood straighter, as if he'd just realized that Rey had a stump for a hand. "One hand. Ye poor, poor soul." And he meant it.
"I don't suppose you could lend me one of yours," said the prince, gritting his teeth. He took Slick's offered palm and grin, then allowed himself to be hoisted to his feet. The very movement caused his wrist to throb horribly, but he managed well enough.
"I think," said the prince, a little sullenly. "I'm about to share your problem, Slick."
"Hey, lay off the insults," said Slick, crossing both sets of arms. "I'm having a good night. Lemme alone."
"Which reminds me." Rey looked straight at Slick, though he didn't know why. "While I was bleeding to a near death, I could only help but wonder why you didn't come to help me."
Slick coughed. Then he chuckled, very dryly and half-embarrassed in his insightful way. The four-armed man flashed a half-smile, and then looked towards Grabs for support. His companion gave none. And thus, alone for an expected explanation, Slick pieced his words together with care.
"Well...you see..." he began, slowly. "We were above, on the roof. Don't get me wrong, ye know, but when we counted 'em, chances of us takin' 'em down looked bad. Even for a good pal like Ras, eh?"
Rascha nodded his head in understanding, though he did look a little hurt.
"Yeah.." Slick went on. "So when you went all out yellin' like that and makin' a scene, we decided ye were an idiot. Speaking of which, ye are. Only a bloody idiot does somethin' like that."
"Heh," grunted Grabs. "Only a lucky idiot lives to tell about it."
"Better said," Slick agreed. "Anyways, Grabs went and disappeared."
Three pairs of eyes were drawn secretively towards the silent stranger, whom gave a light shrug and stared back.
"I like to live, let's say, so I didn't join in," Slick finished quickly. "Before ye go all noble o'war on me, I want to finish. I'd moved a hair before that weirdo went and cut ye up. Then this guy," he gestured towards the stranger, whom flashed a mischievous grin, "shows up with Grabs slung over his shoulder, knocked out colder than a dead fish."
"I owed him," said the stranger.
"That was an accident, ye flippin' moron." Grabs jabbed a finger in the stranger's direction.
"Moving on," growled Slick. "Ye can probably guess what happened after that. Arram went and rescued yer sorry behind while I dished up some smellin' salts for sleeping beauty."
"You're depressing me," said Grabs, thickly.
"I see." Rey spoke loudly to break up their feud. "So now I'm supposed to live the rest of my life with only a left hand to see to all my needs, not to mention explain to my mother why I left in the first place. It's really interesting, however, that I'm right-handed!"
Slick seemed thoughtful for a moment. "Hmm. Yeah, that's pretty much it."
"Don't ferget, Mr. Prince," said Grabs, with a shrug. "Rascha's had it pretty bad, too. Ye don't see him complainin' over a little flesh wound."
"Flesh wound!" squeaked Rey.
"He lost an eye!" said Slick, in absolute agreement to his companion. "Losin' a hand's one thing, but imagine bein' half-blind for the rest of yer life."
"Flesh wound!" Rey cried again. "I recall being the only one who tried to defend him out there! Not to mention the fact that Rascha doesn't have half-a-dozen women waiting for an escort in seven hours!"
"Rascha ain't that lucky," Slick retorted.
"I give up!" Rey tossed his one hand in the air, remembering only just in time to keep his other motionless.
"Huh." Grabs yawned. "There ain't much damage done. 'Sides having to hear the Boss duke it out on us for damaging his precious little prince."
Rey glared.
"That leaves us an hour to do whatever we want," said Slick. "Still want that tour, Mr. Prince?"
"Aha, I'm coming!" growled a sudden voice. Rey jumped, surprised by the sudden fierceness in the hulking figure that was Creepers. "Ye children seem to have problems with responsibility! Seems ye children need some adult accompaniment!"
"Responsibility!" Slick growled. "Yer a walkin', talkin' load of crap, you know that?"
"Well, at least I don't smell like one," said Creepers in his smooth, yet raspy voice. He said this as he passed the four-armed man by, only tilting his misshapen head slightly to eye him.
"Ye smartin' little runt-"
The stranger seized Slick by the back of his collar just before the man could lunge at the older thug. Although Rey would have thought it impossible before, Slick fell back into the sarcastic grasp of the sharp-eyed Arram, who slung an arm around his shoulders like an old friend.
"You need a vacation," he told the four-armed man. Slick sneered and tried to squirm free, but even with four hands at his aid he was unable to break away. Arram lifted on side of his mouth. "And all these years I thought you liked me."
"Yeah, as much as I can like a rotten-gutted, lip-stealin', girl-seducin', ass-kissin'-"
"Ah ah ah," Arram interrupted. He let the four-armed man go and gave him a shove towards Grabs. "You're forgetting 'life-saving' hero, if you don't mind."
"Well, so much for sharin' the credit." Grabs caught Slick by the shoulder and balanced him. The four-armed man brushed him off angrily.
"Dropping a rock on my head doesn't count as bravery," said Arram. "Just stupid."
"Ungrateful," the red-haired thug grumbled.
"I'm just curious," said Rey. He spoke loudly, grasping the concept that 'loud' was required to interrupt these pointless feuds. "If your father is Amarant, and...if I'm correct, he is supposed to take some job that Baku has, but he doesn't want to...why are you here, and he isn't?"
"Shit," grunted Arram with a smirk. "I almost forgot. He is."
-------------------------------------
May ALL your worries go BAM BAM BAM BABOOBLAMBABAMBOO!!! BAMMM!!!!!
I'm tired. Forgive me. ^_^
