Particle 03: Firecracker Mako Detector Homoerotica

Perchick stared at her reflection in the dingy mirror, one of the few comforts that Reb Tevye and his family could afford to give her to furnish her attic room during her short stay. It was a small sign of the family's inherent kindness, no matter how gruff Tevye and Golde seemed on the outside.

This was one of the few chances that Perchick had to breathe without binding her chest flat. She sighed and stretched her linked hands above her head. Finally, freedom. Her chest was sore. Cursed be the hormones that gave her such well-endowment so early on in life.

Perchick dropped her arms and ran her fingers through her short-cropped hair. Reb Tevye had gone off to the local inn to meet a gentleman on business, the girls were taking a short bit of time to themselves, and Golde was elsewhere unknown at the moment. This would be a good chance to talk to Hodel alone, without Golde breathing down her neck. She always feared that Golde could see straight through her gender-masking disguise.

The price for any homoerotica – 'sodomy' – in Anatevka was surely death.

Oddly, and yet confusing to Perchick, there was a small flame inside her that promised an almost inherent courage and boldness she could not recall ever having during the course of her life. It was a flame that also strongly disagreed with the Communist doctrine she so loved, telling her that above all things, humans were to be free from all bounds of government and society. The part of the flame that always remained consistent was the longing for change and open-mindedness among all.

It was the sort of conflict she would drown out with vodka, had she the energy to walk all the way to the inn. Even so, she would run into Reb Tevye for sure, and the man was none too fond of her. He found her to be a force of unsettlement.

Perchick sighed and flopped stomach-down onto her bed. She dug a book out from under her pillow and opened to a marked page, not even bothering to really read the words. It was the Communist Manifesto; she had memorized it back-to-front.

I wonder if tonight is the night that I should try to introduce the girls to the Manifesto, she thought, flipping a page without even reading the faded print. The parents are not around so as to object. The poor things, live such a sheltered life. I hope that all of them are happy with this…

Perchick sighed and focused on the words.

------

I'll go my way. No turning back. Before the time comes

For each of us to choose a different path

I'll release the so precious, oh so precious

Memories.

Take my revolution.  Let's go on with our lives.

Reality approaches now, frantically.

What I want is to find my place in life and my self-worth,

Taking who I've been up until today...

...and heroically strip until bare,

Like the roses whirling in freedom.

But even if the two of us should be separated,

I will change the world.

------

"……………………"

Perchick looked up from the book and blinked several times. No, this wasn't the text, wasn't it at all. How did—she checked the cover, yes, "The Communist Manifesto"—how did—what the—

Perchick turned the page with a badly shaking hand, almost yanking it free of the binding. The text on the next page was as she remembered it. She flipped back to the previous page and took a deep breath.

The text was as she remembered it.

Perchick blinked and dropped the book onto her lap heavily. She sighed in relief. I'm not crazy I'm not crazy I'm not crazy thank God…

The proverbial inner flame was taking on a rosy hue.

Perchick stared at the thatched ceiling in a daze. The candle on her bedside table was casting lights in muted oranges. The ceiling was blurring.

Perchick's lips moved subconsciously. A whisper…

"But even if the two of us are separated, I promise you

I will change the world…"

Perchick sat bolt upright, gasping.

The flame guttered.

"….AAAAAH!"

Perchick swung off of the bed, kicked the trapdoor down, and yanked the holding chord off of the ladder. The ladder unfolded and hit the ground below with a soft thud.

"Perchick?" Tzeitel called from below. "Is that—"

Perchick was already three fourths of the way down the ladder. She landed heavily on the ground and looked around the kitchen frantically. Ground—solid, sink—there, table—there, moon—rising, sun—setting, snow—covering, orientation—good. Good. Anatevka. Russia.

Tzeitel and Motel, or one might say, Hitomi and Van, were sitting at the table staring with mild confusion.

"Perchick, is something wrong?"

"Nothing—" OH SHIT. Perchick looked down. She had not bound her chest. The curves of her breasts were clearly visible through her nightshirt.

"Ah—I, ah, just thought I heard something," she muttered, scrambling for the ladder. She climbed back up so quickly that her foot slipped twice.

-------------------------

"Wait!" Hitomi stood up. "Perchick—"

There was scrambling upstairs. Hitomi looked at Motel, then stood up and walked over to the ladder. She craned her neck to look up into the attic, trying to sense what was happening beyond the square-view provided by the hole.

"Perchick, is something wrong?"

"Nothing!"

"For goodness's sake…" Hitomi placed her hands on her hips and walked back to the table. Motel looked confused.

"Didn't Perchick look a little…" He moved his hands in a cupping motion in front of his chest. "…round?"

"What are you talking about?" Hitomi swept her skirts out from under her and sat down. "I didn't see a thing."

"…he's a little odd."

"Very. Extremely. Did you want some cake? I made it myself."

"No, I mean… doesn't he seem a little…" Motel moved his hands as if trying to clutch words. "…feminine?"

"Well… yeah, his voice and his face and his shoulders and his hips and waist and his wrists, but other than that…"

Motel thought for a moment. "…oh, just other than all of that."

"Don't be silly, Motel. Perchick is a man. How else would he be able to attend a big university?"

As the pattern has been well established already, Hitomi's sharp intuition was conflicting sharply with Tzeitel's sharp sensory-only perspective on things, which was producing quite a deal of second-guessing and doubt.

Hitomi was used to that. Tzeitel was not.

Hitomi chewed on a hangnail thoughtfully. "…now that you mention it…"

"Should we tell your father?"

"No, absolutely not. He'll kill poor Perchick, and if he doesn't believe us he'll forbid you to ever see me again."

"Fine…" Motel placed his head on his hand and smiled. "Did you say something about cake?"

Something banged upstairs.

Hitomi and Van—Motel—looked up at the trapdoor.

The ladder was gone.

------------------

Utena lowered the ladder out the open window until it rested in the thick bank of snow below. The sky was vivid, dark blue, sharply contrasting with the white snow. The frigid arctic wind was blowing ice into her face.

Utena shuddered and backed out onto the ladder. The ladder was unsteady and sliding back and forth across the icy windowsill, sometimes lifting free for brief moments before slapping back down. She began to climb down quickly, focusing her weight on a balanced point on each rung.

She made it halfway down before the ladder fell over.

Utena jumped to the ground safely as the ladder crashed on its side. She collected the ladder, folded it up, and set it in a sheltered area under the house. She had to remember to find it before Reb Tevye or Golde did.

Damn it, I left the trapdoor open!

Utena cursed and hugged herself, stamping snow out of her boots. There was nothing to be done now. She would just have to explain when she returned.

Right now, she needed a drink. Badly.

---------------------

Everything is moving into place, finally. A little slow on development this time, but it moves into place. Finally.

Let's deviate a little…

----------------------

A gun went off.

Constable Wolfwood winced and felt the top of his head. His hat had been blown off. The bullet had grazed his scalp. The blood was already making his hair tacky.

Alucard grinned and gestured sideways with the Casull. "That is my right to travel without papers, Priest. Now, I suggest that you move aside. Tell your men not to even bother with their weapons. I overpower them all. Not that I would mind, because this little hole of a town is rather boring. A little excitement may balance out something in the cosmic fabric."

Wolfwood watched Alucard carefully before putting his hands on top of his head and moving aside. His men, who had stood defensively at the first shot, did the same.

"Priest? What do you mean?"

"You don't remember, do you?" Alucard curled his lip. "Brainwashed, all of you." He raised his voice to the utterly silent and shocked bar. "Don't any of you remember who you are?"

"We're men under god!" one of them shouted. "And we won't be terrorized by you!"

"Then remain what you are right now. I hold ties with none of you, though I know most of you by name. It's more than you know about your true selves at the moment." Alucard wrapped his hand around the back of Chichiri's neck and pulled him onto his feet.

The monk was silently praying that chaos not break out, but things were moving far past the point of no return back to tranquility. Or, at least, tranquility it its loose NeXus meaning.

"I believe you have an annoying musical number to sing." Alucard backed toward the rear entrance with Chichiri in tow. "We are leaving. Constable," Alucard nodded to Wolfwood. "I would not advise chasing me, for your own sake and the sake of your men."

Alucard backed out the door. A gust of snowy air invaded the bar before the door flapped closed.

Silence.

It is a well-known fact that drunk men, agitation, guns, and small towns with many dark rooftops and doorways do not mix without some sort of inevitable chaos.

It does not take stoichiometry to figure the next result…

------------------------------

Utena was a block away from the bar when she heard the shot.

What in the hell?!

Utena centered her weight on the icy street and ran toward the bar. Though the perfect cocktail of alcohol and guns was there, never had she heard of anybody shooting another in Anatevka while in the bar. That was something that happened back in the city, not here.

Maybe these people weren't as clean-cut as she thought they were.

Well, of course, backwater or no, they're humans. She flattened herself to the side of the inn and looked over her shoulder into the window. They—

Something dark jumped onto the roof across the alley from the bar, dragging with it what appeared to be a hostage holding a staff. She vaguely noticed that the hostage had a conical, Chinese-looking hat hanging off of a strap around its neck.

Utena gaped. Before she had a chance to react, the figure had jumped to another roof.

The door also slammed right into her face.

Approximately one-fourth of the entire male population of Anatevka poured out of the door, shouting oaths, some brandishing knives or staves. There was a stampede of thick, muddied boots scraping and slamming across the slushy ice of the doorway.

The door closed for a moment. Utena slipped out of harm's way and rubbed either cheek. While one had been directly smashed by the door, the other had been pressed into the wall until she feared that her jaw would snap inward.

The door opened again. Reb Tevye and Lazar Wolf staggered onto the inn patio, the latter brandishing a butcher knife he always kept in his apron pocket. The man seldom removed his bloodied apron until he fell into bed at night. Tonight was no acceptation, though he was asking for a hand in marriage.

Utena blinked. A gut instinct told her for some reason that Lazar had a very natural tendency to take great pride in cleanliness and appearance.

"Perchick!" Tevye motioned violently in the general direction of his house. "Go back to the house, boy! This is no place for you!"

"Who was that man? Was somebody kidnapped?"

"It was a gentile, a foreigner of these parts," Lazar said, looking dramatically across the moonlit rooftops. The moonlight always seemed to find a perfect and flattering way to fall across his face and highlight his blue eyes. It did not seem consistent with the archetype for a butcher. Butchers looked unflattering in any lighting situation. They were all also obligatorily red-faced, hairy, and overweight, but Lazar was lithe and pale. Utterly smooth-shaven, also, which as far as Utena remembered was a sin to the Jews.

He was quite beautiful.

Don't think about that now, girl…

"Perchick! Did you hear me, boy?! Go home!"

Utena bowed clumsily to Tevye and backed off toward the street. "Yessir, begging your pardon for intruding; I'll just go…"

"GO!"

Tevye and Lazar ran after the drunken mob, or rather, to fortify its ranks. Utena watched to see if they would even look back. When they did not, she straightened and took an alternate path down a back alley.

-----------------

"So you just stumbled upon this excuse for a community while searching for mako."

"That's the shape of it."

"…mako."

"It's an urban area with no technological advancement to supply the reactors to suck the mako dry, if you follow me."

"Do I." Alucard tapped the top of the Jackal against the edge of the roof over his head. The building adjacent to their rooftop was slightly taller. "So you're looking for mako in a butcher shop?"

"Where there is a great deal of loss of life, there is a great deal of spirits being released back to the earth."

"And therefore… more mako."

"People are also dying in this town in great numbers. Russia as well. War, disease, cold, vodka, lovers' suicides. All very fashionable."

"Disease is fashionable nowadays no da?"

"Biological warfare is the new stuff, Mr. Monk."

"You're a smarmy bastard." Alucard looked over the top of his sunglasses at the man crouching across from him. "Do you have a name, former Dragon of Earth?"

The man smiled in a way that marked him as a natural salesman. "You are a smart one. Kigai Yuuto at your service, Dragon of Earth once reincarnated, thrice if you count my three deaths in various versions."

"You serve nobody but yourself. And before you make any remarks, I remain in the service of humans. I'm not a freelance with no honor."

"And we all applaud you, Master Alucard."

"And now you're working for Shinra no da."

"Not so much working as offering my services for a short period of time."

Chichiri narrowed his eyes. "You're a mercenary no da."

Yuuto smiled with closed eyes. He appeared almost cheerful. "Now, don't say it as if it's such a bad thing. I work where I'm needed. Besides, I have a good running record with messing up the balance of the earth."

"No, wrong no da. You're supposed to be in favor of the earth's natural energy over human industrialization no da. So you're being destructive in a paradoxical way no da."

"But I never really cared about the earth, you see." Yuuto raised his hands and made smooth motions in front of his chest with arced fingers. A sphere of water formed and began to fluctuate, first a perfect sphere, then an ellipse, then almost a D-orbital, always moving and flowing. "You should understand when I say that just go with the flow. Go where the action is. You, after all, are a spirit of water like myself."

"There are multiple ways to interpret the nature of water no da." Chichiri poked the moving water. "That still makes the comment you had about destroying the earth paradoxical and irrelevant—wait…"

Chichiri looked up into his brain and moved his lips, trying to work out the logic of what he had just said about what Yuuto had said a while ago.

The sound of running footsteps coming down the alley stopped at the door of the butcher shop. Yuuto dissipated the ball of water with an outward flick of his wrists as the three looked down at the street in amusement. The main group had passed the rooftop several minutes ago, this being after Alucard and Chichiri had found Yuuto crouching and watching with deceptively cheerful amusement.

"Well, well, what have we here?" said Yuuto. "It's Allen Crusade Schezar VIII and Jet Black, also players on this small illusionary stage." He sat back on his heels and thought for a moment. "I do hope they don't go inside."

Chichiri looked up. "…why?" he asked cautiously, dreading and already knowing the nature of the answer. "What did you do no da?"

"Oh, nothing, just a little bit of site evaluation…"

"Site evaluation my ass no da."

"I'd rather not, though from this angle it looks as though it's doing pretty well for itself. I'd give it a seven on the fangirl-scale-of-approval."

"And why would you know how to work the fangirl-scale-of-approval no da?"

"I'm really a woman." Yuuto smiled at Chichiri's steadily growing expression of surprise. "Just joking."

"In any case, could we please not talk about my ass no da?"

"And why not? It appears to be in rather good shape."

Chichiri edged his backside toward the wall of the adjacent building, watching Yuuto warily. Yuuto started to laugh.

"HEY!!" Allen yelled from within his shop. "What the hell is this?!"

"Oh dear…" Yuuto returned his attention to the alley below, where Jet was standing a drunken guard of sorts that involved a lot of paranoid eye-shifting and hugging his arms against the cold. "I should not have left that down there…"

"Um… I just noticed something no da…"

"What?"

"Where's Alucard no da?"

------------------------

Allen knelt down in front of the odd contraption hammered into the icy dirt floor of his butchery shop. Something about its design appealed to his subconscious awareness designated to recognizing technology—of which he had seen a fair amount in his inter-Road travels—but the conscious of the rural and uneducated Lazar Wolf was registering the item as some sort of odd slicing device.

The mixed conclusion, therefore, involved the concept of a clock counting down to a very theatrical and fiery explosion and people being cut into strips as the result.

"TEVYE!"

Tevye scrambled and slipped across the icy doorway and stopped beside Allen. Allen leaned away from the device out of fear that it would explode in his face at any second.

"What is this?"

"Don't know. Some sort of a bomb."

"Bomb? What the hell is a bomb?"

Tevye thought about this for a moment. "Ever heard of Chinese firecrackers? Light them, they explode and make a huge ruckus? That's like a bomb."

"You're knowledgeable all of a sudden."

"I believe it was God who spoke to me."

Tevye seemed to be in conflict about the origin of the idea as well. Allen stared at him for a second before returning his attention to the 'bomb'.

"…the Chinaman. This must be one of his firecrackers. Damn." Allen stood up. "Why does he want to firecracker my business? I've done nothing to the man."

"Pagans are odd folk. Savages. Like to make human sacrifices."

"Are you suggesting that I am a human sacrifice?"

Tevye didn't respond. Allen looked over his shoulder. The old man was in some sort of an internal moral conflict—unknown to Allen, the worldly intellect of Jet versus the closed mentality of Tevye—that was unwarranted. There were men who became philosophers when they were drunk, and men who became mere dancers and singers. Tevye was one of the latter. Jet was one of the former.

The end result was not pretty.

"…wedding!"

"Pardon?"

Tevye stumbled forward and draped his arm around Allen, effectively making the smaller man's knees buckle. Allen stumbled a few steps into Tevye.

"Let's have the wedding now! Tonight!"

"It… sounds like a novel idea, Reb Tevye, but there is this pressing issue of the Chinaman and the firecracker…"

"Aawww, live and let live."

"The firecracker…"

"We'll just chuck it out into some field and let it explode where nobody'll be the wiser. The mob'll never catch him. We'll never catch the mob, therefore we'll never catch him. Makes sense, no?"

"Um…" Allen eyed the 'firecracker' at his feet warily and noted that there was a blinking green light on one side of its casing. The subconscious gears of his brain were trying to send some sort of a message through the haze of amnesia and vodka.

"…what about… guests? Preparations? The rabbi, the tent?"

"We'll get it all ready!" Tevye patted Allen's arm heavily with his good hand and pointed at the 'firecracker' with his hook. "What's to loose, nah? A bunch of dead animals on the walls and some knives."

"Livestock, meat. I liked the idea about chucking it into a field better."

"Yeah, and with God's good fortunes you'll kill some cows and have some meat for tomorrow, nah? Make some money for your new bride, wedding feast…"

Allen thought about this for a moment.

"How old is Tzeitel again?"

"Um… fifteen, eighteen, can't remember."

"Wedding tonight…"

Wedding. Tonight. Wedding. Night. Wedding night. The reasoning was perfectly valid with the reinforcement of vodka and libido. It made perfect sense. It made perfect sense to both Allen and Lazar, so there was at least no internal conflict on a more-than-exclusively-internal level.

Maybe Reb Tevye had a head on his shoulders after all. But why would he think that way involving his own daughter?

Did Tevye always act like a fool when he was drunk? Did Tevye ever get drunk? Was Tevye named Tevye? Did he ever have a blasted hook?
"…I say yes!" Allen yelled through the incessant voice of realty-consciousness. It was a vain attempt to break through the surreal veil of arguing voices.

It was also the second time that night that the voices had inspired decisions involving a certain Hitomi / Tzeitel.

"Yes?"

"Yes! Let's get married tonight!"

"Good!" Tevye whacked Allen on the back heartily and laughed. "I'm about to have a son! Finally, a son! After five daughters!"

"Yes, yes…" Allen peeled Tevye's arm off of his shoulders and kneeled down. "Let's get rid of this thing first…"

-----------------------

It ended up in Utena's arms.

Utena looked down at her new burden that some reflex had told her to catch. Lazar had thrown it to her when he saw her in the distance, yelling something about her in turn throwing it into a field heavily populated by cows, before staggering off with Tevye draped over his shoulders.

She had also been given yelled, barely-audible instructions to join them for some sort of something later that evening at Tevye's house.

Utena shook her head and looked down at the gadget-cylinder. It was metal, with several odd extensions and deep clawlike hooks on its anterior end. The word "SHINRA" had been stamped across the side in the characteristic industrial broken-letter font. A green light was pulsating on its side, labeled with the wording "Mako detection".

"Mako? What in the…?"

Utena looked the device over carefully, then tossed it over her shoulder. She had no time for this nonsense.

The metal crashed into the icy alleyway and, in effect, distributed a great deal of gears and small parts across the snowdrifts. Utena looked over her shoulder, half considering picking the mess up.

The lazy and curious side of her conscious won. She turned her back on the mess and ran after Reb Tevye and Lazar.

----------------

As opposites attract opposites, like attracts like. There is no way of telling which will occur in any given circumstance.

This was an occurrence of like attraction. Call it a homosexuality of energies. It is, actually, a very beautiful thing. It was the basis of the mako detector.

A materia now lay hidden in a snowbank, still glowing green and reacting with the mako hidden beneath the permafrosted ground. This particular materia was a violent sensor.

If materia had a libido, and the mako was the source of its lust, it could be said to be a James Bond. It was stealthy. It knew things. Nobody could control it for long. It always had its lust satisfied.

It had an insatiable proverbial libido that sometimes almost got it destroyed.

The materia collected its bearings for a moment, free from the restraint of the machine that had once been its proverbial opiate, and relished in the pure energy it was receiving from the ground. The area around the butcher shop was rich in mako.

There was a greater reserve elsewhere, not far away.

The materia started rolling down the alleyway, weaving in and out of three pairs of footprints that had recently been made in the falling snow. Two were walking side-by-side, staggering badly and sometimes interweaving. The third, smaller pair was running a straight line.