Walker was so bored at staring for time immemorial (or at least since this morning) at the large clock sitting on it's proud high pole, ticking the minutes by, that he barely even noticed the addition of three men and a little girl in his presence until the tall dark-haired man waved a hand across his face, waking him from his stupor. Walker blinked a couple of times to ascertain his place in the universe once more, finding himself practically using the bench of his ticket booth as a pillow. Hardly anybody used the trains anymore except for hardcore drifters, and they came only once every few days on an average. It was not uncommon for Walker to take long naps in the middle of the day and no higher authorities being the wiser. It was an easy job to perform, but it was dead boring most of the time.
"Hnungh?" Mumbled the vendor sleepily, picking his head up from the comfortable surface of the bench to address the first few customers he had had all day. "Can I help you?" He slurred.
The dark-haired man smiled bemusedly, deep green eyes giving off a glint of profound intelligence. "I do believe you can." He said, looking like he was succeeding at keeping a straight face over something humorous.
"And that is?" Walker yawned, wondering what was so funny. He appraised the other two men behind the person who was obviously their leader, looking around awkwardly at the trees near the station, reddened leaves indicating the season of Autumn was present and transpiring in the world. One of them fumed quietly and nursed a split lip, shooting dirty glares with his one good eye at a slightly taller bearded man wearing a cowboy hat and carrying a small child very carefully. Neither of them looked too happy, a contrast to the cheerful disposition of their leader.
The leader in question finally laughed, a light lilting sound that smacked of high-bred refinement. "You have something on your face." He informed Walker, pointing to his own face. The vendor touched his cheek and blushed, going an embarrassed red. He must have been drooling in his half-sleep because he had unintentionally drooled on a white sheet of paper and it had welded itself to the side of his face. He yanked it off and slapped it back on the bench, grinning. "Uh, heheh. Do you need tickets to anywhere?" He asked before recognising the girl. "Oh, you have Kaitlyn. Is she sleeping?"
The two bandits immediately snapped to an alarmed attention, thinking that their cover might be blown. Ravendor made a perfect save, his demeanour not shifting an inch. "Yes. I am afraid the poor child exhausted herself last night. It was her birthday, you see." he made the slightest motion to his minions with one hand, causing the other two bandits to nod vigorously. "May we all have tickets to Dune Canyon, please?"
Walker dispensed the tickets while Ravendor procured the money, the vendor pushing forward three adult and one child tickets on the desk. "One hundred and seventy five gella, please." He said, thinking for a second before adding; "And let me ask, does Clive know you're taking Kaitlyn to Dune Canyon?" He pried innocently.
Ravendor handed Walker the money, and a little extra, for a tip. "Indeed he does," Ravendor lied smoothly and convincingly, "Clive is my dear little brother, and because he is currently on a very crucial commission, I find it is my duty to take my lovely niece to Fortune Gear as a birthday present, to wish for another year of good luck." Walker nodded knowingly, it was a long running custom to do such things on special occasions in the East Highlands, though it would have made more sense for Catherine to take her, not some relation that the vendor had never seen before. But, Ravendor seemed sincere enough, and his voice and accent was remarkably similar to Clive's, Walker trusted him.
"Well, have fun." Said the vendor heartily as the small team departed for the platform. "The train will be here shortly." Walker had a weird niggling thought at the back of his head, he didn't think Clive had ever mentioned any siblings before to him, but then again, he didn't know the drifter that well. Maybe he had missed something. Ravendor bowed in a graceful sweeping manner, hand going out in front of his body. It then moved up and grasped Romero's bandanna, gently tugging him along as he left. Dario obediently followed, noting that the girl was beginning to squirm a little, she was slowly waking up.
"I didn't know you were that guy's brother!" Exclaimed Romero disbelievingly, earning an exasperated sigh from their team's leader.
"I am not his brother," Ravendor corrected, releasing the bandanna and therefore the blonde drifter, "I merely lied, you imbecile." Romero took the insult like a physical blow, wincing. Ravendor had a way of making his words sharper than any knife or dagger. His tongue could go from sickeningly sweet, to a fatal poison in the wink of an eye. His mental games and spiteful planning made him so much more deadly than a quick and steady ARM ever could have. As he had mentioned before, why hurt the body, when you can shatter the mind?
Hmph. To think that I, Ravendor Begucci, could be mistaken for kin of that worthless ruffian? Clive, you may speak as eloquently as I do, but your blood is as common as the trash you were bred from. I have your daughter, and soon, I will have my revenge…
"Boss? Uh, Boss? You're zoning out on us." Dario looked concerned. Kaitlyn was making the small noises that lightly-sleeping people do before they wake, and the train had not come yet. And now, their leader was not responding to his words. Dario honestly did not want a screaming kid on his hands, no matter how cute-looking she may be.
"Hmm? Oh!" Ravendor came out of his muse with a snap, smiling away his surprise. "My apologies. I was thinking." He stood on the small line that showed how far out they could stand without being grazed by the train itself, he leaned over to line to see if the train was coming. The horizon was bare. Ravendor shook his head and tapped one shining black boot rhythmically to the beat of three seconds, taking a drag of his cigarette thoughtfully. "Is anything wrong?"
"Yes. The kid's waking up." Dario held her up carefully as proof. Ravendor carefully inspected her, a hand on his chin in concentrated thought. Aside from the light coloured hair, she looked very much like Catherine, a copy in miniature. How strikingly doll-like she was while asleep, and Ravendor absently wondered if her eyes were the same as her mother's as well.
Her came to a quick decision. "Bind her arms," He said, "Do not continue to drug her. She will be easy to control with the right… methods. Dario, I leave her in your charge." Dario blanched, didn't he get a choice in the matter? "And as I have said before, she is not to be harmed." A thin rope was attached to the dark-haired man's belt, and he removed it with the direction that Dario was to hold out the girl's arms. He did so, Ravendor wrapped the wrists together with a formidable knot, loose enough for comfort but tight enough to hold them firmly together.
I am sorry, little Catherine, but it must be done.
He did not know the child's name, coming up with his own variation that would have been cute if used by anyone else other than Ravendor. The train arrived late, the drifter team expected as much from this rail system, it left a lot to be desired. Tony hopped off the train and ushered them in, giving peculiar looks to Dario and Romero, because he had a faint remembrance of them from the transportation of the Ark Scepter that he could not place. But, they were his customers, he had to treat them as such.
The drifter team found an unlocked cabin, settling themselves down for the descent into the canyon. Dario laid the girl out lying down on the bench they were seated at, giving her some room. Romero and Ravendor shared the other seat, silent as they felt the vibrations of the moving train at their backs and the soles of their shoes. "I forgot to tell you," Ravendor said after a while, smiling like he was conveying good news, "I have a surprise for you once we reach my hideout. I do believe you will appreciate it greatly."
"What is it?" Romero asked eagerly, the images of gold and more gold playing over and over again in his head. He rubbed his hands together at the thought and giggled evilly.
The leader raised his hand and shook it, reprimanding them warmly. "No, no, no. If I told you, then it wouldn't be a surprise. And besides, it would be simply dreadful for you to know before you got there, I wouldn't get to have all my fun." He closed his emerald-green eyes and leant back against the wall, sighing deeply and letting out all his tension. Finally, he stubbed out his ever-present cigarette by dropping it on the ground and stepping on it, grinding the ashes into the floor. A little nap was what he chiefly needed.
"Is there a pisser 'round here?" Romero wondered out loud, looking around the cabin. All he saw was metal and some more metal. Dario rolled his eyes and Ravendor let a small grin spread across his face, though he kept his eyes shut. He pointed to the closed door, breathing out the last few words before becoming silent altogether.
"Go and check in the back," He sighed, "Or open a window." Instead, the ninja opened the door, wandering off to find the facilities he sought. Maybe he could ask one of the train dudes, as he called them. He walked down the hallway and across some of the other compartments, quickly getting lost. He would find his way back, eventually, but Dario and Ravendor got some peace for a time, probably the reason why Ravendor had told him to search in the first place. Dario wouldn't have been surprised, his Boss was fiendishly clever.
But what could a simple bandit do to pass the time while his boss dozed and his bro was elsewhere trying to find his destination with building urgency? Nothing, except stare at the walls or out the window, which wasn't very effective because there was only just sand and dirt outside, with the addition of a few rocks for flavor. As a last ditch effort, Dario made perfectly sure that his Boss was asleep by calling out to him a few times softly, he got no answer and assumed that his coast was clear.
Dario did something very unbandit-like. He pulled out a book, opened it, and began to read. It took him a long time to finish a page, because he had only recently beaten his illiteracy last year, which was one of the hardest things he had ever undertaken. But the book he was reading was fairly difficult, because some of the bigger words were too hard for him to understand. Still, at least he could say he was literate, which meant he could charge a higher price for his services. Sadly, everything in his life somehow ended up revolving around money, whether it was a good or bad thing.
"…uuuunnnnnnnnnn…"
The bandit shoved the book back in his inventory, in case anyone saw what he was doing, abashed. He really did not have to worry too much, because Kaitlyn was waking up. He glanced at Ravendor, but the leader's head was nodding as the cabin bounced around on the rails, he didn't look like he was faking sleep. At last, Kaitlyn opened her eyes.
"…Huuhh… Mister?" She murmured tiredly, trying to rub at her eyes, but finding her arms strangely stuck together. Not only that, but the room she was in was unfamiliar. She could only begin to wonder where she was. The only lead she had was that the nice (She called him nice, for now) man she had met earlier was sitting nearby and staring intently at her. Kaitlyn held her tied-up arms to her face, and rubbed her eyes, finding a way to fix her problem.
"Hello Kaitlyn." Said Dario, taking the time to remember her name. He pushed back his cowboy hat out of his face and tried to smile reassuringly. "My name is Dario." He said this simply, because the girl seemed to be confused, and Dario didn't blame her.
"Mister Dario…" Said Kaitlyn, heaving herself forward a few times before balancing herself enough to sit up straight. "Where am I? …What's going on?"
He wondered how he could phrase this best without the kid freaking out on him. She seemed to be pretty smart, for a kid, but children could get panicky, very easily. "Well," He scratched the back of his head, looking anxiously around the room. "Do you know what a kidnapping is?"
"A… kid-napping?" She echoed him, eyes wide. Kaitlyn had read enough books to know exactly what it was. And now the little girl felt cold all over, the walls appearing to close in on her. Suddenly, she wanted to go home.
Although the strength Clive claimed to possess was resilient, he still found it extremely difficult to walk down those stairs into the front area of the inn, where all those people, wounded by him, were congregated. He could smell the misery in the air, and if his friends had not been standing beside him, supporting him, he didn't know what he would have done. The scent of herbs and heal berries assaulted his senses as he walked through the twelve or so patients being treated by Martina and Mileux. The town of Claiborne was very fortunate Martina had learned a few skills from Cheville during her travels, or the situation may have become much worse. Clive just wanted to leave this place, and hopefully, never come back. Cuts, scrapes, bruises, Clive could almost remember each individual infliction he had imparted on the search party with a clear memory, and for a second he wished a cloud of amnesia gas would just envelope him forever.
He felt Virginia gently nudge him forward, as his sober thoughts had caused him to freeze in place. Clive looked over the crowd once more. He breathed a sigh of relief. No bites, he hadn't bitten anyone last night, at least not anyone still living, and it was a big relief to him without knowing why. He started walking again, waiting for a moment for Jet to say a few reassuring words to a newly-awakened Pike, about as reassuring as Jet could get. Well, if Jet could be comforting, then Clive could be strong, so he left the inn without looking back, clutching the red teleport orb in both hands.
The day was a fairly windy one, a warm wind from the east bringing tiny nodules of plant seeds sailing through the air and around the town, small leaves from trees far away, so distant and over the horizon. The wind blew Clive's hair in his eyes, and when he pulled it away again he got the sense that the town was tired, almost as tired as himself. His shoulder felt itchy, but he did not scratch, because he knew what he'd find if he did. Horrible disgusting fur. Ugh, it made him feel sick.
The swinging doors creaked closed behind him, the memory figure stationed nearby making a responsive clicking whir to the noise. Clive looked at the small robot in thought. They were such unusual objects, those figures that stand with boundless patience and a bizarre little bopping dance to pass the time. Clive thought that maybe he should set away some time in the near future to have a chat to one and recount his experiences, doing so with a memory figure always made him feel much better. That was their purpose, to record memories, wasn't it? But maybe he shouldn't say anything, it might be better to bury those particular memories, if all they brought and spoke of was pain.
"Are you alright?" Clive looked up, Virginia had been talking to him for a while and he hadn't noticed. Clive nodded but didn't respond verbally, paying attention to the stables next door. He still felt guilty, and those feelings of guilt wouldn't go away until he did something about it.
"Please excuse me for a moment." Clive said, turning back into the inn just as Jet and Gallows came out. He narrowly brushed past Gallows's shoulder, both of them halting for a second as their auras grazed each other. Gallows involuntarily shuddered and Clive's spirit fell.
"Poor kid," Said Jet, another irony because Pike was many years older than himself. "Whatever the hell it was that Clive did to him, it's gonna stick with 'im forever." Jet tugged his guard glove on tighter, flexing his fingers against the leather coating.
"Don't think of it as Clive doing it," Gallows disagreed, waving his hands negatively, "I don't think he had much choice in the matter."
"I wish you were not incorrect," Clive interrupted suddenly, making Gallows jump from behind. The sniper was carrying several white linen sheets, borrowed from Mileux. "But I did have a choice, and I simply selected the wrong one." He folded the sheets once so they were easier to carry, stowing the teleport orb away in one of the pockets of his coat. "If you will please wait here for a short while, there is one last matter I need to attend to."
"I know what you are going to do, and I want to help." Virginia replied honestly, pushing Gallows towards Clive. "He's coming too, we'll need a priest, won't we?" Gallows looked between the two drifters, wondering what they were talking about and how it would involve himself. Oh, the sheets, they were going to go and recover the bodies left in the stables. Gallows hid a shiver, he was generally unnerved by dead corpses, especially if they had the faces of people familiar to him when they lived. Virginia was wrong, he wasn't a priest, just a candidate for one, but he guessed that it would be heartless to not lend a hand, and Gallows had a big and warm heart. He'd help, even if he did not want to, no matter how freaked out he got.
Jet flicked his bandanna back over his shoulder as Virginia looked at him, reading the message her eyes sent with clarity. "I guess you want me to help too, huh?" How in the world was she able to manipulate him like this? It wasn't fair. He had never listened to anybody before, unless it involved money, why was he starting now? And by the Guardians, why with her?
Virginia patted him on the back appreciatively. "Atta boy! Let's go!" The way she said it, it sounded like they were going to go and explore a ruin instead of cleaning up a massacre. Virginia always made a horrible thing cheery, and Clive was incredibly thankful for it. He had left the doors wide open before, and nobody had taken it upon themselves to shut them again, so the stench of the atrocity was evident even outside the stables as well as inside. Involuntarily, his feet froze before he could go in again, it was even harder to face, now that he knew what lay within. "You can stay outside, if you want. We'll clean it up, you don't have to go in." Virginia said next to him, following his gaze into the building.
Clive shook his head from side to side, in disagreement to Virginia's offer. "I have to. This may sound familiar to you, but I must atone for my sins." He forced a light-hearted smile. "Besides," He continued, mentally sighing at the declaration, "The sight of blood does not affect me so intensely anymore."
The stables were still in shambles, just as it was left, and the stink of slowly decomposing bodies created a smell that pushed Clive to the edge of his frame of mind. The three of them, they were all good and decent people, their lives were tragically cut short. They shifted the bodies so they lay calmly as if immersed in a deep sleep, arms crossed near their chest to hide their stomach wounds and feet set together, though mutilated and broken. Clive and Gallows moved Dessinsey and Otto to the center of the room with difficulty, they were heavy to carry and lug about, and they had to be careful, because some limbs were only hanging to the body by thread-like tendons. Clive fetched Dessinsey's severed arm dangling from the hook on the wall, grimacing as it broke away like the arm was not entirely solid, it tore a chunk of flesh off, and Clive was loathe to touch it, so he didn't. He set the appendage near the gouged shoulder socket and drew Dessinsey's hat over his face, looking over his work. How detached he felt in such a sadistic scene, it felt like he was reading a book with himself as the main character. Even the dried blood was just another colour to him, it truly made him feel inhuman.
Virginia was attending to the sepulture of the two horses, tearfully casting her requiem Arcana that sent the beasts to the otherworld amidst a soft rain of ethereal feathers and light, saying a last good bye. The animals did not deserve this, they had not expected or understood it, but they still died. She wiped away tears and made a quick prayer for this to never happen again. Then she faced her friends, showing them that her work was done. Her face went from displaying sadness to anger in less than a second, glaring at the silver-haired android with extreme shock and ferocity. "Jet! What in the world are you doing?!" She yelled.
Jet was kneeling over the corpse of Volks, going through his pockets for valuables. He knocked aside the glare of contempt with ease and removed the dead man's wallet, seeing if there was anything good inside. "What?" He said to Virginia in a matter-of-factly tone, "It's not like he's gonna need it or anything. 'Sides, he owes us for the wolf killing." Jet looked around the room, meeting the angry stares of his drifting companions. "Hey! We earnt it! The cash is ours!"
"Cold blooded," Gallows said, straightening his jacket, "Are you a grave robber now?"
"No!" Retorted Jet, shifting the wallet from hand to hand, "I just think-" Gallows glared at him. Virginia glared at him. Clive glared at him. Jet analyzed each glare and groaned loudly, grumpily shoving the wallet back into Volks's pocket. Jet was passing up money, it was a time to be remembered in the annals of history. "I hate you all so much." He growled, upset.
"I'm so proud of you." Said the female drifter warmly, reaching out and messing Jet's silver hair up. He pushed her away, but she was not perturbed. "You're actually growing a heart." She announced, pleased.
Clive draped the sheets he had collected over the three bodies after ritually closing their eyes for the last time. Now they were just white masses, nameless. He bowed his head with guilt, disarming himself and leaning on the butt of the Gungnir with both hands clasped over it's surface, letting Gallows take the floor of their little makeshift funeral. In all truth, it would be blasphemy for the murderer to say the last rites to their victims. Gallows pushed his white lock of hair behind his ear, stammering out an apology that he wasn't quite sure on what he should do. "It does not really matter what you say," Clive informed him, "As long as it comes from the heart. Words are irrelevant."
Gallows crossed his hands over his chest and bowed deeply, closing his eyes. He spoke, and it was not in English, it was the tongue of the Baskar, an extremely musical symphony of words, more like a low crooning song than simple speech. The three listened, and it was like they heard not the words at all, they saw pictures in their minds of peace and tranquility, solitude and gentle rest. The dark night, the bright day, hope and despair, loss and fulfillment. They were all intertwined in a framework of organized discord, complete and yet, so separate. Time did not pass, though an eternity flew by, and they were finally awakened by Gallows rubbing his neck bashfully and asking if he did alright.
"Whoa…" Was all Jet could say, "Whoa."
Clive straightened his glasses, but he too, was amazed beyond words. "That will… do nicely." He finally said. Clive didn't know what Gallows had chanted, but it had a very strong effect on him. He was shaking in his boots.
"Ginny?" Gallows looked worriedly at the girl. She blinked, muttering something about angels. "Geez, it's not that impressive, is it?" The Baskar stepped down, indicating for Clive to take over. "Your turn." He announced.
The sniper turned to him, alarmed. "What? No, I don't have the right…" He stepped back, warding him away.
"Come on. You should at least say something." He pressed Clive, "Like you said, you gotta atone. So, do it now."
"That was not what I meant." Clive rebutted him, "But you are right." He chuckled nervously, "I cannot compare to the ritual our priest has performed, but at this time I am reminded of a poem I heard a long time ago in my youth-"
"A poem? Gimme a break." Jet moaned before having his foot trodden by Virginia. She nodded for him to continue.
Clive gave a shuddering sigh. "I do not deserve what I have been given, these friends I have, but at least they may be present for the departure of three souls with unjust dismissal. I am sorry. I deserve to follow them." He kneeled before the covered bodies and placed a hand over his heart. He was still cold, Clive barely felt alive. The sniper took a deep breath, and began.
To find the way to their last bed,
He who engineers mortal's end,
Shall tell you he is man's best friend."
"Amen." Gungnir felt heavy in his hand, he wondered idly if he would ever fight with it again. Not after this, not after the things he had done. Clive stood up and hoarsely whispered that he was finished, leaning himself face-first against the wall. A light shone behind him, Virginia cast the necrotic expulsion Arcana and Clive briefly wondered if it would also work on himself. He just felt… dead. It was like his body had expired and his mind was still controlling it. He sensed somebody standing behind him. "Is it done?" He asked, refusing to turn around.
"Yes," Answered Virginia, "It is. You are very brave, Clive."
He felt a cluster of hiccups building in his chest, and he could not keep them down for much longer. "No I'm not," He argued, "I'm a coward." He tore himself away from the wall and took the quickest route out of the stables, unable to look anywhere but at the ground.
The sniper waited patiently on the steps of the Horse Theft Inn for the others to follow him, a hand over his face. He was so weak, how long has this gone unnoticed? Somehow, the others had remained strong and he had weakened. If it wasn't for the strength Virginia had leant him, he would have…
The barrel of his ARM reflected the light of the sun with ease. If he held the tip of the weapon under his neck and fired… His problems would be solved.
But he was not that far gone yet. Clive would reserve it as a last resort, he'd keep the option open, but he still had things to do on Filgaia that needed to be finished. He could die later.
After his work was done, he would make sure of it.