(A/N: Sweet merciful crap, this piece was supposed to be published in JANUARY, for christsakes! I'm really sorry for the absence of this fic, but putting so much stuff into one chapter can be torturously difficult and I've had a lot of things going on in my life right now. But still, I could never quit writing this. Anywho, enjoy what's here!)
Catherine didn't have any moral problems with disobeying her father right after he, the three boys, and the one drifter had left to head for the ancient crystal ruins in the north. She was really too young to have a properly developed conscience just yet, and with Manna egging her on to come and check out the Black Shuck hideout, it was easy to assume what path she was going to take. Luckily, the hideout was quite close by, as two little girls wandering the streets of Little Twister was a particularly prominent danger for them. You never knew who was going to follow you home.
Manna knew where she was going though, and for the most part, the south side of Little Twister was the safest place to be. There were lowlifes and bottom-feeders here, true, but they were the kind of scum that a person could almost, just maybe, possibly even get to know to like someday. They passed a few of these people in the street, looking greenishly drunk even though it was still technically the morning. Catherine watched these strange people pass with innocent, wide-eyed wonderment. She had never seen people of that like before, not ever.
Old Tom Gallagher was at his usual spot outside the Rusty Spur saloon, swaying in his rickety rocking chair with a bottle of something strong sitting protectively in his lap. It was the safest place in the world for his drink, for no one, no one, would dare to venture and retrieve it from him. The man was thin and somewhat withered by chronic drinking and life experience, and he had a beard that would have been as white as snow if it had been kept clean, but instead it was a dirty greenish-grey sort of colour. The old man opened one bloodshot eye and watched the two little girls go by, offering them a toothless grin. Old Tom may have been a stinky man, a ranting old coot, a miser and a crank, but he was still a good man, nevertheless.
Lucy tried to pounce Manna as soon as the Baskar girl had gotten into her sights, the large, almost giant animal lumbering up to the two and launching herself off her paws, barking out a happy greeting. She had been pacing outside of her headquarters, uneasy when Clive was not around. Manna let go of Catherine's hand and sidestepped Lucy's overzealous greeting, the big dog landing in a heap on the sidewalk. Catherine smiled widely in intense delight. "Doggie!" She exclaimed happily, crouching down as the animal rolled back over into a more comfortable position.
She and Lucy immediately became fast friends. Catherine turned out to be very much a dog person, she didn't even mind being licked and slobbered on by a being much larger than she. Lucy was an affectionate animal after all, she loved people whether they were strangers or not. At Catherine's age the back of the dog came all the way up to her shoulder, which made Lucy nearly horse-sized compared to her. They followed the dog back to Manna's home, having to stop and guide the animal whenever they passed an interesting-smelling garbage bin. Catherine patted Lucy's tangled shaggy neck. It felt coarse and rough to her fingers, but still warm. She decided that she really did like dogs, and wondered if her daddy would buy one of these for her.
Passing through the alleyway they came to the courtyard of the dormitory, the cobbled stones warmed by the bright sunny day underneath their feet. Catherine looked around. It reminded her of a very small grown-up school, like the one her daddy had taught at, once. However the seeming students here were no older than she was, some appeared to be even younger. They were all dressed like vagrants, street urchins, but all of them were just playing around and having fun. The brown-haired girl couldn't count, but there weren't enough for it to be a lot of kids, yet there were enough of them for it to be a few. Most were little boys, with one or two girls hanging around to try and balance out the percent.
Manna seemed to read what Catherine was thinking about. "There ain't many girls heare because most bad daddies keep 'em under lock and key, even if they don't want them no more. Because theyse… girls, you know?" Catherine obviously didn't, from the blank look she was revealing to Manna's words. The Baskar girl continued. "An' if they don't end up heare, they get trained fer other jobs in the future. You don't get what Ah'm sayin', do ya?" Catherine shook her head obediently. "Ah guess that's a good thing, then. You'se too young to know anyways." Manna smiled. "You wanna go play?"
"What kind of games do you play?" Catherine asked freely, looking around and noticing the hopscotch court. She could play that game very well, but also had a tendency for falling over at inopportune times. She didn't want to make a mistake like that in front of her new friend. Besides, there were kids over there already, playing with crudely fashioned wedges of chalk. It was destroying what was left of the hopscotch court.
Catherine felt a jab of homesickness for her home back in Humphrey's Peak, a deep cold quiver in the pit of her stomach that died only moments later. It was this new landscape that must have done it, she was sure of it. She didn't like it and was glad it had gone away. To spite that feeling, she marched up to the boys on the court and took a piece of chalk for herself, intent on drawing a great mural. Together, the kids drew a nice picture of Godzilla eating a pony farm.
Manna, adhering to her duty as to what Berlitz had said, happily joined in.
xxx
One thing was for sure, that as soon as Clive looked into the eyes of the three large orcs standing no more than fifteen paces away from him, he knew that they only had one definite thing on their minds. Food. They looked to be extremely hungry, if the heavy amounts of drool they were dripping onto the polished blue floor was any indication. There mustn't have been any real food in the ruins, because Clive knew that a sated animal could never look like that. Taking a step away from their enemies, the little boy lost his nerve and hid behind Andrew and his bigger brother, raising his knife wielding hand to his mouth.
The middle orc trotted forward on its stubby little legs, grunting as it sweated over the boy's human smell. Likewise, the stink of such filthy animals reached the three little adventurers and made them feel mildly nauseous. Andrew held his nose. "Phew… those three pigs sure do stink!" He exclaimed, turning to Ravendor for advice. The dark-haired boy had a hand over his mouth, enough to show that he was disgusted with the creatures as well. Clive was hit by the smell too and likened it to giant ugly foot reek. How disgusting.
"Yes, three little pigs indeed." Ravendor agreed, his voice muffled by his hand. "So, which of us is going to be the Big Bad Wolf, hmm? I am not going to fight, I am practically weaponless right now. That dart was the one of the only few ones I had." He closed his eyes for a moment. "In retrospect, I probably should have brought more. No matter. There are three of us, and three of them. Do you get what I am saying?"
"We're Black Shucks." Clive cut in. "We are the wolves! I'm not afraid of the three little pigs!" Shoving Ravendor aside, Clive moved to the front ranks once more. "Enough of just standing here, lets go on and attack!" He pointed forward with his switchblade hand, like a captain giving his unit the order to charge. However, Andrew and Ravendor did not move. Both of them looked away, and Andrew chuckled a little. Clive glared at him as if he had just been called a name, heated and geared to fight. "What's so funny!" He exclaimed.
"I'm not gonna attack something that hasn't attacked us first, Sanga. That makes us the bad guys. I don't wanna be a bad guy, I wanna beat up the baddies myself." There was logic to the large boy's bumbling words, so Ravendor took his side and nodded in agreement and approval. Andrew looked at the monsters again and blinked. "How do we know they ain't friendly happy monsters, huh? They'se might just wanna say hello."
"I don't think a happy monster can look that hungry." Clive argued with one eyebrow lowered, gesturing carefully to the monsters that were drooling up a storm. Prior to Clive's words, one of the orcs hesitantly stepped forward. Clive ducked behind Andrew again in heated shyness merged with contempt. It started to smell Andrew up quite energetically, paying special attention to the boy's front pocket, where a half-eaten bar of chocolate was hiding, part of Andrew's 'Battle Rations'. Pushing into the pocket with its nose, it speared the treat with one of its tusks then withdrew its head in again, tossing its head back in recognition of its achievement.
However, it could not shake the chocolately treat from its own tusks and its arms were too stubby to reach it, so close but just no cigar today. "That's mine…" Andrew whimpered as the orc flailed uselessly for the candy, wanting to snatch it back from the monster again.
"Err… don't eat it now." Ravendor advised. "It's probably all germy. Yuck."
Clive reached over and poked the orc with his switchblade, to see what it would do. "Poke." He said, to accompany the motion and the orc jumped back angrily, squealing curtly in pain from the little prick. It made the jump coincide with its next move and used the momentum on its hind legs to bounce itself forward once more, bringing one flabby hooflike arm in for a pork chop attack. Andrew was clubbed instead of Clive, being a much closer and easier to hit target than he was. Clive was safely standing underneath and behind him anyway, and Ravendor was also too far away and to the side.
Andrew was struck in the temple and his head spun from the blow, a bright flash of painful light taking over his senses for a few reeling moments. At first he didn't know what had happened to him, but was familiar with the idea of being beaten in the head, mostly from stick dueling with Clive, so recovered far more quickly than somebody with his calculating ability was apt to do. He shook his head and brushed the pain out of it with his hand, roughing up his hair a bit. Clive moved away from him now. "Owww…" He moaned, "That stings."
"It attacked first! Not our fault! Kill, kill, kill!" Clive cried, waving his switchblade like a little maniac. The motion caught the eye of another orc and it sidled up to him, wanting to know if the knife was edible or not. Clive let it taste pain a few moments later, giving it a nasty little scratch along its paunchy gut. It cried out and backed off, upset.
"They certainly don't seem too eager to harm us, do they? Seriously, I mean." Said Ravendor as he sunk his foot into the stomach of the last orc that was still unharmed. The monster's reaction was as to be expected and so Ravendor withdrew and then counterattacked with a shin kick, doing no real damage but managing to knock it off balance a bit. The orc pinwheeled its arms in abject surprise and then righted itself again, snorting in disgust. Ravendor noted this. "Let's take them out." He said, raising his small fists in almost a laughable gesture of aggression.
Andrew would have laughed at him if he had had the time. The orc that had hit him seconds before thrust forward with its entire body and tried to slam him out of the way, the boy pressed against sour hog-sweated skin. Pulling back, he stepped onto the broken glass and worried that the material might slice through the thin soles of his shoes, gouging the bottoms of his feet. That would hurt a lot more than what the orc could do to him, he surmised. Instead of backing down ever further, he pressed himself against the monster's ample gut and pushed in the opposite direction, hoping to force the orc backwards and away from the glass. Andrew smiled a wide dumb grin. The orc's tummy was almost like a giant pillow, and apart from the stench, it was almost pleasant to lean against. He took three straining steps forward, gaining ground. Good, he was not standing on glass anymore. Time to act.
Digging his heels as best as he could into the crystalline floor, Andrew lashed out and buried his clenched fist into the sagging flesh of the squealing orc, feeling as though he was trying to hit a blubbery water balloon. The orc cried out, but not from pain, it was more like sheer surprise and anger. Andrew tried to pull his fist away but found it was stuck in the many layers of sweaty quivering flab, sucking his hand in like a sponge. He tried to pull again but failed, and, realization dawning upon him, Andrew screamed and attempted to run, getting no further away from the beast. Grunting, the orc lashed out with a meaty fist of it's own and swatted at him for a second time, only clipping his ear and ruffling his hair.
Clive saw Andrew's predicament and his mind yelled at him to offer his friend some help. Running towards the orc, Clive leapt up and latched onto the orc's shoulder, feeling it writhe and squirm in time to Andrew's attempts to pull himself away. An idea flashed through his mind and Clive snatched at the melting candy bar congealing on the orc's tusk, removing it with one deft swipe. "Have some chocolate!" He screamed and mashed the treat into the eyes of the monster, rubbing it into the orc's face and smearing it down it's long drooling jowls.
Burning gunk ground against the creature eyes and it howled in refusal of the pain, trying to wipe at its eyes with its tiny little arms. Andrew took this moment of distraction to relax the tension in his hand and pull his arm out slowly without meeting any catch. It had been afraid for a few moments there that when he would pull his arm free, his entire hand would be gone. A ludicrous fear, but it had startled him nevertheless. Clive unhooked himself from his perch and slipped down onto the floor again, concern in his eyes. "You alright?" He said.
"Fine and dandy, 'Sanga." He replied, opening and closing his fist a few times, in reflection. He seemed fine.
Clive smiled, then tossed Andrew his knife. "Punch it again." He advised. "But this time, hold the pointy bit in-between the fingers in your fist. See?" Nodding slowly, Andrew obeyed. His big hand fit over the switchblade's handle and there was easily two inches or so of gleaming mental between his index and middle finger, making his punch twice as powerful. Andrew thought for a moment that he could carve pictures into tree trunks with his hand like this, but then focussed himself back into the task, pardon the pun, at hand.
Ravendor and another orc were squaring off in a place close by to the other two, big slathering monster on one side, small dark-haired boy on the other. He gulped down a breath to calm his nerves and took a good look at the thing he was about to go up against. Dear Lord… He thought despairingly, almost sardonically, I am going to get flattened…
"Didn't your mother ever tell you to pick on somebody your own size?" He challenged the monster, "Like, say, Faluna?" Ravendor cracked a worried smile at his own wit and then took a step backwards. "I am warning you… I… I'm tough!"
The orc, of course, could not understand english but got the idea that the small creature was crying out in fear. The pheromones in the air certainly seemed to suggest that the creature was afraid. And so, it strode forward, unperturbed.
"Hi... YA!"
If Andrew's punch had had the power to at least stop one of the orcs in it's tracks, then Ravendor's punch had the similar effect of swatting a fly with a goosefeather. The boy's fist had been shaking against the orc's skin. Ravendor's head was bowed, shamed. If I only had some more darts, or my peacemaker, I would have torn this thing to shreds… Grunting in intrigue, the foe cocked it's head and looked inquisitively at the boy, not feeling that the boy had attacked.
"Luh… luh…" He backed away more, withdrawing his fist. He looked up and smiled in fear. He was trying to say something but the words were catching in his throat, making him stutter.
Clive turned his head to see what Ravendor was doing. He saw that another orc was stalking him from the side, the two of them drawing the boy into the scattering of dangerous broken glass. Ravendor didn't seem to be noticing, seemingly hypnotized by the beast in front of him. Clive found his voice and called out to him, trying to break the spell. "Swanky be careful there's glass over there!"
The green-haired boy's words were like a kick in the butt for him. "Luh… luh… Leave me alone!" Ravendor cried out as he broke free and tried to get as far away from the orc as possible, a particularly large one trailing him from the side. He ran, and the two followed. There wasn't much room for him to run to in the place they were in, he was restricted to circumnavigating the perimeter in a panic, hoping that his stamina would outlast the stamina of his enemy. His large medical bag banged annoyingly at his side as he ran, and Ravendor briefly thought for a moment about discarding it, but was unable to. Their treasure was in there.
When Andrew punched the orc again, he had been expecting a similar result like last time. His fist would push inside as far as it could go until he couldn't force it further anymore, the stretched skin taut against his thick knuckles. This time he forced through but the knife between his fingers cancelled the tautness, shearing through the orc's thick layer of skin. The monster squealed, feeling a burn. Fluid trickled along Andrew's hand, hot, like warm tomato soup. The orc's body trembled and shrunk around the boy's fist, pulling away just as Andrew had pulled away before.
His hand was streaked with gore. Andrew looked at it with wondrous fascination. He started to wipe it off on his shirt, knowing from dozens of nosebleeds that blood would go sticky and then flaky after awhile, and he didn't want that sort of gunk on his moderately grubby hands. He heard Ravendor yell and glanced over to him just as the boy lost his footing on a shard of glass and slipped over onto his stomach, landing with a fairly painful thud. He hadn't landed on any glass and hooked his arm out of the medicinal bag he was carrying, using it like a lever to pull himself to his hands and knees. He coughed hard, breathing a little heavily from his exodus from the two tailing monsters. The impact had knocked most of the air out of his lungs and he paused a moment to gather it back.
The orc running slightly from the side braked and nearly skidded into him from it's badly calculated rush. Ravendor put all of his weight into his left arm and leg and swept his right leg out to make contact with the orc's crotch, putting as much strength into the motion as he could. Squealing in pain, but also as a signal to its friend on the other side of Ravendor, the orc currently unhurt by the children so far brought one meaty fist down onto the back of Ravendor's head in its pork chop attack, bearing a power almost as potent as a policeman's baton.
The boy went down smartly and easily, onto his face. He hadn't even cried out in pain, he had become unconscious even before he had had the chance to scream. Rolling him over onto his back by pushing its snout under the boy's body and heaving, the two orcs started to sniff him over, checking to see if he would make a tasty meal. Andrew saw all of this happening, silently remarking on how short a time all these things had taken place in. He wrung the blood off Clive switchblade by wiping it off on his shirt, and anticipated Clive making a grab for it as soon as he opened up his offering hand to him, knowing that Clive was going to do something about the two orcs appraising his older brother.
"Leave him alone you bastards!" He howled, sweeping nimbly over to the body of his brother and cutting a shallow gash into the flank of the monster closest to him, as easily as cutting a strip of bacon from the haunch. Blue eyes blazing, he stepped away towards the wall as the orc turned towards him, uttering a low oink mingled with the sound of experienced pain. Clive grinned like a tiny little deranged pixie. "I'll stick you with this knife, you pig."
It began to advance. Clive welcomed the challenge. It was slow and ungainly, he could easily see and move away from each pork chop attack. This made him unable to worry about his growing predicament. However, his foe was relying on a different tactic of its own, slowly and surely making Clive dodge his way into the blue crystal wall. When Clive felt his back press against the cold hard surface he slipped to his right, to escape and move into better territory, but the other orc was blocking his exit with its large sweating body. Shit! Clive couldn't stop moving now, not after he had begun to run.
The orc smacked Clive upside the head and the boy reeled from the blow, pressing his hand to his nose and intercepting a gush of blood from a strong nosebleed and feeling his legs start to buckle, sliding down the wall. The knife fell from his relaxed fingers and dropped between his feet. His head hurt from where it had bounced against the strong crystal after the attack, now Clive looked up at the creature about to assault him again, nearly gagging from the foul disgusting smell of its odor. The creature had both of its hooflike hands scraping against the crystal wall, using the surface to keep itself upright. A gob of drool dripped from one of the monster's tusks and splattered upon Clive's cheek, and by then, the boy had had enough.
No! Not today!
He rolled to the left and grabbed a large sliver of glass that was resting nearby on the floor, desperate yet fearful that he might cut himself again. His little arm whipped around and thrust out at the monster's huge gut, piercing it as deeply as Clive's inherent strength could handle it, just like Andrew had done. The crystal glass was remarkably long and cut through deeply into the orc's flesh, serrated edges catching into the body mass underneath. Clive felt a bead of his own blood run down the glass and his hand, made by an unwise grip. It stung, and Clive would have cried, but he was too busy with other matters to be distracted by pain at the present moment.
The orc squealed, its body pierced. The large mass of flab at its front protected its internal organs from the glass and had saved the creature's life, but pain ripped through its system and the orc lurched backwards, landing in a supine position and flailing its four stubby limbs wildly in the air. No blood oozed from the wound, there appeared to be too much fat in the way. Clive raised his hand to his mouth and sucked on the small un-bandaged cut the glass had made, numbing it very slightly. The orc's squeal did not lessen and the little boy shrank away from the sound, cringing.
"That ain't a bad idea!" Andrew shouted from the other side of the room, barely fending off an orc of his own. He tore a strip off his shirt and wrapped the material around one fist, grabbing a long and thin sliver of glass and then holding it like a knife blade. The orc had heard the squealing of its brother and backed down a bit, eyeing the crystal glass warily. Ravendor was still unconscious on the floor, a bruise forming on the side of his face. So now it was down to two against two, and even Clive seemed to be a little out of it right now. Things did not look good.
Three shots were fired from the entrance of the room, the crack of the fired weapon echoing in the crystalline area. Everybody in the room flinched. The first bullet hit Andrew's orc in the side of the head, ripping through the creature's skull and swiftly ending its life. Andrew watched the orc being violently thrown to the side before his eyes, squealing in surprise and then landing and growing silent on the floor. The second and third shots knocked down the orc staring dumbfounded at what Clive had done to its allies, and the one flailing wildly on the ground. It was fascinating to watch those large clumsy bodies tense, then go lax. But the sound of those gunshots, they had been the loudest and most startling things of all.
Horatio stepped into the room, lowering his ARM. He saw the broken glass, the bleeding dead monsters, and the three boys. "Jesus Christ." He breathed, then turned to outside of the room and shouted out into the corridor. "Professor! Professor Berlitz! They're in here! One of them looks hurt!" The barrel of Horatio's ARM was smoking as he slid it back into its holster. That was what it was. A real ARM, not a child's toy. To Clive, Horatio was beginning to look a lot like an avenging angel. The adult drifter stared down at Clive. "Are you alright, son?" He asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.
"We… we… we… uh, uhh…"
Clive opened his mouth to say something, but then suddenly burst into tears.