Authors Notes: I apologize for any inaccuracies concerning the cannon Dragon ball Z/GT cast. I have watched little of both series and am prone to mistakes.
Repeat Waltz Chapter: 3
So, why are you running away?
"If you define cowardice as running away at the first sign of danger, screaming and tripping and begging for mercy, then yes, Mr. Brave man, I guess I'm a coward." – Jack HandyThe fall of his pride had hurt him more than any dagger could possibly have. It was not the concrete that battled with his brow, nor the rail that cracked his shins, not even the slight protrusion of brick to confront his ego caused as much pain as the meeting of spectators to his performance and the limping away in defeat that soon followed. He could still hear the people's voices, the slight snickers and hushed phrases said between supposed sympathizers that looked upon him as more of a wounded dog than a wounded person.
Shaking his head slightly, eyes closed, afraid to face the harsh light that seeped through the cracks in the stucco walls in his domain, if that is what it could be called. His normally pressed lips twisted into a grimace, from there a silent scream as gnarled hands fumbled with the make-shift bandaging he had attempted to apply. He was alive though, so his voice was not to be heard in complaint of survival. The things he had been doing recently were upsetting. Not so much to the public, for they had little care of what the local Cretans were raving about, but to his self-awareness. The occasional tumble down the stairs or tripping over ones own feet were common, but wishing, no, practically begging for certain death through daredevil stunts, it made him lower to the ranks of a circus freak in his own mind, and that, that one thing, was eating him alive from the inside out. He shook his head again before tilting it skyward, passing a faint smile towards the heavens. A book he kept on the floor beside him was pressed between his teeth as he quickly tightened the bandaging before cowardice won out.
No blood was pooled on the floor, no splatters lingered upon the walls as a sign of a desperate battle, no artificial effects were staged, it was a portrait of the real. The walls were crumbling, a slight mold set upon them from seeping water, the concrete floors were dusted, chipped away at, and the lighting primarily came from one particular broken window that the local neighborhood kid had shattered to show his bravado to peers. Indeed, it was a glorious sight, only improved by the giant whose eyes were rolled back in his head from acts of temporary insanity and what could be labeled as self-torture for the greater good of his now limited life.
The city was peaceful, the sky, gray, but serene, was cloudless, uninterrupted by the lark or the raven. The streets were roamed by people huddled together in tight groups whispering among themselves, the shops were open with their best merchandise on display while busy little bodies scurried about to get a closer peek on what this month's hot new statement was. A few women modeled their summer apparel, which was mainly one of two colors and a shade. The young suitors were on the prowl, making suggestive motions to anything that had legs, hips, and other parts of the anatomy that were most pleasing to gaze upon from afar for extended periods of time.
Several tours were being carried out around various parts of the historical districts. One started downtown with the 'modern-day runes' as they were fancied by people who had yet to learn of the term "dump" or perhaps more fittingly "slum", however, the second was running uptown, where the aristocrats and local celebrities and officials were residing. It was safe to assume both of the tours were packed with as much false advertising as another, but then again, no one pays to hear the truth nowadays.
But by far, the most attractive displays were at the single museum that was not packed with half-baked works that passed for art, or a history preformed by the men who re-wrote it. The Museum of Unnatural Phenomenon's of Modern World was of ever increasing popularity. As the name implies, it was no more than an entrepreneur's dream of scraping that last red cent off of the common man, but for once, the exhibits were not forged. There were no cardboard displays, plastic skeletons, macaroni brains, or cheap ape-men suits. This time, as in the time of P.T Barnum, the abnormal were real, and for the living exhibits, they made a living, and a damned decent one too.
The displays of the dog-men and the Legionnaires were the most popular among the still-lives, but the true attractions came with the aid of motor carts, a flashlight, and several of Those who were paid to jump out and run amuck around certain blockaded areas to give the check drawers a thrill for their signature.
The Museum was slowly and surely turning into a theme park. Flashy signs covering the city had replaced the flyers that were posed in diners, a squadron of lack-luster employees had replaced a true showman and a fleet of computer-aided fun was soon to replace them.
While the whole idea apparently worked, there were variables that could not be calculated by the finest mathematics, and were yet to be worked by the age-old, and somewhat forgotten miracle of common sense. Not everyone who did not perfectly fit into the star mold that had been set enjoyed having people gawk at them, or be talked about for eons after a puppet master had shoved them upon the stage. Some preferred normal lives, paying their bills, eating at the burger joint, and yes, even yelling at the fuzzy ninja bastard of a cat that picked the couch as a relief spot for itself.
Many did not have this, a few did, and even more had killed for it and received the death penalty ruled by a human whose gun was the judge; of course the latter of the two was not tried with any criminal offense.
Of course these were the things on his mind as he lay there, fallaciously gazing at a set point in the wall where not but a faded poster remained to cover a drafty hole. Such things often hung heavily on his mind when he was resting against that wall, in that exact spot, staring at that exact place, and waiting for the same exact consequence of a scrambled sense of physics that lead to a scrambled body and an ego to match.
The speech played through his head again. It was not a new thing, shining gaudily for onlookers to come and watch with excitement, it was instead the tattered thing of yesterdays that laid in the corner covered with dust till the psyche forced the cover open and slowly read it aloud like a Bible verse repeated for the past millennia. It was the speech that was to rouse him up, prepare him for what was to come, and to make it clear that no salvation was to be at hand, that this was life, and that it was his fault for having to say this to himself again, but most importantly, that he was obligated to do this. It was the death speech.
"I'm going to die. This is the end. I'm sitting here, staring at the wall, wounds infected and numb while a fly buzzes overhead." It went so on and so forth, filled with comic sarcasm to raise his spirits, for what was death without comedy to brighten it?
Through the melodramatic, he managed to laugh as he wrapped his arms around himself to secure the leaking warmth that beat from his chest. Sighing ensued followed by cautious prodding of the gash on his leg that a heifer could comfortably fit in. He had to laugh at himself, for if it was not laughing, it would be crying, crying was apparently weakness according to one despise'ed man's philosophy, and weakness was inferiority, which came with being below man, and that which was below man was an animal. Man eats animals. Being the mystery meat in Burger Fool's value meal was not on a high list of priorities.
Eyes weighted down by sleep deprivation, he rested, tilting his head to the right, towards the tiny scraps of wood that passed for the resident table. He smiled sadly and nodded to it before adjusting his shoulders so he could rest in some amount of comfort. When he was silent, his body caught in a statue's ease and the uptown tour group had passed by, and the working day was coming to an end, the little brown package from only a time before remained unhampered with upon the table.
Pulling a few fly-away strands of hair from her face, Pan looked upon the skyscrapers in the distance as mock-castles and the dilapidated glory of the historical section they were in as the houses of peasants that longed for fine wine and dine that exclusive had to offer. Adjusting her camera, she caught several decent pictures to turn into cards later on. The trip here had been an arduous one, filled with schedule changes and angry employers that she would have to face in the near future, but that was of no consequence, for they had longed to come here ever since the television advertisement that aired a few months ago, and now they finally had enough time and money to enjoy the trip. Turning to her soon-to-be husband, she smiled at his serious concentration on a closed fishing shop that still had some well-kept items in it for display purposes only. Pursing her lips in a false pout, she beckoned him to come when his attention wandered her way.
He was a tall thing, well over her height, a trim catch that most women would not mind to settle easy eyes upon; his fine coffee complexion was unmarred by blemishes, chocolate eyes remained soft and doughy, high cheekbones and fairly wavy short hair accentuated the gentle point of his nose and the rosé lips that always seemed to be in a kindred smile. His dress matched his looks on this day. A light ivory buttoned shirt and a pair of rather decent jeans showed off what fitness he had the care to display for the public to see.
She herself was fair enough, though vestige of her once tomboyish self still clung to life in the lack of feminine curves and the nature of her roguish smile and cerulean eyes that held a glint of devilish charm. With hair pulled back behind her and loose dress shirt covered by a black thigh-length overcoat and tucked into khaki pants, she was sight to behold to the critiquing eye.
A flurry of pointing hands and one-lined jokes between them followed them as they poked fun at some of the tour guides and how they took so much time to explain the simplest things and how flustered they became when their conversation was belittled by the remarks and little phrases entertained the tourist far more than anything they had to offer.
" I really don't see why we didn't stop at the restaurant." Antony stated as though it were a great fact as he looked down playfully at the woman he dwarfed by better than a foot.
"I really don't see why we didn't stop at the gift shop" Pan shot back with such a timing that even a stand-up comedian would be happy to have claimed for their own.
"Maybe because they were selling little gummy demon candies with blue toothpicks stuck up their butts." He grinned remembering the poor teenager who got sent out to sell those things for an ungodly price.
"Well, the city's football team is the Devil's City Devils, what did you expect?" She simply shook her hair and took a picture of him while he wasn't anticipating it.
He stumbled backwards a step or two and wiped his eyes, still blinking from the initial flash. Grinning he shrugged it off, far too use to getting caught off-guard like that to really be mad about being temporarily blinded. "I was kinda hoping for some of those shrimp thingies that are wrapped in bacon, myself . . ."
She scoffed at that and shot him a glance out of the corner of her eye before pretending to be focused on the guide's talk about the significance of the old children's hospital and some of the kids that were there.
"What?" he paused for a moment looking at her with an arched brow " What?"
"Shrimp thingies." She grinned at catching the phrase.
Rolling his eyes and coughing out a soft chuckle, he too pretended to hold a remote interest in the attractions as he secretly sought out a place to get some decent food, or at least an escape route through to the last joint.
The tour was wrapping to a close. Some people had left early out of sheer disappointment, others out of being bored to death, but still, a few stayed out of either interest or to poke fun at the local color. The last stop was the designated 'ghetto' area, where no sign of the title's telling was evident. The area was in ruins. The street was brick, set unevenly and wearing shoddily as time progressed, the buildings were mere shells of what they had been only a few years back, and a certain stench hovered around the place as though serving as a warning to not venture in. No streetlights or car existed, nor fire hydrant or postal box. It was as though nothing but these failed steel mansions existed for blocks. It was not truly the lack of what the common was that served to dance upon sensitive nerves, or the decay of man's hard labor that aggravated the senses. It was the barren desolation of it all. Not child, not dog, nor faithful hawk set foot upon the area. Time had seemingly forgotten this place, cast it to the bowels of hell, and ripped apart the stainless steel, replacing it with flimsy tin and contraptions of worn bronze.
The people stopped as the guide did at the very alleys that lead to the section. It was an ill-lit scene, filled with garbage and ruin of all shape and background, a waste-dump if it even qualified for that position. Many couples looked at each other, silently asking if they really wanted to go down there, for many horror movies lead down a dark alley where someone was never seen again –alive.
Several people left with the second guide who was appointed to take people back to the bus station they had passed a while ago if they became spooked by the shambles of the city The ones who left had not the metal to go forth and conquer the unknown, but they, however, went on, determined to get their full zenny's worth out of their efforts. He took on the trash and debris before she did, clearing a small path carefully to avoid ruining a rather nice pair of shoes. A few minuets of careful tiptoeing and athletic leaps over 'hurdles' lead them to more of the same, only on an industrial scale.
He looked at her, she at him, and together they stared on, looking as though someone had slapped them in the face. Then they grinned as Antony pulled out the tour brochure to gaze upon the famous downtown area in all its polished, stainless glory and compared it to whatever you called the monstrosity in front of them. He knew the secret, for such information was found in books.
The man who was leading the tour, a gentleman of his forties, heavy set and unsteady at that, turned to face the people who had not read the entire tour package and were growing angrier by the second. His face was rimmed with a smile that not even the darkest of nights could burn out.
"As most of you know, this is the last official stop of the day . . ." he stated with the obvious, baritone voice ringing through the empty streets, piercing the silence like a lighthouse in the midst of a dark ocean. "And for those of you who read all the way through the package brochures and maps, you should know that this is not the downtown area. This area is what has been called the warehouse district for many years. Here you will find some of the most. "He stopped for a moment, as though his words had escaped him." . . .The most extreme residents of the city. You well know of the exploits of the Unnatural Phenomenon Museum . . ." He trailed off, speaking to the people who were slowly being disconcerted by this, yet had not the confidence to stand up and tell him their opinions as right-minded people would.
Pan sighed and waited for him to get to the point so they could go on with what they really paid to come here and see. Folding her arms across her chest and shaking her head, she glanced around, looking at rusted frames and lifeless halls and balconies that were exposed to the elements. Why any civilization would keep buildings in such devastation was beyond her wildest knowledge, but then again, if people would pay to see freaks parade around, then they would pay to see a bunch of collapsed buildings, she did. Something caught her focus. It was nothing but a diminutive thing lying on the corner of the street. Looking to be a discarded shirt or possibly a waste bag, it was not truly important, though fascinating. Taking her camera out of her pan pocket, she set the mode for the light and focus before taking a quick snapshot and returning the device to its resting place.
"Most famous of the attractions is the Lurking Daemon that resides in the 29 building, just behind me." He went on and motioned behind him to the specified area.
The place was a wreck. What had once been a fine and furnished building was in disarray. The fine mason work had been undone, the copper roofing had been stripped and the bare underlying work exposed and collapsed by the weather. A few shreds of drapery, a table or two, an old ceramic bowl, and a handful of other recognizable objects were picked out from the mess. Nothing seemed to be special about the place, for it looked as all the other downtrodden areas and was equally as poor in several different areas.
"The creature that is said to live within the walls of the 29 building is said to have caused the downfall of this City. All that you witness before you is accredited to him, from the rot of the Blackstone Factory, to the Casey's Diner at the end of Pine Street . . ." He went on, begriming the creature's title and somehow glorifying him at the same time.
Antony was beyond paying attention at the time and was apparently more concerned about the increasing volume of his stomachs' complains. His face was discontent, almost anxious as he stared rubber daggers into the man whose preaching never seemed to cease, nearly begging him to just get things over with and show the otherworldly creature already so they could be on their way. Glancing over to Pan, he saw the same thing on her face and in the ever-constant motion of shifting her weight from one foot to another.
Sighing and shaking his head for what he estimated to be the hundredth time this day, he tried to pay attention to the ridiculously boring guide, whose name was apparently Jared, according to the scratched name tag. Regardless of what was being said, Jared ranked as one of the most lackluster, dull, and possible one of the worst tour guides he had been seated with today. The one for the Museum was at least sardonic, and the one of the local open market place was a fun little thing that must have been a cheerleader in her past, but this? This was an old man whose voice was practically monotone, and seriously reminded him of a certain high school teacher who had put him through hell and beyond. The connection made him shudder.
"For safety reasons that have arisen as of late, I cannot allow you to enter the building, but the electronic display in the DC Diner just a few blocks away can give you a virtual tour, along with actual photographs of the daemon that lives inside." Jared braced himself; anyone who had sense enough could tell that he was preparing to be shot on the spot for being the deliverer of bad news.
Many people's jaws dropped. The contemptuous flare in their eyes was fierce; as though they were ravenous animals ready to tear their suspecting prey into shreds. A few people voiced their opinions vulgarly, calling Jared names most unspeakable, others called the tour agency and complained about it, others were simply put off in all respects of the phrase. Pan and Antony patiently waited like children readying for the final dip in a roller coaster ride.
The rattling of an old wind chime resonated through a building close by. The melody was nearly spastic, as though the very breeze that carried its tune started and halted at a person's command. Some of the notes were high pitched as the nightingales' songs, others were shallow as a whale's tune and drawn out to the farthest extent. The chime itself was hidden from view, caught in the grasping metallic fingers of the elder buildings. Attention drew to the 29 building, for unspoken agreement of the source laid upon it. The building was still as the grave, and silent more so. Only the slight rustling of the drapery and tugging at loose posters and advertisements sounded out for all to hear. Arched brows and quixotic stories formed on the edge of many minds.
And so the employees started working.
Sounds of deep voices whispered from within the 29 building, a few items could be heard being picked up and set down, a quiet conversation was erupting about the people outside and how rude it was to talk about things they knew not of. Confused looks spread through the diminished crowd as all eyes were cast upon a figure standing in front of the window.
It appeared to be a rather large man, clad in cloth of a deep forest hue and knee length boots derived from the Renaissance era. The upper body was unseen until it kneeled, showing its true size. Eyes widened and suspicious glances were thrown about like a hot coal among friends.
The creature's shoulders covered an area no less than four feet in width, the skin was rough in appearance, like jagged leather made from an olive material and yellowed by spell and exertion. Bare, defined torso laid exposed, showing layer upon layer of scar tissue that had half-healed and left black streaks and patching of skin in its wake. Musculature, though well developed, was twisted upon the frame tighter than wire in a piano and appeared as though an uncalculated move would snap the figure in half with the ease of a fist snapping a twig. The face remained out of focus, out of sight, hidden in the shadows that covered the body. Strands of black hair stuck out as the breeze caught them, telling tale of where the face laid.
It moved, rebalancing its weight, casting itself as another shadow against the background, rendering the people curious as cats to see what the next move should be. It began talking to someone again, describing the people outside, telling of what exactly they were wearing, which seemed to be upper and lower class, even the color of their eyes. Uninterested grunts were in reply.
The tour guide looked as if he had a wish to be shot on the spot and put out of his misery for once in this entire day. Wiping a hand down his face he to turned to look at the window and send quiet signals to Those that dwelled above in hopes that they could get on with things and do their work properly.
For the lack of actual showmanship, the tourist seemed occupied, snapping off pictures and the window where only a moment before the object of their interest had sat and observed them as though they were the ones of a peculiar nature.
Pan looked like she had been cheated without shame.
The thing appeared by the window again, kneeling just out of the line of sight for most and keeping well out of the light, for fear of exposing itself as fully as it had before. It was all practiced. "I do suppose you are wondering about wandering, no?" The bass voice was soft, almost hesitant to ask the question?
Not an answer was to be spoken for all the gold in the reserve.
The window opened slightly, shaking and creaking as though it was an act of torture to do so. Latching onto the windowsill with hands malformed hands, bony, twisted into twin cruel forms of what should have been, his palms encompassed the entire area, grip cracking the plastic with ease, it presented something new to be seen, a cheap, half-baked method of attraction, of alluring those who came to take pictures and in doing so, enhance their curiosity. Tiny chips of material fell from the window, plastic, bits of debris, grime, and other substances that could not be called sanitary by any stretch of the imagination.
As though on queue, another guide walked out of the building next to the one of concentration, wearing the navy dress that was common for the guides around this area to wear. He was a small person, standing slightly below five feet in height, with pale skin and eager emerald eyes drawn out by flaming red hair and a snarky little grin. Coming to stand by the other guide and notifying him with a slight pat to the shoulder that his work was done for the time, he soon gained the attention of a people who were perplexed.
Jared walked away, into the building that his fellow man had come from.
"My name's Aaron, I'll be continuing your tour through the Warehouse district. At this point of the tour, you have two options. You can either follow Jared through the twenty-eight building and back to the Museum, or you can follow me thought the twenty-nine building and meet your entertainers first hand."
Utter silence hung over the area. Slowly but surely, people moved towards the safer route to the museum, unsure if they really wanted to know about what was talking to them. At first it was only one or two people, but eventually everyone but Pan and Antony had disappeared into the other building. Aaron sent a disappointing gaze in their direction before looking to the ones that were left for an answer.
"Are you going to continue the tour?"
Pan sighed and shook her head at Antony who was fully ready to go inside and see what was behind closed doors. Grabbing his hand, she led him like a stubborn mule to the twenty-eight building, leaving him staring between her and the guide as though something horribly wrong had happened.
Once the door was shut and they were with all the other tour members, Antony stared at Pan; lips parted slightly, head tilted to the side.
"I thought you wanted-" He started but was soon cut off.
"I've seen it before, Antony." She sighed, face quietly upset about the whole matter.
"That doesn't mean I have, I really wanted to. . ." He placed an arm across his chest and looked behind him to the door they had just come through.
"You'll see it someday" She rubbed his back comfortingly "You'll get to meet one of them, I promise, okay?"
Antony looked down at her, confused, slightly taken aback by the statement, but chose not to ask and get on with things.
The walk back to the hotel was a long one. It was in the historical district, a fairly nice place too, equipped with a pool, gym, and a rather nice buffet for breakfast and lunch. The brick roads had taken a toll on their feet, for both had blisters that they would feel shoot bits of pain up their shins with every coming step, but it was almost worth it. The disappointment on Antony's face had not disappeared yet, and still made him look like a forlorn puppy with those big brown eyes downcast and shoulders slumped. Pan had no guilt about it though, for the tour hit a vein too deep for her to care to continue. She knew what lay beyond that window, what they were really like; in fact, she probably had met them once before, somewhere. It was a realm she did not want to be a part of.
The buildings to her right caught her attention. They looked like houses she had seen in her home, Satan City. One particularly reminded her of the jewelers Antony worked for when they met. She smiled faintly and stopped to look at it, piecing the fallen plaster and rusted frame together into a new building, instead of the seeing what really was.
Her fiancé stopped a few feet in front of her and turned halfway around, answering with a soft "Hmm?" before walking to her side again.
"Do you see that?" She questioned with a smile
"It depends, which dump are you talking about?"
She scoffed at his answer like she tended to before pointing to the place in front of her. "That, right there, Antony. Remind you of anything?"
He tilted his head to one side, then the other, resting his chin in his hand and shaking his head. "Eh, no?"
Pan chuckled softly and set shifty eyes to the scene around them to check for people who might be watching. Once sure the coast was clear, she started towards the building, resting her hand upon the doorknob and jiggling it slightly only to find that it was locked. She frowned.
Antony's eyes widened. "What are you doing?" He exclaimed as he rushed up to pull her back a bit.
Brushing his hand off her shoulder, she went down to the alley on the side of the building looking for another entrance. "I want to see what's inside, S'all."
"Pan, you're a little old for this, now come on, lets get something to eat already, I've been starving since the tour began." Regardless of what he said, he still followed close behind her like a shadow.
"Just because I'm not a kid doesn't mean I cannot have my fun once in awhile, does it?" She cast a pointed gaze to Antony as she came to a door.
"Fun? Fun! This isn't fun, this is known as breaking and entering." The look on his face was one of exhaustion, neither of anger nor frustration at the current battle between trying to get a meal and trying to appease the woman he loved.
"I haven't broken or entered anything yet, and neither have you." The last of the sentence was accentuated to catch his attention.
Antony groaned in disgust.
"Look, one quick little peak inside, then we'll go eat- your choice, okay?"
He nodded and stood his ground.
Turning back to the door, she caught sight of a thing most peculiar. There was writing close to the top, letters burned into the wood and weathered down by acid rain, barely recognizable anymore. Squinting her eyes, she tried to decipher the text letter by letter.
A deep, muted growl came from inside and jostled her from her reading. Antony shifted slightly to look at the door fully.
"Okay, we've heard what's inside, now seems like a good time to get that food, eh?" He clapped his hands once and started back towards the main street where there were people.
"No, get back here. Now." She snapped her fingers and pointed to the ground beside her. "Whoever's in there sounds hurt. What if it was a kid? Would you just leave them there? We're going inside."
"Kids don't growl like that, Pan!" He said in attempt to convince her gently before he had to resort to dragging her away.
"Mmhmm." She said as she twisted the doorknob and cracked the door open slightly as a precaution.
Antony winced and hurried to her side to protect her against whatever might be inside, for Gohan would have his head on a platter if she got hurt at his fault.
Pausing for a moment, she opened the door a bit more, just enough for her to slip in. The place was empty. Not a scrap of furniture was inherent in the domain, the walls were chipped, the floor undusted, broken glass littered the floor, spider webs were torn and remained frayed at the corners of walls and doors, it was as though nothing had lived or entered in awhile. If that was so, then why was this door, of all things, unlocked and easy to open?
Taking a few steady steps inside, she investigated the walls further, finding a few old stains upon the floor from what she guessed to be from cola, or possibly chocolate. The place had a certain smell about it. It was the smell of something old, abandoned, not a thing you could adequately describe with any taught phrase. A subtle hint of fresh cut mint hung in the air, giving minor refreshment to the otherwise ancient scent.
"Hello?" Her voice pronounced the word crisply, as though she thought she was in complete control of any and everything here.
Leather scraped against the concrete floor close by.
"Pan . ." Antony said quietly, nearly begging her not to continue of her own free will.
She looked at him with a softened face. She knew what he was worried about, she knew it would scare him if he had to confront that fear, but she had to know, for foolishness or lack of wit. She motioned to him to calm down a bit as she moved forward.
The scent of blood overpowered the mint and old dust the further she went in. Covering her nose with her sleeve, she stopped and listened. Shallow breathing was coming from the other room. Shallow, deep, breaths, that which could not come from a small child or a dog.
Dying to see what was behind the next wall, she pressed on towards the door, but was soon caught by two strong arms that lifted her off the ground and carried her a few feet back. She yelped before realizing who had her. She fought for a moment before getting shaken once to get her attention.
Antony's usually soft, mellow eyes were forced into a glare in light of her stubbornness, his smile was all but there, replaced by a grim expression that looked as though it could crack his face if he held it too long.
She stopped, completely and just looked at him.
"You're not going in there. I don't care what you say, I'm not letting you go in there, I can't" His voice dropped an octave. It was a tone he had never used before, on her at least; it did not fit him, not at all.
"This is not the time, someone's hurt in there." She trailed off in thought, speaking in fragments.
"Pan, I'm not letting you get hurt tending to something that you don't even know of. We're leaving, you can call animal control once we're out."
An object fell from the ceiling, coming in contact with Antony's shoulder as it fell before finally hitting the floor with a loud thud. He howled an expletive and dropped Pan to clutch onto his shoulder blade around the cut that was starting to bleed.
Rattled by the sudden fall, she rolled over halfway to look at him with jaw hung ajar. He was grasping at a wound, fingers coated thinly with blood as he applied pressure to try to make it stop bleeding. Her eyes soon traveled to the pendant on the ground that she assumed caused this somehow. It was a metal angel of some sort, appearing more so as a cross whose arms were twisted into wings.
"Are you alright?" She asked quickly as she got to her feet and forced his hand away from the cut to get a better look.
"No!" He shot back as he reluctantly let her see.
Taking out a few tissues she had in her pocket, she blotted away the blood to get a clearer look at the wound. It was a small abrasion, the size of a decent coin, a tiny flesh wound that bled far more than it truly deserved.
"You'll live." She sighed happily and went to pick up the vicious attacker off the ground.
"Oh, please seem a little less distressed, will you?" He answered as he kept the tissue in place.
Kneeling, she caught the cross in a hand, initially surprised at the actual weight of it, which had to be upwards of five pounds. Studying it over, she flipped it around to see if there was a name engraved on the back, as most specialty jewelry has. To her dismay, there was nothing, not even so much as a chain to go along with it.
Figuring that whatever was in here already knew they were there and could care less, she headed for the other room.
"Pan!" Antony yelled at her ran to cut her off a little too late."
Inside the other room a sleeping giant laid, arms wrapped around itself, curled claws kneading the air as the hands twitched as though they had a mind of their own. Grayed hair that was cut short stuck up naturally, unable to hide a face with angled features with the accuracy the slight bit of cloth that was wrapped around the eyes to spare them the light of day. Its skin was pallid, though the searching eye could find traces of green where the sun had highlighted them. With lips turned blue and skin badly chapped, it was a sad sight to behold. The creature's leg was tightly bandaged; thought the dressing had been soiled for what looked to be a goodly amount of time.
Her eyes softened as she knelt by the figure and brushed a hand over its cheek, only to see it was cold, near lifeless.
And there stood Antony, eyes shot wide open, mouth moving but no words able to form beyond disbelieving gasps. His mind could not quite process what was going on. Why was she touching it? Could she not see that that thing was dangerous? Why would she put herself at risk like this? Why?
"Pan! Get away from that thing!" He attempted to pull her back one last time but she stayed rooted to the spot, as though all his efforts meant nothing.
"Stop it, Antony" She did not bother to check the pulse, seeing as how anything breathing was still alive.
Taking out her cell phone from her pocket, she hesitated, trying to decide on whom to call. The local authorities were not an option, seeing how they treated people like this, the one person who stuck out above most had no phone, or any other service that would aid this situation, so she called the only person left, and the one who could help the most.
Her father.
Pan spent the next hour trying to convince Antony that this thing was not some dangerous, mindless fiend, but instead a person, or rather, a young boy. It was not the easiest of arguments to win, but victory was hers after methods of persuasion were set in and recollections of his past statements brought to light again. Eventually he even came to summon the nerve to touch the kid. Naturally, a storm of questions that she could not answer followed in the wake.
Gohan had taken an exceptionally long time getting here, but alas he did arrive with a truck and trailer that he had borrowed off of a good friend of his, for the standard car would not be near big enough to fit a person who was taller than the car was long.
As the truck ground to a stop, Gohan opened the door and stepped out, shoes making a distinct sound as he hit the brick. His body movement suggested that he was disgruntled by the news. Pan was the first to greet him outside, followed by Antony, whose brains were still scrambled trying to accept what was going on around him.
Quick conversation was passed between then as Gohan checked the boy, whose name was largely unspoken, out to make sure he was still alive. Kneeling, elbows balanced on his knees and chin cupped by his hands, he sat there for a time, trying to best judge how to take care of this matter without hurting the subject.
He snapped his fingers by the kid's ear to try and get his attention. "Seven?" He asked calmly, knowing that this was probably the best way to check and see if he was conscious.
When no answer came, Gohan stood and let out a pent sigh and ran his fingers through his hair.
"I'm going to need a hand from you Antony." He spoke sternly, commanding the help, not truly asking for it.
Choosing the lesser of two pains, Antony nodded and stood by Gohan, still edgy about the boy, apparently Seven, who was out cold.
"I'm going to grab his legs, do you think you could manage his shoulders?" Gohan did not bother to look at Antony; he kept on staring at the kid, a certain sadness passing over his features.
Kneeling once more, Gohan carefully picked up the legs with ease and waited for Anthony, who was trying to figure out exactly how to accomplish the set task. At first he tried pushing the body forward, only to find it too heavy for him to lift, an attempt to lift him up by the arm also failed, but loosened some of the fabric.
Rolling his eyes, Gohan looked to Pan who caught the hint immediately and with a bit of exertion, lifted Seven up off the ground before readjusting her grip, and leaving Antony's mouth agape and his masculinity with a bite taken out of it. In effort to redeem himself, Antony held the door open for the two to scuff through and made the trailer available for use without a word.
Fitting Seven into the space provided was a comical task, resulting with his legs stick out of the back and held in place with the aid of bungee cords and the use of a man to keep him steady while being moved in as cargo.
Once fit and secured, father and daughter sat in the cab, leaving Antony with Seven to make sure that he stayed inside the trailer and rattled his skull as little as possible. As the vehicle started up again, he could not help but to feel a tinge of irony. Sure enough, he got what he asked for, which turned out to be far more than he bargained to win. Gradually he began to be at ease with this . . .thing he had encountered, though calling it a person, much less a child was a hard task. It looked nothing like anything he was acclimated to seeing. Sure, the occasional anthropomorphic being, even some questionable beings had he laid eyes upon, but this took the cake, this was something he met first hand, something tangible, something that he was now, against his full will, aware of. Rubbing his numb shoulder slightly, he debated upon touching it. Sure enough, the action had been preformed before, but never in a questioning way. Slumping down against the back of the compartment, he rested, keeping one eye on Seven and the other closed, just in case he- it moved.
While they left, others watched from afar, their prying eyes staring at the spot the humans had been in only a few minutes ago. Most were timid, afraid of wandering from their refuge for fear that when they turned to venture back; it would all be lost from their reach forever. But one stood out against the crowd, walking peacefully and upright into the street to watch them drive away. He waved to them, even though they were far from view.
And when all was done and said, he took out his notebook and with a feeble hand wrote down everything he saw as he headed back home.
