Song Of The Irish 1
(A/N: Last three chapters to be posted today. Hope my readers have enjoyed it. As for the dialogue, I know it's nowhere near accurate to American Tail, but I couldn't look up the actual words they spoke, and YouTube doesn't have any American Tail things on it except a few episodes of the series.)
Cats!
It was morning when Dylan had wandered to the main market of this area, having completely lost any trail of Fievel or the Brooklyn mouse. He looked around. It was a nice enough area. The alley's, not so much. They were filled with mousetraps. He'd been taught about those at a young age. His parents had ensured their child wouldn't be falling victim to any such thing. He'd been able to snatch a piece of cheese without trouble. Good thing too, because he had absolutely no money to pay for anything. He looked around, trying to judge whether it was worth it to try and sing for money. He didn't know much about the mice in this city.
He took a bite of the cheese ponderously as he summed up the area. Just then he heard a stomach grumbling, surprisingly not his own. He looked sharply over only to see three little mouse children looking longingly at the cheese. Their mother noticed, though, and apologetically looked at him, gathering the trio together. Where was the father? Wait. She was wearing black, so were the children. His heart became heavy on realizing what it meant. Mourning, funeral, their father wasn't coming back, and it probably hadn't been too long ago that he'd died. Dylan glanced at the cheese then walked over to the mother. She looked nervously at him, and he knew that she had probably had her share of bad experiences with male mice before. He offered her the cheese wordlessly though. Shocked she reached out and took it, cautiously waiting for some sort of proposition. He just smirked and bowed to her. He left before she could even say a thank you.
All at once he heard a voice saying, "Play Fievel's song, papa. Maybe he'll hear and come find us!" Tanya! He gasped and swiftly hurried that direction.
"Ah Tanya, not this again. Let it go," Papa was insisting. Dylan quickly moved through the crowds and gasped. There he saw them with a cart! He grinned excitedly, actually grinned, and his ears again almost fully perked. Not quite, but almost. The grin fell, though, on seeing what was above them. Fievel was following a young mouse man, probably an older teenager or even around his age, and he had no doubts this mouse was the Brooklyn accented one, Tony he assumed the name was from what the workers had said. Look up, Mousekewitz's look up! Hear your lost child speaking! He tried to call out to them, but the marketplace was too loud. Quickly he raced towards Papa and Tanya. If he could just get to them…
AAT
All at once there were shrieks of terror and he slid to a stop catching his breath and paling. Shrieks? That could only mean one thing! "Cats!" mice began to scream in fear. Dylan gasped on seeing felines suddenly leapt out of seemingly nowhere and attack anything and everything that moved! The mice scrambled in terror, but he stared numbly at them, mouth dropped. No cats in America? Who was the mouse who came up with that? Wait, he should probably run. Immediately he turned and bolted away. The cats were grabbing mice by the dozens! They were clearing an eighth of the marketplace!
Where were the Mousekewitz's? He looked around, terrified for them. All at once he ran into a mouse. The two fell with cries of pain. Quickly they grabbed each other and pulled one another up. On seeing each other they both gasped. Irish! They knew their own well enough. They were both Irish! They heard a growl and sharply turned. A cat had pounced. The duo bolted desperately. "Micky O'Donnell at yer service," the young man said, smiling wryly at Dylan and nodding a greeting, eyes filled with excitement and life; how he should have been, Dylan wryly realized.
"Dylan O'Brian," Dylan replied. "Strange time far introductions," he remarked.
They dodged a pouncing feline and bolted towards an alley. "Been ta the Irish quarter lad?" Micky asked. "Whole population o' Irish mice."
"No. I'll be sure ta find it, lad," Dylan replied.
"If we survive this I'll take ya personally," Micky said.
"Look out!" Dylan cried as a cat suddenly attacked. The two hit the ground. The cat quickly turned on them. Both squeaking they tried to bolt. Micky, however, wasn't as lucky. The cat pinned him. Dylan slid to a stop and gasped, turning. He raced back to try and help the other mouse, but he heard breaking bones and Micky lay still. Dylan crouched down low, pale. Just like that the other mouse was gone. Like Nan… just like Nan. He felt tears burning his eyes and desperately tried to get rid of them. He couldn't risk it now. The feline looked up and caught his eyes. Dylan sobbed, shaking his head. He rose up straight. The cat licked its lips and ran at him. All at once, however, he felt himself grabbed by the arm and pulled to the side!
He gasped, looking over at his savior. The Brooklyn mouse! "You!" Dylan exclaimed.
"Me? What do ya mean me? Never mind. What are ya doin' mousey? Ya wanna be a sittin' duck for them cats?" Tony demanded. Dylan looked ahead and his eyes widened. This Brooklyn boy was running towards a young Irish lass. The girl's eyes widened on seeing him with Tony. Again, the Irish recognized each other. All at once she screamed. Debris was about to fall over top of all three of them! Tony let him go, crying out in terror, and Dylan dove to the side. He looked back. He couldn't see Tony, but how he hoped he and the girl hadn't been two more casualties of this attack.
He heard a scream and quickly looked over. Tanya! He gasped. A metal piece was about to fall on her. "Tanya, Yasha!" he heard Papa and Mama scream. Both were trapped by debris already. Tanya clung to Yasha in terror. No, not again. He wouldn't lose another. He raced forward and grabbed Tanya around the waist, pulling her free of the debris and leaping to the side. The three barely missed the metal bar!
"Dylan!" Tanya exclaimed, and for the life of him he couldn't figure out how it was possible for someone to sound so terrified yet so happy and excited at the same time. Thrill, maybe? He wouldn't question it. The attack was slowly ending as they burrowed under debris in order to hide from the felines.
AAT
"Well, Mr. There are no what's, in America?" Mama icily asked Papa as things calmed.
Nervously giggling, Papa replied, "Cats?" Dylan face palmed, shaking his head. He looked over at Tanya and Yasha to ensure they were alright.
"Dylan, you're safe!" Mama exclaimed in relief as she and Papa climbed out of their hiding spots.
"My boy, you are a hero!" Papa said.
"I wish I had been," Dylan quietly said, refusing to meet their eyes. His thoughts were still on Micky. It wasn't even a second before the two adults caught on. Immediately their expressions became horrified, then saddened, then pitying. How he hated pity. At the same time, though, he didn't, if that made any sense.
"Dylan…" Mama said.
"Child, you have seen far too much for one your age," Papa quietly remarked. Dylan felt a burning in his eyes and closed them tightly. Wordlessly he joined the Mousekewitz parents in helping to dig out bodies or help survivors whilst Tanya and Yasha stayed away. Just like Ireland, except this wasn't a land he loved nearly as much. Papa and Mama protested, tried to get him to stay out of it, but no. He wouldn't listen. He just went on listlessly, almost unaware of what anyone was saying to him. He came to Micky's body and paused, looking down on him.
"Aye, another one," a voice said from close by. He looked around. No Mousekewitz's, he must had drifted away from them, but there was a fat Irish mouse who seemed slightly drunk. "Name's Honest John, lad, I could sense ya a mile away. Kin o' the deceased?" he questioned.
"No sir, just met 'im as we was fleein' from the cats," Dylan answered quietly.
"Ah a bard! Yer voice says it all. 'Aven't 'ad a good Irish bard around these parts since… well, a long time, lad," Honest John said. Looking at the body again, he added, "Another name ta make up. Didn't even get the chance ta meet the lad. It's gettin' harder and harder ta know people."
"'Is name was Micky O'Donell," Dylan said quietly, not wanting the mouse to be buried under a name that wasn't his own.
AAT
Honest John summed up the young man next to him. Rather, boy, for the lad couldn't be much more than twenty, if that. His eyes softened gently. He saw in this young man suffering and misery; unbearable pain, more than the mere child could ever hope to handle; and John knew immediately that this youth had lost his innocence long ago, lost his hope and his love for life. He was almost catatonic, almost the walking dead in a way, but he sensed a fire burning inside the young man somewhere. A pity he didn't let it out. This boy was resigned to whatever fate had planned for him. He had probably seen far more than even old mice had. He marvelled at how the young mouse simply hadn't given up and killed himself yet. But then this boy pulled a flower from his vest and gazed at it, and John knew immediately. He'd promised some young lass he wouldn't do any such harm to himself. That was the only explanation; and seeing as that lass wasn't standing next to him… John shivered.
"What's yer name, lad?" John questioned.
"Names mean nothin'," Dylan answered.
"So we're ta let yer corpse rot, let ya be buried under an unknown title. Ya don't care, do ya?" John asked. Dylan said nothing, just stroked the flower petals. "Lad, let yer name be known, so I don't 'ave ta give ya one."
For a long moment the mouse was silent. Finally he replied, "Dylan O'Brian."
"What was 'ers?" John questioned.
Dylan looked woefully at him. After a moment he answered, "Nan."
"I see. Come to Micky's funeral, lad, and join yer kin. Take strength from our bond and beguile us with songs and tales o' the homeland. Tell us about everything, 'ow Ireland's doin', and maybe even yer own story," John offered. Dylan smirked quietly. Finally he nodded. "Good on ya lad. 'Ere's the directions," John said, handing Dylan a paper. Dylan took it sadly. John tipped his hat and left. Dylan looked around for the Mousekewitz's. Spotting them he headed over, Fievel being all but forgotten.