a lot of disney characters do appear as sides!

cameos: shang from mulan and scar from the lion king, mentioned in passing (will also probably become part of the minor cast); hyenas from the lion king, mentioned in passing (members from scar's gang); important: doctor facilier from the princess and the frog (will become part of permanent cast).

chapter three: bleed

Apartment number: 9B
Residents: 2
Name(s): Elsa Queen, Anna Queen
Special notes: they have an
unconscious boy in their doorway,
and he is bleeding.

(The ticking clock cracks through the air.)

The boy lies on the ground like a beached whale, cold and wounded, thrown there haphazardly by a panicking girl of twenty-one. He's out of place in this sterile household. He's a smear on the wall, a pin not quite pressed in on an otherwise perfectly tacked board. The boy, in his wet black jeans, in his ripped shirt that is speckled with dirt, in the bruises that surround his jaw and the blood that trickles from his teeth, he is an anomaly in an otherwise complete linear graph.

And Elsa wants him gone, wants him to disappear from her home. He is an accidental blotch of green paint right in the middle of a flawless painting of the scarlet sunrise. He is a mistake.

"Anna, call the police," Elsa finds herself murmuring through numb lips. Anna nods, a robot obeying a simple command. Elsa stares at the boy some more, as if burning a hole into his face would make him vanish.

(This is strange of me to say, but one of my favourite past times is watching humans panic. It's hugely entertaining, the way their eyes grow to the size of golf balls, the way their mouths open in a shriek, and way their hearts thud soundly in their chests. But I suppose in my line of work, this is the only way I can see humans at a length of time when they are not cowering with terror. Panic is a reaction that borders between fear, which is why I come, and shock. I barely see humans in anything other than in a state of loneliness and distress, and while I cannot say it becomes boring, it gets rather tedious at times.

So perhaps this is why I find myself not minding the visit so much this time. Elsa, it seems, is panicking, and I settle myself on their couch while she tries to make sense of the situation.)

After a lifetime, Elsa rouses herself, and she rises, stumbling to her room and returning with a skipping rope and the cord of a dressing gown. She ties the boy's hands and feet clumsily, while Anna taps her fingers impatiently as she waits for a response on the other end.

But this is Stella Morta, and it's city that is rotten on the inside as well as the outside. It is no surprise that it takes almost a minute for her call to be picked up by the emergency department.

Anna rattles off the details, and the woman on the line assures her that people will be on their way.

"They say ten minutes," Anna relays quietly, "but there's no guarantee, Elsa."

"I know," Elsa whispers distractedly. Anna comes over and places a soothing hand on her sister's shoulder.

"It'll be okay," Anna says. She then bends over the boy, and in two smooth movements, reties the bindings on him into perfect knots. Elsa is too upset to question where she learned to do it so well.

Elsa's phone rings startlingly loud, and she jumps while Anna merely looks up in surprise.

"Elsa! Hey, it's Rapunzel. I'm just checking if you got home safely ahahaha!"

"Rapunzel."

"Hey, what's wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need help?"

"Rapunzel. There's a boy in my apartment and he's unconscious and I think he's bleeding–"

"What? Shit, are you okay? What does he look like?"

"I'm fine. He's got white hair and he's my age and oh my god Rapunzel he followed me home and he's bleeding what do I do–"

"Have you called the police?"

"Y-yeah, but I don't know if they'll come because the police in this city is shit and if they don't come what am I supposed to do I can't just leave him here–"

"I'll be there in five minutes."

It takes Rapunzel six minutes, but she's faster than the police. While they wait, Elsa and Anna simply stare at each other, and oddly enough, it is Anna who is calm while Elsa tries not to hyperventilate.

Everything is silent, and only Elsa's frantic breaths puncture the air. Neither of them think about turning on the lights, so the room is coated in a silky sort of darkness, and there is just enough light from the moon and the city to see the boy and the red that surrounds him.

The ticking clocks cracks through the air.

Rapunzel arrives, and she's panting, blonde hair in disarray, but Elsa almost faints from relief. She takes one look at the boy, and then drops to the ground and checks his pulse and then his entire body.

"Rapunzel," Elsa says, as if saying her name will make the situation better.

"He's got a knife sticking out from his arm," Rapunzel says, slightly breathless, and points to the almost-hidden injury within the folds of his long coat. "Elsa, do you think you can help him?"

"But–"

"Elsa, the police probably won't come, and if they do they'll take hours. They have better things to do than arrest a petty gang member while banks are being robbed on the other side of the city and fucking gunmen keep opening fire at will."

"I–I'm only a medical student, not an official practitioner. My practical work–I'm not–"

"Just check him over, make sure there's nothing life-threatening," Rapunzel cuts in gently. Her green eyes shine bright in the dim light. She fiddles with the knots, and says, "Okay, I've made extra sure the ropes are tight. If he wakes up and attacks, it won't be very successful."

Elsa takes a deep breath. "Anna, go to your room. Please."

There is a moment's hesitation, and then Anna cocks her head and walks away, closing the door gently behind her, but not before casting one last glance at the boy.

Elsa doesn't know why she agrees, but there's a small part of her that is relieved for something to do. The silent waiting is driving her crazy, and she finds herself hurrying over to the cabinet and taking down the first-aid kit before her mind can catch up with her.

"I think it's best if we leave the knife in there until we have professional help," Elsa mutters. With a quick finger, she lifts up each of the boy's eyelids one at a time and shines a small torch into his pupils. "Slight concussion; he should get checked up later."

She carefully opens the boy's coat, making sure to not jostle the blade too much, and lifts his shirt up. There are bruises budding like ugly flowers across his chest, but after a few presses, confirms that no ribs are broken. She lifts the shirt up higher, and then gasps. Beside her, Rapunzel stiffens.

"Red Crown," Elsa chokes. Her gaze is trained on the tattoo, clear and bold, the King of Hearts staring back at her with black eyes. The roman number for three is inked on the right. "Oh my god, I have a Red Crown in my apartment. And he's third-in-command."

Her voice is unable to go above a whisper.

"Elsa," Rapunzel hisses, "Elsa, calm down. Stay quiet; don't let Anna hear. Just–breathe."

Trying to let go of the breath she's holding, Elsa gulps and drops the shirt.

"Okay, okay," Elsa whimpers. "Okay, I'll just–okay."

"Just think of him as a patient. He's just a patient, just a regular guy," Rapunzel intones. "You're fine, alright?"

"Okay."

Taking another breath, Elsa reaches out shaking fingers and gently turns his head this way and that.

"Anything bad?" Rapunzel asks.

"His face has taken a beating, but the damages will heal with time," Elsa says, forcing her voice to stay even. "For a fight, he's walked out pretty well, actually."

Rapunzel chuckles hollowly.

"You'll make a great doctor," she says softly.

Elsa packs the medical kit up, and she walks slowly back into the kitchen, head reeling.

Because there's a Red Crown in her apartment.

And he is third-in-command.

But she barely as time to process anything before there is a cry from the doorway, and Elsa drops the medical kit and rushes back, only to find Rapunzel wheezing and clutching her stomach. Red is blooming across her shirt, and the boy is gone.

"What happened?" Elsa croaks, and she can't move. She can't move, because Rapunzel is bleeding and she's not supposed to be bleeding.

"He woke up," Rapunzel gasps, "and he got free."

There is a knife lying near her, the one from the boy's arm, and it blinks up at Elsa innocently, silver glinting dully. It's bloody, and Rapunzel is bleeding.

Rapunzel is bleeding.

Elsa runs forward and she holds a hand to Rapunzel's wound, and she's unsure of what's going on because the world is spinning and someone keeps saying, "Oh my god oh my god oh my god," but she doesn't know who it is until Rapunzel shushes her.

Elsa isn't aware that she's crying until the tears drip down, and Rapunzel is shockingly unruffled and says, "It's fine, it's shallow, just do what you always do, okay? Pretend this is just a practical test. You're fine, Elsa."

(I rest a hand lightly on Elsa's forehead. At Rapunzel's words, I withdraw.

Elsa is getting braver, quite different from the terrified little girl she used to be.)

It's midnight, and Stella Morta is alive. It's midnight, and in Apartment Block Alpha, room 9B, a girl named Elsa Queen saves the life of her friend, Rapunzel Corona who was stabbed by a Red Crown gang member.

(Anna Queen stays in her room. Anna Queen is unaware.)

"I need to go," Rapunzel says, and she hobbles up and heads to the door.

"Don't be crazy," Elsa snaps. "You just got stabbed, you need to go to the hospital to get it checked. Come on, I'll drive you–"

"I have faith in your abilities," Rapunzel winks. And then, a shadow veils her face when she sees Elsa open her mouth again. "No, seriously, Elsa. I need to go home. I'm not supposed to be out, please, just let me go home, okay? I'll be fine."

"The wound needs to be looked after properly," Elsa says firmly. "It might get infected, and I think it needs stitches."

"Elsa," Rapunzel says, and there is steel in her voice and ice in her eyes. "Let me go home."

The ticking clock cracks through the air.

"Let me drive you, at least," Elsa says finally. Rapunzel nods once.

It's quiet in the car, and Elsa's mind is strangely clear. Anna sits in the back seat; Elsa refused to leave her alone in the apartment, and Rapunzel is holding a hand absent-mindedly against her stomach as she sits shotgun.

"I don't have the money to pay the medical bills," Rapunzel says, and her voice splinters the silence as loud as a whip. "Going to the hospital would be useless."

And suddenly, as Elsa peeks at her friend out of the corner of her eyes, Rapunzel isn't quite so cheerful anymore; the wings on her feet have withered away, the sun in her smile gone behind a cloud. Suddenly, Rapunzel is small and young and frail, a girl wearing clothes ten times too big for her, trying to fill in the shoes of a giant. Suddenly, Elsa wants to cry; she wants to clutch the wheel and steer them off a cliff, because what kind of life are they leading, in a city that's lifeless and alive at the same time? A city that cares for nothing, buildings grey and empty and bustling with people who are only concerned with their own bubble, their own world. What the fuck are they supposed to do?

(You survive and live to tell the tale, that's what.)

Side note:
the police never come.

In the north side of Stella Morta, there's a high-class club and bar that serves as the meeting spot for notorious gang members. Called The Crimson Rose, it opens throughout the night, seven days a week, and its patrons range from dirty bounty hunters looking for prey, to gentlemen and ladies looking for a good time and good alcohol.

At one in the morning, a rag-tag boy of twenty-one stumbles to The Crimson Rose's back door, and groans as the heady bass vibrates through his shoes. He stomps up the stairs, ignoring the mass of seething bodies on the dance floor, and then knocks heavily on a door hidden away behind the turn of a corridor titled VIP MEMBERS ONLY.

"Jack," someone gasps, and Jack's vision is blurring. He swallows back the vomit that threatens to tear up his throat, and when cool arms take on his weight, he all but flops down like a limp fish out of water. He feels himself getting lowered onto the couch, and he splutters something incoherent at the ceiling.

Toothiana's face swims into view, purple eyes blinking worriedly at him as she slaps him awake. "Jack, don't pass out. Jack, come on, don't go to sleep."

"What the fuck happened to you, mate?" laughs a familiar voice. Bunnymund bends over him, vodka bottle in one hand and a stack of cards in the other, chortling happily as if his friend isn't about to die from exhaustion.

"Walked all the way here from the east end," Jack blubbers. "Fucking… got stabbed. Fucking Scar…"

"Scar?" Toothiana hisses, and she pauses while checking his arm. "That bastard; one of his Hyenas tried to get Shang a few hours ago; ambushed him just as he left the restaurant."

"Heh…" Jack chuckles, and he feels blood coating his tongue, "we're Crowns. The fucking Pride's got nothing on us."

He feels Toothiana roll her eyes. "I forgot he becomes an arrogant prick when he's delirious."

"He's an arrogant prick all the time, though," Bunnymund disagrees.

"Not all the time… most of the time."

"No way, all the time."

"Half the time?"

"Guys," Jack interrupts, and black spots are growing in his vision. "Like, dying here?"

"Oh, sorry, Jack," Toothiana chirps, and Jack huffs slightly, spitting out blood.

Every gang has a rival. It's almost an unwritten rule, an unspoken command. I suppose that this is the nature of humans, really. They always find a reason to fight each other, to prove dominion over their fellow man.

Because for some reason, humans have a strange attraction to blood. Some bathe in it, lick it off their blades, eyes alight with fevered excitement. Others recoil, disgusted and appalled.

(But no matter how much you claim to love someone, when their blood touches your toes, you always back away. How horrifically weak of you.)

Let me introduce to you Ange Noir, a gang of twenty-odd persons of varying ages. Their King is a rumoured past witch doctor named Facilier. They are the second most powerful gang after the Red Crowns, but only by a little. There are many smaller gangs under them, and they run the east side of the city.

Their second-in-command is a man named Hans Öman, and he wants the position of King.

author's note:

the southern isles are apparently supposed to be near either denmark or sweden, and I chose swedan to be hans' familial origins, just because. öman is a swedish last name meaning 'man from the island'. this is not just a reference to his character in the movie, but also his entire role in this story. edit: 1 July 2015, it's been revealed canonically that hans' last name is westergård, but for the sake of consistency, i'll leave it as öman.

ange noir is french for black angel, because doctor facilier is supposed to have french origins and he's their king. and black angel because like opposite of white and it's like fallen angel and devil and representing their motives and their role and idk.

the number 9 is considered lucky in norway (according to an internet source; please shoot me down if i'm wrong), hence elsa and anna's apartment is on level 9. i chose 9B because b is the second letter in the alphabet and there are two of them. aha.

everything is super messy, but it'll all make sense later.

thank you for all your support so far :)

updated: 22 February 2014