judging from the lack of response from the previous chapter, i see that random flashbacks in the middle of stories is quite unpopular with readers. lmfaoooo don't worry i won't be making a big thing of it. for the rest of the story, there'll either be at least one more interlude like that, or none at all. last chapter's thing was just to give some background info into the sandbuntooth trio to give you guys a better understanding as to why they act like they do now. although, of course, make sure to keep the details in mind bc they'll come back later (never mind the fact that i takes months to update so i don't blame anyone at all if they can barely remember what this dumb story is about).
this chapter is a bit lengthier than usual, and chapter title is completely unrelated to anything lmao. forgive any typos bc i wrote most of this in a two day spree usually around midnight and i got through a rough edit but decided to post bc u guys have waited long enough so i might have missed some silly mistakes and i will fix them later.
enjoy.
chapter ten: street rats
"We've got a mole in us," Merida sings. "Tarzan's dead and we still don't know who did it. Tarzan's dead and you still haven't told Jane Porter. You're gonna fuck her up~"
"Shut it, Merida," Anna snaps. Her fists ball tightly by her side. "Did you come here just to piss me off?"
Anna pulls out a chair and sits down heavily. Merida closes the door securely, shutting off all sounds of the diner and its customers outside.
"No," Merida says unabashedly, picking at her nails, "I'm here to give you an update. So we've done some recruiting and we've picked up a few promising little peanuts—"
"Is this really important?" Anna says, and her irritation heightens. "We have a traitor and you're telling us about some fucked up kids who wanna join? Merida, please, I've got better things to do. This should have gone to someone lower than me."
"No, no, wait," Merida says, waving her hands. There's a glint in her eye that Anna is immediately suspicious of. "See what I have to say. Alright, so we have a lass called Tiana. She's, what, nineteen? Tall, sure of herself, confident; should be a good all-rounder in the long run. But you know what's interesting?"
"What?" Anna asks impatiently when Merida pauses for dramatic effect.
"Okay, see, Tiana's got this friend. She's a hooker, ay, and her stage name is Jasmine. She's a pretty little thing, like, really pretty—"
"Merida," Anna says, exasperated. She doesn't have time to deal with Merida's visual crushes.
"—right, so, Jasmine's a hooker at one of our newer clubs… uh, Agrabah, I think it as called—why do we have so many clubs?—and I'm there doing my thing, checking out the cute ladies, and I saw Jasmine come on and I'm like whoa, like damn her hips definitely don't lie—"
"Merida—"
"—okay, okay. So after Jasmine comes down off the stage, I'm informed of the various services she does, and I'm like hell yeah I'm totally in. So I'm alone in the room with her, and then I'm all like mmm this is the life because she's getting nice and handsy—"
"—Merida I swear to god—"
"—wait for it! Alright, so in the middle of it all, I see this weird sort of colouring on her lower back, ay. First I thought it was a weird sort of bruise. Then it came off on my fingers, and then I realise that it's makeup concealer. So I'm trying to figure out what she's hiding, because it was definitely some sort of tattoo. But everyone knows it's an Ange club, and I can see our tattoo on her shoulder just fine. So why has she got another one that she has to hide? Any affiliations with previous gangs are just crossed out, ya know, usual business. But Jasmine ain't dumb; she's trying to weasel her way out without seeming rude to a client. But I got a look at the ink. And guess what it is? You gotta guess, though."
Anna breathes in deeply through her nose. "One day," Anna says quietly to herself. "One day, I'll let myself go, and I'm going to slap Merida so hard she won't be able to aim straight for a week with that fucking rifle of hers."
Besides her, Hans chokes back a laugh, despite the situation they were in.
Merida sighs, annoyed that her story wasn't getting the attention it apparently deserved. "Alright, I'll just break it to you. It's a tattoo for the Sandman."
"… What," Anna says blankly. Merida huffs.
"The Sandman, Anna. He was head of the Red Crowns way back when, before North took over. Hell, I remember as a kid there were whispers on the streets of him, and I didn't even know what gangs were back then. Which begs the question: why does Jasmine, a girl who's more or less our age, have a tattoo of a King who's been dead for ten years?"
"Not dead," Anna corrects absentmindedly, head reeling from all the new info. "I know who the Sandman is, Merida. Everyone knows him. And so everyone knows… that it wasn't confirmed that he died. He just disappeared."
"Same thing," Merida says idly.
"No, no," Anna breathes, "it's not. This is… this is huge. The Sandman's tattoo hasn't been used in a decade. Everyone in the Crowns had their own symbol, but it was only the Sandman's inner circle who had his brand. After he disappeared, every one of them crossed it out. All of them. To go against that is a huge disrespect. No one would ever…"
"Are you sure you're not overanalysing?" Hans asks. He's nervous, but Anna is too distracted to question why. They were, after all, discussing an urban legend, and even the slightest possibility that the most famous King of their time had seemingly returned from the dead was enough to make people uncomfortable. The Sandman was not known for his kindness. "It's just a tattoo. Jasmine might have had it copied, she might have not crossed it out at all despite the fallback. There are a lot of possibilities and we can't jump to conclusions."
"He's right," Merida says. "I'm just reporting, Anna. I can follow up on it; for now, I think you've got bigger things to worry about. Like catching the mole. And also the fact that the Don is pressuring us to get the payments from our customers."
Hans nods in agreement, and Anna reluctantly snaps out of the theories that she's begun formulating. "Alright," Anna concedes. "So, Merida. All I want you to do now is tail Jasmine. Maybe put one of your men to it. You've got other things to be doing, after all, and she's seen your face. Does she know you saw the tattoo?"
"Probably," Merida says.
"So she won't trust you. Send someone else to snoop around."
"Righto, captain," Merida says cheerfully. "I might put Aladdin to the job. He sounds okay, hm?"
Grimacing, Anna says, "If you must. Tell him that this is his chance to redeem himself, after that whole theft fiasco with the Olympians. He's lucky we decided to save his ass, otherwise we would've let Athena chop off his hand, the dumb bastard."
"He's just hungry," Hans says, ever the voice of reason.
"We feed him and that damn pet of his more than enough," Anna says, irritated. "He's just doing it out of boredom."
"He's hungry for more," Merida says, probably trying to be mysterious but failing. "He wants all that life has to offer. Smart boy. He'll go a long way."
"Not if he keeps getting caught," Anna counters. She massages her temples. "Whatever. Okay, Merida, you deal with Jasmine, and please keep your guns out of this. It's supposed to be subtle, alright?"
"No promises." The sniper flashes her a crooked smile, little more than a show of teeth, and flicks her mass of red curls before sauntering out of the door. The room is still surprisingly loud when she leaves; Anna is drumming thin fingers on the scratched plastic desktop, and Hans is breathing heavily behind her.
"She's still angry," Hans murmurs. "There's no word from Flynn, and she and Tarzan were really close."
"I know," Anna sighs, all emotions dissipating suddenly, until all that's left is her tiredness. A weight settles on her shoulders. "And Jane keeps asking me. She keeps—ugh, I don't know, looking at me with those damn eyes. How am I supposed to tell her that her fiancé's body doesn't even look like a body anymore, and that he was killed doing work that—"
"—that he knew he could get killed for," Hans interrupts. He rests a hand on Anna's head soothingly.
Anna bristles, though. "Don't patronise me," Anna says quietly. She shakes his hand off. "I know what this life is about."
Withdrawing, Hans' face closes off, but when he speaks a second later, his voice is normal. "I have a list of people who I think may be traitors."
"They better not be people that I thought I could trust," Anna mumbles under her breath. "I can't deal with anymore betrayals, fuck it all."
"You can't trust anyone in this business, Anna," Hans chides. "You should drill that into your head. Don't trust anybody."
"Not even you?" Anna asks jokingly, and leans back on her chair.
"Not even me," Hans repeats.
The streets are blurred, rain softening the jagged edges of the lamplights that shine dimly through the mist. Under an eave, watching the rivulets of water drip from the sides of the roof, a dark figure leans against the pole and breathes out a puff of milky white smoke. There's a few seconds where ash flutters and dissipates, slender fingers tapping the edges of the cigarette and then drawing the tip up to a pair of thin, grey lips.
"You're late," Pitch Black says quietly.
"Apologies." A second man steps out of an alleyway, collar turned up to fight against the chill. "Got held up."
"Just get on with it," Pitch sighs boredly. "I've wasted enough time here as it is."
"Cuckoo has set everything up. Cops don't know shit; they gonna get their ass hauled when this explodes."
"But I trust there won't be any setbacks for me?"
"None. He's taken care of it."
"Excellent. Tell Cuckoo that I can secure him a fifth of the payment tomorrow. The rest will come when he finishes with the completion of each stage of the job."
"Sure thing. And this is your, uh, requirement."
The messenger gingerly hands Pitch a bag that drips something moist and putrid. Pitch opens the drawstring, glances inside, and closes it again with a satisfied nod. The messenger bows slightly, more out of instinct than anything, and turns to head off.
"Oh, before you go." Pitch's hand clutches on the messenger's arm. The grip looks loose, but he delicately tightens his fingers until the man is grunting uncomfortably. Pitch's dark eyes flash as he murmurs, "Next time, makes sure your boss comes personally to deliver the information." A wet, pink tongue glides over his lips. "Or is Cuckoo too important of a man to meet with the lowly Pitch Black himself?"
"N-no," the messenger stammers, unable to control his stutter, "Something important—Cuckoo will come next time—"
"See to it that he does."
Pitch smiles icily at the messenger, and before the man can draw in another breath, he's gone, seemingly melting into the shadows.
A few streets away, unawares, Jack Frost draws his arms closer around his body and tries to ignore the freezing rain that drips down his neck and into his clothes. His coat is expensive (he's stolen it), but it's not waterproof, and the fur lining is damp and smelly. The houses are all dark, and there is only one window where the light peeks out from a grimy kitchen window. He's staring at that light, shivering fingers jammed into his pockets, and steels his nerves.
He takes one, two, three steps up to the door, raps on the rotting wood, and waits.
"Hey," he greets quietly to the woman who opens.
"Jack." A sigh. "Come on in. You're late. She's asleep."
"Thanks."
He shakes off the rain, but doesn't take off his coat when he enters the house. He won't be staying long, anyway.
"Want something to drink?"
"No."
The woman turns to face him, and in the musty darkness, illuminated only by the glow of a bare bulb, her face drags down, tiny lines around her eyes that may have been invisible during the day suddenly thrown into sharp attention, and dark purple half moons are stamped under her eyes.
"Why so stressed?" Jack jokes. "Drei Schönheit aren't active. With the cash you make, you should be lounging around on a beach sipping cocktails, Cinderella."
Cinderella scoffs softly, folding her arms and leaning against the rickety wooden table. Her hair, strawberry blonde, frazzled and scooped up into a loose bun, seems to droop even lower as she exhales. "In your dreams, Jack. I still have a chain of restaurants to run and this house to take care of, and Snow White's still angry at Bunnymund for tipping off that Don about his poisoned soup, so I've been trying to do damage control for the past two weeks. Snow White is a hurricane when her target's been taken away from her." She eyes Jack warily, blue eyes heated as she says, "It would have been the perfect assassination. Who paid you?"
Chuckling, Jack throws his most charming smile at her. "No one. Bunny just likes to fuck around. Besides, if that crime lord died, it would've been obvious that it was Snow. Bunny did you all a favour. Nobody wants a Don on their bad side, especially from the Lunanoff Family."
Cinderella whitens, her mouth hangs open. "That was the Lunanoff Family Don?" Jack smirks, and Cinderella gives a disbelieving laugh, body relaxing. "Oh, god. No wonder. No wonder the payment was so high. But the Lunanoff Don is almost never seen? How is it that he just randomly picks one of the most dangerous restaurants in the city to eat his cherry pie in? Surely he would know. He's the boss, after all."
Shrugging, Jack rolls his neck to work out the kinks. "Beats me. Now, make sure to say thanks to Bunny next time you see him, eh?"
"Yes, yes," Cinderella says liltingly. "I suppose I will."
Jack gives her a smile that's a little strained, and Cinderella softens. "I'll stop wasting your time, hm," Cinderella says, a tad gentler than she normally would. She jerks her head towards the stairs. "She's in the room second to the right. Old one started leaking at the roof, so we all had to do a bit of swapping around. Don't wake the other kids."
"Yes, Miss Warden," Jack jokes, and doesn't miss the way she rolls her eyes at him.
The floorboards creak, but it's masked by the rain outside, which has strengthened into a steady thrum. The room second to the right. Jack grasps the doorknob, and he has to jiggle it a little before it creaks open.
"Who's there?" The girl in the bed sits up warily, but upon seeing his face, she blinks and then whispers, "Jack."
"Hey," Jack says softly. He lets the door swing nearly to a close behind him. "I'm sorry I've been away so long, Clara."
"Four weeks and five days," Clara says, and her voice is crackled from sleep, but nonetheless he can still detect her grumpiness. He steps forward and draws her into a loose hug, but Clara tightens her arms around his waist, and he oofs slightly. He sits at the foot of her bed, ruffling her hair when she whines that he's getting her sheets wet.
"Sorry, kiddo," Jack laughs weakly. "It's been busy at the shop. I'm sorry."
Clara's bright brown eyes search his face. "You've been fighting."
She knows. She always knows. Never mind that it's dark; Clara watches his steps and sees the way he winces when he sits, spots the slight swelling of his cheek and the faint shadows of a bruise along his knuckles, and she knows.
"I thought you were staying away from gangs," Clara says calmly. She's nineteen. She's not stupid. "You promised. On your honour as my big brother."
"I know, I know," Jack says, and he tries not to avoid her gaze. Doing so would make her more suspicious. "It was a scuffle. Nothing big."
Clara holds his eyes for a long time, and Jack forces himself not to fidget. Then, "If you say so," Clara allows. She draws her knees up to her chest, wisps of chestnut hair falling over her face.
"How's university?" Jack tries to change the subject. "Halfway through your first year. Are the classes hard? Have you had exams yet?"
"They're alright," Clara says quietly. "I still don't really know what I'm doing. I've made some good friends though, so it's alright, I guess." She purses her lips. And Jack knows that's she got a lot on her mind. It's silent for a few moments, and then she says in a rush, "What if I'm not sure if I want to be a teacher? What if I decide midway through that I like something else? Like, I don't know, I want to be a wine taster or something?"
"Then you drop the course, and take one up in wine tasting," Jack says easily. Clara snorts, but she smiles afterwards, and Jack musses her hair again. "Don't worry. Not everyone knows what they're doing. Just try your best, and see where it takes you."
"You're right," Clara says. She cocks her head. "Hey, how come your never went to uni?"
"Because I'm stupid as fuck," Jack chuckles.
Clara doesn't laugh, though. "You're not stupid," Clara insists, and Jack is shocked to see that she's upset. "You just… You were taking care of me."
"Clara…" Jack tries. But she turns away, and he knows that this issue has been eating at her for a long time now. Something settles in his stomach. "Hey, Clara. Look at me." When he has her attention, he smiles brightly and taps her nose. "I don't regret it. Not for one second."
And when Clara smiles hesitatingly back, he can see all the guilt and worry and pain he's caused her, and wishes that he could brush it all away.
"I'm fine, Clara," he reassures her. "You keep at your studies, I work, and together we can pay off your uni fees, yeah? Sounds like a good plan, I reckon."
"I still think I should take a job as well," Clara says, wrinkling her nose. "It's not fair to you. These are my fees, and—"
"And I'm perfectly capable, and very willing, to help pay them off for you," Jack interrupts. "Plus, you can return the favour later. I reckon once you have a job, you can pay for one of my vacations. How does that sound? Maybe I'll go to a nice resort somewhere, soak up a little sun. It's a dream, hm?"
Barking out a laugh, which Jack hurriedly shushes her lest she wakes her housemates, Clara replies cheekily, but still with a note of seriousness underneath, "I'll make sure it comes true, then."
When Jack descends the stairs a few minutes later, after giving Clara a pinky promise that he won't wait a month in between visits, he's surprised to see Cinderella still sitting at the dinner table, gazing off at the wall opposite.
"Hey, Ella," Jack says, and the woman tiredly turns towards him. "Get some sleep. You're exhausted."
"Snow White's coming home soon," Cinderella says. "I want to wait up for her."
Jack glances to the ceiling, where he knows that there are other teens sleeping, and wonders out loud, "Why did you take this house, Ella? It seems an awfully weird sort of side job for three girl gang members to run."
Cinderella takes so long to answer that Jack almost thinks she's fallen asleep, but then she says, "Someone needs to take these kids. I don't want them to live a life serving others simply because they were born into the wrong family. Snow White and Aurora think the same."
"So it's personal," Jack says.
"If you want to see it that way," Cinderella shrugs. "They're quite a pain to handle, though. Honestly, we've gotten a bunch of children with completely different personalities to each other, so much that they clash all the time. Happy, grumpy, sleepy… one's so bashful I really don't know how she copes through school without self-combusting from shyness. Then there's a boy who's got a list of allergies as long as he's tall and won't stop sneezing but we just can't afford mediation. Another is studying so much for get into medical school to become a doctor that once he's forgotten to eat for two days, and another who's the complete opposite and dopes herself up high on drugs and has been sent to hospital three times in the space two weeks."
But though Cinderella complains, Jack reads into the upwards turn of her lips, and the way she speaks so fondly, and he knows that she's content.
"Snow White is a much better mother, if we want to get technical," Jack says, and grins when Cinderella agrees with him.
"She's got the magic touch with these children," Cinderella continues, shaking her head.
Straightening from the slouch he's fallen into, Jack heads towards the door. "I'd better go, now," Jack says. He pauses, though, before heading out into the rain. "Quick question, Ella."
Cinderella raises an eyebrow. "Yes?"
"There's been some whispering around the lower circles. Word is that the Tremaine crime family were wiped out a few nights ago, and all evidence burned in a house fire. All of them dead. Even the Lady and her two Daughters." Jack tilts his head, and his voice is even when he asks, "Do you know anything about it? The Daughters were strong, and Lady Tremaine was powerful. It would have taken a lot of force to bring them down. Officially it was an accident; a spark caught in the kitchens. Unofficially, well, they say it was a lone attack. Revenge. Even the bodies were charred beyond recognition. It took dental work to figure out their identities. Everything was burned."
Jack catches the woman's eyes and continues slowly. "Only cinders were left, they say."
He can only see her silhouette, but Cinderella is very still when she murmurs, "What a terrible loss it is."
"Nobody liked the Tremaines," Jack laughs sarcastically. "Especially you, Ella."
"What are you insinuating?" Cinderella asks smoothly. "That I had something to do with it?"
"Oh, never," Jack says mockingly. "Just wanted to pass the info along to you, especially given your history with them."
"Well, thank you for that, Jack." Cinderella bares her teeth into a sweet smile. "It is hard news. I'm sure they must have suffered greatly in their final moments."
"Surely," Jack nods, and wipes invisible dust off his coat. His hand on the door, he says over his shoulder, "So, what's happened to Aurora? I haven't seen her around these days. She alright?"
"Jack," Cinderella says amusedly, and before he can react, she's suddenly too close, and she rests her hand lightly against his back. Something small and thin, but definitely very sharp, leans into his spine. Jack is forcibly reminded that though Cinderella has the appearance of a young twenty-three year old who couldn't possibly hurt a fly, she'd gained notoriety for having the most kills in the shortest amount of time during the War of the Centre Territories (Cinderella had assembled a grand total of one hundred and five bodies in five weeks). "You're a good friend, but first and foremost, you must remember that we are members from opposing gangs. There are certain things that unfortunately are classified, and if you were to find out, I'm sorry to say that Clara might soon be finding her big brother in several different trash cans."
"Alright, alright," Jack says, throwing his hands up in surrender. "Forget I asked. Now could you please put your sharp weapon away? I mean, I love sharp weapons, just not against me."
She makes an annoyed sound and backs off. Jack saunters out, feeling the rain drumming down into his clothes again. Cinderella nods at him. "Good evening, Jack."
"Night, Ella," Jack says. He makes sure to hold Cinderella's gaze when he says, "You might want to cut me up into little pieces, but if you drag Clara into anything, if you lay a finger on her, I'll make sure that Crowns crush your livelihood, and I'll personally remove your voice box from your throat. Are we clear?"
"Crystal," Cinderella says airily, and shuts the door in his face.
Ange Noir
Temporary files
TO BE DESTROYED
SEE ATTACHED PHOTO
Elsa Queen
21
162cm
H: blonde, E: blue
Student, SMC University
Bachelor of General Medicine
Affiliations: Red Crowns, medic
approx. 1 month
Anna's brain almost short-circuits. Betrayal washes over her and lodges a lump in her throat. It's bitter and hot, and Anna first blinks back tears of anger, and then, after making sure she's alone in the room, begins to cry in despair.
Why, Elsa? Why did you do this why did you take the job you're not supposed to be involved I did this so you wouldn't have to struggle I did this so we could pay back our debts why Elsa why the Crowns it's not safe it's not safe whywhywhywhy—
On the walk home, Jack passes by The Red Lily after sorting out a small fight in the back alleyways. He'd normally leave the teenagers to punch it out, but he knows that Clara will go this way the next morning to uni, and he doesn't want her spotting any potential bodies. Teens they may be, but they were from rival groups, and Jack recognises bloodlust when he sees it.
A quick glance at his watch (also stolen) shows the time to be two minutes past midnight, which means that the staff inside would be packing up to close. He pushes open the door, and in a moment of foreign emotion, he thinks to himself Ah, it feels like home. He ponders the thought for a moment, but ultimately brushes it away. It's not important.
"Oh. Hello." Elsa stops in the middle of stacking up dirty plates. He hadn't even seen her; she's tiny when she bends down. Her face is shiny, her posture is drooping, but she offers him a slight smile, which he returns willingly. "Are you here on business, or…?"
"Nah," Jack says, waving a careless hand, "I'm here for food."
"I can hear a voice that I really don't want to hear," Shang grumbles from the kitchen entry. He enters the main room, releasing the top two buttons of his chef's uniform. He eyes Jack up and down. "Rough night? You look like you've been through a blender."
"Ugh," Jack recoils at the imagery. "No, just went and saw Cinderella, who almost stabbed me, and broke up a street fight, where I almost got stabbed as well."
Shang snickers. "Classic. Is she alright?"
Shang doesn't mean Cinderella, and Jack knows it. But for the sake of Clara's safety, they try not to mention her name at all. "She's good. Enjoying herself, I think, though she's still a bit nervous about it all."
"That's a relief," Shang says. That's a relief. What a relief. It's a relief she isn't dead. It's a relief she won't be involved in this fuck up of a mess.
"And where's our dearest Ping?" Jack asks craftily. "She's usually here now. Gotta pick up her man from work, after all."
"Shut up," Shang groans. "I've told you—"
"It's not like that, yeah, yeah, you've repeated it more than enough times already," Jack says. He turns to Elsa and says with a wink, "Wanna bet that Shang and Ping will fuck by the end of the week?"
"Uh… not really."
"Seriously there's nothing going on—"
"The sexual tension's been pretty high, lately. I always knew you had a thing for Ping doing a little bit of dress-up—"
"Jack—!"
"Why is it," whispers a low, velvety voice in his ear, "that every single time I see you, you're always saying something that just begs for your ass to be kicked. Every single time, I swear."
"Ping," Jack says amicably, even as he feels the girl press her blade just a tad deeper into his neck. He feels the skin break. "I didn't even hear you come in. This is the third time tonight I've been threatened with a knife. What a trend."
"With your personality, I'm really not surprised," Ping sneers. She steps away from him and towards Shang. "Area's clear. We're good to go."
"They're not going off on a mission or anything." Jack catches the curious look Elsa throws at the pair. "This is just one of the weird things they do. They're super careful and all; Ping likes to check the perimeter of the restaurant as she goes in, looks for any ambushes or people following her, before picking up Shang like a cute little jellybean child and going home."
"You're really pushing your luck today," Shang hisses.
"You two live together?" Elsa asks interestedly. "That's cute."
"It's not—like that—" Shang splutters, and Ping just smiles calmly besides him as he flails for words.
Elsa shoots the chef a little smirk, and he gives her a look of his own. Elsa giggles at his theatrics, and she notes at the back of her mind how nice all of this is. Together with people whom she really wouldn't consider friends (well, maybe Shang) but the steps of it all, the banter and gentle teasing and laughter… Call her simple, but it's honestly all she's ever wanted.
"Hey," Jack says, and when she turns, there's a small smile playing on his lips, and his face is open and inviting and not at all like the usual gang member Jack. But just—Jack. "I'll walk you home."
"Ah," Elsa says intelligently. "Um. Okay. Thank you."
They leave the restaurant at one o'clock, Jack patiently waiting for her to finish her job, even helping her clear the tables when she and the other waitress on duty struggle to balance the dishes. It's hours later than she would normally end her shift, but the restaurant has new times now, opening deeper into the night on Fridays and Saturdays for the partygoers who want cheap takeaway, mostly. There are, surprisingly, a lot of them.
The first part of the walk is spent lost in their own thoughts. Jack is running through the list of people in his head that he needs to follow up on this week. They're mainly his intel; he likes to employ the homeless citizens of Stella Morta to report back to him any info that may be important for him. The homeless are invisible, after all, and they pick up quite a lot of things. Jack pays them enough for their troubles, and they're more or less neutral towards gangs, so that's a bonus, too.
"Who's Cinderella?" Elsa asks out of the blue. Jack blinks at her, before recovering himself.
"Just a friend," Jack says. "She runs the dorm house on the west end of the city. She's a warden. Takes care of teens who've got nowhere to go."
"She sounds like a good person," Elsa says cautiously. When Jack doesn't answer, Elsa continues, "Or… I guess not."
"No one is ever completely good, or completely bad," Jack grins at her. "Remember that, Elsa."
Jack slows down a little to match her pace. She's so very twitchy, Jack thinks to himself. Every shadow has her jumping, every loud noise from a drunken passerby has her huddling closer to him. And rather than find it funny or endearing, Jack finds himself wondering What happened to you? What made you this way?
"So what did you think of the other night?" Jack asks conversationally, mostly to distract Elsa from her surroundings. It seems to work, as Elsa has to sort her thoughts for a couple of moments before answering. "The raid with Ping and the newbies… that's mostly what you'll be doing here. You won't be on the front lines."
"It's…" Elsa say slowly, "… Well, I can handle it."
"I know you can," Jack hums, "I asked what you thought of it."
Elsa struggles to come up with anything. Eventually, she settles with, "It was eye-opening. I hadn't realised they started so young. I mean, I knew, but it didn't click in my head until I saw it personally."
"Them?" Jack scoffs. "They're actually in the later age range. Average is thirteen years, to be honest."
"How about you?" Elsa blurts out, and she looks contrite immediately afterwards, as if she was afraid that she'd offended him.
"Twelve," Jack says casually. "It's no big deal. Some people are born into this life. Poor souls."
"Poor souls," Elsa echoes strangely, as if it had struck a nerve.
There is an odd look on her face, one that's an awful mixture of resignation and regret and pain. Jack isn't sure what to make of it, and he isn't sure if he was even supposed to see it. So he pretends he didn't, and says instead, "Hey, wanna go for a drink?"
"Oh—uh—no, I have—my sister's at home waiting for me—it's best if I don't," Elsa says hastily, and Jack chuckles.
"You're working in the morning, right? It's almost two a.m. right now, and your shift's at eight. Your sister won't notice that you haven't been home all night." Jack is getting edgy; he hasn't had a drink in days, and he's aching for the buzz in his veins, to have his head clouded to the point where he doesn't have to think about anything. He doesn't know Elsa well enough, but she's a potential drinking companion, so she'll be enough.
"No, no, I really shouldn't—"
"I'll take you out for one drink, and then we'll head home, okay?"
Jack doesn't give her a chance to respond. He grabs her arm, and if Elsa squirms uncomfortably in his grasp, if a flash of fear crosses her face, Jack ignores it resolutely.
First and foremost, Jack is a street rat. And street rats fend for themselves.
"Was that," Jack giggles into the wall, "your first time at a club?"
"Yes," Elsa snaps at him, thoroughly harassed. "You said we'd leave after an hour. It's been three!"
"And you're still not drunk," Jack pouts to himself.
The pair are leaning against the wet walls of the alleyway just beside The Crimson Rose. Technically, Jack could just head upstairs and sleep it off in the VIP room. The Crimson Rose does belong to the Crowns, after all, but dimly, in his drunken and befuddled state of mind, Jack remembers that he had promised to take Elsa home. He's not that much of an asshole that he'd leave a girl to scale the city by herself at five in the morning. The sun doesn't rise until six-thirty.
"No," Elsa sniffs primly. "I didn't think it'd be wise."
"Well, I guess you're preeeeetttyyy smart," Jack drawls. He stumbles into her shoulder, and feels Elsa's breath leave her body in a short whoosh as she tries to support his weight. "Come on, I'll take you to your smelly apartment."
He hears Elsa click her tongue, but doesn't make out anything other than a muttered "—annoying when drunk—"
They make it maybe three streets past The Crimson Rose before trouble strikes.
The figures are shadowy, but even in his inebriated state, he recognises the tattoos that adorn their wrists.
"Nightmares," Jack whispers, lips numb. He straightens stiffly, adrenaline starting to pulse through his blood.
There are six of them, appearing out of the shadows. They had been waiting.
It's an ambush, Jack realises. Exactly what Ping and Shang are cautious against. How fucking ironic.
The roads are empty at this hour, and only the moon is a silent witnesses to what happens below. Around them are dark shops and a food court. No help will come tonight.
Jack fumbles for the gun that's always stashed at his hip, but he's too slow. In the seconds before the first Nightmare strikes, he can hear Elsa's panicked breaths at his ear.
We protect our own.
Isn't that just what Ping had told her a few nights ago? Jack isn't one for promises, but the words are heavy, and he finds himself suddenly mournful of the fact that he can't even do that. Can't even protect his own.
There's a solid blow to his head, and he dumbly registers Elsa being ripped away from him.
If he'd been sober, this would have been a different story.
But he isn't, and so his punches and kicks are pathetically thrown, and he's so drunk that he can't even really connect to the pain that he is feeling.
He doesn't know where Elsa is, can only focus stupidly on the blood that trickles down his nose, can only taste the familiar tang of copper in his mouth. He's probably bitten his own tongue.
He's so stupid.
This isn't how I die, Jack thinks belatedly. No. I refuse. I have shit to do. This is not how I die.
And then one final blow, and he blacks out.
author's note:
omgggg so that was a long time coming. no but ok so finally in the next chapter there will be jelsa development yayayay that's what y'all have been waiting for ayyyyyy. this chapter is basically to bring together all the loose plot points and so now we can get a move on with the overall plot as well.
headcannon that merida is bi. (i previously used 'gay' as an umbrella term, but anon user TOWMNBN pointed out it should've been lesbian, and seeing as both those terms aren't as accurate as i would like (bc honestly i do see merida as bi), i just changed the whole thing haha. apologies if it offended anybody, and thanks for the point out.)
i also got attached to cinderella oh no.
did anyone get my hugely obvious 7 dwarves reference? idkkkkk HAHAHA.
sometimes i need to remind myself that this story is jelsa and that's what people are reading it for. ho hum.
kuro-d on tumblr did fanart based on the previous chapter and my heart melted bc the sandbuntooth trio are precious as children. unfortunately i can't seem to post the link on my profile (this is an annoying problem that i've been having for a while) so be sure to check out her blog. she's got many beautiful fanarts so it'll be enjoyable anyway to sift through her pieces ehehe.
wtf even is a bachelor of general medicine. who knows. certainly not i, the author, who made it up because she can't remember exactly what the process is to become a doctor and can't be bothered looking it up.
updated: 25 August 2015