Arby Chapter 2: Execute
Arby studied the thing in his hands, brow furrowing. His palm still tingled like paresthesia, where the arrow had penetrated his hide. That had been an unpleasant experience, and Setty's casual, mocking attitude throughout hadn't helped. Still, the surprise on her face when he casually yanked it out was gratifying. His upbringing before the 'Donna had inured him to the novelty of enchanted artifacts, albeit evidently not their effects. In his hands was a glowing, rippling tablet, similar to but also entirely like any make or model he'd seen before. It was about 40 by 20cm in dimensions, with a metallic glowing teal trim bearing the symbols of A and Ω on the borders. Further inspection revealed the trim appeared to be flowing, fluidic like mercury. He turned it over in his hand, the back bore similarly baroque designs as the trim, with a large A and Ω overlapped in the center. He flipped back to the screen, tentatively prodding it with his finger, the black screen rippled like disturbed oil before glowing to life, greeting him with a password bracket 8-characters long.
"That it?" Setty said, eyebrow quirked as she leaned over the desk. "That's your Stand?"
"My what?" Arby turned to her. "What's a Stand? What's going on?"
Setty sighed, rolling her eyes as she stood back. "[Titanium]!"
Arby flinched as the girl levitated into the air, her body aglow in a shining silver-gold aura, a suit of gleaming armor materializing over her. He recognized it as some pastiche of late Gothic plate armor, the polished platinum metal rippled and articulated, lined with glowing golden floral trim. It even extended on articulated cowlings to cover her wings. On her head was a visored barbute helm, similarly stylized as the rest, but with solid glowing surfaces under the visor, not her eyes. Flowing ribbons of diaphanous fabric extruded from her knees, elbows, and back, connecting them. She set her feet down on the floor, setting one hand on her hip as she cocked them out, holding out her other hand as though to examine her nails, a pose that screamed 'Setty'.
"So? What do you think?" She said, her voice reverberating slightly. "Pretty fuckin' cool, huh?"
Arby boggled at her for a moment. "I reiterate: what the fuck is going on?"
Setty laughed at this and slapped him on the arm – to his shock – hard enough to actually make him stumble a bit. That… hurt? "This… is [Titanium]. She's my Stand. Red says the arrow is an ancient magical artifact from Earth that pulls out the fighting spirit, the soul, within every person and crafts it into a manifeshun–"
"Manifestation."
"Shut up, nerd! Anyway, your Stand is a part of your soul that's been pulled out of your body. Every Stand's unique to their user, each with their own powers. Mine is called [Titanium]."
"Why?" Arby cocked his head, reaching out and prodding the glowing armor; it felt like metal, but not cold, and mildly electrified, tingling even through his thick hide. "Is it made of titanium or some similar alloy?"
"No!" Setty swatted his hand away. "Uh… I think? It's made of fighting-spirit-soul-energy-stuff."
Arby looked down at his manifestation, feeling distinctly let down. "What does it do?"
"Oh, all kinds of shit!" Setty said, levitating into the air, and circling around him. "I can levitate for one, and move around in the air. And I'm super strong, too! Smeared a Faller with a road roller the other day, actually. The look on his face! Ha! Oh! And I'm fast! Like, 'bullets-ain't-shit' fast! Also I can phase myself and anything I touch through solid stuff, though only so long as–"
"I meant…" Arby grumbled, brandishing his annoyingly unimpressive Stand. "What does mine do?"
She shrugged, [Titanium] vanishing off her body as she glided through the air. "Dunno. What does it do, Arby?"
He looked down at it, touching the screen over the first character space in the password bracket, causing a 'B' to appear. "B?"
Setty craned her neck to look at the screen. "What kinda nerd shit is this, anyway?"
"It appears to be a tablet," he said. "It's like a Hellphone, but bigger, and crossed with a computer."
"I know what a tablet is, tubby!" Setty snapped. "I mean, what kinda nerd gets jabbed with a magic arrow and gets a tablet?"
"This kind."
Setty scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Well? Tap it again."
He did, the letter 'A' appearing. 'BA'. He continued until the password key was filled. It read: [Ballads1].
"[Ballads1]?" Arby murmured.
"That its name?"
"I suppose."
The screen flashed and revealed a dark, umbral plane, a black valley with an oily river running through it, backdropped with tall shadowy mountains backdropped by a tyrian sky. At the bottom of the screen were seven icons: a camera, a clock, a map, a scale, a gear, a folder and, ominously, a noose. He reached out and touched the first one, the camera. The screen flickered and showed his feet, various settings and zoom options cropping up on the side of the screen, a stylized reticule at the center.
"Wow." Setty grunted, unimpressed. "Gonna take a magical selfie?"
Arby leveled the lens at Setty, [Ballads1] whirred as it snapped the picture; Setty's photo now slotted into a column on the right.
"Hey!" Setty cried, affronted. "Don't take my picture, perv!"
"Fascinating…" Arby murmured, feeling something stir deep within him, as though he had completed some nameless task. "This will bear further experimentation."
"Whatever," Setty huffed, slapping him on the shoulder. "C'mon, let's head outside, I need a smoke."
The courtyard of the 'Donna was sparsely populated, though this was not to last, as Acquisitions was due back to unload their second haul of the day and deliver their first shipment of Home Ec wares. Setty had sat them down on the far side of the courtyard, for some reason and, stranger still, crassly stole a tablet from one of the smaller kids and put it in his hands.
"There." She looked around, scanning their surroundings. "Now it'll look like you're just looking at a normal tablet."
Arby cocked his head to the side, the normal device phasing right through [Ballads1]. "Fascinating. Though they're clipping together, it makes the screen hard to read."
"Ugh," Setty scoffed. "Float it above it, then."
"Then I won't be holding it."
"It's a Stand, genius!" She said, tapping his forehead with a glossy black talon. "Control it with your mind!"
Arby frowned at her before turning back to [Ballads1], four eyebrows rising as the ephemeral tablet floated out of his hands, reacting to his hand movements as though he was holding it. "Fascinating."
"Dude, if you say that one more time…"
"I've inferred that Mr. Nightmare wants us to keep these abilities secret. I understand his reasoning. But why do I need to pretend to be using a normal tablet?" He said, brandishing the device. "This isn't like your Stand, Setty. Anyone who sees [Ballads1] will see a, perhaps gauche, tablet."
"Yeah, see, here's the thing," said Setty, glancing around. "No one around here would see [Ballads1], at least, not right away."
Arby turned to Setty; this day was just getting weirder and weirder. "What do you mean, 'not right away'?"
She shrugged. "I dunno how or why, but Hellborn can only kinda see Stands. Like, they need to be paying attention, then the Stand kinda flickers in, like a photo developing. Red says it has something to do with exposure to Hell energy or something, like when your eyes adjust to light." She reached down and tapped the tablet in his hands. "So, if it was just you sitting here, looking at nothing in your hands, some kids might start paying closer attention, got it?"
"I see." He looked up to see the trucks begin to roll in. "And Sinners?"
Setty shook her head. "Red says that unless a Faller had a Stand in life, they generally won't see Stands."
"You mean 'can't'."
"Red said 'won't'." She shrugged. "Sinners got all kinds of weird shit they can do, to say nothing of magic stuff. Just to be safe, don't bust your Stand out in front of anyone who ain't a Stand User."
"How many of us are there?"
"About a few," she said, dismissively. "I'll tell you more once you strap your balls on and figure out your Stand."
Arby sighed and turned back to [Ballads1], pressing the camera again and selecting the photo of a startled Setty.
"Hmph. Gimme some warning next time, will ya?" Setty grunted, pointing. "Decent definition. I knew this foundation shade was the right choice."
He held down on the picture and an options bar came up that read: 'Move to profiles'. He selected that and the picture vanished. He exited the camera and looked about. "Profiles… profiles… Ah."
The folder icon.
Opening it revealed a multipaged graphic, the open pages filled with a dozen slots, Setty's picture in one. He drew it up, revealing a profile document with all the information blank. "I see…"
"What is it?"
"I think…" He said, exiting profiles and selecting the clock, the screen displaying Arby's feet, prompting him to point it at the courtyard; on the screen each of the kids and Sinners had a series of numbers floating over their heads. "Yes. Each of these icons collects data. There, see? The clock represents time, those numbers above everyone's heads, that's their age in decades, years, months, and days. Let's see…"
He tapped one of the little imp girls running across the court yard, her number superimposing over her as the option bar appeared: 'move to profile'. Arby selected that and exited the clock, heading back to profiles. Sure enough, there was another profile, this one only having the still-running age of the little girl and no other data.
He exited to the homescreen and pointed to each one. "Each one of these apps collects a different type of data, filling in the profile."
"What happens then?"
"I don't know…" Arby turned back to the tablet, pointing to the noose icon. "But if I had to guess…"
He tapped the noose. The app opened, revealing a rendition of a gallows, with a gruesome, dangling noose. At the top of the screen was an empty textbox: a macabre game of Hangman. At the bottom was a slip-box. Arby hesitantly tapped the slip-box, flinching when the option bar appeared: select profile.
"Uh…" Setty said, looking up at the kid whose age they had recorded. "Experiment on someone else."
Arby nodded in agreement. "Indeed. Who?"
Setty pointed to the slimy, leech-mouthed Sinner, Emerson, as he stepped out of one of the box trucks. "Slug-face. Emerson. Do him."
Arby smirked, raising [Ballads1] and snapping a picture and sending it to profiles. He repeated the action with the clock, and then tried the scale tool, revealing Emerson's height and weight, as well as a bevy of other measurements ranging from the obscure to the… personal.
"WHOASHIT!" Setty exclaimed, pointing. "Ten inches?!"
"That's centimeters, Setty," said Arby. "2.54 to an inch."
"Oh." Setty paused, doing some rough math before covering her mouth and giggling derisively. "Ha! Loser. Ooh! Do Cowlick!"
"Cowlick's a woman," said Arby, rolling his eyes. "Let's get back on track, shall we?"
[Ballads1] required him to select two measurements, he chose height and weight despite Setty's more meanspirited suggestions. Next, Arby selected the map, the option of 'pin' came up over everyone on the screen. Curious, Arby selected Emerson and, to Setty and Arby's shock, a glowing blue blob lobbed up and out of the tablet, streaking through the air in a long arc, landing on the Sinner's leather vest . They waited in silence for him or someone around him to notice. When no one did, she patted his shoulder and he proceeded to select Emerson again, the pin revealing his exact coordinates in longitude and latitude, the long numbers shifting slightly as he walked about. Into the profile with that one.
"Next is that gear one," said Setty. "What's that mean in nerd-lingo, Arby?"
"Hmm…" He rubbed his chin. "Usually, it means 'settings'. Though in this context… maybe some kind of specific information. Let's see…"
He selected the gear and pointed it at Emerson, an empty textbox appearing next to him, the cursor flashing.
"What's this now?" Setty said, blinking in surprise as text filled in with her words, flashed red, and vanished. "Huh?"
'Huh?' appeared, flashed red, and vanished.
"I think we have to say something about Emerson," Arby whispered, the mic failing to pic up his voice.
"Emerson is a tremendous boy-molesting fruit!" Setty announced.
The words filled in, flashed red, and vanished.
"Stupid piece of shit!"
'Stupid piece of shit' filled in, flashed green, and appeared next to him with a bullet point.
"Huh," Setty grunted, turning to Arby. "Why'd that one stick?"
Arby glanced up at Emerson, who glanced around for witnesses before sliding his hand down the front of his pants and adjusting himself. He removed his hand and then, clandestinely, sniffed it.
"Ew!" Setty moaned. "He's so gross!"
'He's so gross' appeared, flashed green, and appeared beneath the other bullet point.
"Emerson is brave and strong," said Arby, smirking.
The words appeared, flashed red, and vanished.
"It has to be true to stick, I guess."
Setty cocked her head to the side, perplexed. "Emerson isn't a kiddie fiddler?"
'Emerson isn't a kiddie fiddler' appeared, flashed green, and joined the list.
"Huh," said Setty, smirking. "But he has a sad, tiny prick."
'Has a sad, tiny prick' appeared, flashed green, added to the stack.
"HAW!" Setty barked. "I take it back, Arby. Your Stand fucking rocks!"
Arby smirked at this and selected one of the 'settings' and sent it to the profile. "There… now… open noose… select profile… and there. We're ready."
Setty glanced over at Arby, his finger hovering over the hangman screen. "Well?"
"We still don't know what this thing will do." Arby looked up at the Sinner, who was picking his ears. "What if it kills him?"
Setty rolled her eyes. "He's a Sinner, you can't kill him!"
"We still don't know what it does, Setty."
"Well… what does it make you want to do?" Setty asked.
"Play hangman?" Arby said, his uncertainty giving way to frustration. "Fill in the lines? This is frustrating. You have a stand, can't you figure this out?"
"Stands are just like this. [Ballads1] is yours, part of your fighting spirit or some shit." She reached out and pointed to the slip-box. "[Titanium] makes me super strong and indestructible because I'm a fucking badass! I dunno what your weakass nerd-Stand is supposed to do."
"Is this how orientation usually goes?" Arby said, frowning at the foulmouthed harlot. "You provoke the uninitiated into punching you?"
Setty smiled, it wasn't at all a friendly smile. "Try it, tubby, see what happens."
"What happens?"
"Three things: you hit me, I hit you, your head hits the far side of the courtyard."
He sighed and shook his head, turning back to [Ballads1]. "Alright… here goes."
He selected Emerson's profile and the sheet slid into the slot-box. Emerson's name appeared in segments, each one corresponding with a body part of the Sinner appearing in the noose. First his head, then his torso, one arm, the other, then his legs appearing in sequence. Once completed, a window opened reading 'open ?'
"Ooohohoho…" Setty chortled, patting him on the shoulder. "Do it."
His finger hovered over the 'execute' button.
He pressed it.
The trucks rolled into the courtyard, the kids filing out of the back, in their arms bulging bags of swag. Another truck opened up, piled high with TVs, furniture, bikes, and bags of smaller swiped valuables such as entertainment systems, phones, tablets, and jewelry. Once emptied, a line of other kids made their way out of the main building, in their arms boxes of shoes, shirts, and pants, bundles of fabric, rolls of carpet, and just about anything else that could be sewn, stitched, and assembled. They loaded their wares into the trucks to be transported and delivered to boutique stores and private businesses where they would be sold – advertised as authentic, higher-quality brands, naturally – and the profits split between the storeowner and the 'Donna. Once the trucks were loaded, the fifty-or-so Home Ec kids were allowed to hang about outside for their fifteen minute break.
The Home Ec kids were thin and rangy, lacking the robustness of the Shop Kids or the wiry, free-range builds of the Acquisition Kids. Their work, though profitable, was low-risk and low-impact, and as such weren't given priority in the Cafeteria, only lining up to eat after the Shop and Street Kids had ravaged the spread. While they hardly starved, at least not more than any other kid at the 'Donna, this preference of management led to a department-wide disposition towards quiet acquiescence and deference to the other departments. Certain types gravitated to Home Ec, after all. While their work was just as grueling in its own way, the Home Ec Kids always made sure to accommodate and help their fellow 'Donna Kids, patching shoes, fixing tears in pants and shirts, even fashioning custom clothing wholecloth from surreptitiously procured scrap fabric. For their efforts, they were often rewarded with any good or service the other kids could provide. To a Home Ec Kid, life was hard, but they had purpose and, despite their lack of regard from Management, a small glimmer of status among their fellow 'Donna Kids.
A tall, slender hellhound sat down on a bench by herself, fishing out a packet of cigarettes and setting them down next to her, waiting silently. At 15, she was one of the older kids, with mottled salt-n-pepper fur and bright, white-blue eyes. Her useless, dead ears were pointed and tall, with one lopped forward on a ragged notch, lining up with the long ragged scar extending from her temple down to her jaw. She took off her hairnet and shook her head, her shining golden locks tumbling down her shoulders. She turned to face a surge of air across her whiskers an instant before the familiar scent of grease and sulfur danced before her short, rounded snout. She saw the beaming face of a young satyr – or Baphomet, as some preferred to be called – her orange goat-eyes glowing with manic energy, the small candle-like protrusion between her eyes flickering with blue fire.
"–ow's it going, Murci?" The satyr's lips read, plopping down next to her. "Breaky-broke, time for a smoke!"
Murci nodded and offered the pack of cigarettes. She didn't smoke, but all her friends did, so she accommodated. She was never short of them, as they were the most common gift she received for her services.
"Thanks!"
The satyr, an exhaustingly energetic girl by the name of San, took a dart and lit it on her flickering wick, taking a drag and sighing contentedly. "That's the stuff… so, what's new new new witchu-chu-chu?"
Murci shrugged, gesturing 'same-ol', pantomiming sewing and smiling softly.
"Yeah, looks like Home Ec's runnin' along as usual," said San, pointing to the new, remarkably pretty faces mingling with the drab, mundane seamstresses. "You got a lot of new faces, though. Pretty pretty ones. Mm. Those Carriage House girls sure smell nice."
Murci had noticed that despite no longer needing to, many of the former Carriage House girls still dressed stylishly, applied their makeup, and donned the finest scents they could scrounge. Despite this continuing dedication to aesthetics, the newbies were hardly a burden. While the ceaseless nature of work in Home Ec took some getting used to, they had adapted admirably. Indeed, many of them seemed to throw themselves into their work, as though failure to pick up the trade would prompt Boss Lady to reopen the Services department and throw them back into the sweaty, sticky clutches of the Johns. So they worked tirelessly, endlessly scrutinizing their work, improving relentlessly. Murci's heart went out to the poor dears, she could only imagine the deep-seated anxiety powering such dedication. She wanted to hold them still in a hug, tell them they'd never go back. Tell them they were safe. Setty had told her as much with that steely finality that so defined her, stating that the 'Donna's days of defiling kids was over for good.
Another familiar scent poured over her shoulder as she automatically glanced over to another hellhound, a tall, black-furred girl named Patty. Patty was striking, Murci thought, her glossy black coat so deeply dark it made it hard to parse textures at times, accentuating her fiery orange eyes all the more, like two embers in a shadow. Despite her looks, she had somehow managed to elude Belladonna's eye and stay out of the Carriage House. Murci credited this to the fact that, somehow, the girl was even quieter than her! 'Shy' was understating it, the girl rarely spoke unprompted and reacted to direct attention like a magnet met with its peer, sliding right out of perception as though by an invisible force. The fact that she was best friends with the downright manic San never failed to baffle the deaf hellhound.
Murci felt the impacts of San's bleated greetings across her fur, smiling and waving.
"Hey, Murci," Patty said, softly, holding out a stick of gum. "W-want some?"
Murci nodded and smiled, mouthing 'thank you' as she took the gum.
Patty looked over Murci's shoulder, to San, before saying: "What? Where?"
She turned around, ears perking up in interest, turning back to Murci, pointing. "Murci, look."
Murci followed her hand to a pair of kids on the far side of the courtyard. Not just any kids. One was the towering, mountainous salamandrine boy named Arby. Murci didn't know much about Arby. No one really did. The only person he spent any time with was the small, twitchy imp Tortilla, who was probably the oddest ball at the 'Donna. She liked him well enough, as when they did interact he was unfailingly polite and careful to enunciate for her without seeming patronizing. Unlike the other kids, who would ramble or slur, or turn away from her while talking, he was always speaking to her specifically so she would understand him. She liked that about him, though she suspected it was because he was talking to her to talk to her, not just to talk. Most kids just talked and talked because – as so many had so 'humorously' pointed out so, so many times – despite being deaf, Murci was an excellent listener. Arby knew this, and when he spoke to her, it was specifically to convey information. He was terse and direct like that.
While it wasn't unusual to see Arby outside, nor was it unheard of for him to interact with kids besides Tortilla, it was hardly common. However what was truly unusual was the fact that he appeared to be interacting with Setty, and even more unusual was his apparent tolerance of her presence.
San leaned into view. "What's Setty doing with Arby-Barby? Since when do they hang out?"
They didn't. Setty's interactions with the 'big snobby nerd' usually consisted of her trying to get a rise out of the stoic lad, him frustrating her with his deadpan, dispassionate responses, and Setty scoffing and brushing him off. But there they were. Sitting together, touching even, as Setty leaned over his shoulder and pointed to the tablet in his hands, speaking. She would say something, he would say something, she would say something back, and on and on. An actual conversation.
This was deeply confusing.
"What're they doing all the way over there?" San asked, cocking her head. "They gotta secret thing goin' on?"
Patty must have said something, because San smiled and cackled. "You never know! Lucky gal! Arby-Barby looks reeeaaal cuddly-snuggly. All big an' round! Sometimes I just wanna grab him and squeeze!"
San was infamous for her springtrap hugs, but Murci doubted the little satyr's arms would encompass the huge salamandrine's protruding gut. Though Murci suspected this was probably the reason for her interest.
Why was Setty hanging out with Arby? And why so far away, out of sight? Murci would know if Setty had a change of heart about him. She would know if she had a change of heart about anyone. Everyone talked to Murci, but Murci only really talked to Setty. The older girl knew sign-language, one of the few who did, and would chat with her in the Bunks to the wee hours. They would talk and chat and gossip, just the two of them, their exchanges secret despite the utter lack of privacy in the Bunks. Setty, strong, resilient, beautiful Setty, would come to her to talk and to listen. Murci was a good listener, but an even better keeper of secrets. Only she knew Setty's doubts, her concerns, her… loves.
No, Setty wasn't sweet on Arby. Setty didn't even like Arby. Setty liked…
Murci felt her hackles rise a touch, as much from the scent wafting through the air as from the associated feelings. She turned away from Setty, glancing over her shoulder. The last truck had rolled up, disgorging the last of the ragamuffins. The herd of ripe, deliberately wretched-looking children followed by… him.
Syx.
Murci couldn't quite place the source of this bitterness that welled in her chest whenever she saw this stern, silent imp. He was broken, like her, blind and mute. To management disabled kids were spoiled goods, unlikely to fetch a good price at auction, and limited in their utility. Kids like her and Syx carried a tax on their existence, needing to excel at their work to avoid getting sold to whatever vile creature that could find use for a crippled Hellborn child. While Murci herself was a capable seamstress and flexible in her duties, she was no golden kid like Syx. Syx was Head Kid of Acquisitions. Syx could pick pockets, locks, and fights with legendary finesse. Boss Lady treasured Syx, not only for his earnings, but for his ability to cajole scores of small kids into a proper operation. Syx was a leader despite his disabilities, and Murci was a seamstress on a line, an injury away from getting thrown into Hell.
But that wasn't it. At least, not entirely.
Setty… Setty liked Syx. No, Setty loved Syx. Not that the jaded and world-weary girl would ever admit to such, not to her, not to anyone, not even to herself. Setty's heart was a locked box in a steel cage wrapped in prickly Wrath bramble, her work had seen to that. But Murci was a good listener. She watched her face, her expressions, her choice of words, and when she talked about Syx she… changed. Murci always felt a sense of terrible loss when Setty spoke to her about Syx, and not simply because the deaf, demure, deferential hellhound knew her beloved Setty would never change so when speaking of her. No, when Setty spoke of Syx, Murci could see the girl she was always meant to be. The girl from before the 'Donna, before the Carriage House. The sweet, kindhearted girl that cruel fate had crushed into the diamond that remained, cold, hard, sharp, but shockingly beautiful.
Such a loss. Such a terrible loss.
Syx imperiously marched over to the front of the truck. The blind boy usually walked with a slight slouch, his head and shoulders canted forward, weaving slightly, giving his stride a distinctly serpentine quality. Setty claimed this was to look cool, but Murci suspected it was to give his remaining senses as much input as possible. She herself lived life with her head on a swivel. Her nose, fur, and whiskers filled in best they could for her useless ears, her head always ready to turn to see who or what was around.
Syx was walking differently now. Not a hint of that former caution that characterized his movements, he was bolder, more upright, strutting straight ahead like a soldier on parade. He came to a stop at the cab of the truck, practically standing at attention. The door opened and out stepped… him. That new one. That Sinner. Red Nightmare.
She spun about, not wanting to look at him. Not wanting to risk him noticing her. She wanted nothing to do with him or the strange magnetic effect he was having on the other kids. He terrified her. Even thinking about him terrified her. The inexorable sense that that thing would soon come to run the 'Donna terrified her. The fact that Setty, canny, mistrustful, angry Setty, would change when talking about him, change like when she talked about Syx, revolted and terrified her. Didn't she see he was dangerous? Didn't she see the hungry, gleeful insanity in his eyes? The destructive rage in his smile? She felt like the 'Donna was slowly catching fire and only she could smell the smoke, sitting in silence while the other kids went about their business. The flames spidered out from Red Nightmare on flickering tongues, enthralling kids and Staff alike, soon to consume them all in the inferno of his madness.
Murci locked her gaze back on Setty and Arby, focusing, hoping to catch their conversation on their lips, though the distance was making it hard.
"at does it make you want to _?" Setty asked.
"Play han_n," replied Arby, the curl in his lip suggesting irritation. "Fill in the lines. This is frustr_. You have a stand, can't you _ure this out?"
"Stands are _ this. Ballads one is yours, part of your _ or some shit." She reached out and tapped something on the tablet, no… above it? "Titanium makes me super strong and _ because I'm a fucking badass. I dunno what your weakass ner_and is supposed to do."
"Is this how _tation usually goes?" Arby said, his mouth curling into a frown. "You provoke _tiated into punching you?"
"Try it, tubby, see what happens."
"What happens?"
"Three things: you hit me, I hit you, your head hits the far side of the courtyard."
Murci smiled: there's the Setty she knew. The more animated they got, the easier it was to read them. Them mostly speaking nonsense wasn't helping, of course.
Wait.
What was that?
She focused harder. A lifetime of watching people, watching them carefully in order to communicate, had lent Murci a sharp eye for eye-movement and focus. Setty and Arby were poring over what looked to be an ordinary tablet, but both of them appeared to be looking elsewhere, slightly off, away from the screen. Then, for an instant, something appeared. A ghostly, ephemeral shape shimmered in the air above the tablet, like a heat mirage with color. She focused harder. The shape flickered and vanished, a dark, unclear shape appearing on Arby's face, similarly unclear shapes appearing over his hands. Both he and Setty looked taken aback by this, exchanging unclear words. Setty grinned at something Arby said, pointing at something over in the courtyard, her mouth running. Arby, impossibly, grinned at this and set to work. The shapes over his face and in his hands began to solidify, take shape, details phasing into view. Over the large boy's round head was what appeared to be a… helmet? No. A visor, blocky and black, with muffs over his sharp, stubby ears. On his hands were black gloves, also strangely blocky and angular.
What was that?
Murci jumped when San's hand frantically swatted at her shoulder. She turned to the excitable satyr, confused. She was standing on the bench, her mouth working furiously. "Holyshitholyshitholyshit the fuck is he doing holy shit!"
Murci turned around to see one of the other Staff, a lanky slug-like Sinner whose name she never bothered learning. He stood before Red Nightmare, back straight, a finger jabbed in the terrifying Sinner's face, his expression shifting between fearless defiance and absolute, all-consuming terror. His lips told an equally confusing story.
"nd lemme tell you something else, you strawberry-haired reprobate, I Setty shut up and let me–please, no! I can't control my–I see you strutting around here like you own the place, you arrogant, presumptuous cephalopod in a suit! I think it's high time someone taught you some manners and no Setty, I'm not saying that, it's crude–No! Ahh! I didn't mean that! I love your hair! Something's making me–And one more thing! Your skills as an interviewer are brazenly subpar! I don't know who taught you how to recruit, but they should be flogged! Throwing arrows at children is hardly stop touching me, harlot, I'm trying to–PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!"
Emerson swung up, his fist connecting with Red's chiseled jaw. His head did not so much as budge, simply standing there with his hands folded behind his back, his expression one of faintly amused perplexment. Another fist bounced off his pointed chin. Emerson alternated between 'take thats' and pathetic sobs as he worked the demon's midsection with a barrage of ineffectual punches. He leapt back and loosed a roundhouse kick to Red Nightmare's midsection, cackling and weeping as he capered about like an old-timey pugilist.
"Frozen with fear, eh? C'mon c'mon! Let's dance, Fishfood! –I didn't mean that!–" Emerson said, mortified as he brandished his fists. "Myah! Try your luck against the fastest hands in Upper Imp City! –I'm sorry!– Take that! And that! –I'm not– And one of these! –Please, don't!– Aha! Go a few rounds with Hell-Famous Pugilist Emerson Ray Handley!"
As Emerson reluctantly peppered the larger Sinner with a series of jabs, hooks and uppercuts, Red turned to an equally bemused Syx, who turned back to him. A small, comical shrug passed between them. Red's huge pale fist shot out, smashing into Emerson's face, which appeared to crater somewhat, the metal-rimmed screen that was his eyes crumpling and cracking. His head snapped back as though it were about to pop off his shoulders. About a dozen of the sharp little teeth from his ring-shaped mouth tumbled through the air on a trail of green blood as the now very unconscious Emerson sailed through the air, tumbling end over end on the pavement before coming to a stop some ten meters away, his legs straight up in the air. They fell back down in a limp, boneless fashion and Emerson was still.
Murci was so dumbfounded by the farce, she failed to notice Red Nightmare turning in the direction of her, San, and Patty. She gasped sharply and spun around on the bench, hunching forward, hoping to look as small and unassuming as possible. She could feel the air sour as the mighty demon silently expressed his irritation, his aura thrumming against her back like distant bass thudding from a speaker. Murci, San, and Patty sat silent and still on the bench as Red Nightmare strode by, followed closely by Syx who, Murci realized, was mimicking the Sinner's upright, arrow-straight 'I own the place' stride. She looked up to see Setty and Arby, absolutely beside themselves with laughter. Setty in particular was on her back, rolling on the bleachers, clutching her belly. The look of absolute joy on her face was both heartwarming and heartrending to Murci.
Red and Syx approached and her expression shifted, her smile becoming excited and excruciatingly eager. Murci couldn't be bothered to try and parse her words. What she was saying didn't matter as much as what her face and body-language sang. She wanted to impress him, to please him, to gain his approval. Him. That Sinner. That monster. She jumped to her feet, chattering excitedly, gesturing at Arby and then at herself, framing her perfect, smiling face with her fingers as she yammered on, briefly mimicking a pugilistic stance. Syx crossed his arms across his chest, stooping forward and shaking his head in amused exasperation. Red Nightmare, apparently mollified by her explanation, threw his head back and laughed, clapping his hands and clasping them as he shook his head, amused despite himself. His smile made her blood run cold, but not half so much as the look of utter, genuine elation on Setty's normally hard, sour face, basking in his approval. Red reached out and set a gigantic hand on her head and mussed her hair. Murci recalled the last kid who messed up Setty's hair spent the next few months in a tail-cast, but this gesture only deepened the heady flush in her best friend's cheeks. Red moved on to Arby, extending his hand to the chunky salamandrine. Arby smirked and adjusted his glasses, rising to his feet and taking it, shaking it in a business-like fashion.
Syx strode up to Setty, who was giddily straightening out her hair, and shot her a few terse signs. "Another one off the list. Good job."
List?
What list?
Murci decided that she didn't really care. Not at that moment, anyway. Red Nightmare scared her, terrified her, but… she'd never seen Setty like this before. Never seen her happy, joyful… childlike. Even Syx was expressing a shocking amount of good humor, almost on the verge of smiling at times. Something was changing at the 'Donna. The kids were… less miserable? Energy and verve had bolstered their grim determination. Its old, debased practices were shut down, and the normally jaded, weary Carriage House kids were given a new lease on life. Even Setty was… happy. Was she wrong about Red? Could it be she was just jealous?
She turned to look at them once more, if only to see Setty smiling one more time, and an electric chill raced up her spine: Red was looking right at her. Gone from his face was that high, happy smile, replaced with a flat, studious expression, as though he'd found a particularly interesting insect. His cold green eyes bored her, she felt herself gasp when they slid off her, darting over to Patty, who took supreme interest in something on the ground. Then over to San, who blinked, looked over her shoulder before turning back, waving.
Murci's guts clenched into an icy pit when Red responded with a toothy smile that didn't reach his eyes, waving back with fluttering fingers.
She turned to look at San, who geckered something in response, energetically waving her arms as she jumped up and down on the bench, calling out to the other kids who obligingly made their way over.
'Another one off the list…' Murci thought, eyeing up San with cold dread. 'Another one on.'
