No Life 'Til Leather

by NUmaker

Sometimes shit happens. Hey, it's not always your day, it's alright. One moment you're riding high, soaring above these mud-riddled plains with the king of mercs by your side, another, you're running far away from the crater he blew himself up in. You've really outdone yourself this time. W's dead, there's angel blood on your fingers and something itches to grow out of your skull.

13. Sister Midnight

Mechanics!

Saviors of all that is steel - traders of sweat, flesh and tears for the premise of each cog running smooth, each screw tightened to its very limit. Where the black rivers of ori-fuel run wild, where sparks fly and no weak-willed dare - where only a real man reaches and holds - fixes and triumphs! Motors, motorized amphibian lake-crawlers, makeshift artillery mopeds, high-aimed tanks, and living chimeras of many faces and barrels, a real mechanic could and would fix them all up without question. In the dark of night, somewhere near a somewhat warm and questionably cozy merc-safehouse, two mechanix sat huddled together and slouched over a broken generator. An engine. And what an engine it was! Missing the shine of its grand, former glory, it lay on the frozen ground and catched dust. Hidden beneath a little roof of steel sheets, it was somewhat sheltered from the rain and all the corrosion it'd bring, yet it still didn't stop Mother Nature from coating the outer layer in a thick blanket of dark rust. "Rust in peace, my little engine!" Andy thought to himself, before an annoyed sigh along with a light slap to the back of his head brought his thoughts down to the more earthly matters at hand.

"Can you… Andy, for gods' sake, can you hold the flashlight straight?" Hoederer choked through gritted teeth, while fighting back a snaking flurry of cables and nozzles separating him from a tiny, little valve resting beneath all that mess. His fingers slithered and wriggled, yet couldn't quite grasp it through the forest of rubber and metal branches.

"I AM holding it straight." He threw back, a little timid now, having endured a couple scoldings in the past hour or so. He had to admit, off the battlefield, Hedley was a much different person. Especially when the situation called for it, he could get REALLY unpleasant. Hell, Andy was sure he saw the merc acting much kinder towards captured prisoners of war than he was right now. Still, messing around with captives and desperately digging into an old piece of machinery were two completely different circumstances to find oneself in, so he couldn't blame him too much.

"Straight? This is straight to you? You call THAT straight? I can't see shit, Andy, I can't see the goddamn valve, I can't see anything! Just-..." He groaned in exasperation. "... More to the left. Left. My left! My-... Okay, better. Now hold it like that."

Having maneuvered the flashing beam of light narrowly past all the obstructing cables and wires, Andy sighed and did his best to keep it steadily in place. His tail shuffled somewhere around the floor, playing shyly with a couple leaves that had somehow managed to make their way beneath their little shed. Not a fan of scoldings either, seems like.

"... Let's see… Let's… Ah, I see you. Can't hide from me like that." Hedley chuckled with a hint of pride. Like a hunter setting his sights on a trophy-beast, he stuck his tongue out and reached out to Andy with one hand, the other still buried in the cable-y mess. "Andy, wrench. Victorian."

"Victorian…" Andy repeated, before making an effort to grab and open a toolbag at his feet. With one hand occupied, he clumsily slid the zipper open and gazed into the steel filled abyss inside. "... Which one?"

"Victorian, I said." Hedley murmured back, his eyes focused on the prize like a hawk-fowl. "C'mon, and don't move the flashlight. Calm and easy does it. Can't lose your grip on things, okay?"

"But I'm not the one who's yelling…"

"Sometimes you DO have to lose your grip and yell, Andy. Only when your helper doesn't know what "straight" means, though. Sure we got that cleared up by now, no?"

"We do…" Andy said quietly, while his eyes scoured the bag. "... What does a Victorian wrench even look like?"

"..." Andy could feel Hedley closing his eyes and inaudibly sighing. "... Victorian, Andy. You don't know what a Victorian wrench looks like?"

"No…?"

"Gray. Round at one end. Or two ends, depends on the make. Pair of jaws at the head, one fixed, one adjustable, thumb screw at the base…"

"Thumb screw…?" Andy felt tiny droplets of sweat accumulating between his curls, as his head desperately milled over all these words he's never heard of. "Like, an actual screw, or…?"

"Hell, Andy…" With clear annoyance in his voice, Hedley raised his head from beneath the tub of wires and pipes. "Were you really born with a sponge for a brain? You're all thumbs and fingers today. All but useful, w-... don't give me that look. When it comes to fixing things, I meant. Here."

They both kneeled by the bag. The giant's voice took on a much more friendly, almost paternal tone - one Andy would rarely ever hear. The soft words and whispers were usually reserved for Ines and Ines alone, much less common with Andy and almost non-existent when it came to W.

"Here, here." He reached into the bag and shuffled apart a small pile of metal, before proudly producing the aforementioned tool. "This is a Victorian wrench, m'kay? Take a mental picture of it. They're useful."

"Useful… how?" Andy couldn't quite wrap his head around the idea of ever needing to use one of these things, yet still made an effort to remember the tool's contours and details.

"Well, for one - " He started, while once again digging both his hands into the engine's wire-y mess. " - You can fix nearly every minor mechanical knock up with just this type of wrench and a screwdriver. Leaks, loose nuts, untightened-... Andy, for gods' sake…"

The boy stood by his side and giggled away at the mention of "loose nuts." A gentle reminder to act his age came soon, when Hedley tapped his oil-soaked glove against his forehead.

"Y-Yeah, sorry."

"..." His gaze remained on Andy for just a while longer, before he shook his head and returned to the matter at hand. "... Focus on this. Might thank me later, when you're trying to fix a shot-through gas valve with nothing but a wrench and some old rag."

"W's my old rag." Andy aptly pointed out.

"... Anyway. With a posse of whoever you might've pissed off behind your back, someone or someTHING you care about on the front of your rover, waiting to be snatched…"

"Then I'd just… I dunno. We'd split, right?" The boy leaned over his shoulder to watch those hard-working fingers do their magic. "You'd fix, I'd shoot."

"That's the thing." Holding onto a particularly sturdy nut that just refused to twist, Hedley stuck his tongue out and put all his strength into the poor wrench's handle. It yelped with a metallic clang and eventually ripped the steel cork right off. "... What if there isn't anyone there, by your side? What if you're left all to yourself and telling someone else to just fix the problem isn't an option?"

"What do you mean?" He asked, genuinely puzzled.

"What I mean is that you can't take any of this for granted. Any of US for granted. Me, Ines… W, even. I was more than sure we had all of this figured long ago already, but apparently not."

"But I still don't understand…"

"Andy, we're mercs. We're the lowest of low hanging fruits. Even worse than that, we're the apples that have long fallen off the tree and tumble around the ground, rotting, unwilling to be picked by anyone or even anything. The ones who put any sort of faith in us are the worms that'd rather hide behind a moldy fort made of these graceless fruits than face their own problems head on. They lack the strength or the will to climb up the tree and dig into a fresh, hard-earned apple…" He stopped for a moment, only to connect two loose wires to one another. They lit the shed right up, shooting off sparks that provided more light than Andy's flashlight ever did. "... So they settle for someone else - be it the wind, the rain… or even just the fruits' vagaries - to bring them what they want. Do what they want. So imagine that there is a whole array of fruit… or, well, people who work FOR these pathetic worms, people who are far, far worse than they are. That's us. Rotten mercenaries and their wormy clients."

"..." Andy stood completly still, as the flashlight began lazily slipping from his fingers. At a quick "Tch." from Hoederer, he readjusted his grip and aimed it back at the valve. "I still don't get what you're getting at with all that."

"What I'm trying to say is that mercenaries aren't people you should rely on. Unless you're a worm with a fat wallet, of course… but you're no worm, Andy. You're in the group that relies on their shekels and coins. You're in the group that scurries to bite one another's throat off whenever a chance is presented. You're one of us.

"... But that's not really a good thing, is it?" With glaring amounts of hesitance, he asked back.

"Well… No, of course it's not. Mercs are scum. I'm scum, you're scum." Hedley threw back, casually, as his wrench latched onto the dreamed-up valve's base. There, it finally could twist the cap loose a little and allow the fuel to flow freely. With a little sigh of triumph, he reached out and spun the red circle around his fingers. Both him and Andy watched in satisfaction, as the long awaited stream of melted ori-fuel rushed down the rubber pipes and flooded the engine's chamber. They exchanged a glance.

"But, I guess you're just extremely lucky. And so am I."

"How so?" His neck and head bent a little, as the giant ruffled his hair with some rough affection. "... Ow."

"Because despite everything, despite all I know about Kazdel, and what it'd like me to believe, I'm still rather fond of you. And that's something you don't see very often."

"You don't see people acting like people…?" A little chuckle escaped his lips. "Gee, how glad am I to have ran into you, you sap."

"Oh, call me a sap all you want. Truth is, you'd be nothing more but cannon fodder with every other merc-group out there." Hedley said, with a satisfied smile still grazing over his face. "... But then again, we're at war. We live and die each day like it's our last, so you might just simply find yourself… alone, with a lack of company and a few graves to dig, because I know you wouldn't let any of us go without a proper burial. Other than that, you've still got us – that's why you're lucky."

Andy felt something strange brewing within, a silent piece of grim sadness that crossed his kind along with the picture of a gloomy graveyard with three burrowing graves lying in front - the fourth, open wide and waiting for him to hop in. He shuddered and cast the thought away. "Uh-huh. And why are YOU also lucky, you patronizing brute?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Failing to hide the amusement, Hoederer stifled a snortle. "'Cause you're the most genuine and open moron I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. It's like you still believe in the world and its people. At least those you care about, I mean. And it's rather glaringly obvious you do care about our little, mismatched company."

The words, no matter how blunt and pride-cutting they were, have really struck a chord with the boy. What was there to deny? He was quite the moron. Quite the genuine one, too. Not to mention the openness he treated nearly every person who so much so as breathed a positive word his way. Attachment issues, creating tight-as-knots bonds with people who he should've never probably even approached with a ten-foot pole in the first place… it all added up to this tiny, gray pile of fluff and devotion. For who else could ever give so much to people who wouldn't care whether he survived the day or died in a fiery mess of blood, guts and sweat?

"Well." He murmured, under the giant's unnaturally warm gaze. "... Not my fault I actually tend to LIKE the people I get stuck with for a whole year…"

"A whole year AND counting." Hedley corrected him with a pat to his back. "Not leaving anytime soon, are you?"

"Of course not." He scoffed. "... You'd go insane without me. Imagine having to wrangle Ines and W on your own."

"..." The ever so unmoving and fearless man-mountain shuddered at the mere thought. Things were already quite tense - even with Andy for W to play with and pester, the meaningless rivalry between her and Ines brewed on, like a storm inside a teacup, eager to transform into a murderous typhoon at any given moment. There was no telling whenever she'd toss the Caprinae a little potato-wrapped mine rigged to explode, or cut her legs with her tail during one of their more daring escapes. It seemed like the girl had absolutely no concept of a "brake" inside her head, and every little prank or joke would escalate from a tiny lit match to a wildfire in no time. Worst part, there was no stopping. Nothing that'd ever make her look both ways before blowing apart a horde of merc-line busses or sealing the lips of a captive left under her watchful eye shut with molten wax and glue. It was as if she lived in her own little world, ruled by its own little set of "do's" and "don't's" - with very little staining the latter. Thank the gods, the two of them were left alone inside the tiny safehouse in complete darkness and silence, away from the voices of reason. Nothing could've ever gone wrong, obviously.

"I'd rather not imagine." Hedley finally answered, after having thoroughly chewed the thought through.

"Yeah. Don't blame you. You know, if you're ever keen on actually departing Terra and leaving us alone, can you give me a notice a week in advance? Just so I can pack up and run from this entire circus. No way in HELL I'm handling those two on my own."

"Oh, you'll get your notice, alright." His voice came between a chuckle or two. "Now do me a favor and cut the ribbon."

"Want me to do the honors? How nice…" Andy smiled wide and took a step closer to the generator engine. The pull cord called out to him like an early morning fowl's song - he grabbed it hard and yanked outwards, spilling dust all over the place in the process. The machine chortled, then coughed out a few dark fumes out its many pipes, then went silent altogether. The guys exchanged a look.

"Need to pull harder."

"I was pulling quite hard."

"Even harder than that, Andy. Like you truly mean it. Like you're stuck in the dead of night and there is nothing, NOTHING there to save you from the impounding doom that's about to flood your tiny, little place of rest in the form of a raging storm of starving, bloodthirsty houndbeasts, but this one generator that can light the sky right up with an army of blooming halogens."

Andy blinked and turned to him with a blank, slightly asking look.

"... What?"

Hedley shook his head, arms crossed. "Just pull it hard."

"..." And so, he did. Once, twice, thrice… The cord kept going back and forth, as Andy battled the unwilling generator, pulling and tugging hard on its kickstarter. More and more fumes started filling the wall-less shed's space, eventually seeping into their lungs and drawing a few coughs - they wheezed right along the machine itself.

"Alright– Alright, let me just… Step off. Let me try." Hedley gently pushed the boy aside and latched onto the cord with both hands. One strong, manly pull later, the coughing of the engine turned to a slow, gradually rising rattle. Belts and wheels started turning, and before they knew it, it was running just fine. As if the rust never coated the outer layer, as if the years never had taken any tolls on the poor machine's health. "... Works like new."

"That's just unfair." Andy mumbled, as he watched the lights of the nearby hut coming to life. Something banged around inside, before a loud, yet muffled scream shot out through the closed door:

"GOT IT! IT'S WORKING, TWERPS! GET BACK HERE, I'M BORED!"

They both rolled eyes. At least the girls weren't trying to kill one another, they thought.

…

Waltzing back to the tiny cottage (or a shed, rather, really), Andy and Hedley had very little to say to one another. Chilled to the bone by the night's unrelenting gales and completely done in by the day's work, all they could think about were the (hopefully) warm beds awaiting inside. Their leather-clad feet shuffled through the forest floor, with nothing but the glowing windows lighting their way ahead. They wiped their shoes right before entering and pushed the door aside.

"..."

Right at the entrance, a broken coat hanger lying at their feet welcomed them warmly. They both stepped over and deposited their shoes before engulfing themselves deeper into the hut's chilly ambiance. Wooden floors, a leaky room, last century's furniture (repurposed by the many mercenaries of Kazdel to best fit their needs), all locked inside a rather small living room, where chaos ran its reign, and a tiny light bulb hung from the ceiling. Chairs, most of them flipped over and riddling the floor, messy, rolled up rugs, a couple tables shoved away in a hurry – all leaving very noticeable marks in the fluffy layers of dust that hugged the floor and every surface they could reach. Some quick renovating had to be done not so long ago and they could both tell. There were tiny, slit-like holes all around the wooden wainscot and tabletops - knife marks, hastily and haphazardly covered up by whoever the culprit was. Any and all of their unasked questions were answered at once, when Ines stuck her tired eyes from behind a wooden door, leading presumably to one of the makeshift bedrooms.

"... We're in here." She murmured to Hedley, before throwing her gaze towards the boy. "... You. I got the merchant kid locked up in the basement."

"... Okay?" Andy gave a tiny nod, unsure of where the conversation was going.

"We're letting him out into the wild tomorrow. Just me and you, got it? Somewhere far away, I was thinking we take a bus and drive him up north… Or down south. Whatever. That's for tomorrow to consider. But-..."

Hoederer cleared his throat rather audibly, gathering their gazes. "... Do I get a say in any of this?"

"No." She hissed back almost instantly. As her face came closer to the bulb's ori-light, Andy could clearly see a volley of adhesives planted all over her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. One good look later, he also noticed a bundle of bandages snugly against her arms. Wonder what kind of a beating W caught in exchange…

"... Alright." Hedley raised his arms up in instant surrender. Better to submit than to sleep outside, he thought (most likely.)

"... You. Andy. Your room's to the side, shared with W. I DON'T want you to chit-chat all night, I want you to go to sleep straight away, and get a good night's rest. We're leaving tomorrow, EARLY. And I mean it, EARLY. I don't want to waste the entire day on some snot-eating brat. Two brats, even."

Her words were as affectionate and warm as ever. Just hearing her voice made him shiver in place, even through that heavy duster of his.

"... No bedtime story?" He decided to lighten the mood, which earned him a bone-chilling glare from the Caprinae.

"..." Without a word, she glanced over at Hedley, who got caught in the crossfire and earned himself a scowl as well. It was sort of inviting, though. "Just go to sleep, Andy."

And she slammed the door on them both.

"..."

"..."

They stared at the door, breathing in the room's dusty musk. Despite the overall deplorable condition, at least the ori-powered heating was now somewhat working and making their short stay a little more bearable. Andy broke the silence first.

"She's a real treasure."

"Mm-hmm." Hedley agreed with a low buzz. The prospect of sleeping next to that yarn-ball of nerves and annoyment terrified him a little. "... But what can you do. Just suck it up and try not to make too much noise while breathing, I guess."

"Yeah. Good luck with that."

"Mmm. I'll try to warm her up a little for tomorrow. Make her a little more bearable for you, how's that?"

"Oh, you're an actual Saint." Andy shot him a small smile and gently nudged his massive ribs.

"Not much of a Saint…" He replied with a soft beam of his own, now standing by the bedroom's door. "... Just trying to make life a bit more livable. I'm just a mercenary, after all."

"You always say that."

"What else should I be saying? I thought it fit me quite well."

"Ehh…? Kinda?" Andy slid over to his own bedroom's entrance and gave him a quick look-over. "... It always seemed to me like you were cut from a different cloth than all the mercs of Kazdel summed up."

"Well." He smirked, before pointing towards the door. "... Not all of them have THIS to worry about. I'd say that makes me far braver than most."

"Oh, yeah." Andy retorted with a snortle. "Now go, warm her up. I don't wanna deal with ANY of that tomorrow."

"I'll warm her up, alright…" Rubbing his hands in anticipation, he opened the door and gazed inside. Andy could see his little smirk disappearing in an instant at whatever it was that he laid his eyes upon. Presumably a furious pair of Caprinae horns. "... Or not." He muttered quietly, before softly closing the door.

"..."

Couples. Marriages old as time. Wonder how that feels. Wonder if that's how dad felt…? Surely not, right? Wouldn't bathe the memory of mom in so many nonsense poems if he did. No, definitely…

…

… Though, Hedley would probably do the same. Maybe not to that degree, but… would definitely feel the loss. Probably wouldn't show it, though. All stoic and calm, that never-wavering stone facade of his… Lucky me, I can somewhat crack it. Like the human can-opener. A moronic maniac, a brooding pool of gloom and a chiseled stone giant. Ah, these people…

"Heeeey, Lawdog~."

The sleepy warbling shook him right out from his trance. Having stumbled into the bedroom, Andy found himself staring at two piles of fluff, thrown together carelessly, resting beneath the soft moonlight that seeped inside through a half-broken window at the very top of the back wall. Some kind soul left an uninjured side-table between the two beds, but nothing more than that. Just a bare, bare room. A bare room with W lazily wagging her legs and tail up in the air atop one of the beds. She had her hands mushed against her cheeks, eyes half lidded and following his every move. Between her fingers, however, he could clearly see a few fresh bruises and new cuts. Seems like Ines got the worse end of the deal, though. Andy let out a little sigh and pushed the startled jumpiness aside, before taking a seat on his own bed.

"Hey yourself. Not really in the mood for wrestling."

"Oh?" She blew a few bubbles and flipped to her back, letting both her antennae and hair softly hit the floor. "Not gonna entertain a bored girl? Even if she asks nicely?"

"Haven't you got enough entertainment out of Ines?" Andy mumbled back, while dropping his coat and sweater off somewhere in the corner. The chilly breeze crawled over his exposed shoulders and collar bone like the raspy whisper of death, eager to drag him down into an early grave. He shuddered and quickly snuggled himself beneath the warm sheets.

"Not really. I mean, it was a bit fun."

"A bit fun?" Andy raised a brow in a rather knowing manner.

"Yeah. Rattling her teeth's always fun, but y'know. Can't really compare to throwing hands with you." She said, with some uncharacteristic softness to her voice. Andy picked up on it almost immediately and tilted his head.

"So, what, you're saying you missed me?"

"Tch. Getting a bit too ahead of yourself."

"How am I-..."

"I missed beating the hell out of you, more like. I mean, it's been a couple days since that merchant job…"

"Since you nearly puked your guts out." He pointed out, gently.

"Yeah, that too. Since you started smoking those gods-awful things, too." W threw her thumb over to his leather duster, now rolled into a little ball at the feet of his bed.

"They're not… I thought YOU were the experienced smoker between the two of us." Befuddled, he threw her an accusatory glare.

"And I thought you were the one with a brain?" She rolled across the bed, back and forth. "I mean, hell, there's so many nice things to die from in Kazdel and LUNG CANCER is the way you wanna go? Tch…"

"I'm not… I'm not getting cancer, fuck off…" Andy grumbled, before his head softly hit the pillow, his curls being enveloped in its caring, fluffy embrace. He smiled a little at the sensation of his bones letting go of the day's weariness and fatigue - it all just disappeared into the stain-covered mattress. "... Besides, what do you care?"

"I don't." W shrugged, then slid beneath her own sheets, sensing their little talk coming to an end real soon. "... Just pointing out. I thought these things were a little beneath you, but you manage to surprise me yet again, with how low you can sink. Just full of surprises as of late, are we~?"

"Piss off." Andy bit back with a little groan and closed his eyes. "It's just one cig a day. One a day, that won't hurt anybody…"

"Uh-huh…" W craned her neck over to steal a look at his face. "... What're you, zooting off already?"

"Yeah. Ines told me to."

"Ines told you to." W mulled the words over in her head. "... Are you fucking around with me, or…?"

"I'm serious. She's got some grand plan with the-... the merchant kid, I don't know." His words flew out on their own, as the day's work really settled, then slid down his shoulders. "... Seemed pissed. Don't wanna poke the bear any further."

"Just punch her." W let out a snort. "I do that all the time, works like a charm."

"And then what? Fight Hedley?"

"Yeah? He never bothers with me, though. Just yells, usually." A shrug followed. "You can take a yelling, no? Bet you could. You know, I should start yelling at you more…"

"You should start shutting your trap more."

"Blah-blah-blah… Words hurt, you know? Mightier than the sword, they say." Dripping with victimized sarcasm, W grasped her poor, little heart and gasped in mock sadness. Andy couldn't help but smile a bit at her pouty face. "Why'd you wanna hurt poor, little 'ol me, huh? What did I ever do to you?"

"You want me to tell you? Strap in for the night, long list ahead."

"Oh, shut up." She huffed a snortle, before snickering. "I'm not THAT bad."

"Yeah, you're worse. Besides, every time you "just punch" Ines, you always end up with blood all over your mug."

"Yeah? Her blood." She shrugged.

"Your blood. And stitches."

"Yeah, and she ends with bandages and a near damn broken arm. You don't wanna go down that way, Lawdog."

"I don't." Andy agreed with her wholly. "I don't wanna go down any way at all. Night-night."

"Wh-...?"

Before she could mumble out the words, Andy let out a loud, stretchy yawn and a content breath of warm happiness. W stared at him for a moment, fighting the urge to follow and yawn herself, but it eventually proved to be a little too much.

"Goddamnit, you…" She took a long pause to yawn and stretch, her antennae and tail straightening along with her slender arms and body. "... Goddamn prick. Nighty-night. Don't let the bed bugs… Ah, whatever."

…

Thank you, Mother Nature. Thank you, Sister Midnight.

Thank you, for your gentle arms and fingers. Your thoughtful consideration, and the warm blanket of sleep you bestow upon me tonight. Thank you for the way your soft fingertips caress my temples and soothe my head to nothingness – to the warm, primordial darkness we all crawled out of. Thank you for the stars high above - the twinkling rapscallions of the night sky, who glimmer and gleam, shoot their flashy winks down into my eyes, and help put my brain to rest. Thank you for the forest breeze, that catches the scents and smells of outside and wafts them alluringly right up to my nostrils. I try my very best to catch them, but they're forever just barely outside my meek reach. The warm gale of freshly baked pastries, the sweetness of laundry detergents lingering on her fuzzy sweater, as she takes me gently into her burning hot arms and encapsulates whole, locking me forever in her tight embrace. I want nothing more but to stay in her hug forever, to stare into the folds of wool, as they rise and fall with each of her soft breaths. I want to feel her all around me, experience her heartbeat invading my own, as I bury my face into the supple crook of her neck and gently nuzzle, with my nose leading the way onward. To feel her warm skin on my lips, her collar bone on my tongue, and her eyes on my halo, which still shines so bright and grand. I don't want it to dim. I don't want my wings to shatter. I refuse the tail that slithered out from my spine and tore my valley of skin apart, like an invading tapeworm, eager to seed nothing but hurt and pain. I don't want the horns that curl around my hair and poke my cheeks with their rounded tips. I don't want the weight they bring onto my head, or the empty thuds they make when bumping into others. When bumping into W.

I don't want them. I want to stay here. I want to snake my arms around her waist and hold on tight. I want her eyes on mine, her gaze enveloping me whole and never breaking, never parting mine. I want my hands to roam through her crimson hair, I want each soft strand to curl and twist around my fingers, as I hold her close and whisper each and every word I never had the chance to say. I need to touch her cheeks. To press the palm of my hand to those soft pillows of flesh and rub, rub until there is nothing left but bone. I need her lips on mine. Those cherry-red rims of her mouth, like two pieces of pure and untainted fluff, I need to taste them just once, only once before I die.

Under the soft glow of her golden halo, I want to die and decompose in her arms. I want my flesh to rot and fall from my bones, as she holds me tight and tries desperately to put me back into one again. Each time her fingers mold my body back to shape, the treacherous construct refuses to listen and falls apart in an instant. I want that. I want that so, so much.

But I can't have it.

Her eyes, they're bright as the twin moons hovering high above, tender and soft, like two apricots gleaming in the summer sun. But the pupils – the pupils aren't hers. They're black and sharp – like the slits of a lizard, deceptive and foul. Her skin, pale and gray, firm and strong. Hard to the touch, refusing to bend or melt under my warm touch. Lips, gray and twisted. Tips, curled up into a snark, little smirk. Her teeth? Sharp. Tough. I could cut my tongue on her chompers. Pray to the Lord, the Law and the Saints, pray that this image is nothing but false. I don't want to believe what I'm seeing, but I feel her soft sweater disappearing from beneath my grasp. It's no longer there. All that's left is a blank, tattered shirt. Black, a little too short. Unfit for the cold weathers, like I always keep telling her. No matter how often I bark orders and tell her to pull it down, it never crosses her ears for more than a mere couple seconds. Just a light suggestion to throw out into the passing wind. So, her stomach remains bare, unprotected by the fabric. I can see each and every strained muscle, her bellybutton burrowing into her skin, both alluring and terrifying. I try, but ultimately cannot pry my hands away from her. I try, but my eyes refuse to listen, as we lock in a stare off. Her horns gleam with red, her hair is no longer crimson. Twitchy antennae fall over her eyes, and I can't do anything but stare and stare, look into her apricot eyes and feel her tail wrapping me up in a tight, unrelenting helix.

She disappears from my vision, moves to my side, then my back. I feel each and every brush of wind on my skin, acutely aware of my surroundings, like a hunted animal. My knees bend as someone kicks me in the back. I fall off my feet and land on the wet, black floor. It's like a constant current of shapeless tar that washes past my ankles and wets them with cold. My knees dive into it whole. My skin freezes.

I hear footsteps. All around me, splattering the tar apart and approaching. The tail is no more, as the only thing holding me in place right now are three… no, four pairs of hands, that refuse my movement. Their brutal fingers dig into my skin and spread the poison that soaks their nails into my veins. I can feel it all around me. Inside me, outside me. The glow of their holy lights, the rings above their heads. Righteous warriors of the rightful truths, the ones waging the holiest of wars. I'm not one of them, I'm their enemy – they take my dead halo and shattered wings. In their eyes, I don't deserve to breathe. Every milliliter of air I consume has to be accounted for and taken forcefully back, I need to pay for my insolence. They start by tenderly ripping my sweater open. Out, come pouring my stomach and a deluge of blood – mixed with bile and bits and pieces of feed. The Lawful assassins spread my ribs wide open and take a deep look inside. There, they see my keep of oxygen, the breathing-trees that keep me going. With their jagged knives, they rip my lungs apart and take as much as the Saints above ordered. Leathery strips of skin fall before my eyes into the tar-current and get washed away somewhere far. Very, very far. A moment passes and I can't see my own lungs. I feel each roll of muscles being pulled, each bone and piece of flesh removed. I want to scream, but they have already taken apart my throat and vocal cords. Their poison fills me whole and spreads its roots everywhere around my body – my veins harden, twitch and coil like serpents in each crevice of my being. The root of my disease. The cleansing root. Their stalks erupt from my spine, my heart and each of my veins, piercing my body and sprouting from my skin. My eyes disappear under the mound of thorny veins that now lace them whole, as their grabby hands keep taking and taking, pouring my wet guts out into the rampaging tar current. My mouth hangs wide open, tongue slithers past my teeth to scream and shout, yet no sounds come. No words leave my throat, as a ball of roots spreads up my neck and shoots from my throat, digging far into my tongue and turning it to a minced pile of useless meat.

Useless meat. That's what I am.

Their hands leave me be. They've taken everything they needed, I've paid the toll. I'm left flourishing in the tar-river, now a beautiful, yet thorned plant craning towards the sun that refuses to shine. My face melts into the bark, and I become one with the organism that grows inside. I feed myself to the disease. The integral part of me that never refuses to leave and stalks through my eyes, everything the world has to offer. It roars quietly and accepts my flesh with a thankful bow. My brain is pierced by thorns. My body is no more.

I am one with the disease. I accept the flaws of my construct.

…

Andrew woke up to the rustling of his own sheets and the thundering beating of his startled heart. With blood ringing all around, he curled himself up by his pillow and slid a hand down the sweat-soaked tank top that just barely contained the hammering blood-pump inside his chest. Images of flowing tar and thorn covered branches, tearing his flesh apart flashed vividly across his mind. It took him a good minute or two of furious eye-wiping before the river of nothing eventually dissipated into the darkness and his tiny, stuffy room slid back into sight. He checked his pulse.

A few hours must've passed, but it was still there.

His arms, hands, legs, thighs, stomach… the air in his lungs – all still there. He had to pat himself down a couple times before his breathing had finally decided to die down a bit – from panting like a wounded hound after the chase of its life, to the less labored, yet still rapid huffs and puffs of a damsel in clear distress. His head fell back onto the pillow with a soft thud. The faint smell of his own sweat hit his nostrils hard, and gently scrunched his nose up.

"You done jacking off yet?" A faint murmur crawled through the ringing in his ears and the thumping in his chest.

"What?" Andy threw right back and sat up straight. Despite the uneasiness instilled deep within his tangled stomach, her words seemed to pour some slightly embarrassed redness onto his cheeks. He had no idea she'd still be up. No idea she'd be watching. Or listening.

"Yeah. I mean, props for going strong for so long. Hell, you've been panting and purring under those sheets for the past thirty minutes, I personally wouldn't last that long." Her voice remained calm and quiet, completely mismatching the words that flew from her lips. Andy glanced at the opposite bed and saw her basking in the moonlight that poured in from the window atop their back wall. Eyes locked on the glimmering stars high above, W sat with her shoulders against the wall, legs curled and hugged tight to her chest – without any smirks, without any snark, just silently watching the flickers of the night sky.

"I'm not… I wasn't." He mumbled, rubbing near the base of his horns. His head was all swimming, still in a complete woozy. "I wasn't jacking off. You're disgusting."

"Sure you weren't." A little snort escaped her nostrils. "... What else, then? Bad dream? Nightmare? PTSD?"

"All of it. All and nothing." Andy pressed himself to the wall adjacent to his bed. The cold, shapeless mass welcomed him with a creaky noise. "None of your business. What do you care, anyway?"

"I don't." With a shrug, she directed her careless gaze elsewhere, searching any sort of forged truth behind his eyes, finding none. "Just making small talk. You look scared shitless."

"I AM scared shitless, thank you."

"Good. No rest for your brain when I'm in the same room, yeah?" A grin crawled atop her face. Andy groaned at her returning snark and swung himself over the bed to reach into his piled up clothes.

"Piss off. I'm really not in the mood."

"Oh boo-hoo." W watched her antennae wrestle and bite each other, before swatting them both away from her eyes. "Mister "never in the mood" over here. What're you gonna do, sit there and sulk?"

"I just might." Pulling back from the leathery pile, Andy returned to his spot and opted to pour his focus into a little book bequeathed upon him by the late Henri the merchant. "The Maple Meadows" read the title. His eyes were drawn by the colorful imagery presented on the first few pages, depicting a rather promising premise – the aforementioned Maple Meadows, bathed in a setting sun's shower of copper light. Each tree, carefully drawn by hand and detailed to perfection, each leaf having its own shades and contours, a story to tell and a purpose to serve. A purpose to entertain.

W let out a loud scoff, seeing him snuggled up with the book.

"You're not–... You're not seriously gonna sit there and read."

"I just might." He repeated, again. Flipping the graphical pages to the side, his eyes fell into a sea of cluttered words, neatly unorganized under a banner citing "Chapter One."

"... But why?" She asked. Andy gave a shrug, sight glued to the story at hand.

"Dunno. I know you're not gonna let me sleep anyway, so might as well get some reading in."

"But why reading? You could be doing anything else, the moons are right here…" She couldn't quite wrap her head around the prospect. Not now, not with the twin moons glimmering so bright and staring back into her wide, apricot eyes… "Why read? Like some four-eyed bookworm."

"Maybe I was a four-eyed bookworm in some other life, hm?" Flipping the page, Andy shot her a quick wink. "... A little bookworm, curled up somewhere in one of those huge ass libraries by Immanuel's Prospect, milling through books like there was no tomorrow…"

A longing sigh arose from his lips, much to W's disgust. He knew he was winning this little exchange of theirs, yet it didn't seem right. Her eyes revealed something more than just the competitive need for shittalking whatever and whenever - they couldn't hide the glints of disappointment, no matter how many layers of cold indifference she put on.

"... Whatever. Hope your eyes shrivel up and fall out." W deflated a little in her seat, arms crossed. "... And your lungs. Your eyes and lungs, hope they both die from all those books and smokes. That's what they're only good for, anyway. Firewood."

"..." Andy ignored her remarks, instead opting to submerge himself whole in the story the book was eager to tell, and delve wholly into its contents. It started a little slow, thoroughly and closely describing the struggles of last century's poor, Kazimierzian land-workers, who moved with the catastrophe-ridden wind on their backs and just a few strips of raw potatoes in their stomachs. It went heavily in depth when focusing on the Kazimierzian countryside, away from the bright, neon city-crawlers and loud roars of speakers breaking through the clashing of steel. Where the people who had nothing were forced to live off of something, the beauty of nature truly thrived - far, far away from the modern man's folly. Andy milled and milled, chewed the words through and spat them back out, having caught himself re-reading the same paragraph for the fifth time in a row.

The Kazimierzian wildlife just kept captivating him over and over, holding tight in its hold. The blooming meadows of maple and early spring poppies, the way each of their petals and buds swayed with the wind, bathed in the morning dew and laid a foundation for the tiny, Kazimierzian spiders to weave their webs across. How each maple leaf glimmered in the sun and let its sweet smell drip into the protagonist's forever-tired nostrils. How the man's bones bent and creaked in pain with each of his moves, how the stench of burning petroleoriginium soaked into his senses, the roar of mighty harvest-machines took and buried him whole beneath a pile of so, so many boring, infinitely descriptive words…

"... What's it even about?" A tiny voice soon broke the boy from his boredom-ridden trance. He glanced over at W, and their eyes met. Andy saw genuine curiosity behind her lizard-like pupil slits.

"Uh… People." Andy summed up, to the best of his ability. "Kazimierz, and stuff."

"..." W stared. Stared, as if looking into the eyes of someone missing a few brain cells. "Anything more to it, or…?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm just… just at the beginning. Probably picks up later on."

"Probably, you say…" She huffed, before averting her gaze. "... You sure?"

"Ninety percent sure, yeah." Andy nodded along, although he knew he was trying to persuade not only her, but also himself.

"Just ninety?"

"Ninety five percent?"

"Ninety five… that's still five percent off actually being sure." W purred into her arms, letting her antennae scratch somewhere behind her horns. She closed her eyes at the sensation and smiled a little.

"When did you learn to do math so well?" Andy couldn't help a biting remark. At the sight of her widening grin, his own mouth stretched into a smirk.

"Tch. Don't push it."

"I'm not." He reassured, before going back to his ever so interesting read. Having found himself lost around the page once more, his bookworm spirit died down considerably. Keeping a little bookmark would definitely help his case… A living, breathing bookmark, eager to tease him about each line and verse that slips his mind. With a sidelong glance, he turned back to her bed.

"... Hey, W?"

"Mmm?" She purred in response, eyes locked on the moon.

"... Do you wanna… You know, read-..."

"Yeah. Yes, mhm." Without missing a beat, she jumped to her knees and nodded rapidly. As the initial shock washed off Andy, she cleared her throat and fixed her messy hair with some traces of her usual, cocky grace. "... I mean, yeah, I'll humor you. Let you read me a page or two. Not like I've got anything better to do."

"You could always just go to sleep…?"

"Shut up." She mumbled back, right before crawling into his bed and snuggling comfortably under the sheets. Their bare shoulders connected and glued themselves to one another almost instantly – Andy felt the snowy, prickly cold cascading down her skin and onto his, but cut back on any biting remarks. The rest of her body, neatly tucked against his, felt warm and soft to the touch, so he couldn't really complain about the proximity.

"Comfy?" He asked, eyes grazing around her antennae, which were spinning in circles around the other, like an unnaturally long thumb-mill. W shot him a half lidded look and pointed to the book.

"Comfy, comfy. Get to it, moron."

"Sheesh. It's leisure time, it's supposed to be fun, not stressful."

"I'm gonna make it REAL stressful, REAL soon, if you don't start reading."

"..." With an eye roll, Andy flicked his gaze back to the top of the page. Blah, blah, the inviting gales of the open country, yearly harvests, eternal time-wasters set to be done before any poor, hard-working Kazimierzianin could indulge in their own little ploys… He sighed, before nudging W in the ribs.

"... I'll do these two pages, you do the rest."

"..." Her smirk fell nearly in an instant. Eyes flooded with sudden cold, running all over the book's cluttered pages. "... Why? I- I mean, why me? Can't you just read the entire thing out loud?"

"I… I can, yeah, but we're HERE, together already, so… might as well split the work, no? What am I, your slave, to be reading this all out to you?" Andy said, with some snark to his last few words – quoting her, almost syllable for syllable.

"Oh, very funny."

"Yeah? See how nice it feels?"

"VEERY funny."

"Taste of your own medicine. Now pucker up and read, moron."

"Now, let's just… just wait. Wait, give me a moment." Stammering and stumbling over her words, W snatched the book from his hands and pressed it tight to her chest. Andy blinked at the spectacle, unsure of how to respond. "... Just wait, Lawdog."

"I am waiting, yeah."

"Can we, uh… re-think this a little? We might've rushed into something neither of us we're fully prepared to take part in."

"..." Slowly, he shrugged. "I dunno, I was pretty prepared."

"Yeah, but I wasn't." W scoffed, before tapping him on the top of the head with the book. His lush forest of curls absorbed most of the paper-ish assault. "... Look, it's just… I changed my mind, okay? Keep your little reading to yourself, I'll even go as far as to promise not to bother you."

Her eyes, usually challenging and inviting for a brawl, seemed so hollow and empty, void of their usual, violent spark. She deflated like a tire, snuggled up into his side like a beaten hound – exactly the opposite of her familiar, "W-like" moxie. The antennae atop her head slithered to the back of her head in shame, and her tail, usually jumpy or professionally aloof, now twirled around her curled up legs in a display of rather pathetic shame. Andy felt his stomach twisting and coiling at the sight, acquiring something akin to… pity? Remorse? His own tail crawled from beneath him and softly wrapped itself around her waist. She didn't seem to mind.

"But it's just reading? I mean, you always get so defensive, but it's… it's not a big deal, right? We've done worse things." With a little smile, he tried lighting up the mood. "... C'mon, we've been through much, much worse shit. Killed worse things, cheated bigger fishes at poker…"

"'Cause I burned those… stupid, little numbers and suitmarks into my memory. Letters, too." Her voice, nothing more than an embarrassed purr, flowed freely into his ears. "... I don't have much of a problem with letters. The rest's a doozy."

"But why would you have any problems with it…? It's just reading."

W perked up. With a flick of her head, they were both staring deeply into each other's eyes. Her gaze – soft, yet retaining traces and droplets of the imposing need to challenge.

"... It's JUST reading, Lawdog. Of course it's JUST reading for you. Bet they taught you all about it in some fancy-pants, marble classroom back in that shithole of yours, no? With… With heaters under each window, right? With school-bells and… and chalkboards? Maybe even mid-lesson lunches. What'd they stuff you all with? Sweets? Mountains of sugar, I bet. That's what I know about your Lawful fucking country. That you were SOOO oppressed and under constant fire with the rest of us, that you had to run cross-country to surround yourselves with enough marbles and cotton candy to never lay eyes on a dirty, unwashed devil ever again, yeah? That you just had it SOOO terrible, that you couldn't live there anymore and had to drag your ass over here. What did you even expect to find? Did you seriously think THIS, fucking THIS of all places would be better than your perfectly acclimated, perfectly upheld Laterano? That we had it better here? That we didn't jump to each other's throats just for shits and giggles? It's a factory, Lawdog. A factory of… a factory of monkeys."

"..." Andy sat and listened, stunned to a state of wordless silence. Most thoughts had already escaped his brain, forcefully squished dry by her entire tirade. He could only stare and watch her pale cheeks turning redder and redder with each disdainful word, her chest heaving, rising up and falling in rapid motions, as she took the moment to gather herself and allow a breather. Before long, before Andy could mumble anything back, her voice pushed itself into his ears again.

"... Millions of teeth. Claws, each sharper than the other. Shit for brains. Eyes dead set on the next meal, the next body to defile, or the next paycheck. "People" throwing hunting parties, toppling entire villages for living meat to sell. Anything, just barely something to fill the Scar Market's cages, anything to keep the pain monopoly going." This time, she spoke softer. Whatever it was, there had to be something, because her gaze fell down to her lap, to her hands joined together over the warm blanket. She had the tip of his tail between her palms, gently tugging and rubbing the leathery pancake with her fingers – soothing and calming her mind, drawing the hatred from behind her eyes and cooling her brain. With eyes closed shut, she mumbled a few more sentences.

"... That's no place to learn. No time for education. You had education, I had the school of survival. The school of life. You don't know shit, Lawdog. You don't know anything."

"..." A moment passed between the two, spent in complete silence. Only the soft creaking of wood piling off the walls could be heard, mixing with the cold wind slithering past the cracks between the foundation of the cottage. A quiet whistle. Lifeblood of the night.

Andy finally decided to share his piece.

"... I do know how to read, though."

"..." W slowly shifted her head towards him. "... Of course you do. Of course you do, you privileged, entitled piece of–..."

"I can teach you. I could… I could teach you." Andy stammered between her string of insults. W blinked at the sudden offer and let go of his tail. Something glimmered in her eyes, quickly drowned by the towering waves of distrust and skepticism.

"... Bullshit."

"No, I could totally teach you."

"Fuck no, you couldn't."

"By the end of tonight, I could… I could definitely lay out the basics."

"..." She glanced back at her lap, fidgeting somewhat with her fingers. The issue at hand, the issue at hand… She's already shared more than enough tonight. Opened herself far more than she'd ever wanted. And yet, the offer seemed… Very tempting. Too tempting. An issue she couldn't just blast away with a belt of highly explosive sticks of D12, and he was right there, sitting with his heart laid out on his sleeve, so willing to help…

"... The basics? By the end of tonight?" She asked, a little hesitant, a little softer than ever before. "So I'd be able to-... to, what, to read, like, your name?"

"Uh-huh. My name, Hedley's name… Hell, Ines', even."

"Oh, fuck no." A snortle escaped her nostrils, and she jabbed him in the ribs. "I'm taking you up on that offer, but on one condition. Nothing Ines-related."

Andy snickered back and took the book from her lap. "Fair. Nothing Ines-related."

"That's how you can tell she's not Sarkaz, you know? Got that dumbass name."

"Oh, yeah?" Andy flipped to some random page and glanced over at her beaming face. "I thought it was the horns."

"Well–, pffttt…" W bumped her weight against him. "Duh? I mean, that's obvious. Piled down to perfection. Perfection, my ass, anyone with half an eye can see right through that sham." She scoffed, then added after a short while. "... Even stinks differently."

"Hm?" Andy perked up, lightly taken by surprise. "Stinks" differently?"

"Yeah? You never noticed?"

"I don't really… find myself in many situations where I can sniff her, y'know. It's just you who loves being so close and personal with her all the time."

"Oh, fuck you." Another elbow flew between his ribs. Andy stifled a chuckle and smacked her back over the head. "... Just get that book ready. I wanna see you bust your balls over trying to teach me something."

"So eager to learn…" He purred back. "... Much better student than I ever was."

"Yeah, no doubt." W hummed in silent content, before sliding his hands, along with the book closer to herself, eventually into her lap. "... Just don't tell them about this."

"..." Andy smiled to himself a little. "... I won't."

…

Thank you, Sister Midnight, for the twin moons stammering over their might and sending us beams down there to bask in. To live through the night. To act as my personal bedside lamp.

It was undoubtedly difficult. Andy's never been much of an ace at school, much more eager to sink himself whole into a fountain or two, run around the marble-covered streets without a particular goal in mind or sit around the serpent's stomach, where the wainscots were crimson red and remains of warm, fresh pastries filled his nostrils whole. The classrooms, like prison cells, the grand walls of Laterano, his freedom. Oceans of golden wheat glimmering in the sun waited outside, yet there he sat, forced to note down and listen to stories repeated for the upteenth time, grand escapades of Saints who helped establish the city's many trails and networks, wrong and rightdoings of the previous popes, the Law's moody vagaries and the Lord's will. Ah, the lovely Law… Cherished to the point of monoideism by some, questioned by others. The latter were usually never heard of, again, just for the sake of asking one query too much. Whatever it was, it held little to no importance at the moment. Illuminated by the twin moons, the two morons sat side by side, snugly cuddled under the sheets, bodies warm and sharing heat. Horns touching, breaths mingling, they studied the moderately uninteresting scriptures of Kazimierzian commoners. As the pages thinned and hours flew by, the warm redness of the sun's glare seeping into their little room painted their faces a bit crimson, a bit orange and a whole lot tired. Andy, just pinched himself to stay awake whenever the soothing grasp of Sister Midnight would come to claim his mind.

W did more or less the same.

"... Lawdog?"

"Mmm?"

"Can you just… just pinch me a little…"

"... Like this-..."

"OW! Fuck, not that hard… Yeah. like that. That's good. Where were we?"

"Here."

Andy tapped the mushy pages. Some of the later chapters were a little soaked with Henri's blood, which really made pulling the paper apart a real chore. Ought to keep him awake, though.

"..." W scoured the page, eyes latching onto the title. With a little breath and a head-tilt, she began. "Cee-... Cee, H?"

"Ch. Like, tch. The tch's that you do. The word's chapter. Chaap-turr…"

"Chaap-turr…" She repeated in a sleepy voice. A yawn soon followed, before her horn rubbed itself gently against Andy's. He shot her a glance and noticed her head swaying dangerously close to his, her antennae falling limp over her eyes. With a nudge to her side, she woke right up. "... Sorry."

"Mmm." Andy got a bit startled at the word. He's only ever heard her apologize… never, pretty much. His sleepy mind didn't pay it much thought, though. "And which chapter is it?"

"Chaapter…" She leaned closer to the page, squinting to catch the number. "... Thirteen? Right? Yeah, thirteen."

"Thirteen, yeah." Andy hummed along, fighting the sand beneath his eyelids. "Thirteen, you got it…"

"M-... Mo-... Mo– S? Moss…" She mumbled, awkwardly tripping over her tongue. Glancing over at Andy, she saw his encouraging eyebrow-raise, before he pinched himself again. "Most–... Most. Most. Most I-... Most Ide… Most ideas…"

"Uh-huh…" He purred right by her ear, giving her uncharacteristicaly wavering confidence a little push.

"Most ideas… are b-... Most ideas are born?" An asking glance flew towards the boy. He nodded, making her smile a little. "Most ideas are born from… ne-ce… ne-ce-si-ty. Most ideas are born from necessity."

"Bravo. Whole sentence." Andy mumbled through the knot of sleepy drowsiness stuffing his mouth whole, before absent-mindedly reaching over to play around with her antennae. Unsurprisingly to his barely awake brain, the reddish twigs wrapped around his hand whole, and slithered between his fingers. W herself scoffed at his touch and neatly pushed him away, before making some space for her head to fall onto his shoulder. Eyes closed, she nuzzled her horn away and softly squashed her cheek flat against his bare skin.

"Of course I can do… whole sentences…" Her meek, sleepy voice barely had the energy to reach Andy's ears. "... I can actually… read stuff…"

"Mmm-hmmm." He hummed back. There was a part of him that wanted to shove her away and tell her to go back to her own bed… but there was also a part of him that wanted to make her his pillow for the night. Or what was still left of it, seeing how the sun had already started setting… "... Really proud of you, moron."

"Oh, shu-... shush…" W couldn't hold herself in place, instead leaning most of her weight onto him. Her cheek, warm and soft, felt incredibly fluffy on his skin, like a tiny, rosy cloud. Without much effort, his fingers untangled themselves from her antennae and instead reached into her hair, giving it a few soft and messy brushes. She didn't seem to mind the notion in the slightest.

Barely, but barely, W craned her neck further to the side, making her sleepier side a bit more known. Andy could tell her head must've been swimming by this point, and he couldn't blame her in the slightest. He, himself felt his consciousness slipping through his fingers like droplets of rain through a sieve, Sister Midnight finally there to take what was rightfully hers. Before the toll could be paid, before his last conscious breath left his lungs, however, his ears twitched and perked at the sound of the girl's soft, barely audible whisper.

"... Than-... Thanks for this. For all this, Law-dog…"

The first wave of tender sleep wrapped its fuzzy blanket around her shoulders. As her corporeal body pushed further into his, spilling its warmth straight into his heart, her mind and soul found themselves searing high above the plains of never-never land.

And she whispered, again.

"Thank you..."

Just a bit. A tiny bit more.

"Thank you so much, Andy…"

Andy stared. Andy stared, and fought back the warm arms of sleep climbing up his back.

The last thing he remembers was her lush, soft hair, as he leaned in to kiss the very top of her head. That, and the warm, primordial darkness that enveloped him whole, soon after.

Null. Thank you, Sister Midnight.