Life in a snowglobe.
Locked in a continuous, vicious cycle, much different from the grand dreams of urban adventures he might've had in mind.
Andy spent most of his days working, mindlessly marching towards the riches awaiting at the end of his tunnel, the meek glimmer of coins piling up high.
Working for Duflot, that greedy fuck.
"Making the everyday man rich is my goal, Andrew! Remember that as I force fifteen contracts upon your shoulders and expect you to shove them to the very top of your priority list! Ah, and don't forget, don't ask questions and never check the back of your van!" He'd hear his voice, over and over, even when asleep. At this point he knew the way from the library to the docks like the back of his own scarred, bruised hand. He'd drive there almost every single day, a cheery Forte girl by his side, eager to spend the next few hours sitting idly, chewing gum.
Docks, warehouses, slums, hooded figures, mysterious cargo, zero questions. Such was his life most of the time. At times, it almost made him wish for a sudden biker ambush, yet none ever came. The only real fun to be had was the thrill of singing along to the radio's hum. Andy and Croissant made a little habit of picking a bunch of songs they both liked and always eagerly awaiting any of them to air.
It started out innocently, very awkwardly, even. During their long, night drives, Croissant would oftentimes murmur along to the classical rock tunes seeping out of the technological wonder of the previous few centuries, really putting out her "singin' pipes" on full display. Andy never did mind, nor did he ever attempt to join in, always preoccupied with something scraping the mushy surface of his ever so worried brain. One particular day, with one particularly gleeful Croissant by his side, a particularly loud and cheerful song came on, pulling a content whoop from her lungs.
"Ah-ah! Turn 'at up, turn 'at up, baws!" She'd perk up, hands already shooting forward to fiddle with the volume knob. Andy broke from his driving daze, forcing those heavy lids up and correcting the van's trajectory, narrowly avoiding a month spent in a hospital, as a semi truck skidded right past.
"Aaaa-ah~!" She'd holler along, tapping her feet in rhythm and clapping to the drum's beating. "Ya like 'is one, baws?"
"Uh…" He'd hum, mind still half asleep. "Sure, I dunno…"
"Uuuuh~, darlin', ya gawt 'ta lemme know~," She'd sing along, pulling an air guitar to complete her little performance. "Should I stay, or should I go~? C'mon, baws, ya know the words…" A little tug at his sleeve would then follow.
"I'm driving…" Andy would protest, groaning a little.
"C'mooooon… 'S always tease, tease, tease…" With her eyes closed, she'd continue singing along, pulling at his coat.
"Pffft…" Split, he'd surrender and give in. "... You're happy when I'm on my knees."
"One day 's fine 'n next 's black!" Perking up and beaming, she'd keep the song going…
"So if you want me off your back…" The both of them wailed in unison, smiles tugging at their lips, lighting up the cabin. "Well, c'mon and lemme know…"
.
"Should I stay or should I go~?"
.
Dun-dun.
.
"Tha's the spirit, baws! Yer can't just sit 'ere like a pile 'a salt 'n sulk the whole way…"
.
And thus, their little habit was born. A habit that'd carry through their boring, Duflot-running days, a habit that'd eventually take over the entirety of P.L. during their shared contract hours.
Andy didn't just play postman for the king of the Motorized Docks, no. As promised, he was also on Emperor's every beck and call, ready to serve and obey even at the most vile hours of the night. Working directly with the penguin's crew brought some genuine flavor and excitement into his sad little life, pulling him from the pits of despair and letting his mind roam free, usually accompanied by a hail of bullets swishing pass, a good brawl or a chase (usually ending with a wrecked highway or a building going up in smoke.) Those were the moments he truly lived for. The afterglow, the times where he'd have to hang his head over some overpass' railing and let the thrill of the night empty his stomach. A sizzling, smoking car wreck by his side, Texas trying to pull the other, poor Lupo from the mangled mess of metal and glass, Croissant jumping around the scene, yelling something about budget cuts and generally being more interested in the material losses than the windshield shards sticking from her arms. And most important of them all, the object of all his "Oh's" and "Ah's", a bruised, blood covered angel right by his side, patting him on the back and holding his hair up as his throat kept spilling the day's lunch overboard.
"There, t-there…" She'd whimper with a chuckle, wiping the crimson residue off her face and gripping his curls tight. Firm, yet tender, the gentlest, safest of touches. During moments like these Andy fully understood that Emperor's deal wasn't some curse or a pair of chains forcibly thrown over his wrists. It was a ticket to heaven, a whole array of opportunities to spend his days away from Duflot's constant stream of bleak mundanity and instead by the side of Lemuel, someone he was so utterly and fully lost in.
Running deliveries, third wheeling Lem and Texas' adventures far beyond the city borders, spending his evenings pouring light alcohol down his gaping hole, surrounded by strangers, loud music and a plethora of lights, all brightening up her face, pushing forth her beaming smile. A sight just for him.
That smile.
Rows of squeaky clean, pristine, snow white teeth, peeking from behind a pair of soft, pillowy curtains that were her cherry-red lips. Andy could only imagine just how squishy and mushy they must've felt, preferably pressed against his, those two mere lines adorning her face, yet meaning so much. For hours, he stared at her smile, the sight that's been with him through the thick and thin of Kazdel, the deepest tar-pits of misery, the highs and lows, buried in the ever so changing landscape. So volatile, so unpredictable, yet her gentle smile always remained the same, always there, always in his pocket, forever embedded into the photograph he carried with himself everywhere he went.
Once or twice, he brought the subject up during their off-time at one of the company's many warehouses. With the rest of the girls sitting idly by, absorbing packs of chocolate covered dough-sticks or hacking and slashing away in that "Battlecraze Blade-something" video game, Andy and Lemuel had tiny tidbits of time for themselves, little breaks spent sprawled over some couch. How elated she was, face all covered in utter disbelief, as he pulled the tattered picture to let it get some fresh air. Yellowish, held together by cheap duct tape and a mountain of hopes and dreams, it was nothing but a mere glimmer of its former glory, sort of like the boy himself, yet the thought had never really occurred to him. She almost tore the entire thing apart, excitedly running her mouth in pure glee, squeaking out words of nostalgia.
"Law, look at this…! Oh, I look so… Oh, I looked so awful back then~!" She'd tweet, giggling and sliding a finger or two against her younger self's cheek. "The hair, this… This crap-eating grin… Oh, Law…"
Andy wanted to raise his finger and correct her a little, point out that she's always been the most beautiful girl in the entirety of Terra and anyone thinking otherwise should get their eyes thoroughly checked. Yet he held back.
"Yeah, you looked… A bit silly? Look at me, though, I look like a moron." He'd press down on the photo, poking young Andrew Reiff in the eye.
"Mmmm… Nah, you look good…" She'd murmur, gaze locked with the third angel, her now discolored, blueberry hair almost entirely void of its former shine. "..."
And she'd stare off at her for minutes.
Hours. Days. Weeks.
Anytime they'd meet, working, not working, drunk, sober, sad, happy…
She'd keep staring at the picture. At that smiling face, those piercing, near cyan eyes.
Andy never intruded. Why bother asking? Asking about something he might not even fully grasp. Something he might not want to know the answer to. All his questions related to the blueberry haired freak were always shot down with a few frowns, a few sad looks or soft mumbles about signing an NDA. Whatever happened between the two, Lem never really wanted to talk about it. Those tiny frowns, those glimpses of her light dimming completely, her party girl persona disappearing in an instant, they all weighed upon the boy's heart, as if it was him who's done her wrong, him who's hurt this poor, innocent soul. The most he ever managed to get out of her was whatever she told him during her little, drunken breakdown. That she chased someone who simply did not want to be chased. Ran after a person who'd prefer to be on the run herself. Pursued nothing but a passing breeze, a sinister gale that kept pulling at his conscience since the very beginning of his journey, the one he apparently hurt most.
Gone was she from his shoulder. Not a single word spoken to him in the past two and a half years, not a single worried gasp. Gone was the little rivalry with the idol of evil, W, the scoreboard left unchecked for far too long. The silence, once a breeze of relief, now overbearing and filled with guilt, all caused by… By what?
Why were they gone? Why would his brain not let him speak to any of them again? Why couldn't they keep hopping onto his shoulders and flipping one another off?
Andy simply couldn't answer. One overbearing thought kept pulsating in his head, a promise he gave long ago in a vulnerable moment of self realization. Before his own self, he promised to keep living, to not die until he finds and sees both blue and red with his very own eyes.
That was one down, one to go.
He needed to go back home. Desperately needed to wander down those statue lined marble streets, to pass by that cinnamon shop once again, to dive into a fountain, to visit his old school, to throw an ice cream cone or two at the Notarial Hall's mighty doors…
And find her. Fulfill the promise. He needed this more than he needed to breathe. Maybe not as much as he needed to mindlessly stare at Lem whenever he got the chance, completely enamored of her bright, smiling face. Oh, that face.
That beautiful, utterly perfect and ideal face. So often adorned with a twinkle so light and warm, like a tight hug, first thing in the morning. So indisputably pretty, gracing them, mortals, like a tiny butterfly frolicking over a blooming meadow, tracing along the wind's path and occasionally landing on a flower or two - occasionally beaming in the boy's direction, making his mind heat up tenfold.
Oh, how it boiled his brain. Warmed it right up, turned all heating valves up to eleven, making even the most important of thoughts escape right out. All the pain, all the misery, every single unpleasant memory… They'd just disappear.
Droz? Isaiah? Dad? Ricketts? W? Seven? Never heard of any of them. Just empty words, a letter and a number. All that mattered was her smile, her perfect smile that could make him forget even the most dire of injuries, even the most biting of pains, all the blood running down his torn, military jacket, all the bruises plaguing his naturally soft skin, all cuts and little scars, both old and fresh, oh, so fresh. Crimson life-wine pouring from his body, black tar oozing from his heart, all of them locked away and forgotten, all that really mattered, all that has ever truly mattered was the sight of her smile. Just her, nothing else, absolutely not a single…
.
.
…
.
.
A gentle prickle shook the boy from his smile-struck daze. He found himself surrounded by a few piling mountains of books, in a large, dark room illuminated by nothing but a few grand chandeliers lazily hanging from the ceiling. All tattered and bruised, nose smashed to bits, teeth loose, face all red, and not from embarrassment but blood. By his side, a diligent employee sat still, gently applying a few gauzes drenched in disinfectant to his more nasty looking wounds. With another trickle of pain, she clicked her tongue and swiftly flicked her visor-cap off.
"... Baws, I keep tellin' ya again 'n again… Stawp movin', ya dimwit." She murmured, eyes locked on the menial practice. With each brush of her gauze against his skin came a little twitch of the boy's arm, a tiny, subconscious response to the pain of alcohol leaking into an open wound.
"Sorry…" He mumbled back, laying his curls comfortably on the chair's headrest. He didn't even remember when or how the damages came to be, who it was that battered the shit out of him. Just the matter at hand, the burning, splitting pain that no smile could ever simply brush away. "... I got a bit distracted. Thinking and, uh… And stuff."
"Thinkin', yeah." With a soft snirtle she continued. "Had ya been thinkin' a couple hours ago, we wouldn't even be in 'is situation."
Tap, tap. Her hands were so gentle with those oozing wounds of his, so delicate and careful. Another few sprinkles of pain seeped into his skin along with the alcohol as the girl pressed the gauze deeper into his flesh.
"... I mean, really, baws. Take away yer fancy guns 'n knives, whaddya get? Wha's left of ya? Nothin' much at all. They ran you thru' the wringer like som' burden-cattle headed for 'a slaughter…"
Tch, tch. Her tongue clicked, disappointed with his less than ideal brawling performance. Andy kept his head thrown over the chair's summit, eyes staring off at the glimmering chandelier lightshow.
"I know…"His voice escaped the safe confinements of his lips, wrapped in a gentle murmur. "... Thanks for, you know. Getting me out."
"Don't thank me, ya airhead. 'S what an employee's supposed to do."
Their eyes met for a moment, as Croissant shot him a little wink. Both exchanged a smile, almost a coy one. Like two teens caught staring, a perfectly innocent gesture. Her expression quickly turned stern, however.
"But." She cleared her throat, "Fact is, baws, ya can't just walk 'round the slums all armless like 'at. Some folk's 'bout to snatch ya right up. Hell, ya almost got snatched back there."
"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry…" Andy started purring again, like a little, gray, street cat apologizing for its pitiful existence.
"Naw, naw, naw. Naw, baws, don't gimme naw "I'm sorries." I wanna see ya work fer' it!"
With a firm pat to his shoulder, the boy flicked her a look.
"Work? Work, how? You wanna put me in a gym?"
"Naw, naw…"
"We barely have enough cash to keep the ceiling lights working, I can't really buy a membership or something…"
"Naw, dimwit, I ain't askin' ya to join a gym. Gym's no good 'ere, ya need some real life practice, not a pair 'a show off-y muscles."
With a little hop, she jumped off the desk and latched onto Andy's wrists. Slightly confused, yet void of any signs of protest, he let her drag him off the chair.
"C'mon, up, up, up ya go." She warbled, pulling him away from the warmth and safety of his comfy leather throne.
"What're we doing…?"
"Learnin', baws. Or, yer learnin', I'm teachin'."
"Learning what…?"
"Brawlin'! How clueless' that curly head of yers', ah?"
She flicked his forehead. It was a lot more painful than she anticipated.
"Brawling…? Like, what, fighting?" Andy mumbled, rubbing a finger against his cranium.
"Uh-huh! Gonna give ya somn' to work with…"
They stopped in the middle of the hall, the night's silence underlining their each step and word, each breath and move. Outside, behind those locked doors (which were carefully moved back in place after their little street shootout), an empty street sat quietly, no human monsters willing to break the serenity of the moment.
"... Alright, baws." She gripped both her hips, grinning from horn to horn. "Now gimme a proper wallop!"
"..."
Andy blinked.
"Wallop? Like, you don't mean…"
"Uh-huh! I want ya to punch me, lanky-arms!"
In the face of his silent confusion, Croissant kept her grin, beaming joyfully like one of the stars currently residing high, high above Terra. Andy took a step back and chuckled.
"I'm not punching you."
"Yes, ya are! Now c'mon, or we're switchin' roles."
"But you're a girl! I can't just punch a girl, it's…" And before the word "immoral" could leave his lips, a glint of a memory passed through his mind, playing like some old, homebrew cassette thrown into a VHS player. There, a dazed, confused, young Andrew Ricketts emerged from his tattered tent in the crisp hours of the morning, a wild explosion still ringing in his ears. Before him, on a fishing stool sat a fiend clad in black, her hair white as snow, horns red like the blood that was about to be spilled. Amidst her cackles and chortles, he dragged himself forward, cocking back a punch and slamming his fist into her face. What followed was obvious. Broken nose, broken ribs, pierced lungs, the whole ordeal. W, however, remained mostly unscathed.
The memory kept playing, the cassette turning and running, clouding his mind and blurring reality a little. Croissant's sudden cough brought the boy back to Lungmen, however, as the player popped open with a metallic clang, ejecting the tape.
"It's what? Ya alright, baws? Focus on me, 'kay? I want ya to pull ya fist back and gimme a good 'ole beatdown!"
"Cross, I'm not punching you."
"C'mon! What're ya, afraid? Ya ain't breakin' any bones with those twigs of yers!"
"I'm not punching you."
"Uh-oh, someone's afraid. Someone's really, really…"
"I'm not punching you."
"... Golly, c'mon, baws…?"
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
"Pleaaaaaase…?"
"No, I'm not touching you."
"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaa-"
"No! No, forget about it."
"Gee, yer one helluva buzzkill…"
Grumble, grumble. Croissant mumbled something unintelligible under her breath, keeping a frown over her face. Andy couldn't quite determine whether she was just joking around or genuinely mad. Up until she flicked him on the nose, at least.
"Hey!"
"What ya gonna do 'bout it, baws? Some thug just flicked ya one, what're ya gonna do?"
"I'm serious, I'm not doing this…"
Another flick flew his way.
"... I swear."
"What? Gonna fire me, ah?" She teased, flicking his forehead again. Andy shoved her arm away, feeling a tinge of annoyance creeping into his brain. "Aha! See, there, ya got it. Now blast me, c'mon!"
"Croissant, you're…" For a moment he stopped to stare at her eager expression. Determined eyes staring into his, begging to be punched, as weird as it sounds. "... Law, fine."
"Hehe~!" She perked up almost immediately, doing a few little hops around the boy.
"Law, this is crazy…"
"Ain't anyone watchin'! No one's 'ere to judge ya."
"Yeah, but you want me to HIT you!"
"Tha's right."
"Like… Like, what, in the face?"
For a hot second, she giggled like a moron.
"Hehe~... Surprise me, baws."
Surprise her? Law…
Andy took a step back to assess the situation. His bruises were all still burning, his legs and arms hurting… He really did not want to beat the shit out of his employee, but she was just so incredibly pushy, so needy. With a small shrug, he took a hesitant step forward.
"..." Croissant lifted her finger up a bit, as if giving him a count.
"...?"
"..." It gave a slight nod, approving the boy's silent request.
"..."
His feet shuffled forward. Fist clenched, eyes locked on her head. Not her eye-holes, not her lips, cheeks or bangs, just the general area. Andy didn't really know where to strike, at all. He seriously didn't want to injure her, not after she stepped in and dispersed a bunch of homeless opportunists who took his packages, then dragged him back home. On the other hand, she was so eagerly asking for it…
Andy hopped towards the orange-haired weirdo and slammed his fist into the side of her head.
A soft, empty thud followed. Loud enough to break the tension, meaty enough to make him flinch in second-hand pain.
Croissant recoiled back, her spine snapping in half as she slouched forward, grasping somewhere around her ear.
"A-... Awh, gee… Gee, golly, ya hit me in me horns…" She muttered, taking a few steps away. With one hand continuously rubbing the base of her dark horns, the other latched onto her knee, holding herself up. Andy couldn't quite see her face, as a thick curtain of bright hair covered most of it. "Aaawh… Gods, baws, why the horns…?"
"... Law, I'm sorry, I didn't know…"
"Aaahhwww…" She kept groaning, shuffling around the place in circles and rubbing her head.
"Hell, I messed it up, I'm s-..."
"Naw, naw, 'at was perfect." She cut in, slumping dangerously close. Before Andy could even react, the girl reached behind her back and sent her iron fist plummeting right into his stomach, squeezing every last bit of air from his lungs. Eyes and mouth open wide, he was sent barreling backwards, eventually hitting the desk with his back.
"...?"
He couldn't say anything. Not even a word. Each and every letter of the Victorian alphabet kept dancing over his brain, a jumbled mess unwilling to form into anything cohesive.
That hurt. That really, really hurt. Croissant was one strong lass and that punch nearly shattered his fragile, little Sankta ribcage. He's been punched before, hell, way harder than this. Still, it was… It felt weird. Strange. New, in a way. It felt… Kind of nice. Like a controlled stroke of sudden pain. A kind of pain that couldn't quite hurt him, yet it was still there. Different from the dozens of bruises riddling his body at the moment, different from any punch he's ever endured. It was exciting. Enticing, in some wicked, twisted way. Alluring enough for him to want more. To want another one, to prove that he can take it. To keep taking it until he can twist them right back.
His eyes climbed up, as he kept kneeling by the desk, pressed against its side.
Slowly, the girl approached him, a little hesitant. She didn't utter a single word either, instead crouching by his side and holding out a helping hand. Andy flicked it away and shook his head.
"That… That really hurt." He mumbled, almost as softly as a whisper. His eyes filled with a different kind of pain - one that drove him forward, made him want to bite back.
"... Right?" She smiled a little, giving him a very light and tender punch on the shoulder.
"..." Andy stood up. A beaming smile on his bloodied face told the girl everything there was to say.
"Hit me again."
She giggled and took a step back, cracking her knuckles. "Naw, ya hit me. C'mon!"
Without a word, with just the faintest of chuckles, Andy jumped forward, breaking their little, static circle-dance. His fist once again tightened around his palm, creating a bloodied ball of nerves aimed right for her cheek. Thud, it connected, flicking her entire head to the side. It wasn't nearly as strong as the punch that came after, burrowing right into the boy's chest. Like an affectionate yet violent kiss, her fist in his ribcage filled him with an unexplainable sense of warmth spreading all throughout his body. From each tip of his curly hair to the very edge of his toenails, it burned like the strongest alcohol Terra had to offer.
Andy returned the favor by joyously kicking her in the gut, spewing blood all over the place and giggling like a maniac. With an equally unhinged chortle, Croissant had to double over, wishing she had zipped up her coat beforehand, instead of leaving her tummy completely defenseless. Her iron grasp tightened around his leg, keeping it locked in place and leaving him hopping around on just one. With her other hand, she flicked him on the forehead and gave a hearty slap across his empty skull, sending his curls flying in each direction. Andy wheezed and bucked with his stuck leg like a wild deer, eventually kicking it out of her hand. A few more punches flew her way, a few more barreled towards him. With a direct hit to her cheek, Croissant spun around and took a step back, seemingly genuinely impressed with the hit. Andy retreated back a little as well, breathing heavily and bleeding from damn nearly each surface of his soft, little face. Nothing else could be heard but their labored breaths, each in their own tempo. Croissant's were slow and steady, deep and hard, as if she just ran a nice, cool marathon, nothing too heart wrenching. Andy, on the other hand, sounded like he just fended off a pack of starving houndbeasts with his very own hands.
"..."
"..."
Neither said anything, both slouched over their knees, holding onto those fleshy pillars tightly, for fear that a little slip could cause them to fall and crash.
"... 'S a nice punch ya gawt." She spat out in between intakes of air, her silly grin widening with each one. "Real nice."
"..." Andy could only chuckle in return, leaning against his desk. "... Th-anks. You hit like a girl, though."
"Aw, you did nawt just say 'at." She mumbled, spitting some blood out onto the floor.
Tap, tap. Her shoe slid against the floor, like a raging bull preparing to charge. A wild, wicked smirk stretched over her lips, reminding the boy of a certain white haired fiend. She'd smile like that too. A lot, actually. Just now he realized that he rarely did see her without that annoying, smug, "holier-than-thou" little smile. Strange. There were moments when she dropped the facade, when she seemed a little more genuine, but other than that…
… And before his mind could form even a single more thought related to W, he was already up in the air.
"?!"
Croissant lifted him up by his waist, holding him tightly over the desk. With a wild "YEEEE-HAW!", she slammed both him and herself into the work station, completely flipping it over.
Crash! Thud! Clang! Fwoosh!
All appliances, the tiny lamps, stacks of papers, pen holders, little "CEO" plaques, they all went to shit, being thrown around the place as the two crashed over the desk, flying forward and landing somewhere behind. The entire wooden giant toppled over, turning to its side like a marooned whale or some colossal sea-horror.
"..."
He could feel... Nothing, pretty much. A heap of pain and an uncomfortable mass of heat hugging him tightly from each side.
Then, a giggle. A soft snicker.
Andy had no air in his lungs to breathe, yet enough to laugh. Laugh like he had never laughed before.
The trembling mass of orange warmth slowly made a lazy effort to slide off him, resting just barely by his side. Too bruised to move further, the mass decided to keep its head right there, on his shoulder. Muffled giggles kept flowing like a steady river, all gushing from her lips and seeping into his ear. The sounds didn't even need to journey far, as their heads lied so close together, their limbs tangled up in a wire-y mess. It felt as if someone took them both and tied them up into a balloon animal, a special combination of Andy and Croissant served warm, their body heat mixing and blending together into one, soft ball of warmth.
"... Ya alright…?" Without much of an effort to muffle her giggles, she asked, still grinning like a moron. Andy turned a little to look at her face and nodded, his own smile refusing to leave.
"Yeah…? But you could've spared me all that." He slid back, trying to regain feeling in his fingers. Though he could easily move his arms away and shove her back, a tiny, little part of his brain didn't really feel like doing so, enjoying the warmth quite a lot.
"Could've spared us both, gee… Golly, I landed on ya, but my back still hurts. How come, ah?" She shot him an accusatory glare and a little punch to the side. It wasn't a killing blow like the ones that came before, though, no. It was much more affectionate, like the soft bumps Lem used to send him off with back when they were kids.
"Oh, so I'm in the wrong, suddenly?"
"Yeeah? Who else? Me?"
"Yeah?"
"Why?
"'Cause you threw us both over a desk…?"
"So? Ya said I punched like a girl, it was justified." She shrugged, cutting the argument short.
Andy took a deep, deep breath and let the air slowly seep from his battered lungs, drawing a few droplets of blood along. With his hair all spilled across the floor, eyes locked on the plethora of chandeliers dancing above, he mumbled.
"... 'Cause you do. You hit like a girl."
Ding. That was his funeral bell ringing.
"Oh, yer done. Yer done."
Andy expected a slap across the face or a good 'ole kick to the crotch, closing his eyes in grim anticipation. He felt her muscles tensing up, her arms unwrapping from the tight, jumbled knot of limbs. A gentle raise of an arm, the warmth of her fingers moving close to send him another flick right between the eyes…
Beep.
An annoying sound rang out before his face.
Beep.
Andy opened his eyes to see her hand in position, a beeping mess ringing aloud on her wrist.
Beep.
"... Aw."
With a small sigh, she rolled off his shoulder and sat up, tapping her beeping watch a few times. A subconscious glimmer of a thought cried in protest in his head as she did.
"... 'S gettin' real late, baws." She purred, eyes lazily sliding along the digital display.
"Yeah…" Andy sighed. "... Sorry for making you stay after hours."
"Naw, 's alright. I know, I usually leave right as me watch rings, but…"
A few glances towards the absolute mess scattered around the room were followed by a tiny sigh of graceful defeat.
"... But I'll stay 'n help ya clean this all up. Hm?"
"..."
They both locked eyes again, only their soft breaths filling the silence.
"... You wanna stay?"
"Uh-huh? Seems like the only gentlemanly thing ta' do, ain't it?"
She smiled. Andy responded in kind, sprawled across the floor.
"But you know that Emperor's not paying you after hours, right?"
"Does it matter?"
"Does it not?"
Croissant tilted her head in thought.
"... It does, but… Not really. 'S not like I ain't left a mess."
"You kinda did."
For a moment, both of them let their thoughts run wild, seemingly searching for a counter to the other's unspoken argument.
"... But, still. I'll make it up to you." He muttered with a tiny smirk.
"Naw, ya ain't makin' up anythin'. I'm the one who flipped yer desk, ya dimwit."
She let out a snirtle and helped herself up. Their hands met, pulling Andy to his feet.
"Ya just get on those pens 'n papers, yeah? Lemme get yer desk all fixed up…"
So they had their work split. Groaning and huffing, Croissant latched onto the side of the fallen giant, trying her damn best to flip it right over. Andy kept pacing around the place, limping a little as he picked up the scattered appliances.
A few pens…
Amidst the sounds of a Forte girl struggling to lift a desk.
A whole bunch of folders and papers…
With the loud clatter of the desk finally budging.
Oh, a lamp or two…
A celebratory "Yippe!" and the soft thud of her body resting atop the wooden surface.
And finally, that lovely "CEO" plaque, right by the door… Quite the trajectory you got, little buddy. Some air time, too…
The grand finale of their little orchestra, a loud banging at the entrance.
Andy jumped a little, startled by the sudden explosion. It sounded more like a gunshot than someone knocking, a feral attempt at breaking down the poor door, already loose in its hinges.
Croissant raised her head as well to stare at the doorway. They even exchanged a slightly worried glance, before Andy took the first step towards the unscathed depths.
"..."
His fingers slid along the door's scratched paint, every little sharp edge and loose flake. In the peephole, there was nothing but absolute darkness. A deep void of black, sinister and treacherous, hiding the identities of whoever was on the other side. So empty was the night, so lacking in… Anything, that it almost made him feel as if a pair of eyes had been staring right back at him this entire time.
With his own eyes still pressed tightly against the tiny lens, a new wave of bangs erupted on the surface, making him jump back a little. A little uneasy, still hurting all over, he pulled W's knife from his ankle holster and concealed it somewhere safe, somewhere easy to reach. Under his war-torn sweater, under those folds of soft, gray fabric.
Thud-thud.
His heart kept beating. Fingers kept shaking.
Little by little, he flicked the chains that bound the door and wall together, letting his fate be ruled by the creatures of the night awaiting on the other side.
He pulled the knob down and aside.
The obstacle shifted, sealing his end.
.
…
.
"Andrew Ricketts?"
.
A firm, raspy voice soaked into his ears. Before his very eyes stood two… "Individuals", if you could even call them that.
Clad in something that could very well be described as tactical armor, much more advanced and protective than whatever W or Hedley used to wear, they stood in the doorway, completely faceless, hiding behind a pair of shiny helmets reflecting back the library's many chandeliers. Andy scanned them from head to toe but couldn't locate any weapons. His inner self sighed in relief.
"Yes? That's me." He blurted out, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe.
.
"That's you? Good, good." One of them spat out, pressing his armored hand right above the boy's head, almost crushing his halo. Despite that, Andy did not dare flinch. "We've got a little something to talk about."
"Talk? Sure, shoot. I'm open to negotiations." He shrugged, crossing his arms. "Wanna hear about Pacifc Empire's last promo deal while we're at it?"
"Funny." The other cut in, reaching for some paper leaflet protruding from his chest. It seemed kind of official. Kind of important. "You know why we're here, Ricketts? Got any idea?"
"Uh-uh." He shook his head veeeery slowly, keeping his gaze locked on that flier. "Not customers, I assume…?"
"No. Far from it."
With a few whooshes, the paper flew out of his chest harness, let free to roam, to be held right before the boy's face.
"We're gonna have a little talk, as I said." He added, waving the card in front of his eyes.
Andy couldn't quite grasp the words, as the armored character kept shaking the thing like a damn epileptic having a seizure.
"Right? Then talk, I'm all open. All waitin-"
"Not here, Ricketts." He cut him right off, taking a step forward, getting all up in his business. "... Down at the station. You're a prime suspect in the investigation of a quintuple gun-murder from a few months ago. Elm's Crossing, sound familiar?"
His heart froze in place, unwilling to beat any further.
"I… Am not sure what you're talking about…?"
At his trembling voice, the two armored creatures perked up a little, revealing a pair of tails sprouting from each of their backs. They wagged a little, as the two exchanged a look and spoke with pure, sinister delight.
"Oh, but we are. C'mon, we're going."
They reached forward, but Andy took a step back.
"Wait. Wait, wait, who… Who even are you? Are you guys…"
They stepped inside, right after him. Croissant immediately sat up on the desk, eyes widening in shock. One of the Lung fiends tipped his invisible hat towards her and chuckled. The other grasped the angel's shoulder, that iron grasp digging into his skin.
.
"Lungmen's Guard Department. Formed to take out the trash. Trash like you, Ricketts."
.
A chuckle cold as ice filled the room, running along each chandelier and blowing the ori-powered candles off.
.
Everything went blank.