Tick.
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Tock.
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Tick.
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Tock.
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Tick.
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Tock.
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The familiar clicking took over the empty silence reigning over the office-container. Andy sat still, twitching a little in his uncomfortably rough and inexplicably tough chair. How could someone ever come up with such a torture device? And then decide it'd be a good idea to sell it to the public? And better yet, how could anyone ever willingly purchase this piece of garbage, that was completely unfit for human usage?
Every second spent on this monstrosity of a chair felt like being forcefully dragged across a seabed of spiky sea-horrors or mutated slugs. It felt worse than the beating. Worse than the desecration of Law, the light above his head.
It really didn't, but at the moment, he was willing to think of almost anything to get his mind off the chair. Anything, to wash away the pain.
Up until Duflot spoke, that is.
.
"... I see. You don't need to say anything else, Andy."
His reassurance was followed by a few haphazard combs across the balding plains of his once so great mane of gold.
"It was as much of a shock to me as it was to you, dear boy. That much, I can confidently guarantee." He coughed, bringing back the trademark smile onto his pristinely greasy face. "It seems it's true, what they all say about L.G.D. brutality, hm?"
And he chuckled, relieving some of the pent up tension. Or so he thought, at least.
"..." Andy did not say anything back. Sitting in the chair like a beaten dog, all snugly wrapped up in bandages and adhesives, he could only stare at the giant of cashmere. His halo kept clicking out an SOS signal with its glimmering lights, a habit it earned after being forcefully pierced by the flurry of rusty, old nails. While the removal was definitely possible, Andy decided to just leave them there, after a few unpleasant experiences starring Croissant in the main role. They tried prying them out, even managed to snatch one, but the splitting pain it brought was simply not worth it in the end, so he gave up hope, instead opting to rock this new (quite literally) metal-head look with pride. No one besides him would mind, anyway. It's not like his dad was there to reprimand him.
Even if he had been there, he probably wouldn't have noticed. Wouldn't care.
"... Andy?" Duflot cleared his throat, bringing the boy's attention back down to Terra. "You seem very distracted. The moment you stepped in, you almost bumped into my Durin-plant stand! Look at you, dear boy, you're a mess."
"... I know, I'm sorry." He mumbled back, unwilling to look the man in the eyes. "Rough week."
"Oh, "rough week." Andy, please. A rough week is when someone gets their boss to wail over their ear, or loses a hand of poker down at the "Devil's heel." What you've been through is not a rough week, not at all! It's much more."
"..." Silence. Duflot was right. He knew it, they both did.
"Andy, I feel like I owe you an apology."
"... An apology?"
"Well, yes, dear boy! What else? Officer SF01 was part of the union, after all. A part of the union, which I am in charge of." Duflot joined his hands together on the table to make his large disposition appear more professional. "So, I apologize. It must've been very traumatic for you, Andy."
"..."
He stared. He stared with eyes half lidded, unable to pry them open any further. The last few nights, Andy spent staring at the ceiling of his little bedroom above the library's main hall. He swam amidst his sweat-soaked sheets, clutching Vinny tightly to his chest, like a last resort, the line protecting him from the outside world and all the horrors that lurked behind the faint ori-light of his ancient lamp. There were creatures creeping everywhere, all around the walls. Knocking at the door, slamming their massive fists of steel against the poor, wooden protector. They oozed in, from the outside, scaling the four sides, crawling across the dry plaster, twirling somewhere in the corners of his eyes.
But whenever he'd turn, whenever he'd jump up to point his rifle's bore at those unwelcome visitors, they'd vanish into the crips, night air. And then he'd fall back, again, clutching the gun and quivering until the sun pulled him from the trenches.
"... It was unpleasant, yes." He mumbled.
"Yes. Yes, it must've been." Duflot pondered for a moment, eyeing the boy up and down. "... Say, Andrew, you didn't report it anywhere, did you?"
It was strange. Where would he even report it? He's had enough of the L.G.D. for a while, that's for sure, and no other law enforcement unit existed in the city. The paramilitary underground organizations, maybe, but they were still neatly connected and wired to the city leader's private chess army. He didn't want to tell anyone.
He didn't even tell Croissant. He didn't tell her, as she dragged him on her shoulder back to the library, as she stayed the night and battled his fever. Such a sweet girl she was, he didn't want to bother her with his law-battling escapades. He fought the law and the law won, what else was there to say? They took him in lightly injured, let out a corpse crawling down death's front porch. She wasn't dumb. She probably knew. She knew, but remained silent, seeing how he didn't want to say anything.
Poor Croissant. Crossie, he started calling her, in his head.
As for the rest?
The entirety of Penguin Logistics flocked to him the moment he stepped foot into their safehouse the following day. Everyone was there, everyone was eager to see him. Eager to gawk at his bruises, at the dirty spikes protruding from his ring of light.
Run-in with some lawless, homeless gang. That's what he told him. Sora damn near almost fainted at the sight, Texas let go of her cool, chilly collectedness and stared in grim awe. Lemuel went pale. So, so pale.
He's never seen her so shocked before. In the couple of months they spent getting to know each other all over again, that was the breaking point of it all. She was speechless. So, utterly speechless.
Croissant didn't say anything. Neither confirmed nor denied, thank Law. They made up some ground rules, the night before. Some lies and deceits to tell to their closest friends. That's the kind of friendship Andy was willing to offer. So open about everything, but his struggles.
Even Emperor dropped dead for a moment. Hell, he's never seen a Sankta with nails through his halo before. None of them did. Those sort of practices were long dead and buried back in the dark ages of Terra's grim past, left to never be uncovered.
Yet there he was. Andrew the martyr. A Saint to all the unlucky fools of the world.
The penguin pulled him for questioning, obviously. Asked about what was what and what wasn't, his usual Columbian street mumble-talk. Rhyme here, rhyme there, not on that day. He wanted to know who and where, so Andy had to make up some late-night ventures on the spot. Why'd he lie? Was he afraid of the armored men coming back to snatch him away at night? Was he deaf to Dani's words of reassurance, the promises of safety under The Union's wings?
He didn't know. So he lied. And lied, and lied…
And kept thinking of her face. Her horrified, guilt-filled face.
And how she caught him on the way out, latched onto his wrists. Slithered her grasp all over his poor, battered body, pulled him close.
It was strange, seeing her sober and on the brink of tears. No traces of the party girl he's grown to know and forced himself to love. Not at all, just silent regret. She took him away from the stuffy, cargo-filled corridors, the piles of records and mountains of undelivered packages.
Away from every nosy pair of eyes, from each, little swimming mass of eavesdropping eagerness, she dragged him to a small room, full of brooms and cleaning supplies.
There, she held him tight. In that small, confined space, where no glimmer of light was welcome to be a witness, she wrapped her shaky arms around his freshly washed sweater and clutched onto the boy.
What was going through her mind?
Guilt?
Regret?
The empathic ability to tell other Sankta's emotions had long grown dim, torn away from him by the Law. It was the light's way of flicking him one on the nose, wagging its finger right before his face like a disappointed parent, saying "This is what you get, Andy. No more halo-reading for you."
She was speaking. Talking to him, whispering. Something about how sorry she was, how horrible she felt. All apologies. Andy didn't hear much. He was nothing but an old, dusty, rag doll in her arms. A little, cuddly teddy bear to hold and cry into, nothing more, nothing less.
She was his light, yet her halo seemed so weak. Not like in his Kazdel-born dreams. He gazed upon the ring above her head, as she clung onto his chest, only to find it dim. How could it be? It always shone so brightly, so why was it so faint, now?
Why was she so alien? So foreign, so different?
Why wasn't his heart jumping in joy at the feeling of her embrace?
He couldn't tell.
Couldn't tell then, couldn't tell now, as Duflot kept waving his hand before the boy's eyes.
.
"... Andy? Andy? Andy, I asked you a question, silly." He beamed a little, hiding the worried look under a grinning facade. "You're really out of it today, are you?"
"..." His breath hitched. Throat got a bit dry, so he coughed. Drew blood, wiped it off his face. "... Sorry. No, no, I didn't report it anywhere. I haven't told anyone."
"Mmmm! Andy, you're such a good boy, you know? That's exactly what I would've done, had I been in your shoes! I would report it to absolutely no one, but the head of my lovely Union, who cares about me… or, rather, You, so much! I'm proud of you, Andy!"
Andy was focused on his tie. It was ugly. Really, really ugly.
The words. He was proud of him… For what?
No one's ever been proud of him. He never knew how it felt, having someone be delighted over his achievements. Maybe Ricketts was, a couple times, but then again, you never knew with him. He wasn't who he appeared to be, ran from his worries. How could he have ever been proud of someone, if he had never been proud of himself? Strange.
His dad. Mr Raphael Reiff. Notarial Hall's soul. Not even once had he told him those words. Never had he risen from his scriptures and poems to draggle into the boy's room, to look over his shoulder, to watch him struggle with math equations and whisper words of encouragement. Never praised his drawings. Never praised his "cooking".
Never praised his choice to join the army.
.
"... Thank you, Mr Dufot." He mumbled.
"I hope you understand my reasoning, Andy."
The mass of cashmere and silk took a long, deep breath, only to let the air slowly ooze from behind his pristine, white teeth.
"... It would be… Damaging, to The Union's reputation. Because, you know. What if word ever got out, hm? What if… What if Miss Superintendent Ch'en ever caught wind of Officer's SF01's unofficial affiliation to us, mere blue collar men? She's a scary woman, Andy! Maybe it was a good thing you stumbled upon those two, not her! Ha!" He laughed his heart out, pouring jovial chuckles out those massive windpipes of his.
Andy only stared. He stared and stared, drawn by the ugly tie's alluring presence.
"... Anyway, Andy, jokes aside, I don't want you talking to any officials about this. To anyone. Little Dani told me you made some friends, correct? Penguin Logistics?"
He blinked.
"... Yes?"
He doesn't remember telling Dani where he dragged Croissant over from.
"Yes. I'm glad you're making connections in your business, Andy! I really am."
A beat, as the man gasped for air.
"... However, I don't want you telling any of them about this. I don't want ANYONE knowing. I'm sure you understand those are just… Insignificant little details. They're here to protect us. The Union." He smiled. "So that The Union can protect YOU, you little troublemaker!"
Andy nodded.
"So that I can continue running deliveries…?"
"Precisely, Andy! Good boy!"
He ruffled the angel's blood soaked hair. His hand felt rubbery. Fake. Like a lie, whispered into his ear.
"Should word get out of Lungmen, we'd have a whole Law emergency on our hands, wouldn't we? I've heard what your brothers and sisters are capable of, Andy, and it's not pretty! So why should we stain what we have, hm? Why should we let any scum ruin The Union's good name?"
"..."
The boy closed and opened his eyes. Slowly, first the left one, then the right, like a chameleon.
"... We shouldn't."
"That's right! That's right, Andy." And with those words, the massive mountain of meat and fat rumbled. The floor croaked a little, the oversized desk in front bent under the weight of his hands. He stood up, to the angel's silent awe. "... We shouldn't let any stains go against The Union's words. Take a walk with me, will you?"
A walk?
Andy helped the man stabilize himself in place. He was a true living, breathing hulk, filled to the brim with fat-lined organs and cholesterol. White-ish yellow ran in his veins, pumping the energy to push on through in the morning, to get up and put on all the cashmere and silk. To brush the meek remnants of hair, to wipe the sweat off his forehead and drag himself to the container office. And yet, he was surprisingly agile. Not at all breathless after the grand effort of standing up, already dusting his snowy-white collar off and fixing his glasses.
"I want to show you something, Andy."
They left the safe confinements of the grand cargo container tower, leaving the boy absolutely awestruck at the ease with which Duflot scaled each little, makeshift rope-ladder and bridge, none of them uttering but a single squeak of protest under his imposing weight.
"Surprised, Andy? Oh, don't be shy, I know that look. I get it all the time. I'm part of the organism, too, you know? The city breathes through me, not the other way around."
He chuckled, as those massive sausage-fingers of his let go of the very last ladder, letting his Sargonian leather loafers hit the ground.
They walked. Scaled the concrete plains, followed the trials of yellow paint and spilled oil. Through the land that was the Motorized Harbor, they pushed through like two brave explorers uncovering an ancient civilization. A civilization whose heart wasn't beating in sync with the large man by his side, but with each of the tiny worker ants crawling through the cargo jungle. Each worker, each blue collared man and woman, each Ursine escapee, each Lungmenite and more, they were all there, the integral congs in their life-giving machine. That's what the docks were - an organism. Giving life and a purpose to all those who decided to uptake the grueling task of keeping their heart beating, these four walls that housed Lungmen's biggest cargo hub were alive and working in perfect unity. It grappled the foreign treasures with its many, towering cranes, each of them operated by a brave mountain-climbing hardhat, eager to distribute them throughout the sick, dying city, the icon of sin and crushed dreams. Like two opposites, the docks that gave and the city that took and only took. Took lives, took ambitions, spat out nothing but corpses, fodder for Mother Nature's garden. But here?
Here, each truck passing by, each forklift narrowly avoiding the uppity, chatting Ursine gatherings, each smoker hanging about the massive containers raised high up into the sky by those sized-up claw machines, they were all in their habitat, right where they wanted to be. Where life prospered, away from the deathly fumes of the industrial area, of the bright, deceptive lights of the commercial downtown.
This was heaven. The docks, the garden of creation.
.
"..."
.
Passing groups of smoking Liberi, Andy caught a few of their glances. He found himself being stared at by almost everyone he passed, these days. It was probably the nails in his halo. It was definitely the nails.
.
"... Here, Andy."
.
They stopped by the docks' furthest corner. The forgotten mountain range of trash and other unwanted objects. Andy felt a strange, biting desire to throw himself down from the platform they were standing on and into the sea of rubbish below.
.
"Do you see this? This is our landfill site. We drop unwanted trash down this pit and… Well, as you can probably tell, it piles up."
Duflot took a moment to enjoy the sprawling ocean before his eyes. He must've held some sort of nostalgia towards this place. That's what the boy thought, at least.
"... It does." He muttered, hiding his cold hands in his pockets.
"Mmm." A murmur, "I used to work right here, Andrew."
He pointed down at the very middle of the massive pit. At a tiny platform standing amidst this mess of forgotten goodies.
"Right there. From six in the morning to seven in the evening, I was down there, shoveling heaps of trash into trucks. We didn't have an incineration plant, back then. Hurt my back a lot, Andy! Take it from an old man like me, savor your back. You're going to miss your youth, someday."
And he chuckled, while Andy was left staring blankly at the uneven towers of shapeless gray below.
"My youth, though… Rocky days. Very rocky. Invasion… Power struggles… All the waves of Ursine immigrants… It was all different. Much different."
"... Mhm." Andy purred.
"The docks were a…"
A breeze passed by. Duflot needed a moment to find the correct word.
"... Pardon me, Andy, but the docks were a shithole. Ran by a certain… Let's call him Mr Thomas. Does Mr Thomas sound good, Andy?"
Andy nodded under his shifting gaze. Duflot smiled.
"Well, Mr Thomas was a wealthy man. I am, too, but Mr Thomas decided it was best to let himself be the one who decides who gets to eat burdenmeat and who gets to eat gray slop at the end of the day. That's no way to run a Union, don't you think?"
Andy shook his head, which earned him another affectionate pat on the head.
"Good boy. It was no way to run a Union. Could you imagine, Andy, if I, for example, took you and little Dani, paid you both in scraps, and then forced you to carry steel for ten hours a day, just to make hundreds of thousands of silky, blue dollars from the comfort of my fancy, Siracusan-designed office? That's completely unimaginable, isn't it? That's why my office's in a container, Andy."
"... Uh-huh."
"Mmm. That's how it was, Andy. How it used to be, thank the gods high above and down below! Hm."
His brow furrowed a little. The beam and spark slid off his face, making way for a deep frown of resurfacing memories.
"... Mr Thomas worked against the people. Against The Union, who he swore to be the leader of. He wasn't a leader, he was a tyrant, Andy. He was an enemy of The Union, yet also at its very top."
"..."
For a moment, they stood there in silence. The wind, like a playful cat, grasping their hair, pulling the boy's gray curls, ravaging Duflot's thin remnants of the past.
"... We removed him. Hanged him in the very middle of the dock. At night, of course, when all the nice L.G.D. officers were kind enough to close their eyes and look into their own dreamy business. It wasn't a big occasion, no, just a small, family gathering. The Union's a family, Andy. A warm, happy family."
"..."
His throat felt a little dry. Almost breaking through all the gray below, was now a slither of red. Red and black. Andy blinked.
"... And, of course, Andy, we dumped Mr Thomas here. Down this very pit. Down this hole I spent my entire youth in. It's a little graveyard of memories for us, old Union members. A reminder, too."
He kept glaring down at the shapeless black. What was it? It was darker than anything else, but glistening in the sun. Reflective. Empty.
"A statement, Andy. A good, strong statement."
And by its side? An even bigger piece of black lay calmly. Interlaced with dark blue stripes, stained with crimson here and there…
"The Union protects, Andy. We protect our family."
A helmet. No, armor. An entire set of armor. Dark, heavy armor… And the writing on its side? Two letters, two numbers.
"... But get rid of any stains. Any stains that refuse to listen."
Andy knew what it was.
"..."
Yet, he remained silent.
He understood him well. He understood the statement.
.
The Union was good. That's all he needed to hear.
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…
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Life in a snowglobe. Repeating, again.
Deliveries.
Slave labor.
Back and forth, he went.
A son of The Union.
With an uninitiated by his side, they drove.
And drove.
And drove.
And drove…
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And they drove for weeks. Months. Years. Centuries. Drove and drove, until Andy could see nothing but the road. Nothing but the concrete, illuminated by the headlight's empty glow. Nothing but the bright, white lines separating each lange, the signs and blinkers of other road-slaves. Nothing but the journey ahead. The check, waiting for him at home. The song on the radio, him and Crossie were waiting for.
.
"... You sure this is fine?"
"Why shouldn't it be? C'mon, baws, just hit it! Show me wha' those gunnin' fingers of you's can do!"
Andy sighed. Another weekend, another couple days off. Spending it in the company of a few, busy girls and their ever so laid back penguin "overseer." Not like he could protest, though. It was nice. Weeks, even months have now passed since the incident. The weather's gone through a bit of a woozy. Once boiling hot, then snowing the next day. With the freezing temperatures outside, it was only logical to lock themselves up nice in one of the safehouses and sit it out, right?
"... Alright." Andy mumbled back to his eager, pastry-based friend and readjusted his grip on the electric guitar in his lap. It's been with him for quite a while, though never had actually been plugged into an amplifier. Maimed by the many bright models hung up at "Shreddin' Fiends", he caved in and threw one of his very first paychecks away to buy this beauty. It was nice. Even unplugged, holding a stratocaster never got old. Three pickups, three pickups too much. He never really needed any of them up until this point.
Without asking, they "borrowed" some fancy amplifier from Emperor's makeshift recording studio and set it to their rockin' needs. Punctured the membrane, poked tiny holes with W's knife all into the speaker. Natural distortion, baby.
Andy strummed a few chords, feeling the guitar's entire potential finally weighing down onto his shoulders. Freed from the chains of a lacking cable and amp, it could finally ring its wild, wailing melody all across the safehouse. Croissant giggled in joy.
"Hell's yeah! Sounds 'ike some cats gettin' skinned alive."
"... Was that a compliment, or…?"
"F' course it was! C'mon, keep playin'." After a little thinking, she waved her hands over his fingers that were already preparing to blast the symphony of destruction across the entire room. "Or, or, wait! I got me another idea! Ya know that song from 'a radio?"
"... This one?"
Strum-strum.
"Naw. The other."
Strum-strum!
"This one?"
"Naw! The slower one!"
Struuuum-struuuuuum…
"This one?"
"C'mon, Andy, not THAT slow."
"... Law, what do you want me to play?"
"The one from 'a radio? Ya know, it goes, like… Tuu-turuuu~ Tuuuuruuuuu~..." She chirped, with her eyes closed, swaying to some invisible rhythm.
"Oh. Oh, yeah, perfectly makes sense. I got it, thanks Crossie." He nodded in sarcastic glee.
"Oh, bless yer heart, ya clueless mess…" A sigh, as she shook her head. "... Ya know which one I'm talkin' 'bout. Low and slow."
"Low and slow…" Murmur, murmur… His fingers twirled the tuning pegs a little, dropping the strings an octave or two.
Pluck, pluck, pl-pluck, pluck…
"Yeah, this tha' one! See? We understand eachotha' perfectly, don'we?" Pat, pat. "Ya keep playin' a'ight?"
.
She got comfy next to the little guitarist. Shoulder to shoulder, their little performance was off to a grand kick off. No band to affiliate to, and maybe for the better? Rock stars were, after all, mostly famous for their fast lifestyles. Something Andy's been trying to lean away from, despite everything. He's had his fair share of living fast already, oh, he did…
Croissant closed her eyes and swayed to the guitar's wailing. Andy smirked a little, feeling energized by the pure fuzz flowing through his instrument and the tiny box by their side. Past the intro, her sweet, slightly rough, southern voice joined along the guitar's electric screeches.
.
Soft sounds.
Soft voices.
Soft plucks.
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.
.
In my eyes,
Indisposed,
In disguises no one knows,
Hides the face,
Lies the snake,
And the sun in my disgrace~.
.
Boiling heat,
Summer stench,
Neath the black, the sky looks dead.
Call my name through the cream
And I'll hear you scream, again~...
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Black hole s-...
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.
Thud. The door swung open, bringing about the fresh scent of outside. Both Croissant and Andy stopped for a moment, only for an overly enthusiastic redhead to jump into the room, shaking off heaps of snow as she hopped all over.
"Oh! Oh! I love this one! I love this one~! C'mon, Andy, keep it going!... Hi, by the way~."
Andy narrowed his eyes a little and smiled at the sight. What happened, happened, it was already all in the past, pushed between the cushions of misery-soaked memories from Kazdel. She was there, staring at him with her cheeks rosy from the cold, that's all that mattered. In his eyes, she was adorable.
"Hi!... Weren't you supposed to be out on a del-..."
"Oh, shuuush, you fun-breaker. Shush. Aren't you two supposed to be working, either?"
Andy and Croissant shot each other a small glance. The pastry-girl shrugged.
"I'm gettin' paid by the hour, Ion mind som' quality leisure time."
"See? That's the mindset you need, Andy~." Lemuel warbled and threw her winter hat off. With a tiny hop, she threw herself onto the couch and buried somewhere deep into the cushions. Her eyes slid along the guitar's neck, as a mischievous smirk tugged at those cherry-red lips of hers.
"So? You gonna play something, or are you just gonna keep two ladies waiting~?"
"He's gonna keep them waiting." Another voice joined into the discussion, followed by a rather disgruntled Lupo entering the lounge. Lemuel's smirk washed clean off her face, like the melting snow off her jacket. "... I'm not unloading the truck on my own. C'mon."
She stood above the red-head, hands twitching to just grab and wring her neck out like a dishrag. Lem blew a raspberry and sighed.
"Can't you take Croissant? She's way stronger than me, anyway…"
"Oh, naw, naw, naw, I ain't workin' fer ya, remember? I'm with Pacific Empire, I ain't no penguin lass anymore." She smirked back, crossing her arms.
"W-... Oh, you… But you're always with P.L. when it comes to claiming monthly bonuses, huh?" Lem threw back, staring at the girl as if she had just planted a knife in her back.
"Precisely!" She beamed. Lem sighed. Texas blinked, unamused.
"Don't make me drag you." The Lupo's had just about enough, Andy could tell.
"... Oh, I'd love to see you try~."
"I will."
"Do it, then~!"
"Alright."
She shrugged and latched onto her halo with both hands. Lemuel went pale.
"Wh-... HEY! HEY, NOT LIKE THIS! N-... NOT LIKE THIS, NOT… OW! OOWW! HEY! TEXAS- C'MON, OW!"
She dragged her right out, disappearing behind the door and pulling wails of pain from her lungs, which eventually grew more and more faint, the deeper they submerged themselves into the endless hallways.
.
.
"..."
"..."
.
Andy and Croissant were both left watching their little struggle. As the screeches eventually died down, they both shrugged it off and continued. It was just a standard procedure, at this point.
.
.
Black hole sun,
Won't you come,
And wash away the rain~?
.
Black hole sun,
Won't you come,
Won't you come,
Won't you come…
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.
.
Thud.
Oh, what, now…
The two buskers stopped at once, hearing the door slamming open once more. Instead of a pissed off Lupo or an overly cheery angel girl, however, they were met with…
… Well, nothing.
"Eyes down here, dawg."
"...?"
Gazing downwards, Andy was met with his own reflection painted over the short penguin's killer shades. His hands clutched the instrument a little tighter at the sight, growing a tad moist. Busted.
"Baws! Heya, baws. We borrowed one of yer fancy-shmancy amplifiers fa' Andy's lil' performance here, ah? Naw problem, right…?" Croissant perked up, patting the muse-box affectionately. Andy only nodded in unison, feeling his cheeks growing a bit red.
"Oh, yeah? That was you playin'? Dam' grooves near made me bust out som' moves, you feel? Good shit, Lawman."
With zero hesitance, the penguin waddled across the room to shoot the boy a high five. Slightly off put, he responded in kind and their hands (and wings) met.
"... Say, you got anythin' else like that? Som' less sobby? Lay down some nice, feel-good rhythms for me, yeah? Or Columbian rock, to be fair…" He choked on his own breath a little, pulling his tirade into a chuckling fit at the mention of rock. "... To be fair, I won't mind that, either. Yeah. C'mon, lay it down, chief."
.
Unsure of his own abilities, Andy nodded back and hugged the strings with his fingers, tight. A groove, huh? Something groovy… Time to put Isaiah's school of war-time playing to the test.
"Mmmm… Like this?"
He smirked, glancing over at Croissant. She tapped her feet against the floor in anticipation, waiting for his grand symphony.
Tap,
Tap.
Pluck,
Pluck.
Andy muffled the first note by accident, making his face turn red. The smirk disappeared as quickly as it had appeared in the first place.
"... Uh. Yeah. Uh-huh. Yeah, that's hard." The penguin nodded along to his messy chugging. "That's real hard. Metal, yeah? I ain't no metal-head, but whatever ya play, heh. This ain't wack at all, yo."
Slightly confused, Andy kept chugging, eventually adding in a chord or two. It wasn't the most advanced, nor was it the cleanest, but the penguin didn't seem to mind. Neither did Croissant, who just bobbed her head along to the rhythm, her hair flying all over the place.
"Uh-huh. Goes hard. Goes hard, chief. Ya keep it up, aight? Keep it real. Keep it on a hunna. Yeah, 's not bad at all…" Emperor mumbled to himself, heading for the exit. "'S not bad… Ey~! Ey, I know you're happy to see me, but watch it or ya gonna catch it, yeah?" His voice resonated from behind the door, following a tiny crash.
"Sorry, boss~! Just headed for the source, hehe…" Another one followed, girly and flowery as all hell. The door had barely closed behind the penguin before it swung open yet another time, revealing an overly eager, blonde Lupo.
"Heeeey, Andy! Croissant!" She beamed, waving them a quick welcome with both arms. They responded with a drawn out "Hiiiii Soooraaaaaa~" and made some space for her to sit on the couch.
"I heard some music, so obviously I had to check it out! Though… Does it have to be so heavy?" She tilted her head, looking with those huge eyes into the boy's. "... I mean, music is awesome, because it can portray feelings! And wants! And needs! And the need for peace and… Good in the world, but…"
"But this kinda music makes you wanna go and shoot up a mall?"
"... Well, maybe not THAT drastic, but yeah~! Something along those lines."
"Mmm, I got you."
He nodded back and cranked down the amplifier's gain. Sora immediately beamed, filling the room with her -iconic- stage presence warmth, as the annoying buzzing died down to make way for a cleaner tone.
"Much better~. As for a song…"
"Oh, I got one."
"Ya got one? Which one?" Croissant asked, unfamiliar with this side of his playing.
"A good one. A really good one…"
.
Strum-strum.
.
The machine came alive once more, spilling the sweet sounds of indie string-plucking. Andy smiled to himself and closed his eyes, letting the feel inside, letting it fill him whole with a sound oozing straight from his heart.
And he let his lips part.
.
.
.
I guess I should stop…
Looking out for you, like I always do…
When will you…
Start looking out for me, too?
Instead of leaving me staring at my shoes…
It's just the way you're glancing at me,
Something about you just makes me feel guilty for liking you,
When you're with her…
When you're with her…
.
Sliiiiiiiiiiiiiiide,
.
This is a love song for a girl, who'll never know it's about her,
I know, it's pretty stupid, but I'm much too shy to tell her,
She's beaming that smile, all the while,
I'm all choked up on my own throat, I guess there is no hope~...
.
.
… And we're walking out in the snow,
I say, "I guess I should go"
And we're talking 'bout someone else,
When we should be talking about ourselves~.
It's the same old situation, you've always got me waiting,
Come on dear, I think time's a wastin'
Before we have to go back inside,
And return to our normal lives~...
.
.
.
.
.
.
Skipping the second chorus, heart beating a little faster, Andy finished the piece with a little symphony in the A major scale, whatever it meant. Sora squealed in delight, listening intently and swinging her legs off the couch all throughout the song, lost in the sounds and rhythms, completely ignoring his words. Croissant did pretty much the same.
"'At was real nice. Real fine piece! Bit sappy, thou'…" She gave him a pat on the back and a nudge with her elbow. Andy snickered and retaliated back.
"Yeah, it was nice~! See, you can play other stuff besides… Whatever THAT was, before this~." Sora was elated, seemingly happy to hear some live music that wasn't her own. "You keep playing like that, they'll send you a record deal at M.S.R.~."
"Oh, come on, it's not all THAT…"
"But it's good! It was really nice~."
"Oh, stoooop…"
"But you've got a thing for playing, really!"
"Stoooooop…"
"I'm serious! Play a bit more and you'll become… Like that Nuffer guy, maybe."
.
"..."
.
Andy locked eyes with the girl. Slowly, very slowly, the idyllic, elated grin untangled from his lips, making way for a much different expression.
Just pure, uncontrollable shock.
Nothing but an uncomfortable silence remained, enveloping the room in its cold embrace, like the winter raging outside this tiny safe haven. Sora shifted in her seat uncomfortably, noticing the strange intensity of his gaze.
"... What did you say?" The boy whispered, begging for her words to be real, not some feverish hallucination.
"Um… That you've got a thing for playing?"
"No. No, after that."
"That you, uh… That I compared you to Nuffer?"
"..."
Andy blinked. Once, twice.
"... Nuffer?"
"Yeah~? Like, um… You know, that guitarist? Signed with M.S.R.?"
.
"..."
.
And he stared at her. Stared in pure, unfiltered shock. Was it shock? Or was there a hint of childish naivete and hope glimmering in his eyes?
.
"... What's his name? Like… Like, full name?"
.
"Name? You've never heard of him, really? He's been getting really popular, these past two years…" Sora hummed a little, running her fingers through the wide, open plains of her memory. "As for the name, it was something like… Something starting with an I? Isaac? Ismael…? I-, I-, I-..."
.
"... Isaiah?" He whispered. With the tiny sound came a river of innocent hope spilling from behind.
.
"Isaiah! Yeah, Isaiah Nuffer~! That's the one. So you DO know him~?"
.
She smiled, beaming with a bright, toothy grin. Andy returned it straight away, unable to stop his lips from stretching upwards. The guitar slid from his arms, nearly landing on the floor. Croissant's arms snatched the instrument away at the last second, as Sora squeaked a little.
.
"E-Ey! Andy, ya alright? Yer kinda pale." She tapped him on the forehead, as if to summon his mind back to Terra.
.
"..."
.
He nodded.
.
"I'm fine. I'm really, really fine."
.
"... Ya sure? Yer actin' kinda-..."
.
"Sora, you know where he lives?"
.
"Huh? You mean, Nuffer?"
.
"Uh-huh?"
.
"I-... I mean, I do, but, why?"
.
Why?
.
Because it was him. It was fowl-boy. It had to be.
.
Andy grasped her wrist and excitedly pulled them both up. She squeaked a little in protest, but let herself be dragged over to the door.
.
"Baws! Andy, what are ya…?"
.
"Crossie, you're in charge of the company for today, alright?"
.
He shook in excitement, unable to contain himself.
.
"A-... Alright…?"
.
"You, Sora, can you take me to him?"
.
"Take you… What, like, to his doorstep?"
.
"Uh-huh~!"
.
"Why?"
.
Why?
.
"..."
.
He grinned. From left to right. Ear to ear.
.
.
.
.
"Because I'm a fan. A very big fan."