.
That day, there was a lot of buzz on the streets. Andy wasn't sure whether it were the uneasy waters that had somehow spilled from behind a door he left haphazardly closed, or the sound of a storm creeping past the horizon, a tragedy in the making, yet not there quite yet. The air felt heavy, thick with tension that could easily be cut with a knife. His head kept spinning, yet he himself wasn't sure of his own emotions. All he knew was that there was blood all over himself, all over Croissant, and they needed to leave.
"... Baws? Ya alright?" Her voice was a little more tentative than usual. He could tell she was shook for this or that reason, probably something to do with the fact their cheerful little escapade took a dark turn.
"Yeah. Yeah, everything's good. Just fine." Andy messily threw the words back, occupied with finding an exit route to the more known parts of the city. They were deep in the snakes' pit, a tangling mess of old, half finished skyscrapers and overran tenement buildings piling up atop one another, creating mazes of dusty walls and large sandcastles – exteriors caked with a batter made of water, vomit, blood, sweat and sand. Lots and lots of sand. He's never been or seen this side of Lungmen, this hidden oasis of poverty, even beyond the initial market of sorrows. If the curly-sheet stalls from before were any indication of what lay beneath the city's flashy surface, then these buzzing anthills were a confirmation – a clear answer to an unasked question, a means to an end, a whole community of people shuffled under a rug. They took a detour, throwing themselves into an alleyway between a few tall walls prickled and peppered with tiny windows, from which lazy Lungmenites peered down at the bustling slum life, smoking their cigarettes, or hanging out wet laundry. Andy couldn't help but stare at the hundreds of wires slung across the corridor of buildings, all of them housing thousands of clothes, cloths and fabrics. They all swayed with the wind, and the buzz of a thousand cheap air conditioning units.
"... Ya reckon they still followin' us?" Croissant asked, then took a glance behind her shoulder, against her better judgment. It was better to simply look forward and not dwell on the past. Andy didn't even notice the fact he kept clutching tightly onto her hand, his other one pressing the folder of forecasts flush to his chest.
"They could be? I don't– I don't know. We just need to get the hell away from this place, that's all."
She narrowed her gaze. Andy could already tell something was up, but couldn't quite place it. "Do we even know where we're goin'? I haven't ever been here, and Baws, I've done my fair share 'a slum dwellin'..."
"No. No idea where we are." His voice wavered. Lost in no man's land, with a posse of armed vigilantes on their backs, he had no idea where they were figuratively and literally. "... I can call someone. I could call Lem? Texas? Ping our location, ask them to pick us up."
"..." She returned a nod, the gesture less confident than he'd like it to be. They shuffled away a few towels hard as cardboard, dryer than a Sargonian desert, then slid into a little space between the walls. The passing grade B citizens kept throwing them curious looks, most of them especially fixated on admiring Andy's pierced halo. Just as it was at the marketplace, so it was there, a Sankta with a desecrated light always caught some strange glances. He fished the phone out his pocket, as Croissant took watch, guarding the alley from behind a corner.
"... They pickin' up, or…?" She asked, nervously fidgeting with her ponytail. Andy glared into the tiny box and its bright screen, but nothing seemed to come of it. Each time he pressed the contact lovingly named "LEMMY", or the one right beneath, formidable and daunting with its mere presence, "TEXAS", the lazy operator mumbling words into his ear would keep replying with the same "No reception" message, over and over. "DANI", "SORA", even "BOSS/PL" and finally "BOSS/WORK" repeated those exact same words, the words that eventually drew a long, shaky exhale from his lungs. Andy closed the phone and slid it back into a pocket.
"Nothing. Got nothing, we're on our own." He said, sounding a little more defeated than he'd like, in front of an employee. "No reception in this sh-... this hellhole."
"..." With a few more glances down the dusty street-corridor, Croissant mulled the words over in her head. "... Gawds. Ya should've stuck with that gun, shouldn't have jabbed it in that door."
"Then what-, should I have just NOT jammed it at all?" He threw back a jab. Tensions high, he didn't even mean for the words to come out as an accusatory hiss, but they did. "Should've let them just barge right through?"
"Naw- Baws, look, I'm not sayin' ya shouldn't have, I'm just statin' that you could've very well used a- a pipe or, or sumn' else." Andy could clearly hear the rising defensiveness in her usually sweet voice. "Not a GUN. You could've at least unloaded it first."
"Oh yeah, maybe should've taken it apart, too?" A dry chuckle followed. "Disassembled in a few seconds, 'cause all Sankta can do that, right?"
"Well, no!" She retorted, with an ever so growing gale of heat pushing into her cheeks. "But didn't ya think it'd be a good idea to have som' sorta' firepower as contingency in case sumn' like THIS happens?"
"Oh, I'm sorry I wasn't thinking fifteen moves ahead when booking it for the fu-... the door, with a pair of loonie biker dogs breathing down my neck!"
"Maybe ya should've, ah? Maybe we wouldn't be gettin' into so many damn scraps if ya stick'd 'at head out yer ass once in a while and actually think 'bout what yer doing!"
Ragtag slum-people were beginning to stare at the spectacle. A Forte and a Sankta, both clearly out of place and in visible distress, yelling at each other. A group of whispering Felines and Perros dressed in cheap sportswear passed them by, buzzing with amusement. Andy shot them glare, which only sparked even more stifled giggles. Soon, their eyes averted and swam back towards their initial goal, only to go wide at the sight of something at the very end of their "slum-tunnel." They hastily exchanged a few startled looks and booked it in the opposite direction.
"I'm not-... I'm not NOT thinking about what I'm doing. I'm not." He mumbled. "I just lost my head, okay? I saw the door, I kept hearing that… that guy, the one, you know which one. You snapped his arm in two."
"The one wiff' 'a gun." With clear disappointment, she corrected him.
"... Yeah, that one. He kept screaming, I didn't know what to do, so I just jabbed the gun between the door handle and the lock, okay? I admit, I might've panicked. Might've messed up, is that what you want to hear?"
"Baws…" She started with a sigh. "... I don't want to hear or see ya constantly panicking. I'm…" A hint of hesitance split her words. "... I'm growin' tired of this. It just feels 'ta me, sometimes, like yer a complete doof when it comes 'ta doin'... doin' literally anythin'! I get why ya didn't shoot the bastards, hell's bells know what that loon might've had loaded in those two barrels, but ya just panicked and froze! I had to drag ya out the back door, then ya just stood and contemplated."
"I wasn't contemplating, I was thinking of what to do next!" Arms flung towards the sky, as he finally lost his cool for good. "I shut that door and ran!"
"Ya shut the door with yer only matter 'a defendin' yerself!" Croissant's hands followed suit. High up above their heads, their fingers met, as she dragged him forcefully back to the ground. "And now we're stuck. I mean, just- just look at 'is place! Sand everywhere, homeless folk everywhere…" To demonstrate, she glanced back and forth, until eventually her eyes fell on the road that led them there. In a moment's notice, her face flared up, then went pale altogether. "... We're goin', Baws."
"What?" Confused, he asked. "Why? What-..."
"Andy, we're goin'." She repeated herself, a little more rough and demanding this time. Without a word, she passed his side and started dragging him deeper into a stuffy apartment complex filled with dust twirling around the air, illuminated by lazy rays of sunlight bouncing off the many mirrors of a hundred auto-rickshaws and motorized scooters parked all around the street and inner "lobby." Just before the tumult of all the dwellers going on about their daily lives could drown out the street completely, Andy caught a glimpse of a living, breathing wall of leather shuffling along their tracks. Broken sunglasses and bruised lips shone in the glimmering sun, as his eyes shot wide open at the sight. His legs took him up a flight of stairs filled with slum-children playing about each step, with corks, bottle caps and setless cards sprawled around the little joy-area, shielded from the glaring sun and their parents' strict gazes. He couldn't help but be taken back to his own days of aimlessly wandering the marble streets of Laterano in his early youth, accompanied either by the city's whisper, or the loud company of two certain angels. With no money to his name, nothing but his dad's gun stuffed in his pockets, he strolled and strolled, searching for a purpose. Back in the present, he clutched the documents folder a little tighter, eager to protect it with his own life at this point.
"... 'Scuse me… 'Scuse me, oop, sorry, ma'am." Croissant did her best to shuffle aside the gloomy dwellers on her way through the open first storey, catching glares and scowls. Some particularly disgruntled Lungmenites threw back a few swears and empty threats, maybe even a bottle, or loose brick, but both her and Andy had more important things to worry about. They stopped at the end of the corridor, seeking an entry further up, only to see the stairway being blocked completely by rubble and a bunch of old trash - some bent bicycles, a few old, empty refrigerators and a couch piled on top. They exchanged a quick glance, then turned back towards their original way in.
Loud, thundering footsteps were already on their way up the stairs, already causing the lazy crowds to step apart and make way for the leather wall. Andy stared, unable to wrestle his worries and feelings back into place, soon jumbled even further, when Croissant yanked him by the hand and shoved forcefully through a curtain of beads and fly-catching glue tape.
They closed the apartment's door after themselves, then both scurried to stick their eyes through the peephole. Croissant was a lot stronger, so she simply wrapped an arm around his neck and held him down by her chest, as she glued her gaze to the doorhole.
"... 'S a mess out there. Complete mess, they ain't lettin' us off 'a hook." She murmured, more to herself than him. Andy squirmed and bucked in her grasp, eager to break free.
"Yeah, well. Can YOU let ME go, at least?" He grumbled, with an elbow threatening to bite its way between her ribs. Croissant simply wrapped another arm around his arms, effectively locking him in a hug tight enough that he couldn't move. "Y-... LET ME GO!"
"Shhh…" She hissed, before sticking her wrist into his mouth. "Shut up, they can hear ya. They ain't deaf, moron, ya ain't shot their ears off."
"Mmmfgg…!" Struggling to get any sensible noise out, Andy's wriggling assault only grew in ferocious intensity. Seeing little to no response from the girl, he instead opted to sink his teeth into her skin and bite her. Hard.
"O-... OW! The hell are ya doin'?!" Through gritted teeth, her voice seeped like venom. "I'm tryin' to keep us alive here, dimwit!"
"Can you just stop treating me like a liability? I can keep my voice down, don't have to stuff my mouth shut."
"Clearly, I do. Clearly ya can't keep yer mouth shut."
"Clearly not."
"Clearly yes."
"No." Andy disagreed with her statement. Croissant shot him an incredulous look, eyebrow raised. Each time she did, and it happened rather rarely, Andy always felt smaller than he physically should. To some degree, she stole the role of the marble cathedral from his feverish dreams. Arms crossed, she continued:
"Yuh-uh, Baws."
"Nuh-uh." Andy disagreed once more.
"Yuh-uh"
"Nuh-uh."
"Yuh-uh."
"Nuh-..."
Something rattled behind them. A soft, almost shy voice followed.
.
"Excuse me? Can I help you, misses?"
.
Two pairs of confused eyes met in a silent agreement of befuddlement, then turned towards the source of the question. Differences were put aside, as Andy and Croissant came to the realization that they had just in fact burst into somebody's home without knocking and locked themselves inside. With their cheeks and brains a little warmer than usual, they stared down the pipsqueak of a woman who happened to drive a wedge between their salty bickering. Ears tall, hair fiery red, face soft and gentle, much like a Lateran statue, she stood in the middle of the hallway leading into the rest of the apartment, holding onto a little device and a notepad black with ink. Her curious eyes studied both him and Croissant from behind a cover of round spectacles, which made her irises appear a little larger than they actually were. "Four-eyes" Andy thought immediately. As if sensing his childish mind-folly, Croissant immediately grabbed him by the shoulders and shook into place.
"N-..." A moment, it took her to assess the situation and come to a conclusion that they both should probably be apologizing for barging into her home without asking. "Naw, miss! Sorry for 'a troubles, didn't mean ta' just fly into yer flat like 'at."
The soft spoken woman took a curious step forward, all her soft cardigans and oversized dress shirts fluttering with each move. "Oh, but it is completely alright! You see, I am a bit of an…" Here, she took a moment to giggle at the silly thought. "... An intruder as well! We're both equally as unwelcome."
"..." Croissant and Andy exchanged a quick look. "... Ain't at' quite 'a pickle, ah?"
"It sure is!" She spoke in a lighthearted voice. Just now, Andy could see through her fluttering ears and put the puzzle pieces into place. She wasn't a Feline, like he had initially thought, but a Kuranta. Long hours spent listening to Kazimierzian black metal bands taught him to separate the two well, even despite the close resemblances. "Ah… Miss, is everything alright?"
"Huh?" He blinked in an instant, mind thrown off its daze. "Miss?"
"Yes, are you… alright? You're a tiny bit pale." Her tone remained soft and tender, with creeping vines of worry threatening to bloom. "Oh, and there are nails in your little halo."
"Wuh… I'm not- no, I mean, I'm not…" Taken off guard, he started trying to explain himself, to drop some words that would clear his name and set the record straight, align her in the correct direction and reveal that he actually is in fact a man, not a woman, but Croissant stepped in to cut his mumbles short.
"She's fine, just a little sun-thirsty! Miss, look, we don't wanna keep ya occupied fa' any longer, so we're just gonna say our farewells 'n be on our merry way, yeah?"
The Kuranta tilted her head. A sense of melancholic disappointment lingered behind her glasses, but both were too eager to leave to dwell on it. Andy stuck his eye into the peephole and melted.
"Oh, of course." The woman nodded. "No, of course. I won't keep you anywhere you don't want to be, of course. I appreciate the manners, though! In all honesty, misses, you two are probably the most fair-hearted girls I've met since my arrival in this city. And I've met quite a lot, haha… People don't take kindly to reporters sticking their… their lousy snouts into their business in Lungmen, do they?"
Croissant kept glancing from Andy back to her, back to the angel, back to her, wanting nothing more than to disappear into dust back out on the main street. "Aye, miss! Lungmen's full 'a miserable fawlk, they don't like no reporters, no talky types. Now, if ya would just…"
She sent an elbow into Andy's ribs. At his confused glare, she gave a very demanding, asking look, clearly eager to leave already.
"They're sweeping the entire floor, what do you want me to do? Come out and ask how much longer it'll take them? Or just straight up invite them in?" Returning back to the peephole, he lightly kicked her shoe. "And don't poke me."
"Oh, you're… Avoiding someone, I assume?" The woman once again inquired.
"Avoidin'... Stayin' alive, basically. 'S tough business, all this Lungmen stuff, I tell ya."
"I know! That's why I'm here in the first place." She pointed behind herself. Glancing over her shoulder, Croissant was met with a rotting, decaying corpse sitting snugly on a wheelchair deeper into the apartment. The smell hadn't reached them yet, but the hordes of fruit flies gathering over the carcass and climbing into each of its holes painted a clear picture of how much it had to reek. With her eyes a little wider, she directed her gaze back onto the soft Kuranta's face. She smiled and clutched her little notepad. "I'm here to write about the true outreach and destructive force of uncontrolled capitalism, muddled with all the many violations of human rights and the terrible disregard for the infected population, as a little precaution for Kazimierz!"
"..." Croissant stared. She's seen many things in life, and most of them had given her a rather clear understanding of what to do and how to behave in certain situations, but at this point, she wasn't sure what to think, or do in the slightest. "Ma'am, there's a, uh… a dead body behind you."
"What?" Andy turned from his peephole. "Dead body?"
Croissant shoved him back into the door, then took a few wobbly steps with the Kuranta to examine the corpse. "... Oh. Miss Fen drew her last breath."
"Miss Fen, ya say?" A nervous chuckle followed. With one eye, Croissant was examining the dead body of a Lungmenite woman, with the other, she was already looking for a tool to use as a makeshift weapon in case things went south. "... Ya two any close?"
"Oh, no, no…" The Kuranta kneeled down by the wheelchair, completely unphased by the smell or flies, then gently took the corpse's hand. Fingers by fingers, she clutched them into a fist, then closed her own eyes and muttered a few words to herself. "... Niech ci ziemia będzie bardzo miękka, młoda panno. A bogowie niech podłożą poduszeczkę do snu wiecznego. Odpocznij, zasłużyła Pani."
Croissant watched the entire spectacle with the utmost confusion and a complete lack of any self-preservant whispers telling her brain what to do. They were all in learning mode now, having never seen anything quite like this. "... Ya alright, miss?"
"Mhm. Exchanging farewells with my interviewee, like a good interviewer should. I always find it appalling when interviewers treat the everyday folk like fodder for their papers or outlets, always turning to complete a-holes when the cameras and camcorders stop rolling!" Through a stifled giggle, she caught herself squeaking. "Ah, forgive my language. Miss Fen, you forgive my language, too." She added, turning apologetically towards the corpse.
"I don't think… I don't think "Miss Fen" can hear ya anymore, miss." Croissant skeptically raised an eyebrow. "Ion think she can do much 'a anythin', actually."
"Ah, words, words… All she said, I have it recorded, not to worry at all. The struggles of a Lungmenite slum-dweller." The tiny device in her hand came to vision. Proudly, she flicked a button and out came the illness-stricken voice of the late Miss Fen, babbling about her troubles with rheumatism. "... Though, I don't think this will be of much use…"
"Yeah, well…" With a flick of her eyes, then a glare, Croissant called Andy. He reluctantly unglued himself from the doorhole and draggled over. "Well, all the well to ya, miss. Ya know if there's any way outs, any windows 'ta climb out of, or…?"
"Oh, I know. I know them well, but I shouldn't just be giving them out like they're nothing, should I? Not when I have two hardened Lungmenites before me and a near empty roll of tape in my camcorder."
She smiled. In the face of the little search party breaking in at any given moment, her cheerful optimism presented an almost laughable contrast to their pulsating nerves, much like needles at this point, poked right down their spines.
"... Look, miss, there's some bad people after us, okay? Real bad people, and-..." Andy started, only for the loud BEEP of the camcorder to shush him down.
"Miss, miss, I'd like to take a moment to appreciate both of you for taking the time of your days to stop and answer some of my most burning questions." The Kuranta spoke over both him and Croissant, as they tried to make their plea. "My name is Lizawieta "Lizzy" Brzęczyszczykiewicz, hot on the case of Lungmen's ever growing serpent of hurtful political practices, that straddles the city's OTHER, hidden part. The part that nobody wants to talk about, the part obscured by the bright neons and glass towers, the part left to itself. With me are…?"
Here, she enthusiastically nudged the device up to their faces, wagging it a little encouragingly. Andy and Croissant exchanged a glance, but eventually caved.
"Uh… Andrew Ricketts." He mumbled.
"And, um… Croissant. Just Croissant fer me, baws." She added.
"Croissant and Andrew, proud female representatives of the wavering LGBT community here in Lungmen, have found themselves victims of the slum life. How do two women survive such harsh conditions on their own? Does the cost of life ever push you, misses, to the extreme? Is it true that prostitution is still highly commercialized and blooming in the most poverty stricken of areas? And finally, last but not least, how was your day?"
"Uh…" A bit shell shocked, Andy tried to rack his brains in any way he could, his mind worked overtime to mill and understand even a single question that flew his way. Most of his focus remained on the stack of forecasts in his arms. Glancing at Croissant, she seemed to offer no closure, shrugging and sending his gaze away. He took a deep breath, then slowly filtered it through his teeth, bearing himself to spew some half-assed answer.
A knock on the door, however, cut his unsaid words short. They all directed their eyes towards the unwelcome sound, which quickly delved into a rapid banging. Slam after slam, some unseen force seemed keen on forcing its way inside. Against their better judgment, they did not interfere when "Lizzy" sauntered over yonder and carelessly swung the door wide open.
"Yes?" With a cheerful, inquisitive voice, she asked the visitor, only to get shoved away in an instant. A pair of heavy, leather boots stepped into the apartment, carrying with itself hints of cheap alcohol and a strong stench of cigarette smoke. Andy scrunched his nose, even despite what all his other senses were telling him. Yelling to run, to ditch and not look back. Croissant assumed a ready battle stance, hands clenched and aimed to defend her face.
Before them stood a panting, teeth-baring Perro. The same from before, the very one Andy smacked across the face with the butt of the sawed off shotgun during their little brawl in Vic's hut. His aviators were no more, being replaced by a furious scowl. He was clearly pissed, clearly off the leash and clearly willing to paint the entire apartment with their blood.
Lizzy gathered herself off the floor and wobbled in place. "Wo-oah, mister. Excuse me, you can't be just shoving people like that."
"Shut your trap, dollie." He shushed her down with a flick of his leathered arm. At the sudden movement, Croissant pulled Andy behind herself, which made him all the more appreciative of her company and all the more ashamed of his biting words from earlier. "You, Ricketts. And your Penguin slut, both of you. We got biz, yeah?"
"We ain't got biz. Three to one, yer disadvantaged." Crossie pointed out accordingly, one hand aimed between his eyes, the other protectively clutching Andy's sweater.
"Oh my, oh my…" Lizzy darted cross the room, back and forth. All eyes turned to follow her. "I just wanted an interview with you, Lungmenites, not a firsthand display of your famed brutality taking place… Oj, mama mówiła "Bój sie bogów, Lizawietko, o, bój sie bogów…"
"I told you to shut it, slag."
"Slag? Sir, please. Cut the insults?." She pleaded, only to get cut off by his growing assault.
"Slag. Broad. Bitch. Whore. Slut. Bird…" He just kept going, shifting his anger from the two onto the poor woman.
"Sir, our newslet is a rather… PG friendly directed press…" Lizzy spoke softly. Her voice perfectly matched her fuzzy clothes and tiny disposition, all seemingly curled into a tiny ball in front of the huge mass of leather that was the biker. "Please don't make me waste a whole line of tape…"
.
The Lupo froze. His eyes sought out the little device in her hand, then immediately went wide.
.
"You're recording?"
.
"Yes…?" Lizzy perked up. "... Would you like to, um… to add anything to the interview? I could ask my editor to cut out all the profanities."
"... Uh." The Perro cleared his throat. His shoulder muscles went limp, loosened in an instant, as if a flick had switched in his mind, turning him from a combatant to a civilian in a moment's notice. "... Well, if you are RECORDING, and this is, uh… this is being documented, then, I guess, we can talk. We can talk for a moment, right?" He casually threw towards the two. Slowly, Andy and Croissant nodded back.
.
Around ten minutes later, they all found themselves comfortably settled on a couch covered by some old rugs, with the Perro, whose name was Skeet, as he had told them, sitting between the two. Lizzy took an old stool and sat by dear, departed Miss Fen, who watched them all with her dead, empty eyes. It was a game of back and forth, tug of war, with Lizzy asking them all various questions about Lungmen as a whole, and them shooting their best attempts at acting like the situation wasn't nearly as nerve wracking as it was. Andy's words kept coming out jumbled, either completely emotionless or filled with anxiety. He kept glancing at the door, Lizzy kept patting him down and promising there was nothing to worry about, Croissant got a bit bored, then fell asleep, and they all just wanted this entire thing to end as quickly as possible. Except for Skeet, who seemed genuinely thrilled to be interviewed, and to be given the opportunity to speak out on the life in Lungmen from the perspective of a Columbian immigrant.
"They just don't treat you right anywhere, y'know?" He scoffed, cigarette between his lips. Andy sat with a deadpan look, trying his best to control his nerves, not to snatch and put it out on the hound's furry mug. "They look at me, see my clothes, see my bike, they say I'm worse than them. Am I worse than them? Them fancy-ass bankers and brokers in them high-rise districts? Or the LGD? Or, or, those messenger pansies? Hell, even those fucking rat-loonies and their lil' crime operations! And don't get me started on those damn Siracusans... Am I worse?"
"Well, you don't SEEM worse than them to me." Lizzy replied with a wide smile, then noted something down. The camcorder rested calmly on a tiny table by their side, rolling away and catching each word, then stuffing it into its guts - the tape that prolonged its lifespan for as long as it ran. "Say, sir, has the government ever issued any statements regarding the influx of Columbian migrants flocking to the city-..."
"And I always say, ya know? Ya two don't know, ya don't know me, but those who know me-" He continued, completely ignoring her question. A flick of ash accidentally hit Andy in the face, as Skeet just couldn't quite hold his face in place when talking. "- Those who know me, they know that I ain't one to ever back down from a challenge. So, I just don't let 'em bastards rule me around. Feels like I'm a hound on a leash, when I'm clearly not!"
"That's the spirit, Mr Skeet! As we say… "Nie wolno sobie dać w kaszę dmuchać!" Can't let them blow in your grits!" Lizzy chimed in, feigning some challenging moxie.
"... Yeah, whatever that means." Skeet ashed the cigarette. "Ya know, I'm with 'em slum boys and girls. Hell, they're planning some sorta riot later today, have ya heard? Anyone?" He bumped both Andy and Croissant, but one shrugged, the other was already too far deep into never-never land, snoozing and drooling over her shirt. Lizzy perked up at the mention, though.
"A riot? Please, do tell!"
"Well, there's some talk 'bout beating a few LGD pigs over the heads for the sake of it, I guess. Something like that. Haven't heard much, just that there's gonna be a riot later. I mean, we were supposed to get this here man…" He snuck a punch to Andy's shoulder, then smiled at his unamused reaction. "... Dead, then ditch before shit goes down. But really?" He bumped his shoulder against Andy. "Ya know, Ricketts, I personally? I personally have nothing against you, man. Hell, you haven't done anything to me, but what the community says, it goes, yeah? And they said you gotta hang, so you gotta hang. Really, don't mind it, though, okay? I'm just doing my job."
"... Yeah, I get it. Of course." Andy said, in a completely emotionless voice. Lizzy was bursting with optimism at the sight of the boys getting along so well, whereas Croissant was snoring. "... Say, Skeet, can we talk it out in private? Don't wanna taint the recording."
"Private? Shit, alright." He shrugged, then got up. Belts, knives and steel clanked with the sudden move. "Miss Lizzy, you can cut out all the blabbering nonsense I said, okay? Don't wanna ruin your little recording." With a soft smile, he added.
"Of course, Mr Skeet! Don't worry about it."
Her cheerful humming still played in their ears, as their legs led them towards the bathroom. Andy opened it without a word and gestured for the biker to enter. Skeet of course took it as a token of good will.
"... Shit, Ricketts, ya ain't half a bad guy, ya know? Wish we met under different conditions. With a beer to share, ha!" He chuckled, poked Andy in the stomach, then casually stepped inside. "What's with those nails in your halo, by the way? There any story to it, or…?"
"A long one. Make yourself comfy." Andy hummed, then followed suit, locking the door.
.
"..."
.
"..."
.
"... WUH-?..." Croissant woke from her nap with a jerk of her head. She glanced across the room, then patted down the folder of forecasts Andy left in her lap. "... Sheesh, baws. Caught me som' much needed shut eye, hope ya don't mind."
Lizzy only shook her head, still all smiles. "Of course! I can tell you needed it. Busy day, was it?"
"Yaaaw… Can't even bother imagining it, baws." After taking one more, thorough scan of the room, she quirked a brow. "... Where's Andy?"
"Oh, he went to talk with Mr Skeet. The bathroom." She added, seeing Croissant's questioning eyes flying all across the room and corridor.
"Ah. Ah, yeah. Boys bein' boys, right?"
"Boys being boys, of course!" She giggled in a very girly manner. "Can't even begin to think of what the two of them might be gossiping about."
"Weeell…" A lazy smirk crawled onto her face. "Knowin' Andy, 'is prolly wallowing 'bout some cryptic worries 'a his. Or not. Naw, he don't share wiff' anyone. Much too secretive."
"Fragile soul, is he?" Lizzy joined her thighs together, then placed her hands in her lap. "He gives off the impression of someone very gentle, you know."
"Oh, suuuuuuure." Croissant stifled a snort. "Very gentle, that moron. Gentle, like a sledgehammer. And dumb like one, too."
"Oh, he doesn't necessarily strike me as dumb…" Lizzy gave a soft smile, as soft as the sun rays gently shooting through the blinds and revealing the heaps of dust floating all around the room. "Just a little misunderstood, maybe? The world has a lot of fragile, misapprehended souls, Miss Croissant. Most of them never reach out for help, you know?" After a little sigh, she added. "... Much like our Kazimierz. We're just… headed in all the wrong directions, yet no one seems to care. No one seems to notice."
"... Yeah, 'as, um… 'as very sad." Croissant gave an awkward nod. "... Hope ya Kazimierz folk get better, though."
"Oh, don't worry about us, poor souls! I'd rather you worried about your friend. Misunderstood souls tend to… to hurt in solitude, you know?"
"Hurt in solitude…?"
"Yes!" Lizzy leaned forward, meeting her eyes a little too close for comfort. "I am quite… good at reading people, I'd say. Or, well, that's what I like to think. Perks of being a reporter, after all…" She directed her gaze towards the departed Miss Fen, then gently wiped a few flies from her face. "Like Miss Fen, here, she was… Completely alone when I found her. Selflessly left to herself, with no family by her side, no one to confide in, no one to love… Just lost in the longevity of the sound of silence. Zagubiona w długości dźwięku samotności. I can't explain it, but innocent, soft people tend to hurt like that. They take the burden upon themselves and never ask anyone for help when they're hurting. Because they fear they might hurt others in exchange, Miss Croissant."
Croissant didn't even notice when their hands met. She was staring at their interlocked fingers, yet did not remember ever taking her hand. Their eyes met, reflecting one another in their mirror-y surfaces. A little hand of guilt crept up her spine, when thinking about earlier and her words thrown Andy's way, how she was getting tired of his inability to do anything, his constant unwillingness to talk, the barely noticeable obsession with Lemuel that kept clouding his mind, always distracting from what was actually important…
"... Ya… Ya may be onto somn', Liz." She finally muttered, before allowing her fingers to gently curl around the reporter girl's hand. Lizzy smiled and encapsulated her hand in both of hers.
"I'm glad you think so, Miss Croissant. Please, don't let him hurt in solitude. I know it might hurt him to open, but… It's worth it. It's worth to have someone be open. Someone be so… so softly truthful. I know he's a genuine, kind soul."
"... Genuine, kind soul." She repeated, having the words run through her brain a few more times. Memories of hours spent singing along to the distorted buzz of his radio, of dragging him back home, all covered in blood and bile, they all assaulted her mind and brought to a realization. "... He might just be."
"A softie. That's what they're called, right? Softies." Lizzy smiled, allowing a little tease to slip past her warm voice. "He's a huge softie."
"Huge softie, yeah." Croissant chuckled. "Ya should see 'im sometime, late at night, when we're signin' off bills, n' calculating profits. How he snuggles up 'ta me, how he struggles to keep 'imself awake. 'S kinda cute. Softie sleepyhead."
"Aha, see?" Liz crossed her arms, clearly pleased with her victory. The sound of a toilet being flushed buzzed somewhere in the corridor, yet she paid it no mind. "So you do see it!"
"'F caws I see it!" Croissant smirked back. "Ain't nothin' but a softie. Hell, all 'at war-vet moxie? 'As for show, I tell ya!"
"Oh? A war vet?" Even the camcorder perked up in curiosity. "At his age?"
"Uh-huh. But it ain't mean anythin', 'at boy's just a softie. A common softie, as common as they come. Just an insecure, fluffy, night-cryin', pillow-huggin', eye-bawlin' soft-..."
.
Andy cleared his throat. The girls turned to him almost immediately, as he stood in the corridor, his sleeves rolled up, cheeks a bit wet. There wasn't much on his face, nothing to read or scan. The bags under his eyes, the empty irises, they were all blank.
.
"There he is!" Lizzy jumped up, then shot him a wide smile. "Our very own soft-..."
.
"I just drowned Skeet in the bathroom." He said, calmly. A chilly wave of cold passed through the room, sucking most warmth and light out like a giant vacuum. His eyes caught the exact moment when Lizzy's face went completely dim. "... We should probably get the hell out of here."