.
Some gray days, those past few weeks were.
.
News of the macabre slum-riot spread across Lungmen in the blink of an eye, like a disease. All in all, not many people cared at all. It all disappeared, swept under the rug like always, with no mention of the raincoat monsters ever making an appearance anywhere.
The bodies got picked up by someone later on. No one knew who, no one cared where they'd taken them. It was all just a bunch of dirty slum rags, anyway. The ones basking in bright neons couldn't give one about a pack of rabid dogs being put down, and the ones whose family members had died in the occurrence didn't have the capabilities to snuff around for answers. Case closed, folder sealed shut, locked inside a desk in the L.G.D. headquarters. "Menial things," a man in his mid forties threw to a coworker, as he slid away from his L.G.D. tinted desk, "Real horrid stuff."
The desk lamps illuminated their tired faces. Life went on, and Lungmen forgot all about the slaughter.
The clock never stopped. Time froze for no one, and the ones who couldn't keep up with its rapidly ticking pace were simply left to fester with the flies.
People had to adapt, no matter what.
.
.
.
.
.
"... Fuh… fuh, how do I even…"
A blood-soaked sole hit the clutch. Pedal to the metal, as the youth would oftentimes say.
"Gonna hurry? I–..."
"I'm trying! I'm trying, but…"
"I know! I know, I'm sorry. Shouldn't have asked, I'm sorry, but we're in a bit of a pickle…"
Two voices rasped back and forth between their bated breaths. Behind, on the back passenger seats, a grim set of dog-tired groans kept trying to cut into their little exchange.
"You–... You know what? Wait. Wait, Andy. Press the clutch, okay?"
"Okay. Okay, I'm pressing the clutch."
"Okay. Gimm-... gimme the key. Gimme the key."
"Here."
"Alright. Now lemme…"
A set of fingers drenched in blood squashed against the ignition. Fiddling with the key, they barely even managed to insert and twist the thing.
In the dead of night, basking in the street lamps, the engine came to life with a low purr, obedient and eager to warm up. Both hands, left and left, met on their way to grasp the gearstick.
"Oh, my bad."
"N-No, by all means. You can shift, Lem."
"Shift, like… like, what, up?"
"What? No, it's… you gotta go left, then up."
"Left, up."
Left, up. The gear clunked into place.
"Like this?"
"Yeah! Yeah, exactly. And then you gotta pull down. Just– no, not now!"
The gearbox wailed in pain.
"... I need to press the clutch first."
"Ah. This stuff's awfully complicated. Texas, why don't you just drive an automatic like normal people…?"
.
From behind, a pained gurgling made its entrance, joined by a plethora of soft moans of pain.
.
"... C-Can you two just drive? I'm losing blood."
.
Andy glanced in the rear view mirror. Sprawled out on the back couch, her body instinctively curled into a fetal position, clutching onto her stomach. Their eyes met for a moment, and that familiar, condescending, downright annoyed look made an appearance.
"What're you looking at? Drive. To. The. Safehouse."
"O-On it."
He exchanged one last look with Lem by his side, and slowly let go of the clutch, his tippy-toes reaching out to tap lightly on the gas.
The engine roared in a profuse display of vigor, completely taking the driver off guard. Tires squealed, the RPM meter hit the roof, and what was once the gate that separated the Law-forsaken compound-slaughterhouse from the main street, now made a fine hood-accessory for Texas' imported Columbian muscle-beast.
"L-LAW, ANDY!" The girl by his side got sent flying back into her seat. Her hands flimsily tried to desperately grab and hold onto the handle hanging by the door, to somehow counteract all the newtons coursing through her body. She burst into a wide-eyed grin, reflecting all the neon lights passing by at the speed of light, like smudges of paint being carelessly flicked across her canvas of apricot orange. "You're not messing around today, huh?"
"U-Uh-huh." Andy swerved from lane to lane, apologetically flicking the hazard lights with his knee after each near rear-end. "... Can you shift to second?"
"Y-You're in first!?" Texas immediately came back to the living, poking her head between the two. The sound of the engine's constant chortling and choking worked like a charm to wake her up. "Clutch! Foot off the gas!"
Andy did as requested, much to the engine's pleased hum. Some night-time commuters honked from behind, voicing their annoyance.
"... Now put it in second."
"..." Andy glanced at the stick. Then at Texas. Then at Lem. Then at his only, left hand, gripping the leathery steering wheel tight.
Where his right arm used to be, now a tightly tied knot of freshly-sewn wool graced the eyes of everyone unmannered enough to stare. It was a team effort, learning how to sew and putting together a new sleeve for the cripple. After he got out of the hospital, Emperor gave him a quick look-over and asked to somehow cover up that "dried up meat pile" sticking from his shoulder, because "his sore eyes couldn't handle that much misery at once." The entirety of Penguin Logistics got to thinking of what to do, and eventually came to a conclusion that sewing a new sleeve into his jacket would do the trick for now. Problem was, none of them knew how to actually go about repairing clothes – none, but Sora, of all people. She gave them a quick crash course in clothes-design and sewing, then put them to work.
The thought of getting a prosthetic hasn't even crossed his mind once. He did not like thinking about the matter at all. If he tried hard enough, it felt as if the arm was still there.
Still a part of him.
Still his.
"... You mind helping me with that?"
"What?" She stared back, blankly. When Andy wiggled his loose sleeve a little, she seemed to have caught on. "... Right. Exusiai, shift to second."
"Second is… what, down, right?"
"YES!"
Thrown off by the harsh command and the cough of blood that soon followed, Lem gripped the stick and pulled it down, letting Andy finally drop the clutch. The car jerked back, then forth, then back again, but sure enough, the RPM had slowly started dying down along with the speed.
"... Now third."
"Third's…" Under the Lupo's glare and Andy's stunted, yet encouraging eyes, she took a closer look at the stick itself. One, two, three… A hand with three fingers up appeared in her mind, drawing a clear line from the top left, then the bottom, before finally resting at the upper middle. "... Here?"
The car thanked her softly with a contented purr.
"..." Texas huffed and backed down to lie on the couch. She got hit bad during the (dare I say) botched, after-hours job. Sloppy work on her part. Even sloppier work on her little helpers' parts. Then again, no one had asked her to go chasing after Siracusans, or Sicilians in the dead of night. No one had asked to drag Lem and Andy along, either.
"... What even happened back there?" Andy perked up from behind the steering wheel. "I remember you flipping their little card-table and tokens flying everywhere. Then I kinda lost track."
"That's the problem. You lost track." She murmured, head beneath the driver's seat, seemingly sniffing around for something. She emerged with a bright, orange box in her hands. "... I asked you to cover me, not to lose track of your colleagues."
"I had Lem right by me." He murmured, indignant at the accusation. When the lights had gone off and all that remained was the glow of Texas' blades, along with the sparks produced by steel clashing, his eyes couldn't help but wander to the side, just to make sure that Lemuel had still been there, still in one piece. He glanced over to the passenger seat, to find her nodding along.
"Yeah, I mean, you kinda overstepped. Like, by a long shot." She put a finger to her chin, a leg on the seat with her knee for support. "You just lost it completely when those gangoons started babbling about, uh… what was it? "Family", something?"
"Something, something, family, yeah." Andy nodded, before flicking a blinker to signal a turn onto one of the many sky-highways. The engine growled, an exhilarating high overcoming its chambers.
"None of your business. In the nicest way possible." Texas mumbled from the back seat, her teeth sunken and pulling on a stretchy bandage that encircled her bare stomach. Blood quickly pooled under the fabric, soaking it through. "... You were supposed to act as enforcers. Like you were paid muscle."
"And we did!" Lem burst with playful offense. "I told everyone at the entrance that I've never seen this woman, or that man, in my entire life~."
A pair of sharp Lupo eyes glared at her through the front mirror. The angel sank a little in her seat, quickly losing the smile.
"... That's what I get for expecting you two to act serious for once. A hole in my stomach." She sighed. "We need to get this closed, quick. Left lane, Andy. Exusiai, fourth gear." Rubbing some miracle-balm into her wound and glancing past the boy's shoulder, she narrowed her gaze. Even in the left lane, some Sunday driver in front decided to clog their rapid passage by going well under the speed limit. "... Shift into fifth. Flash that car in front with high beams. Run them off the road if you have to."
"Law, Texas…" Andy glanced back to consider the sliver of a possibility that she might've been joking. Her face, as if chiseled from stone, remained utterly serious.
"Horn. Shove their back, but watch the bumper."
"How can I ram someone at…" He took a moment to read the Columbian measurements off the dashboard. "... Eighty miles an hour, and watch the bumper? Thing's coming off, clean."
"We're ramming them?" Lemuel sat up straight, her eyes gleaming with a sense of excitement. "I could pop their tires! Just let me… how do you open these windows? Where's the button?"
"There isn't one. They're crank operated."
"Crank windows…?" Her excitement dimmed down, tenfold. "Law, this thing's OLD old…"
"This thing's still driving. And it can drive way faster." Andy felt something tap him on the shoulder. He didn't even mind that her hand left a deep crimson mark on his freshly washed jacket. "... Honk."
"Right." Andy gently pressed down on the empty patch of black leather in the middle of the steering wheel. It elicited an annoyed beep from within the hood of the car. "..."
"..."
The car in front remained utterly unbothered.
"..."
"... What are you waiting for?"
"What? I honked."
Texas tapped him again.
"Keep honking until they leave the left lane."
"..."
Against all manners and principles taught in driving school (which he, admittedly, did not attend), Andy started repeatedly banging on the klaxon, firing off a cacophony of beeps and boops, eagerly urging the vehicle in front to evacuate the fast lane. Soon enough, the car swerved to the right, leaving the road open and empty, bathed in the night's darkness.
"Law, finally." Andy scoffed, and his leg grew lighter on the gas, just enough to let the car on the right keep up. "... What're they doing? Can you see the driver? Lem?"
"Hm? Yeah, sure. Some old geezer. Fancy suit, though…" She glanced through the window, eventually flicking the opposing driver the bird and sticking her tongue out. "... That's what you get for hogging the left lane!"
"Can you two stop?" Texas groaned from the back, busy with applying a high percentage alcohol based concoction to her bandage. It had to burn, judging by the constant grimaces and the sound of teeth grinding against teeth.
"I mean, sure, but…" Lem narrowed her gaze, anchored to the other driver. "... This guy's rolling down his window. Oh Lord, I think he wants a word."
"Yeah?" Andy leaned over to get a better look. To catch a whiff of her perfume too, but his brain wouldn't let him admit to it. "... Roll down ours, let's see what he wants."
.
Lem did as instructed, dutifully working the window crank. Right as a tiny slit between the body of the car and the glass had appeared, a mighty suction of wind being flung into the interior filled their ears with its mind-cluttering wail. Texas yelled something from the back seat, Lemuel covered her ears, and Andy leaned further over her lap to reach the other driver.
"... WHADDA FUCK ARE YA HONKIN' AT ME FOR, IMBECILLE, CAZZO?!" The man, a Lupo far from his golden days, yelled towards their Columbian beast. Andy's eyes immediately locked in on the cigarette between his lips, and the loaded crossbow in his fancily padded out, expensive cashmere-clad lap. His thick Siracusan accent had also been quite noticeable, especially after the earlier events of that night.
"WHAT'RE YOU HOLDING UP THE LEFT LANE FOR?!" He yelled back, supported both by a hand on the steering wheel and Lemuel, who sorta held him up by the side. She turned to glare along at the Lupo.
"HOLDIN' UP? I'M NOT HOLDIN' NOTHIN' UP, PAL! YOU'RE SEEIN' THINGS, SONNY! YOU'RE THE ONE HONKIN' AT ME WHILE IM DOIN' A FACKIN HUNDRED MILES IN A NINETY ZONE!"
"BULLSHIT, Y-... OW! YOU WERE GOING WAY BELOW A HUNDRED!" Andy yelled back, and Lem stuck out her tongue again. Texas kept clawing at their backs and going on and on about something, but the piercing whistle of the wind made it so that they couldn't hear a thing.
"YOU TELLIN' ME, IN MY FACE, THAT IM A LIAR? 'S THAT WHAT YOU'RE TELLIN' ME, PAL?"
"WHAT? I'M SAYING YOU WEREN'T DOING A HUNDRED! I WOUDLN'T HAVE HONKED OTHERWISE!"
"YOU'RE CALLIN' ME A LIAR? YOU THINK IM LYIN'?"
"YEAH! YEAH, I'M CALLING YOU A LIAR! I'M CALLING YOU A SLOSHED UP GREASE-HAIR HURLING A SHITBOX (ow.) THROUGH THE LEFT LANE!"
"YOU TALKIN' TO ME? YOU TALKIN' TO ME?!"
"YEAH, I'M TALKIN' TO YOU!"
"YEAH HEH, WE'RE TALKING TO YOU!" Lemuel joined in, grinning wildly with a hand lazily thrown out the window to flip the guy off.
"YOU! YOU… YOU! I'LL TEACH YOU BOTH MUTTS SOME DAM' RESPECT! YOU KNOW WHO I AM? I'M SICILIAN, YOU TWERPS!" The man had now been reduced to a boiling mess of anger and nerves. He reached for the crossbow to wave it about the cabin, much to the displeasure of the other people in his car. "I CAN LEAVE YOU GUTTED AND GUSHING ON THE SIDEWALK, IDIOTI! NO REPERCUSSIONS!"
"Oh, big scary." Lemuel let out a snort, then reached behind her back. "Texas, hand me Luciella~! We're doing a thingie-measuring contest with the ugly mutt!"
With an overly exasperated groan, the Lupo reached over the backrest and rummaged around for the aforementioned rifle. Andy kept arguing with the guy, exchanging slurs and slinging curses, completely numb to the splitting pain pulsating inside his halo, and slowly spilling all the way down his spine.
"... Here." Texas muttered, leaning to the front to pass Lem her beloved submachine gun. Peeking out from behind the excited redhead, her eyes caught a glimpse of the driver to the right. Something snapped, fell and broke. The ears, the cells making up his skin, the hair and even the unbranded cigarette between his lips.
Their eyes met, for but a moment.
"YEAH, WHAT'RE YOU GONNA SAY TO THAT? HUH?" Andy triumphantly outyelled the howling wind, sensing victory soon to be his. As Lem kept waving her gun around, and cranking the window back up, the other driver's eyes went wide. A little too wide.
"..." He uttered something, muffled by the glass. Andy saw his fingers going white from the intensity at which he gripped the steering wheel, and his face overcoming with an anger far more primal than anything he's displayed before. And he's been making rather silly faces for the past ten minutes. "IT'S HER! IT'S DA WOLF! IT'S THAT LUPO BITCH!"
The screams shot a clear, no bullshit command through the brains of everyone present in the other car. Crossbows glinted in the windows, their shiny bolts reflecting off the boy's deeply shocked eyes.
"Drive." He heard a rough, but moderately quiet voice by his ear. "Right now."
"..." One last look at Lem, who fiddled haphazardly with the safety of her gun was all he needed. One hand on the wheel, a heavy foot on the gas – pedal to the metal, absolute full throttle. With the speed of light trapped under the hood, the Columbian muscle-beast roared a song of the freeway, hurling forward like a speeding bullet. Windows shattered, Texas flew down to the floor, Andy ducked, and a volley of bolts lodged themselves deep into the chassis. Lemuel rolled her sleeves down and blew the window apart with the butt of her gun, once more allowing the wind to trap them all in its booming vortex of supersonic airflow – LOUD!
BANG!
CLANG!
TWANG!
Andy swerved rapidly to the right, taking initiative to try and ram the fuckers clear off the road. The sound of brakes squealing in displeased protest filled the night, as the headlights of the car behind slowly grew smaller and smaller, leaving them huffing on the dust stirred by Texas' highway queen. Andy swallowed a large ball of spit and jerked his head back to assess the damage.
"Everyone alright?!" He screamed past the howling wind, blindly navigating the road. Lem craned her neck away from the shattered window, her hair all fluttering in a wild mess of crimson. A quick, but convincing smile crossed her lips as she nodded. Texas on the other hand…
"S-Some help?!" Her voice emerged from beneath the driver's seat, the rest of her body otherwise invisible. Andy had to switch between looking at the road and rolling his eyes along the length of the back-area in hopes of finding the Lupo. Her ears wiggled and soon popped right by floor level.
"Law…" He murmured, taking in her blood-covered face. "Lem? Lem?!"
"Mmm?!"
"Help her up! I'm gonna take us off this highway!"
"Mmm-hmm! On it!"
She jumped between the seats to help the poor woman drag herself from beneath. With the wind forcefully worming into his brain, Andy was left with a not-so-quiet moment to relax and think about the dreamed up "Road Home."
The tar river of black asphalt suspended high up in the air to allow for easier transport, the one they affectionately called their little "Dumping Bridge" (far down below lay their trusted easy, one-way, no-stress hidey hole for bodies, unwanted documents and somesuch), brought back memories of the long nights spent zoning out to "The Skirmish" wailing from the radio, and Croissant's melodic hums. Him and the girl haven't spoken of that one fateful night ever since it all went down. Maybe it was for the better. Maybe not. Andy did not like thinking about it.
With the voices of Lem and Texas behind his back, the gales of wind trying to rip his head clean off coming from the right, Andy managed to doze off behind the wheel. It wasn't some rare occurrence, especially this late at night. Who could blame a working man for opting to let his lids fall just a little and indulge in Sister Midnight's sweet, sweet call?
Something flashed. Something rumbled. A bright flash of rapidly approaching headlights filled the rear view mirror.
Andy felt a surge of adrenaline squirting from his brain and down the rest of his body, right before the overbearing brightness could swallow him whole.
The only sensible thought-train in his head prodded towards the girl to his side. Andy let go of the wheel and grabbed the back of her jacket, before pulling back with all his might – as hard as his meek arm let him – into the front seat.
The gesture just barely, barely avoided some major and permanent spine damage.
THUD.
BUMP.
The back window shattered at once.
The tires creaked with displeasure at their trajectory suddenly being changed. He couldn't hear the squeals or gasps of his passengers – couldn't see them either – but he knew they couldn't have remained motionless at the sudden jerk to the right. Something hit their rear hard, sending the car skidding into the emergency lane.
Andy grabbed the wheel, hand immediately going white from the strength of his grip. One foot squished the pedal against the floor, the other was flung hard against the rubber mat.
The engine roared. A needle on the RPM counter hit the roof, continuously bouncing back and forth.
Rapidly speeding through the highway, swerving left and right, Andy couldn't see anything but the dark road ahead. The headlights could only illuminate so much. Cars flew by, passing on the left and right, with a mass of pure, blinding light still clinging hard to their non-existent tail, refusing to leave for even a moment. Whenever he glanced back, their high beams flicked him one in the nose, so he just kept focus on splitting the lanes between honking Lungmenites commuting back home.
"THEY'RE STILL ON US!" Lem's voice erupted from the side. Something gripped his shoulder, probably her. Maybe Texas. He didn't know. His eyes were welded to the car's front as much as the headlights. "... KEEP SWERVING, I'LL SHAKE 'EM OFF!"
With the wind's boom, he could barely even hear her. The noise subsided for a moment, as she stuck her upper body out of the shattered window, the submachine gun in her arms, her crimson hair and tongue flailing wildly in the rapids. Andy heard a few gunshots being exchanged here and there, but no matter how many casings flew back into his lap, the rampaging monster behind just did NOT want to let go.
"I CAN'T… I CAN'T SEE ANYTHING!" She yelled, once retracted back into the cabin. "Can't aim with these lights! It's like… it's major cheating! Shouldn't be allowed!"
"Law…" Andy shot his nailed-through halo a quick glance, just before another wave of tremors could overcome the car. They shook and clinked, when the ori-petrolium monster on their back rammed their rear with equal ferocity as before. Out of options, he closed his eyes and ran a quick prayer through his head.
"... What're you..?" Texas managed to utter, as a hand snaked past the back seats, aimed towards the shattered rear window. Nuffer in hand, Andy kept the car somewhat steady, with the steering wheel between his knees, and the road free to send him whatever comeuppance it deemed worthy for being disrespectfully crossed without looking. One eyed closed, tongue flung out and bitten down hard enough to draw blood, Andy felt his core muscles burning from the effort it took to keep him stabilized in place, leaning overly exposed and staring right into the glaring headlights of the prowling steel beast.
His mind cleared of any other thoughts.
There was only him, his trusted companion, and a full magazine of ori-buzzing cartridges.
Slowly, his finger caressed the trigger…
"...?!" Lem jumped at the sound of a REAL, LIVE-LOADED firearm being discharged so near. Texas blinked, sparing them the sight of her ears rapidly wiggling and curling to the beat of the pistol being discharged. One, two, three…
Two bullets flew off into the night, but the third one connected. They couldn't hear the crash, with their ears still ringing from the gunshots, but one of the blidning lights went off in an instant. Lem's face burst into a wide, beaming grin, eager to commemorate her buddy for such skillful shooting, but Andy couldn't be asked to do anything but keep his attention laser-focused on the other headlight.
Texas pressed her back flush to the car door, as the pistol's side lingered dangerously close to her nose. She closed her eyes and tucked her fluffy ears beneath her hands.
BANG!
THWANG!
KLANG!
Three more gunshots, three empty shells ejected clear into her face. Each one plinked off her forehead and fell somewhere between the folds of the couch, leaving her with a most burning sensation.
"N-Nice shooting…" She hissed, while rubbing the warm spot between her eyes. A momentary strike of pain was still a good alternative to being rammed again, as the shots seemed to throw the beast's driver off for a moment or two, making them slam hard on the brakes. More than that, the blinding lights were gone.
"Thanks, Andy!" Lem beamed the boy a bright smile, then grabbed her gun and shot out the window again. It left him staring at the road with a dumb, silly grin, all warm and fuzzy inside, completely negating the burning, festering pain in his sides. That smile and her elated voice worked on him as well as calling a dog a "good boy" would. Not that he'd mind being called that either.
"Have at it, rear-rammers!" The sound had just barely reached his ears, before being drowned by the rapid machine gun fire of her Laterano approved holy-gun. The car kept swerving left and right, even sometimes ditching the highway altogether and instead dipping into the emergency lane to the right. Andy really, truly did his best, waving his only hand around like a maniac – like a naval commander dancing with the ship wheel during a mighty storm – putting all his high-speed, adrenaline-fueled steering capabilities to the test, but no matter what he did, the Siracusan beast on their backs just wouldn't let go.
"CAN YOU KEEP HER A LITTLE MORE STEADY?!" Lem yelled between the volleys of rubber she sent down "range." "I CAN'T REALLY AIM WELL ON THE MOVE~!"
"What do you mean, "can't aim well?!" Texas growled from the back seat, her head poking between the two. "Isn't hitting moving targets what you're being paid for?!"
"BUT WE'RE OFF THE CLOCK RIGHT NOW~!"
"So your aim's worse when there's no money on the line?!"
"UH-HUH! SOMN' LIKE THAT!"
A rattle of rapid fire quickly turned to an audible click, as the waterfall of empty lead stopped pouring in through the window. Lem jumped back into her seat.
"Damn, outta ammo. Texas, would you be so kind~?" She blasted the Lupo with her overbearingly sweet puppy-dog eyes, gesturing to the gaping, empty hole in her gun, where the magazine should be. She let out a tired sigh, but eventually reached back for a spare mag. Lem's eyes, halo and wings immediately gleamed with pleased excitement.
"Alright, round two, noodle-munchers!" With a grin splattered over her mug, she reached for the window again, but Texas grabbed her halo just before she could stick it outside. "OW! Ow! Ow, ow, ow, owie–... ow…! What the hell?!"
"Try to actually HIT them. That's the last mag."
Even through the blowing wind, Andy could hear the stern seriousness. Lem glanced back at the Lupo, then at her gun.
"... Last mag?"
"Last one."
"I didn't pack any more…?"
"You packed eight, then blasted six into a wall at the compound."
"Damn…" She murmured, before examining her gun once more. "... Andy?"
"Hm?" He perked up from behind the wheel, rapidly catching and letting it fly to the left and right every few seconds.
"... You wanna take over the shooting?"
"What?!"
"Yeah~!" She leaned over, damn near almost clambering into his lap. "Just gimme the wheel for a second, jump out there and get these loser-sorts sorted!" The hopeful smile on her face worked on his heart like the glaring Lateran sun on a pile of gelato. "... Right? You can do that, right? Still got it in ya~?~"
"Oh, piss off." Andy scoffed at the thought of his shooting-abilities degrading, then let go of the wheel. Lemuel immediately jumped over to keep it steering clear ahead, and Andy grabbed the gun.
"..." Under Texas' watchful glare, he politely cranked down the window and stuck his head out. The wind near damn ripped his halo off, sending tufts of curls hailing into his eyes. He haphazardly brushed them aside and grabbed the cold roof of their Columbian highway queen. With no other way to support himself, he had to sit down on the edge of the rolled-down window, legs pathetically dangling about in the cabin. Lemuel immediately took the driver's seat, rubbing her grabby little hands across the steering wheel, while her legs sought out the pedals.
"Which one's the gas?" She tugged at Andy's sweater. "... Left? Right? Middle?"
"RIGHT!" Andy threw back, his head all in disarray at the messy, sloppy driving on display. A few cars skidded off their lane at the sight of the approaching, roaring fireball that had little to no care for any whimsy "traffic laws."
Lem sank down beneath the dashboard. Before her, lay three pedals.
Left.
Middle.
Right.
She put a finger to her chin. Some distant memory brought about the image of her brightly smiling mother, clapping out a happy rhythm and humming a little counting-out rhyme.
.
One, two, three, four, five,
Once I caught a fowlbeast alive,
Six, seven, eight, nine, ten,
Then I let it go again,
.
Why did you let it go?
Because it bit my finger so.
Which finger did it bite?
.
…
.
Lemuel took a moment to assess all the possibilities.
.
This little finger on my right!
.
She slammed her foot against the middle one. The car choked in confusion, as if even IT did not anticipate the strange decision.
The brakes squealed.
"?!"
Andy's eyes went wide at the suddenly-rapidly approaching pile of Siracusan metal whaling from behind.
"!"
Texas flew head-first into the windshield.
Lem seemed to realize her mistake, but before her brain could process the situation, a metric fuckton of steel crashed into the back of their car.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The dark emptiness of nothing was so beautiful, that time of year.
It didn't prod. Didn't nudge, didn't ask him to do anything but enjoy its sweet silence and gentle feel. The feel of a warm blanket draped over one's shoulders. Shoulders? Not just shoulders. The entire body. Like being wrapped up in the embrace of someone familiar. A dear lover. A friend. A friend, hopefully someday lover? Andy did not know.
His head caught a little whiff of the familiar, apple-scented perfume that mixed and blended with the sweet smell of burnt ori-powder. His lips involuntarily twisted into a smile, as he sniffed around to locate the source. There, right here. Right on top of him, on his chest. He could feel something heavy and light at the same time, something warm and fuzzy, using him as a mattress. It took a little effort, but both his arms eventually budged and slid from beneath. How silly it all felt. Lying in the embrace of someone so dear and wanted, yet being unable to return the gesture. He let out the tiniest of chuckles, before tenderly cradling the fluffy weight in his arms – tight, like a familiar plushie. A bed-ready companion.
She shifted. All of her.
The legs straddling his sides, the thighs against his waist, the arms around his neck, the mound of warm, crimson hair dripping down his chest…
And her weary little head.
She breathed out some warmth, along with a little, girlish giggle. He couldn't see, but he knew she was smiling into his neck.
"... Hey, sleepyhead." His lips whispered for him, brushing softly against her hair. Lazy was the morning, and lazy were the two of them. Lemuel shifted further, burying her entire weight deeper into his warmth, head nuzzling further into the softness of his sweater.
"Hee-eeey…" She mumbled, voice groggy and permeated with lazy weary. "... Did we oversleep again…?"
"Did we?" Andy reached out to blindly rub around the nape of her neck, his fingers like tiny climbers making their way up the bulge of her spine, before reaching the bountiful spring of (assumedly) saffron-red hair. "... I don't think there's anything to be oversleeping for, Lemmy…"
"Oh, such wishful thinking on your part, moron…" She purred in content at the feel of his soft fingers. "... Where's the usual side, mmm…? Where's the usual gloom?"
"What gloom? I'm anything but gloomy, thank you very much."
Tap. Andy tapped her on the top of the head. She giggled at the unexpected motion.
"Whaddya mean, not gloomy? You're always all glooming, all sad and tired when you're anywhere but with me. What's up with that?" An accusatory finger poked him in the cheek. "... Are you acting? Are you an actor, Mr Reiff? Is my late night movie-buddy a con artist?"
"I'm not a con artist." Andy thought long and hard. It came at a difficulty. A difficulty he couldn't be bothered with, so he relapsed to forgetting all about himself and simply hugging the girl close. "... I'm not."
"Oh, suuuuuuuure you're not." She wiggled in his embrace, getting all the more comfy, all the more sluggish and mushy, all the more likely to be keeping him there for the entirety of today, tonight, and the following week. "... But really. Like, seriously for a moment."
"Hm?"
"..." She leaned in closer. Andy could feel her sweetly apple-scented breath warming his face. "... Who are you?"
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He froze.
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"What?"
"Who are you, Andy?"
"What? What… what sorta question is that?"
"Andy?" She kept repeating, like a broken record.
"What? I'm… you know who I am, Lem. I'm Andy. I'm me."
"Andy?"
"I am… I'm myself. Andy Reiff."
"Andy?"
"Me. Myself. Andy Reiff. Reiff, not Ricketts. I'm Andrew Reiff. An-drew. R-eiff."
"Andy…?"
"No one else. Right- right? You know that, right? I'm not… I'm not a bad person, okay…?"
"Andy…?"
"I'm not him. I am NOT him, I promise."
"Andy…?"
"Lemmy, I promise. I promise, I promise I'm not him."
"Andy…?"
"I'm not him…"
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"ANDY!"
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A white flash of pain split his face in half. Previously numb to the pain, now blooming with hurt and other burning sensations, his head begged to be let wide open, to burst and splatter his brain all around the dark, gloomy street. His eyes shot open, only to welcome the blurry outline of a familiar face with a pair of fuzzy ears up top.
"... You alive?"
Texas stood in the faint gleam of a limelight casted from high above. The glow came down in showers of soft yellow, bringing out the barely visible worry in her eyes, when she scanned his bruised face.
"... I'm alive." Andy mumbled back, slowly but surely managing to pull himself to a sitting position with his only arm. Everything hurt like hell, but he's had it worse. This type of "bones nearly breaking" pain would rank nowhere near the tip of his pains-I've-had list. "... You?"
"You have eyes." She hummed back, her lids drooping gently. "... I'm clearly alive."
"You know what I mean." He pointed to the general area of her stomach, now covered by her usual P.L. assigned attire. "... The wound?"
"Bandaged."
"And the bandage?"
"Holding up well enough."
He clicked his tongue. If she didn't wanna chat, so be it.
"And Lem?"
"Lem?"
"Lem! Exusiai, I mean."
"Oh." She took in his worry-filled eyes, before stepping back. "... Still in the driver's seat. You got flung out the side. Looked pretty bad."
"Did it?" Rubbing the back of his head, he couldn't help but snort at the assessment. Looked bad. Yeah, no shit. "... And she's alive too, yeah?"
"Mmm." Texas kept her eyes locked on his face, unwavering for even a moment. She produced a rectangular paper pack from the pocket of her jacket and flicked it open. An array of cigarettes sat politely inside, like a row of soldiers eagerly awaiting to have their tips lit and be sent into battle with her lungs.
"... And the guys chasing us?" He looked past the flicker of a lighter, scrunching his nose. The smell, as always, was less than pleasant.
"Them?" Upon taking a drag, Texas gestured behind, towards the site of the crash. Their Columbian highway beast stood, strangely enough, mostly undamaged (besides some minor-major dents in the back – a few hammer swings would have it looking brand new), with its grinning grill beneath a lamplight, basking in the glory of a battle won. Behind, though, a massive half-truck poked out from the side of the highway barrier, smoldering with smoke and sizzling loudly – loud enough to break through the constant hum of cars passing by. It seemed lodged into the wall well enough to not be of any issue anymore.
"... I'd say they're out." She summed up, before blowing the smoke out. Andy mentally thanked her for carefully avoiding catching his face. "... Out cold. Or not."
As soon as she finished, the Siracusan beast's cabin door flung wide open. It flew off its hinges, tumbled about the asphalt, then fell to the floor with an empty clang. Andy saw the dirty, lightly red-ish boot protruding from inside, groping around for the steps down to floor-level. A whole suit-clad body followed, with a messy, Lupo head nailed to the top. Hair all sticky with blood, the old man clambered down onto the street, his legs shaky and messy – wobbly, as if turned to overwchewed gum. Another one followed suit, barking around commands and pulling at a hand sticking from the cabin.
"Angelo! Ey, Angelo! Stop fuckin' around, ya greaseball! C'mon, Angelo, we gotta get 'at sonnambula behind the wheel! Fucking pazza, who in their right mind slams onna brakes like 'at?! I'm drivin' 'ere!"
He yelled towards the trio's car, while still making an effort at pulling "Angelo" out of the cabin.
"Oh, come on, ya… come on, what're you clinging onto in there?! Just let go, you fackin piece of shit, lazy, work-hating, pasta-munching, trouser-belt-popping…"
Pop.
The man fell back to the floor, landing on his rear. In his hands, the severed arm of "Angelo."
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"... Ah, vaffanculo…"
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He spat on the ground, then threw the blood-squirting limb away. His eyes caught the gazes of Andy and Texas.
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"... Ey? EY! EY! IT'S DA WOLF!" He grabbed the shoulders of his only living buddy, shaking hard back and forth. "AY, CAVOLO! MARCO, IT'S HER!"
"Whuh?" Marco, slightly shaken awake, stilled his gaze on the two. "... Holy macaroni, Petey. HOLY SHIT, IT'S HER!"
"IT'S DA FUCKIN' WOLF!"
"IT'S HER! IT'S HER!"
"GET THE SHANKS, MARCO."
"Yeah, yeah, on it, boss."
Texas helped Andy to his feet, then joined in on politely watching the two goons gearing up for a brawl in the middle of the street. All knifed and dangerous, they wobbled over a few meters closer, short steel glinting in the lamp lights.
"Y'think ya can just break da rules like that and get away with it all?" The nameless one spouted through a mess of blood and broken teeth, spitting the concoction out all over his fancy suit. The other shot him a slightly disgusted look and shuffled a bit to the back.
"Y-Yeah, what he said."
"Nah! Noone breaks da rules on my watch. Fuggedabout it, pal." He grinned. With a short knife in hand, he joined his knuckles together to form a very messy tattoo that said "SICILIAN" in uneven lettering. "We're SICILIANS, wolf! Ain't no Sicilian ever lost to a Texan!"
"... Hell are they talking about?" Andy whispered to Texas, but she only shook her head.
"Spouting nonsense." She replied, quietly. Without a further word, a small tangle of her jacket came apart to reveal something akin to a rubber bike handle hanging loosely on the inside. She took the object, brandishing like a mighty blade. A bright flash of orange light conquered the limelights, as a thin beam of copper glow protruded from the tip. Andy remembered seeing this sorcery once before, right after having his shit rocked hard by a bunch of drunk bikers trying to make a move on Lem. He sighed, then began patting down his cargo pants.
"Oh, you wanna do it the hard way, yeah? Yeah, you Texans always 'bout to put up a fight, no?" The goon cackled, with his legs crossing circles surprisingly elegantly, locked in a staredown with the woman, circulating the middle of the street. His buddy Marco followed suit, clinging to his side.
"Stop talking." Texas hissed, taking slow and careful steps in this mutual dance of hatred and bloodlust. Her left ear wiggled at the sensation of the art-sword bumping off the hard concrete.
"Why should I stop talking? What, cat got your tongue? What're ya, som' sorta mute now? We gonna do you in like we did back then. All 'at for not following the rules of the game, AGAIN." He cackled. "Think there's some higher power watching over you here? Some howling from afar that'll come 'n get ya? Fling you across Terra? What's next on the agenda, ah? Sargon? Back to Columbia? Try something new? Laterano? Old hellhole, cazza. Dumb move, REALLY dumb move."
"Oh, not Laterano." Andy mumbled through a thick piece of metal in his mouth, trying somewhat lazily to rack it with his hand and teeth. "... No one shittalks Laterano."
This time, the Law didn't even bother striking him for swearing.
.
"Or what?" The goon asked again, circling and circling. Texas stood her ground, tail frozen in place, eyes locked on his. "... Nowhere is safe at this point. A deal's a deal."
"Deal's a deal." She said, calmly, before assuming a half-crouched position (cigarette still in mouth!). A wild glint of orange passed through her eyes – threw the shackles of fear onto the goons' wrists – and allowed her to pounce forward, with the blade aimed between the two. Neon apricot split the night cityscape in half, with the distant howling of houndbeasts filling the ears of everyone present – clashing with the constant urban sprawl and klaxon of civilization, beating it senseless and leaving in a blighted shock at the true might of Mother Nature…
… Only to immediately be muffled by a duo of lazy gunshots.
Bang.
Thud.
Bang.
Thud.
"..."
Texas stopped halfway through, her glowing sword still buzzing with ori-energy. The two adversaries now lay by her feet, drilled in the skulls by a bone-copper alloy, 9 millimeters in diameter. She straightened herself, flicked the sword off, then shoved it in her jacket, before turning to Andy.
"... You just had to."
"I dunno." He threw back with a lazy shrug, then flicked the safety on his beloved Nuffer and returned him to a random pocket. "... They called Laterano a hellhole."
"And you're that much of a patriot."
"Not really. Just feeling a little extra Lateran at the thought of visiting soon."
"Mmm." She glanced down at the bodies. Both motionless, both already starting to gather a shared pool of blood beneath their heads. Texas kicked one of them in the ribs, then ashed her cigarette on top. "... Good shooting, though. Nice aim."
"Better than Lem's." He smirked, down on his knees and collecting the spent shells. One night spent at the L.G.D. headquarters was enough to make him develop this unbreakable habit (and no matter how many times Texas had reassured him of a "cleanup crew" rolling in to scrub the floor clean after their fun-times had ended, he still opted to plink the tiny lead shells into his pocket.)
"Better than "Lem's", sure." The tiniest ghost of a smile graced her lips. Texas took a drag, then deeply exhaled. "... Go check on her. Take her to the back seat, I'll drive us home."
"Oh, I can drive just fine." He reassured, already on his way over to the car. "My arm's alright, legs all in one piece, head's okay…"
"Andy, I said that not out of concern for you, but for my car." Any shadow of a smile had been dropped in an instant. "... Get her in the back seat."
"..." He blinked a few times. "... Yes, sir."
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The rest of the drive home was rather quiet. As far as chatter goes, at least.
The Columbian "highway queen" had a lot to say about its deplorable condition, especially with Texas behind the wheel. It wailed her a symphony of sobby complaints about its tear-worthy state, in the form of a constant, static grind of metal against concrete and steel, complete with a plethora of red lights flashing on the dashboard and beeping to add some more melodicism into the entire hymn of mechanical misery. Texas quietly and intently listened to its cacophony, affectionately rubbing her fingers across the steering wheel and silently promising to never let Andy or (especially) Lemuel drive it, ever again.
The two were left to entertain one another in the back seat.
It took Lem a moment to come to, since the crash rattled her brain a bit. Judging by today, and by everything he's ever learned about the girl – from their very first meeting, spent sampling and enjoying the taste of colorful crayons, to the situation from that night – her brain couldn't have been neither the largest, nor the most wrinkled. He loved that about her, though. He loved being able to just BE with someone who operated on similar brain waves as himself. At least he hoped she did.
They spent the first twenty minutes in silence, staring out the windows. With the wind's howl in their ears, and the car's grumbly grindings burrowing into their bodies, they didn't have much of a choice, anyway. Then, though, came the tiny, exchanged glances and smirks. Breathless giggles and stifled laughs. A look here, a look there…
An elbow to the ribs.
A playful punch to the shoulder.
An insult to her driving.
A line balancing between a field of eggshells, topics not to be brought up in his presence.
And ultimately a kick to his legs.
A bundle of twitchy fingers to her sides.
A wheeze of breathless laughter.
And an unamused look from Texas.
As the two wrestled and giggled away on the back couch, tickling one or the other and constantly switching power hierarchies, fighting for the place on top, Texas instead fixed the mirror to avoid their flushed, grin-ridden faces. She caressed her car's dashboard affectionately and whispered something about promising it a fresh paint job.
And the two in the back?
Andy had a little trouble keeping up with the girl, especially when she had the advantage of not being a cripple. His only hand worked wonders during the sneak attack on the side of her waist, but then fell flat when it was time to follow through with a counter to her double-handed response. She quickly pinned him down under herself, much like she did in the barely-still-remembered dream, which left him utterly at her mercy. Squealing and kicking, giggling and chuckling, the sounds and noises only worked to fuel the Lupo-up-front's growing grumpiness.
Eventually, once they got bored of tickle-wrestling, and started poking her fluffy ears from the back, Texas stopped the car with a blaring squeal of the tires, and kicked them out a good five kilometers away from Lem's apartment. She threw them a quiet "Good night" as a parting gift and drove off, barely avoiding the nearest lantern.
"..."
Both of them blinked, staring at the trail of oil left by the wrecked car. They blinked again.
Their eyes met.
And they blinked again.
And again. One last time, before bursting into a fit of uncontrollable giggles.
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"... I'd say she overreacted a bit, yeah." Lem kicked forward a still rock, the object echoing through the dead street. "... I mean, you saw the car."
"Mmm?" Andy walked by her side, his wings flailing gently, as if eager to take his spirit high up into the sky, only anchored by his corporeal flesh.
"The car. You saw it, right?"
"Mmmhmm." He gave a nod, slightly troubled and utterly captivated by the melting smile on her face. He had to sidestep about five lanterns already. Walked face-first into two by accident. "... What about it?"
"What about it?" She scoffed. "What about it, is that it didn't even get THAT much of a dent. I mean, yeah, sure, the back got wrecked, but the rest? You saw it, the rest drove like a charm, no? I mean, I'm not big into cars, but even I could tell that thing could take another beating and come out scot-free."
"There is no way in hell…" Andy began, as their little night-trip took a right turn, literally and not. "... that you're actually trying to defend yourself."
"Why wouldn't I?" She took a breath, eyes widening at the sight of him giggling. "Wh-... No, don't snicker at me, why the hell wouldn't I defend myself?"
" 'Cause you wrecked the entire thing?"
"No, I did not." Lem scoffed. The next rock-kick sent the little dirt-ball flying across the street. The gun slinged by her side rattled along to Andy's Vinny clattering on his back.
"Yes, you did."
"I did not." She bumped his hip, effectively knocking him off the sidewalk. Andy caught his untied lace and nearly fell over. "... See? You can't even walk straight, let alone make any sorta sensible claim. Hell, heaven, they both know I didn't wreck anything."
"Dude, the Law used to kill people for lying." He clambered back up, then returned her nudge with one of his own, which knocked her onto the nearest patch of grass. "Like, no bullsh–... no jokes, no nothing, just straight up perishing."
"Nah." She narrowed her gaze. "... No, really?"
"Yeah? We had that in history class at some point."
"And you actually still remember? Law…"
"No, it just kinda… y'know, it just kinda stuck with me." Andy smiled at the fond memories of Laterano flooding his mind and body with warmth. "I mean, heavens striking people for babbling about random stuff kinda sticks with you as a kid. Imagine telling a nine year old that he's gonna straight up DIE if he lies about, like… like, stealing candy or something."
"Messed up stuff." Lem let out a snort. "That's actually so funny, too."
"FUNNY?" A glare shot her way. "Nine year old me getting scarred for life is funny to you?"
"You didn't get scarred for anything, you tattletale. You used to sling lies like it was nothing, like your life depended on it." She got all up in his face, poking and rubbing her accusatory finger over his cheeks. "... And you probably still are, you little con-man, you. Hmmmm~?"
Sensing a familiar, but strange, and churning feeling in his stomach, Andy decided to steer away from the topic.
"Yeah, but it was all different back then. Laterano, going to school, all of it."
"Going to school." Lem raised a brow. "Occasionally visiting on national holidays, in your case."
"Piss off." He flicked a finger through her halo, which made her squeak a bit. "... But yeah, kinda. I should probably visit."
"Visit what?"
"The school. Y'know, when I'm there."
"... What?"
Lemuel stopped in place, forcing him to do the same. Their eyes locked.
"... You're going to Laterano?"
"Y-... Yeah? With Croissant, did I not… Have I not mentioned it?"
Staring into her confused eyes, his brain slowly started realizing and processing the past few weeks as a reality, more than a movie watched on the side in her apartment, late at night. He hasn't told her. And he probably should've. He probably should've done so much more.
Should've used it as an opportunity. An opportunity to prove that Andrew Reiff still had the reins in his only one hand.
A needle of excitement nestled into his brain.
"You wanna go?"
"What?" Lem blinked. "... What, with you?"
"Yes!" He jumped forward, animated by some unknown fever rummaging through the folds of his brain. "Lem, we can go. Like, JUST go. Pack up and go. I've got the catastrophe forecasts and everything at the ready, got the maps, the roads, a car fueled up, most my bags packed…" He took her right hand, much to her befuddled confusion. Would've taken both, if not for the lack of another. "... Just you and I. Like old times…? Y'know, we could walk down to that peach strudel joint… We could check out the apricot orchard…? Remember the apricot trees? Outside the city…?"
"Andy, I-..." Her eyes kept fluttering, trying desperately to make sense of his ramblings and wash away the confusion. "... I'm… But what about Croissant? You said you were going with her."
"Well, yeah, I mean- I mean, yeah, but... but it's… it's not set yet, y'know? I could cancel, I could tell her to just find something else to do, I dunno." He gripped her hand a bit more tight, shuffled a few centimeters closer. Lem could see his eyes clearly glowing, overcome with some never-seen-before sense of excited urgency. "... It could be just the two of us. No work, no Croissant, no nothing – just us. Laterano, and us."
No Croissant. Cross her out. "Crossie" her out. The thought sounded more humorous than disgustingly vile in his head, so he giggled.
"... We could sorta… like, actually catch up. Not just by picking up the pieces in Lungmen, but actually, fully catch up. You could… you could…" He glanced away from her eyes, failing to notice the barely-masked terror lurking behind the apricot gleam. "... You could hand-deliver En some letters? Right? She's still at home, no?"
"Andy…"
"And… And Mostima! Mostima, right! We'd look around for her! You could call her in advance, tell her we're coming! Have a big reunion chit-chat party or something?"
"Andy, that's…"
"And we could visit Miss Leni, right? Your mom? Hell, I'd be more than glad to finally give her a big hug. She… Uh… You did tell her that I'm still alive at some point, right? She knows, right?"
"..."
"And, and… and there's some other business I need to do, but that's… I mean, it's kinda personal, but you could tag along, you know? I'd love that. I mean, for you to tag along. It's some, like, lesser stuff. Graveyards, dog tags, sappy sham like that. Load of idle standing for you, heh."
"..."
Her eyes sought the pavement. Andy failed to notice.
"Right? Think about it! Me, you, Mostima, some gunning competition, a bunch of strudels? Ah? Right?" His smile, not infectious in any way, only grew when he nudged the girl in the ribs. She didn't even move, instead staring emptily at her shoes. With each mention of the blueberry-haired angel, her heart only tore further. "... Lem?"
"..." Lemuel stayed completely silent for a few moments.
A few moments too long.
Few moments void of any usual enthusiasm or easily contracted cheer.
Andy felt the wind gently tugging at his hair, playing with the curls as it seemed fit. They tumbled and flew about, crashing gently against his forehead and eyes. "... Lem?"
"I'm sorry." She gulped down a mound of spit. "... I, uh… I'd love to, Andy."
His eyes were ignited with an all-encompassing flame of pure excitement…
"... But I really can't."
… Only for it to die down as rapidly as it had appeared.
"You can't?" He asked, with just the slightest remnant of hopeful glee in his voice. "... Why not?"
"I… Well, you know." She smiled apologetically, then gently wormed her hand out of his. "... Work. Loads of it."
"Work…?"
"Look, Andy…" She let out a deep, conflicted sigh, after hearing his sad, unconvinced tone. "... I would really, really love to go with you, okay? I would want… seriously, NOTHING else in the world, than to be able to drop everything and go on a drive to Laterano with you, but I just…" Gently, she took his hand in both of hers. "... I just can't. I'm really, really sorry, but I can't."
"..."
Andy relished the feel of her fingers on her skin as much as his aching brain would let him. After all, the gaping hole growing in his chest had managed to suck out all the joy and warmth out of the world, leaving him clutching desperately onto the tiniest sliver of heat siphoned from her skin.
"... Is it because of me?" He asked after a moment, voice quiet – barely even audible. Lemuel's eyes shot wide open, and she immediately raised a hand to linger over his face.
"What? N-... No, Andy. Why would you… No. No, why would you think that…?" Her fingers dug through the lush mop of curls that veiled the boy's face to grasp and somewhat shakily hold his cheek. "... It's not because of you. Andy, it's never because of you, okay? Don't think that. Don't ever think that."
With some newfound need to appreciate her soft touch coiling behind his eyes, Andy leaned into her hand. The warm, apple-scented perfume remained evident, even on the very end of her coat's sleeve.
"... Okay." He mewled. "... Then why not?"
"..." Lem glanced away, to the side. At the rustling leaves swirling about the edges of the street, the flickering lamps and towering piles of trash cluttering the side alleys. "... It's something personal. Something really dumb. Something I can't talk about."
"..."
Andy listened, anyway. Her bright, crimson hair hid most of her face from his eyes, but they sought out her apricot irises all the more.
"... I just don't feel ready yet. Not right now."
Gently, she gave his cheek a tiny caress.
"... You understand, right?"
Her hair fluttered in the wind. Orange filled his vision, when she lifted her face to gaze directly into his tired, sad eyes. She was smiling. Weakly and wearily, but smiling nonetheless. Andy placed his hand over hers, then nodded.
"I do."
"I know you do." She let go, taking his hand once more. Her fingers led it down to his side, then left it to fester. "... You always did, anyway."
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"..."
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"You always did. Like no one else."
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The rest of the walk home was spent in silence.
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It was a nice day. Trees were dropping leaves, and the wind had a lot of toys to play with around the empty streets. A lot of rustling instruments to blow into. Especially here, in the upper-slums that bordered the many industrial areas dead-set on pumping out revenue. Revenue had that thing to it, that little constant, that made it usually crawl out of long, rusted pipes and ovals, giving the wind the opportunity to practice its tube-blowing skills. Wind-instruments, those were called, after all. Andy's never seen any opera or orchestra play, but he did pride himself in somewhat intermediately having tamed the six stringed guitar. Not that it mattered. Not that day.
That day, the guitar was staying behind. Propped up against the window of his tiny room above the library, it watched silently, as the unbranded Pacific Empire van stood out front by the curb, being tended to – back and forth – by two tiny ant-like men hauling around large suitcases, bags, and somesuch.
.
The wind offered a nice chill to cool down one's nerves and burning muscles. Andy's never been much of a strongman. Much less a baggage carrier.
"... Фух. Ну вот и всё. Gods above." Dani messily deposited an unmarked black bag in the bowels of the van, his harbor-steeled muscles all screaming in pain. He sat atop the suspended floor and leaned back against all the cushy bags and ammo crates scattered around. "... You sure you need all this extra garbage? You know, when my family was ditching Ursus, all we took were a buncha heirlooms and maybe… like, maybe a pair of undies each."
"Yeah. Very inspirational." Andy huffed past the lazy youth, his own back close to breaking at this point. Holding a loaded-up gun case above his head, he carefully placed it atop a pile of suitcases, immediately drawing a long winded breath of tired, but somewhat proud satisfaction. "... Oughta be all of it."
"Yeah. That's what I said, дурачок." Dani, his gaze teasingly half lidded, shot the boy a look of superiority. Andy blinked, a little too uneducated to understand.
"I've no idea what you've been babbling about all this time. Literally zero. Null. Could've been scheming my downfall, for all I know."
"Oh, sure." He let out a snort, throwing a thumb carelessly to the side to point at the old library. "Surely there's a long way one can fall from… from whatever THAT is."
"Dude, fuck you. OW!" Andy grasped the side of his halo to gently massage between the rusty bolts. Dani only further snickered at the sight.
"... Honestly baffling to me that you still haven't ripped those things out. What are they, like some sorta souvenir? Reminder?"
"Reminder of what? Police brutality?"
"That's why I'm asking!" He reached out to tap one of the nails, only to stop halfway through, gaze turning a little uneven. "... Does it hurt if I touch them? Or the halo?"
"... I mean…" Andy took a moment to think the notion through. "... If you don't yank them or do anything stupid, I guess. Just be gentle."
"Gentle? Like a schoolgirl's first time…" Dani stuck his tongue out in sharp, non-decadent focus. "... Kissing, that is. Извращенец." His hand met the nails, allowing his fingers to softly and tenderly stroke the rusted tips. They rattled beneath his touch, all clinking and heating up at the feel of his warm flesh. "Damn… Damn, damn, damn…"
"What?" Andy shifted awkwardly, a little uneasy at being touched so intimately. He had to admit, he would've preferred Lemuel's fingers to be working their magic on his halo, not Dani's grabby flesh-sticks.
"... They're all rattly in there and loose." He murmured, then gently tugged at one of them. It didn't budge. "... But won't come out. I mean, with a pull. I'd get Uncle Sergiy on the job with a pair of pliers and a bottle of Zyr in his system, he'd have it done by sundown."
"Yeah, we're not doing that."
"Not RIGHT NOW, you mean." The little bugger grinned smugly. "... Maybe after you come back from your pretty little Laterano, mmm?"
"I gotta get there first." Andy smiled at the notion of mere hours separating him from touching the white city's grand marbles. "... And I'm still waiting on Croissant, I mean. Gotta give her time to pack up, load up all her beauty accessories and whatnot."
"Riiight. True, still haven't seen that pretty lady of yours." Dani grinned.
"Pretty lady." Andy snickered at the nickname, a flash of film-tape playing out their last trio meeting in his head – Dani bent over the stair-rail leading up to the library, vomiting at the sight of a bunch of dead bikers scattered across this very same street. Then the grueling drive with Croissant and her heartfelt words…
He sighed.
"... Pretty lady's gonna be here at any moment now."
"Any moment." Dani sighed, lazily prepping his head up on a makeshift arm-pillow. Thoughtless hours spent lounging about the motorized docks and its many cozy crates filled with godless fluff and huff made him a master at the task. Far away, at the very end of the street, a fluttering cloak of orange caught his sleepy eyes. "... Think the moment's now, Andy."
"..." Andy perked up, blinking to wash away the morning's groggy daze. Without much of anything in his head, he glanced onward to welcome the girl with a wave.
She did not wave back.
Dani's short, ursine ears wiggled.
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"... Is it just me, or does she look kinda pissed?"
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The earth beneath her feet crackled with an almost whip-like crash at every step. The air, as if electrified by the pure, condensed resentment washing off of her in waterfall quantities, buzzed maliciously – more and more, the further she approached. She wasn't dragging along any suitcases or bags, no luggage or spare clothes.
Just a crumpled paper sheet in her hand.
"..." Andy blinked at the sight. His head couldn't quite wrap around the cause of her state. Neither could Dani, now curled up between the crates inside the van, running his wide-open eyes all over her twisted, fuming face.
The angel swallowed, then spoke up.
"... Hi, Crossie?"
"Don't ya dare "Crossie" me, ya half-witted shit for brains." She hissed back at him, voice dripping with an acid so hateful that it could very well melt steel. "... What the HELL is wrong with ya?!"
"...?" It took him a moment to even process her words, having NEVER, NEVER in his life seen her this pissed, this angry and fuming – all the more, with all the anger being directed at HIM. "I don't… What?"
"What? What?!" She spat the words back out, without sparing any decibels for his ears. Her voice really, really wanted to be heard and remembered. "What, ya don't remember? Something finally got through 'at thick skull 'a yers 'n rattled yer brain enuff' 'ta make ya forget!?"
Croissant knocked on his forehead, like one would knock on a door.
"Is it all just empty space in 'ere?!"
"What're you on about?!" Andy bit back, pushing her hand away. He felt her tense wrist beneath his touch soften and pull away instantly. A thought at the back of his head whispered that she could've probably cracked his skull open with a rougher tap.
"What am I on about? What're YA doin'?! Ya think I don't know?! Ya seriously thought I wouldn't have found out? Are you this… this incredulously dense?!"
"About what? About wh-..." Memories of the past few weeks flashed through his mind like a passing flood, all carrying their own share of dead weight and marble gravestones. "I don't know what you're talking about!"
"Oh, ya dunno. Of course ya dunno, yeah! Sure!" She threw her hands in the air, then did a little circle to stop herself from jabbing him in the face. "So imagine 'at I do, though! I know!"
"Know what?"
"Yer little plan behind me back! Yer late-night talk with yer sweet, precious angel friend, and what you had asked her!" Croissant was absolutely fuming. Unbeknownst to her, tiny trails of snot and salt-water had started gathering beneath her nose and eyes, languidly sliding down her reddened face. To stop herself from deteriorating further, she slammed the paper sheet over his head. "How… How FUCKING could ya?!"
"OW! What the hell?!" Andy covered himself with his arm and fell back into the van's luggage compartment. Dani sat curled behind an ammo crate, watching the exchange with his knees hugged tight, and eyes wide open. "I d-don't know what you're talking about!"
"You asked her to go! You told her… No, she told me! She told me, yesterday evening! She told me you asked her! Ya said the two of ya could go, CROSS me out, and just go! Just leave! Leave me here, ask me to… to FIND SOMETHIN' ELSE TO DO." Her voice cracked. "DO YA EVEN REALIZE WHAT MY LIFE'S BEEN THESE PAST FEW MONTHS?! DO YA HAVE THE MENTAL CAPABILITIES TO FUCKING REALIZE THAT MY LIFE'S BEEN REVOLVING SOLELY AROUND YA, YER STUPID BRAIN WRAPPED IN BARBED WIRE, AND YER DYIN', USELESS COMPANY?!"
The echo carried her voice across the entire street. Shadows turned their heads in the empty windows of the surrounding buildings. Some curtains covered others. Doors locked.
"S-She… what…?" Andy swallowed hard, unable to bear looking at her ruined state. "... She told you that…?"
"SHE TOLD ME TO GO, AND WATCH YA! SHE TOLD ME TO BE THERE WITH YA, 'CAUSE "YA NEED SOMEONE YA TRUST BY YER SIDE." AND LOOKIN' AT WHATEVER THE HELL YER DOIN' WITH YER LIFE, THAT'S OBVIOUSLY NOT THE CASE WITH ME, IS IT?!" A grim volley of chuckles sent a violent tremor tugging at her body. Andy couldn't look. His eyes couldn't stand having to watch her tear-stricken face. "NOTHING'S EVER THE CASE. NOTHING EVER GETS THROUGH TO YA. YA JUST REFUSE TO LISTEN, DON'T YA? YA -REFUSE- TO BE HELPED."
"..." Andy stared at his knees. The winds gently blew, urging him to look into her eyes, but he couldn't.
"... And now ya can't even look at me straight. Ya just can't do anythin' right, can ya?" Croissant let out a long, shaky breath. "... I thought it was 'cause of the arm at first. Ya didn't do anythin', ya blocked the whole wide world off, and for what? For what?! I was 'ere for ya, I SAT BY YOUR BED, DAY AFTER DAY, AFTER DAY, AND FOR WHAT?! For this? For ya to go off like this? Ya didn't even… Ya didn't even show up to Lizzy's funeral, but I thought ya just wanted to be left alone. Clearly not." She took a step back to wipe the wetness off her face with the paper sheet. "... Clearly not. Ya were just pickin' company, I guess. Ya want help, just not from me."
"..." Andy felt something akin to a great tearing happening between his guts. As if some unseen entity had sunken its claws deep into his stomach and pulled apart to fill his bowels with a ten ton weight of pure, unending guilt and festering regret. It felt cold. It felt colder than anything he's ever experienced before. Colder than the steel that took his arm.
"... Everything I've done. Everything… everything I've changed about meself, everything I thought, I thought wrong, apparently." She sniffled, swallowed, and breathed shakily. "... Everything I went through, for ya. The long nights, the–... that gawd danged NIGHTMARE in the slums… a-and Lizzy…? Liz-..."
She went quiet.
"..."
"..."
"..."
"..." Andy swallowed the prickly ball of hurt in his throat, before speaking up in a voice as tiny and miniscule, one could mistake it for the quiet mewl of a homeless stray kicked into a cardboard box. "... I'm sorry."
"..." Croissant wiped her face before attempting to look at him. Her eyes caught his, void of any usual cheer or assertive empathy.
"..." She shook her head. Her untied, apricot hair fluttered with the motion.
"... Naw. Naw, yer not. Yer not sorry." She whispered. "... Yer never sorry. Not once in yer life have ya ever been sorry. Yer incapable."
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"..."
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Her feet shuffled against concrete when she approached.
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"... And I'm tired of it. I'm genuinely tired, Andy."
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"..." He couldn't say anything. Without a word, she handed him the paper sheet. It felt cold and soggy to the touch.
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Foreign. As if it was never supposed to be there. In his hands. In her hands, the night before.
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"... My resignation." She uttered. Her voice had dropped any sort of emotion. Like a talking husk. Soulless. "... I'm done. We're done."
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"..."
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Messy streaks of blue ink stained the document. It was all too blurry. He couldn't make out even a single word.
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A single letter.
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Just the footsteps.
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Her footsteps, walking away. Sounding in the distance.
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Echoing in the past.
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"..."
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"..."
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It took him some time. A minute, or an hour. When there was nothing but silence in the street, he felt a rustling of clothes next to his side.
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"..." Dani slowly licked his dry lips, then mumbled. "... I should p-probably leave."
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He got up, clambered out of the van, then threw the angel one last, very pitiful look.
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"... Have a… a nice, um. A nice trip."
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"..."
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"..."
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Andy couldn't even open his mouth to answer. He couldn't do anything but stare at the paper sheet.
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Run the unreadable words through his mind, over and over again.
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Until there was nothing else but blue ink in his brain.
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Until there was nothing but himself.
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Him, the van, and the road.
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Nothing else.
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Null.
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Andy felt really, really empty the entire drive home.