"W-woah…!" Misha swung his broom with wild, reckless abandon as the massive Sweet Gorilla lumbered toward him with an uneven, lurching gait. A large box of SoulGlad was strapped haphazardly to its giant, metal back. The mechanical monkey hooted in irritation as it was struck by Misha's broom. The water droplets on the tip froze as they flew, leaving a blue-white, streaking scar across the Sweet Gorilla's metal facial plates. A moment later, it reached into its pack and flung a bottle of SoulGlad at Misha.
"Woah!" Misha yelped again as he dodged, but the bottle ricocheted off the floor and struck him in the back of the head. "OW!" A gloved hand flew to his head as his hat flew off his fluffy, blue-white locks. "That wasn't very nice…" Misha adjusted his grip on his mop again and groaned. The mechanical monkey hooted and howled, rearing back for another attack. Misha whimpered, but the thought of backing down never even occurred to him, let alone as an option he'd seriously consider.
"KID!" The door behind him banged open and his heard jerked over his shoulder on reflex.
"Gallagher?!"
"Watch out!" The Bloodhound reached out, and Misha's head whipped back to the Sweet Gorilla, eyes widening. The mechanical monkey had ripped its pack of SoulGlad clean off its back, and was preparing to hurl the entire case at Misha.
"Hey, hey!" Gallagher leapt into action, literally, clearing half the floor in a single bound. With one strong, scarred, muscled arm, he scooped up Misha. With the other, he attacked the Sweet Gorilla, glowing red claws shooting from his knuckles as he threw a hook. The attack startled the mechanical monkey, and it stumbled back. Gallagher took the chance to turn tail and flee, Misha still tucked safe under his one arm.
"Woah…!" The bellboy cried out again when he saw the Sweet Gorilla steadily rising to its feet. Without thinking, he cast out a gloved hand, and a jet of ice surged across the floor and through the air, freezing the Sweet Gorilla in place. At the same time, with his free hand, Gallagher reached into one of his vest pockets and withdrew a small, golden whistle. The pitch was too high for Misha to hear, but that didn't matter.
"Don't worry, kiddo, the rest of the pack will be along shortly!" the security guard grinned wolfishly and put on an extra burst of speed as he rounded the next corner, Misha still tucked under his one arm.
ooo
An almost comical contrast to the chaos of the Reverie Hotel hallways, the Dreamjolt Hostelry bar was far calmer and quieter. Gallagher gingerly set Misha down in one of the booths before kneeling beside him.
"You ok, kid?" he asked gruffly. Under normal circumstances, a Bloodhound would've escorted an injured employee to the nearest staff medical center or Penacony hospital, but… With a kid like this, and a fool like me, we're anything BUT "normal"…
"Yeah, fine…" Misha muttered, looking down embarrassedly. He went to rub the back of his head sheepishly, but winced the moment his glove made contact with the large lump left by the Sweet Gorilla, or more specifically, one of its bottles of SoulGlad. Ugh… I guess Grandpa was right about them being bad for your health… "It just caught me off guard… I guess…"
"Well, I gotta hand it to ya, kid, ya got gumption, moxy! I like your style." Gallagher gave Misha crooked, mischievous grin. If nothing else, the young pup was brave. "I was a wild one when I was your age. That's probably something I would've done too," he laughed.
"Oh! I- I- I wasn't really thinking…" Misha rubbed his elbow shyly. "I just kinda… freaked out."
"Well hey, that only makes it more impressive. Your tail was shaking between your legs, but you showed them your bark and bite!"
"I guess… when you put it that way…" Misha chuckled weakly, but just a touch of pride entered his voice. "I'm a bellboy of the Penacony Reverie Hotel, after all. Hotel and guest safety are my top priority!" It wasn't just about him. "O-oh! Your Bloodhounds! Are they all right?" Misha's pale brows furrowed in concern and Gallagher inwardly shook his head and chuckled.
Kid. They're trained fighters and defenders. Some of them mercenaries. All of us dogs of war. And yet here you are, a lone child and a small bellboy, more worried about us than yourself! You might need to get your head checked—The reminder made Gallagher's brow furrow, and he leaned closer to Misha, eyes narrowing, almost seeming to glow in the low light of the bar.
"You sure you're holding up ok?" Gallagher's stubble was inches from Misha's fluffy, blue-white locks. "That's a pretty big bump…!" He rose to his feet a moment later and disappeared behind the bar, not to fetch alcohol.
Not this time at least, he smiled wryly as he returned with a first-aid kit. Like any good bar, there were at least a few on standby, some of which were supplied by the Bloodhounds themselves, whether for a poor patron who drank too much and got sick, or for a burly bar brawl. Gallagher had dragged more than his fair share of drunk patrons out of the Dreamjolt Hostelry and to the nearest medical center.
Now, though, he was gentle and patient as he cleaned and bandaged the bump on the back of the bellboy's head. The guard silently thanked the impulsive and overly-apologetic child for not protesting that he didn't need to trouble himself, cleaning Misha up. Instead, Misha sat quietly, peacefully. Even though he was embarrassed, taking up Gallagher's precious time and resources, it was a secret guilty pleasure feeling cared for and worried over. Gallager's hands were rough, but his fingers were gentle and careful, as he searched through Misha's hair, adding ointment and gauze.
I think he follows the Path of Abundance, doesn't he…? Misha thought, and although he wasn't aware of it, he was starting to fall asleep. Hehehe, I always thought that was kind of funny. You would think a muscled Bloodhound like him would be one of the Hunt, or something like that… But with Gallagher unwittingly lulling him to sleep, Misha was no longer so sure. The two knew one another only distantly, as fellow employees of Penacony. He always gave me, like… Cool, Chill Uncle vibes, Misha thought with a sleepy smile.
Gallagher, meanwhile, tilted his head and regarded Misha fondly, with a gentleness no one else had ever seen on his ruddy, scruffy, weary face. He smirked when he noticed Misha's eyelids droop. Without thinking, he slung his vest around the boy's shoulders. One of Misha's eyes opened again, his delicate blue-white eyelashes fluttering.
"Thanks… Mr. Gallagher…" he murmured. Gallagher answered by ruffling his hair, overcome by memories, rendered speechless.
Jeez, he REALLY looks like the old man now… The guard's throat and stomach tightened. He knew it was inevitable, the bellboy's destiny. Like death, it was coming, and the Bloodhound's keen nose could smell it, even though his claws and fangs were powerless to alter the Path. Because I know you, old man, you'd never choose a different one! Guess that's what makes you a tried and true, tested Trailblazer… Mikhail, the Watchmaker, had looked after Gallagher. Now in turn, Gallagher looked after Misha.
Oh, kid. If only you knew who this "Grandpa" you speak of really was… Like Misha himself, his grandpa was something of a memetic entity, an amalgamation. He was indeed based upon Mikhail's own grandfather, but when looking after Misha, the grandfather figure seemed to possess qualities and traits of both Mikhail's grandfather, and Mikhail himself, who in turn was Misha. Heh, talk about enigmatic!
"By the way, let me look at your pocket watch," Gallagher said suddenly.
"Hmmm?" Again, Misha sleepily raised his head. "Oh, right, sure, here…" He held out the little golden circle. Gallagher frowned and clicked his tongue. The glass face was cracked and some of the gold metal on the back looked dented and darkened.
"I probably could fix at least some of that right now…" He held out a gloved hand, a few flames gently leaping up from his palm.
"Oh, no, don't worry about it," Misha chuckled and withdrew the watch. "And don't worry, it's not because I'm scared of your fire, or because I don't want you inconvenience yourself further. I actually really like fixing watches and clocks and the like!" For just a moment, the boy's pale blue eyes sparkled like snowflakes in moonlight. Gallagher, meanwhile, felt his stomach tighten again.
Just like the old man… he thought once more. Jeez, you tryin' to rub it in? But a rush of affection washed over the old, haggard dog, and he almost ruffled the bellboy's snow-white, snow-soft again. Almost. But he didn't want to disturb the child's sleep. Mythus knows he works harder than I ever did at his age. Heh! He instead picked up the boy, as gentle as he could, turning to face the hotel lobby again. He would offer the boy a personal escort to his room. Oh, and by the way, kid? That's actually a compass.
Gallagher smiled bittersweetly out the nearest window at the starry night sky above. Some day they would have to wake up from the sweet dream, but for at least one more night… there could be peace… Mikhail and Misha might've been the Watchmakers, but Gallagher—the loyal and faithful Bloodhound guard dog—was the Watchkeeper. And keep watch he would, for as long as Mikhail and Misha needed him.