good night. part 1.
Jul. 4th, 2012 10:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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logtitle. Good Night
series. Insect, Eyeball, and Teddy Bear; The Legend of the Legendary Heroes; Persona 3; Tales of Legendia
warning. Rated PG-13 for Tiir
summary. [Crossover/AU] The Resistance fancies themselves heroes, but the war on progressive science is only the icing on the cake when it's time for a reality check.
notes. My prose is really clunky and bad.
The sun was beginning to peek from the horizon when Tiir rounded the crates and pulled the patrol aside by the neck, crushed it, and tossed the body aside. Taking light steps, he maneuvered the hideout and pressed himself against the wall when another patrolman came about and marched past the crates. He held his breath to minimize signs of his presence, though he was far from nervous as his skin remained cool and free of perspiration. Seeing a blind spot toward the entrance, he seized his chance and crept inside after a quick glance over his shoulder. The patrolman had escaped his range of vision, and he was aware that the opposite applied.
The hideout he'd entered was truly a makeshift base in every sense of the word. The interior was neglected and aged, and he kicked up dirt and dust with every step he took. He paid no heed to the footprints he left behind, for they mingled with the indistinguishable prints of many others and emitted no sound like the watchguards. He did, however, lift his head and scowl when voices traveled to his ears, then veiled himself behind ragged drapes hanging from the top of a small alcove as two and a half sets of feet came into sight. Someone was either missing a foot or had it raised beyond the drape’s bottom. They stopped in front of him, and Tiir grit his teeth.
"The nerve of 'em. I do all the dirty work for 'em and they don’t think to bring me to one good part o’ this stinkin’ operation," the first voice said. It was low and like a growl, belonging to an entitled man well in his forties. The next to respond was to a youth in his emerging adulthood, who laughed good-naturedly -- and loudly.
"All you did was the laundry. It can’t be helped, either, since you broke your leg the last time you went out."
The older man snorted. "And you? You’re fit as a fiddle, yet nobody’s taken you along."
"I have to babysit."
"Ain’t that the blue kid’s job? Why’s he following you around like a puppy anyway?"
"Don’t ask me. The boss just dumped him on me."
A deafening snap of fingers caused one pair of feet to shift an inch. If Tiir had to guess, they belonged to the third, much quieter person.
"Hey!" said the old man. "Why’re you here? The boss tell you to monitor us or something?"
"Come now, old man. Why would the boss ask Walter to do anything? He’s as braindead as a vegetable."
Eyes widening in recognition, Tiir brushed his knuckles against the drapes, fingers curling against the fabric and creating a noticeable disturbance that the old man managed an abrupt "wha -- " before he ripped it aside and pounced.
His body collided against the much larger frame of someone with poor momentum. The old man fell on his own with his bad leg unable to keep him upright. Tiir ignored him to strike out at the boy that had stepped back, whose mouth was agape in awe and shock before he recovered enough to run forward, hand curled into a fist, which was caught and twisted clockwise, earning a cry when the loud crunch of bones breaking permeated across the hallway. Tiir knocked the boy unconscious with a right hook, then turned his attention to the unresponsive spectator behind him.
He was another boy, younger than the earlier youth but still closer to Tiir’s own age. He first noted the dusky blond hair that covered more than half of a sharp face; following the hairline, he caught an eye. It was blue and dead, and looking straight at him.
Tiir smirked.
"Found you." When he received no response, he continued, "Well, that didn’t take very long. You’ll come with me, won’t you?"
He extended a hand. The old man groaned and Tiir frowned, then reached out to grab Walter by the collar. Walter moved then, stepping to the side and knocking away the hand with his forearm while keeping his eyes on Tiir, who appeared to not take offense at the rejection.
"I’m afraid I can’t take 'no’ or any variations for an answer."
He reached out again, but stopped midway when footsteps echoed down the hall, alerting him of new company. Eyes narrowing, he drew back and stepped over the twitching body of the old man under the drapes. He turned on his heels and gave Walter a promising smile, then took off to the entrance, ignoring the frightened patrolman who caught sight of him and demanded he stop, only to be blinded by the rising sun over the horizon. Within a minute, Tiir was nowhere to be seen.
Walter regarded Minato coolly as he righted the old man and assured the fallen boy that everything would be all right. The words of encouragement, for the most part, fell on deaf ears. Accompanied by another person, the boy staggered off with grit teeth while the old man waved Minato away, grumbling, his pride denying any assistance his junior offered as he shot Walter a suspicious look. Largely uninjured save the bruises of falling, the old man hobbled away, alone.
Minato turned his gaze to Walter in concern.
"Are you unhurt?" he asked.
"I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" he pressed. "Does your head hurt?" Walter picked up his pace, continuing the way he had originally been before the scuffle. With an incline of his head, Minato followed suit.
They walked in silence, with Walter heading the two as Minato matched steps diligently. The dust bothered neither of them, though the dirt persistently clung to their shoes in their silent march. Once they reached the entrance where a patrolman was relaying what he had seen to a coworker, Walter stepped into the sun. Minato did the same, raising an arm to shield his vision. He stole a glance at Walter's back, which, bathing in the warm sunlight, should have looked bigger.
The longer he looked, the more intense the white of the fabric became, and Minato was momentarily blinded by the light's reflection. He squinted.
"Walter?"
"Black hair and blue eyes . . . ," he muttered, as if he had not heard Minato's call. "Menoris."
Blinking, Minato lowered his arm. "You mean the man that just attacked. The patrolman said something similar."
Walter shifted slightly, enough to look over his shoulder that Minato caught the point of his chin. He was aware that he was being addressed, then, for he was also acquainted with Walter's eerie habit that put off many a prospective companions. He had grown accustomed to the mumbling after some time, and often knew when it was aimed at him.
"Stay away from him. He's beyond what we can handle."
" . . . do you know him?"
"No."
He twisted around on his heels and went back inside, shoulder lightly brushing Minato's as the latter watched his departure. With few numbers of their ranks present, the hallway was empty save for Walter's retreating form. A hasty glance would have mistaken it for a deserted factory that had once produced top of the line automobiles, or something like that. The Resistance, they fancied themselves, had taken to adopting such abandoned landmarks for their needs and shelter. That was far behind in the past; right now, Minato had shopping to do.
"Will that be all?"
"Yes, thank you."
He nodded as he ducked away from the market stall, a plastic bag of basic supplies in possession. The marketplace was by no means a place where one could show off their riches and wealth. On the contrary, it was the gathering area of the poor, and visited by much of the city's populace. The aristocrats and political celebrities that could buy ten houses had no need to come down where the lowly commoners dwelt. Minato, on the other hand, rather liked the kindly crowds.
He crossed several items off a mental checklist, which then led him to another stall nearby, where the stallkeeper allowed him to browse in peace. Various types of paper and writing instruments were laid out on the front display. They were noticeably poor in quality, with minor tears on the corners and scratches on the plastic bodies, but they were a luxury so long as they were intact. Most of the piles were full or high.
He was pressed to make careful choices: a dark ink for the old man, something lighter for the girl in the second division, thin paper for the researcher . . . It took a while as he picked the items up one by one, going as he recalled the people he had promised to do grocery shopping for.
Fabric brushed against his arm.
"Ah, sorry about that. I don't suppose you could give me some room?" a soft voice, clearly that of a man, asked from somewhere behind him.
Minato glanced diagonally to his side, where he observed an older man of his height. The man was clad in dark clothes from neck to toe, but what stood out more were his pitch black hair and slanted blue eyes. Recognition dawned, and Minato nodded simply before stepping to the side. Tiir joined him at his side, eyes glossing over the materials with smug disinterest.
"The lineup is good today," he commented in a smooth, casual tone.
Minato nodded again, finding that he was treading on thin ice. "Did you come here to pick up some pen and paper as well?"
"Pencil, actually. I would much rather a pen, but marks from those are harder to erase. Which means I'll also be needing an eraser . . . " He picked up a small pack of pencils and some sheets of paper, directing to the shopkeeper as he handed over coins, "These should be enough." The shopkeeper received the coins with a grateful nod and thank you, then settled back to wait. Eventually, Minato did the same and pocketed the newly purchased materials in the bag he had acquired earlier.
Either by coincidence or deliberate intention, Tiir walked the same path as Minato to the factory. At this distance, he could not see the hideout, but the way was not in any manner convoluted. The painful obviousness of it helped to mask them from the law, who, as the boss had said, had a disadvantageously advantageous tendency to over think.
And Tiir, unlike Walter, liked to talk.
"So," Tiir started, breaking the silence, "mind if I ask you something?"
Minato turned his head to meet Tiir's blue eyes, returning that, no, he wouldn't mind. The response seemed to spark something, as the second the words left his mouth, Tiir's own curled at the corners into a more malicious smirk than the smug expression earlier. Then he grabbed Minato by the collar, and dragged him into a nearby alleyway -- and was met with no resistance, which did not deter him in the least.
Pushed up against the brick wall behind him, Minato stared down as Tiir leaned in, warning, "You should be more discreet about the things you buy. Nobody would buy paper so carelessly in this impoverished society."
Without waiting for a response, he snatched the bag from Minato's grasp and threw it aside. The bag landed on its side with an abrupt clatter, its contents spilling messily across the unclean ground. Minato trained his gaze on Tiir, refusing to break eye contact. Suddenly, the grip on his shirt loosened, and this time, too, he fell without so much as a whine, but he had no time to regain his bearings when he felt a hand on the edge of his shoulder where his left arm connected at the joint.
"Tell him this for me," said Tiir airily. "'You can't hide or run forever.'"
The sensation of something tearing and breaking broke his concentration. Minato keeled over, his vision going white as he faintly registered the sound of fading footsteps. He could not bring his body to let out a single gasp or groan. Within seconds, he blacked out.
▶ Part 2
series. Insect, Eyeball, and Teddy Bear; The Legend of the Legendary Heroes; Persona 3; Tales of Legendia
warning. Rated PG-13 for Tiir
summary. [Crossover/AU] The Resistance fancies themselves heroes, but the war on progressive science is only the icing on the cake when it's time for a reality check.
notes. My prose is really clunky and bad.
The sun was beginning to peek from the horizon when Tiir rounded the crates and pulled the patrol aside by the neck, crushed it, and tossed the body aside. Taking light steps, he maneuvered the hideout and pressed himself against the wall when another patrolman came about and marched past the crates. He held his breath to minimize signs of his presence, though he was far from nervous as his skin remained cool and free of perspiration. Seeing a blind spot toward the entrance, he seized his chance and crept inside after a quick glance over his shoulder. The patrolman had escaped his range of vision, and he was aware that the opposite applied.
The hideout he'd entered was truly a makeshift base in every sense of the word. The interior was neglected and aged, and he kicked up dirt and dust with every step he took. He paid no heed to the footprints he left behind, for they mingled with the indistinguishable prints of many others and emitted no sound like the watchguards. He did, however, lift his head and scowl when voices traveled to his ears, then veiled himself behind ragged drapes hanging from the top of a small alcove as two and a half sets of feet came into sight. Someone was either missing a foot or had it raised beyond the drape’s bottom. They stopped in front of him, and Tiir grit his teeth.
"The nerve of 'em. I do all the dirty work for 'em and they don’t think to bring me to one good part o’ this stinkin’ operation," the first voice said. It was low and like a growl, belonging to an entitled man well in his forties. The next to respond was to a youth in his emerging adulthood, who laughed good-naturedly -- and loudly.
"All you did was the laundry. It can’t be helped, either, since you broke your leg the last time you went out."
The older man snorted. "And you? You’re fit as a fiddle, yet nobody’s taken you along."
"I have to babysit."
"Ain’t that the blue kid’s job? Why’s he following you around like a puppy anyway?"
"Don’t ask me. The boss just dumped him on me."
A deafening snap of fingers caused one pair of feet to shift an inch. If Tiir had to guess, they belonged to the third, much quieter person.
"Hey!" said the old man. "Why’re you here? The boss tell you to monitor us or something?"
"Come now, old man. Why would the boss ask Walter to do anything? He’s as braindead as a vegetable."
Eyes widening in recognition, Tiir brushed his knuckles against the drapes, fingers curling against the fabric and creating a noticeable disturbance that the old man managed an abrupt "wha -- " before he ripped it aside and pounced.
His body collided against the much larger frame of someone with poor momentum. The old man fell on his own with his bad leg unable to keep him upright. Tiir ignored him to strike out at the boy that had stepped back, whose mouth was agape in awe and shock before he recovered enough to run forward, hand curled into a fist, which was caught and twisted clockwise, earning a cry when the loud crunch of bones breaking permeated across the hallway. Tiir knocked the boy unconscious with a right hook, then turned his attention to the unresponsive spectator behind him.
He was another boy, younger than the earlier youth but still closer to Tiir’s own age. He first noted the dusky blond hair that covered more than half of a sharp face; following the hairline, he caught an eye. It was blue and dead, and looking straight at him.
Tiir smirked.
"Found you." When he received no response, he continued, "Well, that didn’t take very long. You’ll come with me, won’t you?"
He extended a hand. The old man groaned and Tiir frowned, then reached out to grab Walter by the collar. Walter moved then, stepping to the side and knocking away the hand with his forearm while keeping his eyes on Tiir, who appeared to not take offense at the rejection.
"I’m afraid I can’t take 'no’ or any variations for an answer."
He reached out again, but stopped midway when footsteps echoed down the hall, alerting him of new company. Eyes narrowing, he drew back and stepped over the twitching body of the old man under the drapes. He turned on his heels and gave Walter a promising smile, then took off to the entrance, ignoring the frightened patrolman who caught sight of him and demanded he stop, only to be blinded by the rising sun over the horizon. Within a minute, Tiir was nowhere to be seen.
Walter regarded Minato coolly as he righted the old man and assured the fallen boy that everything would be all right. The words of encouragement, for the most part, fell on deaf ears. Accompanied by another person, the boy staggered off with grit teeth while the old man waved Minato away, grumbling, his pride denying any assistance his junior offered as he shot Walter a suspicious look. Largely uninjured save the bruises of falling, the old man hobbled away, alone.
Minato turned his gaze to Walter in concern.
"Are you unhurt?" he asked.
"I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" he pressed. "Does your head hurt?" Walter picked up his pace, continuing the way he had originally been before the scuffle. With an incline of his head, Minato followed suit.
They walked in silence, with Walter heading the two as Minato matched steps diligently. The dust bothered neither of them, though the dirt persistently clung to their shoes in their silent march. Once they reached the entrance where a patrolman was relaying what he had seen to a coworker, Walter stepped into the sun. Minato did the same, raising an arm to shield his vision. He stole a glance at Walter's back, which, bathing in the warm sunlight, should have looked bigger.
The longer he looked, the more intense the white of the fabric became, and Minato was momentarily blinded by the light's reflection. He squinted.
"Walter?"
"Black hair and blue eyes . . . ," he muttered, as if he had not heard Minato's call. "Menoris."
Blinking, Minato lowered his arm. "You mean the man that just attacked. The patrolman said something similar."
Walter shifted slightly, enough to look over his shoulder that Minato caught the point of his chin. He was aware that he was being addressed, then, for he was also acquainted with Walter's eerie habit that put off many a prospective companions. He had grown accustomed to the mumbling after some time, and often knew when it was aimed at him.
"Stay away from him. He's beyond what we can handle."
" . . . do you know him?"
"No."
He twisted around on his heels and went back inside, shoulder lightly brushing Minato's as the latter watched his departure. With few numbers of their ranks present, the hallway was empty save for Walter's retreating form. A hasty glance would have mistaken it for a deserted factory that had once produced top of the line automobiles, or something like that. The Resistance, they fancied themselves, had taken to adopting such abandoned landmarks for their needs and shelter. That was far behind in the past; right now, Minato had shopping to do.
"Will that be all?"
"Yes, thank you."
He nodded as he ducked away from the market stall, a plastic bag of basic supplies in possession. The marketplace was by no means a place where one could show off their riches and wealth. On the contrary, it was the gathering area of the poor, and visited by much of the city's populace. The aristocrats and political celebrities that could buy ten houses had no need to come down where the lowly commoners dwelt. Minato, on the other hand, rather liked the kindly crowds.
He crossed several items off a mental checklist, which then led him to another stall nearby, where the stallkeeper allowed him to browse in peace. Various types of paper and writing instruments were laid out on the front display. They were noticeably poor in quality, with minor tears on the corners and scratches on the plastic bodies, but they were a luxury so long as they were intact. Most of the piles were full or high.
He was pressed to make careful choices: a dark ink for the old man, something lighter for the girl in the second division, thin paper for the researcher . . . It took a while as he picked the items up one by one, going as he recalled the people he had promised to do grocery shopping for.
Fabric brushed against his arm.
"Ah, sorry about that. I don't suppose you could give me some room?" a soft voice, clearly that of a man, asked from somewhere behind him.
Minato glanced diagonally to his side, where he observed an older man of his height. The man was clad in dark clothes from neck to toe, but what stood out more were his pitch black hair and slanted blue eyes. Recognition dawned, and Minato nodded simply before stepping to the side. Tiir joined him at his side, eyes glossing over the materials with smug disinterest.
"The lineup is good today," he commented in a smooth, casual tone.
Minato nodded again, finding that he was treading on thin ice. "Did you come here to pick up some pen and paper as well?"
"Pencil, actually. I would much rather a pen, but marks from those are harder to erase. Which means I'll also be needing an eraser . . . " He picked up a small pack of pencils and some sheets of paper, directing to the shopkeeper as he handed over coins, "These should be enough." The shopkeeper received the coins with a grateful nod and thank you, then settled back to wait. Eventually, Minato did the same and pocketed the newly purchased materials in the bag he had acquired earlier.
Either by coincidence or deliberate intention, Tiir walked the same path as Minato to the factory. At this distance, he could not see the hideout, but the way was not in any manner convoluted. The painful obviousness of it helped to mask them from the law, who, as the boss had said, had a disadvantageously advantageous tendency to over think.
And Tiir, unlike Walter, liked to talk.
"So," Tiir started, breaking the silence, "mind if I ask you something?"
Minato turned his head to meet Tiir's blue eyes, returning that, no, he wouldn't mind. The response seemed to spark something, as the second the words left his mouth, Tiir's own curled at the corners into a more malicious smirk than the smug expression earlier. Then he grabbed Minato by the collar, and dragged him into a nearby alleyway -- and was met with no resistance, which did not deter him in the least.
Pushed up against the brick wall behind him, Minato stared down as Tiir leaned in, warning, "You should be more discreet about the things you buy. Nobody would buy paper so carelessly in this impoverished society."
Without waiting for a response, he snatched the bag from Minato's grasp and threw it aside. The bag landed on its side with an abrupt clatter, its contents spilling messily across the unclean ground. Minato trained his gaze on Tiir, refusing to break eye contact. Suddenly, the grip on his shirt loosened, and this time, too, he fell without so much as a whine, but he had no time to regain his bearings when he felt a hand on the edge of his shoulder where his left arm connected at the joint.
"Tell him this for me," said Tiir airily. "'You can't hide or run forever.'"
The sensation of something tearing and breaking broke his concentration. Minato keeled over, his vision going white as he faintly registered the sound of fading footsteps. He could not bring his body to let out a single gasp or groan. Within seconds, he blacked out.
▶ Part 2