Fic update
Nov. 14th, 2004 10:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
croikGuilty Gear, its characters and settings are property of Sammy Studios, and are being used in this fanfiction without permission. This fic is rated R for violence and sexual content, and it contains yaoi material.
Sorry the updates have been so slow, I’ll try to be better ^^;;;
Thunder Falling
Chapter 6
Bridget had done his best to prepare himself for all the Memorial would entail that evening. His brother had mentioned it to him the night before, having attended the previous year, warning him of the kind of atmosphere he could expect to encounter. All the same, Bridget felt a chill as he stepped out of the carriage behind Ky, taking in the scenery for the first time.
The services were held every year at the Ranslord Memorial Cemetery, nearly an hour’s ride outside Paris in a stretch of open country. It was meant to be the burial ground for all those Holy Order officers that had died in the war, though in reality barely half called it their resting place; the war had taken place over far too many landscapes for all bodies to be recovered. But in the courtyard in front of the cemetery there was a long marble stone bearing the name of each passed officer. It stretched on much longer than Bridget thought it ought to.
The cemetery itself was circular, closed in on all sides with four meter tall, polished stone walls. Various Holy Order symbols dotted its perimeter, but what caught Bridget’s notice first was the trio of marble statues that stood within the wide, arched entrance. Each was a man, standing close to each other and depicted in the Holy Order uniform. The one of the left was Ky.
Bridget started to point, then thought better as he watched all the people beginning to move through the entrance gates. “Um…Ky?” He gave the man’s sleeve a tug. “That’s you up there, right?”
Ky smiled faintly as they passed the statues. Though his steps were light his face bore a grim expression. “Jean Ranslord and Kliff Underson are the others,” he explained. “Former captains of the Holy Order.”
“Ahh.” Bridget was trying to think of some comment to make when they finally entered the cemetery itself, and his voice left him.
The tombstones were simple; each a modest stone cross, carved with names and birthdays. There were rows and rows of them, so precise and cold and white with fresh snow that it was eerie. Worse were the crowds of silent people moving among them. Many of them wore variations of the Holy Order uniform of different colors and cuts, their heads bowed in mourning, some accompanied by their family and peers. All manner of pale flowers were spread out among the graves and tombstones. Every so often Bridget caught the sound of a quiet sob among the gathered, and more than one whispered prayer.
“Bridget,” Ky touched his shoulder, and he jumped, realizing that he had been holding his breath. “Is there anyone here you know?” Ky asked softly.
Bridget gulped, feeling his chest tighten a little. “I think…a cousin,” he said in nearly a whisper. The quiet atmosphere was affecting him. “On my father’s side….” He shivered. “I wouldn’t know where to look.”
“It’s all right. If you pray for them here, they’ll hear you.” Ky took a step forward. “There are a few people I have to see. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
Bridget licked his lips as he considered, and finally decided that he didn’t want to bother Ky, if he preferred to be alone. “Don’t worry about me—I’ll be fine. Go ahead.”
“I’ll come find you later,” Ky assured, and with that joined in the slowly moving crowd.
Bridget stood still for a while, just watching as Ky approached a small group of uniformed men. They greeted him quietly, sharing handshakes and, in the case of one man, a brief embrace. It was strange to witness the soft, solemn intimacy among the former soldiers. Around them, even, others stopped to watch Ky, offering respectful bows and hushed words when they caught his eye. Everyone there looked up to and mourned with him. Bridget couldn’t even imagine what kind of hardships had drawn them together like that.
“Bridget.”
He turned, and was greatly relieved to see his brother moving toward him. Their father, two, was conversing with a group of elder men nearby. “Brandon…” Bridget hurried to meet him, giving him a quick hug. He wouldn’t feel nearly so uneasy with the other boy beside him.
“I thought you’d be here,” Brandon said, taking his brother by the arm as they moved inconspicuously away from their father. “You came with Sir Kiske?”
“Yeah.” Bridget lowered his eyes. “I thought maybe I could…I dunno, lift his spirits a little or something. But this place is so…” He shivered and didn’t finish.
Brandon nodded gravely. “Father and I came to visit cousin Olson’s grave. Do you want to stay with us for a while? Until Sir Kiske’s finished?”
“Yes. Yes, I’d….” Bridget glanced back at Ky, who was joining the men he’d greeted earlier in kneeling in front of one of the graves. “I want to pay my respects, too.”
*~*~*
The Memorial was less of an actual service than it was a time of gathering. There was a small chapel at the far end of the cemetery tended by an aging priest, who in the evening would speak on behalf of the fallen. Ky rarely went to listen. He would spend his time in the cemetery visiting a few particular graves, granting his condolences to the family members if he met them and exchanging brief greetings with his veteran peers. As time dragged on the sky darkened and it began to snow. Whenever Ky clasped his hands in prayer he took a moment to breathe warmth over his chilled fingers and hoped it was not disrespectful of him.
Gradually, the crowds that had come to pay respects began to thin. Soon it was almost entirely the veterans that remained, speaking to each other near the cemetery entrance. They stayed respectfully back as Ky ventured to the memorial’s center. He said a prayer before Sir Ranslord’s tomb, and from there moved to his final duty of the evening.
*~*~*
Bridget hung back with his brother as he watched Ky lower himself to one knee in front of the thick stone slab. By now he had guessed which each represented; there were three of the larger tombstones present at the memorial center, the third left blank.
“Sir Underson’s tombstone,” Brandon confirmed beside him. “They say his body is buried somewhere else, but this is his official gravesite.” He gave his brother’s arm a tug. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Bridget replied distantly. He couldn’t take his eyes from Ky’s crouched form. Even from so far away he could see the unnatural slouch in Ky’s posture, and it made his insides tighten in sympathy. The rest of the men and women still present had their heads bowed in respectful silence as their former leader grieved for his own master. For those long minutes no one spoke, and the only movement was that of slowly falling snowflakes.
Bridget’s lips parted. Watching Ky kneeling there alone, eyes closed and hands clasped in humble prayer, something deep and painful rose in his chest. He couldn’t help but think that he had never seen anything quite so moving, nor…beautiful.
He slipped his arm out of Brandon’s, and before anyone could move to stop him dashed out down the cemetery path. The winter air bit at his lungs but he couldn’t help gasping for breath. He slowed just beside Ky, clutching the collar of his coat closed at the neck. “Ky…?”
Ky lifted his hand, moving it subtly over his face. When looked up to Bridget his expression was one of grim ease. “Yes, Bridget?”
He pushed to his feet as Bridget stammered over a reply. “Ky, I….” The boy shifted from foot to foot, but even that movement couldn’t coax his throat to relax. “I’m….”
“I’m sorry,” Ky said, smiling faintly at him. “For making you wait.”
Bridget’s breath caught, and all at once he jumped forward, throwing his arms around Ky’s waist. “I’m…I’m sorry,” he whispered, hugging close with his face pressed against the front of the Holy Order uniform. He had wanted to be strong for Ky, to be waiting and comforting when he needed it. But all coming here had done was prove to Bridget how little he really understood what Ky was going through, and how strongly he wished he did.
Ky draped an arm gently over Bridget’s shoulders, drawing his thick cloak around him. “It’s all right, Bridget,” he murmured. “I understand. I’m glad you came.”
He gave Bridget a light squeeze and began to ease him back—Bridget quickly swiped at his eyes to make sure he hadn’t shed any tears. “Let’s go back. I’m finished here.”
Bridget nodded, transferring his grip to Ky’s arm so they could make their way to the exit. He kept his head down, fearful that the other officers would look down on him for interrupting their leader. But they didn’t look cross with him, and he left Ky’s side a moment so they could each say their farewells.
“Thanks for coming, Brandon,” Bridget said quietly, giving him a hug. “Let me know before you go back to England, okay?”
“I’m sure we’ll meet up again before then,” Brandon assured. “Take care.”
Bridget and Ky joined each other again as they departed the cemetery together, heading for their carriage. Bridget wanted to say something—felt as if he owed it somehow—but before he could think of something they were approached suddenly by a woman dressed in the uniform of the Global Police.
“Officer Kiske,” she said briskly. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, but there’s been an incident.”
*~*~*
Testament cursed softly under his breath as he moved through Paris’ back alleys and side streets. It didn’t take him long to find himself in a less reputable section of the city—perhaps the “outlaw spirit” guiding him that Axl mentioned—but even then he was somewhat at a loss. With the snow beginning to fall and every door looking as unpromising as the last, he had no idea what he was meant to do with his wounded charge. Understood even less how he had come to be in such a position in the first place.
There was no justifying it. Though the circumstances were similar to one he’d face several months earlier this time he had no reasonable motive for helping the injured man: no debts to repay, not even pity. The man he carried was a murderer and criminal who, unlike Testament, must have been a willing participant in all his crimes. Even more so he was the man Ky himself had been desperately seeking, sacrificing his men across the globe to bring to justice. And he was…helping him. In all likelihood saving another human life.
Something tugged at his coat—which was now, to Testament’s dismay, stained with blood—and he glanced down, surprised to see it was Venom trying to gain his attention. The man’s eyes were closed but he appeared conscious. “Rue Beaubourg,” he whispered hoarsely. “There’s…a small white house…on the corner.”
Testament glanced about in search of a street sign—he’d never been in Paris before, and had no idea exactly where they were anymore. “This is West Vermillion. What’s on Beaubourg?”
“Go south from here. The…white house….”
Testament frowned down at him, wishing Venom would answer before he set off again. But it looked as if he were once more unconscious. With a quiet sigh he continued south, hefting Venom’s weight a little against his chest. The assassin murmured quietly in pain.
Humans…certainly were fragile things.
Testament finally reached the white corner house on Rue Beaubourg; it was more like a shack, with a strange symbol painted on the front door that he didn’t recognize. Thankfully the streets were relatively clear, but he still moved around the back. He wasn’t all that surprised to find another entrance, bearing the same sign.
“This had better be a healer,” Testament muttered as he knocked on the door with the toe of his boot. A few brief moments later the door was pulled open, and when he saw who it was he wished he’d never come at all.
*~*~*
Ky listened to the report as calmly and patiently as he could on the carriage ride back to the city. Venom was in Paris. The news was almost too startling and nonsensical to believe, and he had the officer repeat her statements to him several times before he was sure of their validity. A tall, dark-skinned man with white hair that covered his face and bore a blue eye design, had been spotted running through the streets. He had disappeared into a restaurant and killed several police officers and badly injured one Holy Order veteran. A black, winged creature had emerged. And at the end of it all, all they had to show for it was one blond British man in custody.
“A blond, British man,” Ky repeated to himself, frowning as their carriage finally approached the Global Police Headquarters. “And a pair of chained sickles discovered at the scene….”
“You know him?” Bridget asked quietly, having taken in the events without attempting to interrupt.
“Maybe.” The carriage stopped, and Ky didn’t bother waiting for the attendant to open his door for him—he pushed quickly outside and strode up the short stairs with Bridget and his officer close behind.
They were met quickly at the entrance by another uniformed officer, who repeated the reports to Ky as they moved swiftly through the headquarters towards the basement. “We decided it would be best to keep him in maximum security,” the officer explained. “Seeing as he claims to have participated in the Holy Order tournament several years ago.”
Ky’s eyes narrowed. “I see.”
They came off the stairway into a long corridor lined by cell doors, each thick steel that hummed a continuous, low note—the metal was reinforced by magic and nearly impossible to penetrate. Their way was lit by tiny, free-floating lights along the way, and as they started down Ky reached up to pluck one to him, using it to brighten their path.
They had only gone a few feet when a howl came echoing down the hall towards them. Ky didn’t flinch, though he felt Bridget jump at least an inch or two and the sudden, eerie cry. He sighed in irritation. “I see our friend is acting up again.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the officer said quickly. “He’s been…a bit of trouble ever since we brought the British man in. But he’s under control.”
They came to an intersection; to the right, several police officers were surrounding one of the cells, shouting to each other over the cries of whatever prisoner was inside. Bridget paused to watch, and seeing his distraction Ky patted him on the shoulder. “You don’t have to stay,” he said. “One of the officers can take you back to my house, or you can wait upstairs. I don’t know how long I’ll be.”
“Oh, I’m fine,” Bridget assured brightly. “I’ll wait for you around here.”
Ky frowned, glancing to the commotion down the hall, but nodded. “Don’t get too close,” he warned, and turned away so the officer could lead him further down.
By the time Ky was stepping into the well protected prison cell he wasn’t surprised to see his suspicious were correct: reclining easily on the low cot was Axl Low, arms folded behind his head and feet kicking casually. He jolted upright once Ky entered. “Ky Kiske!” he declared. “I’ve been asking for you. These blokes of yours are damn stingy, let me tell you.”
“I’m sure.”
Ky excused the officer, instructing him to leave them alone though not to venture too far. Once the door was closed behind him Ky moved closer. Already Axl had sobered a little, faced with Ky’s serious expression. “You, ah, you look good,” the British man attempted with a less confident smile. “Happy Holidays…?”
“I want to know what happened,” Ky said lowly, crossing his arms as he faced the man. “Every detail.”
*~*~*
Despite Ky’s warnings, it was not in Bridget’s nature to be cautious. As soon as Ky was out of sight he tiptoed down the hall towards the officers. The cell door they were surrounding was open, and for a moment Bridget caught sight of the young man they were doing their best to subdue—a brown-haired teenager in a prison uniform, who was managing to very effectively twist out of every hold they attempted to put on him. Once or twice Bridget was nearly certain he’d seen his arm twist back through his elbow the wrong way as he struggled.
“Now now,” one of the officers was trying to soothe him. “Easy there, kid.” He managed to grab a loop on the uniform’s back, drawing him toward the cell.
“Kill!” the young man raved, pawing at the hands closing on him. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, saliva flying from his moth as he whipped his head back and forth. “Kill—kill him! Kill him!”
The young man twisted at the waist, so far as to be sickening, and swung back into place like a coiled spring. His flailing arms caught two of the guards and sent them flying. In the confusion he threw himself to the ground and tried to crawl away, an officer still clinging to his leg.
Deciding it was suddenly his duty to prevent the boy from escaping, Bridget pounced into the fray with an enthusiastic cry. In a very creative variation on a headlock he sat on the youth’s back, trapping the flailing arms behind his knees and locking his ankles behind his head. Even with his mysteriously limber joints the youth couldn’t reach anything save Bridget’s back, not enough to throw him off. He continued to rage and scream ineffectively.
Bridget grinned; with his very odd pin and one of the officers holding down the criminal’s legs, they’d brought him to a halt. “I got him,” he said proudly.
The remaining officers stared, baffled and, for some reason, seemingly flustered. Bridget made a face at them. “Aren’t you going to knock him out or something? This isn’t comfortable.”
“Huh…?” A quiet voice drifted up from beneath Bridget’s locked ankles just as the body went suddenly still. “Um…hello? I’m sorry, is there…?”
One of the officers sighed, moving around behind Bridget to check on their captive. “Oh, so now you’re back to yourself, are you?” he muttered. “Ready to cooperate?”
“Did something happen?” the voice asked meekly. “I’m sorry—did I hurt anyone? I didn’t mean to…”
Bridget frowned, but he couldn’t see anything from his position. Finally one of the police officers motioned for him to let go, and with a shrug he relaxed his hold and rolled off his captive. He was surprised to see the boy looked suddenly and perfectly calm, despite the drool clinging to his lips and dark circles under his eyes. Baffled, Bridget watched as he was helped to his feet.
“Back in there with you,” the officer said, pushing his charge back towards the cell. “And stay quiet—Sir Kiske’s busy and doesn’t have time for your nonsense.”
“But I didn’t—” the boy protested, but by then he’d been shoved back in his cell and the door clanged shut behind him. He fell silent as the hum of magic within the metal locks resumed.
By now thoroughly confused, Bridget pushed to his feet and dusted himself off. Already the officers were beginning to move away. “Um, sir?” he asked, stepping to the one who seemed to be most senior. “Can I ask what that was?”
The officer looked him over critically. “You shouldn’t be down here, Miss,” he said instead. “How’d you get through? This is maximum security.”
“I came with Sir Kiske,” Bridget replied, puffing himself up a bit. “Miss” indeed. “And I caught him for you, didn’t I? You can at least tell me who it is.”
The man frowned severely at him, but after a moment snorted. “We don’t know who he is. He’s insane—goes crazy like that every once in a while. Sir Kiske’s been trying to find someone to help him but so far no one knows what’s wrong with him. So he’s stuck here.” Deciding the matter over, the officer began to walk away. “Don’t get too close, kid.”
Bridget stuck his tongue out at the man’s back as he moved on, and immediately hopped “too close” to the cell door. There was only a small opening in it through which he could see anything; the back of the youth’s head as he moved toward his cot. Curiosity getting the better of him, Bridget rose up on his toes to see. “Hey.”
The youth flinched, glancing back over his shoulder. Bridget couldn’t help but giggle a little at the small heart tied to his forehead. “Who are you?” the young blonde asked. “You put up quite a fight.”
He flushed in embarrassment. “You…put up quite a headlock,” he replied timidly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t hurt anyone, did I?”
“Naw, I don’t think so.”
“Oh, good.” The boy stepped closer to the door. “You’re not…police, are you?”
“Nope—I’m Bridget, a bounty hunter.” Bridget smiled a little—he certainly seemed harmless now. “What’s your name?”
“Me? Oh, I’m…Zappa.”
Bridget bounced lightly on his toes. “Zappa! I thought so,” he laughed. “You were on my bounty list a while back. A lot of people complained about you, you know.”
Zappa frowned, looking genuinely distressed. “Yeah…I know. I don’t mean to, really! It just…happens sometimes.” He shifted back and forth and took another step closer. “You just said you came with Sir Kiske, right?” he asked anxiously. “Will you apologize to him for me? I know he’s tried really hard for me, and…” He sighed. “I keep screwing up.”
“Oh, sure.” Bridget hummed thoughtfully—Zappa sure didn’t look like most criminals he’d been around, with his kind face and little pink heart. “So, you just…flip out sometimes?” he asked, by now thoroughly fascinated. He felt bad for Zappa, looking so sad an innocent in his cell like that. “You were saying to kill someone a little while ago. Do you know why?”
Zappa paled. “I was?” His expression grew even more worrisome as he stared at the floor. “I…don’t want to kill anyone. All I remember is hearing some officers come down with a new prisoner, and then I woke up with you sitting on me.”
Bridget snickered beneath his hand. “Yeah, sorry about that. But I totally stopped you, and no one got hurt, right?”
“Yeah.” Finally, Zappa smiled a little. “Yeah, your way’s a lot better than theirs.”
Bridget snickered again. “Glad to help.”
*~*~*~*
What Axl had to tell him was nothing he hadn’t heard already, for the most part, but Ky still made him repeat his story three times over before he was satisfied. Venom and Eddie had fought together, resulting in Eddie fleeing the scene and Venom retreating, injured, through the back. Though Axl wouldn’t admit to having aided the former Guild leader, it was pretty apparent from the blood covering him that that had been the case. But Ky believed him when he insisted on not knowing where either criminal had escaped to. Which left him with very little to go on.
Finally, Ky sighed. “I suppose there’s no point in detaining you,” he said, not without frustration. “You’re not a citizen here and I don’t have time for that kind of paperwork.” He fixed Axl with a firm eye. “But you’re sure you’ve told me everything.”
“Yeah, of course,” Axl assured. But then his eyes flickered away. “Well…”
“Well what?” Ky prompted impatiently.
“I guess…I really should tell ya,” he murmured, half to himself. With a deep breath he faced Ky again. “There was someone else I saw a while ago. He didn’t seem dangerous at the time, but it’s something you should know.” He licked his lips. “There’s a Gear in Paris.”
Ky stiffened, his blood going cold a moment until he realized that he already knew who Axl must have meant. “Are you sure?” he asked anyway.
“Yeah—clear as day. Same fellow from back a while.” Axl scratched the back of his head. “He wasn’t rampaging or nothing. But I figure he’s still a Gear, right? You should tell your boys to be careful.”
Ky glanced away. “I’ll do that. In the meantime, you’re free to go.” He stepped back to the door, giving three taps to alert the guard they were finished. “You can pick up your things from the front desk—I assume the two sickles are yours.”
“Yeah, those’d be mine.” Axl pushed to his feet with a little grunt, and once the door was opened followed Ky outside. “Thanks a lot, Kiske. I…hope you catch them.”
“I will,” Ky assured. The pair walked together toward the stairs, and Axl went on as the officer walked on a bit further to reclaim his companion. Bridget bounced away from the door as Ky approached.
“Ky!” Bridget toed at the floor innocently. “Zappa and I were having a chat.”
“Were you?” Ky glanced toward the door, but didn’t give him any more attention than that. “I’m finished here—let’s go.”
“Okay.” Bridget offered Zappa a wave before hopping to Ky’s side, and together they moved to the stairs.
*~*~*~*
There was still no accounting for it. Testament was sure he had no idea why he was doing this.
After having deposited the wounded assassin at the white corner house, he had left as quickly as possible and headed back towards the city center. Though he had taken care to avoid the scene still surrounding the restaurant, now that the memorial had ended there were Holy Order veterans crawling all over in search of the man who had injured their colleague. At least night was coming fast—it made slipping from shadow to shadow that much easier. And finally, he was in front of the headquarters of the Global Police, feeling quite mad.
Testament had nearly giving up waiting for the man when Axl finally appeared, adjusting a thick travel bag over his back. He was still covered in blood and looking rather nervous—so much so that when Rael gave a squawk from Testament’s shoulder he jumped, and spun about. Pale-faced, he knew better than to not investigate, and soon the man and Gear were face to face again in the relative safety of a darkened side alley.
“Ah…were you…waiting for me?” Axl asked hesitantly. He was tense, as if ready to dash away at any moment.
“I’m not going to kill you,” Testament told him. He couldn’t blame anyone for being terrified of him, but it was still vaguely irritating, especially after his startling generosity earlier that evening. “I’m just here to tell you where your friend ended up.”
Axl straightened. “You really helped him? Ah, I mean, he’s okay?”
“Sort of.” Testament crossed his arms. “A small white house on the corner of Rue Beaubourg. I did what you asked so he’s your responsibility now.”
“Oh. Right.” Axl grinned sheepishly and took a step back. “Um, thanks a lot, pal. I’ll go check on him. Right now, even. I owe you. Catch you later—bye!” And with that Axl turned, scampering out of the alley and down the street away from him.
Testament sighed, not that he was surprised. He reached up to stroke Rael’s feathers, clearing the snow from them. “There,” he murmured. “I’ve saved another human life. What do you think of that, hm? It’s going to become a habit if I’m not careful.”
Rael poked him with her beak, and as Testament glanced forward he caught sight of Ky and Bridget leaving the police building. Frowning, the Gear stepped further into the alley and disappeared from view.
Sorry the updates have been so slow, I’ll try to be better ^^;;;
Thunder Falling
Chapter 6
Bridget had done his best to prepare himself for all the Memorial would entail that evening. His brother had mentioned it to him the night before, having attended the previous year, warning him of the kind of atmosphere he could expect to encounter. All the same, Bridget felt a chill as he stepped out of the carriage behind Ky, taking in the scenery for the first time.
The services were held every year at the Ranslord Memorial Cemetery, nearly an hour’s ride outside Paris in a stretch of open country. It was meant to be the burial ground for all those Holy Order officers that had died in the war, though in reality barely half called it their resting place; the war had taken place over far too many landscapes for all bodies to be recovered. But in the courtyard in front of the cemetery there was a long marble stone bearing the name of each passed officer. It stretched on much longer than Bridget thought it ought to.
The cemetery itself was circular, closed in on all sides with four meter tall, polished stone walls. Various Holy Order symbols dotted its perimeter, but what caught Bridget’s notice first was the trio of marble statues that stood within the wide, arched entrance. Each was a man, standing close to each other and depicted in the Holy Order uniform. The one of the left was Ky.
Bridget started to point, then thought better as he watched all the people beginning to move through the entrance gates. “Um…Ky?” He gave the man’s sleeve a tug. “That’s you up there, right?”
Ky smiled faintly as they passed the statues. Though his steps were light his face bore a grim expression. “Jean Ranslord and Kliff Underson are the others,” he explained. “Former captains of the Holy Order.”
“Ahh.” Bridget was trying to think of some comment to make when they finally entered the cemetery itself, and his voice left him.
The tombstones were simple; each a modest stone cross, carved with names and birthdays. There were rows and rows of them, so precise and cold and white with fresh snow that it was eerie. Worse were the crowds of silent people moving among them. Many of them wore variations of the Holy Order uniform of different colors and cuts, their heads bowed in mourning, some accompanied by their family and peers. All manner of pale flowers were spread out among the graves and tombstones. Every so often Bridget caught the sound of a quiet sob among the gathered, and more than one whispered prayer.
“Bridget,” Ky touched his shoulder, and he jumped, realizing that he had been holding his breath. “Is there anyone here you know?” Ky asked softly.
Bridget gulped, feeling his chest tighten a little. “I think…a cousin,” he said in nearly a whisper. The quiet atmosphere was affecting him. “On my father’s side….” He shivered. “I wouldn’t know where to look.”
“It’s all right. If you pray for them here, they’ll hear you.” Ky took a step forward. “There are a few people I have to see. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
Bridget licked his lips as he considered, and finally decided that he didn’t want to bother Ky, if he preferred to be alone. “Don’t worry about me—I’ll be fine. Go ahead.”
“I’ll come find you later,” Ky assured, and with that joined in the slowly moving crowd.
Bridget stood still for a while, just watching as Ky approached a small group of uniformed men. They greeted him quietly, sharing handshakes and, in the case of one man, a brief embrace. It was strange to witness the soft, solemn intimacy among the former soldiers. Around them, even, others stopped to watch Ky, offering respectful bows and hushed words when they caught his eye. Everyone there looked up to and mourned with him. Bridget couldn’t even imagine what kind of hardships had drawn them together like that.
“Bridget.”
He turned, and was greatly relieved to see his brother moving toward him. Their father, two, was conversing with a group of elder men nearby. “Brandon…” Bridget hurried to meet him, giving him a quick hug. He wouldn’t feel nearly so uneasy with the other boy beside him.
“I thought you’d be here,” Brandon said, taking his brother by the arm as they moved inconspicuously away from their father. “You came with Sir Kiske?”
“Yeah.” Bridget lowered his eyes. “I thought maybe I could…I dunno, lift his spirits a little or something. But this place is so…” He shivered and didn’t finish.
Brandon nodded gravely. “Father and I came to visit cousin Olson’s grave. Do you want to stay with us for a while? Until Sir Kiske’s finished?”
“Yes. Yes, I’d….” Bridget glanced back at Ky, who was joining the men he’d greeted earlier in kneeling in front of one of the graves. “I want to pay my respects, too.”
*~*~*
The Memorial was less of an actual service than it was a time of gathering. There was a small chapel at the far end of the cemetery tended by an aging priest, who in the evening would speak on behalf of the fallen. Ky rarely went to listen. He would spend his time in the cemetery visiting a few particular graves, granting his condolences to the family members if he met them and exchanging brief greetings with his veteran peers. As time dragged on the sky darkened and it began to snow. Whenever Ky clasped his hands in prayer he took a moment to breathe warmth over his chilled fingers and hoped it was not disrespectful of him.
Gradually, the crowds that had come to pay respects began to thin. Soon it was almost entirely the veterans that remained, speaking to each other near the cemetery entrance. They stayed respectfully back as Ky ventured to the memorial’s center. He said a prayer before Sir Ranslord’s tomb, and from there moved to his final duty of the evening.
*~*~*
Bridget hung back with his brother as he watched Ky lower himself to one knee in front of the thick stone slab. By now he had guessed which each represented; there were three of the larger tombstones present at the memorial center, the third left blank.
“Sir Underson’s tombstone,” Brandon confirmed beside him. “They say his body is buried somewhere else, but this is his official gravesite.” He gave his brother’s arm a tug. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Bridget replied distantly. He couldn’t take his eyes from Ky’s crouched form. Even from so far away he could see the unnatural slouch in Ky’s posture, and it made his insides tighten in sympathy. The rest of the men and women still present had their heads bowed in respectful silence as their former leader grieved for his own master. For those long minutes no one spoke, and the only movement was that of slowly falling snowflakes.
Bridget’s lips parted. Watching Ky kneeling there alone, eyes closed and hands clasped in humble prayer, something deep and painful rose in his chest. He couldn’t help but think that he had never seen anything quite so moving, nor…beautiful.
He slipped his arm out of Brandon’s, and before anyone could move to stop him dashed out down the cemetery path. The winter air bit at his lungs but he couldn’t help gasping for breath. He slowed just beside Ky, clutching the collar of his coat closed at the neck. “Ky…?”
Ky lifted his hand, moving it subtly over his face. When looked up to Bridget his expression was one of grim ease. “Yes, Bridget?”
He pushed to his feet as Bridget stammered over a reply. “Ky, I….” The boy shifted from foot to foot, but even that movement couldn’t coax his throat to relax. “I’m….”
“I’m sorry,” Ky said, smiling faintly at him. “For making you wait.”
Bridget’s breath caught, and all at once he jumped forward, throwing his arms around Ky’s waist. “I’m…I’m sorry,” he whispered, hugging close with his face pressed against the front of the Holy Order uniform. He had wanted to be strong for Ky, to be waiting and comforting when he needed it. But all coming here had done was prove to Bridget how little he really understood what Ky was going through, and how strongly he wished he did.
Ky draped an arm gently over Bridget’s shoulders, drawing his thick cloak around him. “It’s all right, Bridget,” he murmured. “I understand. I’m glad you came.”
He gave Bridget a light squeeze and began to ease him back—Bridget quickly swiped at his eyes to make sure he hadn’t shed any tears. “Let’s go back. I’m finished here.”
Bridget nodded, transferring his grip to Ky’s arm so they could make their way to the exit. He kept his head down, fearful that the other officers would look down on him for interrupting their leader. But they didn’t look cross with him, and he left Ky’s side a moment so they could each say their farewells.
“Thanks for coming, Brandon,” Bridget said quietly, giving him a hug. “Let me know before you go back to England, okay?”
“I’m sure we’ll meet up again before then,” Brandon assured. “Take care.”
Bridget and Ky joined each other again as they departed the cemetery together, heading for their carriage. Bridget wanted to say something—felt as if he owed it somehow—but before he could think of something they were approached suddenly by a woman dressed in the uniform of the Global Police.
“Officer Kiske,” she said briskly. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, but there’s been an incident.”
*~*~*
Testament cursed softly under his breath as he moved through Paris’ back alleys and side streets. It didn’t take him long to find himself in a less reputable section of the city—perhaps the “outlaw spirit” guiding him that Axl mentioned—but even then he was somewhat at a loss. With the snow beginning to fall and every door looking as unpromising as the last, he had no idea what he was meant to do with his wounded charge. Understood even less how he had come to be in such a position in the first place.
There was no justifying it. Though the circumstances were similar to one he’d face several months earlier this time he had no reasonable motive for helping the injured man: no debts to repay, not even pity. The man he carried was a murderer and criminal who, unlike Testament, must have been a willing participant in all his crimes. Even more so he was the man Ky himself had been desperately seeking, sacrificing his men across the globe to bring to justice. And he was…helping him. In all likelihood saving another human life.
Something tugged at his coat—which was now, to Testament’s dismay, stained with blood—and he glanced down, surprised to see it was Venom trying to gain his attention. The man’s eyes were closed but he appeared conscious. “Rue Beaubourg,” he whispered hoarsely. “There’s…a small white house…on the corner.”
Testament glanced about in search of a street sign—he’d never been in Paris before, and had no idea exactly where they were anymore. “This is West Vermillion. What’s on Beaubourg?”
“Go south from here. The…white house….”
Testament frowned down at him, wishing Venom would answer before he set off again. But it looked as if he were once more unconscious. With a quiet sigh he continued south, hefting Venom’s weight a little against his chest. The assassin murmured quietly in pain.
Humans…certainly were fragile things.
Testament finally reached the white corner house on Rue Beaubourg; it was more like a shack, with a strange symbol painted on the front door that he didn’t recognize. Thankfully the streets were relatively clear, but he still moved around the back. He wasn’t all that surprised to find another entrance, bearing the same sign.
“This had better be a healer,” Testament muttered as he knocked on the door with the toe of his boot. A few brief moments later the door was pulled open, and when he saw who it was he wished he’d never come at all.
*~*~*
Ky listened to the report as calmly and patiently as he could on the carriage ride back to the city. Venom was in Paris. The news was almost too startling and nonsensical to believe, and he had the officer repeat her statements to him several times before he was sure of their validity. A tall, dark-skinned man with white hair that covered his face and bore a blue eye design, had been spotted running through the streets. He had disappeared into a restaurant and killed several police officers and badly injured one Holy Order veteran. A black, winged creature had emerged. And at the end of it all, all they had to show for it was one blond British man in custody.
“A blond, British man,” Ky repeated to himself, frowning as their carriage finally approached the Global Police Headquarters. “And a pair of chained sickles discovered at the scene….”
“You know him?” Bridget asked quietly, having taken in the events without attempting to interrupt.
“Maybe.” The carriage stopped, and Ky didn’t bother waiting for the attendant to open his door for him—he pushed quickly outside and strode up the short stairs with Bridget and his officer close behind.
They were met quickly at the entrance by another uniformed officer, who repeated the reports to Ky as they moved swiftly through the headquarters towards the basement. “We decided it would be best to keep him in maximum security,” the officer explained. “Seeing as he claims to have participated in the Holy Order tournament several years ago.”
Ky’s eyes narrowed. “I see.”
They came off the stairway into a long corridor lined by cell doors, each thick steel that hummed a continuous, low note—the metal was reinforced by magic and nearly impossible to penetrate. Their way was lit by tiny, free-floating lights along the way, and as they started down Ky reached up to pluck one to him, using it to brighten their path.
They had only gone a few feet when a howl came echoing down the hall towards them. Ky didn’t flinch, though he felt Bridget jump at least an inch or two and the sudden, eerie cry. He sighed in irritation. “I see our friend is acting up again.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the officer said quickly. “He’s been…a bit of trouble ever since we brought the British man in. But he’s under control.”
They came to an intersection; to the right, several police officers were surrounding one of the cells, shouting to each other over the cries of whatever prisoner was inside. Bridget paused to watch, and seeing his distraction Ky patted him on the shoulder. “You don’t have to stay,” he said. “One of the officers can take you back to my house, or you can wait upstairs. I don’t know how long I’ll be.”
“Oh, I’m fine,” Bridget assured brightly. “I’ll wait for you around here.”
Ky frowned, glancing to the commotion down the hall, but nodded. “Don’t get too close,” he warned, and turned away so the officer could lead him further down.
By the time Ky was stepping into the well protected prison cell he wasn’t surprised to see his suspicious were correct: reclining easily on the low cot was Axl Low, arms folded behind his head and feet kicking casually. He jolted upright once Ky entered. “Ky Kiske!” he declared. “I’ve been asking for you. These blokes of yours are damn stingy, let me tell you.”
“I’m sure.”
Ky excused the officer, instructing him to leave them alone though not to venture too far. Once the door was closed behind him Ky moved closer. Already Axl had sobered a little, faced with Ky’s serious expression. “You, ah, you look good,” the British man attempted with a less confident smile. “Happy Holidays…?”
“I want to know what happened,” Ky said lowly, crossing his arms as he faced the man. “Every detail.”
*~*~*
Despite Ky’s warnings, it was not in Bridget’s nature to be cautious. As soon as Ky was out of sight he tiptoed down the hall towards the officers. The cell door they were surrounding was open, and for a moment Bridget caught sight of the young man they were doing their best to subdue—a brown-haired teenager in a prison uniform, who was managing to very effectively twist out of every hold they attempted to put on him. Once or twice Bridget was nearly certain he’d seen his arm twist back through his elbow the wrong way as he struggled.
“Now now,” one of the officers was trying to soothe him. “Easy there, kid.” He managed to grab a loop on the uniform’s back, drawing him toward the cell.
“Kill!” the young man raved, pawing at the hands closing on him. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, saliva flying from his moth as he whipped his head back and forth. “Kill—kill him! Kill him!”
The young man twisted at the waist, so far as to be sickening, and swung back into place like a coiled spring. His flailing arms caught two of the guards and sent them flying. In the confusion he threw himself to the ground and tried to crawl away, an officer still clinging to his leg.
Deciding it was suddenly his duty to prevent the boy from escaping, Bridget pounced into the fray with an enthusiastic cry. In a very creative variation on a headlock he sat on the youth’s back, trapping the flailing arms behind his knees and locking his ankles behind his head. Even with his mysteriously limber joints the youth couldn’t reach anything save Bridget’s back, not enough to throw him off. He continued to rage and scream ineffectively.
Bridget grinned; with his very odd pin and one of the officers holding down the criminal’s legs, they’d brought him to a halt. “I got him,” he said proudly.
The remaining officers stared, baffled and, for some reason, seemingly flustered. Bridget made a face at them. “Aren’t you going to knock him out or something? This isn’t comfortable.”
“Huh…?” A quiet voice drifted up from beneath Bridget’s locked ankles just as the body went suddenly still. “Um…hello? I’m sorry, is there…?”
One of the officers sighed, moving around behind Bridget to check on their captive. “Oh, so now you’re back to yourself, are you?” he muttered. “Ready to cooperate?”
“Did something happen?” the voice asked meekly. “I’m sorry—did I hurt anyone? I didn’t mean to…”
Bridget frowned, but he couldn’t see anything from his position. Finally one of the police officers motioned for him to let go, and with a shrug he relaxed his hold and rolled off his captive. He was surprised to see the boy looked suddenly and perfectly calm, despite the drool clinging to his lips and dark circles under his eyes. Baffled, Bridget watched as he was helped to his feet.
“Back in there with you,” the officer said, pushing his charge back towards the cell. “And stay quiet—Sir Kiske’s busy and doesn’t have time for your nonsense.”
“But I didn’t—” the boy protested, but by then he’d been shoved back in his cell and the door clanged shut behind him. He fell silent as the hum of magic within the metal locks resumed.
By now thoroughly confused, Bridget pushed to his feet and dusted himself off. Already the officers were beginning to move away. “Um, sir?” he asked, stepping to the one who seemed to be most senior. “Can I ask what that was?”
The officer looked him over critically. “You shouldn’t be down here, Miss,” he said instead. “How’d you get through? This is maximum security.”
“I came with Sir Kiske,” Bridget replied, puffing himself up a bit. “Miss” indeed. “And I caught him for you, didn’t I? You can at least tell me who it is.”
The man frowned severely at him, but after a moment snorted. “We don’t know who he is. He’s insane—goes crazy like that every once in a while. Sir Kiske’s been trying to find someone to help him but so far no one knows what’s wrong with him. So he’s stuck here.” Deciding the matter over, the officer began to walk away. “Don’t get too close, kid.”
Bridget stuck his tongue out at the man’s back as he moved on, and immediately hopped “too close” to the cell door. There was only a small opening in it through which he could see anything; the back of the youth’s head as he moved toward his cot. Curiosity getting the better of him, Bridget rose up on his toes to see. “Hey.”
The youth flinched, glancing back over his shoulder. Bridget couldn’t help but giggle a little at the small heart tied to his forehead. “Who are you?” the young blonde asked. “You put up quite a fight.”
He flushed in embarrassment. “You…put up quite a headlock,” he replied timidly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t hurt anyone, did I?”
“Naw, I don’t think so.”
“Oh, good.” The boy stepped closer to the door. “You’re not…police, are you?”
“Nope—I’m Bridget, a bounty hunter.” Bridget smiled a little—he certainly seemed harmless now. “What’s your name?”
“Me? Oh, I’m…Zappa.”
Bridget bounced lightly on his toes. “Zappa! I thought so,” he laughed. “You were on my bounty list a while back. A lot of people complained about you, you know.”
Zappa frowned, looking genuinely distressed. “Yeah…I know. I don’t mean to, really! It just…happens sometimes.” He shifted back and forth and took another step closer. “You just said you came with Sir Kiske, right?” he asked anxiously. “Will you apologize to him for me? I know he’s tried really hard for me, and…” He sighed. “I keep screwing up.”
“Oh, sure.” Bridget hummed thoughtfully—Zappa sure didn’t look like most criminals he’d been around, with his kind face and little pink heart. “So, you just…flip out sometimes?” he asked, by now thoroughly fascinated. He felt bad for Zappa, looking so sad an innocent in his cell like that. “You were saying to kill someone a little while ago. Do you know why?”
Zappa paled. “I was?” His expression grew even more worrisome as he stared at the floor. “I…don’t want to kill anyone. All I remember is hearing some officers come down with a new prisoner, and then I woke up with you sitting on me.”
Bridget snickered beneath his hand. “Yeah, sorry about that. But I totally stopped you, and no one got hurt, right?”
“Yeah.” Finally, Zappa smiled a little. “Yeah, your way’s a lot better than theirs.”
Bridget snickered again. “Glad to help.”
*~*~*~*
What Axl had to tell him was nothing he hadn’t heard already, for the most part, but Ky still made him repeat his story three times over before he was satisfied. Venom and Eddie had fought together, resulting in Eddie fleeing the scene and Venom retreating, injured, through the back. Though Axl wouldn’t admit to having aided the former Guild leader, it was pretty apparent from the blood covering him that that had been the case. But Ky believed him when he insisted on not knowing where either criminal had escaped to. Which left him with very little to go on.
Finally, Ky sighed. “I suppose there’s no point in detaining you,” he said, not without frustration. “You’re not a citizen here and I don’t have time for that kind of paperwork.” He fixed Axl with a firm eye. “But you’re sure you’ve told me everything.”
“Yeah, of course,” Axl assured. But then his eyes flickered away. “Well…”
“Well what?” Ky prompted impatiently.
“I guess…I really should tell ya,” he murmured, half to himself. With a deep breath he faced Ky again. “There was someone else I saw a while ago. He didn’t seem dangerous at the time, but it’s something you should know.” He licked his lips. “There’s a Gear in Paris.”
Ky stiffened, his blood going cold a moment until he realized that he already knew who Axl must have meant. “Are you sure?” he asked anyway.
“Yeah—clear as day. Same fellow from back a while.” Axl scratched the back of his head. “He wasn’t rampaging or nothing. But I figure he’s still a Gear, right? You should tell your boys to be careful.”
Ky glanced away. “I’ll do that. In the meantime, you’re free to go.” He stepped back to the door, giving three taps to alert the guard they were finished. “You can pick up your things from the front desk—I assume the two sickles are yours.”
“Yeah, those’d be mine.” Axl pushed to his feet with a little grunt, and once the door was opened followed Ky outside. “Thanks a lot, Kiske. I…hope you catch them.”
“I will,” Ky assured. The pair walked together toward the stairs, and Axl went on as the officer walked on a bit further to reclaim his companion. Bridget bounced away from the door as Ky approached.
“Ky!” Bridget toed at the floor innocently. “Zappa and I were having a chat.”
“Were you?” Ky glanced toward the door, but didn’t give him any more attention than that. “I’m finished here—let’s go.”
“Okay.” Bridget offered Zappa a wave before hopping to Ky’s side, and together they moved to the stairs.
*~*~*~*
There was still no accounting for it. Testament was sure he had no idea why he was doing this.
After having deposited the wounded assassin at the white corner house, he had left as quickly as possible and headed back towards the city center. Though he had taken care to avoid the scene still surrounding the restaurant, now that the memorial had ended there were Holy Order veterans crawling all over in search of the man who had injured their colleague. At least night was coming fast—it made slipping from shadow to shadow that much easier. And finally, he was in front of the headquarters of the Global Police, feeling quite mad.
Testament had nearly giving up waiting for the man when Axl finally appeared, adjusting a thick travel bag over his back. He was still covered in blood and looking rather nervous—so much so that when Rael gave a squawk from Testament’s shoulder he jumped, and spun about. Pale-faced, he knew better than to not investigate, and soon the man and Gear were face to face again in the relative safety of a darkened side alley.
“Ah…were you…waiting for me?” Axl asked hesitantly. He was tense, as if ready to dash away at any moment.
“I’m not going to kill you,” Testament told him. He couldn’t blame anyone for being terrified of him, but it was still vaguely irritating, especially after his startling generosity earlier that evening. “I’m just here to tell you where your friend ended up.”
Axl straightened. “You really helped him? Ah, I mean, he’s okay?”
“Sort of.” Testament crossed his arms. “A small white house on the corner of Rue Beaubourg. I did what you asked so he’s your responsibility now.”
“Oh. Right.” Axl grinned sheepishly and took a step back. “Um, thanks a lot, pal. I’ll go check on him. Right now, even. I owe you. Catch you later—bye!” And with that Axl turned, scampering out of the alley and down the street away from him.
Testament sighed, not that he was surprised. He reached up to stroke Rael’s feathers, clearing the snow from them. “There,” he murmured. “I’ve saved another human life. What do you think of that, hm? It’s going to become a habit if I’m not careful.”
Rael poked him with her beak, and as Testament glanced forward he caught sight of Ky and Bridget leaving the police building. Frowning, the Gear stepped further into the alley and disappeared from view.
