There was a place so desolate that nobody was willing to go there on Hognose Street’s end. The place would be lonely, except for a group that was.
They wore rags. The wear on their clothing was as bad as the broken buildings around them. A bond fire sat next to them. 2 men, they stared into the flame, one’s eyes danced onto the fire.
A rat-of-a man hunched over the fire. The other man sat beside him, the flames briefly illuminated the man’s face. Half of his face showed scars. The sparks revealed their disfigured vestige; burn marks. Crowley was left in silence.
A stiff breeze sifted towards them. The fire kept them from the cold. The fuel for the flame was an inflammable ruble. A mystery to Crowley. Autumn was nearing its end. All that strange man was a paradox.
“Can this one ask who you are?” Crowley asked like he did hundreds of times before.
“...No one in particular,” the strange man stared into the flame.
Since he came here, he did nothing, but stared into the sparks. Not that Crowley found any fault.
The way that they stared at each other's eyes — there was emptiness to their interactions. There was a lack of disgust, not even an insult. If the man found a rope tied to Crowley’s neck, he'd be just as impassionate as the day they met.
The Nobody and the Bastard had a nice ring.
A stiff wind brushed against the man’s scars. The scaring seemed painful, but the rat knew that the man’s body was morphing, the same as him. The man was the only person Crowley wanted to talk with.
“Can this one ask what you think about snakes?” Crowley asked.
“Pitiful things,” he said. “they crawl on the frigid… ground. So cold… blooded. And when they desire warmth… they hide in the frozen… ground.”
“Snakes are precious… creatures. Beautiful… patterns on their scales,” Crowley cleared his throat. “Are you aware that snakes eat rats?” Crowley tested.
“I had enough of hearing about them. Talking about snakes is so cold…” the burnt man said.
“Why do you still decide to stay by this one!” the fire flickered harder. Smoke raised up from the debris.
The man looked away from the fire, “you — I sensed warmth… from you, more than anybody.”
“I'm afraid that this one — doesn't have the warmth that you’re looking for.”
“Why? Did you do anything wrong?”
The embers crackled into the air. Crowley started laughing. His hysteria interrupted the silence. The man by the fire never once flinched. He gave a look of indifference before focusing back on the pile of sparks.
“Are you mad?” the man raised his voice. “Know what? Don’t answer that. Let's enjoy the fire.”
Just like that, it was as if the strange man flipped a switch. Crowley's previous mania seemed… just lame.
The flames were dying down. Crowley thought about stoking the fire, but the Kindle was an enigma to him. How did concrete burn so well? What was he supposed to do, poke the fire with an enigmatic stick:?
Crackles in the night interrupted the still air. Until Crowley picked up on footsteps. The strange man’s eyes stayed on the flickering light.
The rat lifted his head. He sensed people were coming, about 10 of them. He checked for a dark place to hide, there were many in the ruined buildings.
Crowley whispered about the incoming threat. The odd man nodded. They went around to a nearby wall for protection. They snuffed out the fire before hiding.
The rat peaked through a crack. He saw men passing by. They wore bandanas with leather jackets. Crowley did not recognize the gang’s signature style, drab colours. They were from a small-time gang. That, or a syndicate for a much larger criminal organization.
Whatever they were, nobody dresses like that to go out for a stroll.
“Welly, well, well ,wells,” A man with a mohawk said. The warm ashes on his fingers, “Looks like we have a live one here.” He swung out his arms, “search and see if we can sniff out the rat.”
“Right away, boss,” a gang member said. A bandana obscured his face.
They looked at the wall Crowley was hiding in. He reeled back from the peeping hole.
“Shit,” Crowley whispered. He pushed the strange man aside, “You got to leave. Find a place, stay here, here isn’t safe.”
The man nodded again. They crept out from the wall. Both of the disfigured men went their own ways. Crowley watched as the man hid from sight. The rat waved his hand to try to get the man to move. Crowley was too late. He silently swore to himself as he slinked into the shadows. There were plenty of spots for him to shift to, only one place to stay for the strange man.
This wasn’t going to end well.
The crooks spread out. Crowley sensed eyes leering at his location. He slowly relocated to another area entirely. The rat waited in silence while the hoodlums caused a ruckus.
It was as if they were asking not to catch me, Crowley thought.
Or so he assumed.
“I found myself a straggler, boss!” A voice exclaimed.
Did they find what they were looking for? The rat’s body stiffened. He awaited for the worse, yet nothing came. Crowley peaked out. Nobody was searching for him, and that was what he was afraid of.
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The rat watched as mobsters dragged the man who shared a fire with him out from under a corner. The odd man went limp. They threw jeers at him, and berated the man. The strange man had a straight face the entire way.
Crowley was aware that nobody was on the lookout for him. He could have made a break for freedom, and nobody would’ve been the wiser. The odd many definitely thought less of him.
The rat found no fault with his logic. A beast only looked after their own interest after all.
However, beyond all reasoning; Crowley kicked the ground. Pebbles dispersed across the ground, each one audibly scratched and tumbled.
What got into him?
“Looks like we caught ourselves the rat!” A man with sharp cheekbones called out. He dragged Crowley away by the hair.
“Well,” the gang's leader said. “Looky what we have here. The rat and the burned man came crawlin’ out from the muck.”
“If this one can be so inclined, can you let us go, Mister?” Crowley lowered his head.
The boss smiled so wide that his gums showed, “now why would I want to let you go? All I see is 2 vagrants in our territory.” He stared into the sky, “However, I can let you go your merry way, if you do this one little thing.”
“Hehe, yeah boss,” the mobster in the bandana closed in. “Make demands of the rat… Uh, what are we demanding of him?”
“Reconciliation!” The boss pointed up. “For them stepping into our territory.”
“Yeah, yeah! You have to pay a fee for stepping on our territory. For uh… conciliation?”
The gang leader pushed him aside, “No, not conciliation you cretin! I said… What did I see?” The boss whispered.
“I believe you said reconcilement,” the man with the sharp cheekbones spoke up.
“Reconcilement!” The boss spoke up. “No, not that either!”
They huddled up as the 3 gang members whispered to each other. Crowley and the burnt man stared at the men while that happened. The other thugs prevented them from leaving.
“You have to pay us for reconciliation,” the gang leader spun around close to Crowley’s face.
“Yeah, some re-conciliation,” the bandana said. “Uh… what does that word mean, boss?”
“Reconciliation means… uh… agreement!” the leader snapped his finger. “Yes, naturally. Shake down the vagrants from any valuables.”
“We found nothin’, sir,” the sharp cheekbone said.
“Nothing of value, eh? Now that won’t do,” the boss rubbed his chin.
Cheekbones shrugged, “I don’t know what to expect, they’re bums. There is only one thing to do when ya can’t mug ‘em.”
“Are you suggesting that we take care of ‘em?” The bandana asked. The other mobsters glanced at each other, seemingly unsure if they wanted to go through with what they were suggesting.
“Hey, I’m the boss here!” The leader screamed. “What I say goes, we should… Shit, what can you do when ya can’t mug as muggers. Yes — I say we beat up those migrants.”
Crowley was deep in thought. They were going to pummel both him and the burnt man if Crowley said nothing. An idea popped into the rat’s head. A scheme so stupid that only an idiot would fall for it.
It just might work against those fools however.
Crowley’s beating heart slowed down as he talked, “that’s a good idea, Mister,” Crowley gravelled at the ground.
“Shut it!” Cheekbones yelled.
He sent a kick. Crowley watched as the foot flew towards him, yet there was a gleam in the rat’s eye. Crowley jumped when he sensed the foot pressed on his stomach. What should have felt like a kick, was more of a hard press on his skin.
Crowley hit the wall before planting face first on the floor.
“You call him boss, and nothing else!” Cheekbones exclaimed.
“What has gotten into you?” The leader asked. “You have to tell me before wackin’ someone.”
Cheekbones leaned on the wall, “Just on edge is all. The burnt man and the rat creeps me out.”
“Take a breather, nothin’ is waiting for you here.” The boss redirected back, “You there, rat,” he pointed.”
“You think he’s still breathin’, boss,” the bandana asked.
Crowley pretended to cough. He studied the gang’s reactions. The burnt man was doing fine.
“This one is sorry for my earlier rudeness, boss,” the rat said; his voice smooth. “I could have never comprehended your greatness, I misspoke before.”
“Enough with the compliments,” the leader said; however, his voice grew softer. “Now, what to do with you.”
Their patient was growing thinner by the minute. But Crowley thought about what was in their hearts. How people only listen to what they want to hear.
An intense fervour shaped inside Crowley's words, “Perhaps you are mistaken. I can offer you more than just the clothes on my back.”
“Welly, well, look at the rat trying to call out of its predicament,” The gang leader said.
He snapped his finger. His thugs cornered the rat. They trapped Crowley on all sides.
“This one has nothing to offer, but he can tell you information worth your time,” the rat coward in his shadow.
The guy with the mohawk pulled back his hand. The mobsters stepped back.
“Oh?” the leader asked. “So the rat can be useful after all. Then tell me — why should I spare you?”
“Are you aware of a beastkin named Mekiko?” Crowley asked.
A stiff breeze blew past them. The air whistled through the torn-up buildings. Crowley waited, wondering what was going to happen to him.
The gang boss studied Crowley, then the leader rubbed his chin, “go ahead, I’m listening,” the boss said.
Crowley told about a Nyancan that he’d seen in Hognose Street. That rat told about a fraud who scammed people by impersonating Imperial. How much the residents got suckered in by 2 men’s lies for weeks. Crowley told how they obscured the supposed Imperial traits with sunglasses and helmets.
The gang members fell deeper into Crowley’s words. Some were skeptical, but greed held an argument of its own. People only listened to what they wanted to hear.
“That is a tell for sure,” the leader said. He asked how Crowley knew about the beastkin.
“This one came and went for Hognose Street for such a beautiful… outing, boss,” Crowley said. He told how the Nyancan came here every day.
“This is valuable information, indeed,” the leader leered in closely. “But we haven’t finished our Reconciliation, you see,” he smiled.
“This one means nothing about leaving, boss.”
“The rat and the other man with the burns go with us!” the gang’s boss demanded. “How about you show me and my buddies around?”
Crowley watched the burnt man. A cold breeze swept across that man’s face. He shivered from the weather. Crowley knew that the odd man did not have the heart to move forward.
Crowley spoke up, he had to, “Pardon for this one’s intrusion, but he only met the man not long ago. This one’s giving you everything as it is. This one will be glad to help you, boss, but that man will bring you nothing. You wouldn’t want to bring deadweight with you, right?”
The leader’s eyes lingered before gaining back its clarity, “yeah, he is deadweight… Alright, the rat goes with us!” He decided. “Let’s pay this little cat a visit, shall we?” the gang boss rubbed his hands.
Bandana nodded a little too quickly. Cheekbones shoved the rat toward the middle of the group.
Crowley laughed the entire way. He played his whole hand. The rat awaited to see how this was going to play out. Cheekbones pulled on his hair the entire way. Crowley was going nowhere, but Hognose Street.