White Leather & Red Feathers

After listening to some smooth jazz on the 36 floor ride down [you’ve always wondered where the hell they actually BOUGHT those call-on-hold and elevator music “soundtracks”] the industrial heavy doors slide open revealing the lobby and—-lo and behold, this little shit-wiener here.

> Fold you arms across your chest.

CC: well i’ll be

CC: …you little stinker. what’d you do, pull some ninja backflip shit to get down here? ha.

You push at Dave playfully, before sprinting across the lobby—-shit yeah, sprinting, forget being the “adult” here—-and out into the night.

Once outside, you let out a hearty whoop of your own, punching your fists skyward. Good god it was a gorgeous neon evening. Weaving between some straggling party-goer pedestrians, you come up to where your motorcycle was parked; all sleek silver chrome and candy-apple red. You look over your shoulder at Dave, your mouth quirked up on one side.

CC: you ready chickadee?

You freed Jade, defeated Bec, and got your arm back! 

On the other hand….

What.

Was this hand.

…goddammit, this was some dumbass shit.

Never in your life had you been more thankful to be a righty.

The hollow in Jade’s chest glows—-not with the sickening eerie green aura that had engulfed her before, but bright, soft white-yellow light, warm and comforting and safe. All of the unnecessary fear, the hurt, the anxiety, the loneliness—-the black and verdant algae and sludge, creeps away from the young girl and up your sword. Taken away. Purified. You absorbed, and she restored.

Then the symbolic blade of chivalrous duty disintegrates, it’s job over. You gently scoop Jade’s dog skull crown off of her head—-crown of memories, crown of bones—-and place it into the zippered part of her chest. It immediately flares to life, burning bright with a new shade of green; that of nature, of growth, of life.

A grave of flowers for her deceased childhood friend, gently and peacefully laid to rest.

> Zip up.

The protoype purified, Jade’s nightmare shivers away. The two of you lay on the basement floor as if nothing had happened, your own knight “form” left back in the other realm. You remove your leather jacket and lay it over her like a blanket, picking her up and balancing her carefully along with your bat. Cradling the smaller woman protectively, you bring her up to your hotel room so she might have a well-needed rest and breather.

….you’d ponder your own strange transformation after the fact.

> SIS: Bring Jade to the top floor.

===>

BOUNCE BACK IN.

Jadebec’s howling pierces your very core, shuddering through your veins and sending tremors into your bones. Once back inside their headrealm [safe, safer, safer for the hotel at least, you had to deal with them here], you unleash the doggirl, jumping back to get your bearings and plot your next move.

A quick glance down at yourself reveals what only can be seen in other-places like these; once again your chest is torn open, ribs and veins and acoustic guitar strings bending horribly and out of place, glistening wet with a sickening green glow.

You half-grin, half-grimace, shooting a look across the scraped and shifting floor at your adversary. Shit. Looks like Jade wasn’t the only one that needed her prototyping fixed up.

First things first though.

Shoving through the shivering sound-pain, you summon your focus.

> SIS: Time to reprise an old role huh.

With an army of rag-tag bikers, you flew under a flag of brotherhood and justice, a Bloodstained Crow your uniting emblem; with a motorcycle your steed, and an iron will, your sword.

===>

BE THE KNIGHT OF HOPE.

Blades of light and feathered armor of wings, you bear down upon the beast

yanking down the zipper on their chest exposing an oozing gelatinous mess of black tar and misplaced anger and decades of loss, rejection, of hidden darkness.

Poor kid.

But…

You’re not alone anymore.

You know that right?

> STAB.

…I promise.

Lunging out of the elevator you channel all of your energy, your strength into your right arm, bringing down your baseball bat with a mighty crack! on the back of Becjade’s head. Then with the wild whooping laughter of some banshee-coyote, you fling your baseball bat backwards and away from you and it seems to slam into the air itself, ripping, tearing a hole in “reality”—-and you grab the small figure by the scruff of her neck.

CC: sorry dogshit, but that body’s not yours to HAVE

Grinning maniacally, your glowing red-green eyes manage to spot Broderick in the corner before you pull the Black Dog off of it’s prey. 

> BACK TO THE NIGHTMARE WITH THE DOG.

> This Dreamer will deal with you there.

Your chest hurts so fucking bad you’re sure you’re going to throw up, but there’s nofuckingTIME, the Black Dog is here and you have to stop her, him, it them—-

You tear down the hallway, wheezing slightly as your wounds reopen. Shit this was taking. Too fucking long, you needed to get there NOW. 

…distantly, you decide you’d give the Caesar’s cleaning crew a hefting fucking tip for mopping up this nasty blood and slime trail you were leaving behind.

> The green along your chest and wounded arm throbs suddenly, and you stand up barreling out of your hotel room, half-blind by the sudden flare of glow behind your sunglasses.

where are you girl, I CAN FUCKIN’ FEEL YOU.

goddamn you’d think these people have never seen a woman bleed a little

this is las vegas come on haven’t you fuckers seen weirder shit???

ugh

tourists.