AnotherArchetype
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143. Desperate Times
🕑 Added 2025-04-24 02:28:05 +0000 UTC“No talking about anything we’ve discussed,” I whispered, “Because they’ll be able to hear anything we say to each other.”
The other two nodded in understanding.
“And if it becomes a fight?” Clang’s voice rang.
“Then we stick together,” I said, “And give as good as we get.”
CLANG!
In the heat of the moment Clang and I entered into a bros-handshake, as if testing the other’s strength; the whole of the slip-suit in turn tensed from the effort to maintain a steady hold against Clang’s grip.
“If it is them, maybe it would be smarter to run away?” Miss Toontastic squeaked, nervously.
“If it is,” I said, “They’ll come after us anyway. It’s already too late to avoid a fight if they’re really Sub-Divisioners coming this way.”
I looked away from Miss Toontastic’s wary gaze to the children’s table, atop which lay all of the workbooks I had written in during my night of strategising. I approached the table, crouched, and took the workbooks in my slip-gloved hands. I bulbed up my hands to the point the workbooks ignited with flames. Within moments the workbooks and their contents were destroyed, but it hardly mattered since I had all of the information within them committed to memory via the power anyway. Lastly, I moved over to the whiteboard, grabbed one of the erasers, and scrubbed off everything I had written – just in case.
Finished, I then heightened my hearing, and could hear three pairs of footsteps nearing the mansion from the front, beyond the big iron gate.
I let out a ragged sigh and said, “Ready?”
The other two nodded, and together we moved out of the classroom.
We approached the end of the first floor hallway, where several broken window panes resided.
Together, we looked out and down to the front gate of the manor. There, just as we could all hear before needing to look, were three strangers.
There were two young men, and a young woman. On approaching the closed gate, the girl, who was tall, with very long brunette hair which reached down to her lower back, yanked the iron bars apart enough for her and the other two to step through.
“Do you recognise them?” I said to Clang.
“Nah,” Clang’s voice rang, “They’re not the three I saw before.”
None of us were making any effort to hide away from the upper manor window, but even so it came as a small shock to see all three of the strangers look up in unison, as if expecting to see us there.
“Can you hear me?” I said, in my deep resonant voice.
The young woman with the long hair looked to the young man at her side. He looked to be wearing a navy-blue waterproof tracksuit with white stripes going down the sides. He had his hands in his pockets and, judging by the way the other two were looking to him, seemed to be the leader of their trio.
“I can hear you mate,” he said, “You do look a bloody sight though. Halloween come early has it?”
“Something like that,” I said, “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“Don’t I know it,” said the young man.
His accent was painfully familiar, assuredly from Essex. Somewhere very close to my London home.
“So this your territory then?” said the young man, “Cos’ we ain’t lookin’ for trouble.”
“We don’t own the place,” I said, “But we are staying here. And we’re not looking for trouble either.”
“I don’t like this,” said the girl, beside the young man. Her accent took me by surprise. It was British, but notably one of the accents particular to anyone who grew up in Yorkshire.
The young man from Essex turned to the girl from Yorkshire. He put his hand to the back of her hair, and gently caressed it.
Lovers, maybe? I thought.
The girl looked at the young man with puppy-dog eyes, seemingly very comfortable with having her hair played with.
“You want to eat don’t yah?” said the young man.
“I am hungry,” said the girl, putting a hand to her stomach. The slow way she spoke made me think of Winnie the Pooh complaining about a ‘rumbly in his tumbly’.
The young man sniffed and turned his attention back to the window.
“Look, we can go on our ways if you want us to clear off,” he said, “But we’ve been run ragged by the Pied Pissers and anythin’ you’s lot’s got to spare for us to eat – we’d appreciate it, innit?”
“We’ve got food,” I said, “And we’d be happy to share.”
The young man smiled.
“Cheers,” he said.
“I do have one question though,” I said.
“Me name’s Soaks,” said the young man wearing the tracksuit, and he pointed to the girl, “And she’s Lure.”
And then, without missing a beat, he wrapped his arm around the shoulder of the other young man, who had stayed quiet the whole time. He was dressed in a chequered blue button down shirt and shorts, with sandals on his feet, and had a square-ish head with short, nicely kept brown hair. He stood quite still, his face smiling just a little but otherwise stoic. Even as ‘Soaks’ put his arm around him he hardly moved.
“And this is Chips,” said Soaks, “That answer yah question, mate?”
“No,” I said, “I wasn’t asking for your names.”
Soaks’s eyes narrowed, not aggressively, but seemingly at a genuine loss.
“Are you three from the Sub-Division?” I said.
Soaks took his arm away from Chips and threw his hands up. He kicked the gravel with his sports-shoe.
“Well that was bloody quick,” he said.
He turned back to look up to us at the window.
“Yeah,” he said, “Yeah, we are.”
Clang and Miss Toontastic stiffened upon the confirmation. This meant that not only was my Intuition right, but that we were very likely in grave danger. But, of course, we didn’t know for sure if I was truly right about the strangers being a threat.
“Just because you’re from the Sub-Division don’t make you our enemy,” Clang’s voice rang.
“’Xactly,” said Soaks, “We don’t mean you no ‘arm, if you don’t mean us any ‘arm.”
“We don’t,” I said.
The girl, Lure, tapped Soaks on the shoulder. He leaned closer to her, raising his ear up because she was a good half a head taller than him.
“I don’t want to cause no grief,” she said, “But they don’t ‘alf look like baddons.”
Soaks rolled his eyes and looked back to the window.
“Are you’s lot baddons?” he said, “Y’know, ‘bad guys’?”
“No,” Clang’s voice rang, “We’re trying to be heroes.”
Lure’s face lit up excitedly, like a kid at Christmas, a stark change from her worry before. The more I examined her face, and used the power to increase what I could see from a distance, the more I noticed that, true to her name, Lure was startlingly beautiful – and the smile on her freckled face made her look that much more so.
“Yeah, look,” said Soaks, “Jus’ cos’ we broke out’ve the Sub-Division prison don’t mean we’re up to no good, you get me?”
The question hung in the air. The midday clouds had thickened, rain started falling in thick sheets, and distant thunder crackled.
“What if they’re alright?” Clang’s voice rang.
“It won’t make much difference if we let them in or not,” I said, “If trouble’s gonna start, it’s gonna start anyway.”
“So let’s play nice,” Miss Toontastic squeaked.
She leaned closer to the window, her arms folded, and her raccoonish nose pressing against the broken window pane.
“And if they try any funny business,” she squeaked, “We’ll kick their butts!”
She of course was saying this to Clang and I, but also making a threat to the three outside.
Soaks, Lure, and Chips all made it clear they had heard the threat, and looked warily from one to another.
“So,” I said, “Unless you’re having second thoughts, you’re welcome to come inside.”
“Thanks,” said Soaks, “Give us a sec’ to make up our minds.”
The rain outside grew worse, falling thick and heavy to the point the three outside, huddled and facing each other, were quickly soaked.
The rain, in turn, made it harder to make out what it was they were saying to each other.
“We don’t need to stay here,” said Chips, “We can find food and shelter elsewhere.”
“It’s not just about food and shelter,” said Soaks, “I’ve been tellin’ yeh, we got to make allies if we’re gonna survive. Didn’t you learn that in 'div'?”
“Oh!” Miss Toontastic squeaked, “The supplies! I left ‘em out in the rain! If I don’t get them now the electronics will be soaked!”
“No,” I said, “We’ll stick together. If that stuff gets soaked then too bad.”
“But-” Miss Toontastic began to protest.
“-I said no,” I said, kicking up the resonance to my voice to better draw an end to the debate.
Miss Toontastic looked surprised at my sternness, fixed me with a pout, then rolled her eyes.
“Fine,” she said, “But don’t’cha belly ache to me later when yah eatin’ wet bread.”
I smiled, and said, “I’ll try not to.”
