Fan Fiction ❯ Rose Petals ❯ The Two Brothers ( Chapter 2 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

In the midst of the crowd, buffeting by shoulders and elbows as the people around him surged and roiled, Salrin Corvral's fingers found and gripped the forearm of a much shorter boy a moment after the loud bang. He just managed to keep a grip on the appendage, somehow pulling the younger male closer so he wouldn't be swept away by the near riotous state of the crowd.

Sal's fingers repositioned to hold tight on the back of the boy's belt, keeping the blonde steady at his hip. Jaw clenched and eyes hard, Sal stood as tall as he could in order to see over the sea of heads toward the pounded earth of the executioner's circle. At his side, the blonde boy - easily fourteen or fifteen, but remarkably short for his age - clawed slightly at Sal's fingers and muttered something he'd usually get a smack in the teeth for saying. It was a good thing the older man was distracted.


Tall and broad through the shoulder, Salrin had once been the impressive sort of man that garners a second glance or two. While not entirely handsome and nowhere near pretty, the man had a strong cut to his jaw and his brow that was remotely pleasing to the right tastes, and while his bared arms were mottled from pale skin tissue, his face had somehow managed
to survive whatever ordeals he had gone through relatively unscatched save for a nick or a small scar here and there. He was pale haired like the boy beside him; they shared the same nose.


"Avris won't like this," the boy murmured, knocked slightly against Salrin as someone else in the crowd bumped him. "She won't like this at all."


"Shut your mouth, Caff," Sal bit off sharply, cuffing the boy absentmindedly on the ear as he gazed across the heads. He could just see the executed prisoner, the man's blood seeping out from a wound he couldn't quite make out, staining the hard earth a macabre maroon. Cass was right though; she wouldn't like this at all. "It's time to go," Sal muttered, loosing his old on the child's belt as he began to extricate himself from the crowd. Caff followed on his heels, of no mind to be swallowed back up by the cheering, shouting mob of people.

---------
The two maids on the balcony blinked in unison as a small breeze brushed past them. "What was that?" one asked, to which the other shrugged.


A loud thump would have been heard if not for all the noise. The sound of a person jumping from the lower end, landing rather swiftly on her hands and knees on the ground. From there, she stood and into the crowd she went. Her age couldn't have been more than 15, if one decided at first glance. Actually, Kensa Redleaf was 17, just a bit short for her age. Not much in the way of muscles, either.


However, 1st Lieutenant Kensa Redleaf was a very treasured member of the army, and what one would consider a special case for more reasons than her age. Rumors and stories said she was an andriod, others said just a girl who'd been put through things no human could imagine. Whatever she was, and whatever happened to her, there was one thing everyone was sure about:


Bitch was crazy.


A crazy, too short teenager with short, bright pink hair and light blue eyes that sometimes appeared white. The Colonel held her as a favorite, supposedly even above his own wife. Why? Kensa lacked the natural fear all people have: Death. This supported the idea of her being an andriod. Not to mention her unusual quick speed, which amazingly enough had let her get away with doing her job and baring no scars because of it.


Sliding to a stop infront Salrin and Caff, she smiled brightly and held her gun up toward them, trigger finger already set. "I have a joke for you!" she chirped. "Two shady looking guys are walking in a crowd..." The gun aimed toward Sal, then Caff. "Which of them gets shot in the face first?"


The two stopped abruptly.


Sal clenched his jaw. Kensa's reputation was infamous, civilians, military, and rebels alike. Eye-burning hair, a gun, and moving to fast: if the gun was pointing at you, it was generally a good idea to pray to one's respective gods and get down on the ground if you wanted your face to look decent when they put you in a coffin. Salrin put up the best smile he could muster under the circumstances.


"Neither?"


"Fat chance," Caff grumbled.


"Wrong," Kensa said darkly. "They line up so I can shoot them both at once, and make my job a whole lot easier." Her grin widened. In her line of work, you learned to keep your arm up a lot, no matter how heavy the gun you were holding was. She kept hers aimed toward them as she walked closer. It eventually focused only on Caff's head, though Kensa's eyes were moving over Salrin in a way that could only be described as disturbing. "But...I sort of like you. Maybe I'll take you home with me."


"Kensa!" the woman's voiced boomed. The crowd parted (or at least was pushed out of her way) as Rori moved over. Seeing the two men, she paused. "Who are you?"


"I think they're spys," Kensa answered slyly, and was in turn given a glare. It was obvious she and Rori were far from friends.


"I wasn't asking YOU," Rori bitterly adressed, then returned her attention to the males and repeated sharpy, "Who are you? You've got two seconds."


"Caff and Salrin Marcellus," the younger of the two answered smoothly, inclining his head swiftly in respect to the second uniformed woman. Sal frowned. "We're couriers, ma'am, on a job and got a little distracted I guess. You know how it is with us non-military folk: no work ethic, eh?" Grinning slightly, Caff pat the satchel on his hip. It did indeed look like the messenger bags commonly used in the business.


Nodding, Sal motioned to the bag. "We've got our papers there Lieutenant, if you feel inclined to check them. Liscenses and permits should all be in order. Caff, get them out." The teen nodded, hastily opening the satchel and retrieving a slim leather bound record book. He flipped it open, displaying the city permits and citizen registration cards inside for both women to see.


"Mm..." Rori eyed them thoughtfully, an odd glint in her eyes as she did so. After a long stretch of silence (from her, not in general), she nodded her head and stepped off to the side. "Carry on then." Kensa, however, was not so fast to move. Glaring up at Caff, she pointed the gun directly at his forward.


"I've got my eyes on you, Mr. Caff," she informed him in a very business like voice, then moved away as well and stood by Rori. The woman rolled her eyes. Kensa was oh-so-paranoid, and she'd shot innocent civilians more than once under false accusations.


"Carry on," she repeated, adding shortly, "Gentlemen."


Nodding gratefully and offering a slight bow to both women (one quickly mimiced by Caff a moment later), Sal moved beyond them and to the fringes of the crowd.


"Holy fuck, did that just happen?" Caff hissed, breaking into a slight jog as Sal's long strides took them swiftly across the broad street that surrounded the perimeter of the military's headquarters. Shoe soles clacked on the flag stones.


"Caff, what did I tell you about cursing? Keep your god damned mouth shut if you can't keep the things coming out of it a bit cleaner, or I'm going to beat the crap out of you - so help me."


There was a rudimentary steammotor bike parked near the corner. Caff scrambled into the seat, Sal taking the sidecar in a manner that was clearly habitual to the both of them. Caff unshouldered the satchel and threw it to Sal. "Let's just get out of here," Caff moaned, flipping a series of switches. "Do you know what having a gun pointed to your head can do to a stomach? I'm starving."


Sal grunted irritably in response as the bike roared to life with a plume of steam pouring from the coolant pipe at the tail of the bike.


Digging through the messenger bag, Sal's fingers closed over the gun hidden in the bottom. He frowned.