No Rest for the Wicked [Visualspice] (M)

[Nightcrawler]

Big Man's old lady had gotten herself caught up in this mess, and now she lay prone on the floor. Fletcher froze at the sight. For the first time since he'd woken up that day, he felt...fear. Real, gut-wrenching fear like an icicle in the spine. His eyes watered. His breath froze halfway into his burning lungs. For one eternal second, she was someone else entirely. Someone with dark, frizzy hair and brown skin like his own. "Mum?" he whimpered.

In an instant, he snapped, and the fear flipped on its head. "NO!" he roared. He didn't care about the concussed thug who now struggled to get to his feet, or the one Ye'lard was still trying desperately to fend off with his frying pan. He didn't care about the fresh wound in his side that now stained his coat an even darker red. Fletcher charged, and in seconds he was on the floor next to Skippy and Nola, their attacker's soup-drenched head wedged in a headlock. He dragged the man out of the pile and turned him away from the women's view. He squeezed. The thug thrashed and clawed at his freshly-bandaged arm. Something about the pain snapped him back to the present, but he didn't dare let go.

"Fuck's sakes," he snapped over his shoulder, irate both at the cat scratches and at the old memories that had just been dredged up from the grave. "If you can't fight, go hide in the kitchen. Get out of here. GO." He ducked his head to the side as the concussed man chose that moment to take a swing at him. "NOT. TODAY," Fletch spat as he kicked him mercilessly in the shin. Sparks shone in his vision from the exertion. At last, he dropped an unconscious Soup-Face to the floor and scrambled to his feet. "Come on, you stubborn tit," he gasped. "It's just you and me."

[visualspice]

Missendria barely held onto the rope as the chandelier swung precariously over head.  Her and Nola hung back, flinching as Fletch took care of soup face.

He barked at them to stay out of the way and Nola huffed, clutching her broom.

"No scoundrels cause a ruckus in my place and doesn't get what for!"

Missendria looked around at all the chaos inside the place and felt ill. And Fletcher was over there, clutching his side. A wound?

It seemed Ye'lard had taken care of any that opposed him, cast iron still in hand as the remaining man rushed towards the door.

"Oh like hell you're getting out!" The large man snatched up a chair and proceeded to launch the entire thing at his retreating form. The chair smashed into his legs and sent the man stumbling across the floor into a crumpled heap..

Right infront of Fletch. 

[Nightcrawler]

The last one had tried to run. It hadn't gone well for him. Fletch stared blankly at the unconscious figure on the floor, his fists still raised and at the ready. Was that all of them? He lowered his arms. He turned. Ye'lard had finally brained the other one by the window. Fletcher's own victim lay in the corner, staining the wood floor with far too much blood. The two men at his feet still seemed to be alive. Ye'lard would have to deal with them. There wouldn't be time for questions. There was barely time to breathe. But breathe he would. Breathe he fucking would.

He looked across the room at the cigarette that she'd smacked from his lips. It must have been ruined in the scuffle: ground up under someone's heel, tobacco scattered like sand. He stowed his bloodied knife, produced his matches and case, and lit a fresh one. His fingers began to tremble. He was shaking. His whole body was shaking. He couldn't make it stop. He turned back towards Skippy, deadly quiet like the calm before the storm. He gestured to her pocket with one hand and held the other to the wound on his side. The shiner on his face began to pulse with his erratic heartbeat.

"Is it worth it?" he asked, his voice low and hoarse. "Is what you've been hiding bloody worth it? Ey?"

He took another drag, amber eyes still locked on her. She blurred in and out of focus. His ears began to ring. He continued on, still just as silky and quiet as before.

"You were the target of an orchestrated attack, in broad daylight, in public. You know who hates broad daylight? Any crime org worth their salt, so whatever that thing is in your pocket? They're not going to stop at this to get it. Your friends here could have died. You could have died. I could have died. You are in way over your head, sweetheart. Now."

He took yet other drag.

"Since it's clear that you don't know what you're doing. Do you have a safehouse? Somewhere you can lay low? Because we need to move."

[visualspice]

Nola took the rope for the chandelier ; Missendria didn't even know she was clutching.
She then proceeded to pale at Fletcher's words. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Because he was right. 

"This.. it.. was only supposed to be a simple drop off. " she shook her head. And safe house.. if anything.. Ye'lard and Nola's place would have been a safe house... if any place she knew could count as such. 

She sighed, realizing she had been shaking and holding her breath. She raked a hand through her hair, unable to focus because...

Somehow or another.. she had really screwed up. And if there's one thing she feared more than this type of insanity? It was crossing the man who was her boss.

"I don't know," She finally admitted, hating that she sounded on the verge of tears. "This .. these.. jobs were supposed to be easy.. off the radar I.."

Now what? Everything just exploded.

[Nightcrawler]

So. There it was. She'd finally come out with it, and now it all made perfect sense. Of course it did. Of course it bloody did, because he'd been right about it all. It was why he'd sniffed her out as cleaner than the work she did. It was why she knew her way around streets and people and knives and lies, but not a lowly brawl. And now, with her voice cracking from the shock of it all, Skippy told him everything he needed to know.

She was absolutely, undeniably in over her head.

Fletcher seethed silently as he processed what she'd told him, nose crinkled up from the stabbing pain in his side. He looked from her, to Nola, to Ye'lard, still puffing furiously at his latest cigarette. Was he the only one here who knew how to do this shit? And, yet again: why. Did. He. Care?

"Yep," he said finally as if to answer his first question. "Right. Okay." He squared his shoulders and grunted at the fresh wave of sparks that jolted his rib bone. "Fuck me. Agh. Okay. Big Man. Listen. I'm sorry for the mess, but she's in shock and I need to get her moving. There'll be more of them. The sooner we do this, the safer it'll be for everyone involved. If you want her to make it out of this, I need your help."

He groaned. Rolled a shoulder to loosen it. Took another drag. Looked between Ye'lard and his wife. "Do you have any, I don't know. Cloaks or coats or even blankets we can borrow? Anything so that we're not wearing the same shite we were when we came in. Please," he added, like it at all made up for the swearing. "And second. If you don't happen to know of a place in the city where we can lay low until nightfall: what's the fastest, quietest way out of town?"

Finally, he rounded on Skippy. "And third. You. You need. To dump. The package. I don't care whose it is. The bloke can't be more danger to you than what you're already bloody in."

[visualspice]

Ye'lard and Nola exchanged looks before Nola stepped away.
"I'll go fetch some blankets." And she disappeared around the bend. Ye'lard, however, stood with large arms folded, looking between Fletcher and Missendria.

"I.. can't.. just .. give up the package," She finally managed to choke out. "Those men? The crazies in broad daylight? They've got nothing on the man I work for. If I lose whatever this special package is.. I .. why I'll be wishing these men had killed me!"

Ye'lard's expression only darkened.

"Missendria.. you can't mean you're involved with.. Opus Dey."

Missendria cut Ye'lard a look before she grimaced.

"Let's just say I thought I was doing the right thing," She muttered, still shaking as Nola returned with a handful of blankets.

"I can't say I know where you ought to go," Ye'lard said, grunting over a thought and shaking his head. "The sewers.. maybe but.."
His expression looked grim. "It's not like you can access that here."

Nola gasped. "You can't send a lady down there, Ye'lard! Think of the rats and things!"

Missendria laughed, an awful noise that drew their attention.

"I can't go anywhere," She said, shaking her head, still trembling. "The.. package needs to be dropped off within the hour.  Then.. hopefully, it won't be my problem anymore."

[Nightcrawler]

"Opus what?"

Fletcher racked his brain, but he'd never heard the words before in his life. It sounded exactly like the mysterious, menacing load of bollocks a criminal organization would call themselves, though. He shook his head, his expression still hardened and unforgiving, and ran a hand over his hair. No matter which way they went, they'd be at risk. Unless...

He coughed. Tasted blood again. Was it just his cut lip? He supposed it didn't matter right now. "So, then...we do the opposite of what they want," he rasped, glancing between the three of them again. "We stay in broad daylight. We take the busiest streets. Move from city guard to city guard. And we look as vulnerable and innocent as we bloody well can." His gaze landed on Skippy. "I don't know this city, so you tell me: is there a route like that to where you're headed? Because if so..."

He sighed, chuckled in the way an exhausted man would, and rubbed at his bloodshot eyes. Can't believe I'm saying this, he thought. "...then we need a bowl. To put under your dress. Because nobody in their right mind lets a pregnant woman and her kind, helpful husband get attacked in public."

[visualspice]

She felt ridiculous. Had she not been so numbed to the events that transpired, she may have protested more, probably would have even given up the idea pretending she was an old woman would have made more sense.. due to her wobble however...

Here they were, stepping outside of the inn and Missendria was swearing under her breath.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," She huffed, arm looped with Fletcher's as she gave him a flat stare. She adjusted the blanket, a make shift cloak, over her form and tried not to look too suspicious but.. she swore she still felt eyes upon her.

"I feel if they kill me now, I'd die with less dignity."

[Nightcrawler]

Fletch returned the stare with an equally unforgiving one. He was already livid after the fight. And now, he couldn't believe what he'd just heard come out of her mouth. "That's interesting," he snarled. "Real interesting. Hell of a way to say, 'Thank you, Dev, for still being decent enough to save my sorry arse after what I've put you through.' You're a piece of work, you know that?" He returned his attention to the street ahead and clenched his jaw against the rage, the pain, and the all-consuming urge to give her a bigger piece of his mind. The shiner he'd received had begun to swell. He'd tried to clean himself up as best as he could before they left, but he was sure he'd still attract attention.

"How much further?"

[visualspice]

She shot him a look.

"Of course I appreciate the help!" She snapped. "I didn't ask for it, and I already feel sick you, Nola and Ye'lard got roped into this."

She sighed, turning away from him to the road ahead.

'But your help is more than appreciated. " she sighed as they continued down the way.

"This is.... Just the first time what I do affected anyone else other than myself. I .. don't like it. This is supposed to be only my problem. I got myself into the contract. Only my name is on it."

She sighed.

"I honestly don't know what I'm doing but obviously someone found out what I'm doing and wants . Whatever it is I have for themselves.  I just want to drop it off and be done with it."

She sighed again, looking away, frowning. 

"I am sorry.. for what it's worth." Then she gave a small laugh. "Hell of a way to get Welcomed into Serendipity. "

[Nightcrawler]

The second he started to feel bad for her, Fletcher reined it in. Nope. No, no, no, he thought. He refused. He absolutely refused to care. It wasn't his business why some short-sighted, naïve little girl had gotten herself not only mixed up in gang affairs, but had apparently signed her name on a bloody contract of theirs. Stupid, he thought bitterly. Unbelievably stupid. He kept his eyes on the street and stared down anyone who so much as looked at them funny.

"Yeah, well," he muttered. "'Sorry' won't get you or I out of this alive, will it? Now come on. You didn't answer the question. How much further?"

[visualspice]

She cut him a sour look, then glanced away. She hated how awkward this was- needing to be arm and arm with a man criticizing her. And he was right, too. She frowned and glanced up at the roads before them.

"I don't know how much I should say outloud," she told him, honestly. She peered around. How may of those looking their way were out to get them? She adjusted her shawl, bringing it in closer but trying not to hide her 'pregnancy bowl' so that it looked as obvious as it could.

But she kept looking towards a tower that began to loom on the horizon- some belltower of a tall and impressive church....

She gave a look towards Fletcher, subtle, while glancing back in it's direction then down again, trying to remain shuffling and indistinct. 

[Nightcrawler]

"Well unless every stranger is leaning in for a kiss, I don't think they'll — "

Fletch shut up and followed her gaze to the tower. "Oh. Wonderful." He thought back to the last time he'd been in a similar building. He thought about the narrow spiral steps that could barely fit two men shoulder to shoulder. He thought about the exertion of climbing up and up and up, and how at the top, they'd have no fight left in them at all. He thought about how easy it would be to get boxed in on those stairs. How someone could pour oil down them and set it alight, or shove them out a window to their deaths.

"I hope you don't mean the top. That's not a dead drop...that's a trap, love."

[visualspice]

Missendria shot him a look.
"Not the top," she hissed, looking around and paranoidedly drawing her make shift shawl closer. "I have to get to the basement."

[Nightcrawler]

"Oh, aye, that's much better." Fletcher sighed. "Alright. Come on. Let's get this done."

He sped up without a second thought to how her ankle was doing. Truthfully, he was biting back a lot more than he'd chewed her out with, and at this point, he just wanted it to be over with. They'd do the drop, they'd go their separate ways, and he'd find someone with a bit more common sense to help him out. Her lack of street smarts still very much made him livid. Had he put so many people in danger, the least he'd have gotten was his ears cuffed. He wondered if she would have even realized the extent of what she'd caused had he not given her a talking to. Probably not, he thought.

Fletch festered and stewed in his own thoughts, and before he knew it they'd reached the base of the bell tower. There was only one door: a shabby one on the side, well away from the grand ones that marked the front of the church. He glanced about them once more, but the side street here was uncannily quiet. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen anyone following them up there. Not in any obvious way, anyways. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Something was wrong about all of it. This had been too easy.

He unwound his arm from hers and set his hands on his hips. "This is a trap," he repeated. Try as he might, his worry bled through. "We still doing this?"

[visualspice]

Missendria looked nervously to the skies. Was it time to make the drop? She hoped so. The sun seemed in the right place, but her mind was too frazzled for her to feel certain. 

Things had too easily gotten out of hand. And she still worried about Ye'lard and Nola.

She cut a look at Fletcher.

"Yes, we're still doing this " her words came out more snappish than she'd like. "Once it's out of my hands we won't be a target "

She drew in a long breath before nodding.
"You don't need to stick around. Only I need to make the drop off.  " it was her contract, after all.

[Nightcrawler]

He knew she was right. Hell, he even agreed with her: it wasn't his problem. He should wipe his hands clean from this crap. But he couldn't. He wasn't allowed. He was stuck here, protecting her, like a fly trapped on tarred paper. So he ignored what Skippy said, drew his belt knife, and breathed deep. "Let's get this over with," he growled. "I'd say ladies first, but — maybe not this time, ey?"

He pushed open the door. Stepped in. Closed it behind Skippy after she'd entered. It was eerily quiet. Dark, too. He wondered how they'd find the basement. He dug around in his pocket and made to light a match —

WHACK.

A blinding pain across the back of his head. Sparks flashed in his eyes for one split second, and then — nothing. Blissful nothing.



It was dark. It was cold. He was sore all over in places he hadn't ached in forever. His skull screamed at him like the world's worst hangover. His cheek was wet for some bloody reason. He groaned, shivered, and tried to pull the blanket tighter around his shoulders. Why was it so damned freezing? Where in the hell was he?

Fletch opened his eyes, for all the good that did him. He could barely see two feet in front of him, and anything he could make out was washed over in that faint silver blue of night. But from what he could see — and hear — and smell, for that matter — he wasn't in the city anymore. Far from it. The more he let his eyes adjust, the more he realized that he'd somehow, inexplicably, found himself in the middle of nowhere.

"Great," he muttered, and his head punished him for exerting himself even that much. "Unnghh. Fuck..." He rubbed his face and winced at all the bruises. He wondered if he'd been dragged out here and dumped alone, or if...

"Skippy?" he rasped. "You still there?"

[visualspice]

She wouldn't reply. She couldn't reply. Missendria lay in a pool of her own blood- her body so terribly beaten that if it weren't for her wild, blonde hair spilling around her form, it could have been anyone else.

She didn't move. She didn't stir. She looked like the damn dead, with sunken, bruised eyes and cuts all over. Even one of her arms looked .. wrong.

And she.. her skin so ashen she nearly looked..

Dead? 

Except she unfortunately wasn't, as she lay there, breathing shallow and rough and soft.

[Nightcrawler]

She didn't answer. Maybe she wasn't even there. For some reason, the thought of being alone out here scared him more than being stuck with her. He crawled around in the grass, one hand extended out in front of him as dew soaked through his trouser knees. "Damn it all," he spat. Then, just in front of him, he spotted it: a cloud of silver and gold in the night.

"Skippy?" he coughed.

Nothing.

"Skippy! Hey!"

Still nothing. He crawled closer and patted her roughly on the cheek. "Skippy, wake u—" But she was cold. Her breaths were rough and raspy like a death rattle. And the more his eyes adjusted, the more he couldn't deny the blood that pooled around her body. Too much blood. His heart dropped.

"Shit. No, no, no, not again. Don't you fucking die on me. Don't you..."

Again? What was he talking about? He'd never met this woman before today. Well, yesterday, now. Fletch shook himself mentally and the image of the other blonde abruptly faded. He looked Skippy over again, and as he did, another familiar voice came to him, all harsh gravel and reason. He'd heard it yesterday. It was the one from his dreams. Find the worst of it, Mr. Fletcher, and stop the bleeding. Hurry.

"Okay. Okay, okay. Erm — " He paused, winced, and let out a long, shuddering sigh. He knew what he had to do, and neither of them were going to like it. "It's not what it looks like, alright? Promise. I'm not going to hurt you. You can slap me as hard as you like when you're better. I'm sure you'd love that," he added. Why am I talking to her? He thought. She's fucking unconscious. He began to pat along her legs, seeking the warmest blood. The wounds on her calves seemed cool and shallow. Past her knees, though...

He laughed, but it sounded like a sob. "Great. Lovely." Whomever had gone after Skippy like this had done it in a fit of rage. These wounds weren't precise in the least. Still, by chance, one of them had gotten awfully close to an artery in her thigh, and it was still leaking fresh blood. Okay. He'd have to patch it up, and quickly. He continued to pat her, faster now, searching for any more heavy bleeders. "Promise I'm just looking," he muttered, half to her and half to himself. "You're alright. Erm. Okay. Unless there's a bad one on your back, I think the leg's the worst of it. I'm going to stop the bleeding. Please don't wake up and kick me in the face until I'm done, yeah? You can do it after. Okay. Right."

Fletch swallowed audibly. He was stalling, and he couldn't afford to. "Right," he said again, and got down to business. He tore the blanket over his head and tucked it over her chest and around her arms. Then went his coat, which he kept for himself. Lastly, he pulled his ruined shirt, torn to shreds and stained with his own dry blood, off of his shoulders. He winced as his skin pulled taut over a million cuts and bruises. He shivered. Then he tugged the coat back on, buttoned it up, rolled up the sleeves, and got to work.

"I'm sorry," he muttered as he moved her skirts carefully out of the way. "I'm not being a lech. I swear." He pressed his bunched up shirt firmly to the wound and held it there to stanch the bleeding. With his other hand, he felt beneath her back. The cuts seemed to stop beneath her arms, like she'd only been attacked from the front. But there was so much blood soaked into the grass that if she did have another bleeder, he wouldn't know it by feel alone. Sooner or later, he'd have to flip her over and check.

"You don't make it easy for me, do you, Skippy?" Fletcher grumbled. He sighed, shivered again, and stared off into the black, waiting for the bleeding to stop. It was going to be a long night.

[visualspice]

After some time, the woman finally made some semblance of motion- a noise.. a groan of breath. She was too weak to open her eyes at first, but the immense pain and shock to her body weighed her down, making it impossible to see.. to speak...

But after a time... she groaned, the sound throaty and raspy and her body began to tremble- both from the cold, and from the pain. She was barely able to open her eyes, one was crusted shut by layers of dried blood...

But everything was so dark.. she felt dizzy.. and it was hard to focus on anything around her.