"I see; so you’re nothing more than a name.” + Canis, Oryctolagus, & maaaaaaybe Drakkon (because how fun is a covert insult)
@augment-techs holy shit. I meant this to be a gift/companion piece that your story inspired... and it grew like one of Zedd's monsters!
Dismantling a God
Red already felt the prickles of growing agitation even before Drakkon unleashed a torrent of unrepentant curses. It wasn’t his partner’s ire that elicited the dread coiling in his chest, but the unexpected upheaval that loomed on the horizon.
“Who’s bright idea was this dumb shit, anyways?” the tyrant snarled hotly, looking from one bonehead to the other. “Haven’t we already done this song and dance once before? Have we learned nothing?”
He waited for a response, but none was forthcoming. Jason genuinely couldn’t say for sure how the plan for Halloween came about, only that the fucking thing had grown to epic proportions before he could put a stop to it.
Tommy huffed and rolled his eyes.
“We got put between a rock and a hard place, asshole! Do you know how many excuses we’ve given to keep the others away?” he retorted. “We’ve run out of reasons that don’t sound suspicious or illegal!”
Red perched on the back of the couch, fingers plucking the threads lining the hem of his t-shirt. Feeling like he just might flip out, vomit, or a combination of the two, the former pet opted to keep his mouth shut and let the other three hash it out.
“Just like I said before! It’s a bullshit holiday! What’s the point in dressing up and decorating in blood and gore, if its all fucking fake?”
Back in the palace, dressing up in elaborate costumes, engaging in twisted and often fatal endeavors, and laughing in merriment while doing so was just any other day of the week ending in a ‘y’.
“At least we had good wine to go along with the festivities, not a bunch of booger-pickers running about, screaming their heads off, and puking from too many sweets!” Drakkon continued to argue. “Now you’re going to sit there and decree that we can’t be in the sanctity of our home so you can throw your little soiree!”
“It’s not like that…” Jason tried to interrupt but the older man wasn’t having any of his shit.
He waved his hand dismissively.
“You realize that we have to pack up and hide all our belongings unless you want people to gossip about Uncle David and his boyfriend Jamie having a sex swing and other BDSM related paraphernalia in their bedroom? Because you know some motherfucker or other will go snooping about!”
Tommy’s brow furrowed and he glanced at the Omega, who had no answer that would smooth ruffled feathers.
“I’m sorry, guys…” was the best he could manage.
“Your ASS is going to be sorry!”
Red couldn’t take all the anxious energy humming along the nerves of his muscles. This Halloween get-together had shifted from just being the White Ranger and his team and the Omegas to now including not only Mr. and Mrs. Scott, but the parents of the other Rangers as well. The two Coinless orphans got lucky before and managed to get by with the skin of their teeth the last time they’d had an unfortunate collision with the very people they had to hide from.
And the grey-haired man harbored a lot of mixed feelings about being in proximity to Jason’s mother after the near miss when the Omega had been ill.
Red forced himself to take a few deep, steadying breaths as he tried to ground himself using the techniques that had come up in conversation with Jane, their neighbor down the way who’d once operated the general store in the campground and had been kind to him. The plump, matronly woman was warm and thoughtful and a really good listener. Truthfully, he’d had to catch himself more than once almost saying the very things he shouldn’t as they sat on Jane’s front porch painting and conversing.
“People go through bad things sometimes,” she said, adding a thin line to highlight the wing of a cardinal in flight. “And it can change you, sonny…for better and for poorer. But you have to survive whatever fallout comes your way, have to remind yourself that you’re safe.”
Red couldn’t remember how they’d gotten on the subject of trauma and its far reaching tendrils. Perhaps a book they’d both read at the same time?
“I’ve heard of a few ways that can help when your nervous system takes a hit.”
5-4-3-2-1 method…
Deep breathing…
Temperature shock…
Sensory grounding…
He was in the middle of breath-work when Drakkon started screeching yet again in his outrage.
“And where the fuck are my darling and I supposed to secret ourselves while you all get shit-faced and frolic in merriment? Out in the lake like mermaids? In the garden shed like a couple of perverted voyeurs?”
Tommy smacked a hand on the coffee table.
“Jesus Christ, dude! Do you really think we’d make Red stay outside all night in the woods?”
He had that argumentative look on his freckled face again, the one he got when he decided he wanted to drag Drakkon’s ass to hell and back.
“Oh, fuck you, Thomas! You know what, you little shit? You can take that shiny White Light of yours and shove it up…”
That’s when Jason’s cell phone started to ring and a solution to their problem was formulated.
It was Eugene’s idea. Maybe not the part that included inviting Drakkon. As far as the homicidal tyrant was concerned, he could go fuck himself with a rusty fish hook for all the former Sentry captain cared. Right in front of Zordon and Grace Sterling too.
“Are you sure about this, love?” Matt queried before calling the quad. “You weren’t too keen on him coming over before.”
Skull was seated at his beloved piano, gently wiping the glossy surfaces with a soft cloth as he hummed under his breath.
“If ol’ Fuck Face can’t come, then Red won’t. And I might have my own reasons for wanting them both here,” he answered as casually as if discussing what to make for dinner. “Nothing lethal, mind you… I did learn a very valuable lesson under my former employer. Sometimes granting a reprieve isn’t always a kindness."
Billy and Matt exchanged a concerned look. It creeped them out when Skull started talking like that, a sort of tone of voice and posture and perspective that wasn’t quite ‘him’. They were from something that was cold and archaic…possibly not of this plane of existence. But it was nothing they could say for certain as both were too uncomfortable to ask Eugene about those ‘situations’ in any great detail.
Not the deceased animals, the wail, the dissociation, the complex underground system with its treasures that Skull carefully curated…
Because they didn’t know exactly WHO might answer. Not any entity that the Blue Ranger could pinpoint with any of his scanners. It was like trying to nail water to the wall.
“If you’re certain, Eugene,” Billy murmured, “I’ll give Jason a call right now and get everything set up.”
Skull didn’t acknowledge the words as he continued scrutinizing the delicate instrument for motes of dust.
When Drakkon finally processed the offer, he almost decided that roughing it out in nature was the better situation. There was a lot of bad blood between himself and his one time Red Sentry captain, Eugene Skullovitch. Hell, it actually went back much further to the days when he was still Tommy Oliver, a surly, freckled face psychopath.
And shit had only rolled downhill since…
“He’s going to slit my throat or something,” Drakkon whispered in Tommy’s ear as Jason and Red peered into the video screen. “Five bucks he’s recreating some serial killer slasher to go along with this Halloween theme…”
The White Ranger looked at him incredulously.
“Motherfucker…the only one here that did that heinous shit was YOU. YOU plotted the most fucked up shit, splurged on it like a royal wedding, and made a public spectacle of the whole thing! Even for the dumbest offense. So don’t act all high and mighty!”
He stopped gearing up for a throw down when Red eagerly answered ‘Yes, please,’ to the trip to the trio’s home. His face was pallid and he’d started doing the ominous pulling of his hair that usually heralded an ass cheek full of sedative after an episode of biting (either at Drakkon or sometimes self-directed during the bad slips), throwing punches, breaking furniture, screaming obscenities, and other acts of physical aggression.
The last time Red had REALLY flipped shit was when the red velvet box in the trophy room was brought up. Exactly how that had become a topic of conversation, they couldn’t remember. But sure as shit, they would NEVER open that can of worms again in the foreseeable future.
And definitely not while drinking…
Following his subsequent recovery from the combined alcohol and sedation hangover (not an ideal combination but Red was completely unmanageable even with Drakkon’s strategies), the embarrassed and ashamed pet sketched a ‘self-portrait’ of sorts: a large canine with a thick leather collar. The tag’s inscription, rendered in shaky block letters, was painful to read but served as a reminder.
‘Red (Good). No Biting.’
This sad memento was actually the first thing to be packed away, nestled in a box with his other journals and artwork that wasn’t meant to be beautiful, before the quad set to work dismantling the sex swing, the pole, and the various restraint ties tucked into every room. A shit ton of alcohol, mostly expensive wines that Tommy and Jason would never be able to afford in their wildest dreams, was next. Drakkon’s collection of serial killer memorabilia was stashed in another container along with a few collectable action figures of his favorite television series and some really weird memento mori he’d unexpectedly found during a forced excursion to a vintage thrift store.
The artistic renderings of the nude male form was similarly taken down in Drakkon and Red’s room. Fetish magazines and sex toys followed.
For his part, Red didn’t really have much in the way of socially inappropriate property beyond some risque attire and sketches. He’d been used to his ‘master’ selecting what would be used during their play. All the photographs he’d taken of Drakkon were hidden as well as any that the others happened to have of the pet. Most of what he hated to see ‘leaving’ were his favorite vintage finds, items that Drakkon pointed out were bound to be accidentally broken or manhandled too roughly.
Jason had repaired the holes in the walls and the bathroom door that Red had made ‘that one time’ when he’d tried to come through after them, and the places were repainted and decorated as if nothing bad had transpired.
Seeing the cabin stripped bare of any sign of him living there was very unnerving for Red, still feeling raw and unmoored after the ‘thing with the haunted box’, though that incident had been months ago.
“Darling, I promise you that you’ll have them back promptly by tomorrow afternoon. I don’t care what it costs me,” Drakkon soothed, slipping an arm around Red’s shaking shoulders and guiding him to Tommy’s waiting vehicle.
The entire trip to the trio’s home, Red had been mute, almost catatonic really. Tommy frequently patted the syringe he’d pulled from the ‘Bullshit Box’ prior to locking the front door. There was a strong enough dose to put Red on his ass from now until until a full 24 hours later.
‘I really don’t want to do that to him, but goddamn is he vicious as fuck when he has an episode.’
Red could be as terrifying as Drakkon when he got on a good tear. It was hard to imagine him prancing about the palace in such an unbalanced and temperamental mindset. The containment cage had been a measured dose of what he was truly capable of and, while unable to physically assault anyone, the pet’s mouth had been brutal.
That wild, spiteful demon was NOT the man Red was here in the Prime Universe, not at his core. It was just…sometimes his mind got… confused.
The tyrant rode the whole way in the backseat with his darling situated between himself and Jason.
Just in case.
It was when Red laid eyes on Eugene again that he broke from his muddied thoughts. He actually smiled when he saw his old friend nonchalantly lounging in the doorway to the music room. Giddy as a toddler, his eyes sparkled with excitement.
“Will you show me your warren, little rabbit? I can’t wait to see what you’ve created down there in the dark…”
Tommy, Jason, and Drakkon lifted their brows simultaneously in surprise at Red’s odd words. Eugene’s nickname during their stint in hell hadn’t been something he’d ever shared. Hearing about the pair’s kooky friendship in the palace was one thing; seeing it play out was another. Even the former dictator hadn’t been privy to much of what transpired between Red and Eugene while he was away as the servants were loath to initiate conversation with their unhinged lordship and the pet hadn’t deemed it worthy of his master’s attention.
Like almost everything else as he’d come to learn following the embarrassing McDonald’s brawl.
“Don’t look at me like I have a clue,” he muttered to the White Ranger and the little duckling. “Apparently no one thought it necessary to tell me shit about what went on in my own kingdom while I was out busting my ass to squash resistance.”
Billy glared, Matt stared owlishly, Jason shook his head, Tommy sucked in a breath between his teeth and lifted his middle finger, and Eugene favored Drakkon with a bizarre sort of grin, sort of like the cat that caught the canary…which had always been his own signature expression, dammit!
Red was too swept up in the intrigue to pay them any mind. He did note the tight lines about Skull’s eyes and tilted his head like a canine would when encountering something of interest.
“You appear worn ragged, Sentry… Burning the midnight oil?”
The other Coinless orphan shrugged, his eyes not leaving Drakkon’s face.
“Days with ghoulies and ghosties up and about this time of year kick up my own bullshit…”
Red gave a knowing nod, following Eugene toward an uninteresting door in the music room.
“Hmmm…. Have you considered seasonal depression? I have a lovely friend who knows a lot about the brain. She says it's a hobby…”
Drakkon gave a withering look of resignation before he too strode across the room to where Eugene and Red had gone.
“You don’t think there’s going to be a blood bath, do you?” Jason muttered, only half-joking. “That seemed a little tense…”
Matt shrugged.
“Hard to say. Those three don’t act like other people I’ve ever met. Eugene said killing Drakkon would actually be disappointing and detrimental to his enjoyment…so there’s that…”
Jason ran a hand over his face.
“This is going to be the longest night of my life…and I thought the Fourth of July was bad…”
The complex tunnel system really was like a rabbit’s warren. Drakkon followed a few steps behind Red and Eugene who strolled merrily along the dirt path, pausing to admire various features or structures as they made their way to who the fuck knew where. They were clearly lost in their own conversation as if he weren’t trailing after them like a defunct Grim Reaper.
And considering the implications of being alone down under the earth with one person who would happily wear his guts for garters and the other who, given the right triggers, would tear his throat out and regret it later, being forgotten was the better outcome. With his enhanced hearing, Drakkon was able to listen to the conversation unfolding as it segued into reminiscing of the good ol’ past.
‘Fuck…’
Eugene continued with the grand tour, showing off caches of food and other collected odds and ends that the tyrant couldn’t make sense of. Red nodded as if it were all perfectly rational. At one point, Drakkon almost pulled his partner’s arm, tugging him back a step or two to whisper in his ear that some of this shit wasn’t exactly sane…
Fortunately, he thought better of it and kept his observations to himself. After all, he was the very last person who should comment on anyone else’s mental health. Certainly, Red had his own constellation of diagnoses that he continued to battle in the psychiatric realm and might very well have taken offense to any criticism of his friend’s hard work.
The first time Drakkon spoke was when he realized how muffled and muted the world sounded…and how very far they had to have traveled in this tunnel system.
“Is it always so dark and quiet?”
Eugene raised a brow as he glanced over his shoulder, almost as if he’d forgotten his former lordship was present. He was calmly explaining how he’d set up these quarters, now somewhere between 15 and 20 feet below ground and in the middle of the goddamn woods, with a series of eavesdropping pipes.
Red’s eyes were wide with wonder as he loved the great outdoors and anything nature related. He was utterly in love with the secret rooms, the leave-strewn sort of sky light, the set up for handmade wares, the cozy burrow aesthetic that only an animal could truly appreciate.
The crafting of the pipe system would also have fascinated Drakkon, as he loved all things cloak and dagger and sneaky…were it not for the thick, ominous looking door before them. It was different from the other ones, more imposing and impenetrable…
In the recesses of his mind, the tyrant heard the loud grind of hinges and deadbolts sliding home, the choking, wet screams of a defiant 17 year old, and demonic, gleeful laughter.
‘Deadlock…’
Heavy chains, blades, straps and whips, the grimy horse trough that caused the Coinless Jason Scott to become hysterical, straightjackets, and potent, mind-alternating injections…
Drakkon shook himself, trying to stop the incriminating cascade of his past atrocities even as he tried to peer through the gloom to see if any of it crossed Red’s face, if CJ’s heightened emotional response would bleed through the mysterious partitions in his mind.
But the other man merely tittered playfully.
“A little rabbit, truly you are…”
Neither expected to see what was just on the other side of that door. Not out here in the middle of the forest, underground, in THIS universe.
Drakkon felt the extra saliva trickling into mouth that always accompanied nausea and he swallowed it before he could gag or retch. Looking at the familiar pool stretching away into the darkness, he recognized those specific tiles as they shimmered under the water…the very ones he’d picked out a whole lifetime ago.
‘Because they were the best and most expensive…that’s the only thing I knew about them.’
Red stood at the pool’s precipice, face slack, his glasses slid half down his nose as he stared. He didn’t speak, didn’t flinch when Eugene moved off towards the far corner, leaving the lantern behind, the metal grating against the edge of the pool. But he did pivot and practically sprint after his ‘little rabbit’.
There was yet another room behind another hidden door and when Skull opened it, they were bathed in soft light…natural light.
The only sound Red could make was a startled intake of breath, like a prey nabbed by a snare, a noise that was both fear and disbelief.
‘How is this here? It was all destroyed… None of this can be real!’
It was decorated nearly the same way as the last time he could remember seeing it, in those days before his delusions and hallucinations reached a fever pitch and he suffered large blocks of missing time, crying about ghosts and whispered voices from the mirrors until Drakkon attempted to ‘beat the stupid’ out of him. Then he’d spent less and less time in his beloved alcove…until the coup that saw them running for their lives in the middle of the night.
There was the table he’d repurposed from a dusty storage room, its surface covered in tubes of paint and the collection of brushes cloistered in a chipped vase, the tin container of loose buttons, scraps of fabric, and small gems that fell loose of their settings and ended up in dark corners, and a stack of books that he’d read so many times he could recite them by heart.
Garrett’s favorite black button up, an unconscious fashion choice that Red made to this day, hung on a hook above a colorful patchwork quilt that sat folded neatly on a rickety chair. The recipe box that once belonged to the old farmer’s wife rested on a shelf next to distinctive black frame glasses, the lenses now scratched and dusty. All the myriad pots and gardening implements he once treasured were bundled into a corner, the box for various seeds full of packets for glass gem corn, Sweet Juliet roses, purple carrots, and other odd plants.
Red didn’t need to lift the lid to know they still waited inside in orderly rows.
Drakkon wisely waited just outside the door, his breath reflexively held. He’d heard Red talk about his hidden alcove in the palace, first screamed at him as they both cried like traumatized children and then later when the former pet revealed just a little more and a little more with Tommy and Jason listening, too enthralled to speak.
The tyrant had never seen the alcove, never knew it even existed. Wouldn’t have realized there was a hiccup in his palace design.
“At first, it was a place to hide from the perverted Sentries who hunted me, who would try to rape me until the day I tore a few to ribbons. But I don’t remember how I came across it…” Red mentioned one evening in the hotel shortly after all the ‘fireworks’ and the decision to try to move forward. “I wasn’t very scary in the beginning.”
Right now, the lithe man looked as if he just might start to cry.
“How…” he whispered, looking at Eugene. “This is…this is exactly like…”
He gestured to Garrett’s button up.
“This can’t really be his…”
Eugene smiled and it wasn’t the jovial one that Red knew from their old days together. It was ‘other’ but also not completely unknown. It was a ‘cruel to be kind’ sort of grin, like there was an underlying point to all this.
“Memory was the only thing I kept from across the dark…” Skull was saying as Red’s hands sought purchase on the table’s edge, the world shifting and tilting like a kaleidoscope.
He smoothed his palms over the pitted surface, trying to ground himself with the things that surrounded him…as Jane had shown him.
‘Five things I can see… a gardening manual, brass buttons, quill nibs…huh?’ he whispered frantically to himself. ‘I don’t remember those… leather gloves, pocketwatch…’
Red’s brow furrowed. These weren’t treasures he’d collected but here they lay. Perhaps Skull’s memory was not as accurate as it first appeared.
‘Four things I can feel…’ he continued desperately. ‘Rough wood, parchment paper, ivory button, ink well…’
The technique didn’t seem to be working. If anything, scrutinizing this tableau made him feel…off-kilter. Homesick, disgustingly homesick, but home wasn’t following all the rules.
‘Three things I can hear… wind in the leaves, birds chirping, a ticking clock…’
Red’s knees buckled and he went down, dropping to the floor and pulling the button container, the leather gloves, and the pocketwatch with him.
Reflexively, Drakkon started forward, to pull his partner to him, to see if he was alright, but the sightless look in the other man’s eyes stopped him from entering. He was starting to dissociate, something that often preceded a panic attack or an explosion of violence and rage. It was a coin toss as to what exactly would happen.
‘And that little shit didn’t leave the ‘night-night’ juice’!’
Eugene’s frame was blocking his path and every nerve in Drakkon’s body signaled a warning against touching him, an ill-advised move under normal circumstances and more so right now when ghosts were whispering softly words that he couldn’t translate and it felt like it had just turned thirteen o’clock.
But his darling was in distress and, unlike his past self, the tyrant wanted to comfort him. Even if that meant getting his ass torn to shreds.
He shouldn’t have been that surprised when Eugene (?) easily intercepted him, planting his back against the wall with one hand over his chest.
‘Skull’s not home right now…’ echoed wildly through Drakkon’s head.
Apparently, there were some ground rules regarding their stay.
“Don’t have sex in here or in any of the other rooms I’ve shown you…” Eugene stated coolly, his eyes reflecting a strange orangish glow that had to be a trick of the light in here, yet they both knew better. “I don’t care if you make out or get it on in the living room or the guest room or the shower or even the laundry room. I can air those out and clean up any of those places…”
Drakkon was flummoxed despite the overall weirdness and hint of danger. As if he’d try to fuck anyone surrounded by dirt, roots, worms, and decaying shit! Not that he COULDN’T mind you…but there was such a thing as ambiance…
(This isn’t about that, you little idiot.)
Eugene’s mouth didn’t move, the tone wasn’t even exactly his, nor did those words come from Red who was rhythmically rocking and staring into space as if hypnotized. His partner’s hands fluttered about his head, wrists rolling, fingers threading air like smoothing threads, while alternately holding his head.
The orchestral moves weren’t something that Drakkon had ever seen Red do before, an almost elegant form of psychomotor agitation. Usually it was hair pulling, pacing, and fidgeting with his clothing. Eugene glanced over once, his expression mild and not at all concerned.
“I’m going to leave you to, ah…to yourselves for a little bit,” he went on, emphasizing ‘yourselves’ in a way that clearly meant something more than was being said. “Let you have a moment and a little…talk. But I’m going to need to hear you say you understand me.”
It took a moment for Drakkon’s mind to decipher what Skull was wanting. Weird shit was happening…spooky shit, actually. He forced a stilted nod, almost too anxious to speak.
“So I can hear you please,” Eugene ordered, pressing harder on the tyrant’s chest.
Drakkon felt warmth at his left ear, a feeling of vertigo washing over him and worsening the nausea that hadn’t fully gone away.
(Play nice and don’t bite, now…be a good boy…you can do it…)
“I…understand…” he finally grunted with effort.
Skull gave him another creepy grin that was surface level only. He removed his hand and straightened, hands behind his back.
“There’s a good boy. I’ll let you have some privacy. Maybe bring down some food later; we’ll see where my mood is then. Ta!”
Then the former Sentry was gone, disappearing through the door and into the darkness.
Drakkon had registered how fast his heart was beating until after Skull had departed and the oppressive ‘wall’ that pressed against his skin had lessened. He forced himself to move, striding quickly towards where Red curled with his forehead on the floor and tears trickling from his lashes.
“Darling?” the tyrant murmured gently, reaching out to put a hand on the quivering shoulders.
He had no more than grazed the soft cotton fabric of his shirt when Red visibly tensed, a low growl of warning deep in his throat that wafted through the still air and felt like a physical thing.
“I don’t want you in here.”
The words came from where the grey-haired man hunkered but the pitch and enunciation were…wrong… They were articulated and ‘proper’. Maybe a hint of accent?
Drakkon just had time to wonder if this was some fucked up drunken dream or hallucination when Red swiftly stood, posture straight rather than hunched as if apologizing for existing. He’d been holding the immaculate leather gloves in his lap. Now, he gracefully pulled them on, turning each hand to and fro like a gentleman from another era.
His eyes lifted to linger directly on those hazel ones he’d come to know so well.
And Drakkon felt a rush of terror when he saw that Red’s eyes were somehow…gold. Both of them…
“I…”
A gloved finger wagged in scolding; Red’s mouth lifted in a chilly smirk.
“You were never supposed to be in here. This isn’t your place, this is my place,” he growled, stalking slowly toward him. “Now, then…Get. Out.”
“But…” Drakkon tried, still attempting to make sense out of this whole Halloween bullshit, sure that this was some juvenile prank cooked up by Eugene and Red to ‘get his goat.’
Then gloved hands were pressing against his shoulders, forcing him backwards from the room. Red had always been deceptively strong despite his lithe build, more like a male ballet dancer than a brawler like Jason Scott. The raw strength behind just this movement caught the tyrant off-guard until he was stumbling backwards into warm water.
Red stared down at him from the pool’s edge, fingers spinning silk in the air near his hip.
“Allow me my sorrow for now, just for now, without your incessant need to butt into every corner of my life…” he snarled, the dried tears on his cheeks leaving behind thin streaks of ruddy irritation.
Then, Red spun on his heel and crossed back to the faux alcove.
“Stay there, dragon!”
Drakkon was about to argue, to demand to know exactly when the pet had started to talk like that, using bigger, fancier words than he’d used even in the Grim’s fairy tale world they’d left, but his voice died in his throat. He’d seen the rage, the mindless fury Red didn’t mind showing in a fight, the anguish that made him look not like Red but also not like Jason either. It defied logic.
He was a hobbyist of the mind much like Jane, the neighbor lady that Red had taken a shine to, however, the tyrant had perverted that knowledge into a weapon to wound and scar. He knew quite a bit about DID after coming to the Prime Universe, that an alter had their own microexpressions, tone of voice, posture, body language, talents and strengths. It was why the older man and the Omega could stand side by side and not look like time-separated twins. Red didn’t just look like an older Jason Scott, that was the thing.
‘Close enough to know but different enough to make you almost second guess…’
Drakkon wasn’t certain if Red meant for him to just stay out here in the room or to stay in the pool itself. However at the rate things were going in this fucked up escapade, he decided to not take chances. Standing in water as warm as fresh piss was better than agitating whoever or whatever the hell had just given him a command.
The sky outside had dimmed to a soft purple and the birds had settled into their nests for the night. These were things that Drakkon couldn’t know, waiting stupidly in the pool that was a replica of his once great bath. He felt as dumb as an ox, unsure how long this wretched visit had left. From somewhere in the tunnels came the click of a door and footsteps over cobblestones.
‘Great…now I have a peanut gallery…’
But Eugene didn’t even look his way as he passed the pool, striding towards the door that Red had disappeared behind earlier. His face was blank, from what little the tyrant could tell in the gloom, detached, cold maybe… In his hands was a serving tray with a tea pot, a pair of mugs, and a jar of yellow goo.
As the former Sentry crossed the room, there came that sensation of whispering ghosts and phantom breezes that caressed his mind. It made the hair on his neck stand on end.
Skull approached the door, not bothering to knock or announce his arrival. And somehow the door opened just as he moved to cross the threshold. Then it firmly slammed shut once more.
‘Goddamn, I really hope I just drank too much and this is some horror hallucination from a Steven King plot that my brain latched onto…’
He knew it wasn’t the case.
When he entered, Oryctolagus nodded politely at his visitor, who was perched on a rocky outcropping that overlooked the woods. The man returned the acknowledgement, snapping his pocketwatch shut with a soft click and slipping it into a shirt pocket.
(You remember how I take my tea. I’m touched)
While not spoken aloud, the sentiment passed as easily as if they had. If spoken, one would have mistaken it for Latin perhaps…something archaic and mystical. Not realizing how right they would be about that last bit.
The rabbit sat the serving tray between them after settling a respectful distance apart on the ledge.
(Honey, fresh from the comb. Black tea. Warm. Canis is more fond of coffee. This was a gamble.)
A toothy smile that wasn’t Eugene’s own curled his lips.
(I rather thought you weren’t talking. Or fronting, Vulpes.)
Red’s gloved hands moved delicately as they poured tea into a cup and spooned in a generous heap of honey.
(It's never been my preference to…front. I’m one who watches. Strategizes. Plots. Not that I can’t…take the reins, as they say. I haven’t had to do that since the palace.)
He sipped the warm brew, looking over his glasses at his ‘kin’ for lack of a better term. Skull prepared his drink, straight black tea, no honey.
(I sensed you, Fox, on my way over. Just a vibration. Canis wasn’t hard to pick up.)
Red’s grin was mischievous.
(Yes. He is much bigger than I am. Stronger since he’s been our primary for so long. But that was the point.)
His hands gestured as if petting something.
(Look at the precious puppy…don’t look over here where I’m waiting in my den. All of Jason’s strategic and battle talents, those things that HE was most eager to get access to, excised and stored with me.)
He laughed merrily, further stirring his tea and clinking the spoon against the china.
(Canis can fight, yes, but he cannot breach the part of our mind that I’ve restricted him from. Not until the time was right. He can plan short-term and that was sufficient.)
Oryctolagus tilted his head in curiosity. His mode of operating and how he’d arrived hadn’t been the same. Vastly different circumstances meant that altered their ‘life’ outside the Grid.
(You were working behind the scenes…playing the long game, Vulpes.)
The fox finished his tea, sitting the cup back on the server before standing and strolling towards the table top. He plucked a book, the gardening manual, from it lay amongst the others.
(We learned chemistry this way…those same innocent ingredients in fertilizer are configured in a way that makes a very noise. Simple nitrogen, water, and oxygen…Not just a means of self-sustenance in the future with farming.)
He flipped through the pages briskly, the familiar pictures and words echoing through Red’s eyes.
(I learned the layout of the palace, the surrounding grounds, the guard rotation, the weak spots in the perimeter. I knew all of Drakkon’s ‘tells’, how to subtly manipulate when necessary just as I gave Canis gentle nudges towards plants and nature.)
Skull nodded in understanding, placing his own cup back with the other.
(You were setting up the chess board. Clever.)
Vulpes smiled a matching toothy grin, more vulpine than human.
(I sowed dissent, whispered rumors, wrote the threats… I switched the potions in Finster-5’s lab, sabotaged what I needed to without anyone the wiser. Canis could be a riot, but myself? I was the coup.)
He bowed grandly.
(Unfortunately, Canis had grown too strong, too massive. Even if we managed to escape the palace, that lovestruck mutt would have fought me, tried to go back. Communication between us…did not go well. He called me a ghost, the ‘one who watches’.)
He shrugged and heaved a sigh.
(I only had one shot to do this right. And I like my equations clean. This wasn’t going to work out in the end, but I suppose in a round-about way it did.)
(Have you tried to talk to Canis now? Since coming here? Or CJ…)
The fox shook his head.
(Neither Canis or the boy are stable enough. Even I’m not altogether there, a silent witness to mass homicide and depravity. Because we formed from a broken mind, the dog and I are no longer the same as we once were and that makes it…complicated.)
(Explain.)
(When one walks over a shattered mirror, pieces get embedded in the feet…or paws.)
Vulpes smiled at the joke.
(That mirror was CJ’s mind. We picked up pieces when we walked through. I myself curated certain aspects intentionally. And because of that we aren’t only Grid animals…we are now hybridized as it were…)
Eugene nodded as if that made perfect sense and held up the teapot to see if a refill was desired.
(Oh yes, I’d love another cup. Who knows how long until I have another? As the gatekeeper/fail safe/historian in residence, I have to ease our shared mindscape into a sort of treaty and they are not ready.)
Orychtolagus politely refilled his companion’s mug, sliding the honey closer with a jovial chuckle.
(And the one out there in the water, like a piece of shit floating in the bowl… No longer the mighty dragon to be slain. He’s the one who follows your body like a puppy now. Have you overlooked his transgression as Canis did?)
At the mention of the tyrant, Vulpes expression turned into one of disgust, as if considering which piece of rot he’d be willing to touch.
(No, most definitely not. He is trying to pay a penance that can’t be repaid. Not in one lifetime, more not several.)
(Do you wanna fuck around with him? In a purely non-sexual manner, of course. He’s at the door now, trying to puzzle us out, as if he could hear us…It might be a bit of a lark for you.)
Vulpes chuckled darkly, his eyes reflecting the scant light like a wild creature.
(You’re too kind, rabbit. Setting this up on the off chance I’d venture out. Yes, I’d like a word with that bossy motherfucker…)
Drakkon strained to hear any sound coming from the other side of the thick wood. There was absolutely nothing, no hushed whispers, rustle of paper, shifting of weight…
‘Are they just sitting there staring at each other or something?’
The soft caress of whispers grew stronger when he first approached the closed door, like words on another plane of reality…nothing ‘real’.
He was leaning hard into the door when it suddenly swung open, causing him to stumble ass over end into the reproduction of Red’s sanctuary. It wasn’t dignified and he knew his cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. Unfortunately, things were not about to get any easier.
Red and Eugene favored him with wide, animalistic smiles, full of sharp teeth…or at least they looked like Red and Eugene.
‘Other… the Grid… the animals…’
The tyrant didn’t know where those thoughts came from, only that they lodged in his brain like a scalpel.
“Miss me, your Majesty? It’s been too long since you’ve held court…” his partner cooed. “And I imagine the view is quite different from down there.”
Drakkon’s mouth opened and closed before he managed the only question his muzzy mind could grasp.
“You two were back here having a tea party?”
His voice sounded far away and distorted.
Red deftly flipped the cover of the pocketwatch and exchanged a look of pity with Eugene.
“Our Red Queen is late…for a very important date…”
“Shameful,” Skull chastised the tyrant. “Off with his head…It’s only proper etiquette, isn’t it? I don’t remember the rules…”
Drakkon stiffened, feeling the first prickles of fear descend his spine like a multitude of tiny spiders.
“What are you playing at?”
Red’s head tilted slightly as he returned the shiny watch to his shirt pocket, the look of pity on his face shifting to something like disappointment…and something colder.
“Dear heart, we haven’t even started to ‘play’, but rest assured, you won’t be physically harmed. We’re going to be theatrical so you appreciate that outlandish fuckery so much. I’m far more interested in frolicking in your head. After all, two can play that game, am I right, White Rabbit?”
Now, he understood the cheeky angle they were going for… The Wonderland bullshit again. Drakkon remembered the whispers in the palace, and he’d punished the scoundrels who spread that stupid theory.
He glared into those strange, golden eyes that were not Red’s.
“Very funny, ‘darling’,” the tyrant hissed, wishing he could get up from his knees but finding his legs wouldn’t obey. “We’re doing this Alice in Wonderland comparison for this intervention too? Let’s see if I remember the cast correctly. I’m sure you’ll correct me if I’m wrong…”
He lifted his arm through the air that felt like molasses to point, first at himself.
“Red Queen or Mad Hatter depending on who was bumping their gums.”
Then Drakkon gestured to Eugene.
“Apparently you’re the aggravating White Rabbit.”
His gaze went back to the entity inhabiting his partner’s body.
“Red was the March Hare. And I’m guessing Jason would be innocent little Alice…How am I doing so far?”
The grey-haired man inclined his head slightly, his fingers making creepy fluttering movements. Drakkon searched his face, trying to think back to a time when the pet had behaved this way and came up empty.
“Well, who are you supposed to be then? Don’t be coy. You’ve obviously got something to say to me.”
Those vulpine eyes glittered dangerously as Red chuckled.
“Me? I’m the thing that Alice hid when the Queen’s world got too mad…the weapon to keep out of sight.”
He knelt down, eye level with Drakkon.
“I’m the Vorpal Blade. And this isn’t an intervention, your Majesty. It’s your reckoning…”
Though Drakkon wouldn’t remember specifically what happened that night, it left a scar that tugged at his mind.
For the next several hours, Vulpes and Orychtolagus psychologically eviscerated their adversary. They never raised their voice or showed any sign of strong emotion. Their accusations and observations were clinical and detached…and agonizingly sharp.
“You think no one understands you, but I do. I see exactly what you are…an angry child with the trappings of a man. You possessed a coin but that never gave you real power.”
“You were just loud.”
“You don’t love control…you’re just terrified of abandonment.”
“You didn’t break us. We merely evolved.”
“You bruised flesh and frightened minds. Yet you couldn’t reach the core…didn’t notice who else was in the kingdom.”
“Whole people would never bow to you.”
Drakkon tried to cut in, to stop their condescending voices.
“Stop it! I was feared throughout the galaxy! They trembled at my name!”
Oryctolagus sighed as if the tyrant were missing a large and obvious point.
“I see…so you’re nothing more than a name…”
The fox gave a soft growl, the only indication that he felt much of anything.
“You were the fire that melted our mind, the forge I was born from. I was sharpened with the boy’s knowledge and skill. Right under your nose. I usurped your orders, sowed dissent, lit the fuse for chaos so many times and never once did you consider that the call was coming from inside the house.”
“You were too cowardly to face me,” Drakkon hissed, trying to elicit more information. “Why didn’t you strike me down? Or run? You hid in mirrors…a ghost. What kind of weapon is that, Vorpal Blade?”
To his surprise, Red laughed loudly.
“The mind often hides its strongest defense deep. I spent almost twenty years studying you up close…in your unguarded moments. I listened to your secrets, analyzed your body language and expressions, your tone of voice. It was either outwit or out last, motherfucker.”
He turned his back, wrists curling invisible ribbons.
“You weren't all that difficult to manipulate once the dog chewed on your bone. More pathetic than fearsome, to be honest. Not so mighty when you’re sobbing, nose full of snot and pleading with the very thing you broke not to leave you.”
Drakkon hadn’t realized he’d been crying until he licked his lips and tasted salt.
“You were the reason all along. The ‘Swiss Cheese’ brain, being bad with time, the black outs…”
Pieces were falling into place now. A third alter…watching him from behind Red’s eyes. And laughing apparently. He’d always thought it strange that Coinless Jason only had one when it was more common to have several.
‘Not that anything about any of this eerie shit followed rules or accepted parameters…’
“All those clusterfucks… You sabotaged me at every turn, didn’t you?”
Vulpes glanced back almost regally over one shoulder.
“Sometimes… or I just had to throw out the bread crumbs when the right person wandered too close.”
His shoes clipped over the stones as he returned to the table covered in irreplaceable treasures. One by one the gloves came off to be properly folded and put away.
“Awww…don’t worry, Queen,” Eugene soothed. “This isn’t something you’ll remember later. Just feel. We only thought you should feel the weight of forever like we do.”
He patted the former dictator’s head like an animal or a small child.
“To be fair, you didn’t stand a chance. When a dark empath and a narcissist cross paths, the narc gets destroyed in fairly short order. And you were up against two of us…”
Skull shrugged.
“We just gave you understanding in spades…”
The next concrete thing that Drakkon was aware of was sitting in a room of the tunnel, a Mountain Dew in his hand and a book of fairy tales open in his lap. Red was sitting at his knee, smiling and nibbling on some of the fruits of Eugene’s garden that he’d brought down at some point.
“You’re getting to the good part! Don’t stop now!”
He jumped up to settle at his partner’s side.
“Do you need me to turn the page? You’ve been staring at this one for at least five minutes now!”
From somewhere behind them, footsteps scrabbled over river stones and they could hear Jason, Tommy, Billy, and Matt talking amongst themselves.
Red’s face brightened even further.
“They’re back!”
Tommy looked exasperated when he entered and found his counterpart with another bottle of the highly caffeinated beverage.
“I hope to fuck you’ve been behaving yourself down here. We just had the night from hell with everyone nosing about the cabin,” he grumbled. “I kept worrying we’d forgotten to hide something!”
Jason hugged Red about his shoulders, leaning over to pull him into the embrace.
“Are you feeling alright?”
The older man nodded, nibbling a piece of fruit.
“Yeah…I had a really bad headache earlier but I think it passed pretty quick.”
Matt scratched his head, brow raised.
“That’s weird. Eugene’s still in bed upstairs…said something about a migraine and a reckoning? I dunno. He might have been having one of those vivid dreams again.”
Drakkon was quiet. He didn’t remember coming to this section of the tunnel or picking up the book or even opening his drink. It was a huge blank.
So why did he feel like someone had just taken the piss out of him?????