1550 word one-shot by @separationboundary
Prompt: “What now?” “I don’t know , I didn’t think we’d get this far.”
Mistakes were made, we just can’t remember what they were
Feitan awoke on the floor with gummy eyes glued partially shut and a mouth that felt as if something small and furry had crawled in it and died a few days ago.
He coughed and cleared his throat, rolling, with some difficulty, onto his back and managed to open both eyes a slit. He contemplated the ceiling: ugly white acoustic tiles with the occasional water stain.
He had no idea where he was.
All he knew was that he’d been drunk and he was still drunk. He looked around as carefully as he could without moving his aching head. His eyes felt like the lids were made of sandpaper.
Nope. No recognition whatsoever.
He tried to remember what he remembered last. That made his brain hurt and he rolled, after a few tries, onto his right side.
Chrollo. Chrollo was lying next to him, seemingly sleeping peacefully, a few strands of white fake fur from his collar sticking to his lower lip.
Ahh, that was right. He and Chrollo had been drinking with the Troupe and, when everyone else had passed out, decided they’d head into town to stir up some trouble.
Chrollo seemed fine, though, sleeping on his back, his mouth slightly open, snoring softly and adorably. Feitan smiled.
Enough of that. He had to figure out where they were.
With a mighty effort he rolled left up onto his left side.
Stirring up some trouble indeed. There were bars. Feitan looked blearily around. Oh, hell.
They were in a jail cell.
Feitan rested briefly on his back, staring at the dingy ceiling again. He was still so wasted and he had to get himself and his Danchou out of here.
Ugh. There was a movement beside him and he canted his head that way.
Chrollo was waking. He stretched, yawned, and opened his eyes.
“Danchou,” Feitan said. It came out a buzzy croak.
Chrollo leant his own head toward Feitan and the smaller man was struck, as always, at how ethereally beautiful the man could look. He was shit faced, unwashed, and lying on the gritty floor of a jail cell and yet he looked pristine and beautiful.
“Fei!” Chrollo said as if he hadn’t seen the little Spider in ages. “Wass goin’ on?”
“We locked up,” Feitan said, gesturing vaguely at the bars.
“Have you tried uh … tried the door?”
Feitan shook his head. He had a total of three lockpicks in various locations on his person but truth be told he didn’t think he was sober enough to stand, much less fiddle open a lock.
“What now, Danchou? Others probably worried.”
“Well,” Chrollo yawned delicately, “I dint think we’d make it this far.” he said philosophically, “We godda get ow …”
Silence. He’d lost his train of thought.
Feitan groaned and flipped slowly over, trying to get his arms and legs underneath himself. After a few tries he managed it.
“You’re drunk as hell,” He said happily.
“You wasted, too, Danchou.”
“But I don’t look like a constipated turtle right now!”
He dissolved into quiet laughter.
Feitan tried to ignore him, gritting his teeth and struggling to rise. He made it up onto his knees and realised that his tunic was gone. He was dressed in his black boots and a pair of black stretchy boxers and nothing else.
So much for picking the lock. He looked around owlishly.
They had to be in some podunk police station. The cell wasn’t a proper one - it had been installed in a regular room. There were four sides, one of which was the door, and the entire cell was just sitting on the floor.
He tried to get a foot under himself and a wave of nausea swept over him. He glanced around. No sink or toilet. Not even a bucket.
“D’ya thing Phinks an’ Shal got away?”
“The rest of the Troupe back at the hideout Danchou. Remember?”
Chrollo’s fine brow furrowed.
Feitan sagged backwards, glaring at the ceiling as if it was to blame for their incarceration.
Chrollo began humming tunelessly.
Well, Danchou wouldn't be much help.
Abruptly the door to the room opened and an officer came in. He glanced at them then retrieved something from the single desk in the room. Feitan watched his every move.
The man exited without sparing them another look but the small Spider had learned two things: there were at least two more people in the building judging by the voices through the open door, and the man had had a big ring of keys on his hip.
Feitan resumed studying the watermarks on the ceiling.
Feitan sat up straight and groaned as his head pounded and his stomach did a few flips.
“Danchou! I know a way out!”
Chrollo’s humming didn’t stop.
“Danchou!” He shook him sharply.
“Then go, get out. I’m so comfy …” His eyes drifted shut.
“You lying on dirty concrete!”
“Sooooo commmmmmmffeeee …”
Feitan gripped the cell bars and hauled himself upward. His head spun and he had to tip his forehead against the cool metal. After a few moments he looked up. The bars seemed to stretch upward forever - in reality it was a good ten feet.
The small thief shook his head and began to climb.
“I can see your underweeeaar!” Chrollo sang suddenly, dissolving into giggles after.
Feitan cursed. He cursed the bars, he cursed this cell, he cursed that tenth shot of vodka he’d sipped out of Chrollo’s navel back at the hideout. Had they had sex? Shit, he couldn’t remember. He was pretty sure somebody had blown him. Shalnark?
He canted his head back and stared upwards. Had he progressed at all? Yes, he was closer. He inched on.
Sober, Feitan would be out by now and have killed all the guards. Drunk off his ass he felt lucky to have made it the eight and a half feet up the bars toward freedom that he had. He glanced down. Chrollo had fallen back asleep.
There was a noise outside the door. Footsteps.
Feitan froze, a small Spider clinging to the cell bars, almost to the ceiling.
One more than before. Four officers, then.
His arms began to shake. The wild night out had sapped his strength. Fuck it. He wasn’t going to give up the distance he had already made. He resumed climbing.
He finally - finally - reached the ceiling. He felt as if he’d just run a marathon.
He shakily braced himself against the bars and felt upward. The ceiling was as he suspected: a standard dropped ceiling with a thin framework of metal and acoustic tiles suspended below the actual ceiling. It would be the work of moments to lift up a tile and …
The tile lifted about three inches.
Well, shit. The ceiling was indeed a dropped one but the drop was a matter of six inches and the narrow space was packed with wires, ducts, and cables. Even Feitan couldn’t squeeze through.
Feitan slid down the bars like a fireman down a ladder and was crouched into the smallest shape he could be when the door crashed open.
Chrollo woke with a yelp and one of the police officers shot into the room, backpedalling furiously, and ended up back first against the cell bars. Feitan, despite his alcohol load, managed to kill the stunned man and relieve him of his keys before he slumped to the ground.
Another officer, a big one, loomed in the doorway and Feitan snarled, hiding behind the body of the first man.
“Jezus, Phinksy … you scared the fife … life, outta me!” Chrollo whined.
Was Danchou hallucinating? Feitan risked a look.
The ‘officer’ wasn’t an officer at all but Phinks, looking strikingly handsome in a police uniform that didn’t quite stretch across his powerful shoulders. Shalnark, similarly attired and grinning, peered out from under Phinks’s arm.
“Baka!” Feitan yelled, straightening.
“Yeah, you’re welcome!” Phinks yelled back.
Shalnark immediately made soothing gestures. Feitan handed him the keys through the bars.
“Then why are you locked in a jail cell and …” Phinks stared appreciatively down Feitan’s lean, pale body, “And … uh … naked?”
“Not naked!” Feitan said, blushing. He sincerely had no idea at what point he’d lost his tunic and scarf. At least his junk was covered. “Having more fun than you!” He insisted
Shalnark was trying to get a boneless Chrollo - who was giggling helplessly - standing.
“It’s almost dawn!” Phinks resumed, shedding his dark blue police issue jacket and draping it around Feitan’s shoulders. “We’ve spent all night looking for you two and you can’t even say thank you?!” Phinks lifted the smaller man to his feet.
Franklin looked in, saw Feitan, sighed heavily, and eased back out again.
Feitan grumbled and pulled the jacket closed around himself - what reached Phinks’s waist fell to Feitan’s crotch.
“C’mon, Fei …” Shalnark cajoled, still grinning. “Make nice-nice, now”
“Fine. Thanks.” And the disgruntled (and half naked) little thief stomped out the door.
