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wouldntyou-liketoknow · 2 years ago

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What’s That Saying About Cinnamon Rolls. . ?

(Disclaimer: only two of the characters in this story belong to me. I’ve recently made a sister for my dear cannibal boi, and this is my first story involving her, so go here for context. If you’ve read my stuff, then you’ve probably gotten to know the aforementioned cannibal boi by now, but just in case, go here to learn more about him. And if you’d like to learn more about the mob that these two work for, go here. )

(Much appreciation to @sammys-magical-au for not only allowing me to have their very own Louise Editor—go here and here for more information about her—make a cameo, but also for helping me come up with a name for the mob that I plan to grow and write much, much more about in the future!)

(Also, just to clarify: I don’t really have a timeline set up, but this story takes place before my other stories involving Caliban.)

(Trigger Warnings: murder/death, poisoning/descriptions of toxic chemicals, blood, descriptions of illegal business, implied animal abuse, descriptions of eating, slight mentions of cravings/hunger pangs, implied cannibalism, mentions of past abuse, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

The chatter of patrons and the miscellaneous clinks of silverware greeted Azalea like old friends as she pushed the kitchen’s aluminum door open. She maneuvered around tables, nodding to the waitstaff as she passed by. The customers paid her no mind; after all, she was just another employee going about the daily grind, wasn’t she?

Aftertaste was by no means a cramped establishment. Despite this, it wasn’t at all uncommon for the restaurant to get very crowded, considering how good the food was. Fortunately, the building had come equipped with two staircases.

Azalea soon found herself ascending the first, which was located in the main dining room. (The second one was in the kitchen, leading down to one of many old subway office-platforms, hidden behind a false wall that only she and a select few other staff members knew about.)

The second floor boasted a smaller-scale room (which, admittedly, hadn’t been used at all before the building fell into The Boss’ possession). Shortly after she’d been put in charge of this restaurant, Azalea had tidied up the second floor and included it in advertisements; since it was sequestered from Aftertaste’s typical hustle and bustle, it could be reserved for private parties and the like.

On certain occasions, it could also be used for more. . .important matters.

At the top of the stairs, a door was waiting patiently for her. Azalea gave a foreshadowing knock, then slipped across the threshold and closed the door as quickly as she’d opened it.

A lone figure sat at a table in the corner; a bit of a local superstar, to be more precise, with a head of perfectly-gelled black hair and eyeliner sharp enough to rival some of the knives in the kitchen. Azalea had seen this person’s photograph on posters around the city, advertising drag races at the clubs downtown and queen storytimes at the bookstores uptown. She gazed at Azalea with wide, dark eyes, clearly startled by her sudden entrance.

“Ah, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” Azalea offered a small wave as she approached the table. “Have you been enjoying your order?”

The drag queen shook off her surprise with impressive speed.

“Yes, thank you,” she murmured, revealing a thick Portuguese accent. The wine she’d requested earlier swirled as she gently shifted the glass in her hand. Less than half of a serving of tiramisu remained on the plate in front of her. “I think I’ll need your catering for one of my events sometime.”

“You’re too kind,” Azalea replied. Slyness crept into her calm smile as she took a seat on the opposite end of the queen’s table. “But I was told you have some different business to discuss. So, for now, let’s focus on that.”

Azalea couldn’t be sure what this queen had heard or where she’d heard it. However, that didn’t matter quite yet. What mattered was that, according to one of her in-the-know employees, she’d carefully used some distinct wording when she’d made the call to reserve the entire second floor, when she’d asked to speak with Azalea in private.

She obviously wasn’t just another customer.

She was a potential client.

The queen stared at Azalea for a long, tense moment. The anxiety in her eyes was clear as crystal, but that didn’t take away from just how determined her expression was. She sighed and nodded, fishing through the purse that was hanging on her chair to produce a small folder. She then reached across the table, offering it to Azalea.

“I’ve tried less extreme options, but nothing has worked. Nobody is willing to take this issue seriously,” she declared as her host opened the folder, uncovering several photographs that came in varying degrees of quality. “Name your price, and I’ll pay it. . .”

___

Azalea parked her car near the entrance of the cul-de-sac, right around the street corner. Not too far from her destination, but not too close, either. True, there were only a couple other houses near the one she needed to enter (this was one of those oddly spacious neighborhoods), but she wasn’t about to test just how nosey her target’s neighbors were. She moved quickly and quietly as she approached one of the larger houses, holding a small black box close to her chest.

There was no such thing as a perfect place. Every city, no matter the population or location, had its issues. The severity of those issues depended on who you asked. When it came to the Cove Port Inlets, basic criminal activity wasn’t too prevalent. But then, that was just on the surface level (figuratively and literally).

Despite its underground reputation, The Pentas Family was well-camouflaged among the more legal aspects of the Inlets. Rumors did trickle through, of course, but they were easy to manage. In fact, sometimes rumors were even welcomed: not only could they alert the mob’s representatives to potential threats, but they could occasionally pave the way for those representatives to take on a job.

As she grew closer, Azalea noticed how blinds had been twisted shut on the other side of the front windows. There was no light peeking through the aforementioned blinds. To the average person, this would’ve been a sign that the house was empty. Azalea, however, was undeterred. She knew someone was home, and she knew that they were expecting a visitor.

She climbed up a small set of concrete stairs, coming to a halt at the front door. She knocked three times, then took a step back and waited, drumming her nails on top of her cargo. A couple moments dragged by before the door creaked open, revealing her latest target on the other side.

“Good timing. I was starting to think your boss was just giving me the runaround,” he said, leaning against the doorframe.

Azalea had known who this man was before her current client had hired her. Hell, she (and her associates) probably knew more about him than most of the people he was actually familiar with. But she didn’t bother thinking of his name.

Like the majority of people, he was much taller than Azalea (who, even with heels on, was quite petite). And like so many before him, he immediately made a show of looking down at her.

In the back of her mind, Azalea added this to the pile of mistakes the target had already made.

“We don’t do things halfway around here,” Azalea answered. Though she smiled politely, the look in her eyes made it clear that she was neither intimidated nor amused. “And I know we weren’t giving off the wrong vibes when you first came to see us.”

Calling hit-jobs complex would be an understatement. Although word spread fast along the illicit grapevine, clients could still have some level of control over what information contract killers had on their targets. Disturbingly high salaries (and disregard for morals) aside, one could not simply kill another person without knowing anything about them. If someone was willing to pay for a death, there always had to be a reason or two for it. . .

The target hummed at this, ever-so-slightly furrowing his brow. “Well, your boss didn’t give off the vibe of someone who’d have some half-pint running her deals for her.”

. . .Not that that was a problem right now. There were more than enough reasons for Azalea to complete tonight’s job.

“First of all, I was in the same room as you during your meeting with The Boss; unless it’s for something very personal, she always includes us in decision-making. I can get why you might not have noticed me, but it’s still not my fault if you aren’t as observative as you think you are,” Azalea retorted, raising an eyebrow. “Second of all, we rotate between these kinds of assignments, because that’s how things actually get accomplished. And third of all: who the hell are you calling a half-pint? I’ve been in the business probably five times longer than you have.”

“Well, if part of your ‘assignment’ is to convince me of something, then you aren’t doing a very bang-up job,” the target sneered.

Azalea barked a laugh. “You think I’m the one who needs to be convincing here? You seemed pretty damn desperate during your first elevator pitch with us.”

The target responded to this by leaning forward and glowering in a very unpleasant way. He was dangerously close to getting in Azalea’s face, but she defied yet another one of his expectations by not flinching at all.

“Look,” Azalea said pointedly, signaling just how thin her patience was wearing. “The Boss sent me because she’s thinking of giving this another chance. But if you’d rather just throw that chance away. . .”

The uncomfortable starting contest continued for a few more seconds. Azalea immediately noticed a spark of panic mixing into the target’s anger. He knew he was about to screw himself out of something he wanted a second time. He knew she was right, that she had the upper-hand here, and he was furious about it.

(And knowing that really helped to calm Azalea’s frustration.)

Eventually, the target moved to the side, closing the door behind Azalea as she strolled in. He then quietly led her through the house, and while she followed along, she subtly scanned this new environment. A few lights were on in the nearby rooms, so her eyes adjusted quickly.

This place offered several indicators that the target was rather well-off; plenty of furniture, various expensive-looking knicknacks strewn about, and the size of the house in general. However, none of that changed the fact that this place was also kind of a pigsty.

Stains dotted the carpet here and there (some were at least semi-cleaned, while others had simply been hidden in a way that just made them more obvious). There were also strange indents along the edges of the walls (a few of which were clearly scratch marks that obviously hadn’t been produced by a human).

Soon, the two of them came upon what Azalea assumed was the dining room table. The target took a seat at the end, motioning for Azalea to follow suit. Once she settled down on one of the chairs, she placed the black box on the tabletop and pushed it closer to the target. Getting the message, the target reached out and lifted the lid to reveal a small assembly of cinnamon rolls.

His features were etched with a look of surprise. He glanced at Azalea curiously. “. . .What’s this supposed to be?”

“A peace-offering,” Azalea announced, lying straight through her teeth. “We might’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, but that shouldn’t have to affect business.”

The target’s eyes grew wider, tension quickly draining away to be replaced with more ignorant assumptions. “That’s awfully kind of you.” With that, he fished one of the cinnamon rolls out of the box and took a bite.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

Azalea had to stifle a laugh as she watched the target make two more mistakes. She leaned back in the chair, a timer starting in her head, careful to keep her expression neutral.

“So,” the target pronounced, his voice semi-muffled by the treat. “You guys are finally opening negotiations?”

“We might be.” Azalea shrugged. “Might. There’s been a lot of stuff on our plate lately, so don’t get your hopes up.”

“I get that,” the target chuckled. “Sometimes you’ve just gotta be picky, right?”

“Right.” Azalea nodded, smirking at the irony.

The Pentas Family wasn’t the only mob the Inlets had to offer (though it often seemed to be the only mob whose members actually knew what they were doing). There were a couple embarrassing street gangs here and there, but they never lasted very long. A few lone thugs wandered into the area, but they tended to have a bad habit of vanishing without a trace.

It was rare for another actual crime family to try and compete.

Rare, but not impossible.

“This is delicious, by the way,” the target admitted, having gone through more than half of the cinnamon roll in his hand. “Did you make these?”

“Yeah, I did. They were fresh out of the oven before I made my way over here, ” Azalea beamed. “When The Boss organized her turf, she ended up assigning me to Aftertaste. So, I had to act accordingly.”

(For the record, she knew the target was only being more polite because of the deal he thought was at stake. But she also knew that she was one of the best chefs in town, and there was no shame in taking praise for that.)

“Well, I hope you know that baked goods won’t be the most sufficient payment.” Surprise soon left the target’s expression. After he swallowed the last bite of the cinnamon roll, his smile became condescending once again. “If your family actually gets around to starting this partnership, that is.”

“You and your guys weren’t exactly invited to this area,” Azalea deadpanned. “You can’t blame us for not accepting your offers right off the bat.”

The target rolled his eyes. “Rumor has it that your crew has already entered an alliance with someone else. So we figured asking you to work with us would be doing you a favor on top of that.”

Azalea folded her arms across her chest. “Whether or not we’ve already got allies isn’t the point. The point is that our business doesn’t correlate with yours, and if that’s not enough of a hint, then nothing is. The only reason The Boss is considering changing her mind is because she’s a lot more mature than most people with power.”

“Since when does correlation matter?” The target pressed. “There’s strength in numbers, and our respective trades are both lucrative as all hell. Shouldn’t that be what matters here?”

Azalea raised her eyebrows at him. The target was acting just as entitled as he had been during that last-minute meeting a few weeks ago. Azalea had been sure that The Boss would’ve just assigned her or Murdock or one of The Pentas Family’s other representatives to bump him off. The fact that Azalea’s client had come complaining about the target’s business practices so soon afterwards was just a lucky coincidence.

“You’ve said so before,” Azalea eventually sighed. “That your little hustle is worth all the risks it comes with. You’ve said it, but you haven’t really done much to prove it.”

She reminded herself that the timer was still ticking. She’d only have to deal with this guy for five more minutes or so. She just had to keep an eye out for the signs.

“You think I’d be so insistent on negotiating if I didn’t have the goods to show for it?” The target scoffed, clearly frustrated at how Azalea had called him out so blatantly. He was probably trying to convince himself that, somehow, she still didn’t actually know what she was talking about. “I’m not like the dumbass wannabes you’re used to. I’ve got more than enough proof of what my deal could do for your posse.”

Azalea leaned forward, tilting her head to the side in a challenging manner. “Then let’s see that proof.”

The target pursed his lips before nodding. He rose from his seat, breaking eye-contact so quickly that it was obviously on purpose. Azalea got up, once again trailing him as he retreated further into the house.

He led her down one hallway to a door that boasted a comical number of locks. After the target disengaged said locks, he pulled the door open to unveil a staircase, which he and Azalea quietly descended (Azalea made sure to stay behind him).

It took no time at all for the stench to punch Azalea in the face. She didn’t stop moving forward. At least, not until she and the target reached the foot of the stairs.

There was no carpeting to cover the concrete floor, and many of the walls were bare and without insulation. Despite being so unfinished, the target’s basement was roomy. Almost as roomy as The Pentas Family’s dens in the abandoned subway tunnels. And the target had definitely taken advantage of that space.

Several cages were scattered about, coming in a variety of sizes, materials. . .and contents. Many of the creatures being contained obviously hadn’t been born in the States. The noise they made wasn’t so cacophonous as it was depressing.They shuffled behind bars, cowering back, attempting to cover their eyes. They were all obviously cramped and in pain.

“Well?” The target asked smugly. “How’s all this for proof?”

“It’s. . .more than I expected,” Azalea answered honestly. She took a few subtle deep breaths, feeling her fingernails dig into her palms.

Among the many types of illegal business, exotic animal trafficking had never been very respected. Oh sure, you could make a fortune off of selling something that should either be out in the wild or in a zoo, but it was never as simple as that. It caused too many problems for the payoff to really be worth it. Especially since the clientele for that particular trade was frequently composed of rich assholes who wouldn’t know responsibility if it jumped up and went for their jugulars.

Azalea glanced at the target. Her anger cooled down a bit as she noticed beads of sweat collecting on his brow at a suspiciously fast rate.

“How exactly is this going to work?” Azalea inquired, gesturing towards the cages. She didn’t need (or want) to know, but now that the target was officially where she wanted him, she had to keep him distracted.

“That depends on my clients, really.” The target shrugged. The movement seemed casual, but Azalea could instantly tell that he was a bit shakier than he had been before. “Most of ‘em typically want a pelt, though I have gotten orders for complete taxidermy before. And that’s not even mentioning the crackpots who think blood or feathers or bone marrow or what-the-fuck-ever can cure diseases.”

“Oh, really? I always thought some people just wanted a special pet to brag about.”

“No, I do occasionally sell live specimens,” the target explained. He paused to clear his throat before continuing. “But it’s uncommon for most animals to actually make it this far. I guess some of the ones in this batch are just tougher than what I’m used to.”

His lip curled into a cruel smile, though it was wavering. His eyes glistened, suddenly looking very puffy and red around the edges. Confusion briefly crossed his features, along with anxiety that he attempted to hide.

Azalea blinked innocently, acting as though she hadn’t been carefully watching the target up until now. “Is everything alright? It looks like something’s bothering you.”

“Ah, no. I-I’m fine,” the target stammered, raising a hand to knead at his forehead. “Business just. . .takes a lot out of you, right?”

Azalea hummed, nodding in a way that was understanding but not at all sympathetic. “Well, I appreciate you taking the time for this little visit. But I still don’t think we’ll be able to open negotiations.”

The target did a neck-snapping double-take. “W-what?”

“You heard me. I’m not convinced that my family should start working with you. And if The Boss were here, I doubt she’d be convinced, either.”

“Why?” The target’s voice was louder than he’d probably wanted it to be. Azalea wasn’t sure if that’d been caused by his arrogant temper or the side-effects. “I’ve already told your boss about the prices that can be expected! You literally just asked to see what I had in store! How the fuck can you not see the benefits here?”

“Like I said before: our businesses aren’t compatible,” Azalea replied tersely. “We made that very clear the first time you tried making a deal. But apparently you thought screwing around in The Boss’ territory would somehow sway her opinion.”

The target sputtered at this, grinding his teeth as his face contorted into a furious scowl. He made to say something else—well, he was probably just going to start spewing insults—but Azalea cut him off via shaking her head.

“See, that’s another reason why my family doesn’t want anything from your group. You just can’t be professional.” Azalea paused, glancing at the cages again. “Besides, you guys only specialize in your trade, and the performance is sloppy at best. My family is all about variety; no two of us carry out business the same way.”

The target blinked, then barked a mirthless, disbelieving laugh. “Your boss just took ‘expect the unexpected’ and ran with it? Is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying!” Azalea grinned. The target must’ve gotten so worked up that he didn’t even realize how hoarse his voice had gotten, how close he was to slurring his words. “I really don’t understand why so many people don’t have faith in that kind of work. I mean, you didn’t hesitate to eat from that little box I brought. . .”

The target froze in place. His eyes bulged from their sockets, his mouth gaped open like a suffocating fish.

Then, as if on cue, he doubled over, clearly not having expected whatever pain he was now feeling. His breathing became ragged, his body as a whole shuddered in an odd way. He let out a strangled gasp; when he tried to straighten his posture, he went sprawling to the floor, his hands not instinctively flying out to break his fall like they should have.

The convulsions grew steadily stronger. The target’s efforts to regain his balance were obvious, but it seemed like some invisible force was pinning him down.

“No one would ever expect batrachotoxin to have a sweet flavor,” Azalea pronounced. “I mean, I certainly didn’t at first, but research proves otherwise.”

She took a few steps closer, now looming over the man who’d towered over her just a moment ago. The target was coughing and choking now, blood-tinged mucus leaking out of his mouth. The veins in his neck were now distended in an awful way, more or less threatening to literally pop out of his skin.

“What was that you said earlier?” She asked. “Something about being a dumbass wannabe?”

Her tone wasn’t low or dangerous. Rather, it remained as chipper and casual as it had been for most of this interaction. And that automatically made her more terrifying than she’d been given credit for.

As he was no longer capable of speaking coherently, the target could do nothing but gawk in total horror. For good measure, Azalea didn’t stop staring down at him until his watery eyes eventually rolled back into his head. He still had yet to go completely limp—some of his joints kept twitching—but there was no saving him now.

Azalea lightly shook her head, fished her cellphone out of her pocket. She tapped at the screen, making sure for probably the thousandth time now that her conversations, whether by text or call, were shielded. The Boss had pulled a helluva lot of strings to ensure that those working for her wouldn’t have to worry about being recorded, but it never hurt to double-check.

Once she was satisfied, Azalea dialed a certain number, then held the device to her ear.

The phone had barely started ringing when someone on the other end picked up, though there was silence for a good five seconds or so.

“. . .Is it done?” Inquired a familiar voice.

“Sure is,” Azalea stated, figuring her client had just been bracing herself. She couldn’t really blame said client for needing to do so, considering what she was calling about.

“Good.” The client sighed. Surprisingly enough, her apparent nervousness didn’t seem to overshadow the relief in her tone. “I guess I just wasn’t expecting it to happen so quickly.”

Azalea chuckled. “We try our best to be efficient.”

“Are there any animals in the house?”

“Yes, quite a few. I had to bide my time to make sure the poison properly took effect. So, I goaded him into showing me where he’s been keeping them,” Azalea explained. “Why do you ask?”

“You said that some of your colleagues would come by once the job was done. Would they be adverse to. . .picking up those animals?”

“Well, that depends: what exactly do you expect the cleanup crew to do with them?” Azalea asked, both curious and suspicious.

“I was hoping they could be taken to Wild Things Rescue. I have connections to that place.” The client explained, meaning the endangered species sanctuary on the northside of town. Then, probably having remembered how she’d been sworn to secrecy, she hurriedly added, “A-and I can make sure that the employees won’t find out about my deal with you! All I’m asking is for the animals to be dropped off at the shelter; I’ll take care of the rest from there. I’m willing to pay more if I need to.”

“Whoa, slow down,” Azalea announced. “I don’t think an extra charge will be necessary.”

“You won’t have—wait, what?” The client had obviously been caught off guard. “Are—are you serious. . ?”

“I am.” Azalea paced around the dead man on the floor. “This guy already had a price on his head; your patronage just sweetened that deal. Besides, you didn’t skimp on the original fee. So, I might as well help you out one more time.” She looked over the caged creatures and felt her face drop. There were a couple panda cubs, a few wolf pups, a pangolin, and even a tiny white tiger. And that was just what the cages immediately in front of her had to offer. “Just because your heart’s in the right place.”

“Oh.” The client stayed quiet for a long moment.

Though Azalea didn’t have a problem with the client’s confused relief, she was still on the clock. Plus, awkward silences weren’t really her thing. “Cleanup’s already on their way, but I’ll bring ‘em up to speed once they’re here. They know this city inside-out, so they won’t have trouble getting to the sanctuary. Can you meet them there?”

The client cleared her throat. “Yes. Yes, I absolutely can.”

“Perfect. It’ll take them some time to erase everything here. You should be able to expect them within an hour or so.”

“I’ll be ready,” the client promised. And, despite being able to tell so much just from her voice, Azalea still couldn’t imagine the look in the client’s eyes when she said, “. . .Thank you. For everything.”

With that, a loud click sounded on the other end before the call went completely silent.

After Azalea returned her phone to her pocket, her eyes landed on a cage at the end of the row. Unlike all the others, it was empty, and its wire door hung open. Azalea took a closer look and quickly realized that the latch on the cage’s door was somewhat bent, as well as covered in scratches and grooves.

Something must have gnawed on that latch until it finally gave way. . .

Out of nowhere, the silence was broken by a series of shuffling noises. Automatically tense, Azalea gazed around the basement. She carefully reached into one of the pockets in her vest, wrapping her hand around a small syringe.

(An emergency dose of bullet ant venom. It was one of the very few things in her collection that wasn’t actually lethal, but having it in your system was agonizing enough to make you wish it was.)

She soon discovered a large hole in the wall to her left: an empty, unfinished door frame. Azalea chewed her lip, then maneuvered herself around the cages. The shuffling grew louder and louder as she came to hover in the frame.

This sideroom wasn’t much better than the rest of the basement. A desk had been positioned there, supporting a laptop and cluttered stacks of paper and folders. Beside it stood a tripod, complete with a large camera that was aimed at a white sheet on the floor. (This must have been how the target advertised the animals he trafficked. Once you had some quality photos of your wares, all you had to do was post them somewhere online and start taking bids.)

Across the room from this setup, a refrigerator stood in the corner. Its door hung ever-so-slightly ajar, allowing a strip of bright, artificial light to peek out. The sounds of something scratching against plastic echoed from within.

Azalea paused, chewing her lip. Now sure that she wouldn’t have to deal with one of the target’s cronies, she released her hold on the syringe

She inched towards the fridge, moving slowly and quietly. She didn’t plan on opening it all the way—her instincts just demanded that she get a look at whatever was inside.

Once the device was within touching distance, Azalea leaned down, craning her neck to peer through the crack in the door. She soon came to the conclusion that maybe her instincts should’ve just screwed off this one time.

A pale blur erupted out of the fridge, accompanied by a loud, gravelly hiss. Azalea let out a small scream and staggered back, nearly losing her balance. While catching her breath, she watched the creature dart away from her, soon backing into the opposite corner, still hissing as it thumped one of its hind legs against the floor.

Now that it was standing still, Azalea could see this thing for what it was: a hare (admittedly, she’d thought it was a rabbit at first, but then she remembered the differences between them).

Its fur was white. Azalea immediately thought it had to be one of those arctic species, but as she continued examining it, she realized that wasn’t the case. The tips of the hare’s long ears lacked black spots. Azalea’s mind went to albinism, but that couldn’t be right either. The hare’s eyes weren’t pink—their hue looked like a combination of hazel and gold. Like deep, dark amber.

Azalea knew there was another mutation that made animals white when they probably weren’t meant to be, but she couldn’t start racking her brain for the exact term.

Because by now, she’d finally noticed how the fur around the hare’s mouth and forepaws was stained red.

She glanced back at the fridge. Now that the door was wide open, she had a perfect view of all the packages lining the shelves. They each contained varying cuts of raw meat; probably what the target had been using to feed those animals. One of them was laying on the floor—it must have fallen out when Azalea startled the hare. The plastic wrap had clearly been torn open by small teeth, leaving the ground beef inside partially uncovered.

“I didn’t know you guys could eat meat,” Azalea said as she put two and two together. She had no idea why she’d just decided to start talking to the hare. It wasn’t like it could answer her. “. . .Are you hungry?”

And what kind of question was that? Of course the hare was hungry. Why else would it have climbed into a refrigerator to eat some raw meat?

Azalea lightly shook her head, attempting to calm those nagging questions. She worked for a mob full of contract-killers. This was pretty normal compared to some of the stuff she’d done before.

She stooped down to pick up the package. She saw how the hare’s eyes followed the ground beef, wide and hopeful. But as she took a step forward, its ears flattened as it let out a strange, high-pitched growl.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Azalea called softly. She held out her free hand in a calm gesture. “I’m not gonna hurt you.” After that, she plucked a piece of meat from the package and lightly tossed it forward. It landed in front of the hare, who hesitated before wolfing it down.

The hare immediately went back to staring and hissing at Azalea, but that didn’t deter her. She kept sending little bits of ground beef the hare’s way, slowly moving towards it all the while.

Sooner or later, she slowly lowered herself into a sitting position beside the hare. She took yet another chunk of ground beef into the palm of her hand, and then rested that hand on the floor.

The hare warily looked back and forth between her and the offering. Eventually, it claimed the treat—its little teeth nicked the skin of Azalea’s palm, but she stayed still. The hare probably hadn’t meant to bite her; now that she was so much closer to it, Azalea could see just how badly it was shaking.

It wouldn’t have taken a genius to guess that a person who trafficked animals wouldn’t care enough about said animals to treat them properly, but watching the hare shiver and hesitate. . .

It wasn’t just malnourished. It was afraid.

It hadn’t just been underfed. It had been abused.

And just like that, Azalea finally realized why this seemingly random animal had struck such a chord with her. Oh sure, she’d always been an animal-lover, but the hare specifically reminded her of someone.

Someone who she’d grown up with.

Someone who, like her, had been the subject of cruelty for the majority of his childhood.

Someone whose developing appetite had made the neglect he’d experienced so much worse.

Someone she’d smuggled food to whenever she’d gotten the chance. . .

Azalea felt her eyes start to burn. She swallowed a lump in her throat, blinking back tears as she quietly set the package down in front of the hare. This time, the hare didn’t hold back. It attacked the ground beef with newfound vigor, its little teeth audibly snapping.

Despite the painful memories now circulating through her head, Azalea chortled at the sight. “You’re kind of like a little snare-trap, huh?”

Another couple minutes dragged by before Azalea raised a hand and cautiously pushed it toward the hare.

The hare froze mid-bite, jerking its head to stare up at her, its amber eyes still full of stress. Azalea kept her movement even as her fingertips brushed the hare’s soft, white fur.

The hare flinched, but it didn’t try to run off like she’d expected.

Azalea repeated that action, slowly but surely stroking the hare’s back. Sooner or later, the hare went back to eating. It didn’t resist the petting, didn’t hiss, didn’t try to bite Azalea.

Time just seemed to slow down as Azalea sat there, watching the hare, hoping that comforting it would make the horrible ache in her heart go away.

She was so busy calming herself down that she almost didn’t notice how the hare had suddenly abandoned its meal in favor of sidling up to her, leaning into her touch.

It reared back on its hind legs and braced its paws against her shoulder, then proceeded to push its muzzle against her neck. It wasn’t shaking anymore.

With her eyebrows now on a collision course for Mars, Azalea gently gathered the hare up in her arms, being as delicate as humanly possible. The hare didn’t resist this, and she felt a delighted smile materialize on her face.

She knew she couldn’t keep the hare. It wasn’t like The Boss prohibited her associates from having pets, but Azalea already owned Cuddles. She simply didn’t have enough time or space for another animal.

And in spite of that, Azalea had already made up her mind. It didn’t matter how accidental this encounter was. It didn’t matter how ridiculous it was for her to adopt an animal that just so happened to be in the place where she’d killed a person no more than ten minutes ago.

“I think I might have a friend for you,” Azalea told the hare, her smile growing wider.

The hare, of course, didn’t respond. But the way it tilted its head at Azalea’s words was encouraging enough.

___

Azalea may have loved decorating as much as the next gal, but after she’d cleaned all the old junk out of her secret underground den, she just hadn’t really felt the need to embellish it beyond the necessities.

To the right of the concrete passageway, a huge storage cabinet took up space against the wall. Similarly to one or two of the cupboards in Aftertaste’s kitchen, it was full to bursting with bottles and jars that came in a variety of shapes, sizes, and colors.

The only difference was that the stuff in these containers couldn’t be used in cooking unless Azalea planned to kill someone. (Which, to be fair, was a scenario she found herself in quite regularly.) A few boxes could be found at the bottom of the cabinet; they stored things like syringes and transportation vials.

Right next to the poison cabinet was a mahogany bookcase. Its shelves were inhabited by various chronicles about cooking, baking, hazardous chemicals and how they affected the human body, stuff like that.

She’d also brought a couple tables down here. One was in the corner, currently supporting Cuddles’ terrarium and heat-lamp. The other was in the center of the room (along with a couple chairs), a base for harvesting, or experimenting, or whatever Azalea found herself needing to do when it came to working with poisons.

Right now that table would’ve been completely vacant, if not for the hare, who was currently trying to pace around on it in order to get a better view of this new environment.

“Hey, c’mon. Can’t you hold still for a few more seconds?” Azalea asked, gently keeping the hare in place.

She’d taken one of the hand towels from the restaurant’s kitchen and soaked it in warm water. She was now using it to carefully scrub at the hare’s fur, cleaning off the blood that had been caked around his mouth and paws. For the most part, the red stains had disappeared. There were just a few more specks left, but the hare apparently thought he’d stayed in one spot long enough.

Cuddles, who was loosely coiled around Azalea’s neck, ever-so-slightly leaned toward the hare, angling her head curiously. Her forked tongue flicked in and out of her mouth like a party favor. The hare returned Cuddles’ gaze, his twitching nose somehow adding to the strangely thoughtful look in his eyes.

Azalea knew it usually wasn’t the best idea to have a snake in the same room with a small mammal. However, that didn’t change the fact that scarlet kingsnakes only grew big enough to be a danger to things like mice. Besides, Cuddles wasn’t nearly as aggressive as most people with ophidiophobia would probably suggest

“You must be pretty excited, huh?” Azalea asked the hare. “I don’t blame you—just wait until you see your actual new home.”

Make sure you have a Plan B, chided a voice in Azalea’s head. There’s still a chance that this won’t work out the way you’re hoping.

Azalea had to bite back a sigh at the thought. Logically speaking, she knew she couldn’t really expect Caliban to just randomly take a new pet home tonight. Especially since she hadn’t mentioned a potential new pet in the text she’d sent him ten minutes ago.

She knew he was on his way here, and that made her simultaneously eager and anxious.

Even so, she still had a good feeling about her plan. She knew her brother better than anyone on planet Earth; hell, he’d said that himself on more than one occasion.

Almost immediately after Azalea had finally restored the hare’s fur to its pure white hue, the door across the room lightly shook as knuckles rapped against it on the other side.

“Speak of the devil,” she murmured, rising from her chair.

Just to be sure, Azalea took a quick peek through the window at the platform outside. After that, she stood before the door, her hand on the knob. “Who is it?”

“It’s the pizza guy,” replied a voice that was as familiar as it was muffled, both lighthearted and sarcastic. “Who do you think it is?”

Azalea pulled the door less than halfway open, poking her head through the crack. There her brother was, amusedly smiling down at her. The dim, flickering light of the abandoned platform shone against his red leather jacket.

“What’re you doing out so late?” Azalea greeted, smiling right back. “You know there’s crazy people down here, right?”

Caliban’s eyes grew wide as he put a hand on his heart in an elaborate mock gasp. “You’ve seen them, too? Don’t you realize how much danger you’re in?!”

The siblings burst out laughing like only self-aware lunatics who’d made their way in a life where murder was casual business could.

“Anyway, what was with that message?” Caliban asked. “You’re only vague like that when you’re up to something.”

“Exactly.” Azalea hummed. “Would you prefer me telling you or showing you?”

“I mean, both would probably work.” Caliban moved forward, obviously expecting his sister to step aside. When she didn’t, he gave pause. “. . .Can I come in?”

“You can,” Azalea replied, “but you’ve gotta close your eyes first.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I don’t want to spoil the surprise.” Azalea quickly glanced over her shoulder, making sure the hare was still on the table, then returned her focus to Caliban before he could try peeking inside.

Caliban blinked at this, raising an eyebrow. Azalea knew he trusted her, but she was just now remembering how his (and, admittedly, her) concept of surprises had become a bit warped over the recent years.

“Does this have anything to do with that job you were talking about yesterday?” Caliban inquired.

“. . .Kind of,” Azalea admitted before hurriedly clarifying, “Nothing went wrong! The target’s dead, I didn’t get hurt or caught, don’t worry!”

The anxiety that had started forming on her brother’s face was replaced by subtle relief. He gave her one more puzzled look before he nodded.

“Alright, then. Lead the way,” he sighed, closing his eyes.

Azalea snickered, taking one of Caliban’s hands in hers to carefully guide him into her den. Once they were both inside, she lightly kicked the door shut and brought Caliban over to the table. She gently pushed down on his shoulder, having him sit on her chair.

The hare wandered right up to them, peering back and forth between the siblings.

“Can I open my eyes now?” Caliban asked, his tone caught between amusement and concern.

“Almost, almost,” Azalea assured. “Just wait a little longer. . .” She couldn’t help but giggle as she watched the hare crane his neck to push his little face closer to Caliban’s, nose twitching adorably.

Caliban could obviously sense that something had entered his bubble, because he immediately began leaning back in the chair. “If whatever this is makes me fall and crack my head open, I swear to God—”

“That’s not gonna happen,” Azalea interjected. “Open ‘em up.”

Caliban’s eyes snapped open, and he very nearly jumped in his seat. The hare flinched back a bit, but he didn’t start hissing. That was a good sign.

Caliban’s shock was quickly replaced by confusion. He looked at his sister, then back at the hare. “Look, I don’t have a problem with bunnies, but I’m not sure if I want to know how or why this one got here.”

“Well, first of all, he’s a hare, you uncultured swine,” Azalea snorted. “And second of all, I didn’t just pick him up off the street. I found him at the target’s place.”

“. . .Are you saying he played a part in how that job went down?” Caliban asked, starting to chortle at how odd that sounded.

“No, not really. He might’ve wanted to, judging by how scared and hungry he was.”

That made her brother’s laughter come to an abrupt halt. The bewilderment was still very much present in his expression, but his eyes made it clear that a chord had been struck.

He cautiously raised a hand, glancing back at Azalea.

“Is it okay if I. . ?”

“Yeah, go ahead!” Azalea beamed. “He really seems to like pets.”

Caliban nodded and held his palm towards the hare, who responded by taking a few seconds to check this new person’s scent. After that, he rubbed his little head against the offered hand, much like a cat.

Despite knowing the things her brother had done—and would likely continue doing for a long while—Azalea knew there was no denying how delightful it was to see his face light up. Slowly but surely, the hare shuffled closer to Caliban, clearly enjoying his attention.

“Not to be rude,” Caliban eventually pronounced, still petting the hare, “but you still haven’t really told me why you asked me to come over.”

“Right, right,” Azalea coughed. “Well, it’s kind of a long story. But for starters, when I saw this guy, I thought of you.” She reached over to scratch the hare’s ears. “He’s got some strange tastes—”

Caliban sputtered with humor, looking briefly shocked at being called out like that. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“—and he’s feisty when he needs to be. But he’s really nice once you get to know him.”

Her brother hummed at this. One part of his expression showed joking denial, but the other part was clearly touched by the sentiment.

“We both know how I can’t really feed you like the others,” Azalea continued, unable to stop herself from sounding a bit guilty.

Caliban caught onto that quickly, his eyes becoming slightly worried. “It’s not like I hold that against you. You know that, right? I mean, in all fairness, it’s better that you don’t give me any bodies. Because of the whole poison-is-your-trademark thing.”

Azalea softly laughed in agreement, but it didn’t do much to hide the fact that both she and Caliban were most definitely on the same train of thought right now.

Before they’d joined The Pentas Family, before they’d even become adults, she’d been the one to care for him when he needed it the most. She’d been there for him every time he couldn’t sleep or got sick due to malnourishment, every time the end of a day saw him bruised and shaking. . .

Just as he’d been there for her whenever she’d experienced similar abuse.

On one hand, they’d both tried so hard to repress those memories, which they had every damn right to do. On the other hand, however, they both knew that they couldn’t afford to forget how they’d managed to survive.

“Aside from that,” Azalea mentioned, her voice growing softer, “I can imagine how lonely it might get around your place when R.D. has to travel for her projects. And since I’m so busy most of the time, I can only do so much to help with that.”

Caliban slowly nodded, biting his lip.

“So, I thought that maybe Snare could help keep you company. That’s his name, by the way. Snare.”

A few long seconds passed before Caliban echoed, “Snare. Snare the hare.” He paused, then let out a quiet chuckle. “I like that.”

@sammys-magical-au @the-matpat-ever @callmegkiddo @insane4fandoms @inkangeliguess @flamestar456 @forestcouncil @slasher-smash @themarpsimp @neons-trash-blog @ayoreneehere @sw33tst4rs @butterboyfly @i-dont-like-it-here-please-help @dleep-deprivation-idk-jelp

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