#his stupid frail ass beat him up gang

[vanglaggle]

i love you horror sans please continue to get your shit tossed by the star sanses god bless

i find it so funny when people write him as the weakest link . get him out of there bro they're gonna kill him

[paniccord-ff]

38. Part 4

I already miss Rylee, staring out of the jet window seeing Joe close the car door. I feel really sad about this, but I also have a lot of shit to do. I need to sort everything out for Rylee, I need to make sure she has a team waiting for her, I am upset I can’t be there to witness this. To see her work and support her, she knows I will do anything for her. The SUV drove off and there was that, she better stay safe because I am only here for her. It’s crazy how at first my life meant nothing, now it has a meaning to it and I just want to keep her safe “we about to take off now” the flight attendant said smiling at me “thank you” I mumbled, I don’t even want to leave for Europe “you looking really sad right now” Blake said, I guess it is that noticeable “what can I say, your sister means a lot to me” I openly admitted “I see that now, I didn’t think any man would put up with her. She is a hard ass after everything she has been through, as a brother I had to protect her. Shit, I did time for her. When I heard Chris Brown was messing with my sister I was straight up not having it, famous niggas have a reputation in having loads of bitches. I didn’t want that for her, she is sensitive” nodding my head understanding “I honestly understand what you mean, I wouldn’t want my daughter being with someone famous. They fucked up and I respect for you looking after Rylee, we all good now though” getting to know Blake has been a blessing, he good people.

The new bodyguards seem a little quiet or maybe they nervous “Parker right?” I asked, he looked at me “yeah” they are very quiet “shit is about to be a ride for you both, are you both shy or some shit?” they both shook their head laughing “just Joe said you ain’t in the mood so we stayed quiet, we can have fun but our job is to protect” looking at Blake as he laughed “this is my future brother in law, he wants to do security. Look after him but I don’t want him in font line, just help him out” Parker looked at Blake “looks like a man that holds a gun” Blake busted out laughing “how did you know? I am joking, just trying to live a good life now. Ayo, Chris you got some good pussy on tour? I am trying to get me a girl” sitting back in my seat laughing “you know me, I got a few dancers. They good and very pretty but don’t be dicking them all, you need to pick one” Blake seems like me, I would dick them all but I have Rylee now.

Clearing my throat “I don’t want you to ever put yourself out there, with the fans. They just want to see me, the best way is to just tell them no. At times, I do have pictures with them but I can at most times handle them, it’s just the niggas that hate me. I still have those haters, you just gotta let one of the boys know if you see anything, don’t do anything. If you hurt someone they going to come down on me, not you. I employed someone that had no training, they will say I hired a gang member” Blake laughed “yo, they will for real think I am a gang member. I got you, and also Rylee will kill me. She gave me orders and told me not to have sex with no dancer but, why not. They cute” Rylee would do that, scolding people “you really want to hear Rylee’ headache? You got to be good, she doesn’t stop and that includes eating” I laughed saying.

Touching my stomach smiling, Chris is just so damn cute about everything but I had to make a stop at Wendy’s I really needed some chicken. I can’t stop eating but now I shall make my way to my family’s home, they don’t even know I am coming home so this is a surprise “how long you thinking of staying?” Carlos asked me “erm, a few days. I mean you both can go home, I do not mind at all” Carlos looked at Joe shaking his head “we staying, you tasted Rylee’ mom cooking? That shit is beautiful” Joe said “who said you both staying at my family home huh?” Joe already making himself comfy “erm I told Chris, I want to stay there. Your home is good, your dad is dope as fuck. He be giving me all this knowledge about shit so yeah I am staying” look at these wanting to stay at the home “you lucky we have the space but of course you can stay” I cannot wait to surprise my family, the biggest surprise is the baby.

The bitch that lives next door stared at me as I knocked on my front door, she can stare all she wants because I don’t mind beating her ass again if she wants it “you want me to get your suitcase?” Carlos asked me, shaking my head “who is it!?” Kyrie shouted “it’s me Rylee, open the damn door” pushing the door open but it’s locked “wait, I need to get a chair” furrowing my eyebrows “get dad to unlock it” it must be bolted at the top, shaking my head turning around “everything good?” Joe asked “yeah, just the door locked so just waiting. You know, you don’t need to worry because I won’t do anything I shouldn’t” I know Joe didn’t want to look after me “it’s not you, it’s the people that come to you. I got you though” hearing the bolt being unlocked, turning around “one minute” Kyrie shouted, who locked this door “Rylee!!” Kyrie shouted dragging the door open “you look happy to see me” he jumped on me “I can’t be picking you up, you’re too big” placing my hand on his back “where is mom and dad?” seems really quiet here “I am home alone” not that shit again “seriously!?” I done told them off about that.

I don’t like Kyrie being home alone “who locked the door then? That was really bolted down” the front door closed “me, dad stood outside and told me to do it. They will be back Rylee, I was playing in my room” looking at my watch “school?” Kyrie stared at me wide eyed “look at this Rylee” Kyrie changed the subject grabbing my hand dragging me along “look!” he pointed, seeing the picture next to my graduation “they added Chris, aww. That is so sweet but that doesn’t change that you are not at school” glaring at him “I am not well” he faked a cough “do not lie to me, why? Seriously tell me why? I said for you to do good in school and you can come to LA, but you’re not” shaking my head, turning to Joe and Carlos “just make yourself at home” Kyrie hugged my waist again “I missed you Rylee” this boy annoys me on the phone and now he can’t stop holding me “I miss you too Kyrie, you better go school tomorrow” I am home now so he will have too.

Looking over at Kyrie, he is annoying Joe now. I wonder where they went that they don’t take Kyrie, I mean I know they don’t like taking Kyrie to the hospital appointments “Kyrie!? Why is there a random car outside and the door unlocked” Kyrie jumped off Joe “Rylee is here mom, look” getting up from the couch “really? What a surprise” my mom came from around the corner, she is looking more frail but I will overlook that “I thought you was touring with Chris” hugging my mom close “I was dad but I came home, I missed my family” I needed this hug, cannot beat a hug from my mother “oh Rylee, I am so glad you are home” my mom said, moving back from the hug “where is Chris?” my dad asked “you know where dad, he is touring” I said smiling at him hugging my dad close “oh yeah, how long can we keep you?” my dad said “a few days dad” I want to tell them now.

Remembering the fact they left Kyrie alone “so why was Kyrie alone and not in school?” they forget about this poor boy “he said he was not well and I had hospital” my eyes bulged out “when I said I was ill you dragged me to school! That is wrong dad and stop leaving him alone, tomorrow he goes school. Stop being soft and forgetting him, I understand there is a lot of stress with everything but he needs the love from you both” my dad’ one track mind forgets Kyrie when my mom is not well or in pain “well your mom needed me” I knew that “but still, mom you know it is wrong” my mom glared at my dad “I know Rylee, just a few days ago I have been in pain and I am sorry, I was thinking of me” now I feel bad, I feel bad about all this and that I am not helping.

I sent Chris a text an hour ago but he hasn’t replied, maybe he fell asleep so I text Blake just now to ask because I get worried and I shouldn’t. My phone pinged, quickly looking at my screen seeing that Chris has text me. He must have fell asleep and Blake woke him, I shouldn’t have done that now. Unlocking my phone to read the text.

From: Chris

To: Rylee

Yeah we can facetime and my bad I fell asleep

“Shit” I said aloud “what?” my mom said, looking up from my phone “nothing” I have the scan picture in my pocket, so let me do this. I am going to facetime Chris so we can do it kind of together, tapping on the facetime icon “Rylee can you help me with my homework?” Kyrie asked “I don’t get this” he held up his book “is it Math?” he nodded “I will help you, I just need to do this” the facetime connected “do not say anything stupid” I said before Chris did “I wasn’t going too, I ain’t stupid” Chris smiled at the camera “Chris, can I see him!!” Kyrie shouted running “is that my young G Kyrie?” Chris said “could be the grown Kyrie” I grinned “you’re not funny” Chris spat in annoyance, Kyrie moved my hand to himself “look at you, you gotta fresh trim ? Look who I got with me” Chris turned the camera “what’s good little bro” Kyrie’ eyes lit up “Blake!! What? Why am I not there?” Blake chuckled “I ain’t a young nigga anymore, I’ll turn up for you little bro” Kyrie ran off “Kyrie! Seriously” I shouted “why he crying?” shaking my head “I will deal with him later” Chris came back on the camera.

Getting up from the couch “I may get disconnected but I will call you back later, where about are you anyways?” Chris looked away “erm, somewhere over the ocean. I am about bored, besides Blake telling me who he finna bone” Chris laughed “don’t start that shit” standing in front of my parents “do I get to see him” my mom got her hand out, turning the phone to them. My mom put her glasses on “hey family, sorry I can’t be there just busy” my dad looked on in amazement “technology is amazing, you looking well Chris” my dad said “yes you do Chris, we miss you here” my mom waved, she is so simple “anyways!” holding the phone in my one hand facing my mom and dad “I have something to say” my parents are still looking at Chris “over here please” they both looked at me, biting my bottom lip smiling “I am so excited” I got butterflies right now “I owe mom an apology” I said in a whisper, my mom’ face softened and she knew instantly.

She placed her hand over her mouth “oh my god!” she yelped, pulling the scan out from my back pocket “you both about to be grandparents!” my mom is already crying, my dad looked at my mom “I am pregnant” holding the scan up, my dad jumped up from the couch and grabbed the scan “oh god, oh my god. It’s real, oh god Rose. We really are” my dad’ voice broke “we are about to be grandparents Rose” he said wiping his face “my baby is having a baby, is this real?” my dad said looking at me, nodding my head smiling. My dad held me “thank you, thank you god. I am so happy” my mom placed her arms around me “god answered our prayers for our daughter Harvey” they got me crying now.

My mom and dad can’t stop staring at the scan “I told you, I said you would be saying sorry Rylee. How many weeks?” looking up from my phone “eight weeks, I thought you of you when I found out. I am over the moon mom, I thought I couldn’t get pregnant and then this. I can’t wait for he or she to meet the family” it’s going to be one spoilt child “we need to make a room for the baby, you need to visit us. I feel we are so far from you” I got Chris being dramatic, I don’t need my dad too “you’re not far, I will always come and see you both and you are most welcome to stay” my dad looks in awe already “my grandchild, wait till I tell your grandma. She already wants to see you Rylee, let me tell them now. But Rose, I think we live too far away from Rylee. I want to move” he got up from the couch “Harvey stop it, we can’t move to LA” my dad is dramatic like Chris, this is why they get along “Rose listen to me, we will never see the baby” he walked out of the room “why is he like this?” I said to my mom “I learn to listen and do not digest” giggling at my mom “I do the same with Chris, I learnt from you” she is a clever woman my mom.

My phone buzzed, turning the phone around seeing Chris had posted on Instagram. He finally got signal then, unlocking my phone and tapping on the notification “come here Kyrie, let’s talk” patting the couch, I forgot to actually see him after crying like that. The post loaded finally, seeing the video he posted “oh god, I look terrible on that bed. I hate him” I said to myself, seeing the paragraph he wrote ‘God is giving me a second chance to be a dad and with a woman that will allow me to be just that, Rylee and I are expecting a baby breezy (It’s a boy, I predict it) I cannot put it into words how I feel right now but I am over the moon, I am so excited to know I am being a father again. Royalty about to be a big sister and I can’t wait for her to know this, I owe my happiness to Rylee she is my rock. The only thing that matters to me is Rylee, Royalty and Peanut so yeah, I am celebrating tomorrow night in Amsterdam! See you soon Royalty’ look at my baby, he is so cute. Leaving a comment under the picture ‘Cannot wait to meet our baby, it’s your year Chris and I am proud of you x’ pressing send “what is it Rylee” Kyrie said, I actually forgot to speak to him.

Let me post on my Instagram now “why did you cry earlier? Talk to me” I think I will put on the picture of Chris pulling that stupid face with the scan picture “because I want to be with you, I don’t like it here. I have nothing” Kyrie being dramatic “you do, don’t lie to me. You have friends here and football, I know you want to be where the grown folk are but you can’t be” he is just spoilt, let me caption this picture ‘I want our baby to be just as goofy as you and Royalty, I always said this and I mean it. I want he or she to have your ears, I couldn’t have asked for a better baby daddy’ smiling at the caption pressing send “I just got sad, I can be sad if I want to be” side eyeing Kyrie “ok, you can be but I wanted to tell you some good news. I am having a baby” Kyrie pulled a face “why?” he questioned “because I wanted a baby, that means you about to be an uncle so grow up” a smile played on his face “I can’t babysit Rylee, I am busy” letting out an oh “but you said you have no friends here, are you lying to me now” why are boys like this just because they don’t get their own way, this is why I pray I have a daughter as my first child.

[aj-eddy]

Plunge

The sleek black BMW drove effortlessly through the quiet night like a creature stalking the streets of the sleeping town.

No-one was awake at that hour, leaving the passengers of the car to submerge themselves in the inky black abyss of the cool night. They drove through the empty streets and towards the isolated part of the town where manufacturing plants and old workhouses had been abandoned for years.

The car turned and drove down the gravel road, the wheels crunching over the rocks and loose pebbles.

They pulled up before the old water purification plant.

The building itself was decrepit and disturbing. The glass windows were clouded and shattered, the brick walls caved in, and the plastered walls sagging like soggy paper. The wooden boards that were meant to barricade the doors and windows had been pulled out years ago by teenagers looking for a place to host their latest booze-fuelled party, or a secluded place for midnight hook-ups, or the latest venue for a stupidly dangerous rite of passage.

The large building overlooked a pool of water, the surface rippling in the darkness like a puddle of ink. The still water was surrounded by a small wire fence, the pillars toppled or bowing with age, the wires rusty and snapped and the fence was limp and bowing.

This end of town was quiet; the only sound around them was the trickling of water that had gathered from the past few days of rain, the thin veins of water streaming down through the broken plaster and dripping to the ground.

Lucas turned off the engine, leaving the headlights on so they would be able to see what they were doing. He leant against the steering wheel, waiting for the others to get out of his car.

Jack – the self-elected leader of the ‘gang’ – was the first to get out of the car, waiting for the newbie - Damien - to climb out after him. He rested his shoulder against the passenger side door as he pulled a cigarette from his pack and perched it between his lips. He flicked the flint of his lighter and brought the small flame to the end of his cigarette, hunching over as he shielded the frail light from the cold breeze that soared through the open valley.

Damien scrambled to his feet and shut the door behind himself.

He was a quiet kid, very timid and unsure of himself. He had no reputation or friends, but something happened that made Damien catch Jack’s eye. Lucas didn’t know what it was, but Jack was insistent that they get Damien to be one of their friends.

So it came to pass that Damien followed them around like a sheep, waiting for instruction from the others before he dared to make a move or speak up.

Lucas sighed and climbed out of the driver's seat, closing the door and leaning back against it as he watched Jack wrap his arm around Damien's shoulder and guide the younger boy towards the looming building. The others had made excuses not to come, leaving Lucas to deal with Jack’s ego-suffocated stupidity.

Lucas knew what Jack had in mind, and he knew it wasn’t going to end well.

Lucas was against this, all of it, but he knew better than to speak up against Jack. He swallowed hard and bit his tongue, pulling out his phone and occupying himself with opening the same three apps over and over again.

A nagging anxiety dwelled in the back of his mind, begging him to put an end to this before it went any further. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it; he knew Jack wouldn’t let him stop anything once it was set in motion. He should have stopped this before they left, before his chance passed, but now it was too late.

Say something, his mind pleaded. Just stop him.

‘Come on, kid,’ Jack encouraged, his deep voice disrupting the quiet of the night. He pulled the cigarette from between his lips and tossed it to the ground. He crushed it beneath the toe of his show before guiding Damien towards the bust-in door of the abandoned purification plant.

Lucas watched them go.

Say something – anything – just stop him before this goes too far.

Jack’s voice trailed off as he grew more distant, but Lucas could still hear what he said, ‘If you want to hang with us, you have to earn your place. You’re going to have to prove you have the guts to be part of our gang. And it's simple: you just have to climb up to the third floor and jump out the window and into the water.’

‘How deep is it?’ Damien asked, casting his worried gaze to the shimmering pool of water.

‘Deep enough,’ Jack said dismissively.

Lucas bowed his head, looking down at his phone as he shuddered at the memories of what he had to do to prove himself to Jack: a two-minute long strip tease in front of Jack and a couple of the other guys. He remembered the sniggering and howling compliments meant to ridicule him as he stripped off his clothes and danced to music that had no rhythm, only a base line that beat as fast as his heart. He remembered the nauseating humiliation as he showed off his bare ass and danced like a twenty-dollar hooker.

Lucas sighed heavily.

He couldn’t let the kid go through something as humiliating as that, but Jack had stepped up his game and decided to push the limits to a dare that could leave Damien injured or dead. ‘If he makes it out alive then he has the cajones to be part of the gang,’ Jack had said before they left, pausing for a minute before adding, ‘if not then he won’t live to tell the police we did it.’

Don’t let him do this. Say something, Lucas’s mind screamed at him. For fuck sake, say something!

‘Jack,’ Lucas called, finally finding his voice. ‘Just leave the kid alone.’

‘Shut up, Lucas,’ the older boy snapped.

Lucas felt his heart lurch as they approached the bowing doorway of the large building.

‘It’s late, Jack, let’s just go home,’ Lucas insisted.

‘No!’ Jack shouted. ‘If the kid wants to be part of the gang, he has to prove he’s not a pussy. If he wants to prove he’s not a pussy, he’ll jump. The sooner he does it, the sooner we can go home.’

‘Then why don’t we do something that won’t get him killed?’ Lucas offered. ‘Like tipping over old man Jones’s pot plants, filling principle Carter’s mailbox with dog shit, or dying his hair pink for a week.’

‘It’s fine,’ Damien interrupted, his voice quiet and shaking slightly. He looked at Lucas with fear in his eyes before nodding reassuringly. ‘It’s okay. I’ll do it.’

Lucas watched as Damien disappeared into the dark building. Jack laughed, a deep chuckle that sent chills up Lucas’s spine, and followed Damien into the building and up to the third floor.

‘This is a stupid idea,’ Lucas uttered under his breath.

A few minutes later, Jack and Damien appeared in the broken window of the third storey.

Damien leant forward slightly, his hands shaking and his lips quivering as he looked down at the dark abyss beneath him.

‘I’ll give you a countdown,’ Jack offered, setting his hand on Damien’s shoulder.

Damien nodded, breathing deeply to calm himself.

The soft breeze blew through their hair, a gentle caress and a soft whisper of goodbye.

This has gone far enough.

Lucas exhaled heavily and pushed himself up onto his feet. He took a step forward, opening his mouth to shout to them when Jack abruptly shoved Damien out of the window.

Lucas’s words caught in his throat, a horrified gasp falling from his lips as he watched Damien’s flailing body fall through the air. The world fell silent, his own heartbeat drumming in his ears as he watched Damien fall.

Damien didn’t get the chance to scream.

A gut-wrenching crack spit the air as the boy’s body hit the water.

Lucas froze, watching as the crashing waves closed over the body that had disrupted them and pulling Damien beneath the surface.

From the third storey window, Jack’s maniacal laughter rang through the empty building before dissipating into the quiet of the night like a haunting echo.

Lucas couldn’t take his eyes off the pool, his gut lurching as the water settled and Damien’s body rose; still and lifeless.

‘Damien!’ Lucas howled, sprinting across the gravel driveway and towards the pool of water.

‘Oh shit,’ Jack hissed as he leant over the window’s edge to see Damien’s unmoving body. ‘Oh crap.’

Lucas vaulted over the old wire fence and the small concrete ledge that contained the water, waves erupting around his feet as he landed in the pool of water.

He froze, looking down at his feet.

The water barely came up to the top of his boots.

A chill ran up his spine as he picked up his heels and sloshed over to Damien’s side. He carefully rolled the boy onto his back.

He wasn’t moving. His eyes were wide open, his bright blue irises clouded and unfocused. Blood poured down his face, the ribbons of scarlet diluted by the water around them. His round face was disfigured: his nose hanging to one side, one cheek hollowed out and his jaw hanging at a crooked angle. A thick gash had been torn into his forehead where he had struck one of the scattered rocks that lay concealed beneath the ink-black water.

‘Lucas,’ Jack called, already back downstairs and by the car. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

Lucas carefully hooked his arms under Damien’s and dragged the boy towards dry ground. Damien’s legs trailed behind them, leaving rippling wakes behind them like bloody drag marks through the water.

‘Leave him,’ Jack ordered.

‘No,’ Lucas snapped back.

‘Lucas, he’s dead, just leave him!’ Jack shouted. ‘Let’s go.’

‘If you want to go so badly then piss off!’ Lucas retorted.

And he did, because the next thing Lucas heard was the deep rumble of the BMW’s engine starting up and the crunch of gravel as Jack drove off.

Lucas hoisted Damien over the fence and laid him on the small patch of grass.

He gently shook the boy’s shoulder, calling to him, ‘Damien? Come on, Damien. Wake up. Damien?’

The boy didn’t react.

A nearby security light illuminated them, the dull glow flickering as the bulb hung on to life.

Lucas bent over and pressed his head to the boy’s chest, listening.

He wasn’t breathing.

Lucas scrambled for his phone in his pocket and called for an ambulance, hastily telling them what had happened, where he was and the condition Damien was in. He shoved the phone back into his pocket and begun to perform CPR.

‘Come on, Damien,’ he begged, his voice a weak whisper as he pressed his hands down on the boy’s chest. ‘Come on. Breathe, kid. Breathe… Wake up, Damien… Come on, Damien. Please.’

Flashing bursts of red and blue lit up the night, the intermittent light illuminating the crystal-like droplets of water that covered Damien’s face.

Sirens split the air as the ambulance pulled up on the gravel, doors slamming as the paramedics sprang into action.

Lucas stepped back, letting them do what they were trained to do. He watched as they fixed a brace to Damien’s neck and carefully lifted him onto a stretcher, shouting to the others to prepare the defibrillator and respiratory mask.

Lucas’s hands were trembling, the cold stinging at his flesh. He glanced down and saw the smears of blood that coated his olive-toned flesh, Damien’s blood.

Bile rose into his throat, burning at his oesophagus as he swallowed hard.

Lucas looked from his hands to the ambulance, his heart aching as he watched the paramedics slam the door shut and speed away.

‘Did he jump?’ a policeman asked, his voice distant.

Lucas’s lips quivered around words he couldn’t say. His voice caught in his throat as tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision and causing the light to bleed into streaks.

He shook his head.

‘No,’ he rasped. ‘No, he was pushed.’

The next thing he knew, he was being dragged back towards one of the police cruisers. The door slammed shut, leaving him alone in the back of the car.

‘It was just a joke…’ Lucas uttered breathlessly, dropping his head in his hands as his body shudder with broken sobs. ‘It was all just a stupid joke…’

[lovedreaming]

himnusz. || drabble

@chcpxn​. continued from here.

(j.s. bach included with @oktova​'s blessing.)

she isn't actually about to kill someone (well maybe). but her eyes scream bloody murder.

these kids. these stupid kids. well, they were probably more college age than actual kids, but--how in God's name did they manage to beat up her Cho-chan?! sure, he's frail for a classicaloid, but given their inherent nature, not even the most muscular of these kids should be able to put a dent in him, no matter how many tough-looking gang signs they made to make themselves feel stronger. which meant that somehow, somewhere, they had some semblance of the power that ran through her and her fellows. could there really be such a thing?

apparently, there is.

they call themselves UPROAR, a policewoman told her when she asked about gang activity near one of cho-chan's favorite outcluse spots. they've occupied this area for the past day--we thought we'd be able to clear them out in no time, but then their leader took out a boombox and when his mixtape started playing--i don't even know how to explain it, but he used some sort of sound-force from it to keep us away. now if you want to cross over to the highway, i suggest--

don't worry, said franzi, giving the woman a wink as she brushed past her. i'm sure everything will be all right.

and now they're standing right in front of her. and now they are going to be judged.

the place is a mess thanks to them, that's for sure. the trees are all graffitied tops to roots--whatever tags the gang had, they spray-painted them vertically instead of horizontally to accommodate. it appears they've taken over a park of some sort, with benches dragged out to form a barricade with the group name plastered across a cardboard plank in bold letters:  U P R O A R. they even marked out their territory with physical signs: orange cones sporting amateurishly photoshopped signs that read PASS IT, GET HIT. (ugh--the font is cheap, and she can barely read it underneath the edgy grunge overlay. did these kids have any sense of style?)

there is, so to speak, a line in the sand.

she steps right over it.

two neon blue heads turn at the clack of her heels on the concrete--two teens with too many piercings and hideous dye jobs, crouching on top of the barrier they've thrown together.

❝ay yo, who is this clown?❞ one of them yells. immediately the whole gang clambers over the barricade, buff japanese men with arms crossed, gold chains hanging from their necks--even sporting the backwards caps, nike tank tops and sagging baggy jeans in the american style she'd seen in the hip hop music videos that rapper schubert had shown her during his phase. college punks, trying way too hard to be tough. she'd never met the type before, but she knows it when she sees it. she can almost feel the insecurity radiating from their power-grubbing souls. hell, she doesn't even think they're authentic--they can copy the bare bones of the hip hop aesthetic to a T, but there's something missing from their empty display (aside, that is, from healthy emotions). it just doesn't feel real. though the black american rappers that schubert showed her were shocking at first, she could still sense a certain spirit inside them, which perhaps came from where they came from and how they'd lived--a spirit that, in these young men, is clearly deficient.

❝you hurt my cho-chan,❞ she snarls. ❝you hurt my cho-chan.❞

at her words, a giant boombox appears out of the middle of the throng, and the other uproar members part to let it through. definitely the leader--which she can tell for sure because he is the tallest, with the most buff physique, the biggest gold chain and the saggiest baggy pants. she narrows her eyes as he swaggers to the fore, giving the boombox an extra heft to show off his well-muscled arm. that thing should be too heavy for a normal human to carry--not only does he have mujik, but his mujik seems at least as far advanced as hers. not to mention--there are two other people there--do they have mujik as well?

no matter. she would beat them all. ALL.

❝hey, big nose,❞ he calls, and the whole group guffaws. ❝why don't you get that bird beak out of our business and run off crying like your limp noodle boyfriend?" he turns to uproar. ❝outdoor walker choppin'. ha. we had a ton of fun choppin' him to pieces, didn't we, boys?❞

the guffaws rise as he makes his second gaffe. she balls a fist at her side.

                                   ❝i bet my nose is bigger than your dick.❞

the group ohhhhhhs--doesn't matter who gets burned as long as the burn is sick--which the leader doesn't seem to mind. he just gives a contemptuous snort and talks right back.

❝lady, i'm gonna tell this to you once," he replies, giving his boombox another heft. "these guys all know i'm not the type to leave a nice pair of ass 'n tiddies a bloody smear on the concrete, but i mean, you seem to be asking for it. so what's it gonna be? you gonna give it to me, or are you gonna git gud?❞

she whips out her nunchucks and whirls them around, each one dancing like a butterfly in the air.

❝oh, i'll give it to you, all right. i'll give you the beating of your LIFE.❞

he snickers and steps forward. the rest of the group moves behind him like a pack, but he holds a hand up and tells them, ❝she's mine.❞ in a swift movement he flicks the switch on his boombox and the opening notes of his mixtape ring through the occupied park: A, G#, C# on piano, over and over again, easy yet deadly like he wants his footsteps to be. she knows this is mujik once she sees the soundwaves--each one washes over the scene in a different hue, sonic coatings of red, orange and yellow graffiti paint that warped the world around her at its edges. with each note, the park sinks deeper into a different place--the mujik dimension. he can take people to the mujik dimension.--until the trees are no longer there, only towering grunge-stained treelike pillars of uproar's machismo--

and then the beat drops.

      ❝gather 'round motherfuckers, come on, where you at, yo            it's ya boy AKI D. up against a cheap hoe        BACH bangin' on them keys is what gave me this magic            he made me the real deal--bitch you just plastic!       you know what i'm sayin', bet you don't even have dick           to face me--hell, i don't think you'll ever have dick!        yeah, you look okay with your makeup and titties           but up in the morning, what would your man see?        you heard me right, bet you ain't even a three           you'll need more than a nose job to get a hot ride like me!❞

those words. those words. ordinarily they would roll off her like raindrops off a leaf, but here? it's as if every syllable is built to drain the spirit out of her, along with the sharp slices of pain in her face, so fierce that she can't even open her eyes. and her head--her head pounds with the insults swirling inside it, unable to resist: he is right. i'm not even a three. i look okay with the makeup on but without it i look like a man. i'm plastic and i don't even do a good job of being plastic. yes, i know i haven't had dick. i will never have dick in my life.

this is not schubert's rap. this is not even the rap of those american hip hop stars she heard. it is something crueler, sicker. thirsty for the pain of those it targets, instead of simply trying to prove a point. not even pretending to be righteous in its viciousness--seeking only utter degradation, damn the moral consequences. blood runs down the shredding fabric like the tears down her face. the mixtape's dubstep slams into her, one sound wave after another throwing her about. she's forgotten why she's here. all she can do is sink to her knees, covering her face in her bleeding arms over her worthlessness--

          no.

                NO.

                      YOU ARE NOT THIS.

                            YOU ARE A GOD ABOVE THIS.

slowly she stands, green mujik ribbons swirling around her, healing her wounds, wrapping swathes of new cloth around her once-bleeding body. not just any cloth, she realizes--but clothing, actual clothing--a traditional hungarian dress with white billowing sleeves and a flower-patterned chest and skirt. the dubstep dims to a whisper as a cadenza begins to roll and the ribbon glides away to its sway; the nunchucks melt into a baton in her hand, but no sooner does the baton  than it turns again into a saber, silver-bladed, gold-hilted--she doesn't question it. it could have been an extension of her hand--she has never held a sword before in her life, and yet using it seems so simple.

a rush of anger bubbles up within her, an anger surging with rap battle rage--step aside, spineless, step aside, amateur / i bet you've never faced this level of power / ever heard of franz liszt, you whiny little spastic / don't call me a fake when i know i'm i'm a classic--but she does not give in. she will not give in. she will face him her own way. she will face him not as someone like him, but as LISZT. what could someone with such a frail sense of identity have against that? what could any mortal musician have against that?

he is an electronic musician. she is a pianist. she will face him with the piano, the whole of herself--or nothing at all.

there's no need for her to strain for this. the power's at her fingers and it's ready to scream.

          ♫❝Mujik is asskicking--asskicking is MUJIK!❞♫

the cadenza stops dramatically--in this context it almost parodies the dubstep's beat drop--and in its place the fierce chords of a hungarian march surge forth like the pounding of soldiers' boots in battlefield dirt. a sea of red, white and green washes over the dimension, wiping out the tidal wave of mujik spray paint. the others rush forward with CDs of their mixtapes in hand, flinging them at her like discuses, but a wave of furious fortissimo chords cuts them down--and smashes the bench barricade that they’d made to block the path. as aki d. looks on in shock, she slices the air with her saber, and a massive wave of sound sends them all flying back, splattering them in the hues of the hungarian flag, the hues that just replaced their gang colors on this turf. 

❝I saw right through you from the start,❞ she snarls. ❝I don't know why the hell Bach-sama would give such strength to people as pathetic as you--but whyever he did, even he wouldn’t want you to use it like this!!❞

❝ayy, you gotta rap!" aki cries. ❝you're not allowed to do that shit, you gotta rap!❞

he turns up the volume of his mixtape. the red, white and green quivers, and the red, orange and yellow begins to seep its way back in.

❝so even music such as this has rules,❞ she says, using the sheer force of her hungarian rhapsody to speak over the noise. ❝well, i got news for you kids. i don’t play by the rules.❞

her blood strums to a boil in her veins as the march theme builds to a punishing row of descending and ascending intervals. and now here comes the army for whom this piece was originally written--scores of hungarian soldiers and their cavalry lining up behind her, each man tall and fit with a cockade pinned to his chest, each horse’s dark pelt shining with health, rippling with strong muscle underneath. as one they advance with franzi in the lead, surrounding aki d. and his three-man band--no way out. as the volume climbs and then descends, the troops immediately around her begins to melt, infusing her with their strength, as the rest of the troops stand guard from behind, and it is with their strength that she begins to speak.

they are strength of a thousand men in one. the strength of franz liszt.

        ❝Mujik is the expression of the soul. I’m surprised you three                 can use it when you don’t seem to know your souls at all.           You talk tough and you fight hard, but your power--there’s nothing to it.              There is  nothing here you have that is your own--not your clothes,          not your confidence, not even the culture that you’re trying to ape with all                 this posturing. You have nothing. YOU ARE NOTHING.❞

frantically aki d. cranks the boombox to full blast--but she hears only own mujik, feels only the surge of ecstatic confidence and the strength of a NATION that two hundred years ago poured out its entire heart to her. for she sees them. they are nothing. once you see nothing as nothing, it can do nothing to hurt you.

            ❝I see how your mujik makes others helpless. You prey on           those who don’t know their true selves, just like you, and so they              let you define them in the only way you know how: through a view           of the world that makes everyone your inferior. But your reign has             breathed its last--I know who I am. I’ve always known who I am.          I am Hungarian. I am a pianist. I am a woman. I am Liszt. Who are YOU?                        WHO ARE YOU?! WHO ARE YOU?!!❞

she doesn't wait for them to reply. several troops rush to restrain them, pinning their arms behind their backs as she strides toward them, into the circle of men and horses. one slice of her sword--and all their manhoods vanish, just before the troops shove them to the ground. each uproar member seizes his crotch, screaming in pain, undoubtedly noticing that nothing is there as they hold and hold but feel nothing.

            ❝I'll tell you what you're not, she breathes.                  A man who uses his strength to harm the weak                       is no man at all.❞

❝YOU BITCH!" the uproar leader howls, clutching his dickless crotch. ❝YOU BITCH!❞

she cocks a hip to the side.

❝You know, I'm not actually sure what to fire back because I don't know who the hell you are.❞

the mujik fades out with the end of the piece, restoring the park’s scenery in a clamor. she returns to bach skydiving out of a helicopter, his epcot ball wig descending from the sky onto his head as he makes a perfect landing with his capelike celestial jacket billowing around him. ah, yes--the uproar leader himself said that bach gave them their abilities, so perhaps he can sense if they are misused, but why was this even an issue in the first place? if he's so great, shouldn't he be able to tell right off the bat they were  terrible people, even if they tried to hide it? franzi crosses her arms, but says nothing. 

it's the same as before. it’s the same as every other time she’s tried to face that man. she can't say anything.

he looks briefly down at the perfectly castrated privates of the now-unconscious aki d. the others appear to have regained theirs, for a stage 2 mujik user’s changes usually only last in the world of mujik. but their unfortunate ringleader seems to be the victim of a common phenomenon among untranscended classicaloids: as they get stronger, some of the changes they make in the mujik dimension become permanent in this world as well. no blood drips there in graphic fashion--instead his dick and balls have simply disappeared, leaving empty flesh behind.

❝…permanent change," he muses, after several moments of silence. ❝you're making progress.❞

❝b-bach sama?!❞ she stammers, mouth falling open. isn't he going to comment on the fact that the guy doesn't even have a dick anymore? her first instinct is to make a big speech to justify herself, telling him of how they'd beat up her cho-chan and then tore at her with beats like knives. but as it turns out, he just--understands.

❝you've done enough. stand back.❞ 

his voice is almost a growl. she obeys.

she watches from a short distance as he raises his baton, and the well-tempered clavier begins to play. long rainbow threads pour from the three bodies into his baton, not haphazard ones, but rather--music strings. he's taking the mujik from them. the two other uproar members leap at the hem of his coat, seizing it and begging bach-sama, oh, bach-sama, PLEASE--but he continues to let the mujik play, sweeping his variations through the air as his gift disappears back into the wand from which it came. the notes are ever so repressedly controlled, but she can feel the anger rolling off him like a series of arpeggios. no--she can see it in the shining gold aura that surrounds him, so hot with sunlike rage that it causes the whole park to heat-shimmer.

he turns to her when the ritual is done, as though expecting her to say something. and oh, there's a thousand things she wants to say--you can give and take mujik? why did you give it to them in the first place? how did you give it to them? i thought you didn’t like rap. are you upset with me? would you be upset if i asked you how the hell you missed the fact these are objectively terrible people if you’re supposedly omniscient? but they don’t give each other any time to converse. she nods to him, he nods to her, and then he turns and dissolves back up to his helicopter in a ray of golden light as though he were never there at all.

the two uproar subordinates gape at her, then gape down at their leader’s crotch. saber in hand, she slashes the air between them with a yell--to which they seize the arms of their still-unconscious friend and hurry away as fast as they can--they don’t even stick around long enough to see the sword turn back into nunchucks.

as for aki d.?

he never did get his dick back.

                          ❦яάкσ́czι мαяcн: υηƖσcкєɗ.❦