>>CHAPTER NINE::

Aruis Ex

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.

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I opened my eyes a few hours later. I had dreamed up a story about a man who went to his brother's wedding, and as he stormed up the middle of the aisle, concerned murmurs rising over the heads of the patrons along the pieus, he let a small knife slide from his coat sleeve and slashed the groom across the throat. And as he collapsed like a sloppy garbage bag across the carpeted stars up the altar, blood pouring from the large gurgling smile across the side of his neck the other man cut ragged tears into the screaming bride's dress, threw her to the floor and began to rape her. Right there up against the altar. And no one in the crowd even moved to stop him, or to aid the suffering groom as he slowly bled to death.

I couldn't understand what it meant. I sat myself up and planted my bare feet on the icy cold floor. There were remnants of salty tears streaming down the sides of my face that refused to disappear despite my frustrated rubbing. The dull light from the large bulbs that hung outside the rows of eerily silent cells gave me enough vision to see constantly morphing shades of grey where my feet should be.

Enough to see that the bars to my cell had been left open.

Rising to my feet I moved with cautious steps towards the opening, the light growing stronger and more brilliant with every movement forward. The faint smell of Falco's musk still lingered on my purple coveralls, and as I gripped both sides of the cell door I leaned my upper body out into the empty cell block.

Nobody. No guards. Not even the obnoxious sounds of buzzsaws that usually accompany the awkward sleep of a hundred and twenty inmates. It was as if everyone had suddenly been set free and no one bothered to send me the memo. It wouldn't have surprised me. I stepped out into the hallway, waiting for a burst of gunfire or another inmate with a zip tie. I wait for a stinging alarm to begin to echo down the corridors as I open the door to the offices. Waiting for a bright flashlight to blind me as a security guard growls into his personal radio for reinforcements. Waiting for a searchlight to hover over the reflective paddings in my coveralls as I make my way down the gated walkway towards the front gates.

Waiting for a laser scope. A shout. A care.

The gates are left wide open. The guard post is manned by a young, blue-feathered avian donning a security guard's cap that's tipped slightly over his right eye, and as I stumble in bewilderment towards him he smiles and grabs me by the arm.

"So," he asks me with a grin the size of Corneria. "How's it feel?"

I pause at the large gates and turn. The prison stands like an ancient artifact. A bold stack of concrete and steel that rises like a bloated cow into the midnight sky.

"I'm not sure," I tell him.

He leads me to a small town a few miles from the prison. The air is cold and the wind beats against my bare face and feet as we walk. It makes my scales dry and my blood run like syrup. We enter the town through a dirt road that slowly morphs into a paved walkway. As my feet slither against the concrete I hear the soft, muffled sounds of music coming from a small brick building a block away. Falco removes his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders, pressing my body closer to his. The warmth of his arm and the side of his chest numbs me to the weather and fills me with a sense of comfort.

"I figured we'd celebrate your release," he told me, kissing me on the side of my forehead. "And this is the best place to do it."

A nameless tavern. The small window cut into the side of the wall beams yellow with the light from the inisde, but the glass is too dirty to show anything else. Steel plates are bolted to the small front door, a tiny peephole cut out from the center that emits a thick beam of light onto the nearby wall. Falco slams his balled fist against them a few times, drawing me closer into him when he feels me shiver against another icy burst of wind. The beam of light is cut off briefly by a figure inside, followed by a series of loud clanks and thuds. Metal against metal. The door creaks open and the festive folk music blares into the walkway behind us.

"Falcone, you sunovabitch!" A middle-aged dark grey rat bellows from the doorway. He's wearing a leather jacket and three small piercings run up his left ear. He grins through yellow teeth and his breath is so thick you might think it slips from his lungs like liquid. "I thought you would never come back here again. Thought you was too good for us, eh?"

"Just terrified of you, Feliks. My good friend here just got out of prison. Though you guys could help show him a good time."

Feliks grins and lets out a laugh from the deepest regions of his lungs. The regions where all of the cigar smoke settles. The ones that make him hack and wheeze and cough up bits of black magma.

"Well, I know that we can make him a feel right at home. Come in, please."

The tavern is one small room carved into the side of a factory. The air is thick with smoke and the lights keep everything basked in a dull yellow glow. There is a bar on the far wall sporting a large array of alcohol, a grizzly old bartender enjoying a good, hearty laugh with the various patrons who formed a small crowd, sharing anecdotes and passing drinks. A small folk band sits in the far corner, their instruments bright, shined, and gleaming against their dirty clothes. Feliks leads us both to a large corner stall, motioning for the group to pass a few drinks their way.

"I suppose I never, uh, formally introduced myself. My name is Feliks Afanasii. I am a, uh, how you say, accomplice of Falcone here." The rat chuckled and slapped Falco on the back, eliciting an awkward grunt from the avian.

"Partner in crime, of sorts," Falco explained, removing his guard cap and placing it on the table in front of him. "He's an old friend from a dark corner of my past." Three drinks made their way to our table and Feliks passed them between us: a semi-transparent brown liquid held in a dirty, re-used longneck bottle. Feliks pushed the bottle into his greasy muzzle and took a large drink, letting out a satisfied sigh and slamming the now half-empty bottle into the rough wooden table. Falco did the same in turn, both eyeing me eagerly as I picked up the bottle.

The liquid is sharp, and I have to struggle not to gag against the hard liquor as it shoots down my throat.

"You know," Felicks cackled, leaning towards me from across the stall. "I've heard a lot about you from this guy over here."

Falco rolled his eyes. "For Christ's sake..."

"Let me tell you. There was a young woman in here a few months ago, and she had a real eye for this fella right here, let me tell you. And I says to him, 'Falcone, I'm telling you, she wants you.'"

I can feel the alcohol churning in my belly. It's like I just drank a gallon of fighter fuel. Falco eyes me with a hint of concern. I can see him growing uneasy with Felick's anecdote as he shifts his gaze out towards the crowd gathering in the center of the bar.

"But, Falcone, the sunovabitch, he played her off! I practically knocked his fucking lights out right there. I tell you, this man could probably have any piece of ass he wanted. But, I don't know, he is, eh, how you say�"

"You're done, right?"

The band stopped, a small commotion began in the center of the tavern as the patrons gathered, moving the tables and chairs against the grimy walls. As the band picked up their instruments, Falco leaned over towards me.

"Care to dance?"