One Knight awaiting us.

As soon as I said it, I realised that it was the worst possible thing I could have said. The look on her face turned from a sort of compassionate pity to a sort of disgusted sneer. Which seemed almost kind compared to his; snapping from happy and smiling to righteous anger, teeth bared wide enough that the scars on his lips stretched, the not quite right flesh glistening in the light, as he launched himself at me, grabbed my shirt at the neck and dragged me up so that our eyes were mere inches apart...

Runaway

Saturday, 28 November ‘15

I should have brought a coat, heck I should have brought more than one set of clothes, you don't realise just how cold nights are until you're stuck outside without anywhere to go. Or even inside, coming to this Bus Station was probably a mistake too, the wind blows through whenever any of the doors open and suck out all the heat. All the snow doesn't make things any better, making all my clothes cold and wet and numbing my fingers as my rosary runs through them.

As much as I love my si...mother, her 'escape plan' really hasn't worked out, no preparation for if things go wrong and she didn't even think to check if the people she was sending me too were even still there. At least I got away from those weird looking people that were running the place, I just don't understand why they got so angry when I asked for Cousin Vinnie. I have no idea what to do now, I've never been in the city before, never left fa...grandfather's farm except to go to church and...

"Oi, newblood, y'allreet?"

I look up at the Australian(?) voice to quite possibly the most peculiar looking person that I could have ever have imagined before leaving home, who is leering at me with a grin that leaves me worried about my continued sanity. His hair (tied in lots of shoulder length braids) and his eyebrows are a patchwork of orange and green so bold it hurts to look at. And he's staring at me, from blackened eyesockets rimmed with gemstones, like I'm the weird one, leaning forward and talking slowly at me, bringing my focus right to the horrific scars that look like someone sewed his lips shut with wire.

"I said: art thou in an adequate condition newblood?... You do understand English right?"

"Leave them alone Mor, they’re probably stunned and dazzled by your hair's... radiance"

The new speaker skates up from behind me and joins 'Mor' leaning on the railing across from me, and she also has unnatural hair, a waterfall of shimmering silver hanging down past her ribs. All I can do is hug gra..great grandpa's old army duffle (and his..my swords hidden inside) closer and grip my rosary tight in fear of these heatha...people. She notices me trying to edge away and smacks 'Mor' across the shoulder, "I take it the prick didn't even introduce himself did he? I'm Chell, Constance Michelle MacLoud-Blacklock, and this idiotic overgrown man-child is Morcar Smith."

Morcar interrupts with; "Sir Morcar Smith, and that’s 'Smith' spelt ~pee-ess-em-why-tee-aitch-eeeee~," singing out the spelling, with a childish look of joy on his face. "And you, are Newblood, leastways til we work out your new name, gots’ta find someting that fit's you proper like if you’re ganna chill at wor gaff."

At that I finally find my voice, "w-what makes you think I'm g-going anywhere with you? And I already have a name thank you, I'm Ish..."

He holds his hand up to stop me and gets a more serious expression come over his face. "Nope, that's who ya were, but you are either on the run or got yor’sel hoyed out to be sat here on a day like this, dressed like that. If you was tossed out then the name they gave you is worth shite, and tied to emotional chains you’re ganna need to break free from to stay sane. If you're a runaway, doesn't matter if it’s from family or social services, then your old name is a way for them to find you and catch you, and the harder you make it for them, the better your chances of staying lost till you want to be found. Oh and seriously; a thin blouse, sacred jeans and deck shoes are stupidly inappropriate for 2 feet of snow days, and them strap-on skates are ganna get ruined in all the salty slush."

"B-but these are all the clothes I have.”

“That doesn’t sound like very good planning for winter, you need to dress warm when the snows this thick for this long.” I look at her and she’s dressed like a figure skater and can’t be any warmer than me.

“S..mother's plan was for me to go straight to one of her friends, but he wasn't there."

"So then sweetie, what’s your plan? Have you even got one?"

"I don't know, I've got no money for food and nowhere to stay. It would probably be easiest to just go to sleep and let the cold kill me, not like there’s anything for worthless filth like me to live for."

As soon as I said it, I realised that it was the worst possible thing I could have said. The look on her face turned from a sort of compassionate pity to a sort of disgusted sneer. Which seemed almost kind compared to his; snapping from happy and smiling to righteous anger, teeth bared wide enough that the scars on his lips stretched, the not quite right flesh glistening in the light, as he launched himself at me, grabbed my shirt at the neck and dragged me up so that our eyes were mere inches apart.

“Do not even think about joking about that, not ever. Your life and your freedom are too precious to give up so willingly, when your time is truly done, when you reach the end of your path, you must scream your defiance to the world and the stars, and you make the ghosts of death earn their prize.” His eyes, such a beautiful deep blue they seem nearly purple, feel like they’re boring into my soul, as his free hand drags mine holding my rosary up to our eyes. “Besides, isn't toppin yoursel one of your god's irredeemable sins, one of them ‘doom you to an eternity of ceaseless torment’ deals? Whomever’s fault it is you’re out ‘ere, divn’t dee their work for them, live, defy them, live and beat the gods’es challenges.” As he says the last bit his face brightens back up and sets me back down, keeping a hold of my hand for a moment. “Do we understand one another hinny?”

As I look at his scared lips, I realise that he isn't just posturing, that he truly believes what he says. More than that, I understand it, and it makes perfect sense. “D-defiance of a-adversity, face the Tester's trials, keep living and fighting to live, even if just to spite fa...grandfather.” His growing smile as I say it is infectious makes my face ache from using muscles that had gone unused for so long.

“Whey aye pet, divn't let the bluetards haad ya down. So then hinny, what’s your plan now? Ganna take wor offer of a place to crash?”

I nod and start to reply, only to be interrupted by my stomach growling loud and long enough that the various people scattered throughout the station all turn to stare at me. Chell moves over to sit next to me on the bench, “Are you allergic to anything sweetie?” I give a little shake of my head, “alright then, I’ll be right back, play nice Mor.” She skates of down the strip, swaying and shimmying past everyone.

“B-but...”

Morcar turns back to me after watching her leave, “Listen sproglet, there is nothing wrong with accepting charity when you’re in trouble, that’s kinda the whole smegging point innit.” He starts taking off his coat and unhitching his sword from clips on the back of it. “Like this, you're ganna borrow my coat till we can get you some actual winter clobber... Just divn't gan in the pockets like, safer for everyone that way.”

Like everything else about him, his coat(s?) is so far outside my life experience it takes me time to understand it. It's a hooded camouflage sweatshirt, inside of a sleeveless denim jacket that's been extended to go down past his knees, the hood and the jacket trimmed with this bright red fur with black spots. And all of the outside of it is covered in decorative patches, buttons, extra pockets in an array of different camo patterns and colours, and random smatterings of metal spikes, studs, stars, skulls and safety pins. It dwarfs me, reaching to my ankles, but it is so warm, from him and from the fur, that it burns the chill right out of me.

“T-thank you, that’s much better, but you don’t need to spend money on me, there’s got to be better things to use it for, like yourself, at least I’ve got a shirt.” And he is just sat there without a shirt on, just a pair of camo-dungarees cut off at the knees (that are decorated just like his coat), some sort of skin tight plaid pants underneath and a pair of heavy skates/boots, that look the same shape, but in very different patterns.

“Nah, I’m good newblood. One; it needs to drop at least 4 degrees for it to be short sleeves weather for my kind, B; we're not ganna be sat here long, three; I’ve got plenty of shirts back at mine, four; we know a very nice boutique, run by a pair that loves giving total makeovers... and not just cause they makes a proper killing on them, V, I need to gan see them t’night anyhow, and F; you need new clothes like ya need a new name, cause it's blatantly obvious that you’re on the run from someone, your ‘fa...grandfather’ at a guess from what you’ve said.”

It’s impossible to avoid starring at him, watching how his scared and tattooed skin flexes and moves as he gestures randomly as he speaks. “And once you’re all kitted out and we get back to the Garridge, thee and me are ganna hafta have a conversation bout that ‘filth like me’ smeg, cause it kinda sounds like you got sommat properly fucked up in that headcase of yours. I ain't ganna pry into your story, that’s yours to tell on your terms, but that lack of self-respect of yours needs dealing with ‘fore you do sommat proper stupid.”

“But why? What do you get out of helping me? What makes me so special?”

“Because we can, a friend, and nowt respectively. Inherited a couple of old industrial buildings off of daddy dearest, me and Michelle run them as safe havens for streetkids and homeless vets, an' got a deal with Social Services to look after foster kids who'd get right smegged up in the system. Get us somewhere safe so we can fix whatever got us out on the streets, and get back to living instead of just surviving.” It sounds almost too good to be true, but there’s an earnestness and confidence on his face, not the boastful, compensating over-confidence of most guys, but a self-assured confidence coming from apparent competence and a belief in his ability.

“O-okay I guess, I mean, not like I’ve got anywhere else to go.”

“Not quite the reaction I was after but I guess that’s cause your proper new to the whole tramp lifestyle.”

“So what actually happens now?”

“You eat, then thee an me gan down see the Andrewses, while Chell does the run round grabbin all t'other essential smeg you'll need, bedding and toiletries and the ilk.”

“Why that way around? Isn’t it heretic girls that are supposed to be more interested in clothes?”

At that moment, Chell swings round the post at the end of the bench and launches herself onto the bench between Morcar and me. “Because I’m in my van and he just has his Hog, we can grab all the clothes and stuff at the end, but the rest is in a bunch of different shops.” She passes me a wrapped up burger, “eat up before it gets cold and nasty.”

While I eat it as quickly as I can without disgracing myself, Mor holds her away and with, what I am assuming is joking, mock, offense on his face berates her, “Really? Macky Ds? Are you trying to poison the bairn? I can barely stand to look at you Macky B.” Standing up and, making a show of not looking at her, he clips his sword to a set of clips on his back on his dungarees’ straps, “Haway then newblood, let’s be about it.” Effortlessly lifting my duffle with one hand and dragging me along with the other he skates us off down the row between the shops and busstops.

I find myself filled with questions. Why do I find myself trusting such an obvious heathen? What does he get out of this? Why do her parents let her cavort about without a chaperone, and in such sinful clothing? What do they think I am? How will they react when they find out? Why does it feel so good holding his hand? Will I have to run again? Who else lives with them? Is he really a knight? Where is sis...mother, and why wasn't cousin Vinnie there?... What in all the seven hells is that multi-colour...thing he fawning over?

“What in all the seven hells is that?”

“This is Lævateinn, me bike, and you'll ‘urt his feelings talking bout him like that. He's not a that, he’s a new build Vincent Black Shadow, tuned like a smegging harp, fitted with a twin-charger, 3 different noisemaker cans, NOS, a stupid powerful floodlight an a bitching stereo. Now climb on, unless you want to stand here in the cold till our nips fall off.”

What was I thinking agreeing to this! He went through that whole ‘don’t kill yourself thing’ and now he’s trying to kill us both. The weaving in and out of was terrifying on its own, but then he stood up and started dancing and singing along to the music, “~...spread the word all over town and yell that Geordie roar.~ Come on Newblood, you should have gotten the chorus by now! ~The fog on the Tyne is all mine, all mine...~”

“How much further is it?” I have to scream to be heard over the music and the wind and the screaming and roaring engine. He doesn’t respond, he just slams the brakes and clutch on and slides us through the slush to a stop right next to a shuttered garage.

“About 4 feet sproglet, think you can manage to walk that or do you wanna ride the bike the rest of the way?” He still has that stupid grin on his face, there is definitely something seriously wrong with him... guess I’m in good company then.

Before I can answer there’s a bang as the shutters open and he wheels Lævateinn (and me) inside... straight into the barrel of an 8-gauge shotgun. “Who the fuck is this? You know the rules Mor, no-one without an appointment and no surprise accompaniments.”

 “Laura chill, he probably has a wonderfully good explanation for it, just take a look at the kid for a second.” For a moment it feels like I’m seeing double until my eyes adjust to the glare and the differences between ‘Laura’ and the ridiculously well dressed guy that looks so similar to her standing behind her clear up. I lose track of their argument, it is far too fast, and they use so many words(languages?) I just don’t know that I can’t really understand it, so I just watch them as Mor pushes me inside while throwing his own barbs into the fight.

Just before we get through the door out of the loading area we were in, ‘Laura’ shouts at us, “get those grotty shoes and skates off before you go inside,” then goes back to her argument, while me and Morcar obey. We don’t get more than three steps inside before the problem of wet socks like mine on linoleum flooring makes itself apparent, and I wind up on the ground, with my legs spread wide and a sore backside.

“Have a nice trip there Bambi? Why didn't you send me a postcard?”

“What?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’? It's just what you say when someone falls ower innit.”

“I mean; what did you just call me?”

“Your new name, it seems appropriate doesn it?”

“What is it supposed to mean, what is a ‘Bambi’?”

“You’re having a laugh ain't ya? You dunno what Bambi means? You’ve never seen the flick?”

“No, no and no respectively. Is it mean?”

“Nah it’s all cute woodland critters, Bambi's a deer, gans arse ower tit on ice, bit like you jus did. Now get up and let’s get thee sorted out.” I start to stand and he grabs and drags me to my feet. “Theres a shower ower there, you gann get all that moist smeg off and get washed, then Laura and Danielle will make you all pretty like... Oh and ditch the hosiery before you start hin, a bruised coccyx is nee way to start a friendship.”

“What about my bag? Why should I trust you heathens not to steal my things?”

“Ooooh, bit harsh there aint cha. Would you accept a knight's oath of honour?”

“I guess so...”

He straightes up, draws his sword from his back and, in one fluid motion, drops to one knee and lays it across his held out arms, “I, Sir Morcar Lazar Psmythe, son of Bertram Tiberius, son of Zebulon Alexander, 13^th Baronet Falhurst of Crewe, do hereby swear, on my blood and on my honour, that my and my squires’es intentions are pure and meant to help, and that you and your property are safe in our hands.”

There’s no hesitation or nervousness in it, and the look in his eyes has no malice or deceit. And, thinking about it, if he wanted to rob me, it would have been easier to just drop me off outside the city somewhere.

“And if I really wanted to swipe your junk, would have be easier to just take you out to t’motorway and push you off of the bike ower the barrier” His smirk that is getting to be irritating sneaks back onto his face, “Can I get up then? Things ‘ill gann way faster if we get to ‘em.”

I give him a little nod as the other two come in, “...and why do you always take his side? He’s not perfect.”

“I don’t always take his side, and you’re being paranoid, do you really think anyone could make him do something he doesn’t want to?”

“That’s not the point! This is our space and he just ignores our rules!”

“Oi! He is in the room, and he doesn’t appreciate being referred to in the third person whilst present, and he owns just as much of this place as you do Laura, so maybe chill out a little, yeah?”

As Laura and Morcar start arguing with each other, Danielle(?) comes over to me and leads me off towards the shower Mor pointed out. “So, kiddo, has Morcar decided what he’s going to call you yet?”

“Y-yes, ‘Bambi’, whatever it’s supposed to mean.”

“Well then, Bambi, allow me to introduce myself.” He grabs a hat off one of the racks, that clashes wildly with his very nice suit, and does one of those overly fancy bows people do on stage, “I am Master Danielle Andrews Esquire, Tailor and Haberdasher extraordinaire, at your service.”

“So, you’re sort of a Dandy then?” the room gets very quiet and I feel like I’ve made another mistake. “Y-you know Dan, Andy, Dandy... d-did I say something wrong?”

Morcar is staring at me, his mouth looking angry and his eyes looking amused, “you have no idea how much I hate you right now. I’ve known him 5 years and that’s never occurred to me, even with how he dresses... you’re making me look bad sproglet, ganna hafta stay on me toes round you.. an best leave me coat on that table there, too much ‘lecy shite in it to take it in t’shower.”

I rush towards the shower to get away before something else happens, Dandy handing me a towel and what looks like clean underwear and offering a whispered, “He’s okay with it really,” as I pass him.