Chapter Text
The grieving was short lived, a brief wave a murmurs among them, but silence is quick to fall when the dirty, haggard, form of of their leader raises his hook, the sight is mesmerizing how so many eyes turn to one measly, under dressed, dirt covered, slightly crazed looking, man, all prompted by one single motion. It’s as if his being there makes the pain of there loss worth it, and he supposes maybe it is, with all the stories he’s heard thus far, which aren’t many, and are only vaguely detailed, but the tales speak of the Rat staring down the king, with nothing but his own hand and a sword. Even if those tales aren’t true they certainly imbue power, and in that way he is still important to the recovery of a devastating loss like this.
He speaks again, voice still high and keen, but a little more sultry with a serious tone, eyebrows set low and lips pulled in a partial snarl, “This ain’t the first time we’ve lost our place to call home, an’ if that bloody fucking shit head at the throne of this forsaken kingdom has any say it won’t be the last. Now, I know it ain’t goin’ to be an easy loss, lost a lotta good people in there, I’m sure, but Rats multiply fast. We head out, find any measly drongo who’s committed the peatiest crime, an’ we rebuild our numbers. If I have any fucking say about how this is going to go, by the end of the year we’ll have a fully functioning army ready to retaliate. For now, all of ye pack yer bags, only essentials. We leave in thirty minutes, an’ leave no trace of where we’re goin’. We ain’t coming back here.” he pauses, his amber eyes flicking from face to face, before he snaps “WELL WHAT ARE YE WAITING FOR!? MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!!” He flails his arms and people scurry away into the giant trees they made their homes in, in a mad dash to grab what they need.
Those eyes are quick to dart to Mako, the hook swings out, catches onto the shirt, and he’s sure the little shit meant to pull him down, but instead only pulled himself up, he manages to not tremble, face stern and cold as he gets close to Mako’s face, that bug eye seems to have a slight more twitch than his right, and he snarls at him. He supposes if he were a lesser man the sharp teeth and glinting gold would have intimidated him, but he’s seen much worse than this twerp.
His voice comes out like the sound a snake makes when it moves on the ground, not the hiss, but the drag, his nose almost touching Mako’s “Make no mistake, I don’t trust a single hair on yer body, not a one. But, I don’t got much of a choice, do I? You were intended to be me bodyguard in the first place. I suggest, though, ye tell me the truth, and only the truth. Did ye know about Gabriel Rayes’ plan?” In lieu of a verbal response Mako huffs and shakes his head. The scowl deepens on the smaller mans face, another quick twitch somewhere in his muscles, his eyes narrow as he stares for an uncomfortably long time in Mako’s eyes, before he lowers himself, tugging his hook from the cloth of Mako’s shirt, quick to push it to his throat instead.
“I’ve got some ground rules fer ye. Ye don’t do shit unless I tell you too, you don’t talk t’ anybody until I tell ya too, you don’t talk to me until I talk to you, you never leave me line of sight, ye don’t touch me food, or me clothes, or anything else that’s mine or that I’m intendin’ to grab, unless I tell you to. You don’t go to sleep after me, you go down before me, and you address me as Rat, got it?”
Mako grunts out of the side of his mouth, and the Hook moves away after a moment, those quizzical eyes still fluttering over him. Eventually they find his face again, scrunching his nose “Got a name better than Mako? Not a very scary name, mate, sounds soft, like a flower.” he scrunches his face a bit, and it’s Mako turn to feel his brow twitch, face twisting into a scowl, and he leans down until he’s eye level with the little brat in control of the guild, and his voice comes out in a deep, angry, rumble.
“Mako is a type of shark.” he pulls his lips back to show his own threatening, huge teeth, canines seeming to catch the light just right to get the brat staring at the gigantic teeth for an equally gigantic man. He stands back up with a satisfied huff, Rat itching at his arm mumbling, before addressing him again, sharply, “Doesn't mean it don’t sound like a flower. Get a fuckin’ nickname or what ever, ain’t gonna have my bodyguard's name making me think of fucking roses.”
He stares at him as he walks away, and Mako fallows, a little dumbfounded if he’s honest. Of all the people that’s ever stood up to him he never expected a scrawny little shit like this who may be tall but is thin and wiry, and missing half his limbs. Yet, in all his forty-eight years he’s the first man to ever stand up to him, and he snorts a bit, causing that head to snap up and stare at him untrustingly.
This is going to be one hell of a time.
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They say there’s nothing like watching an entire herd of animals crossing the continent to find a new home, be it by air, land, or sea, because for as far as the eye can see hundreds of identical masses travel as one, all heading the same way. The mass migration of humans is not beautiful, it’s sad, because humans, unlike many species of animals, settle themselves into a home and expect to keep it forever. Yet, as Mako looks over his shoulder at the masses of people moving along behind the guide of a lurching, hunched over man he sees no sadness, they talk among each other, as if they had not just lost their home, their friends, maybe even family. He realizes he’s not sad either. He’s determined, determined to keep pushing, to make it to the other side into whatever new home the Rat had in mind, determined to tear down Gabriel and the King. He clenches his fist, teeth grinding as he walks on, the Rat by his side, eyes constantly flicking to watch him.
He knows he doesn’t want to win, to make Gabriel pay, because it’s his job to follow the Rat’s orders, he wants to win because the system is corrupt. If the system worked right none of them would be here, none of them would be running for their lives, they wouldn’t have to steal or kill or lie to get through life. He knows some people lie, kill, and steal because they can, not because they have to, but him? Mako turned to crime to survive, so that the could have a meal in his stomach, so that maybe he could get a proper house and farm again, and begin to live his life instead of just simply surviving.
He looks back again, at the masses of people, he saw kids, he saw the elderly, he saw teenagers, he saw single adults, he saw parents, couples, friends. He saw a family, all blindly following the hunched, dirty form of some scared up fool. Looking back at Rat he knows why he’s following along with them so compliantly, without hesitation, or complaint. Because, though the Rat himself is a criminal, he’s fixed the system. No one here needs to starve, no one needs to go cold at night, or worry about not having a roof over their head, or that their opinions will not be heard or might be ignored, they don’t have to worry about being rich or poor, because here, among the guild, there is only the Rat, who, from the stories he’s heard, earned his title among them, and then there's them. There is no noble men, no man eats more, no woman eats less, no child is forgotten, no adult deemed useless. Here, they are all equal, they are all heard, deemed important, under the gaze of the Rat.
And that? Right now, that is why he fights, for a world where that can be said true everywhere they go. He fights so that people like them no longer need to exist out of necessity rather than want. He fights so crime becomes a choice, not a last resort.
He doesn’t realize he was internally monologueing the entire march through the trees until the Rat announced they take a break, instead of the dense, noon lit, forest he remembered running into he finds that a stretch of plains extends out in front of him, the sun closer to the horizon rather than it’s apex, in the distance there are mountains reaching for the sky like thick, misshapen, claws grasping for the sky. The people spread outwards, in the middle of the mass of moving bodies he and Rat stay in place, the leader of the guild glancing over his followers, and Mako realizes he’s doing a headcount, checking there numbers, and he vaguely wonders if the Rat could even keep track of how many people they left with. Once contented with his conclusion, the lithe man turns to a group of younger men and sets them off to get supplies for a fire, next sending out a group of bored looking teens to find material to make temporary shelters, and yet another group of women to go out and gather food, group after group is given orders, temporary guard duty, cooking, building, looking out for the unwell, and so on and so forth, and within a few minutes the whole field is alive with people preparing to camp for the night.
For a moment it seems Rat forgets he’s there his whole body slumps for a moment, like the weight of the entire population of the Guild of Rats has suddenly landed on his shoulders, and a part of Mako, the same part that had the monologue, the one who would of been sick at the mere idea of blood on his hands, realizes this man carries the weight of every success and failure, every life, every death, and every responsibility on his lithe shoulders. Mako doesn’t know how old Rat is, he looks old, weathered and age, but with that much stress weighing down on his shoulders for years Mako can only imagine the horrors it could put one man's mind through. But that’s not his job, his job is to protect the Rat from death, not to care if he’s mentally stable or not. So instead, he crosses his arms, pulls his eyes away from the rat, and looks at the reaching peaks of the distant mountains.
By nightfall they have a small camp set up, and everyone fed a meal. The camp is so much smaller than the original “den” he first set eyes on, families huddle up together under small little rectangular forts made from branches and pine needle coverings, the camp is split into circular shaped sections, each has a fire in the center with almost equal distances from the fire so the warmth can be shared by all. Normally a leader would ask for a bigger living space, something special, instead he picks a random on with now special placement or meaning and lowers himself down, grabbing tattered cloth from his hip satchel. Mako begins to look through his own bag, tossing out the armor Gabriel had given him from there “mission” tossing it carelessly aside. He’ll pick it up and sell it later, after all, as Rat said, leave no trace. He finds the blankets he’d used when he first arrived and lays down, just outside of the fort, covers his mass as evenly as possible and turns to watch the fire. He can hear stories being passed from neighbors, meaningless chit chat, observations made during the travel, meaningless drawl passed from person to person. Somehow, it manages to lull him to sleep.
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The next morning the camp is roused by the scent of breakfast being prepared, a quick meal is had, and they set off walking again, headed towards the mountain peaks on the horizon. Rat mumbles to himself most of the way, occasionally stumbling when his peg slips into a moles nest or when the slowly thickening grass seems to wrap around it, his hook needing to be yanked free as the grass gets taller the further they go. Each time he reacts to catch him when he trips, to help free him he gets a snarl, the swiping nails of his flesh hand and a violent “back off” in return. It begins to agitate him, and eventually he begins to give rumbling growls in return. He doesn’t care who the Rat is, he’s not going to let some bean pole be needlessly rude.
By the end of the day both of them are tense and tired of the others presence, the mountains only seem barley closer, though the forest is much smaller, once again they set up dens from the materials of there previous camp. Once again Mako sleeps outside.
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They’re three days into travel and the Mountains have grown much closer, only another day or so before they reach their destination. The tensions between him and Rat only grow, no a word passed between them other than rats spiteful growls whenever Mako makes a move to help.
The night has fallen once again, the camp being rebuilt for the night, and Mako is just beginning to settle in when the sudden roll of thunder rumbles across the land, jolting him awake. Eyes turn up to the sky, and before long the rain starts pouring down, everyone is quick to huddle inside there forts and out of the rain, except for Mako. He sits outside, because the Rat has made it clear he doesn’t want to share sleeping quarters with Mako even if his life depended on it. He grumbles, sits himself up and pulls the blanket over his head.
He’s already shivering from cold by the time the fire goes out, and the rolls of thunder seem to have no intent of ending quite yet. His eyes look upwards to the clouds, and it doesn’t seem to plan on ending soon. Eventually, he hears a gruff grunt and then a sigh, he hears shuffling in Rat’s fort before his head pokes into the vision of the corner of his eyes, “Oi, get yer fat arse inside, don’t need you catching focking death and slowing us all down. Fockin blanket ain’t enough to keep no one warm in piss weather like this!” He pulls his own head inside, and it takes considerable effort but eventually Mako squeezes his way in without breaking anything. Rat pulls out a portable lamp and lights it, mumbling something about heat under his breath. It takes awhile, but in the cramped, mostly closed off, space eventually the little oil lamp warm him up, he’s no mean dry by the time he gets to sleep but he feels considerably less in danger of getting pneumonia. As he lays his head down, he looks at Rat, face stern and blank, before rumbling a deep, quick, “Thanks.”
“Shut up an’ go tha fuck to sleep.” is all he gets in return.
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They make it to the mountains two days later and then the real work begins. For another two days the search for the beginnings of a base, they settle on a well hidden foxes den and start up digging, making sure it’s wide enough for every last member of the guild, Mako included, and then they begin to dig deeper. There camps becomes less temporary, they’re smart enough to not build their entire town underground, they scale up the trees and mountain, finding caves in the stone and carefully starting to carve the green wood of the forest. Just a few miles from the home they have now is a town, a place to, hopefully, find new members for the guild. Whilst most party members build, dig, and carve Rat plans, he talks about blueprints, defenses, he spends hours in a little temporary pine leaf base. Mako’s never allowed inside, he has no clue what the Rat does in there, and the words between them are still very sparse. Mako’s okay with that. After all, it’s not his job to worry about Rat’s mental state.
And yet, as he sits those long hours in the day with nothing to do but think and pick at the earth he often times finds himself wondering how old the Rat is, how long he’s been in charge. He can’t stop seeing the image of the Rat’s shoulders slouching under the invisible weight of an entire community weighing down on him.
So he continues, day in and day out, to tell himself he doesn't care.
He doesn’t.