Chapter Text
He scuttles along the rain-slick cobblestones of the Historical District, ignoring the ominous rumblings of thunder overhead. The whole of Regalia has been unquiet this week, thunderstorms never ceasing, as if the city itself knows what’s coming. He wouldn’t be entirely surprised. With the types of people that call this place home, it wouldn’t be that large a leap of faith to assume it’s acquired powers of its own.
He finds a relatively clean alley off of Poplar Street and darts into that. Just his luck, it’s not empty. An angry-looking waiter from the Thai place next door is taking his smoke break. “Hey, rat. Get the hell out of here.” He makes a shooing motion, too lazy to grab the broom leaning against the wall next to him.
Hissing, and heaving as much of a sigh as a rat can while running through flooding streets, he scurries to the next alley along the way. It’s smaller, less clean, but blissfully empty. Since it’s more about location than safety, he dubs it the best he's going to get, given the circumstances. He crouches behind a dumpster, thanking whatever happens to be listening that there's fair amount of space between it and the wall of brick on his other side. And he begins to change.
It’s not painless. His face flattens. His limbs grow. Fur retreats to some unknown ether; fragile human skin is all that remains. His spine straightens and his organs are rearranged while long, sharp teeth shrink into little more than pointed canines. The transformation should be excruciating. In fact, it probably should kill him. But, due to some genetic hiccup, he and plenty of others can complete it with only your run-of-the-mill agony: clothes not included.
Now a naked human, he remains crouched behind the dumpster, praying no one will find him there. It won’t due to get arrested for indecent exposure at this point in the game. That will probably ruin everything. With minutes ticking by, he thinks that might be the most embarrassing way this venture could end. That’s probably why Luxa’s doing it. Though they’re technically on the same side again, they’ve never pretended to be friends.
After about ten minutes, just when he’s about ready to jump up from his hiding place and streak through Regalia, he hears the soft shushing of footsteps over wet rock. “Rager? Are you here?” she asks, sotto voce.
“Finally,” he snaps, straightening slightly. A blonde woman, skin practically translucent in the hazy light, walks down the alley toward him, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She tosses in his general direction. He scoffs at the weak throw, but manages to catch it without exposing himself further.
“It would help immensely if you would meet in the rendezvous place we discussed previously. Then I would not have to waste precious time searching for you.”
“Oh stuff it, princess. If we went to the same place every time, they would catch on in a heartbeat. Besides, this way I can make sure your skills aren’t getting rusty. It wouldn’t do, not right before the big showdown.” He smirks at her before pulling the t-shirt she provided over his head. “Is this it? No umbrella? I thought I taught you to always be prepared. Especially where it pertains to me.”
She sighs, spinning her own umbrella, funeral black, in impatient fingers. “Check the side pocket.”
Unzipping it, a sound too loud for this enclosed alley, he finds a small pink umbrella nestled among some towels. “No, princess. This is not going to fly.” He opens it, discovering it is bedecked with the smiling princesses his pups had loved. And, if he is not mistaken, glitter. “You’re switching me, right now before I slit that pretty little throat of yours.”
“Neither of us shall fly if we do not get going with some haste. Aurora is waiting for us a few blocks from here.”
“First, the umbrella. You are the Princess, after all.”
Luxa turns on a boot-clad heel. “You are the one who first taught me to roll with the punches. You should heed your own words. Now hurry up. We’re losing daylight, and we have more people to see than simply one another. Thank God.”
Ripred slipped from out behind the dumpster and scurried to catch up with her. “It’s not like we had much light to begin with. And you know what,” he shakes the umbrella in her face, “I don’t care if you’re the bloody uncrowned Princess of the entire world. That doesn’t give you the right to treat me with this ridiculousness.”
“Being the so-called “Princess of Regalia” has nothing to do with it, Ripred. I just enjoy seeing you flail.”
He would enjoy seeing her flayed. If he didn’t need her to complete this mission, he would have killed her a long time ago. Sometimes, he daydreamed about it, or at the very least, living in a world where her stringent tones wouldn’t provide the vocal talent in his nightmares. He thought about that a lot actually. On the rare nights he tried, it actually helped him sleep.
“The feeling is mutual, Ripred. Now if you wouldn’t mind pulling your thoughts out of the thunderheads and focusing on the task at hand, it would be much appreciated. Or, at the very least, shut up.”
He respects her wish for approximately…eight and a half seconds before putting on his best falsetto. Pulling no punches, he cries loud enough for the block to hear, “Oh, look at me, I’m Luxa. I don’t have a last name and read minds and use fancy words to hide the fact I’m emotionally traumatized from a childhood at war. Also, I’m supposed to rule over every superhero in Regalia but my evil grandmother stole my title. I haven’t cried since I was fifteen, and I’m looking for my prepubescent sweetheart who has probably long moved on. I’m basically a block of marble who has no real friends.”
She doesn’t miss a beat before dropping into a deep voice that Ripred is sure doesn’t sound at all like his own. “Name’s Ripred. Well, that’s not actually my name, but I’m not about to tell you that because I trust no one. I can turn into a rat and I prefer being that way. I had a family I loved but they died and I became bitter and cold. I’m a brilliant fighter, a Rager in fact, who has no war and thus, no purpose. I teach people my ways but they always leave and I don’t know why. I want them to stop. I want them to stay.”
Stopping in her tracks, she turns to face him. “That was about as fun as root canal. Let’s save the psychoanalysis for people who might actually need it, like the Warrior, or people we want to destroy, like Solovet.”
“Who says I don’t want to destroy you, Luxa?”
“You haven’t yet.”
He scoffs. “That’s because I still need you.”
“I will just have to pray that you continue doing so. Though I would like to see you try. If it’s anything like that stunt with the lobster-shifters, I would love to see it.”
He opens his mouth to retort, but Luxa cuts him off with a diamond-hard glare. The rest of the walk to the rendezvous, five long blocks, is made in excruciating silence.