Chapter Text
Uriel Ventris took a deep breath and knelt before the back door of the big old house at the end of the street. He glanced around furtively, not really expecting to see anyone out so late at night, and pulled the lockpicking kit out of his bag. It wasn’t like he could get in any more trouble than he was already in, but using such questionable tools as a lockpicking kit, and employing such questionable methods as breaking into a house in pursuit of justice were the kinds of unfortunate extracurricular activities that got him expelled in the first place.
But maybe– just maybe– if he could locate the whereabouts of all the equipment that had mysteriously disappeared from the school’s chemistry lab, then they might just let him back in. Because he had an idea of where it might all be, and he was currently breaking into it. Or rather, he had an idea about just who might have taken it all.
Once the lock gave, he eased the door open and shut it carefully behind him. The lights were on– but was anybody home? He almost wished that he hadn’t left Pasanius out for this one. It would’ve been really nice to be in here with somebody who had his back. But in the end, he didn’t need to get his friend in trouble, too. One of them had to graduate on time, and if Uriel’s guess about this place was wrong, it wasn’t going to be him.
Also, the football team needed their best– and biggest– guy on the line. Pasanius could even be the new captain, Uriel thought. It would make him proud, but a little wistful. He still couldn’t bear to part with the blue letterman jacket he was currently wearing, even if the “C” emblazoned on it didn’t really mean anything at the moment.
Uriel slowly padded further into the house. So far, it looked pretty normal; nothing was going on in the living room, and the first floor bathroom checked out. But when he slipped into the kitchen– gotcha!
The curtains were closed, so it was slightly darker, but the beam of his flashlight caught on flasks and tubes and hot plates– all sorts of things that Uriel was mentally checking off his internal list of missing objects. This was all the proof he needed, really, of Honsou’s malfeasance.
He walked down the length of the massive kitchen, and couldn’t help but examine the little production line. As he leaned down to appraise what Honsou was doing, he couldn’t help but be a little impressed. Honsou was an amazing chemist, to be able to pull all this off at only 16. And quite an impressive entrepreneur as well, to take the initiative and to begin a really quite lucrative business.
Uriel shook his head to clear such outrageous thoughts from his mind, the kind that he would no doubt find himself confessing for later in church. Obviously there was nothing impressive about cooking meth: it was very illegal, and rightly so, and Honsou should be kicked out of school at the very least. He should be arrested, too. What he was doing was completely wrong, and he was a bad person for even trying it.
But logistically, Uriel wondered, how did he manage to bring all this together? The house, the tools, the ingredients… it was incredible. And all under his fathers’ noses, too. If Mr. Dorn ever found out, Honsou would be toast. If Perturabo found out, he’d be dead. And if his weird uncle Dr. Bile found out, he’d be… probably his new lab assistant, actually. At least he’d have a job lined up when he got out of jail.
Uriel snapped a few pictures, careful not to touch anything, and then shook his head and turned to go. He’d take the evidence to Principal Calgar, Honsou would be brought to justice, and then hopefully that could mitigate the black marks upon his record. Surely they would all see–
–but that thought was never completed, because someone had crept up through the shadows, and knocked him hard upon the head.
***
Uriel Ventris woke up with a splitting headache, and his broad body tied tightly to a chair. It was dark in the room, and in the shadows of what little light came from the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, Uriel could see a big figure blithely sitting the wrong way around on a folding chair.
Uriel squinted as Honsou pulled his leg up and over and stood, picking up the chair and tossing it aside. “Hi, kid,” he said.
Uriel didn’t find the nickname completely fair, though he kept that rather petulant thought to himself. Honsou was only a few months older than him, after all. “Adding assault and kidnapping to your list of crimes?” Uriel asked him, in lieu of a greeting.
Honsou laughed, like breaking the law was funny. “Tying you up was a matter of convenience,” Honsou told him. “I need you to sit nicely, like the good boy you are, while I float a little business proposition.”
“Not happening.” Uriel didn’t need to hear what Honsou had to say: the answer to such an offer, of course, would always be a resounding ‘no.’
Honsou grinned. “Don’t make me gag you, too,” he said. Uriel scowled. “The point is, I could really use your help. You’re an A+ chem student,” Honsou said with a chuckle, “or at least you were. Captain of the football team, too.” He began to slowly saunter around Uriel and the chair that he was tied to. “Until they kicked you out of our fancy private school.”
He stopped in front of Uriel, and got up close to him. He leaned down, right in his face. “Listen, Ventris. They’re not going to take you back.” He popped his gum nonchalantly, before turning his head to the side to spit. “No other school in the area will take you either, not after what you’ve done. And what are you going to do, move away? Away from your buddy? You’d really leave Big P behind?”
Uriel felt his face redden at the suggestion, and turned away. Honsou grabbed his chin, then, with a hand hidden by a black leather glove. Uriel never knew exactly why he wore it, but rumour was he had sustained some kind of gruesome injury to his entire arm. No one had ever seen it, though, because the whole limb was always hidden by the guy’s ubiquitous leather jacket.
“Listen,” Honsou continued, tilting Uriel’s face towards him. “I can’t keep doing this, not without you.”
Uriel looked up at Honsou. It really hit him, then, that he was tied to a chair and immobilized by the bad boy exchange student who smoked and skipped school and cooked meth, apparently. Uriel shook his head to dislodge his chin from Honsou’s iron grip. It didn’t do anything to help his headache, but it did make it so that he wasn’t forced to stare at Honsou’s handsome face, and into the exciting chaos behind his eyes.
Instead he looked at the badges pinned to Honsou’s leather lapel– the skull and the black and yellow button– and steeled himself. Honsou had made his offer, and Uriel knew just what he had to do.