Work Text:
Their eyes, some said, their voices, some told
the flesh of foreign, the origins of unknown
- there was a hush in the crowd when they came to town.
They all did, as one , agree on a fact
when the town officials started to act :
not only with their faces, or the tattered wicker cases
there was something peculiar to those lads.
Known among the gossips, Mr. Hood and Mr. Fang they were called
not a single moment seen without the red hooded cape
or the silvery hair and darkly masked face
the stigma and proof of their rumored trade.
Rather handsome they were, was commonly agreed
despite the odd scars crossing both of their cheeks;
one cutting horizontal, one over an eye
like cross when put together, or X marking a lie.
Strong, tall and smart they were told to be too
with plenty of meaningful looks given at them two
perfect suitors with no debts nor misgivings
- if only they minded mingling among the living.
Now if you asked Mr. Hood, he'd readily agree
for he'd been brought up by history of misery.
He didn't mind those sending callous invitations
yet he wished to be left out of such ministrations.
Mr. Fang understood the point, was fair and just
could easily charm those that he must
but rather than letting his brain gather dust
he spent his time cleaning his blades of rust.
Yet poor Mr. Hood and poor Mr. Fang ,
not many towns wanted their two-man gang
and those that did wished to see them hang
- needless to say, they escaped with a bang.
So many of traps had they been forced to bail
so many miles trekked under showers of hail
only devotion to each other helping on their travel
when plunging through guts and bones and gravel.
They were no saints, but even they did wonder
when faced with charges of a horrendous murder
- they didn’t like nobles, but they had to admit
they preferred those living to dead, certainly.
Shortly told, to their earlier surprise
the last client had paid with devious lies
and confronting them to ask what rightfully was theirs
had them become framed with the massacre of heirs.
Thus, lying there back to back on hard stone flooring
bruised, battered and feeling their bodies cooling
they supposed there were worse ways than hanging to kick the bucket
like having tongues cut and eyes plucked out of their sockets.
Tired and moody, Mr. Hood, then said:
“ If only there was method to the madness of men.”
To find himself defeated had made him grim
for a Hood to lose their smile – how unfair !
While wondering when he had made the wrong turn on the path
Mr. Fang, the jester macabre, drawled like solving questions of math:
“There was a method, and they sure did exploit it,
for even I wouldn’t have slipped past the profit.”
Perhaps it was a testimony to the end of his rope
for Mr. Hood allowing himself to hope.
“ I say, darling of mine, if you don't mind,
to help me plotting us out would be rather kind.”
There rang a laugh, mocking his pleas
mimicked by the echo and their fleas.
“A shame to disappoint you, but if I may
rather than helping I would say nay.”
Utterly baffled (and a little bit peeved)
Mr. Hood wasn't sure what the other jeered .
“You say nay to your lover in need?
Prefer watching me to suffer and bleed?”
The growl of their stomachs mixed with a hum
the voice drawling bored like the doomsday drum:
“ Not sure if I should I help out such a fellow
who, the last time I helped, turned me yellow.”
Mr. Hood supposed, had he not fallen for the prick,
it’d be fun to skin, fillet and eat the man’s dick.
“For all you are Strange, you are the worst -
hope you'll get the plague and die of thirst!”
For all that was absurd and wrong with his reply
the laughing Mr. Fang had no intention to deny:
“Such scandalous words coming from that mouth,
I sure am glad for having no children around.”
“ Quite cruel,” Mr. Hood heard himself mutter
while feeling his mood reeling into gutter.
“You know of my heart, yet yours I don't know,
you’re making me feel not like a lover but a foe.”
“ Maa, now,” Mr. Fang said, sitting up with a rush
“ what they said in your ear to cause such a fuss?”
To whom he spoke, was not made quite clear
to the walls around or Mr. Hood lying near.
For Mr. Fang, it was said, he had a Strange act ,
a bit of cold character, not too jolly or so tact,
yet when he had met Mr. Hood, his heart gave a thud
blooming through the ice like a leaf-green bud.
Though by those who claimed to have been present,
it was as if a wolf had turned civil and decent,
for the Strange had made advance to the Peculiar he was seeing
(which had back then prompted Mr. Hood quickly fleeing).
It was said, after that, wherever they were
not closer was the other than the other was near
yet everyone could see who they truly held dear
and many had hoped them having nothing to fear.
They did bicker, snark and snap at each other
but that was one reason for them being together.
So after the two settled for a passing truce,
they both huddled up to plan for a ruse:
“We could poison them with our lunch, since you were the cook.”
“One more insult and I’ll kill you to lighten my mood.”
“That temper is not going to do you any good.”
“Nor does the habit of ending in jail make you less of a crook.”
Mr. Hood had earlier decided, when he had met his odd lover
that the silver-haired man was indeed a Strange lone rover
strange in his gait and strange in his style
strangely charming when not rude and vile.
( But, he had to admit, if a bit grudgingly,
even if keen to bark, he didn't mind the company.)
Yet little did he then know, once courting shadows in the dark
when Strange met Peculiar, there was a bite to that bark.
“ Did they take all of the shiny blades off you?”
“What are you, a magpie pretending to be an owl?”
“Only asking here, no need to play so foul.”
“I have two of them hidden, how about you?”
“One long enough to make the cut for two.”
A click of a lock, and the turn of a door
made them put haste for lying back on the floor
yet the footsteps carried past them in the end
making both of their brows lift and bend.
An oddity, or a chance, they didn’t care
seeing that they never really cared to play fair
their keeper had left, abandoned his post
giving them enough time to ditch their host.
“Maa, you’d better keep your distance,” Mr. Fang then said
and Mr. Hood put himself behind the poor excuse of a bed.
From there he watched, as Mr. Fang pulled out his knife
and eyed the cell’s small window like the thorn to his side.
Quite striking the sight was, for all there was on display:
a black outfit and a black mask contrasting the silvery hair.
There was the blade in his hand, a leather glove in the other
and a look in his eyes that he really couldn't bother.
It could have been because of the look so dark
that Mr. Hood almost missed himself saying the remark:
“Now this is a view that is rare to come across:
a black wolf showing the wall who is the boss.”
For Mr. Fang's defense, the day had been shitty
even without the pain and interrogative nitty-gritty
so with the risk of cutting down his life expectation
he turned to address the fiend in question:
“If you have nothing else, then look the other way
before I make an effort to end your day.
I've had it with assholes, cowards, backstabbers and thieves
who've given me nothing but headaches and grieves.”
They both knew, it wasn't an idle threat,
but when Mr. Hood doubled over and laughed, laughed, laughed
then left flushed red and clearly out of breath
imagine how Mr. Fang had then felt.
(Technically, he surmised, the dawn wasn’t there yet
so they could test out the springs of that bed.)
Better yet, he decided, to take his time once they were out
to see what would make Mr. Hood moan and shout.
But before he should start wagging his tail
his blade of lightning cut through the wall of the jail.
Paying no heed to the alarm ringing, he changed tone:
“They’ve yet to learn why we’re Strange and Peculiar.”
Like a shadow of silence, he breathed in the greenery,
“Then they’d know better than to enter this scenery.”
A smile broke out under his black mask:
“We could tell them our names, if they should ask.”
Yet what really drew Mr. Hood's interest in
were the well-clad thighs, strong and firm.
A lover or a foe, he then couldn't say which
but Mr. Hood felt his desire for him itch.
“I haven't told you mine, that is for sure-”
“For you saw no reason, being such a prude.”
“Wha- a brute calling the other prude is damn bloody rude!”
“Never had seen a reddie so overdressed for their hood.”
“Nor there had been a wolf so hell-bent for doing good.”
Try as he might, Mr. Fang couldn't say anything to that
and their jailers were already reaching them, in fact.
“Well we do have some tea and sandwiches in my wicker
and you like pickles and herbs, for you aren’t any picker.”
“To have you offer me vegetables, that is a first.”
“I can also serve you a kick to the head seasoned with a fist.”
Mr. Hood laughed once more, then turned for the door
“Well if that's the case then I'll let you offer that and more .”
Since he was the kind who didn't want jokes go to waste:
“As long as the treats match to my taste.”
A snap of a finger, and the guards came at the call
Mr. Hood just barely able to register them all
yet he joined his partner in the desperate fight
to get them the break they needed for the flight.
After the short battle, they watched the blood flow
turning the cell floor crimson red in the lantern’s glow
“So, Mr. Hood,” Mr. Fang spoke with a smile
“I hope you have the strength to run for a mile.”
Was it the look or the smile that tilted the man's hidden mouth?
Mr. Hood felt his blood rush a bit more to the south.
“Mr. Fang, that is the length of our morning strolls,
I will be fine as long as we see no browling trolls.”
“ Then shall we,” Mr. Fang asked, and offered his hand
pulling his love into the night of the hostile land.
They ran through the shadows into the dawn
and listened to the wakening sounds of the fawn.
After the daybreak, a fierce kiss was shared
and they booked a room from an inn with a proper bed.
Through the next day, they made love worthy of their fame
and for the first time came calling each others’ names .
(Many may wonder, with what the author then was amused:
how did the Red Riding Hood turn into Icha Icha prose?)