Dozy Mike

"And I told you, that's just not gonna cut it!"

Cindy cupped her hand and dragged it along the length of her face. She wasn't exactly sure why it was such a natural thing for people to do. It didn't really do anything, at least not in her experience. It simply felt like an appropriate gesture to show off just how much she'd rather be anywhere else on the planet than where she was right now.

"Ma'am, I understand it's a bit pricey, but I really can't go any lower than that."

She was at it again. Her mum was notorious for haggling. They couldn't walk through the market and just pay whatever number was on the price tag. It always had to be an argument.

Sure, they weren't exactly well off. Penny pinching was a basic survival trait that her family had instilled into themselves through the generations. Really though, when the difference was only a couple of quid, she could never see the point. Especially when she, being only nine years old and still far away from financial independence, was often left to sit on the curb whilst her mother raged against the capitalistic tyranny of Simon, the local butcher.

It was a quiet time of day. Not many people around, all the smart ones were inside. The sun was slamming down hard on the pavement. Several times, Cindy had to reposition herself to avoid getting toasted by the heat of the cement beneath her. She felt like a sausage, rolling round and round to avoid burning.

After several minutes, she had to give up the charade and stand up. There are few things in the world more dangerous than when a child has been forced to sit still for long periods of time, then has the notion to suddenly get up. They build up tension, with a sort of industrial efficiency. Once they get up, they have to spend it all on the very next thing they do. 

Adults still haven't quite figured this rule out though. Yet it always puts them out when it happens. It's like stretching an elastic band as far as it will possibly go and expecting it not to snap right into your thumb the first chance it gets. 

Now, Cindy wasn't exactly the type of child to be bouncing off the walls, or snapping into thumbs for that matter. Another child would be running around the street, torturing the insect population or climbing on top of something they most definitely should not be climbing on. No, Cindy wasn't like that. She was worse. 

She was curious.

A curious child can be fascinated by a dung beetle for a good twenty minutes or can be found on the other side of town after ten. Depends what catches their attention first. On this day, however, it was a little, black cat. 

Cindy was very familiar with the local wildlife but she was not at all familiar with this cat. It looked like it was still a kitten, maybe only a few weeks old. As much as she tried, she couldn't think of anyone in the feline community who would be the mother. She spent enough time on this blasted curb to have most of them cross her path, so she was very familiar.

She saw it stroll its way into an alley. She peeked around her shoulder.

"These are yesterday's sausages, aren't they? Don't try it, I wasn't born yesterday! Half off, at the very least! Sounds fair, doesn't it?"

Mum would be a while yet. She avoided eye contact with poor old Simon and slunk across the street. A little peek and then she'd hurry back without a soul noticing her absence.

She peered down the alley. It was dark. A strange, almost supernatural darkness that seemed to persist in spite of the bright sun. It was like the buildings encircling it were designed in such a way as to deprive the little crevice of any natural light. 

Cindy remembered reading how trees in the rainforest would spread their branches wide, to take in as much sun as possible and to starve the little baby trees below them. There were no branches above her however. She felt as though this kind of darkness was not something that could be explained away with trees or perfectly placed buildings or anything of the like. It was different. As if someone had flicked a switch and actively turned the dark to the 'ON' position.

Squinting, she was somehow able to spy a little black shape amongst the other black shapes. To be more precise, a cat shaped one. Defying all laws of perspective, she seemed even tinier up close than far away. Yes, of course she was a 'she.' All cats are girls, until proven otherwise. Everyone knows that, Cindy had always thought.

She was licking her little paws and sitting much more patiently than Cindy had been. Was she just cooling off in the shade or was she maybe waiting for something?

It didn't take long for Cindy's first question to be answered. The problem was that the answer only caused more to sprout in her little mind.

What's in that person's hand? The answer seemed to be a little fish, which the kitten happily nibbled on.

Who is that person? While she couldn't put a name to them, she recognised them as a skinny, old man, probably as old as her granny. It seemed impossible to her, but he might even have been older than that.

Why does it feel so cold? This one was a doozy. Not fifteen seconds ago, she was being cooked alive. Now though, there was an unmistakable chilly feeling.

Much like the darkness, the chill was not normal. She still felt the heat of the sun on her skin. The cold seemed to be coming from inside. Like someone had slipped an ice cube down the back of her shirt and it had slowly melted into her skin and reformed on the other side.

She felt a strange alarm going off in her head. An odd, buzzy feeling that made her brain feel as if it was being stroked the wrong way. A primal, distinctly human warning that something wasn't quite right.

Children are terrible at listening to warnings. They're famous for it.

"Hello?"

It wasn't quite instant. Her eyes adjusted the same way they did every morning when she woke up. The supernatural darkness seemed to come into focus a little more, allowing a spare bit of light to barge its way through. The chilly feeling was melting away. The little cat took half a moment to stare back at her with big eyes like dinner plates. Or maybe supper, for all the size of it.

Fish firmly in its fangs, it strutted the opposite way and down a corner just out of view.

What was I doing here again? 

"Cindy? Cindy! Come back here and stop messing around!"

Mum was holding up a bag of sausages like a hunting trophy. Simon was massaging the bridge of his nose. Another odd gesture people like to use to show off how annoyed they are.

Cindy took one last look down the alley, then skipped over to Mum.

"You'll eat pork and leek, won't you?"

"Yes Mum." 

Mum talked and talked all the way back home. Cindy didn't really hear her though. Her mind was elsewhere.

Bryan needed a new pair of boots.

They were perfect for working in McGregor’s field. Fat lot of good that would do him now though. He had worn out the soles within the first couple of years, and the heels had followed not long after. Walking the cobbled streets of the town was now akin to trekking through the mountains barefoot.

In spite of this, and despite what his prickly disposition so desperately wished to cover up, he was a sentimental soul. He still had the pair of dice Slim’s uncle carved out for him and the plates that Shirley had ‘lent’ him had become a key staple in his lunchtime routine. He never liked letting things go. It felt impolite. He didn’t like the idea of one day being asked “Oi, remember when I gave you such and such back whenever ago? What ever happened to them?” To have his answer then be “I chucked it,” was a mortifying concept.

This feeling was multiplied somewhat whenever the lender in question had died.

Bryan was still debating what to do, going back and forth between respecting the dead and the squashy, mucky feeling that was now filling up his socks, when Janey walked up to him with an umbrella in hand. He was so busy looking at his feet, the drops of rain on his head seemed to go unnoticed.

“You alright love?” she asked him sweetly.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, fine, fine. Was in my own world there.”

Bryan tried to give her a laugh. All he could manage was something that sounded more like a dry cough or perhaps a small chicken bone getting stuck in his throat.

Janey wasn’t easily fooled. She rolled her eyes and pressed on. “Listen, we’re all going for lunch up the road. You wanna come with?”

“Ah, no, no. I’ll be fine, didn’t bring my wallet with me.”

“I didn’t ask if ya brought your wallet ya dafty.”

Bryan’s first thought was, can this woman not take a hint? Then he remembered it was Janey. She was sharper than most. She knew fine rightly that he wanted to be alone, as much as she knew fine rightly that if she let him, then they’d probably not talk again until the next funeral. She was always looking out for him in those little ways. Ways that his machismo often blinded him to.

“Come on,” she insisted. “They do good deals down there. You can always pay me back later.”

Bryan knew the assault would continue until either he relented or until he wouldn’t be able to hear her anymore, on account of the angel Gabriel’s trumpet.

“Aye, aye, may as well.” He harrumphed his best harrumph. He wasn’t very good at hiding the slight bit of glee he got from getting to spend time with her though. They exchanged a polite smile and walked through the bumpy, unpleasant streets. Janey must’ve noticed his wincing as they walked. A quick glance at the straps of leather masquerading as footwear told her the whole story.

“Och, ya need to change out of those old things!”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” he recited. It was practically a catchphrase for him now.

“Those aren’t the boots he gave ya, are they?”

The brief silence gave an answer before Bryan could come up with one.

“Ya know, my mammy knew him better than I did. What was he like anyway?”

Another brief silence followed, which Janey allowed to go uninterrupted. Meanwhile, Bryan was trying to find ways to put his thoughts in polite terms.

“He was always nice to me,” instead of “He was only a grumpy old git most of the time.”

“Was always a laugh,” instead of “He was always inventing new ways to cuss you out.”

“A good, God-fearing man,” instead of “If you were to somehow convince the devil to grant you your heart’s desire, it would only be with the bastard’s approval first, because he didn’t like going over his head.”

He was certain of one thing though. As much of a curmudgeon as he was, there was one thing he didn’t feel the need to filter out.

“He was very kind.”

He could practically hear the shifting of soil as the old man started spinning round in his grave. He was of that generation that took pride in their toughness, so he couldn’t be ‘kind’. Out of the question. Loyal, hard-working, honest, but never ‘kind.’ Even ‘generous’ would have sounded better. Bryan was never sure if kindness was perhaps considered too feminine or maybe it was just too hard to dress up in a way that made the man sound strong.

Regardless, as much as he would never let you say it in his presence while alive, it was the truth.

If he wasn’t kind, he wouldn’t have stomached Mrs McGregor’s cooking as long as he did. If he wasn’t kind, he would never dream of donating a good chunk of his profits to the local schools so they could keep giving the children free meals. If he wasn’t kind, he’d not have offered shelter to a wee boy who thought his whole world was ending.

If he wasn’t kind, he wouldn’t have given that boy the most comfortable pair of boots he had ever worn.

He caught Janey’s eye. She looked a little blurrier than normal.

He could still make out that sweet smile though.

Two lovely songbirds

Sitting on a branch

Whispering sweet nothings for a time

The season, it will pass

And the lovers grow detached

For the heart is just as fickle as is fine

Can you hear my song

Whistle through the trees?

Or am I bound to have no company?

If a rib be the price

Surely my own will suffice

Or is such a thought a thoughtless heresy?

To love and have lost

Is no minor thing

For the taste can never be compared

And like Eve, I now see

What I lack so desperately

Is the feeling that one feels in your care

Say Little Songbird

Do you recall?

The sweetness of your time in the Spring?

Do you miss them come Fall?

Do you recollect at all?

Is the ache an achingly human thing?

Two lovely songbirds

Sitting on a branch

We were never trained for this…

That was the only coherent thought bumping around Captain Cobb’s skull. The rest of his mental faculties were in a daze, reverted to an animalistic state. The ‘table’ was no longer a table, but rather just another big blob in the dark. A big blob that was the perfect size for the little bugger to jump out from.

As his mind began to settle to a steady, yet rapid pace, he began to think what exactly he was trained for. Of course, when he joined up, he had been given all his basic training and conditioning. Standard package for anyone joining the King’s Guard. He had jumped over the same hurdles and crawled in the same dirt as every other poor sod who didn’t feel suited to the more conventional professions of the city.

Once he was moved from the walls to the inner palace, he had expected a bit more fanfare. He had believed that a position so close to the King would warrant a more extensive curriculum. In reality, he was just given some old speech about “duty” and a rota for that week.

Not once did they ever touch upon the kinds of threats he now faced. Not that he could even make it out in the darkness. It was just a collection of sounds. Plodding feet slapping against the marble floor, a garble of snarls and a low growling sound. He couldn’t determine if the growl was coming from its throat or stomach, but they likely meant the same thing either way.

Cobb’s head zipped between the pillars that surrounded him in the hallway. He scanned the banners between them as he made his rotations, just in case. He had two exits, one leading to the main hall and one leading to the kitchens. Despite how clear their paths seemed, he couldn’t trust either one. Samuel had made a break for the kitchens, probably more out of panic than any desire of swapping out his sword for a knife. Cobb didn't dare look at him now. The brief glance he had took reminded him too much of the mince they had for the evening meal. Right now, he needed to keep the contents of his stomach safely inside.

Bonk.

He darted his head towards the now wobbling table. The vase atop it was threatening to topple and crash. Cobb was more than willing to oblige it, not that his feet would have allowed him to do otherwise. His hands, feeling more agreeable, clenched tighter onto his spear instead.

The clunking sound of the vase twirling in a slow, almost mocking manner echoed through the room. The collection of sounds that Cobb had been focusing on felt dulled, his mind instinctively latching onto the anticipation of something very, very expensive about to break. With him as the only one around to hold accountable.

He didn’t question why his mind was preoccupied with what might end up deducted from his wages. It was a slight comfort to think that the end of the week would come at all really. He tried to stuff these mundane thoughts to the back of his mind and continue his rotation, keeping a sharp eye out for any sign of abnormal movement.

His eye caught the vase again, which had finally lost its balance and was now almost completely horizontal.

Cobb braced for the crash. He needn’t have bothered though.

lil bit of fnaf fanart

Another kh piece

More kh art

Praying that DS2 will work on a steam deck without blowing up