wait wait he told me they like them ee whatevrs one sec

:)

hallo all this is briggsy tha kutlass kratch nice ta meet ya

uh you cant see but im tippin me hat right now

anyways ask me sumthin but be nice or ill gut ya

— — —

// if you are any of the loa crew and you see this no you dont look away LOOK AWAY //

— — —

[Trigger Warnings: Child Abuse, Physical/Verbal Abuse, Manipulation, Physical Restraint.]

Two people stepped out of the ship and one spoke up.

“Well~ we git our work cut out for us don’t we Elly~”

“Yup! Course we do Tess”

“Bye Rosa!”

*She waved one last time before hurrying into the ship*

The stench of hot iron, flaming liquor and burning tobacco stings Briggsy’s dead lungs and throat. Just outside the Hallow’s borders forms an open doorway, outlined in neon green and pink streaks that seem to gyrate and oscillate back and forth. It’s a dizzying sight. Briggsy knows better than to ignore it.

He enters.

Inside stands a familiar visage; a tall, thin man in a red pinstripe suit, with post signs nailed into its bodice, face hidden beneath his broad brimmed hat apart from a sickeningly sharp-toothed grin.

The man seats himself at a table with two glasses of rum poured before him.

“Long time no see, Briggsy.”

The hat is tilted down in a greeting.

He swallows hard.

Silence, apart from spindly fingers tapping on the edge of the table.

“Take a seat, son. I need to have a word with you. If you’d be so kind?”

He gestures at a chair across from him, one that Briggsy fills upon request.

“… Love what ya done wit’ tha place…” he says, the chair creaking beneath his weight. “Tha pink is a nice touch.”

Mr. Crossroads leans back in his chair, one elbow slung casually behind him. If he heard the half-assed compliment, he makes no indication of it.

“Now, I like to think of myself as a generous man. I have given you many gifts, haven’t I? I gave you a ship, a crew to run it… I even gave you the power you so desperately crave. Tell me, Briggsy, exactly why you have been abusing my generosity?”

The undead crocodile stares hard at the table, rendered speechless in front of his patron. He has no answer; not one he’d like.

Bony fingers grip his jaw and force him to meet burning eyes.

“Answer me, boy.”

It’s rhetorical, of course. The hold he has prevents Briggsy from opening his mouth, even if he wanted to. Mr. Crossroads chuckles.

“That Hallowed space you call home has made you soft. Weak. You’ve always been a coward, but at least you knew how to use your teeth for more than just marking your lovers.”

He tosses Briggsy’s head to one side, nearly catapulting him out of the chair. He manages to stay upright.

“So, instead, I have decided to make a few changes to our contract. To incentivize you.”

The neon lighting dims. The tips of Briggsy’s fingers begin to tingle. To burn. The feeling weaves its way up through his forearms, his biceps, triceps, shoulders, torso— Soon his entire body is thrumming with electric magical energy. He gasps, and whimpers painfully in response.

“I’ve grown tired of sharing a domain with my dear brother, and this place would make a mighty fine crossroads, in my humble opinion. Ol’ Phillip has been in charge here long enough. But don’t worry, you don’t have to kill him until after you get rid of the witchy pests in the basement of my new home. Do this for me…”

The sensation ends. The backlighting returns. Briggsy looks at himself to check the damages.

Or… Lack thereof.

His arms are whole. He touches his face; scales. Everywhere, scales.

“… and I will restore you to your living self.”

Briggsy stares at his arms, and then at Mr. Crossroads himself. He blinks rapidly.

“So I can… I’ll be able ‘ta taste? And eat? And drink and smell? Is there…”

It seems too good to be real. He frowns.

“Is there a catch ‘ta this?”

The slender man smirks, reaching an impossibly long arm out to take hold of one glass of rum. It is lit ablaze in his hand.

“No catch, Briggsy. And because I’m feeling… Rather benevolent, today, I’ll do you one more. I’ll pay you up front.”

He waves his hand, as though something should be occurring. Perhaps something is, unseen to all but him.

“You’ll remain whole, and healthy, and fully alive as you go about the day. You’ll even gain back your taste for the finer things. You’ll be able to eat everything your greedy little heart desires, to the point that you can never get enough. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

Razor teeth glow with neon pink and green, across the table.

The rum before Briggsy looks so inviting…

“It does…” he murmurs, already leaning forward to grab it.

A hand clasps with his first, palm to bony palm. Crossroads’s eyes burn like twin hot coals, boring into his skull.

“Well then… Do we have a deal, son?”

The grip turns firm, sealing the deal for him. He eventually nods.

“… Yeah. We have a deal.”

He grins, sickeningly wide.

“Fantastic. I appreciate your cooperation.”

Mr. Crossroads snaps his fingers— Briggsy’s holsters lighten. In the same instance, a new gun appears on the table instead. A singular blunderbuss, heavily decorated in Crossroads’s iconography, humming with voodoo magic.

“And if I may be so bold to ask… Use this to blow a hole in his skull. I know you’re quite capable.”

[“What are you waiting for, boy? Pull the trigger. I will ensure your aim is true.”]

Briggsy inhales sharply, his heart slamming against his chest. Crossroad’s perpetual grin melts into a snarl.

“Don’t fuck it up.”

The hand holding his suddenly shoves him backwards, tipping his chair and sending him rolling ass-over-tea kettle through the door. When he lands, he’s on his back, staring at a faux blue sky. He shakily sits up.

…

“Holy shite.”

There was no lie. The smells— the Hallow smells alive. And he feels alive. He puts his hand to his chest.

… Ba-dum dum… Dum ba-dum… Dum dum….

It’s still uneven, strangely. But he couldn’t care less in the moment. He can smell, which means…

“… And then they renamed him Heart’s Fire, ‘cause his fur looks like flames when tha sun catches it in tha right light. He’s also part of a vision that Leaf Spot had at tha beginnin’ of tha book. Did I mention that? I think I forgot ‘ta mention that. But this tiny city slicker Tabaxi kid totally kicked Long Tail’s arse! I didn’t think he would win, personally…”

He jabbers on into the rock, like they’re here to listen faithfully to his ramble instead of somewhere else. Cold lips on his cheek, warm hand on his spines. They take his words in like gospel, in this fantasy he writes for himself.

Briggsy sets down his book, and pulls out the sending stone. Wary inhale.

“… Doll? Can ya hear me? I miss ya both terribly. Are ya headin’ back soon?”

…

…

…

He swallows hard.

“I’m sorry if I’m bein’ a bother… Just tell me ‘ta stop callin’ and I will.”

…

…

…

…

“…. Say somethin’. Anythin’ at all.”

…

…

“……… Please………”

…

…

…

…

We truly don’t mind if you call.

If you need to talk, talk. I don’t care what you could be interrupting.

… He doesn’t need to. But Gods, does he want to.

He activates the stone.

“… Hallo, loves. How’s it goin’?”

…

…

…

No response.

He frowns, and tries again.

“Yorgi? Bill? Are ya there?”

…

…

…

No response.

He looks at the stone, inspecting it for any damage. Third time’s a charm?

“Yorgrim. Please answer me. Ya said I could call…”

…

…

…

…

…

No response.

“… I’ll try again later.”