The Natural Order of Things

Chest heaving, Ferre crouched at the edge of the roof, straining his ears for any signs of pursuit. There was nothing. With a violent exhale he laid back against the icy concrete, letting his body catch up to him.

He didn't know where Talle had gone. Ferre's brother was notorious for going off on his own just when someone needed him; Ferre hoped sincerely that he hadn't gone too far, because Ferre still was not sure that he was a safe distance from his opponent. He was no fighter, not with that leg of his. That was Talle's duty.

Ferre stared, unfocused, up into the sky. It was velvety with mist, stars obscured, a soft black void cut sharply by the buildings that rose around him.

Footsteps sounded on the concrete next to him. Ferre sat up, startled.

"It's just me, you idiot," said Talle shortly in Pendrin. His voice bore the same sharp intonation as Ferre's, but Talle spoke much more quietly, syllables more concise. He gave Ferre a withering look as the younger man struggled to a lopsided standing position. "Funny how you hear me from a mile away but didn't think to Seek for anyone else back at 1st and Boardwalk."

"I'm not Seeking now either," Ferre retorted. "Not my fault you've less grace than a crow with its wings tied." Being around Talle tended to put Ferre in a terrible mood, so he tried to do it as infrequently as he could afford to.

"Still more grace than a one-legged idiot in a trenchcoat," Talle said. "Look, Ferre, we can't keep risking our asses like that. Petty fights with Loner's Crews are not for people like us." A Loner's Crew was the name given to a single Osteovore with an accompaniment of Reformed skeletons.

Ferre frowned. "Why not? We've got to do something while we're here, don't we? Or am I doomed to another whole year of complete boredom and uselessness before I die?" Ignoring Talle's fuming expression, Ferre turned and leapt off the edge of the roof, Stabilising midair and Reinforcing his legs as he plummeted towards the catwalk below.

He remembered too late what had happened the last time he tried that. With the sharp cracking of wood, he hit the logs in a crouch, Talle close behind, and sprang up, feigning alacrity as he began the long trek back to his apartment. His ankle smarted incredibly, but there was no way in three hells he'd let Talle know that.

"You'd better watch your left foot," Talle noted, falling into stride next to him. "It's not exactly built for… high-contact activity, if you will."

"Oh, it snapped a while ago," Ferre said cheerily. "I'm not quite certain how I'm still standing on it. Sheer ignorance, I suppose. That's usually your way of avoiding things, but it's doing fairly well so far."

"You broke it? Your loss, you know neither of us can afford a replacement." Talle's tone was neutral, but his face was dark. Ferre elected to ignore him.

They paused at an intersection for Ferre to retrieve the wishbone from his pocket and drain it. Talle, who did not require a constant third-tier Enhancement simply to keep from collapsing, waited impatiently as the younger man Drew from the bone, eyes shut, skin prickling with electricity.

Ferre's eyes snapped open. "Talle," he said, barely moving his mouth. "We've got company."

He leapt to the side, nearly stumbling, just in time to escape the attacker, whose feet would otherwise have snapped Ferre's spine. The assailant hit the ground and rolled, then lunged upwards, targeting Ferre. Metal glinted from his fingers in the weak lamplight.

Though he was a very powerful Osteovore, Ferre was a shoddy fighter and an obvious target because of his limp. He swore loudly in Pendrin and Propelled himself upwards and above the attacker. In the air, Ferre pulled the knife from his belt and released the Propel, hoping for the best.

His attacker was smart enough to get out of the way as he landed, grimacing at the strain on his good leg. The wooden one was barely still attached, snapped at the ankle and held on only by several socks and the tightly laced boot. Ferre felt it shifting awkwardly as he moved, like an anchor. It would not last much longer.

As soon as he landed, the attacker had leapt towards him, but Ferre sensed the feint before it happened and jabbed wildly to the other side with his knife. It grazed flesh, and he was rewarded with a startled "ah!" as the other man pulled away.

Frantic, Ferre twisted his head around, looking for Talle, but his brother was quite busy with two adversaries of his own. Ferre's attacker took that lapse of attention as an opportunity to swing a studded fist at Ferre's temple, but he ducked and sliced upward with the knife, feeling it catch briefly on fabric before meeting skin.

The attacker lurched away from him, clutching his side. His gloved fingers glistened, but the wound did not seem deep. He shouted a wordless command at his two companions, and reluctantly the three drew away, their resentment obvious.

Panting, Ferre watched then withdraw. Such a sudden attack and retreat seemed mightily suspicious, but he didn't have the strength to question it any further. He sank to the ground, illuminated from every side by streetlamps.

"Get up," Talle's voice growled. "More will come if we don't leave now."

The events of the night were quickly catching up to Ferre, who felt a bit as though he had just been kicked in the head. He remained on his knees, unable to move.

"You're rotting pathetic." Talle's hand gripped his arm above the elbow and yanked him up. "What happened to your cane, anyway?"

"Dropped it," Ferre said between breaths, managing to stay on his feet. Stabilising wouldn't help with his wooden leg snapped. He didn't want to think about the rest of the return home at all.

He met his brother's eyes. Talle returned the gaze with one of undiluted frustration.

"If I wasn't sworn to keep you alive at any cost," Talle said, "I would leave you here." His tone was neutral, almost tired. That hurt. Ferre knew quite well that Talle disliked him, and the feeling was mutual, but the idea that his own brother would leave him for dead was not a comforting one.

The worst part was that Ferre knew that Talle was not joking.

Reluctantly Talle looped Ferre's arm over his shoulders and gripped the smaller man around the torso; Ferre made a valiant effort to stay on his feet as they slowly began walking again, but failed more often than not. Shame burned in his chest. Talle does everything for you, you sodden infant, he thought fiercely. Stop taking advantage of him like that.

It seemed like hours before the chipping door of the apartment building loomed in Ferre's face.

The moment he climbed the final stair, swinging left towards his unit, he was hit by a wave of exhaustion to absolute that he nearly collapsed in the hallway. Talle disentangled himself from Ferre's arm and padded down the hall to his own unit, seemingly unconcerned.

Ferre stumbled through the door and closed it quickly behind him, then locked it, not willing to risk one of the attendants finding him out. He sank down against the wall, breathing ragged.

Tiredly he set about untying the boot on his left foot, then tossed it away and peeled back the layers of socks from the wood. He grimaced. The ankle was completely splintered, shards of hardwood flaking off onto the carpet as he wrestled the detached foot from within the final sock.

He sat back, taking in his accomplishments. "Great," he said aloud, and promptly fell asleep.