execution | PON PON WEI PON WEI PON PON

He’d been making his rounds about the seedier districts, being no lonelier than if Trip had kept him company while he took care of the riffraff stirring up trouble in their jurisdiction.

And speaking of riffraff…

Another Rhyme game again? Or a riot, more like. He ambles around the corner oh so casually, cocking his head to the side as he beholds the scene before him. There, in what is decidedly ~~unmarked~~ Morphine territory are a bunch of Rhymers sprouted from who knew where taking on some guy in the middle of a thick crowd of heavyset men but eh. Not much of a threat, then.

He’s fought worse, even alone.

“Excuse me,” he asks one of the stragglers cheering whatever it is on. “Would a Rhyme battle happen to be in progress right now?”

That voice had reached Clear’s sensitive ears from somewhere out in the districts. The moment he’d heard it, he knew he had to find the source of it. His memories were a little patchy, not with things forgotten so much as things he just hadn’t remembered yet, but when he heard that powerful tone of command he knew it immediately: Master.

Finding his master proved much easier said than done, however. Alleyways everywhere, twists and turns, and even his usual shortcuts across the rooftops couldn’t cut down the sheer volume of territory he had to explore in search of his master’s voice.

In his hurry, he slipped and fell. Thankfully he landed on something that cushioned his fall. Problem is, it was the heavily pierced and scarred leader of a Rhyme gang. Clear barely had time to apologize and they certainly didn’t give him time to explain. They just started grabbing at him, calling him names, and throwing fists along with their insults.

“Please don’t resort to violeeeeeence!” he wails, ducking the grab of one only to be kicked in the side by another, who’s somehow quick enough to grab Clear by a handful of hair and mask straps. The white-coated fellow yelps in dismay and reaches up and back, grabbing the other’s wrists before his mask can be yanked off of him.

Meanwhile, the one Virus addressed gives him a grin missing most of its teeth. “Nah, we’re just giving this gas mask freak what he deserves for starting shit on our turf!”

“I see.”

Well, Morphine territory is still Morphine territory, and besides, even the yakuza wouldn’t want these guys shitting up the area. Not that there’s even much to see in the dingier parts of Midorijima, but at least it’s a change of pace from the sparkle of Platinum Jail.

Anyway, he’s got a job to do, and while he can make out the voice of what is presumably the gas mask freak shitting up their turf Virus will just…clap his hands loud enough for several heads to turn his way.

“Please break it up, everyone. We wouldn’t want any trouble here.” Granted, he’s sure they won’t listen, but it wouldn’t hurt to at least try it the easy way first, right? Unfortunately, Toothless is giving him none of that shit.

“Ha, you a friend of his too?” There’s a dangerous grin there that Virus only meets with his usual pleasant smile, and before that goon can even throw a single punch Virus has already duly dispatched him with a knee to the groin.

He sighs, shrugging helplessly at the rest of the man’s incensed comrades, before beckoning them over. Bring it on.

Just hold on a moment Clear; he’s coming. And mind you don’t get knocked over by the gangsters he’s more or less judo-flipping across the street and all that.

The sudden arrival of someone fighting back and fighting back well is good cause for much of the gang’s attention to be diverted away from Clear. Not all of it, however, as it was easy for those closest to the core of the ruckus here to see Virus, presume reinforcements, and turn their attentions even harder upon Clear himself.

Of course Clear could have handled them all on his own and twice as easily but, well…he didn’t like violence. Then again, he wasn’t going to just stand there and take their abuse, either. He especially wasn’t going to allow anyone to yank at his mask like they were doing.

Virus isn’t the only one capable of throws. Clear’s current attacker suddenly finds himself on the defensive, losing his hold on the pale man as he’s thrown forward, over Clear’s head. His back strikes pavement and Clear releases him immediately, but someone else rushes in to fill the gap and Clear defends himself because it’s either that, or get smashed into the pavement.

He really doesn’t want to get smashed into the pavement. How could he ever find his Master then?

But eventually he catches on that despite how many people there are around him, a good half of them seem to be focused elsewhere and on…wait, who is that?

And then someone rushes him with a trashcan. Clear yanks it from their hands and turns it over, slamming the whole thing down over their head and shoving them away, nothing but kicky little legs sticking out of the metal cylinder as it rolls away down an alley.

So he’s not a bad fighter himself. Excellent, looks like Virus’s taking the time to do the police’s dirty work won’t go to waste. Neither will his rather uneventful afternoon, from the looks of it. He’d already contacted the Midorijima police force via his Coil before the brouhaha or whatever this has now come to had begun.

Now’s the time to enjoy himself, at least. Just because Trip’s the muscle of their little partnership doesn’t mean he likes having a little fun on his own every once in a while.

“Pon pon, let it out,” he hums to himself, with a one-two and an uppercut to finish things off, and a “C’mon let the crazy show” to finish off some guy hurtling toward him with a two-by-four, Virus contentedly bopping his head along to the beat as his side of the fighting kicks up quite the dust cloud around him with the occasional limb poking out, but when all’s said and done he strides triumphantly from the scene of his battle, any other stragglers already running away at the sight of him. Some of them are even clutching at their heads and screaming “MAKE THE MUSIC STOP!!” but he pays them no heed.

He dusts off his suit, straightens his tie, and approaches Clear with a pleasant smile. “Mr Gas Mask Freak, I presume?”

Clear’s keen ears can’t miss the sound of humming, but it’s not until the last of the gang members flee in a hurry that he can really pin down where it’s coming from. He turns in surprise and thus is at last faced with the blond man in the dark suit, who hardly looks ruffled at all despite the melee of moments previous.

At being addressed rather than accosted with fisticuffs, Clear cautiously straightened up again, slipping his hands back into his coat pockets where he usually carried them.

“My name isn’t Mister Gas Mask Freak! It’s Clear!” he corrected the other, though without offense, the same way he would not understand he was being mocked when certain yet-to-be-met Masters would call him a magician.

But he was not without his manners. Clear continued to speak. “Thank you for your help, Ponpon-san. I tried to apologize, but they all attacked me without listening.”

What an…odd guy, isn’t he? Nothing like Virus has ever seen before. A No-Mark, even? The gas mask is only the start of it, from the looks of things. Fighting abilities like that don’t go ignored under the watchful gaze of Morphine, and they could always use new members…

He recalls some recent project by Toue, but he can’t be quite sure. That mask is in the way, after all.

“Clear-san then.” Virus even chuckles at this new nickname of his, though he doesn’t bother to correct it. It’s adorable, in a way, and he’ll just shrug if Trip asks the next time. And there’s definitely going to be a next time, if he has anything to say about it.

“I must apologize for their conduct. We don’t usually allow it on our turf. That said…” His eyes narrow a little, though he keeps that ever-present smile all the same. “May I ask how this happened? I’ve only got their side of the story, after all.” He cocks his head to the carnage that lay behind him. “Would you mind clearing things up for me, Clear-san?”

It’s not really a request.

Clear can’t tell the difference.

“Your turf?” he repeats, more curious than confused. “So they lied when they said it was theirs?”

But he doesn’t actually wait for an answer. His pause as he looks around at those men too busy groaning (or being unconscious) to escape is just in consideration of them.

“I’m looking for my Master. I heard him around here somewhere, but when I fell off the roof, I landed on one of them.” Remembering this, Clear huffs with offense, clenching his fists in his pockets and restating his complaint from before. “They ignored me when I apologized and attacked me instead! And it’s not even their territory? How mean!”

Well. It’s not like a lot of what Clear’s said made so much sense to him, anyway. Virus merely shrugs the turf issue off—that’s the problem with these newer gangs popping up like cakes after Trip’s trip to the bakery.

Someone groans at their feet. Virus gives him a little kick to shut him up before replying, with feigned shock, “Did they, Clear-san? It must have been terrible for you.”

Or them. More on them, really, since Virus had arrived as reinforcements. Possibly unnecessary reinforcements, but that just makes it all the more interesting. “Still, I don’t suppose I could trouble you to come along with me for the time being? The police will arrive any minute now, and there’s a nice bakery not far from here…”

“Yes! Very terrible! But I’m sorry, I cannot go with you.” Clear looks up at the eaves and overhangs of the buildings around them, and even with the mask blocking all of his features it’s not hard to tell that he’s planning his way back up.

“I still have to find my Master. I heard his voice very clearly.” The white-coated fellow looks back over at Virus, head tilted down, and with an unexpected intensity in his voice. He does not have a voice of power, of course not, but that was what he heard and his tone can’t help but change to reflect it. “Destruction and death.”

…You might have found a friend in him after all, Clear. Or at least, friend enough to matter.

Virus grins, the smile never once reaching his eyes but then again it never really does. It’s becoming a little clearer to him now ~~heh~~ and he wonders if he should share this interesting little tidbit with Trip as well.

All in due time, of course. They are partners, but he’s not about to do anything too suspicious to this guy right now. Not when he’ll probably need to look him up again, if only to corroborate what he might find out at the Oval Tower. He doesn’t know about the maintenance and disposal procedures for the Alpha models, of course, but he is aware of them to some extent. They can’t really ignore the fact that they share Aoba-san’s powers.

“Your master, is it? I think I might know where he is.” But before he can elaborate further, there’s a sharp cry of “BASTARDS, YOU’RE ALL UNDER ARREEEEEST!” out in the distance and Virus can already make out the blue uniforms of the Midorijima police pour into the scene, just as some of these Rhymers are beginning to wake up.

He turns to Clear again. “Well, it looks like we’re in for some trouble,” he says cheerfully, maybe a little surprised himself at how oddly punctual the police are today. They must be bored, too. Virus is already making a beeline for a nearby alleyway, where they can escape the eyes of the law, though he doesn’t move to drag Clear over with him. He doesn’t really need to.

“Please come this way, Clear-san. You need to find your ‘master,’ don’t you?” Then he’s swallowed up into the shadows.

Surprising words from Ponpon-san, and then a screech so loud that Clear’s sensitive ears would probably bleed if he were truly human. As it is, he still jumps, his programming imparting such little subtleties of reaction and behavior as those.

Then the spectacled man is slipping away and Clear zeroes in on him again. “Ah, Ponpon-san! Please wait for me!”

The shadows of the alleyway may envelop him, but that’s no obstacle for Clear, who follows the sound of the man’s footsteps with all the unerring ability of a bloodhound tracking a scent trail. The possibility of him knowing Clear’s master is unexpected, but the recently-reawoken android doesn’t have the self-awareness to question the possibility overmuch, either. He’s not familiar with being lied to or otherwise telling lies for what they are.

Lucky for him Virus’s words are true enough. Perhaps.

He had wondered if Clear had maybe meant Toue instead, though Virus already knows the latter well enough to have a more sophisticated vocabulary than that. But ah, it does bring back some fond memories of Sly Blue’s heyday.

The lighting fixtures here need to get repaired already, sheesh. It’s not like Clear can even see that smirk, even if he can hear it anyway, but Virus moves on regardless, walking at a brisk pace while Clear catches up to him.

“Try not to make so much noise, Clear-san. They might come after us.” And all this is pointed out with the cheerful kind of indifference that one often takes on when talking of the weather or shopping or the fact that those silly Rhymers and Ribsters are at it again.

Presently, he emerges from the other end into somewhere more well-lit, if still deserted. After this it’s a quick detour to Aoyagi Street, where the police will be none the wiser. Though of course, they would be keeping an eye out for a gas mask freak later on, wouldn’t they? He’ll have to take care of that. But for now…for now it’s the Midorijima Cake Studio for him.

He needs a parfait.

Once caught up, Clear has no difficulty matching Virus’s pace, nor is he overly loud about it. His own kind of seriousness settles over him for the moment as he keeps his ears attuned for the sound of pursuit.

None presents itself. That swarm of police is, apparently, too well occupied with all the other leavings of human trash that fell in Clear and Virus’s wake to follow the instigators themselves. Nevertheless, Clear does not discard his alertness. If this man can help him find his master, then Clear very much wants to know what he has to say.

Aoyagi Street is as bright and bustling as ever though it’s a little new to Clear, who looks around with some curiosity, but does not depart from Virus’s side. “Ponpon-san,” (and now he’s using the title like another might use ‘sir’ or ‘mister’), “Are we going to where Master is?”

“Ah…” Here Virus stops and turns around, looking a tad apologetic for it. “It might not be so easy, if you keep that mask on.” Well, partly true again, though that statement does serve a double purpose about his disguise. It’s either Toue’s up to something very…odd for him, or…he’s a defective model, perhaps? Escaped from Oval Tower or somesuch?

Was he laying it on too thickly, perhaps? Sometimes he can’t help his own eagerness, though if Clear’s managed to beat up that many of the local punks, Virus is not about to get on his bad side, so he adds, “But it’s none of my business, is it, Clear-san? This is quite a big place, and it’ll take some time for you to find him on your own.”

He even manages to look concerned at that—or concerned enough, probably. “Where did you last hear him?”

Clear offers no reply to the comment about his mask, especially since Virus seems to dismiss it on his own. His grandfather was very explicit on that, before he died: never remove his mask. Why, if Clear hadn’t heard his master’s voice and roused from slumber for it, he would still be sleeping away per the old man’s last instructions.

But he has heard his master’s voice, and is compelled to find the source of it.

He takes a moment to orient himself in relation to where they were before and the streets they’ve taken since, then points confidently back the way they came. It is a direction in which the Oval Tower does not lie, but that certain small junk shops do.

“I heard his voice coming from that direction.” Give him a moment, and he realizes something else in regard to this. “Ah, Ponpon-san, we’re going the wrong way! We need to turn around.” And just like that he spins on his heels, coat whisking about his legs as he turns, and nevermind the swarm of cops he’ll have to find a new path around.

One can’t help but admire that sort of persistence, however misguided. But he follows that gaze with his usual pleasant smile, nodding as if he understands little and is only doing it to be polite, but he can’t be pointing at anyone else, can he?

Should he take him to Aoba-san and see what happens? Virus can contact him on his Coil right now, even.

…Then again, Clear’s decided for him already. Oh well, he’s always wanted to visit Aoba in there, even if Aoba’s told neither him nor Trip where he’d been working at lately. Hell, maybe Clear can revert the guy back to his old violent self. Won’t that be fun.

Still, they can’t have too much fun at once, and Virus immediately puts a hand to Clear’s shoulder to stop him for a second. “Not so fast, Clear-san. You’re a fugitive now. You’d only be bringing trouble to your master if you go in as you are.”

Clear stops at the touch, looking back curiously, given that the other man has been cordial and helpful thus far. His warning, however, makes the robot tilt his head in confusion.

“Fugitive?” Can you see the question marks bubbling around his head? He understands the word but he can’t grasp Virus’s use of it. Clear answers his caution with utter innocence. “I don’t understand. What did I do?”

Of course the police moved in like they did to arrest the men that attacked him for no reason, but why would he be in trouble?

Yep, he’s got to be a really defective model. Virus figures he should be annoyed, but for some reason this registers as “adorable” in his hindbrain instead. What do you know.

“The police will be after you, too,” Virus clarifies, looking most concerned once more. After all, they’ll arrest anybody and even with Virus’s yakuza contacts he can’t exactly bust Clear out of the slammer so easily.

Toue might find out, if someone on the inside tattles. That’s not what he wants right now, not until he figures out a little more about Clear, and maybe Aoba-san as well.

So here he goes again, patting at Clear’s shoulder and motioning for him to follow Virus further into the Old Resident District. There will be some boutiques nearby.

“I’m afraid I must insist, Clear-san. Please follow me. I have a plan.”

And so Virus starts to walk off without even answering Clear’s question properly. The android stares after his retreating back, confused and wondering how important it would be to get clarification. Why would the police be after him too? What did he do?

His grandfather told him that when you had a problem, you should go to policemen. Clear looks back the way they came, confused and doubtful. His master is over there somewhere among those alleyways and Clear’s only getting further from him. Behind the shelter of his mask, his expression clouds with uncertainty.

He turns back to ask Virus again—and finds the man vanishing into the bustling Aoyagi Street crowd. With his choice unexpectedly made for him, Clear breaks into a run to catch up.

Too trusting, or maybe he’s just that desperate? Virus wishes he’s got the files on him on hand right now, but the files on those are tucked away beneath heavy layers of security that his Coil can’t hack by itself. Still, he leaves a little message to Trip, asking him to dig something out on the Alphas, just in case something interesting might crop up. It’s not an order, and he doesn’t care if Trip’s not up to it since the journey from here to Platinum Jail is a tad…inconvenient.

But it would be most helpful right now. And someone’s grandfather had never had a run in with the Midorijima police force.

“You’re partly to blame, after all,” Virus continues as Clear catches up to him, still meandering his way through the afternoon traffic without a care in the world. While the residents do give Clear some surprised looks, most of them had more or less hurried on their way. It’s these gangs and Rhyme teams and their street fashions anyway, and besides, this is Midorijima. They’ve seen weirder things.

“The police here don’t take kindly to anyone causing trouble.”

Clear’s voice drops to a full-on pout, the tone extra absurd coming from behind such a mask as his. That and the words he speaks with it make him sound like nothing so much as a petulant child…that dresses himself, and strangely, from the costume chest instead of his closet. “But I didn’t cause trouble…I defended myself when those other people did.”

Yet here he is, still following in the other man’s wake, because Virus seems helpful enough and Clear isn’t really sure what he should do now, including if there even is anything he should do instead.

Really, it’s still a surprise that he’s even awake again at all.

That’s okay, that’s pretty much how Virus dresses himself, too.

“It’s a pity, isn’t it? I’m very glad I caught you in time, Clear-san.” But life’s not fair, though he’s not about to give Clear any such lectures. That innocence is very becoming and he doesn’t want to tarnish it too soon. He slips inside a particularly frilly boutique that’s all awash in pink lace and breathes in the lingering perfumes of its ominously pink interior. Pink lingerie on mannequins, hot pink tube tops, pink curtains, pink uniforms, heart-shaped doorknobs…

It’s a fun place to be around. Virus nods to one of the salesladies who’s recognized him and moves in even further, all the while turning to look behind him and adding, most inappropriately, “You’ve come to a very dangerous place.”

The irony was quite lost on Clear. He looked around the boutique briefly, puzzled, but from their presence here at all rather than the abundance of pink. Heck, if it had been a boutique of small and shiny things, he would have been enraptured and walked off with his pockets full to bursting…but right now, he just regarded Virus with disappointment and confusion.

“Then what am I supposed to do to reach Master? Ponpon-san, you said you had a plan?”

That’s all right, Clear. The ladies and certain gentlemen in the shop feel the same way too.

But Virus appears oblivious to it for the most part, as he pulls out a lacy pink parasol from a rack and hands it over to him. It’s such a pretty little thing—just something to amuse his new friend with on a whim. Virus hardly has need of explaining his own actions, anyway.

Though he does wonder if maybe he should call Aoba and ask him about this. Then again it’d be a lot more fun if it’s done as a surprise.

“Not to worry, Clear-san, I’m here to help you.” And so saying he leans over to whisper into the ear of one of the attendants and watches her cover her mouth with polite shock before scurrying off to fulfill his request. If Clear had chanced to hear the whispers, it would’ve been something along the lines of, “…and something to match those boots, too. We’ll be keeping those.”

Then he turns to Clear with all smiles as the lady comes in with a pink frilly apron and holds it uncertainly up to Clear.

“You will want to be presentable to your master when we meet him, don’t you?” Virus says cheerfully, as murmurs of master and maybe even a few wordless gasps reverberate around the room. The yakuza sure are into strange kinds of roleplay. “Please try it on, Clear-san.”

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject