Raven

Chapter Eight - Vendetta

The midday sun shines through an overcast sky, as I lean against the back of the giant tree, having a moment's rest before I go inside and finish my costume. So far, I have a black leotard, black tights, a dark grey bolero jacket, and knee-high black boots with a small heel. But I still need a mask and gloves, I think, before I get to go on any fun missions with everyone else.

Due to the coming winter, a chilly breeze whips through the bushland, but doesn't bother me at all, sitting against the old plant, dressed in dark grey tights and an olive green jacket over a white shirt. The gum trees' leaves rustle, and the occasional magpie carols in the background. It crosses my mind to throw a Quill at it, but I dismiss the idea for two reasons. The first being that it's a bird, and as long as it doesn't swoop me, I'll deal. The second reason is that I know that I won't get it back.

It has been three days since I was accepted into the Crime Lords, which was definitely uneventful by their standards; strategies, planning another robbery, and weapons practise. It creates a sort of pattern, and I have fallen into a rhythm. A chaotic one, but a routine nonetheless.

I sigh, shake my head, and stand back up, taking hold of my razor-sharp Quills. Two of them, actually; the other three hang off a silver looped belt at my waist, sheathed but ready to go. I take a steadying breath, closing my eyes for a second, before I hold the blades up in a defensive position, dropping into a crouch, and slicing the blade in my left hand in a wide arc. As I do so, I stand back up, kicking my right leg up as if my opponent was right across from me.

"That won't work in a battle, Tweety." Again with the nickname.

I know without turning who the gentle but confident voice belongs to, so I choose to ignore Acrobolt for the moment, and try something else. I swipe the quill in my left hand across an imaginary torso, take a step, lift my right foot in a roundhouse kick, and use my right hand to punch my imaginary foe in the face, quill and all. I bite my lip as the blade scrapes my palm, drawing blood, and make gloves higher priority on my 'need to get' list. Actually, I completely forget about Acrobolt's presence until I hear a weary sigh behind me, and turn to look up into the familiar hazel eyes.

Holyshitwhendidhemove.

"We need to get you some gloves," he mutters, looking at my bloody hands, which I hold up for him to inspect after sheathing the two Quills. I bite my lip, also looking at my scratched palms as my heart rate returns to normal after noticing the sudden company.

"It's not the worst injury I've had," I protest quietly, knowing that my face has creased into a thoughtful frown as I remember the time I skinned my right calf. Not fun.

But, a small smile appears on his face when I mention other injuries. Typical boy, he is. I return the small grin, my hands beginning to sting slightly. "Ow," I mutter, glaring at my palms and sounding scandalized as if it is their fault that they're bleeding still. "Have we got medical supplies inside?" I ask absent-mindedly, thinking back on my small amount of medical training. It wasn't amazing, but I could clean and bandage certain different injuries.

Acrobolt nods, understanding dawning on his face. "Yeah, but you can't climb up with your hands like that, Tweety..."

I raise an eyebrow, and the only thought that runs through my head is challenge accepted. "We'll see about that, Bolts."

-----

Within twenty minutes, my hands are bandaged and we are in the tree house base. Nobody else is there; the others are off doing god only knows what, but will be back by tonight. I lean on a stack of milk crates, crossing my arms but smiling lightly. "So, can I ask a question of you?"

The blonde guy nods his assent, and I think my wording through before I speak. "Have you got an, um ..." I trail off, trying to find the right words. After a moment, I click my fingers. "Vendetta, that's it! A personal vendetta."

Harley.  blinks at me, looking incredibly confused. "I'm not like you, Tweety, I don't do words well. Give me an armed thug over a maths test anyday, and I'll be fine."

The comment makes my smile widen, the reference of an old joke between us. "It means a personal grudge," I explain gently, trying to not sound condescending and succeeding to some extent.

He frowns thoughtfully, and says, "No, not really. I guess, if any, I want to get rid of the Samurai. They've caused nothing but trouble for the Crime Lords ever since they formed."

He's lying. The voice in my head speaks out suddenly, making me wonder why I'm hearing things in my head when I shouldn't be. Not the first time, but I generally can ignore the mutters. But, if that's right, and he is lying ... why though? Why would Harley lie? Unless something terrible happened a while back, but he might have said something. It occurs to me in that moment that I don't know my friend as well as I thought I had.

What he said wasn't what I'd meant him to say within that subject area, but I also have a feeling that he won't say much more on the subject. I also can't be bothered to press him for information, as I'm tired and my hands hurt. Instead, I lean there, just watching my friend curiously, and trying to guess his thoughts. I get nothing, really; his expression is unreadable as he looks back at me.

"Yes?" He asks, seeming to become slightly frustrated.

"Um, nothing," I answer nervously, feeling my cheeks warm as I glance away to my left, a gold compass on the shelf beside me catching my eye as I find it. It's older than most I've seen, its dull gleam quite beautiful in my opinion. Maybe even antique, which wouldn't surprise me. "This is pretty," I murmur, scooping it up in one hand. That makes Acrobolt smile a little.

"It's one of the first things we stole as a group. Maybe, one day, you'll find something like that."

Hearing his words, I zone out for a moment, looking at the beautiful compass. Will I? He sounds so confident. Maybe he doesn't doubt my abilities... Ha. Stop kidding yourself. The smile on my face widens, despite my annoyingly negative thoughts, and I decide to say something about that, but the trapdoor opens suddenly and the others arrive. I clamp my mouth shut and forget the thoughts I was having.

"What'd you do to your hands?" Kira spoke, walking over to look at the bandages. She is the group's unofficial healer, and has right to criticise my work, but she withholds another comment as I hold up my bandaged hands. I mustn't have failed, then. Leave it to her, though, to notice that I have bandages, the moment she walks through the door.

"Quills," I answer her simply. "I need gloves, I'll probably get some tomorrow."

She waves a hand in a dismissive way, and I go quiet. "No need. We got some while we were out. Here." She rummages through a bag, and pulls out two black gloves. I pull them on, noticing the way that they sit halfway over my elbow and don't get caught on my bandages, and nod. "These work. Thanks."

"Alright, Toxic, stop fussing over Raven. She can handle herself. And both of you, come here. We've got a mission." I glance over at MadMex's abrupt words, raising my eyebrows, but both Toxic and I wander over to listen obediently. After all, missions are always interesting and I think we need something do do as a team.