The Initials | Nanowrimo 2023

29| Chaos Walking

The Professor steps one foot inside the classically designed western bar that looks like it was ripped right out of a Hollywood movie with the obvious clashing meld of mahogany wood, rustic wagon-wheel chandeliers, stuffed heads of long deceased rodents, birds, antlers, and all kinds of dated memorabilia mounted across the walls of the joint.

He treads carefully with his leathered boots on the creaking floorboards, stepping around the dragging nail marks belonging to the corpse who appears to have attempted to crawl his way out from the massacre only to be impaled to the ground by a bloody cue stick.

He counts at least a dozen dead, men and women, all slain in similarly brutal fashion but if he had to decide who received the worst punishment then it would most certainly be the man hanging from the second floor; his body strung up and roasted like swine with the charred apple still wedged deeply down his throat.

The Professor pinches his nose, wishing he could remove his sense of smell as he shuffles towards the man seated at the bar holding a pack of frozen peas to his head, picking at a bowl of peanuts with a mountain of shells scattered across the splintered counter.

"Peanuts." he mutters, reminding himself to return the favour to Nova when the time is right.

"What? You want some?" Helel asks, barely turning to face the Professor as he spits another cracked shell out of his mouth.

"Looks like you've already shared enough." he replies, opening his hand towards the body of a woman laying on top of the pool table, her eyes and lips sealed shut from all the swelling after going into anaphylactic shock.

"I didn't know she'd relieve herself."

"Yes, well, no one said murder was ever beautiful." he chimes, swinging his raven black trench coat over the stool as he takes the seat two spaces away from the barefoot Celestium. "What happened to the head?"

"I was distracted and the pig managed to get a lucky hit in. I've never realised until now how much a chair can hurt."

The Professor glances up at the hanging man after hearing the ropes groan under his weight, estimating it'll be less than a few minutes before the final strings snap and he comes crashing down.

The Professor grins, running the tip of his finger around the rim of a leftover shot glass. "An infinite number of lifetimes and it's a chair that finally makes the great Helel Ben Sahar bleed."

Helel grants the Professor a fraction more of his attention, observing the man in black as he covers the shot glass with his hand before revealing the transformation of the once brown liquor into frothy milk.

"Come now Professor, flattery is beneath you."

Mortimer leaps onto the bar, elegantly sauntering around the mess until he makes it to his treat.

The Professor strokes his familiar's midnight coat, sighing to himself as he thinks back on all the things he has been accused of over the years. "Perhaps...but even kindness can be sharpened into a tool."

"And there he is, the games master!" Helel slurs, banging his fist onto the counter, spilling even more peanut shells. "He may appear as the jester, look like the jester, speak as the jester...but he is no man's fool...isn't that right, Professor?"

The Professor licks his own finger after dipping it into the beverage, his playful smile never wavering, not even once. "I assume all of this has something to do with the boy?"

Helel hums, cracking another shell with his hand. "They were members of a cult I've been forced to deal with. Perhaps you are familiar with the Church of Babylon?"

"Not particularly, although I hear they leave quite a trail of bodies behind themselves. I'm sure they are capable of throwing, quite, the gathering."

"I'm sure."

"The Crowns, they wonder about your intentions in being here." the Professor announces, meeting Helel's golden gaze. "As do I."

"I'm here for the boy." he replies, taking his time to choose his words. "I only have a grievance with this cult and, as of now, it'll stay that way as long as the Treaty remains intact...and as long as he is safe."

"The Capitals are far from safe-"

"-which is why I am sending him to your little school. So that he can learn to defend himself without my intervention."

"Is that all?" the Professor inquires, trying to catch his eldest friend in a lie.

"That is all."

Helel swivels around in his seat, picking at the dried blood stuck in-between his nail bed, clearly thinking about something that the Professor has no idea about. "You don't know, do you?"

"Know what?"

"Have you seen Cloud at all since last night?"

Helel slips off his seat, dusting off the leftover peanuts on his hand, preparing himself to leave. "What happened?"

"There was a gas leak at the party, the building exploded but he made it out as safe as possible given the circumstances."

"And does this...gas leak...have a name?"

The Professor rolls his eyes, wondering if he really has gotten worse at playing his own games. "Not as of now, no."

"Well let me know when you do."

Helel strides out of the bar, leaving the Professor to listen to Mortimer's melodic purs and chew on the leftover peanuts.

However, after reaching over to steal the bowl, he is surprised to see two young survivors hiding behind the bar, the first being a teenage girl who grips onto a boy almost half her age.

There's no doubt in his mind that Helel didn't know they were there, they were sitting in his direct eyeline, the poor souls probably pinned there for hours, wondering when the end would come and claim them.

They tremble like kittens, reminding him of a darker time where even the thought of it troubles Mortimer who sneaks his way into his coat.

The Professor playfully winking at the eldest once she opens her eyes, placing a gloved finger over his lips before leaving the establishment himself, deciding for once not to snip at loose ends.