"Nicks... who even is this guy?" For all the silence that had fallen on the alley since the kid's heartfelt apologies, Waylon broke through it all the same. "You obviously know who he is," he added. "I'm not mad... but I will be if I don't at least have an idea of who he is."
Nicks stiffened for just a second. To his credit, he recovered before a moment too long. "Um...?" Ducking his head, he looked up at Lucian with just his eyes, wordlessly asking for permission.
"Eh, it's fine," said Lucian. "Don't got too much to hide, and your friend don't seem too bad either."
Waylon gave him a look, but stayed silent. Nicks took that chance to explain. "He's saved me before... from last time, remember? I told you about him."
Waylon's face scrunched up, wrinkling more prominently given his skin's scaly quality. "Wait, what? But he wasn't masked before. How do you know for sure that's him?"
Again, seemingly out of habit, Nicks shrank in on himself. "He's... okay, I may or may not have gotten in trouble last night. Again. Before today with entirely different people. I figured it out then."
Lucian sighed at that, deflating. "Yeah... that's uh... That happened."
Waylon, meanwhile, slapped his face with one of his massive, leathery hands. His fingers pinched at his nearly-flat nose. From there, his hand dragged down and ultimately fell to his side. "We are having a serious conversation about this when we get home," he all but sighed, resignation palpable in his voice. Then, he turned his yellow gaze to Lucian. "You. You weren't masked before. How come you're wearing one now?"
'Time to Bard my way out of this, I guess. Or Paladin, I guess.'
"Saving Nicks the first time... you could say it was my 'call to action' or something," Luce replied. "Turns out, I like fighting to help people. Inspiration hit me, one thing led to another, and now here we are." He polished off his explanation by gesturing vaguely at his entire being.
Thankfully, Waylon just nodded. It was slow and shallow, but there was enough consideration behind it that Lucian believed his Performance check had succeeded.
Then, Waylon looked to the kid, then back to Lucian. "I wanna talk with you. A serious conversation. I already owe you for saving our lives, but I wanted to ask you for a favor anyway—if you're willing."
Humming, Lucian made a show of thinking it over for a few moments. "Aight, I'll bite. Do we do this here, or...?"
"I have a place where we won't be bothered," Waylon replied. "But... if I'm going to take you there, you'll have to lose the mask. I still gotta look out for me and my own, see? That'll be the collateral from you, just to be safe."
...
Lucian found himself in a hovel, large yet modest nonetheless. It had been built into a side street that stood clearer than most, likely due to the one that lived in it. The hovel itself was nestled in a recess between buildings. Two larger structures sandwiched a smaller one between them, and Waylon had used that very recess to support the home he'd built for himself.
The hovel itself was quite sturdy despite its cheap make. Its walls—those that it didn't share with proper buildings—had a base of cinderblocks held together by mortar made on a budget. From it sprouted scavenged wood and rusty rebar, which served as frames and supports for the rest of the walls. The walls themselves were repurposed plywood, scrap metal panels, and scavenged tarps. The same went for the roofing, which was weighed down by discarded tires.
The entire space was half-open. There was room enough in the open area for a stove made of more cinderblocks and a cheap propane tank. There were also some plastic cabinets and drawers, among which sat a tiny battery-powered radio.
As for the closed-in space, it was roomier than the open area. That was likely because of Waylon's sheer size. Judging by the marks of dismantling and reconstruction in some parts though, it had likely been expanded at least once with Nicks in mind.
Lucian sat on a plastic chair outside of that hovel. Waylon barely fit in the open space, and Nicks was tucked safely in a corner deeper inside where he could finally let his exhaustion take him. He didn't quite fall unconscious, but he was pretty damn close.
"So... Lucian's your name?" Asked Waylon.
"Ayep," Lucian confirmed. "And you're Waylon Jones, and the kid's Nicholas Umbrage."
Waylon grunted, sounding like something that would come from an actual crocodile. Lucian noted that he really did seem to have a skin condition... in which case, it must have been comic book logic that pulled coincidences to really make him seem like a proper crocodile. That, or if his suspicions were true, it was caused by Gotham's very nature as a force of darkness.
"Aight then," said Lucian. "Tell me about that favor you wanted to ask."
Waylon's lips tightened—what was left of them, anyway. They seemed to be receding, now only barely able to meet over his enlarged and sharpened teeth. He a breath in through them and said, "Okay. I... I'm taking a huge risk asking anything of you, alright? Hell, I'm risking a lot just bringing you here. Just wanted to put that out there first."
Lucian nodded.
"I've been having trouble," Waylon continued. "My needs have been... they've been getting worse. Bigger, really. Just as I've been getting bigger."
"Nicks said something about a skin condition," Lucian mentioned. His eyes briefly passed over to the kid, who had now fallen asleep in his little chair.
Waylon grunted. "It's not just a skin condition anymore. It's gotten worse. I've gotten worse. Even my insides are changing now... I need more just to keep myself from starving too bad. You know how he's been getting into a lot more trouble lately?"
Lucian nodded. "I guess it wasn't always that way. A more recent thing, if I'm right."
"It is," Waylon replied, nodding hard. "I feel responsible for pushing him into acting like that. He tried to help the 'normal' way before, but I kept telling him to just leave things to me... then he started sneaking off to 'help' anyway." He shook his head, then added, "He probably figured he can carry some of my burden if he just hid it well enough."
Knowing that Waylon only stopped to collect some more of his thoughts, Lucian stayed silent.
"If you can," Waylon continued as predicted, "all I wanna ask if that you take care of Nicks for me, or at least keep an eye out. You seem to care and—fuck, it's hell tryna even find a shred of that in anyone these days."
He paused again, clenching his fists over his knees. All the while, he held his breath and hung his head low. That breath soon freed itself from his lungs, blasting out with heavy pressure.
"So... yeah. Nicks—he's lost a lot. I'm basically the only thing he has left." Waylon's voice was shaky now, but he kept himself together. "I don't know what's in the cards for me, but I wanna at least make sure there's something out there for him."
Lucian made an effort to stay silent during Waylon's rant. He'd known his life was shit just from what he knew reading a few comics. Knew that he had a heart, even if he had lost it long ago in some of his incarnations. Just as well, he knew that Waylon's lost heart could still be saved despite that. Now, with that heart still thumping behind his ribs... who was to say that Lucian couldn't sway it for his own purposes?
"Alright," he eventually replied. "I can handle the kid, easy." Then, he leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "But what about you, Waylon Jones? Don't tell me you're just giving up on your own life when you care so much about his."
Waylon jolted at the use of his full name. "I'm not giving up," he began to argue, but Lucian cut right through his denial.
"Oh yes you were. I know you were planning to. But you know what, Jones? I'm not letting you do that." Lucian purposely steeped his words in venom. As a dead man, he had a lot of that to go around. It was easy to convince people of his vitriol, especially since he couldn't even remember how he died. Had no way to find out himself whether his family was still alright now that he was gone.
He paused again after his stinging declaration. The following silence dug its claws deeper into the back of Waylon's head—Lucian could see it. Just as it neared the threshold between 'discomforting' and 'agitating,' he spoke again.
"You've still got something to be yourself for, Waylon. Kid still needs you. Trust me, he'll know some shit's up, and from what I've seen and heard so far, he won't stop until he's either helped you out of that shit or you lash out and push him away completely."
Waylon's brows knitted together, a sign of internal turmoil. He turned in his chair, only partially, and it groaned under his weight and movement. His yellow eyes wandered over Nicks' sleeping form. They softened, turned glossy, and by the time he looked back away, they'd hardened into something resolute.
"Fine." The word rumbled out of his throat with more weight than even his own prodigious scale. "If you're that insistent on helping both of us, that means we're both your responsibility now. You hear that? Can you handle both of us weighing your shoulders down?"
Lucian huffed, and the beginnings of a grin sprouted on his lips. "All that and more," he drawled in reply. Standing up, he took the three steps forward and came face to face with Waylon. He thrust forward his right hand, and for dramatic, turned on [ Full Cowling ].
Waylon took his glowing, sparking hand and shook it. The weight of a promise settled between them, seemingly witnessed by a number of imperceptible figures. Nicks, as if sensing the shift in the air, groaned in his sleep and adjusted in his little corner.
"You're both under my protection now," Lucian announced. His voice seemed as if spoken in chorus with many others. Following that, the rest of his speech came out normal. "Get ready. Within the week, you're coming to live with me. From that point on, in exchange for a better life, you'll help me with my designs for Gotham's future."
...
Lucian sighed, wandering a road that was crowded with people and street stalls. More accurately, he traced a path along the rooftops of low-rise buildings, keeping watch over such a dense area.
His talks with Waylon ended much more dramatically than he intended. Still, the results spoke for themselves. He just knew, deep in his bones and in the very pits of his immortal soul, that he'd earned Waylon's trust no matter how tentative it might have been for the moment. Now, he was one or two steps closer to starting his own faction.
Chuckling, he rubbed at his phone in his pocket. Waylon had one of his own—it was basically a necessity in any modern world—and they'd exchanged numbers to keep in touch. He did just declare that they'd become subordinate to him, after all. Not that he planned to put the kid to work, but Waylon was definitely going to see a lot of use.
"Eeeek!"
A shriek pulled Lucian out of his rooftop reverie. A mugging had just occurred right in the open bazaar. Charging his body with [ Full Cowling ], he once again set aside his considerations for later to charge in and save the day.
—=—=—=—=—=—=—=—
[A/N]: This went so different from how I'd drafted it, but I'd say it's better than my original intentions. Also, ~oooooo~ spooky title! I wonder what that could mean...?
Anyway, Waylon's officially our protagonist's minionsubordinate~! As for Nicks... well, who knows? He's a double-reference by the way, and the only thing I can say for the future is... he'll be a Charisma-focused D&D class with an elective secondary focus in Dexterity, and maybe wear an eyepatch. And a trench coat, because those are cool.
Oh hey, Belles exists. There's our justification for an eyepatch :3
...
Power Stones are Fuel. Kind comments sustain the heart.
To those able and willing, you can support me further by buying me a choccy milk at [ko-fi . com / mr_blorp ], or by subscribing there!
Thank :3