[FRAG] Grieve in Blood

--- enter ---

"You have no idea what kind of things you're messing with!"

Click. 

"Really, you honestly shouldn't-"

Bang.

--- are you mad ---

"Can you turn the radio down? The static's hurting my ears."

Almost wordlessly, he slid away from the counter and picked his way to the radio, sitting on a shelf nearly too high for the other to reach. On tiptoes, his hand just barely closed around the dial and clicked it a few times to the left. The noise slowed and stirred, slugging its way through the next notes, garbled singing that was incomprehensible. 

He returned to their side, picking up another cup and the sponge once more. The sink's water sloshed as both were pressed under its surface, bubbles dirtied and sickening. They sipped at their own drink, which reeked of blood too much to be innocent.

"Back to the library?" he asked, sympathetically, glancing over his shoulder as he scrubbed the brown stains from the cup.

"Oh, you know," they replied, cup still lifted against their mouth. The smell was sharp. 

He paused, tilting his head. The sink shifted and disappeared, replaced with a computer instead. The quiet trappings and dim light of the diner melted, filtering in with tiled floors and white wallpapers. The stool they perched on settled itself into an chair, comfortable and plush. Slightly too comfortable. He had rearranged himself to be reclining on a sofa.

"I was fine with the diner," they mumbled, lowering the cup that remained in their hands. The liquid sloshed. 

He brushed hair out of his face. "You didn't like the radio."

"I didn't."

"So here's something else."

"The therapy room doesn't do it for me," they pressed, sipping, "you know that. It's only good for people like Magnotris."

He leaned his head back on the arm. "So you want the diner again?"

"Yes." 

With a sigh, the scene changed again, returning to the familiar grime. Ceiling fans pushed the stale air in circles, and they took a deep breath. "Thank you, Baker."

"Yeah, whatever," he retorted, plunging hands back into the sink water. "Did you get the book?"

They kicked their legs idly for a second, sipping. "Of course. I don't ever return empty-handed."

"What's this one about?"

Sip. "I didn't read it."

Baker turned his head over his shoulder again, eyes narrowing. "Oh, can I see it?"

"You'll tamper with it."

"I won't touch."

They paused to consider, staring into their drink. It was so fruity. "Well, I suppose as long as you don't touch it."

The cup was placed aside. Baker returned to the counter, leaning over with wide eyes, pushing his glasses up his muzzle. They closed their hands together and pulled apart, the book forming from air between their palms. It was nondescript, black binding, and no lettering on the spine, front, or back. Baker narrowed his eyes, placing a hand on his mouth.

"Is there anything written inside?" he asked, after a pause.

"I didn't look."

"Maybe we should, Opal."

"That seems like a poor idea."

"It's only a peek."

"Well, I suppose you're right." they reached for the cover. 

--- circuit ---

Opalescent crouched, their hand digging around in the wet blood. It was difficult to keep the complaints out of their thoughts; nothing was quite as disgusting as having to touch pieces and bits of other Fragments. It pooled under their victim's head, glistening in the light. It smelled so sharply.

Their fingers closed around a chain, and they pried their prize from the blood. The metal, clearly treated pyrite, shone so reminiscent of gold that a shudder ran down their spine. Still, the hourglass was intact, and that was all that mattered. 

Opal slipped the dirtied chain around their neck, lifting the hourglass to admire the sand within. They glanced to the other Fragment, lying on the floor, eyes still wide in shock. They'd probably be fine. Maybe in a few hours, a day, a week, a year, Opal didn't know. But they'd get up and dust themselves off and they'd be right as rain. Still, poor Fragment, red blood seeping into their green hair, horn stained. 

They holstered their gun. 

--- sequence ---

"Hi," he said, voice pleasant and cheerful, holding out a hand. "My name's Morning Star. How can I help you?"

Opalescent didn't shake. "I just have a few questions."

"Oh, well that's alright, too!" Morning Star pulled his hand back and smiled, warmly. He gestured to the chair across from his desk.

Opalescent didn't sit. "You were with Magnotris a few days ago, yes?"

"Ah, I'm with Magnotris most of the time - did you need me to ask him something for you?"

"You were both in LT-95 a few days ago, yes?"

Morning Star's smile disappeared. "Pardon?"

"LT-95." Opalscent waved a hand stiffly. "Quiet backwater Timeline. You two were there."

"I'm afraid I don't-"

"You took something."

Morning Star fell silent, eyes narrowed. 

"I want it back."

"Who are you again?" there was no hint of pleasantry in his tone.

Opal's fingers curled around their gun. "A stranger."

Morning Star stood, abruptly. Opal didn't startle. "Please leave, or I will call an Overseer. I do not appreciate being accused of-"

"-I just want the book you are using," Opal spoke, slowly, deliberately. "I am not going to report you, or stop you. But you took something that doesn't belong to you."

"Do you really think you are in a place to make more accusations of me?"

Opal sighed.

"You have no idea what kind of things you're messing with!"

--- candlestick ---

Baker slowly exhaled a puff of smoke. Opalescent blearily lifted their head, hand snaking out to curl fingers around their drink once more. The two sat in silence, the radio's mumblings and the clack of the ceiling fan masquerading as the noise of conversation. Opal took a long, steady drink. Sweet, sour, same thing.

"It feels good for you, too, yeah?" Baker finally spoke, gesturing to the drink.

"I told you reading the book was a bad idea."

"No, it was good." Baker's smile curled too far up his face. "New recipes, new uses. I wouldn't have thought of 'em myself."

"Where are you going to get enough?" it smelled so sharp.

"Morning and Magno find plenty. I'm sure I can follow after them and get the dredges of their mess." he blew a plume. "LT-95's Frag was in pieces. Face smashed in, blood everywhere. It was fuckin' great, man. Like. Blood, just everywhere. Teeth on the sidewalk. Fur... just, smeared. It was beautiful. I didn't think those two had it in 'em to make such a nice piece."

"They are full of surprises." Opal's gun clattered on the counter as they pried it from their pocket.

Baker's eyes flicked to it, the smile disappearing as quickly as it had come. "You had to shoot him?"

"Hysterical and uncooperative. I didn't wish to see what he could do with a bat. Like you said - I didn't think they had it in them. But they did." Opal gestured.

Baker exhaled, slowly, before putting his cigarette back in his mouth. Opal picked up their cup, staring. There was only a sip left. The last remainder of a treat.

"There's no more of that color in the back," Baker informed, having caught the other's stare. "Sorry."

"It's alright," they said, and threw their head back.

--- crosswords ---

"More to the right, please!"

Opalescent paused, fingers tightening in the book. They glanced to Quavera, who sat on top of a table in the center of the hall, beaming, fingertips pressed together. The other nodded encouragingly, and Opal shifted to the right accomodatingly.

"Oh, perfect, it goes riiiight there. You'll see."

Two books sagged into each other, as if they were the only support the other had. Opalescent wedged a hand between them, pushing one upright and sliding the loose book into the hole. It slipped in, home at last. The rest of the shelf was immaculate. The rest of the library was immaculate.

They stepped away and turned to Quavera, whose eyes had focused back on the perfection of the library. Several seconds passed before he took note of their staring, and sent them an infamously unnerving smile. "Thank you kindly! I don't even know how those rascals made it out with it in the first place."

Opalescent held out their hand dutifully.

Quavera lightly laughed, wings shaking slightly as his shoulders moved up and down. "Yes, yes, always the impatient one. Vilv, please-?"

A hand slid from behind Opal and placed a small, hard object in their hand firmly. It disappeared as quickly as it came. They didn't bother turning around. They knew there was no one there. Uncurling their palm revealed a small vial, glistening, beautiful. It smelled strongly, the liquid inside a familiar color. 

"There you are, fresh, for a job well done." Quavera laced fingers together under his chin and rested on his hands. "That's all we need of you for now. See you later, alligator!"

With that, the librarian vanished. Not even the dust on the table had been displaced by their presence or absence. Opalescent shook their head, pocketing the vial and striding towards the hallway. The front doors, towering and of deep dark oak, held beyond their impasse where they wanted to be. Home, soon, and quickly at that - curling up in their bed, tucking a head under blankets, trying to not drink the rest so quickly. Savor it.

They reached for the handle, but it turned. Their hand froze, then pulled back, uncertainty masking their face.

A familiar black Fragment stood on the other side of the door. His expression was dour.

"Hello," Opal spoke, after a second passed, blinking.

Click.

Magnotris lifted a gun, pointing it directly at Opalescent's head. They tensed. He spoke, slowly, clearly, voice betraying his brimming anger, "Opalescent, of Timeline LI-9103, you are hereby under arrest for illegal Magninium smuggling and possession of stolen Magninium. Hand over the contraband, now, and maybe the Overseers will treat you kindly."

Their hand shook as they reached into their pocket, fingers curling around the vial. No. No, they didn't want to.

But they didn't stop themself from dropping it in Magnotris' waiting hand.