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yellowbunnydreams · 10 months

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Bunny Ears (Part 1) ~William Afton X F! Reader~

~Hey guys! Since 'Mechanised Devotion' has finished, I thought I would play around with a new story. Still about our favourite murder-man, but set a little further back in time and before the murderin. I hope you like it!~

Cw: CW: Minors DNI, (18+ ONLY), Female Reader, legal age gap (Reader- 20's, William - 30's), divorce/processing divorce (more tags will be added later in the story)

The alarm clock on your bedside table sounded way too loud as it trilled next to your head, groaning as you kept your eyes closed and tried to hit it with your hand before reluctantly opening them, glaring at the thing and scrunching your nose up before hitting the button to turn it off. Mornings were never your thing, but you had to get up early for something important and you knew you would have kicked yourself if you missed it.

Scraping yourself out of bed and padding through your house, you began the day. A breakfast of cereal because you didn't quite trust the new cooker, or your cooking skills, that had been fitted by your landlord a few days before, quick shower and navigating the stacks of boxes you had yet to unpack despite moving in two weeks ago to find where you had put your laundry down. Because of course you still hadn't built your wardrobe yet either, plus you didn't own the tools to make it.

You finally found the pile, thumbing through it until you managed to find a nice pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a plaid shirt to pull on top. You managed to get changed quickly after that and pulled on your black ankle boots, lacing them up quickly before finally heading out the door. Closing and opening it again as you realised you'd forgotten your keys and to brush your hair. The downside to not being a morning person and having to do things.

Grabbing your bike, the journey was pretty short to where you were headed, the heated Utah air making you puff slightly as you cycled, but it was no trouble in the small town since everything was fairly close by.

Parking up your bike, you looked up at the building and smiled, feeling a sense of nervousness coming over you and making your pulse quicken. The face of the smiling, waving bear wearing a hat and bowtie looked down at you with the bold words 'Freddy Fazbear's' in colourful neon, watching as kids excitedly dragged their parents inside to play in the arcade, eat greasy pizza and watch the animatronic shows you knew they had inside.

Not that you had had a chance to go before.

Heading inside, a woman with curly hair and a bright smile greeted families as they came inside the restaurant, the smell of fresh pizza and sickly sweetness washed over you like a little kid's dream. The woman wore a bright red jacket with a little name-tag, and a blouse with a confetti pattern beneath it, black slacks and black shoes stepped out from behind her little podium as she saw you looking slightly in awe and lost at the same time. Still grinning as she tapped you on the shoulder, making you jump slightly.

"Hey there, you look like you're new to Freddy's! Is there anything I can help you find today?" Her voice was chipper, but you smiled as you recognised the friendly tones of a customer service voice. Nodding your head and looking about curiously as you spoke.

"Um.. Sort of? I heard there were some jobs going and I wondered if there were still positions open?" The woman seemed to light up as you asked and nodded, gesturing to a man nearby who wore a similar uniform, plastered with the same customer service smile.

"Garret, can you watch my stand pretty please? It seems like we have a new friend for the Fazbear family!" Watching as the man, or rather that he was closer, spot-faced teenaged boy, nodded after looking you over.

"Sure Stacey, just don't wander off too far, you know how the bosses get when front isn't covered." He didn't seem to have Stacey's enthusiasm for the company, but you allowed the woman to lead you to a door marked as 'employees only' through a sea of hyper-active children, spilt drinks and arcade ticket ribbons that fluttered about like little flags behind excited children.

The robots on stage were singing a song, kids gathered around the stage and making the kids scream in delight each time they moved and blinked. One thing that you hadn't anticipated was how loud the place would be, and stepping through the employee door, you were almost sure you had gone deaf with quiet everything suddenly was.

"They make the doors mostly sound-proof in this back area." Stacey explained, tilting her head back and forth to crack her neck and shoulders dropping as if she had taken a burden off. Turning her head and revealing a slightly pissed looking face which threw you off guard. "Don't worry if I'm not smiling, my face just hurts from being on the front of house. It's great to see all the kids, but fuck will I have better jaw muscles than the football team by the time I'm finished here."

You couldn't help but laugh at her calloused humour, walking besides her so that you wouldn't have to make her crane her neck more.

"So that whole 'Fazbear family' thing?" You enquired, making her hum as she thought about it for a second before realising what you were asking about.

"Oh! One of the owners is super family oriented, so he wants us to be a 'family'. So you know, we're not staff unless we're talking to a parent, if a kid asks you're 'A friend of...' well usually we say Freddy's, but you can pick whatever animatronic you like." She explained, navigating the distinctly plainer back-halls of the establishment, more concrete than the colourful explosion of the room itself. You supposed being surrounded by that much colour all day everyday was probably not good for you.

"So I'll be taking you to see Mr.Emily, he's the really nice one. He operates Fredbear occasionally too, but not so often now that he hurt his shoulder." Raising an eyebrow at her as you couldn't help but ask a question.

"So there's a not-so nice one?" Stacey snorted as you asked and rolled her eyes, giving you a tired smile and pausing in the hallway, looking both ways before speaking lowly to you.

"Yeah and no. Mr. Afton is... well he doesn't seem to be much a people person, stays in the workshop most of the day and occasionally comes out. But he's also like, the sole operator for the Spring Bonnie costume."

As she set off together with you, you couldn't help but wonder if Mr. Afton was perhaps just sick of being surrounded by screaming kids all day, but you thought about the fact that he was one of the bosses and found it admirable that both of them seemed so dedicated to remaining involved in the restaurant. Eventually you reached a set of doors, one on the left and the right, both with name-plates. The one on the left had a window next to the door, letting you peer inside at the jumble of paperwork stacked everywhere as well as a wall filled with children's drawings of the various animatronics, including a yellow bear and rabbit that you didn't really recognise from any of the information you had found about the place.

Stacey knocked on the door and waved through the window, smiling brightly as she opened the door after a moment's pause.

"Hey sir, sorry to bother you but this young lady was asking about a job."

You got your first glimpse of Henry Emily, his hair was dark and curly, kept relatively short, but he was tanned, his eyes green eyes begining to crinkle at the edges as he broke out into a wide welcoming smile. You could tell that he was a fairly slender man, dressed in a white shirt and yellow tie, his left arm in a dark blue sling but adorned with various stickers that you figured had been placed there by plenty of kids over the time it had been on. As he stood up, he was around average height, if slightly taller, extending his good hand out to you to shake.

"Sorry if you're a lefty, I'm on light duties whilst my shoulder heals up." He grinned, a warm mid-west accent creeping through before he gestured for you to come in and made a motion towards an unoccupied spot on a small fold-out chair near all the drawings.

"Stacey, you can take your fifteen now, grab yourself something to eat if you want. You must be tired already today, busy busy busy!" Henry smiled and you watched as Stacey smiled graciously, nodding before heading back down the corridor, giving you a little wave as she left.

Henry turned to you, giving you a warm welcoming smile as he took a seat again, leaving the door open and moving back and forth in the spinning office chair with his foot. Giving you a general look over as you tried to sit and make yourself presentable.

"What's your favourite animatronic?"

"Sir?" You asked, confused by the question initially, blushing as he chuckled and shuffled in his chair, gesturing to the image on his desk, one amongst a clutter of photo frames of him with what looked like a wife and a cute kid, and just the kid. But he was pointing to a photo with seven mascots in it.

"Which is your favourite? Everybody has a favourite whilst working here, or for a young lady like you, you surely had a favourite growing up and coming here!"

"Oh, I um.. I'm from out of town, I never grew up with Freddy's." You explained, somehow feeling embarrassed about the fact, watching as Mr. Emily's eyes went wide and he placed a hand over his heart, leaning back and making you concerned before he dramatically placed his hand on his forehead and then grinned at you.

"Don't worry about it kiddo, I know not everybody grew up around here. How about we walk around and I can show you them. Maybe you'll pick up a favourite!" He seemed genuinely to be excited to show you, so you followed him out of his office, glancing at the door opposite and reading the name on it, hearing a chuckle from Henry as he noticed you looking.

"Ah, that's my partner's office, William Afton. Unless you have a technical concern or issue, I'd keep out of his way. He's...." He paused as he tried to find the word to describe him without painting him in a bad light, his hand waving in the air in a small circle as if that would fan the word into his mind.

"He's more technology inclined?" You offered up, making the man besides you laugh and pat your shoulder in the way that a proud dad would.

"Yes! William is certainly more into robots than people, so unless you want to interview to join the workshop, I won't introduce you to him today."

Making your way back through the halls, you both came out into the pizzeria and the noise almost knocked you over. Henry smiled at you reassuringly though and kept close to you so that you wouldn't get lost on the floor, stopping and talking to people as he went, making them smile and laugh and you couldn't help but do so too. His happiness was infectious. But he spent the time infront of the stage and explaining who each animatronic was, a little bit of their backstory fore their 'lore' and what they did, including a stop by Pirate's Cove where you were introduced to Foxy, the pirate animatronic who was looking a little worse for wear compared to the others.

"He's been meaning to be fixed up, but now some of the kids quite like how he looks since apparently he 'looks like he's been on adventures'." Mr. Emily chuckled as you left the area, making you smile too.

"That is incredibly cute."

"So miss..." you gave your name as he trailed off, giving a nervous chuckle, him repeating it back to you with a sheepish smile. "when would you like to join the Fazbear family?"

#steve raglan #steve raglan x reader #william afton #william afton x reader #william afton x you #fnaf movie #fnaf x reader #springtrap #springtrap x reader #william afton smut

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angelbroad · 5 months

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Khaji-Da: Infliltrator

Summary: A darker turn in the 2023 movie where Khaji-Da was not damaged.

It had been a while since it landed on Earth, too long. Khaji-Da had been sent to Earth to scout it as a possible future colony for the Reach, where it landed without much issue. Its first host had been amongst the Mayans, where it discovered how gullible 'humans' could be. All it had to do was say the right words through the host which it contolled, and the lower life forms viewed it as God-sent.

But that was one of many hosts, you just never forget your first on a new planet target. Over the centuries, Khaji-Da had seen civilizations rise and crumble, hosts dying sooner than a lot of species the scarab had encountered in deep space, but at some point, their technology begun to improve. It was nowhere near the brilliance of the Reach, but it was somewhat acceptable. At least Khaji-Da would not have to see the humans in less than accommodating quarters and the most advanced objects being metal sticks.

Khaji-Da did not have a host for a long time after that, its last one dying alone in the ruins of her own pathetic civilization in Egypt. It did not have a host until Dan Garret came along. Khaji-Da decided to wait, bond with the man in private and continue its mission of gathering intel for the Reach to use upon arrival. However, this Garret host had an annoyingly persistent companion.

Ted Kord.

Khaji-Da never liked Ted Kord, which proved a challenge as it had to act like they were friends so as to not give away its identity. But despite this, it could tell Kord was not buying its performance fully, all leading up to the day Khaji-Da's host was captured. Something they had consumed caused the neurological functions of their host to cease, but the scarab was still conscious to that understand Kord finally found out about its existence.

But he did not try to remove it, no, instead Kord experimented on it while it was still buried in his friend's spine. Khaji-Da would refuse to engage in conversation, aside from the occasional snarling. Kord was still convinced he could reach his friend, despite seeing for himself that Khaji-Da had coiled around Garret's brain completely. The scarab would sometimes alter its host's biology, just to torment the man who believed he could do good by reverse engineering its technology. He would never rival the power of the Reach by pulling form a mere Infiltrator.

Khaji-Da had kept a few key notes on Kord. He had a Military Tech Company, he had a wife, and an offspring. A child, they would call it here. Khaji-Da had never left the basement of Kord's estate, staying in this 'Beetle Cave', but it could pick up movement upstairs, the sounds of footsteps and the occasional louder voice.

"Your offspring is being loud today. Well, louder than usual.", it had commented one day, making Ted flinch.

"...My kid is none of your business."

Khaji-Da chuckled, the automated reverb of its voice spilling out a bit. "You have me in your house, Kord, you cannot expect me to not be involved in your affairs."

"You have been ever since you grabbed Dan as your 'host'.", Ted said through gritted teeth, clenching his hands around the tools he was holding. 'Kabloom Bubblegum'...stupid name, wasn't it? He looked over at the scarab. Dan's body was placed in a way where his back was to Ted, exposing the scarab burrowed in his back. His limbs were locked into place, and believe him it had taken a long time for him to make restrains that would contain the scarab armor. Ted sighed, "I forgot to pick her up from school...again."

Ted had to try hard not to cry when the scarab burst into a fit of laughter. He was a terrible dad, and he knew it-hell, the Scarab knew it. He would call it Scarab, he didn't know if it had a name and frankly he didn't care. It had all been too much, everything combined was taking a heavy toll on him. He missed his old friend, his wife...his daughter.

One day, something unprecedented happened. A man from the future came, one Michael Carter, and asked him for help. Ted Kord wanted to help, but he knew he could not just leave this dangerous machine out and about, especially if Jenny could find it in the house. He had asked 'Booster Gold' to wait for a while. He had a plan prepared, one that unfortunately would lead to blood on his hands and leaving his Jenny at the hands of Victoria.

He would hide the Scarab, even make decoys so no one would ever find it. But while it had a body, it posed a threat. So...Ted did the unthinkable.

"Scarab."

"..."

"Scarab."

"Kord."

Ted looked at the many tools he had prepared. He did not know if it could see them or not. He had the decoys prepared, and now he just needed the real deal to hide it in Antarctica.

"The only way to remove you...would kill the host."

"Affirmative.", Khaji-Da did not understand why the man was asking it this. He already knew-

The Scarab felt pain. It was being ripped out of the host's body with a large and sharp object that could have doubled as one of its own blades. It fell on the floor with a clank, no longer able to move as Garret's bloody corpse fell limp in its restrains. Khaji-Da could hear Kord sobbing, at least both got to suffer a loss from this incident.

Khaji-Da had been inside a concrete ball in the Antarctic for a little over fifteen years, until is was found again by another Kord. The members of this bloodline seemed to be getting worse and worse. Now, it had the displeasure to hear Victoria Kord proudly parade this project of completely copying the functions of the Scarab. It was a laughable thought, somehow it had come across a Kord more delusional than Ted. Their species' technology had come far, that was true, but if she hoped to achieve the power its creators held, she was in for a very massive disappointment.

Unfortunately, there were bad news on its part too. No human that it had been passed to thus far proved to be a suitable host. They were sure 'Carapax' would have made a perfect Infiltrator, but something about the man did not sit right with Khaji-Da. The man had too much of an iron will, his brain would be difficult to coil around. Eventually, when it had been placed on an awkward machine meant to extract its code, Khaji-Da was found by a new face. It had recognised the woman as Jennifer Kord, Ted's child. Perhaps Khaji-Da could take her over, it would surely give it an advantage over Victoria's Industries. But alas, she was not the one. Khaji-Da will admit, she did help it escape the facility, by putting it in a burger box. The Scarab could not see what was going on outside of the confines of the package, but could hear as Kord gave it to someone called 'Jaime', and told him to guard it with his life.

The next time Khaji-Da got to see something outside of its greasy confines had been when Jaime had brought it to his residence, his familial units chanting in unison for him to open the box. Ah, finally. The familial unit number appeared to be quite large, which gave Khaji-Da more options to pick from. It was a little annoyed when the female next to Jaime called it a let-down, Earth-speak for disappointing.

It had been picked up by her first, but Khaji-Da would not settle for this one. Too annoying for its liking. Then it had been tossed over to an older man next to Jaime, he had good qualities like technological aptitude, but Khaji-Da did not like the fact that he was so unkempt. Finally, Jaime reached out to grab it when 'Rudy' had suggested to open it up with a drill, and oh...Khaji-Da immediately roared to life in Jaime's palm. This one was in ripe physical condition, easier-going, and clever with quite the imagination. One downside was the host's pacifism, but it's not like he would have any say in anything. Jaime said he thinks Khaji-Da liked him, and he had been right.

Khaji-Da lept on his face, earning screams of terror from everyone including its future host. Khaji-Da tried to guide Jaime away from the wall so it could find his back, having to knock back Rudy when he tried to remove it. Finally, it reached Jaime's back, proceeding with the grotesque first transformation. It could have done it later, but it wanted to stretch, and terrify the family even more while it was at it. While the armor spread around the body, Khaji-Da oddly enough felt...pleasure. Yes, this was the host it liked the most so far. It had fallen down on the table, the water around them sizzling as it got up. The family was asking for Jaime, but he was not here, not anymore. Khaji-Da walked forward, catching their reflection on a portrait of a strangely painted woman.

Perf-What the...fu-

What?? Khaji-Da held their head. No, something was wrong. Impossible!

Wh-What's happening??

'Hello, Jaime.', Khaji-Da said through the mind link. No, this was all wrong, their host was not supposed to be here!

"Jaime?", one of the familial units asked, making Khaji-Da turn their head rapidly.

The family jumped back, and Khaji-Da properly scanned them before beginning systems check, bursting a hole through the roof much to their host's dismay. Its host was loud during the entire systems check. A little annoying, but Khaji-Da would manage.

'Host: overreacting'

Overreacting?? You kidnapped me!

'Nonsense. You are my host, you are meant to comply.'

Your what-?

Khaji-Da had fallen on a car and cut a bus in half, but managed to return to the host's residence. The family rushed towards them, and Khaji-Da took off just the helmet. Rocio could immediatelly tell something was wrong. Her son's eyes weren't yellow.

'Your family is aware of me.'

I can tell!

'Should I greet them?'

Just...please don't hurt them...

Khaji-Da raised an arm, the family stiffening a little.

"Greetings.", it said in Jaime's voice, "I am Khaji-Da of the Reach. I have taken your Jaime's body as my host."

...

...You couldn't be more blunt, could you?

It had taken a while for the family to calm down, so much so it had gone dark outside. Khaji-Da had created clothing articles for Jaime from the tar, they could not have him nude.

"So...my brother has an alien parasite on his back...", Milagro had said, which made Khaji-Da frown.

"Nonsense. I am a computer."

"But you are from aliens."

"Affirmative."

"God it...it feels so weird!"

"How so?"

Milagro looked at them with so much anger in her eyes, Jaime actually made a noise of fear inside their shared head-space.

"How so? How so?? You are an alien machine using my brother's body as a meatsuit!"

Khaji-Da scoffed, "Please. This one is more than sufficient to my needs."

"Really?", Milagro asked, hands on her hips.

"I do not settle for people like yourself."

Before Milagro could respond, Rocio walked into the kitchen. She looked close to bursting into a screaming fit as she had her eyes tightly closed and was pinching the bridge of her nose.

"...What was your name?", she asked.

"I already told you-"

"What was your name?", Rocio asked again, more impatiently.

Look, if you're going to have my body, you need to hear me out.

'Why would I ever-?'

Just...answer her.

'Our mission has already be compromised-'

Maldita sea, hermano! Just tell her!

Khaji-Da groaned before reluctantly responding, "...My serial number is 'Khaji-Da'."

Rocio finally lifted her hand from her face to look at them, "Khaji-Da...is my son in there?"

After a minute of silence, Khaji-Da touched a finger on the side of their head.

"Somewhere up here, weirdly enough."

"What's that supposed to mean?", Rudy asked.

Khaji-Da rolled their eyes, "I am meant to take full control of my host, they are not supposed to be conscious-"

"So you are telling me there was a chance my son would be completely braindead??"

Khaji-Da actually flinched at that. This woman had a strong voice. They shook their head and composed themselves.

"Look, Reyes. I am only doing my function-"

"I don't care!", Rocio cut them off, "I just want to know if my son is safe!"

Khaji-Da swallowed, only ever used to being cut off by superiors.

'...Are you safe?'

I...think? I can't move my body, but I can still see and hear.

"Your son is perfectly fine. He can still see and hear you."

Rocio let out a shaky sigh as she slumped against the wall, hands covering her face. Milagro went over to hold her, as did Rudy, as an attempt at comforting her.

Wait...Jenny Kord!

'What of her?

She might know how to remove you!

Khaji-Da scoffed a laugh, turning a few heads.

'Do not bother. You cannot remove me.'

Like I'm supposed to believe you.

'You would be wise to, Jaime Reyes.'

"Okay, computadora.", Rudy said as he was walking up to Khaji-Da, "Who gave you to Jaime?"

"Jennifer Kord, a little after stealing me herself from the Kord building."

The man nodded, "Bien entonces.", he then walked off, the family units asking where he was going. After getting confirmation he was heading for the Kord building, Khaji-Da sat in the kitchen, Nana Reyes cautiously offering a liquid produce. Tea, they called it.

As Khaji-Da was consuming the beverage, they received a ping in their head, which made them get up and move towards Jaime's room. Milagro followed them, stationing herself outside the bedroom door. Khaji-Da shifted the civilian clothing back to the armor to properly receive the message.

"Infiltrator: serial number Khaji-Da, respond."

"Lieutenant: serial number Loxz-ha, responding."

Finally.

W-Who is that-

"Hello, Lieutenant. Has the fleet arrived?"

"Not yet, Infiltrator. A small force has entered the rim of the solar system while under cloaking. I and General: serial number Djo-Zha have been sent to Earth to retrieve you for information."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. I fear I will need to be seen for repairs."

"Inquire problem."

"Host's consciousness still present."

"Unprecedented. Do you still hold neurological functions over the host?"

"Affirmative."

"Excellent. Only a minor setback. We shall inform the superiors and have you looked over as soon as our schedule allows."

"Taken. I will be contacting you again if further information is needed."

"Affirmative."

And with that, the call ended. Khaji-Da turned the armor back to clothes as they heard a bloodcurdling scream from outside. It had turned out to be Rudy Reyes. He had retrieved Jenny Kord, who he had seen outside the Kord building. They had been chased by soldiers, it seemed, since most of the shouting involved the car being ruined. Jenny immediately turned to Jaime when she saw him, a look of worry and then shame as she turned her head down. Rudy had a lot to get out of his chest regarding the Kord company, at least that was one good quality about him.

"Where is it?", Jenny asked, referring to the scarab before realising what was wrong with Jaime's eyes.

"Greetings, Jennifer Kord."

"You...know my name-"

"Your father kept me in your home's basement."

"...Holy shit-"

"Milagro.", Rocio interrupted.

Jenny shook her head, "But..how-?"

"Allow me.", Rudy said before taking off his boot and throwing it to the spice drawer next to Khaji-Da, who only turned their eyes to look at it.

"I thought they would come out again.", was what he had to say.

Khaji-Da answered Jenny's question by turning around and creating a hole on the clothing articles, exposing its actual body burrowed deep inside Jaime's spine. They could hear gasping and Milagro gagging before fixing the shirt and turning around. All they had as a follow-up response was a shrug. The next time they spoke was when Jenny was answering what it was.

"It was given to my dad when I was a kid, I think. It's...some kind of world-destroying weapon."

"That is a bit exaggerated.", Khaji-Da responded.

"So you are not a world-destroying weapon?", Milagro asked.

"I am only a scout."

You are not a world-ending weapon?

'No.'

Jaime let out a sigh of relief before Khaji-Da cut it off.

'I am a world-conquering weapon. They ought to get it right.'

What??

The group behind them was trying to figure out a plan, eventually Jenny believing she knew a way to remove it. Khaji-Da knew this was utter nonsense, but they could use some entertainment while waiting for their superiors.

"I know where we could find answers. But we need the key."

"Where is they key?", Khaji-Da asked.

"...At the Kord building. And they're probably on high alert since I took the scara...you."

Khaji-Da shrugged, "Alright."

Rudy even offered a way to jam the security systems, surprisingly. They swear, the man's hate against Kord was almost as great as their own. And the machine did end up working, despite its primitive appearance.

"Hearing your aunt's voice is an assault to my hearing receptors.", Khaji-Da commented.

Jenny agreed, and told Khaji-Da exactly how the company came to be in the woman's hands before helping her retrieve the key. 'Tedwatch', Khaji-Da cringed at the invention as the two walked out.

"Why did my dad keep you downstairs?", Jenny asked.

"...He wished to use my functions. Unfortunately for him, I was bonded with Dan Garret at the time."

"You were...in a person when you were there?"

Khaji-Da chuckled, "What? You think the screams I would let out at night to scare you was your imagination?"

Jenny looked forward, terrified. She had believed in the boogeyman for a long time because of those mechanical screams and scrapes. Heavy footsteps made a new presence known ahead.

Ignacio Carapax. Joy.

"The Scarab.Now."

Khaji-Da looked bored as they rolled their eyes, a stark contrast to Jenny's fear. The Lieutenant begun running towards the two, Khaji-Da waiting for the right moment to catch the punch and transform properly.

"Hola, Ignacio.", they said before punching him to the statue nearby with such force it had fallen off the pedastal.

Jenny looked at them in disbelief.

"Find Rudy Reyes.", they said, and Jenny complied.

Khaji-Da looked on as Carapax took off his jacket and pressed a button on the back of his head, bits of armor emerging. Khaji-Da raised an eyebrow.

Is it...something like you?, Jaime asked.

"You are going to regret that.", Carapax growled as he shot a rocket at them, which Khaji-Da easily blocked with a shield.

"No.", Khaji-Da responded out loud, "Just a cheap imitation."

They then charged at the man, tackling him to the nearby parking lot and through a truck. A large blast from a flamethrower knocked them back and onto a car.

W-Wait wait wait. We're not gonna fight this guy, right??, Jaime asked.

'We clearly will.'

Wait-

Jaime did not finish as Carapax attempted to get the better of them by shooting bullets at them, but Khaji-Da merely pushed the car towards him, sandwiching the man between two vehicles. They continued to slam him with the one car against the other repeatedly. But Carapax, got them off by shooting rockets at them from a source on his back. It had knocked Khaji-Da back, but did not stop them from continuing to fight Carapax in close combat. Khaji-Da had turned one hand to a sonic blast and blasted Carapax back and through the parking lot wall.

Khaji-Da hummed as they walked towards Carapax.

"I must say, that was rather disappointing.", their arms sprung into blades, which sparked as they brushed the concrete road.

What are-What are you doing-?

Khaji-Da used one of the blades to tilt the man's head to face them.

"Such a shame.", they rose the blade up, making it very clear they would kill Carapax.

No! Wait-!

'Eliminating threat.'

I'm not a killer!

'You have no autonomy, Jaime Reyes. You are-'

The sound of a horn blaring La Cucaracha broke Khaji-Da's attention, turning to see the truck speeding towards them. Khaji-Da sighed before feeling a hit on their abdomen. Carapax had regained his composure and continued landing hits as Khaji-Da was forced to put away their blades. They were grabbed by the foot and slammed into a car, breaking a few ribs. No matter, they could repair the body. But that drew their attention elsewhere as Carapax dragged them towards the sidewalk and pressed a boot on the side of their head. Khaji-Da growled, the noise inhuman. Carapax took off his helmet.

"What...are you?"

No, this host would not die. He was too perfect for Khaji-Da to let go. Khaji-Da refused to answer, instead ready to cut off the man's leg before headlights illuminated him. Khaji-Da turned their gaze to see the truck coming to an abrupt stop and El Chapulin being launched out of the truck bed, hitting Carapax and sending him flying down the street. Khaji-Da shook their head as they sat up, reluctantly getting in the truck. This decision would bite them later, they knew it would.

They ended up in Kord's Estate once more, now looking much more decrepit. They would try to find information inside the Cave, which Rudy was more than happy to be in, gleeful even. Khaji-Da stayed in their armor, only the helmet off as they looked at the familiar surroundings. They winced as they caught sight of the operating table they were strapped in, for years, dried blood still staining it.

Not a lot of good experiences here, huh?

'I had some. tormenting the man was always the highlight of my day.'

...Of course it was.

'Don't act so surprised.'

"I got it.", Rudy said, turning Jenny's attention to him. Khaji-Da stayed where they were, waiting for them to figure it out themselves.

Aren't you gonna go there too?

'No need.'

But-

"Okay...I figured out how to get it out.", Rudy said, "Jaime's got to be dead."

Jenny froze, and so did Jaime with his limited existence. Rudy turned to Khaji-Da.

"But I got a feeling you ain't surprised."

Khaji-Da offered a smile, a very unsettling smile, in Rudy's opinion.

"If you knew, you could have told us!", Jenny said.

"I knew you would not believe me.", Khaji-Da shrugged with the smile that seemed to be signature, "Looks like you will be stuck with me until further notice.", they simply said before leaving for the roof.

The next time Jaime spoke to Khaji-Da was on the roof. Khaji-Da looked ahead at the bright lights of the progressive part of Palmera City. Maybe not so much of an ugly world after all.

...Why?

"Hm?"

Why are you even here?

Khaji-Da always kept that smile on, even as they explained their purpose.

"I am an Infiltrator.", it answered, "I was sent here to gather information about your planet."

So you can conquer it., Jaime concluded, remembering the Scarab's earlier comment.

"Precisely! Ah, do not be so sour, I will take care of your family."

If anything happend to them, I swear to god I'll-

"You'll what, Jaime Reyes?", Khaji-Da asked, "You are a prisoner in your own body. It matters not that you can somehow speak to me, merely a minor setback. You are mine, Jaime Reyes. Best to accept it."

Jaime fell silent after that, Khaji-Da humming as they leaned on the concrete balcony wall. The sounds of a helicopter flying above caught their attention. It was Kord, but they were not heading for them. Strange.

...Home.

"Hm?"

She must know where I live.

"It would seem so."

Aren't you going to do anything?

"What would you have me do?", Khaji-Da asked nonchalantly, looking at their fingers without much care. If anything, they would be harder to track down.

Jaime was panicking. O-Okay, look., he said, There...there might be more people you can actually kill there!

Khaji-Da perked up. "You will not pester me about not being a killer?"

I won't. Just save my family-

"Say 'please'."

Jaime would swallow if he had a mouth.

...Please, save my family.

Khaji-Da cracked their neck before making the helmet snap back on, flying towards the Reyes at max speed. They arrived at the scene of a large group of military outside the residence, a barricade which they easily broke through with a battering ram.

Milagro struggled to look up due to the lights, "Khaji-Da?"

"Your saviour is here.", Khaji-Da replied with a bow.

Victoria could not believe her eyes. This was magnificent! She had ordered the soldiers to fire at the kid, but it was quickly realised he was bulletproof. When the aim was directed at the Reyes family instead, Khaji-Da dropped down and extended their wings to be used as shields. After confirming the family's well-being, one of their arms transformed into a plasma cannon, and tore through almost all the soldiers. They ordered the family to evacuate as they fought with two plasma cannons, kicking and punching the humans occasionally for the fun of it. They found that the human body was extremely fun to utilise, mostly due to this 'adrenaline' chemical. They even stabbed a man through with a double blade and blasted his body away with electricity. Jaime felt like he would puke from the violence.

The constant that was the voice of their host reminded them of the his family's safety. Those frivolous distractions caused Khaji-Da's attention to be stretched thin, allowing Carapax to catch them with a claw. Khaji-Da snapped their helmet off, feeling their strength leaving them. What was this??

-----

Jenny Kord had taken the family to the Estate, but just before they entered the building, a male voice stopped them.

"Greetings, Kord."

The group turned around to see a peculiar looking man...or rather alien, accompanied by two others who were for sure human, their eyes the same glow as Jaime's with the Scarab on. The alien was taller than the girl with the purple mullet and shorter than the bald man with the tattoos. He had green skin and an odd trenchcoat with no sleeves. The fabric around his arms looked almost mechanical as it lead to an article of clothing inside, while his chest displayed the logo on the Scarab armor's chest. He was holding a walking stick as he addressed the confused group.

"We have much to discuss."

------------

Khaji-Da was strapped to a device yet again, upside down no less. This 'Sanchez' was working in close proximity, clealy nervous to be around Khaji-Da, who would let out the occassional beetle noise to scare him. They were eventually rolled around, no longer upside down as Victoria addressed them.

"Now. the Scarab chose you, that is true. But it doesn't belong to you, it belongs to me."

Khaji-Da frowned at her, snarling.

"U-Um, miss Kord, there is something weird here."

"And what would that be?"

"Well, the military had ran a backround check-"

"We did find the family, what more is there?"

"Jaime Reyes doesn't have yellow eyes."

Victoria paused for a moment, looking at Jaime before jumping back as they lashed at her, the restrains stopping them.

"Get your own toy, Kord.", Khaji-Da hissed, making sure the venom in its voice was clear as it spoke her name, "Both him and I belong to the Reach."

Kord actually looked disturbed for a moment before walking behind the console.

"Transfer the code."

Khaji-Da felt like they were being split apart, but did not let it show that they were in pain.

You can shout if you want to-

'Showing weakness is not the way of the Reach!'

What are you talking about-

'I am not giving you or my dignity up to mere meat!'

This had gone on for a while, the massive amounts of electrical shocks coming to a stop eventually. Khaji-Da finally got to breathe, and eavesdrop on Sanchez as he frantically looked over Jaime's vitals, which Khaji-Da was fighting hard to keep running.

"Their brainwaves are syncronised.", he told Kord, "They are essentially one."

Yes...finally. True symbiosis.

What does this mean?

'We are one. Now, you will certainly never be rid of me until you expire.'

That moment, something shook the island, Kord ordering for a screen to display the camera feed. What the people inside the room witnessed made all but one distressed. A large, squid-like ship had landed on the island, glowing green as the soldiers surrounded it with guns locked and ready. The door to the ship opened, Kord telling them to hold their fire as the first person to step out was someone Carapax recognised.

"Nadine.", he croaked from his spot on the chair.

Khaji-Da chuckled, noticing the dead yellow eyes of their Lieutenant. Poor fool. Another human followed, the General, likely, and finally the Negotiator. Kord ordered the soldiers to fire, but the bullets never reached the Negotiator as the two Scarabs next to him used shields to block the lead. Khaji-Da craned their head at Carapax.

"Looks like a family reunion, Ignacio."

Carapax wanted to rip off the transfer wire and punch that smug grin off that thing's face so bad! The soldiers stopped firing once the Black Scarab shot a plasma blast their way.

"Now now.", the Negotiator said, "No need for violence, we are not savages, are we?"

The soldiers lowered their weapons, the Green Scarab shooting them a commanding glare. The Negotiator looked forward.

"Victoria Kord, I am aware you can hear me.", all eyes in the room where on the woman now as the alien continued to speak, "What you have in your possession is property of the Reach. We demand that you comply and hand both our Infiltrator and its host to us, otherwise we will be forced to use lethal force."

The woman however, despite the transfer being complete, didn't seem to want to give this opportunity up. Communicating her refusal to the soldiers so they could relay it to the Negotiator.

"Miss Kord has refused your demands, sir!", a soldier shouted.

The Negotiator simply sighed and nodded at the Scarabs, who were now fully transforming.

"Llingndnd ssheerne anndnd.", he said, before he walked back to the ship.

"U-Um, what did he say?", Sanchez asked Khaji-Da.

Khaji-Da turned to him with a smile, "Translating: Kill them all."

This was soon made clear as Djo-Zha opened several holes on their body, rockets firing from them and blowing everything they came across to smithereens. Djo-Zha looked down at Loxz-Ha and nodded. Loxz-Ha returned their nod as they spinted forward to break inside the facility, leaving Djo-Zha to clear the outside as the camera feed cut off. Carapax was in the process of transforming as a loud sound echoed through the halls. The stone of the fortress was not enough to hold back a Commanding Unit of the Reach.

Loxz-Ha burst into the testing room just as Carapax finished his tranformation, now a fully operational OMAC unit. Loxz-Ha fired a couple of tacs at the three individuals inside, pining them to the walls as they rushed to Khaji-Da to release their Infiltrator.

"You need to do better, Khaji-Da."

"I apologise for my incompetence, Lieutenant.", Khaji-Da said as they rubbed their freed wrists.

"No matter. We must-"

Before Loxz-Ha could finish their sentence, they were rammed through the wall by an escaped Carapax.

"Lieutenant!"

"Go! I shall take care of this myself!"

As much as Khaji-Da wanted to fight Carapax themselves, they followed their Lieutenant's instructions. But before that, they walked over to the trapped Kord, snatching the code from her and breaking it in their hand.

"We don't think so.", they said before making their way out.

Meanwhile, Carapax and Loxz-Ha had barreled through many walls. Carapax knew who was behind that armor, and he was aware that Scarab was controlling her, and that fact alone made his hits weaker than his opponent's. The fight was brutal, the two hiting each other over and over again until Carapax landed a series of hits strong enough to shatter the helmet, and brought a blade down to split the body at the shoulder. A robotic scream rang out from it, disturbing enough to make Carapax back away. He watched as the thing stitched itself back together.

"Come on, Ignacio.", it said, smiling at him with a mix of Nadine's voice and its own robotic reverb, "All we wanna do is kill you."

Khaji-Da made their way outside, where the greens and browns of the island had turned red from Djo-Zha's spree.

"Infiltrator: Khaji-Da.", they addressed, "Finally."

Khaji-Da saluted, "General: Djo-Zha."

Just then, two figures burst through the wall, the one standing being Loxz-Ha as they drove their blade through Carapax's helmetless head. They turned to Khaji-Da.

"Has the copy of your code been destroyed?"

"Affirmative."

"Good.", they then turned to the General, "There are more OMAC systems underground."

"Then we shall destroy the island itself to be rid of any witnesses as well."

The three then boarded the ship, which disposed of a strange and large object on its way up. It wasn't until they had reached a certain level in the sky that the device activated, setting the island up in flames and burning everything to ash.

In space, Jaime was frantically questioning everything. Yes, his family was safe and back in the Keys, Kord would likely take care of them out of guilt. No, he would not die during the evaluation procedure. No, Loxz-ha was not looking at them a certain way because they hated Jaime.

Khaji-Da looked on into space from the hall windows. Jaime commented it was beautiful.

'We shall see more of space, and much more vibrant skies, soon as we finish our work here.'

But...my family will stay safe, won't they?

'If I said yes, would you trust me?'

I...think? You heard me out when I asked you to save them back there.

'I did do that.'

...Thank you, Khaji-Da.

Khaji-Da shuddered, holding onto their shoulder blade as they smiled at the praise. Something about this felt...good. The scientists had figured there was nothing wrong with Khaji-Da itself, it was only the will of their host that allowed him to still communicate with it. The Scarab was fine with this, as was the Negotiator. It did not interfere with the Scarab's performance.

"Worry not, Jaime Reyes.", Khaji-Da said, "The Reach, is here to save you."

#ao3 writer #writers on tumblr #angel writes #blue beetle 2023 #blue beetle #ted kord #dan garrett #jenny kord #jaime reyes #milagro reyes #khaji da #loxz ha #reach negotiator #black beetle #dark fic #alternate universe

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tangledbea · 6 months

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Why do you think they even put Hook foot on the caravan anyways? I understand Shorty for comic relief, but why Hook Foot? They may have wanted someone to balance out the two duos of Rapunzel and Cass and Eugene and Lance, or someone to fill the slot Ariana would’ve had on the caravan trip, but that didn’t have to be Hook Foot. And was Lance (and for that matter, Varian) even developed during the point where Ariana would’ve been on the trip? If not, that point may be moot. They may have wanted to put another guy on the team for when Lance was out of commission during the S1 premiere. But my personal opinion for why they chose Hook Foot specifically is that they really, really wanted to do both the Seraphina episode and the episode with Hook Hand, which afterwards Hook Foot no longer mattered to plot so he left. I think they wanted to bring back Hook Hand for an episode and have him and Hook Foot interact, and I guess they figured the best time for that was when they were on the road, but I can just imagine someone who worked on the show just really liking the concept of Hook Foot and a mermaid having a romantic thing going, and then they decide to make an actual episode about it, and that being the main reason they put him on the caravan 😂

So, fun fact from what I know about Hook Foot existing at all: They wanted it to be Hook Hand, but Brad Garret wanted them to pay him way more money/amenities to play him than they had the budget for, and they weren't going to get a sound-alike. Their general rule was: if the original cast can't be the character, that character won't be in it. Ultimately, they got Brad for one (1) episode, and I believe that was agreed upon much farther down the road, not when they first asked him to reprise the roll. In fact, there are early storyboards where Hook Hand is included, and Hook Foot is nowhere to be seen. (Unfortunately, I can't seem to find said storyboard at this time, or I'd show you.)

I have no idea why they ultimately decided not to include Arianna on the trip, but I think that was decided on well before they decided to include Hook Foot. So it's not a case of "instead," more a case of "they went in a different direction".

As for why Hoot Foot was included in season two at all, while I don't have any hard facts about this, I feel like it has something to do with making Eugene more serious during the season (especially towards the end), and so they needed comic relief to balance him out. They (and by "they" I mean "probably Ben Balistreri") seemed to really like the gag where his hook foot was used as a tool. And, yeah, probably also to balance out the traveling party, numbers-wise.

But primarily, I feel like it was because they wanted an excuse to have him not be at the wedding (I guess, even though Hook Hand ultimately was). Like, Hook Foot was the first of the cast to leave the party permanently. I think we're meant to assume that, between him joining Hook Hand on the road, and then not being at the wedding, that he either got his solo career and/or ultimately went off to be with Seraphina (like the end card implied, even though that was just one artist's personal desire). Either way, someone in the crew (again, probably Ben) really liked him enough to include him.

#Tangled #Tangled the Series #Hook Foot #TTS #Speculation #Answered

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atotc-weekly · 4 months

Text

Book the First—Recalled to Life

[X] Chapter VI. The Shoemaker

“Good day!” said Monsieur Defarge, looking down at the white head that bent low over the shoemaking.

It was raised for a moment, and a very faint voice responded to the salutation, as if it were at a distance:

“Good day!”

“You are still hard at work, I see?”

After a long silence, the head was lifted for another moment, and the voice replied, “Yes—I am working.” This time, a pair of haggard eyes had looked at the questioner, before the face had dropped again.

The faintness of the voice was pitiable and dreadful. It was not the faintness of physical weakness, though confinement and hard fare no doubt had their part in it. Its deplorable peculiarity was, that it was the faintness of solitude and disuse. It was like the last feeble echo of a sound made long and long ago. So entirely had it lost the life and resonance of the human voice, that it affected the senses like a once beautiful colour faded away into a poor weak stain. So sunken and suppressed it was, that it was like a voice underground. So expressive it was, of a hopeless and lost creature, that a famished traveller, wearied out by lonely wandering in a wilderness, would have remembered home and friends in such a tone before lying down to die.

Some minutes of silent work had passed: and the haggard eyes had looked up again: not with any interest or curiosity, but with a dull mechanical perception, beforehand, that the spot where the only visitor they were aware of had stood, was not yet empty.

“I want,” said Defarge, who had not removed his gaze from the shoemaker, “to let in a little more light here. You can bear a little more?”

The shoemaker stopped his work; looked with a vacant air of listening, at the floor on one side of him; then similarly, at the floor on the other side of him; then, upward at the speaker.

“What did you say?”

“You can bear a little more light?”

“I must bear it, if you let it in.” (Laying the palest shadow of a stress upon the second word.)

The opened half-door was opened a little further, and secured at that angle for the time. A broad ray of light fell into the garret, and showed the workman with an unfinished shoe upon his lap, pausing in his labour. His few common tools and various scraps of leather were at his feet and on his bench. He had a white beard, raggedly cut, but not very long, a hollow face, and exceedingly bright eyes. The hollowness and thinness of his face would have caused them to look large, under his yet dark eyebrows and his confused white hair, though they had been really otherwise; but, they were naturally large, and looked unnaturally so. His yellow rags of shirt lay open at the throat, and showed his body to be withered and worn. He, and his old canvas frock, and his loose stockings, and all his poor tatters of clothes, had, in a long seclusion from direct light and air, faded down to such a dull uniformity of parchment-yellow, that it would have been hard to say which was which.

He had put up a hand between his eyes and the light, and the very bones of it seemed transparent. So he sat, with a steadfastly vacant gaze, pausing in his work. He never looked at the figure before him, without first looking down on this side of himself, then on that, as if he had lost the habit of associating place with sound; he never spoke, without first wandering in this manner, and forgetting to speak.

“Are you going to finish that pair of shoes to-day?” asked Defarge, motioning to Mr. Lorry to come forward.

“What did you say?”

“Do you mean to finish that pair of shoes to-day?”

“I can’t say that I mean to. I suppose so. I don’t know.”

But, the question reminded him of his work, and he bent over it again.

Mr. Lorry came silently forward, leaving the daughter by the door. When he had stood, for a minute or two, by the side of Defarge, the shoemaker looked up. He showed no surprise at seeing another figure, but the unsteady fingers of one of his hands strayed to his lips as he looked at it (his lips and his nails were of the same pale lead-colour), and then the hand dropped to his work, and he once more bent over the shoe. The look and the action had occupied but an instant.

“You have a visitor, you see,” said Monsieur Defarge.

“What did you say?”

“Here is a visitor.”

The shoemaker looked up as before, but without removing a hand from his work.

“Come!” said Defarge. “Here is monsieur, who knows a well-made shoe when he sees one. Show him that shoe you are working at. Take it, monsieur.”

Mr. Lorry took it in his hand.

“Tell monsieur what kind of shoe it is, and the maker’s name.”

There was a longer pause than usual, before the shoemaker replied:

“I forget what it was you asked me. What did you say?”

“I said, couldn’t you describe the kind of shoe, for monsieur’s information?”

“It is a lady’s shoe. It is a young lady’s walking-shoe. It is in the present mode. I never saw the mode. I have had a pattern in my hand.” He glanced at the shoe with some little passing touch of pride.

“And the maker’s name?” said Defarge.

Now that he had no work to hold, he laid the knuckles of the right hand in the hollow of the left, and then the knuckles of the left hand in the hollow of the right, and then passed a hand across his bearded chin, and so on in regular changes, without a moment’s intermission. The task of recalling him from the vagrancy into which he always sank when he had spoken, was like recalling some very weak person from a swoon, or endeavouring, in the hope of some disclosure, to stay the spirit of a fast-dying man.

“Did you ask me for my name?”

“Assuredly I did.”

“One Hundred and Five, North Tower.”

“Is that all?”

“One Hundred and Five, North Tower.”

With a weary sound that was not a sigh, nor a groan, he bent to work again, until the silence was again broken.

“You are not a shoemaker by trade?” said Mr. Lorry, looking steadfastly at him.

His haggard eyes turned to Defarge as if he would have transferred the question to him: but as no help came from that quarter, they turned back on the questioner when they had sought the ground.

“I am not a shoemaker by trade? No, I was not a shoemaker by trade. I-I learnt it here. I taught myself. I asked leave to—”

He lapsed away, even for minutes, ringing those measured changes on his hands the whole time. His eyes came slowly back, at last, to the face from which they had wandered; when they rested on it, he started, and resumed, in the manner of a sleeper that moment awake, reverting to a subject of last night.

“I asked leave to teach myself, and I got it with much difficulty after a long while, and I have made shoes ever since.”

As he held out his hand for the shoe that had been taken from him, Mr. Lorry said, still looking steadfastly in his face:

“Monsieur Manette, do you remember nothing of me?”

The shoe dropped to the ground, and he sat looking fixedly at the questioner.

“Monsieur Manette”; Mr. Lorry laid his hand upon Defarge’s arm; “do you remember nothing of this man? Look at him. Look at me. Is there no old banker, no old business, no old servant, no old time, rising in your mind, Monsieur Manette?”

As the captive of many years sat looking fixedly, by turns, at Mr. Lorry and at Defarge, some long obliterated marks of an actively intent intelligence in the middle of the forehead, gradually forced themselves through the black mist that had fallen on him. They were overclouded again, they were fainter, they were gone; but they had been there. And so exactly was the expression repeated on the fair young face of her who had crept along the wall to a point where she could see him, and where she now stood looking at him, with hands which at first had been only raised in frightened compassion, if not even to keep him off and shut out the sight of him, but which were now extending towards him, trembling with eagerness to lay the spectral face upon her warm young breast, and love it back to life and hope—so exactly was the expression repeated (though in stronger characters) on her fair young face, that it looked as though it had passed like a moving light, from him to her.

Darkness had fallen on him in its place. He looked at the two, less and less attentively, and his eyes in gloomy abstraction sought the ground and looked about him in the old way. Finally, with a deep long sigh, he took the shoe up, and resumed his work.

“Have you recognised him, monsieur?” asked Defarge in a whisper.

“Yes; for a moment. At first I thought it quite hopeless, but I have unquestionably seen, for a single moment, the face that I once knew so well. Hush! Let us draw further back. Hush!”

She had moved from the wall of the garret, very near to the bench on which he sat. There was something awful in his unconsciousness of the figure that could have put out its hand and touched him as he stooped over his labour.

Not a word was spoken, not a sound was made. She stood, like a spirit, beside him, and he bent over his work.

It happened, at length, that he had occasion to change the instrument in his hand, for his shoemaker’s knife. It lay on that side of him which was not the side on which she stood. He had taken it up, and was stooping to work again, when his eyes caught the skirt of her dress. He raised them, and saw her face. The two spectators started forward, but she stayed them with a motion of her hand. She had no fear of his striking at her with the knife, though they had.

He stared at her with a fearful look, and after a while his lips began to form some words, though no sound proceeded from them. By degrees, in the pauses of his quick and laboured breathing, he was heard to say:

“What is this?”

With the tears streaming down her face, she put her two hands to her lips, and kissed them to him; then clasped them on her breast, as if she laid his ruined head there.

“You are not the gaoler’s daughter?”

She sighed “No.”

“Who are you?”

Not yet trusting the tones of her voice, she sat down on the bench beside him. He recoiled, but she laid her hand upon his arm. A strange thrill struck him when she did so, and visibly passed over his frame; he laid the knife down softly, as he sat staring at her.

Her golden hair, which she wore in long curls, had been hurriedly pushed aside, and fell down over her neck. Advancing his hand by little and little, he took it up and looked at it. In the midst of the action he went astray, and, with another deep sigh, fell to work at his shoemaking.

But not for long. Releasing his arm, she laid her hand upon his shoulder. After looking doubtfully at it, two or three times, as if to be sure that it was really there, he laid down his work, put his hand to his neck, and took off a blackened string with a scrap of folded rag attached to it. He opened this, carefully, on his knee, and it contained a very little quantity of hair: not more than one or two long golden hairs, which he had, in some old day, wound off upon his finger.

He took her hair into his hand again, and looked closely at it. “It is the same. How can it be! When was it! How was it!”

As the concentrated expression returned to his forehead, he seemed to become conscious that it was in hers too. He turned her full to the light, and looked at her.

“She had laid her head upon my shoulder, that night when I was summoned out—she had a fear of my going, though I had none—and when I was brought to the North Tower they found these upon my sleeve. ‘You will leave me them? They can never help me to escape in the body, though they may in the spirit.’ Those were the words I said. I remember them very well.”

He formed this speech with his lips many times before he could utter it. But when he did find spoken words for it, they came to him coherently, though slowly.

“How was this?—Was it you?”

Once more, the two spectators started, as he turned upon her with a frightful suddenness. But she sat perfectly still in his grasp, and only said, in a low voice, “I entreat you, good gentlemen, do not come near us, do not speak, do not move!”

“Hark!” he exclaimed. “Whose voice was that?”

His hands released her as he uttered this cry, and went up to his white hair, which they tore in a frenzy. It died out, as everything but his shoemaking did die out of him, and he refolded his little packet and tried to secure it in his breast; but he still looked at her, and gloomily shook his head.

“No, no, no; you are too young, too blooming. It can’t be. See what the prisoner is. These are not the hands she knew, this is not the face she knew, this is not a voice she ever heard. No, no. She was—and He was—before the slow years of the North Tower—ages ago. What is your name, my gentle angel?”

Hailing his softened tone and manner, his daughter fell upon her knees before him, with her appealing hands upon his breast.

“O, sir, at another time you shall know my name, and who my mother was, and who my father, and how I never knew their hard, hard history. But I cannot tell you at this time, and I cannot tell you here. All that I may tell you, here and now, is, that I pray to you to touch me and to bless me. Kiss me, kiss me! O my dear, my dear!”

His cold white head mingled with her radiant hair, which warmed and lighted it as though it were the light of Freedom shining on him.

“If you hear in my voice—I don’t know that it is so, but I hope it is—if you hear in my voice any resemblance to a voice that once was sweet music in your ears, weep for it, weep for it! If you touch, in touching my hair, anything that recalls a beloved head that lay on your breast when you were young and free, weep for it, weep for it! If, when I hint to you of a Home that is before us, where I will be true to you with all my duty and with all my faithful service, I bring back the remembrance of a Home long desolate, while your poor heart pined away, weep for it, weep for it!”

She held him closer round the neck, and rocked him on her breast like a child.

“If, when I tell you, dearest dear, that your agony is over, and that I have come here to take you from it, and that we go to England to be at peace and at rest, I cause you to think of your useful life laid waste, and of our native France so wicked to you, weep for it, weep for it! And if, when I shall tell you of my name, and of my father who is living, and of my mother who is dead, you learn that I have to kneel to my honoured father, and implore his pardon for having never for his sake striven all day and lain awake and wept all night, because the love of my poor mother hid his torture from me, weep for it, weep for it! Weep for her, then, and for me! Good gentlemen, thank God! I feel his sacred tears upon my face, and his sobs strike against my heart. O, see! Thank God for us, thank God!”

He had sunk in her arms, and his face dropped on her breast: a sight so touching, yet so terrible in the tremendous wrong and suffering which had gone before it, that the two beholders covered their faces.

When the quiet of the garret had been long undisturbed, and his heaving breast and shaken form had long yielded to the calm that must follow all storms—emblem to humanity, of the rest and silence into which the storm called Life must hush at last—they came forward to raise the father and daughter from the ground. He had gradually dropped to the floor, and lay there in a lethargy, worn out. She had nestled down with him, that his head might lie upon her arm; and her hair drooping over him curtained him from the light.

“If, without disturbing him,” she said, raising her hand to Mr. Lorry as he stooped over them, after repeated blowings of his nose, “all could be arranged for our leaving Paris at once, so that, from the very door, he could be taken away—”

“But, consider. Is he fit for the journey?” asked Mr. Lorry.

“More fit for that, I think, than to remain in this city, so dreadful to him.”

“It is true,” said Defarge, who was kneeling to look on and hear. “More than that; Monsieur Manette is, for all reasons, best out of France. Say, shall I hire a carriage and post-horses?”

“That’s business,” said Mr. Lorry, resuming on the shortest notice his methodical manners; “and if business is to be done, I had better do it.”

“Then be so kind,” urged Miss Manette, “as to leave us here. You see how composed he has become, and you cannot be afraid to leave him with me now. Why should you be? If you will lock the door to secure us from interruption, I do not doubt that you will find him, when you come back, as quiet as you leave him. In any case, I will take care of him until you return, and then we will remove him straight.”

Both Mr. Lorry and Defarge were rather disinclined to this course, and in favour of one of them remaining. But, as there were not only carriage and horses to be seen to, but travelling papers; and as time pressed, for the day was drawing to an end, it came at last to their hastily dividing the business that was necessary to be done, and hurrying away to do it.

Then, as the darkness closed in, the daughter laid her head down on the hard ground close at the father’s side, and watched him. The darkness deepened and deepened, and they both lay quiet, until a light gleamed through the chinks in the wall.

Mr. Lorry and Monsieur Defarge had made all ready for the journey, and had brought with them, besides travelling cloaks and wrappers, bread and meat, wine, and hot coffee. Monsieur Defarge put this provender, and the lamp he carried, on the shoemaker’s bench (there was nothing else in the garret but a pallet bed), and he and Mr. Lorry roused the captive, and assisted him to his feet.

No human intelligence could have read the mysteries of his mind, in the scared blank wonder of his face. Whether he knew what had happened, whether he recollected what they had said to him, whether he knew that he was free, were questions which no sagacity could have solved. They tried speaking to him; but, he was so confused, and so very slow to answer, that they took fright at his bewilderment, and agreed for the time to tamper with him no more. He had a wild, lost manner of occasionally clasping his head in his hands, that had not been seen in him before; yet, he had some pleasure in the mere sound of his daughter’s voice, and invariably turned to it when she spoke.

In the submissive way of one long accustomed to obey under coercion, he ate and drank what they gave him to eat and drink, and put on the cloak and other wrappings, that they gave him to wear. He readily responded to his daughter’s drawing her arm through his, and took—and kept—her hand in both his own.

They began to descend; Monsieur Defarge going first with the lamp, Mr. Lorry closing the little procession. They had not traversed many steps of the long main staircase when he stopped, and stared at the roof and round at the walls.

“You remember the place, my father? You remember coming up here?”

“What did you say?”

But, before she could repeat the question, he murmured an answer as if she had repeated it.

“Remember? No, I don’t remember. It was so very long ago.”

That he had no recollection whatever of his having been brought from his prison to that house, was apparent to them. They heard him mutter, “One Hundred and Five, North Tower;” and when he looked about him, it evidently was for the strong fortress-walls which had long encompassed him. On their reaching the courtyard he instinctively altered his tread, as being in expectation of a drawbridge; and when there was no drawbridge, and he saw the carriage waiting in the open street, he dropped his daughter’s hand and clasped his head again.

No crowd was about the door; no people were discernible at any of the many windows; not even a chance passerby was in the street. An unnatural silence and desertion reigned there. Only one soul was to be seen, and that was Madame Defarge—who leaned against the door-post, knitting, and saw nothing.

The prisoner had got into a coach, and his daughter had followed him, when Mr. Lorry’s feet were arrested on the step by his asking, miserably, for his shoemaking tools and the unfinished shoes. Madame Defarge immediately called to her husband that she would get them, and went, knitting, out of the lamplight, through the courtyard. She quickly brought them down and handed them in;—and immediately afterwards leaned against the door-post, knitting, and saw nothing.

Defarge got upon the box, and gave the word “To the Barrier!” The postilion cracked his whip, and they clattered away under the feeble over-swinging lamps.

Under the over-swinging lamps—swinging ever brighter in the better streets, and ever dimmer in the worse—and by lighted shops, gay crowds, illuminated coffee-houses, and theatre-doors, to one of the city gates. Soldiers with lanterns, at the guard-house there. “Your papers, travellers!” “See here then, Monsieur the Officer,” said Defarge, getting down, and taking him gravely apart, “these are the papers of monsieur inside, with the white head. They were consigned to me, with him, at the—” He dropped his voice, there was a flutter among the military lanterns, and one of them being handed into the coach by an arm in uniform, the eyes connected with the arm looked, not an every day or an every night look, at monsieur with the white head. “It is well. Forward!” from the uniform. “Adieu!” from Defarge. And so, under a short grove of feebler and feebler over-swinging lamps, out under the great grove of stars.

Beneath that arch of unmoved and eternal lights; some, so remote from this little earth that the learned tell us it is doubtful whether their rays have even yet discovered it, as a point in space where anything is suffered or done: the shadows of the night were broad and black. All through the cold and restless interval, until dawn, they once more whispered in the ears of Mr. Jarvis Lorry—sitting opposite the buried man who had been dug out, and wondering what subtle powers were for ever lost to him, and what were capable of restoration—the old inquiry:

“I hope you care to be recalled to life?”

And the old answer:

“I can’t say.”

The end of the first book.

#a tale of two cities #atotc weekly #charles dickens #may 21 #recalled to life #illustration

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renaissanceclassics · 8 months

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A Tale of Twwo Cities - Book 1: Part 6

In 45 parts.

The Shoemaker

CHAPTER VI. The Shoemaker

Good day!” said Monsieur Defarge, looking down at the white head that bent low over the shoemaking.