Termites & Sugar

“Down here where the heat's so fine I'll drink to your health and you drink to mine As we try to make the money we scored out in Vegas, hold out for a while”       Eleven Years: Past   No matter how dry the dirt alleyways or how sweltering the heat that reflects contorted air movements, the kids do not stop. Their feet hit the ground hard, mile after mile—stones, glass shards, and lose paint chips cutting through the thin material guarding otherwise bare feet. Sweat drips down their too-thin limbs, pooling viciously in open wounds, burning blisters far worse than any saving grace, no matter the rarity that is shade guarding them from sun rays.   It's been too long for any of them to care, though. The pain is nothing—neither is the exhaustion.   So many of them have trecked on these same paths, and just as many have succumbed to the fates they ran from in the first place. It's not always death that greets those desperate souls either. If they're not lucky, or lack a sharp object to choke down before they're caught, then their lives are made to be so rancid, so incomprehensibly inhumane, that Hell would be a welcoming paradise.   A little kid shouldn't be so pessimistic about the outcomes of living another day that dreaming of Hell is like a comforting blanket, but no child in the slums is irrational enough to think death is a saving grace either. It's why none of them have jumped a roof too far from another, or too high off the ground. It's why sneaky hands used to pick-pocketing have yet to snatch a gun or blade to end it much more easily.   Ah, but the kids of The Sheep wouldn't need to search hard for those items anyway. Plenty sit back at “abandoned” bases, left in safe keeping for a future any one of them may need as a crutch. And most of the members have the skills to collect more on the road while they travel from slum to slum.   It's still a hassle unfortunately. The older kids like to call it “a pain in the ass”, or something like that. Chuuya doesn't know what the phrase is supposed to mean exactly—like most other words people say but give no explanation for—but he gets it emotionally. All this horrible walking, all the hiding, each stop they make where their large group huddle together in a gross jumble of sweat and hot breaths just to stay out of the eyes of enemies—for all that he knows, it really is a pain in the ass.   Right now, a little branch of The Sheep and Chuuya are on the outskirts of the Suribachi territory, toeing the line between home land and areas unknown. With the recent headway The Sheep have gained in this small, literal pit of a crime junkyard, the older kids say more people have begun to notice them and now want to take them down. Chuuya has seen enough blood shed by those very people to believe this without a doubt.   Someone elbows him, and he loses balance, stumbling to the burning ground with a painful thud.   “Oops,” comes the mumbled words from his left, the kid who bumped him slowing just enough to throw him a skittish glance before walking on.   The kid doesn't apologize and Chuuya doesn't expect one. The pain is barely there anyway.   With a straight face Chuuya stands, dusting himself off and ignores the way doing so scratches his freshly scrapped palms against his too-tight, filthy clothes. Then he keeps walking, like the fall didn't happen at all.   Chuuya remains half an arms length away from the others around him, treading slowly in time with everyone else as they sneak around corners of broken buildings. He's careful not to touch, arms tucked in and shoulders folded over, never stretching a leg to far. Chuuya wouldn't mind physical contact with his rundown family but he knows the rules. Only the little ones or the injured may have someone walk with them, otherwise the more able-bodied must stay open to fight.   The group comes to a halt and Chuuya steadies his breath, craning his neck to see what the hold up is this time.   Up front, Taro-nii, their branch leader, makes gestures with one hand as a sign for silence. The group was already silent before, yet the air seems to still as they collectively prepare for the worst.   Chuuya's barely able to see as Taro-nii tip-toes around a corner, disappearing behind a wall for what feels like several minutes. They all keep hold in their breaths, eyes wide and watching. Waiting.   Shuffling feet hurry back, and while Chuuya can't see what's happening, other kids clamber over one another to follow Taro-nii's trail. He stays back to guard their end with a few others, looking up, around, and even down as is his roll, but the hushed whispers of the other Sheep members reach his ears just loud enough to be discernable.   “How many-?”   “-possibly dead-”   “-vacate the farther-”   “-t's so many! Will we have-”   “-no argument-”   “-alright.”   Within seconds, the others have once more come back to the group's side, but now carrying added wait. Chuuya counts…he squints…three? Seven? A small number of heads on the backs of the older kids that certainly weren't there before.   And then they're off again, and Chuuya doesn't question it. He never really does. Has a hard time with doing so even. For as much as Chuuya can remember, he's found it hard to understand how everyone else can seemingly make their own decisions so easily. It's not like he can't but those choices are usually very…small. Important missions like this one, the role to protect his fellow Sheep members, is not his choice, but instead something he's been ordered to do. One day, Chuuya hopes it can be through his own will that he puts his life on the knife for the others.   With the added weight their journey takes longer, more risky than before. But it's The Sheep's purpose to take in other strays, so leaving the new kids is out of the question. Chuuya gets it, was under that protection himself not that many years ago, before he became a protector as well.   Despite the burning rays of the sun beating down on them the group eventually makes it to their outpost, another branch already stationed there with speedy bodies straying to and fro that don't have time to give them any greeting. Or that's what Chuuya assumes is the reason, since he's never met any Sheep affiliates that were mean to one another. He thinks it says enough that there are already other ill or injured children filling every open space of the outpost with many more working to take care of them to the best of their limited ability.   Chuuya breaks away from the rest of his scattering heard, along with two others, finding new stations to guard that create openings and exits within the building--though “building” is definitely a stretch. Although there's a roof, Chuuya can feel where the sun shines through open holes and long-gone windows, stuffing hot air inside the broken down walls—little else other than the unassuming display it makes—more than providing real shelter.   It's eerily quiet, too. He, like every other Sheep, talk with their bodies and hand signs, keeping communication safe from potential threats. Like now, as a young scavenger girl stops a leg’s length away from him, fidgeting as she rolls her wrist and flicks her fingers. Chuuya responds with a nod and she scurries inside immediately.   He doesn't even know her name, but the blue bracelet she wears and the code she signed make her family. It's just how it goes in these slums. And it's just another reason he and the rest of The Sheep keep fighting: for family.   Time passes oh so slowly and Chuuya quickly gets bored. The rush of bodies and the stress of every second just makes him exhausted.   So with little else to do outside of standing tensely by the frame, Chuuya takes a look at the injured lining the disgusting floors.   The youngest ones, of course, are put in the least mucky areas, so they are more spread out than the other ages. Chuuya’s pretty sure they’re all sick, but no one has explained to him what exactly they’re all sick with. A few of them have bumps, he’s noticing now, but he’s not sure if that means anything. Most of the leaders have bumps on their faces but aren’t sick, so Chuuya assumes maybe it’s nothing bad.   Older kids lay more within the center of the space, where, even from all the way from where he stands, Chuuya can feel the heat radiating throughout every inch of the enclosed space. Most of them have rags for clothes, practically scraps in comparison to the little ones, minimizing even less of their comfort. Chuuya pities them, he can't lie, but he's also thankful to not be in their shoes.   At least these children, unlike many others, have a helping hand going around the unwanted underground of a forgotten city just for the sake of protecting young like them.   As Chuuya’s eyes continue to scan the bodies, a sudden rise of goosebumps prickle over his arms. Instincts kick in and he instantly turns around-   “You’re part of this group?”   Chuuya moved so fast his stiff bones strain painfully in his legs and neck, but he ignores the discomfort in favor of staring down the person–a boy–who suddenly appeared. The kid is scrawny, his height the same as his own but still thinner, and has the looks of a burnt kitten. His hands are held behind his back in a sort of nervous manner, making it impossible to identify right off the bat if this kid is a Sheep or not.   Chuuya narrows his eyes, responding to him warily, “Are you?”   The boy lifts a hand, arms draped in long, black sleeves that must be stifling in this heat, curling some fingers and twitching the others. ‘No threat.’   Sheep code. Chuuya still can’t spot a blue band, if there is any under such horrible clothing, but the signs speak for themself.   Relaxing just the smallest bit, he gives the other one last look over before nodding. It’s weird having someone talk to him during a hideout but refreshing nonetheless. As far as Chuuya’s aware this boy could be a new member and just doesn’t know all the signs yet. “Right…so do you need someth’n then?”   The boy tilts his head. “Bathroom.”   Chuuya’s brows scrunch up. There should be a designated poddy hole already. Before he can question it the other is speaking again.   “Little ones are already using the current ones, but I can’t really wait.”   Oh, yeah, okay that makes sense. But it’s also not Chuuya’s place to help. Then again…   Looking around—for a scapegoat or literally any alternative to leaving his post—Chuuya finds no one with free hands. So, with a withheld sigh, he nods slowly and carefully leaves the doorway, the kid a few steps behind.   Saying nothing else, Chuuya checks their surroundings, observing every shadow, every sound, before darting to a different building corner. He’s thankful when the other is able to move in time with him and continues to remain by his left side as Chuuya leads them to a secluded wall. It has enough distance from the base to give this boy privacy while also keeping Chuuya in view of the doorway he should be guarding.   Back against the corner, Chuuya glances to his left, sees his companion with his own back facing him, before looking back at his post. There’s a familiar trickling sound a second later that Chuuya ignores, waiting in otherwise silent discomfort for the boy to finish.   The seconds pass. If he could count Chuuya would guess a full minute has gone by, but it hardly matters either way when the sound of piss comes to a hault and soft feet pad back over to him. Chuuya lets their eyes meet for just a moment before motioning towards the base.   Just like before, he makes sure the cost is in the clear before swiftly moving forward. Chuuya only feels himself relax once he's standing where he's meant to be, and signs ‘safe’ without thought.   Yet, when Chuuya doesn't see the boy move past him to go inside, he looks over his shoulder to see why. Empty air greets his line of sight.   He curses in his head, something the older kids sometimes say when angry, and swivels his head all around to hopefully spot the vanisher. An audible curse leaves his mouth this time when he realizes the other is long out of sight. “Fuck.”   Chuuya turns on his heel-   And just as quickly startles back when he comes face to face with the exact person he thought was gone. The boy raises an eyebrow, as if confused. Chuuya can't tell if the confusion is real or fake.   “You lil’ shit don't do that,” Chuuya hisses out. Again, the boy only makes a look of ignorance.   “Hm?”   Chuuya huffs. He waves a hand, trying to shoo the other away now that it’s clear nothing’s wrong. “Just go inside.” This newbie won’t be useful if all he can do is talk, piss, and scare the shit out of him. Better off just nursing a little one or resting.   But the boy blinks his wide eyes owlishly, leaning forward until he’s in Chuuya’s space. Chuuya doesn’t bother moving back since he’s positive the nuisance will just follow after him.   “Why are they letting a shortie guard this spot exactly?”   …W H A T?   “What?” Chuuya snarls, eyes widening. Is this boy serious? Is he actually insulting him—specifically his height of all things—just after Chuuya left his post to give him a poddy break?   This brat keeps speaking, not even lowering his voice as he somehow leans closer, basically making them nose to nose. “It can’t be that you’re deaf, you responded to me before,” the boy continues, “could it be you actually have brain damage? A side affect of being on the smaller side of society?”   Now, similar to the struggles of making his own decisions, Chuuya’s life has thus far granted him a vast amount of patience. Enough so that the older kids and Sheep council members have called him “mature” and placed him in high-stakes missions or odd jobs. Not once has he ever struggled to reign in his emotions: in fact, Chuuya can’t recall a time that he’s ever lashed out or felt the consuming anger that everyone else in life seems to carry.   A thud! resounds around the dusty room, the dirt of the ground not enough to dull the sound of the boy’s fall completely. Said boy looks otherwise indifferent from his new spot below, not even reaching up to cup the blooming wound on the apple of his jaw.   Above him, face set in a scowl, Chuuya pulls back his fist. In this moment, he's not thinking, no care that he just harmed a fellow Sheep, as he's too drawn in by the explosive anger coursing through his veins. “You,” he spits out, “are such a fuck'n dick!”   The rude brat has the nerve to blink. Blink! As if he’s not being some lousy, ungrateful jerk who just insulted Chuuya.   Then this unnamed boy opens his big mouth again. “It can’t be healthy swearing so much. I read somewhere that gingers are prone to choking on their own words.”   Chuuya lifts a leg and slams it back down, aiming for the other’s diaphragm. His foot connects to the ground painfully when his target rolls out of the way but Chuuya’s quick to follow up with a swift toe-turn on the foot he just brought down, swinging his other leg out as his momentum does a full circle. This kick lands on the other side of the kid’s face, moving him flat on his back with a small grunt. With his victory, Chuuya grins viciously, squatting down and grabbing clumps of dark, messy hair, pulling the indifferent face up to make eye contact.   Chuuya can feel the stares of every conscious person in and out of the building, taking in the sight of one Sheep member fighting another. Positive he’s not going to regret his actions even with the shame undoubtedly ready to hit him once this is all over, Chuuya ignores them.   He gives the other’s stupid mug a firm shake, glaring at his dull eyes. “Just ‘cause yer’ new here, trauma be damned, doesn’t give ya’ the right to be shittiest scum ya’ can be. If ya' really wanna test someone, do it’n a different gang, got it?”   Instead of responding like a normal human being, the boy gives Chuuya eye smiles, mouth otherwise set in a pout. “Fu.”   Chuuya makes a look of confusion, anger dissipating just a smidge. “‘Fu’?”   A blink of an eye. “Fu.”   …What dumbass game are they playing here? Whatever. Chuuya ain’t losing.   The boy is tugged up easily and dragged over to a wall facing the West where the sun currently rests. Chuuya sits him down right against a large hole, sunlight cutting out as soon as the source is blocked. Chuuya gives him a smirk. “‘Fu’ this, bastard.”   (Chuuya can admit that he had fun. Despite the heat, the blisters, uhealed wounds, and hunger, he doesn't think he's ever had as much fun, felt as much emotion, in any other mission before. He can admit it…but never to this bastard’s face.)   When the remaining Sheep hurry back to the outpost before twilight fades, there is plenty of confusion as to why some bony, overdressed kid is pretending to be tied to a wall. Those questions are met without answer, the hustle and bustle of the day was more important than two boys fighting. Or playing. Or however said boys want to call it.   Maybe Chuuya would have tried to explain himself had he not passed out on the newbie minutes after declaring the boy should remain there like a tied-up criminal for punishment. No, that’s too embarrassing to want to bring the subject ever again.   Somehow the other boy didn't go blabbing his big mouth like Chuuya thought he would, but, then again, he doesn't know the boy enough to guess what he'll do or not. For all he knows, this brat couldn't care less.   Well. That, at least, was quickly proven wrong.