they say you give away what was denied to you. It’s all in the name, really- Mercy, at your service. -- Weirdlet
[AN: In relation to Two Things Most Needed ]
Two hours had passed, and two Hellkin were into their cups. Of course, it was illegal for Hellkin to drink alcohol in Kahamkross. Thanks to some folks' interesting reactions to bread and pastry, it was not illegal for anyone to be drunk.
Both of them could honestly say that they'd only drank ginger ale. They'd even had some of the sweet rolls that the "Soda Bar" gave out for verisimilitude.
Of course, any Watch Officers coming to inspect the place would only find the mildest of small ales on offer. Of course, there was an elaborate system to swap out drinks if such an event were about to occur. Of course, this made it rather difficult to maintain any degree of sobriety. Which was the point.
"Names are a helluva thing," slurred Mercy. "We call ourselves what we wanna have. We call ourselves what we admire most. Some of us call ourselves what we try t' make inna worl'. Why'd ya reckon we do it?"
"C'ntrariness," managed Justice. "We're stubborn 'nuff t' live d'spite 'em not wantin' us to. So we're c'ntr'ry 'nuff t' pick a name that ain't... y'know... dev'lish."
"Awright... thassa theory. 'S a goo' one. Y'know what I reckon?" Mercy didn't wait for an answer. "I reckon we were tole an' push'd t' be evil. We gotta be bad y'know. We're devilspawn. Some 'f us? They reckon that's what they gotta do. Most? Most say fuck that an' go be opposite. F'r alla good it gets us."
"Only two ways to go," recited Justice, "when th' worl' hates y' f'r breathin. Become their 'xample... or fight it. Guess wha' happ'ns t' th' ones who b'come?"
Mercy drew a line across her neck in the air whilst making a grating noise with her mouth.
"'Xackly. Survivors are th' ones 'at'r th' good ones. Th' ones as is leanin' int' evil 're th' ones th' heroes stop. Dead."
"Ey. Sometimes th' heroes get th' nice ones too. They don' stop t' ask, lottuv'em. Jus' barge in, blow up th' place, an' fuckoff with all'a coin they c'n carry." Mercy burped. "Dicks."
"Too much injustice," enunciated Justice, very carefully. The ginger ale in this place packed a whallop. "An' they don' ev'n leddus 'scape fer a li'l while."
There were murmurs of agreement from the rest of the "Soda Bar" and mumbles along the line of someone aughta do something.
A child on the street of the ghetto called out, "B'ding dang doing! B'ding dang doing!"
Mercy chugged her drink, gesturing for Justice to follow her lead. They passed the Paladin a roll. Which was heavy on ingredients with a strong scent.
Self-preservation made Justice gulp down all of her drink. The alcohol rushing to her head made her stand -well, wobble- against the kind of City Watch who extracted money with menaces. The kind of City Watch who wrung the downtrodden for the little they could earn, and threatened worse manners if said downtrodden tried to keep anything for themselves.
The next few hours were kind of a blur. There were barricades. Journeying through tunnels. Rising up in the middle of the Watch-House and laying waste to the Watch from behind.
Marching with torches and pitchforks against the Lord of Kahamkross.
Where Mercy and Justice brought their complaints to the management. Who was inclined to listen to a pack of blood-covered, armed, and pissed-off Hellkin.
[Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash]
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