The pathways below his boots rang in their old, hollow, and rusted voices. Lantern, oil lit, swayed in its glass case,and cast out the images of dancing shadows from his next step like an exorcism. Drudge, yes, that was a good enough name for him, and for the way he moved. Slow sliding steps, as if to make sure every motion was secure, contending with the possibility of slipping.<br/><br/>They call it the Tangle, but that wasn’t its name but it was as good as any other. A vast network of rusted pipes stretching off into a ruined darkness. Not thousands, no that number was far from sufficient, but multitude. Some the girth of Redwood trees to which never grew in a place like this, and some as thin as a man's smallest finger. Each conduit was of the same color, old work of hammer and fire, and old rust of ages upon ages had grown like moss. The maker was never known, nor would be, for this was the Tangle and it was simply a place to pass<u><i>through.</i></u><br/><br/>Drudge moved like an expert, neither slow nor fast, letting the lantern lick the way into the endless darkness ahead. None dared to the end of<i>this </i>world. None aspired to the left, or right, and certainly none dreamed of going too far up or down. No, to be here was to move sideways. I know… I know… an odd concept to grapple with. Though we know what it is like to move forward, every day pushes us along this ride that one day will end, but there? In that place with endless old metal work, darkness at every angle, there was just that<b> knowing</b>. To be there to move<b>sideways</b>.<br/><br/>Long ago, perhaps what anyone would deem life times ago, Drudge had come to simply ignore that feeling. It had become part of him, just as the<i><b> air </b></i>here had.<br/><br/>Had<u>that part</u>not been mentioned?<br/>Was there not the warning posts in the road that all is not the same here?<br/><br/>Breathe, go ahead I dare you. Expand your lungs, gulp the world into yourself, and use it to fuel your own being.<br/><br/>Try it until you figure out the truth. Whatever madness pulled fiery metal from smith, hammered with a hard hammer head, and forged the network of these pipes… rejected the notion of breathing entirely.<br/><br/>The darkness that was being held at bay by that lantern<u><i>was</i></u>the air, and if you dared open your lungs to it … it would breathe<u><i>you.</i></u>This was not a place to take from. This was not a place to live. This was not a place… any kind of place other than one used to pass<u><i>through.</i></u><br/><br/>How many times had it taken him to learn that breathing was not required here, and in fact hurtful? It was counter intuitive, something we do the moment we come out of the womb, and yet sure enough it's enough to simply… stop. There was no burning pressure one would experience in other places. No spots to run through vision. Those who traveled, traveled sideways, and needed no other breath till a new flow of reality once more pushed them forward.<br/><br/>That meant no talking, even though the<i>outthere</i>wanted to talk to Drudge.<br/><br/>It happens from time to time. Soft fairy voices suddenly from the left or right, against the ear or a few feet away, and many had fallen victim to the surprise of it. They were childish, possibly not even meaning to cause harm, but that didn’t mean they didn’t. As if evendience to this, the man paused to let the lantern do a full sweep of the area which was merely six feet wide. Old blood stained, dried, crusted, and smeared off the edge. The divot at the center of the impact told Drudge that it came from…<br/><br/>Eyes of green tilted themselves upwards out of human instinct, as if even his oil hungry lantern could reach farther than ten feet. Somewhere, where Drudge could not see, someone had slipped, tumbled into this traveler's layer of darkness, and met an end here. Next, Drudge leaned to the edge of his chosen conduit, like the brave soul that he was not, but alas there was but darkness to greet him there as well.<br/><br/>So, forward… or rather sideways the man went once again without a breath in his breast.<br/><br/><i>What did you see?<br/>
Where are you going this time?<br/>
Who are you going to see?<br/>
</i><br/>The voice asked, queried, pested, poked, and pried in that childish tone. Yes, it could come from anywhere, but it was always the<u>same</u>voice. Male, best guess twelve ish, and it at times quivered like a tantrum was on the horizon.  Never once had anyone<u>seen</u>it, or that Drudge knew,  but it was at least a<i>thinking</i>thing. It would rattle off questions, then switch tactics, and almost seem bored and abandon a traveler. No matter what it was, it was out there with Drudge now, asking its questions that the man would never answer.<br/><br/>Drudge never really felt guilty for ignoring what the others called ‘the boy in the shadows’, the man was always<i>just passing through</i>.<br/><br/>--<br/><br/>It was a shame really, for all of his elegance or flair, it would seem Mister Weaver had failed in the gravity of the notion of which he was trying to convey. Long sleeves pulled away and vanished from sight once the woman had turned towards the mechanical thing that was Chef. A whirl, a dervish amidst a holy prayer, now fluid, graceful and elegant, the one who works wonders in the kitchen danced in the process. It was distracting, dazzling, and somehow predatory. Perhaps a bee, but one that knew how to defend the hive as well.. Even at the cost of her own life.<br/><br/>Take a moment…<br/>Turn attention behind Vivan.<br/>Look at the man who might be a spider for a moment.<br/><br/>It was that intense look on Weaver's face that was troubling the most, a long delicate finger, and you know the nail was shaped, tapped upon his lower lip. A worried tone perhaps shivered through the silks he wore. Poor girl didn’t quite understand, did she?<br/><br/><i>Expect the same?</i><br/>Poor thing was simply naive in all of this.<br/><br/>Tap.Tap.Tap. This time it wasn’t shoes, walking stick, or even a noise. Mister Weaver was thinking, sending those small jolts of vibration into himself in an odd little habit of thought, and only now was it clear just how much clothing could chameleon.  Reds, yellows, oranges, blues, pinks, purples, teal, aqua… every name for a hue danced with every name for a pattern. It was a pulse of chaos, ripples of thought lightning fast, crashing against the netted webs of inspirations.<br/><br/>That’s enough of that though. Advert your gaze. Mister Weaver<i>has</i>to keep some mysteries does he not?<br/><br/>So this Tap. Tap. was a sound, two steps taken forward, and Mister Weaver proudly presented his artwork as Chef loaded hers into Vivan’s hands… on a plate of course. Chef liked Vivian so far, she didn’t fuck with her dance.<br/><br/>Long, sleek, elegant. It clung a bit to her hips, but the rest was stylish comfort. Black, a color deeper, somehow richer, and fresher than the hue Vivian wore at the moment was lined in silver like that of her new Masters. Delicate touch that held the dress up by the shoulders so it could dangle at her height, the fabric light as a feather catching the light. Follow the curl of it, how easy it moved. Oh, but Mister Weaver doesn’t do simple things, and<i><b>simply black?</b></i>No sir, not this handsome devil. Black of course was much too<b> simple</b>, even if the detailing of silver was masterful… but we’ll get to that in a moment. The black, at the very edge of the light seemed to ripple that liquid blue of<u>William</u>before being hidden away deeper than ink saturation. It was a mere suggestion of passing color, and a reminder for any who look at her.<br/><br/>Ah, right! The silver part!<br/>Let’s not forget about that!<br/><br/>With a flourish the Weaver turned it about to show the more prominent work upon the back, though it was upon every edge, every opening, glimmer, bright, sterling as if metal itself.<br/><br/>A tangle of thorns to guard her, their edges looking like razors though as soft as petals to the touch. They trimmed the hem, wove branches like about the wrists, it was upon the back to which Mister Weaver was showing that they had taken root. As if with them, holding them, guarding them were two objects clear and precious. An open book one could swear they could almost read, and a hair brush that even Vivian might be tempted to grab in confusion.<br/>This is where she came from.<br/><br/>“Hmmm…”<br/><br/>The Weaver pursed his lips, suit of contemplative almost umber hue upon him, as he held up this newest creation squinting through one eye towards Vivian.<br/><br/>“It will do for now. Now, for your hair, are you sticking with red?”<br/><br/>A background note? A bit of staging if it is permitted? Those brutes, big old dock workers that possibly could be described as ogres or trolls? Several of them lumbered by and passed an open door to the kitchen, large sacks of… something bulging at the cloth passed by. One of them shiftered their weight, an almost merry jingle of something metal inside… but don’t mind it one bit. That’s just in the background. Nothing would be noticed of course, not when Weaver had the spotlight.<br/><br/>--<br/><br/>Teak, mahogany, fancy rare woods were all the rage for people with money. Book shelves or other ways of flexing power, desks, chairs, began to refresh the house in their absence of perception. Not from William’s though. Oh, while the man ate walking, attention ticked over details with a careful glee that seemed uncontrolled and unlike<i><b>him</b>. </i>William always presented himself as focus, goal oriented, but there was something so very serpentine and<i>greedy</i>about some of the ways glance met possessions.<br/><br/>Did it delight or nauseated him?<br/><br/>“Boss, Drudge is ‘ack ‘ain”<br/>The lead brute called to William in a gruff tone, and hearing Brak talk caused William’s mood to shift slightly. Loyal, humble, hard working, poor bastard.<br/><br/>Brak had been jailed since a young age, true, became a hard man from a young boy. William did not lie. Though it hadn’t been Brak’s crime. Piss off the wrong people by beating up their boy? Well, Brak learned fast you don’t do that.<br/><br/>True, the bastard did glance up and down at The Pet, but was it lust? Yes, some of that, but confusion as well.<br/><br/><i>He might end up feeling a sense of kingship. Prisoners do that.</i><br/>Yes, they do.<br/><br/>Blue stormy eyes narrowed at the back of Brak’s head as the larger man turned away, soft blue fabrics that William wore suddenly seemed to glint off the light. It was a trick of the eye, sure, yup that’s it. Almost made it look like scales for a moment there.<br/><br/>Drudge, well...drudged into the room, a slight tilt of his head in acknowledgement of the passing Brak. Meek of stature, the man in full height was only five ten. Green eyes, solid as emerald stone, and with black hair hung to his chin. That odd way of walking had followed him out of the Tangle, that almost dragging of his feet as if he had become accustomed… far too much so… to the habit of it.<br/><br/>Lips were pulled tight like a scared child, but they parted slightly in the remembrance to breath. Yes, it was also safe to speak, and the voice was meek, deep despite the slight madness of nervousness that clung to him like a perfume.<br/><br/>“Why am I here? I don’t work for<b>you</b>.”<br/>A glance here or there, the tone was verging on disrespect, but it was clear the only fear in Drudge’s mind wasn’t the Man of Blue.<br/><br/>William took a moment, nodded slightly, and procured the napkin near his right hand from his meal and wiped the corners of his mouth before speaking.<i> Careful</i>, that ice that was below the waves to let the thing out was cracking.<br/><br/>“No Drudge you do not. None of the others do either, and I don’t want you to. I want you to work for yourselves.” William stated matter of factly.<br/><br/>The green eyed one looked skeptical, uncharacteristic unsure shuffle of feet giving away his confusion.<br/><br/>“I know who you went to see yesterday, Drudge.” Again, just that voice, command of knowledge, indisputable from William. “And you know I have her just in the other room. In fact I’ll introduce you.”<br/><br/>Click. Click. Tap.<br/><br/>William had taken up that resting walking stick nearby, walking towards the shorter man, and though Drudge was in truth the smaller of the two… William dwarfed him now. It was almost as if the man was unfurling, growing, sweeping wide wings of that blue outwards… almost as if fairy tales could be true.<br/><br/>“I think it’s time we all made a deal.”<br/>Those words are knowing, planned, calculated… by William in his drowning blue.