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Nights in the city were cold. Wind howled through the rooftops of skyscrapers as the neon lights glowed from the sight below.
“Jingler, Jangler.” Just over by the edge of the building, Grian stands there, one step away from falling. His gaze lands on the two masked villains. Or, he pursed his lips thoughtfully, anti heroes. That seems like a better fitting name for them.
Jangler waves their right hand in an exaggerated manner, the little bells tinkling sweetly, like the crinkles of a creak. “Little bird!” They yelled dramatically, with the Jinger standing quietly at the side, who gave him a small nod and then deep a bow.
Natural showmen, he would call them.
“…not a bird,” he retorts back with a scoff. In that second, it seems as if all is back to normal. The usual banter before they engage, lunging for one another’s throat in a way that is almost predatory.
The Jingler shakes his claim off. “We both know that there’s no end to this nickname, little birdy.”
“Right,” Grian rolls his eyes as Jangler laughs again at their antics.
With a loud clap, the Jingler fixes his stance as if to bring attention back to the topic at hand; the reason they are meeting. “We digress,” the Jingler settles for, their vex wings fluttering a little. “The thing is, little bird. As per our agreement…”
Jangler leans on Jinger's shoulders, with an expectant look that radiates excitement beyond the clown masks. “You, pesky bird, are ours now!” They cheer jubilantly, grabbing a handful of confetti out of nowhere and throwing it into the night sky.
An anticlimactic gust of wind blew it all away, leaving only the more sombre part of the exchange behind.
Grian doesn’t say a word, dropping his arms to his sides. There it was, the elephant in the room. He regrets it now of course, he should have known how dealing with the two is like a face off with a fae; you have to count every single word in. But the nails are already in the coffin and there is no taking it out.
“Oh don’t look so sad now, little bird. You knew what you were signing up for the moment you begged us to stop the explosion of the Hero HQ building.” Jangler says with an easy smile.
That’s true. Grian grimaces, left hand gripping his arm nervously.
“I do find it ironic though,” Jingler muses, “how the former hero who was the HQ’s favourite got stabbed in the back—”
“Jingler!” Jangler gasps, a hand on his chest.
“Sorry, sorry. I was just saying, no offence.” Jingler shrugged nonchalantly
“…none taken.” Grian lied through his teeth. He watches as Jingler’s eyes land on him, cold and unblinking. He knows that they sees right through his act. As they have always done.
“Come on Jingler, that was mean! Do a proper apology to our little bird, won’t you.” The Jangler poked at Jingler with their elbow, cheeriness bleeding through the tension in the air like an open wound. Grian knows better than to trust them though, for their words are more mockery than comfort.
“You’re right. Sorry.” Jingler sighed, the bells on their wrist resound as they set their hands on their hips.
“As I said, none taken, Jingler.” He replied, this time more resignation than heat. His bristled feathers smooth back down.
Over on the other end of the building, the Jangler nods in satisfaction like a proud parent. “Good, good.” They hummed, patting the Jingler’s shoulders condescendingly. The Jingler shoo the hand off with a faux annoyance, and they dissolve into a laughing fit.
“Well, as per topic, let’s not drag this out for too long. We both know better than to waste too much time on talking.” The Jangler smiles underneath their mask, hands clasped together. “You’re too slippery for your own good, Xelqua.”
Grian tenses up, shoulders squaring up and wings snapping to a close.
It’s not everyday that Jangler calls his hero name. He hasn’t heard it in their voice ever since the day his nickname landed, and he has overlooked how terrifying it was to truly be on the receiving end of the Jangler.
And there is a reason why Grian is more wary of the Jangler. As compared to Jingler, who works on a merit basis, Jangler is a performer. They only do it when people are watching, when there is an audience at whatever ridiculous event they like to call their ‘show’.
The worst part is, without Jingler, Jangler knows no retreat. They would put it all in, never back out until the performance is complete. And trust him when he says it; they would do anything to complete the show.
Between the two vexes, the Jingler could sneak into governmental offices and steal documents without anyone noticing for days on end, but the Jangler will not stop until all cameras are on him as they detonate the bombs in a mock salute. Every action that they do carries a hidden message, a jab or a taunt.
Jingler usually just watches with interest as the chaos unfolds. Grian is always the one doing all the damage control.
He supposed that they liked watching that too.
“Let’s not waste anymore time,” Jingler commanded, “Come here, Little bird.”
A long stretch of silence hangs in the air.
The unnerving blue glow of vex magic makes Grian’s skin tingle in a bad way, like unstruck lightning, or a hidden trap. Except that the trap isn’t even hidden, he thinks bitterly to himself. He walked straight into it like a fool.
“…you’ll keep the promise?” He asks softly. It’s a naive gesture, but at least it keeps his heart still enough to not jump out of his chest. Words never hold much promise when dealing with Convex. Somehow it only lasts when he was the one making it.
“Yup, yup. We help prevent the terrorist attack on the office, won’t go after your friends in the HQ, and we won’t do things that will harm you. In turn you don’t fight back, and you are ours.” Jingler lists off, counting on his fingers with an easy going smile.
“For six months.”
“Six months.”
“Swear?”
“On our name, little bird. On Convex.”
“…” he hesitates, twitching uncomfortably. It is hard to say if their words make the situation any less terrifying for him. His muscle memory urges him to engage, to dash up and sink his claws into their body, as he had always done, as he’d much rather do.
The hunt beckons him. The thrill of a sparring match. The dance of life and death. But he gets none of that, apparently. He is not the hunter, nor was he the prey. He is merely a trophy that walks into their hands
“Come on now,” the Jangler cheers, arms wide open in a welcoming embrace. “To us, little bird.”
“To us.” Jingler adds on from the side.
And to Grian, the steps felt like death.
—
Their hands were cold. Ever so slightly off from the normal temperature.
“There you go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” The Jangler laughed, gloved hands slowly stroking the back of his neck as Grian shivered, flinching at the contact. His body is shaking involuntarily. On the left, he could feel the Jingler’s hands sliding up to the base of his wings, never really touching it, but too close for comfort nonetheless.
“Jangler, you’re scaring him.” The Jingler scolded, “you were the one that insisted on giving him a proper introduction on what it means to be ours.”
To be theirs.
Grian’s breath hitched, his heart beating faster now. He let out a quiet whimper before stopping himself, but it was too late. “Don’t—”
“Aww. You’re scared, pesky bird!” The Jangler remarked happily, gently trailing their fingers up to the feathers by his ears. He flinched again, instinctively trying to push them away, but he was hushed, a hand snaking around his waist to keep him in place.
The sensation was weird, having someone else touch his feathers. It makes his instincts want to scream at the danger but—
The movements were soft, and comforting.
“It’s okay, just relax. We’ll keep you safe.” Jangler cooed, as if Grian was merely an injured wild animal in their palm. He suppose the part where he is in their palms is correct though. He doesn’t have much of a choice, really.
The Jangler’s hands guide his head into resting on their shoulders, giving them better access to his back as the Jingler does. And there was a strange, sweet smell. Something that buzzes in the air. Something that makes his mind go all fuzzy and tired…
Vex magic. That’s what it was.
His eye lids are heavier than ever, and he combats the urge to close them. His mind seemed eager to comply, automatically rejecting complicated thoughts; they only made his brain hurt. Silently, a fog slides over his mind, like a cosy blanket as he subconsciously relaxes onto them.
“Good job, birdy.” He hears the Jangler whisper into his ear before a pair of hands work their way onto his wings. A string inside him snapped. In a frenzy, he panics with a loud screech, struggling against the hold. He doesn’t get far before a hand presses his head back down against the Jangler’s shoulder.
“No no, quiet, little bird. Let the Jingler work on you.” The Jangler hushed, and the hand on his wings went higher. Fear was crashing down on him like a tidal wave. Grian nearly sobs, instincts almost completely out of control.
“It’s okay, little bird...” The Jingler says softly from behind him, fingers brushing over his primaries. He could feel his wings shaking from the immense fear, tears welling up in his eyes.
The fingers slowly sort out his feathers, and he lets out a questioning chirp. It isn’t painful…?
“That’s it.” The Jingler hums, “good boy. So good for me.”
He was being praised. Grian likes being praised. That's good, he thinks.
It was hard to pinpoint at which point he completely lost control of himself. Perhaps it was when he could barely feel his fingertips, or the fact that he was already on the ground without him registering that he was sitting; but it was safe to say he was barely comprehending any of the events going on.
Groggily, he shifts, arms looping around the shoulder before him. The Jangler lets out a surprised huff of air before returning the sentiment, hugging him a little closer.
Grian makes a satisfied noise and buries his face into the Jangler’s embrace. He noted unpleasantly that the Jangler is warmer than the Jingler, and he smells nice, so that’s a bonus. There was that buzzing, quiet but strong feeling—
Then, he was knocked out of his train of thoughts as the hand moved on to his secondaries. Stray feathers were removed, the skewed ones straightened, soft touches littering across his wings making him trill happily. It’s been so long since he got preened. Sure, he’s done so himself most of the time, but there was only so much of his wings he could reach himself.
Avians are social animals, and sure enough does Grian dream for his own flock.
“This feels good, doesn’t it?” The Jingler says, barely holding back his laughter. Grian nods sleepily. This is good. It’s really nice actually.
“Ohh, can I do the other wing please?” The Jangler stage whispers, straightening their back as they attempt to look over Grian.
“…mmrrggg.” He tries to say yes, but his mouth seems like it's too full of cotton and his response system at this point is merely held together with duct tape and bubble gum. Instead, he settles for a weird noise that he had no idea how he made.
“I take that as an absolute yes.” He could practically hear the grin in Jangler’s voice. Oh no. Did he make a mistake—?
As the second pair of hands land on his lesser covets, Grian immediately melts, turning into a chirping and cooing mess.
The noises might have shocked the two a little as the movements stopped. He lets out a questioning noise, nuzzling into the Jingler’s neck. There was a small chuckle before everything resumed, and ohhhh—! The hands go over that exact spot he couldn’t reach for practically months, smoothing it down and massaging it lightly.
Context be damned— he thinks, or lack thereof, clinging to the Jangler like his lifeline.
“Woahhh,” the Jangler exhaled, “it's so soft! Why is it so soft? Isn’t it usually really sharp?”
“They were used for battle, of course the feathers were sharp. He most likely reinforced it during combat.” A pause, before Jingler’s hand brushes over his wings, causing Grian to shiver in pleasure, “they’ve bleached it too. That’s interesting.”
“Bleached it? So you mean it isn’t meant to be white?”
“Yeah no, I think the colours are coming through. I’m not quite sure what it is at this stage, but it’s definitely not completely white.” Jingler scoffed, and Grian isn't sure why they were angry. “So much for the HQ, wrapping him up like a perfect little doll just to throw him aside.”
“Ahh, dang it! Iskall was right about the HQ.” Jangler hissed.
Grian twitched uncomfortably. He knows Iskall. But Iskall is dead. The HQ said that he died on a mission.
He didn’t get to say goodbye to Iskall. That was awful. He really liked Iskall, and he missed him a lot. He sniffled, burying his face into the nearest available surface, which conveniently was the Jingler.
“Oh! Oh no, why are you sad, Little Bird?” The Jangler asked, distress evident in their voice.
“What happened to him?” Jingler said in concern, standing up and circling round back to where Grian faces. “What happened there, buddy? Are you awake?”
A cold hand cradles his face, bringing his eyes up directly to Jingler’s, and Grian felt like crying. He’s not supposed to be crying at all. He already mourned for Iskall, there is no reason for him to cry about it again.
“Is it about Iskall?”
Grian barely holds back a sad whine.
“He still thinks he’s dead.” The Jingler said in realisation, thumb brushing along Grian’s mask. The touch makes him feel slightly better, but he opted for going back to face planting on the Jangler’s shoulders.
“Ohhh this is making me so mad! Exactly why we need to burn down the HQ!” Jangler hissed, hugging him tighter like he’s a teddy bear. That’s not fair. He wants a teddy bear too.
“Or it could be just for fun,” Jingler suggested nonchalantly.
“Or for fun.” Jangler agreed, petting his head gently.
At this point, Grian thinks he’s already on the path of falling asleep. Emotions take a lot of energy, and he doesn't think he’s had a genuinely good night's sleep ever since the HQ tried to kill him.
Jingler and Jangler stopped talking at a certain moment, but Grian didn’t catch it. He’s content with whatever this is. It would be better if he was in a bed, but the duo’s soft embrace seems fine to him.
“…Cub, do you reckon that we’ve lost him?”
“Jangler! We’re still in costumes!”
“No no, Cub, look how far under he is!” The Jangler breathed wondrously. They take their hand and wave it before his face, but he merely chirps and presses his face against their palm. It was warm. “Ohh that is the cutest thing ever. Just look at him, all drugged up nicely for us.”
“I’ll admit,” Jingler commented, efficiently finishing up the last few feathers along his wings. “This might be one of your best ideas yet.”
“Hey! How dare you, Cub, I’m full of good ideas!”
“Whatever you say, Scar.” Jingler placated, and the Jangler protested with a harrumph. It almost makes Grian laugh, but the high concentration of vex magic in the air quiets it down to merely a small grin.
“Besides,” the Jingler paused, a sort of greed overflowing in the silence. “We’ve wanted this for a very long time.”
“Too long, Cub.” Jangler whispers, predatory and dangerous.
“You wanna do the honours, Scar?” Jingler suggests, and the arms around Grian loosens as he is transferred like a ragdoll from Jangler’s arm over to Jingler.
“Oh! Oh oh yes please!” Jangler cheered, like a child waiting to open up his Christmas presents. Grian stirred, confused at what was going on, small chirps spilling out in question of the situation.
“Shhh, Little Bird. It won’t take long…”
A pair of hands lifted his face up. Blearily, he blinked at the change in brightness, feathers closing onto his eyes in an attempt to shield it.
“Ah ah, no, keep it open!” Instantly, the Jangler’s gentle fingers pried opened his wings. “It’s not going to be more than a second. It’ll be over as soon as it starts, we just need you to keep your face open, yeah?”
True to their word, it all happened within seconds. Jangler reached over, tugging at something around the back of his head. The shifting of silky fabric was loud and resounding in his ears. As the ribbon unties, a breeze of fresh night air kisses his face. Grian freezes up, truly opening his eyes for the past couple minutes.
Dread sizzles in his stomach as he looks down, and an ivory white mask sits in his lap. His mask.
Why is it in his hand? It should be on his face. “…wha—” he croaked, voice barely getting through his vocal cords.
“Oh the stars above, look at those purple eyes! He is beautiful.”
“He sure is.”
They took off his mask. Grian’s eyes widened in realisation, and all of a second he recalls; the threat, the deal with Convex, the attempted execution by his own HQ, and his part of the deal.
Clarity pours back into his mind. He’s in two of his nemesis’ hands, what is wrong with him!
“Get off me—!!” Grian snarled, struggling against whatever position he was in currently. His throat burnt, like he overdosed on honey, too sweet and too raw and painful.
Surprised yelps sounded from the Jangler as he willed his wings to sharpen, lashing out as a layer of energy covered the soft surface of his feathers. In the adrenaline, Grian doesn’t even bother controlling his power. He reached for the sliver of connection to his power, and he pulled, eyes flashing a burning gold.
A familiar heat bubbles in his stomach before the energy bursts, forming a small scale explosion. The blast whips outwards in a protective ring, heading straight for Jingler and Jangler.
With loud grunts, it forced both of the vexes to jump backwards. He watches as they land on their hands before pushing back into their feet gracefully, like acrobats in a performance.
His heart drops. They were mere inches away from him just now, but the explosion did only as much to scratch the surface of their costumes, at most a few burns. The impact is nowhere near the normal level. Both Jingler and Jangler see it too, and they are hungry for his display of weakness.
The atmosphere changes, pressure penting up like the lit fuse of a bomb.
“Ouch! Now that’s just not nice, Little Bird,” Jangler growled, perched on the ground with their eyes fixated on him. The chime of the bells on their suits are an ominous countdown to the moment the tension breaks, waiting for the moment that all hell breaks loose.
“I’ll tell you what’s not nice,” Grian spat, “drugging me with vex magic! What the heck is wrong with you all!”
He could feel himself struggling to keep himself upright. Paranoia creeps in as he raises his wings to his sides in a defensive position.
Mind magic; one of vexes greatest weapons. The ones under a strong thrall rarely get out of them, unless it was the vex’s decision to let the person go.
Back in ancient days, woodland mansions were immediately signs of death for any adventurers foolish enough to go near. Half-eaten bodies scattered about in the towering dark woods around, hidden from immediate view. The victims of vexes only trudge forward, their minds and body already belonging to the inhabitants of the dark.
True to the legend, his head was swimming. He could barely feel his feet, and consciousness was not his best friend at the moment.
“Ahh, you know how we get, Little Bird. We tend to get a bit over excited. You should be used to it by now.” The Jingler laughed casually, and Grian never wanted to punch them more. He should have known not to trust them to keep their contract.
“We agreed to exchange myself,” He practically seethed, feathers ruffled and breath heavy. “Under the agreement that you don’t get to harm me!” Inwardly, he winced at the continuous loss of control. At this rate, he’s not going to last until he can escape.
“Oh come now, don’t be so harsh, pesky bird. You know how vex magic is.” Jangler offered. “We’re just warming you up for it! It’s like getting your cat to familiarise with your scent before introducing them to your house, yada yada.”
“I am not your cat!”
“Yeah yeah, we know. You hit hard, little bird.” Jangler muttered under his breath, and Grian shot them a glare. Perhaps he would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so dire.
“But you have to admit,” Jingler supplied smugly with a cruel smile, holding up a finger to interject, “does it not feel good when we preened you?”
Grian flinched, the ghost of their touch almost seemed upon him right then and there. A traitorous part of him tells him to just close his eyes, and all will go back to the pure bliss he was feeling just now.
“Shut up.” He narrows his eyes at them.
“Ohhh, someone’s salty!” Jangler jeers childishly, a hand cupped around their mouth and the other pumped in the air dramatically.
He almost jumped when the two vexes stood up, tensely watching them as they began slowly circling around him. They prowl, like predators stalking silently.
One of the reasons Grian never seems to defeat the both of them, be it with another hero or just himself, was for the absolutely annoying way their movements are coordinated. He’s pretty sure they have some kind of mental link with each other.
The silence was killing him. As softly as he could, he swallows and braces himself for the blows.
The chimes of the bells from Jingler alerts him of the incoming attack, and Grian dives to the left, dodging the blow. The loud clang of Jingler’s knife hitting his enforced primaries was ear piercing, and the impact sent a shiver down his spine.
Grian knows that he had to be careful. He has no armour on, with the exception of the built in ones on his suit, which he is sure that he has damaged to some degree after getting the tracker out.
He doesn’t get much time before Jangler makes a move, whipping out their arrows from afar and releasing it within that same second. It pierces through the air, near scraping his face and leaving just the smallest trail of blood.
Without even another second to think, Jingler strikes again, their shins swiping at his face.
Cursing under his breath, Grian frowns, before gritting his teeth and reaching for that rose gold energy again–
This time, the Jingler gets pelted face first by the explosion, skidding backwards with a charred mask. In that moment of eye contact, Grian could see the cuts that he made, the ones that dug deep enough to draw blood. A crazed glint climbs up his eyes, and he almost grins in satisfaction.
If he could see himself at that moment, he would see how eerily similar he looked to the two he was currently fighting.
The moment doesn’t last nearly long enough though.
“Jangler!!” The Jingler howled, and Grian snapped back instantly from his thoughts, turning his face immediately in Jangler’s direction.
Jangler however, merely beams at him, arms spread out wide before themself, even dropping their bow and quiver to the floor. For some reason, their action sends his muddled brain into shock. It felt like eating ice cream and the ice cream tasted hot ? And his confusion must have been obvious, because the Jangler merely barks out a laugh at his expression.
“Ohh, birdie, you are always so entertaining!” Jangler giggles, clutching his stomach.
The realistions set almost instantaneously. Grian widens his eyes, turning back from this planned disruption and–
CLANG!!
Barely, his half strengthened wings catches the knife blade mere inches away from his face. Instead, the blade parries with the force, sliding downwards.
Grian grimaces in pain. The knife shallowly dug its way on his left shoulder, fresh blood dying his costume a deep red. The Jingler had struck him near his shoulder blades, his wings had helped soften its blow, but only ultimately diffusing the force, not truly blocking it.
“Bravo, little bird!” the Jangler cheers from a distance, “good reaction time!”
Grian didn’t even have the second to tell the Jangler to shut up before the Jingler ducks down, swiping their leg in a perfect arc in an attempt to trip him. Years of training and practice takes over him and he jumps back, feathers flaring to stay balanced.
He lands two feet away, leaning forward to dash into the fight again, when all of a sudden, his knees buckle underneath him.
Terror courses through him. The sudden loss of control was enough to throw him off balance, even for that split second. At the same time, he came to the horrifying realisation way too late.
Jingler’s blade was laced.
“Jangler!” The Jingler called, this time no longer a distraction.
“On it!” Jangler yelled back, speeding upon him with his usual demeanour fully back on, ever so unpredictably terrifying.
Not a moment after, they were both upon him.
“Hold still, pretty bird.”
The last thing he sees is Jangler’s mask right up on his face, before the owner of that deadly painted smile decks him in the stomach.
Instantaneously, bile rises into his throat as Grian coughs violently from the impact. Blood drips from the corner of his mouth and he doubles over in pain. This time, both of his legs give up on him as he falls to the ground.
In the matter of seconds, his arms are twisted behind him, locked up by some sort of mechanism. His powers drained from him the moment he heard a subtle ‘click’ of a lock.
He collapses instantly, losing autonomy over his own body as he almost falls head first to the ground, but not before either one of the vexes caught him. His consciousness fading in and out at random intervals, and there's that… sweet smell again, of comfort, and relaxation…
“There we go, that’s better. It wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“…fuck you.” He rasped, struggling against the flood of vex magic invading his systems that very second. Against his wishes, he goes boneless in their arms, and the vexes only laughs at him, stroking his hair like he is a freaking cat.
“Come on now, breathe in deep, birdie. Make this easy for all of us, pretty please?” Jangler gently cups his chin and lifts up his head. “Ahh there he is, there's the bird. Still so pretty.”
Grian frowns, drowsy from the sweet scent. He doubts that Jangler means it. He is a guy. He can’t be pretty. Not to mention that he’s literally been hiding underground for half a month, he must look ragged, which means that Jangler is making fun of him!
He grumbles, staring daggers at Jangler, which he… apparently was already doing? Huh, he wonders why he is glaring at Jangler.
“What do you do with a captured birdy-” Jangler sings dramatically, “what do you do with a captured birdy, oh what do you do with a captured birdy early in the morning!”
“Well, get him better clothes, that’s for sure.” Jingler scrunched up their nose, examining the old wounds littered around his torso. “And get him medical attention. Some scars are almost rotting. Who knows where this birdie has been in order to avoid the HQ.”
He’s been underground! They are stupid at listening! Grian scrunches up his nose, before pausing. Wait, did he say it out loud or not?
“Well, I must say, this is one thing that the HQ has done well huh, right Jingler?”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. You are a lot easier to pin down when you've been hunted by the biggest hero organisation in the world, birdie.” Jingler sighs, carding his fingers through Grian’s hair again, though this time Grian snarls at them. (Why is he being mean? Stop that, Grian!)
“Ahh, still bitey.” Jangler winces, “do we up the dosage?”
“No, Jangler. If we up the dosage his body will definitely be sent into shock,” Jingler reprimanded, knocking the Jangler on his head, “we have six months to make him ours, he does not need to be asleep for a third of the time.”
“Aww, but he’s so cute when he is drugged up just now!” Jangler whines, hugging Grian’s head close to his chest too tightly.
“We can still get him like that, but we just need to get him to stop resisting.” Jingler physically pries Jangler and Grian apart with an annoyed huff, “and part of that is to stop suffocating him, Jangler.”
Jangler blinks, raising up his hands in mock surrender. “Oops!”
Grian doesn’t growl when he is transferred over to Jingler’s arms. In fact, he barely reacts, the magic too far in his systems to form any coherent thoughts. “There. I think he’s intoxicated enough. Happy, Jangler?” Jingler sighs, and Grian practically melts into his hands.
As far as he is aware, Jingler smells very nice, very sweet, and very safe. They can be trusted! People who smell so nice wouldn’t be evil, right?
He almost laughs. Of course they would be nice. Which means that he can finally catch some sleep, instead of running away anytime he hears a sound. That’s nice. He really needed that shut eye.
Grian could feel his eyelids drooping, slowly but steadily.
“Ah, it’s almost morning. Jellie will not like it if I get home late. Let’s go, Cubby!” Jangler cheers, though it gets interrupted by a yawn. “Ohh, man. One night and I’m already losing focus. How did the birdie get through thirty of ‘em?”
“I don’t know, Scar, but he deserves a bit of pampering after all this.”
Stretching like a cat, Jangler finally relaxes, patting the dust off their shoulders with a content sigh. They sit down with a grunt, muscles aching from the multiple blows in the fight just now, legs crossed and staring off into the distance.
Over the horizon, the first ray of the rising sun dyes the sky a shimmering gold. It is too bright for human eyes, yet so breathtakingly beautiful and warm.
In that split second, Jangler’s lips curl downwards in distaste.
“What an agency.” They snarl, “First Iskall, then Xelqua. Heck, I’ve got a feeling we might have to get Redstone out of there soon.”
Jingles nods in agreement. “As far as I know, the HQ has been trying to promote one of their newer engineers in place of Redstone.” Pulling out a device, Jingler swiftly keys in a passcode as the device lights up. “Iskall’s been tracking that. He is quite insistent on us getting Redstone too, but he knows we cannot interfere before Redstone either leaves on his own accord…”
“Or get the Xelqua treatment.”
“Yeah. It seems like the easy way out is to criminalise Redstone, like they did with Xelqua.”
“Throw him under the bus when they think they don’t need him anymore.” Jangler rolls his eyes, before lying down wide. “Of course they do.”
In Jingler's arms, Grian slumbers peacefully for the first time, eyelashes trembling slightly as the golden sunlight spills on his face. Grumpily, he turns his face and buries it into Jingler’s arms, before quietly snoring.
“But don’t worry though, darling.” Jingler purrs, their arms tightening ever so slightly around Grian’s shoulders.
“You are ours now, and we take care of what’s ours.”