SPACE STATIONS > The Cancer

Danse Macabre [M](Open by Request)

(1/1)

Lion:
[M for Violence >>]

Calling it in this night this early was so so very tempting. The neon sign outside the barbershop door and the neon rods of blue, white, and red indicated that indeed the place was open for business, but for all Ludwig could tell he was the last living sentient creature on this level what with all the foot traffic that was clearly present outside his door. Ludwig didn't expect a huge bum rush of people. And the few appointments that made it  were all early birds and Ludwig, admittedly, enjoyed walk ins. The conversation wasn't always great, but it made time fly by and he made money, and made someone look fabulous.


The spontaneity of it all was generally worth it. Ludwig loved surprises. When they were pleasant. And when they paid. A few tried to skimp out on that once. Claim the haircut wasn’t their desire, or critique his technique to death until he couldn’t roll his eyes any further in his skull. Or just plain run out after he was finished.. They, for obvious reasons, didn’t bother coming back. Nor would they attempt it again in other places of business.

Ludwig had a small e-reader in hand and lightly tapped on the buttons on-screen buttons to the next page. He was draped languidly in the first barber’s chair, right leg crossed over his left knee, raven black hair slicked back and sides cleanly shaven. He cut quite the elegant figure in that chair, his black sleek oxfords, slim cut dress pants and white button down with the sleeves rolled up at the elbow. The man didn’t need to wear suspenders, but they were comfortable he enjoyed the little clips he could hang from it.

The ac was on, and he sat right underneath the vent, but he couldn’t help but feel hot and stifled, and even parting his collar a few buttons down did nothing to alleviate the sensation of burning up. Ludwig grunted, swapping legs and flicked the page on his book - some sci-horror nonsense from a small time Aedolian author - it was in interesting read but the climax left a little to be desired.

“And yet I can’t stop reading your books,” he mumbled to himself. The pirated copy obtained from keycodes courtesy of Sven made the addiction a little too easy to service. Sure, he could probably go back to Aedolis and buy it, but going back was probably stupid.  And it was free, so why bother.

The faint chime of the digital doorbell rang once, the door swinging open and Ludwig didn’t bother to look up until the sound of feet came stomping closer to him and impatiently tapping on the hardwood floors.

Ludwig tilted his head, eyed the boots that dared scuff his floor and raised his brows as the slender legs revealed a wildly attractive figure. A woman in uniform - a Red apparently - tilted her head at him and tapped her boot again when she met his gaze, arms crossed over her chest. “You’re still open I’m assuming?” she asked pointedly, pursing his lips.

Whether the impatience was forced or valid, he couldn’t tell. Ludwig still smiled and pushed himself out of the chair, setting his tablet down and whirling it around for her. “Of course,” he grinned and beckoned her to sit. “We are open quite late as well. For those that want to stay sharp even after their work shift. So you’ve come to the right place. Welcome. Please have a seat, err Miss…” Ludwig extended his hand out to her, which she tucked hers in quickly and withdrew before he could even squeeze it to properly shake.

“I’m just here for the works,” she sighed exasperatedly and sat down delicately. With a flick of her head, her hair swished and it was completely unraveled before Ludwig. “Just a trim off the bottom, please. Layered, and washed after. Please. I’ve had a really long day.”

“Ahh, I can do that. Tis a simple task,” he nodded and proceeded to get to work. “Red Shirt, I see? Do you come by this district often?”

“Hm? What, oh yes. Not on this side though. My main beat’s on the far side from here. I don’t usually wander in here. But I needed a cut and thought, what the hell? Live on the wild side. The inside doesn’t look nearly as dreadful as the out,” she sighed, eyes flicking back to glance at him here and there. 

Ludwig felt the hackles rise on the back of his neck and as he snipped away her hair, working delicately and taking his time, he immediately felt uncomfortable. Red shirts didn’t just walk in here out of the blue. And she had a lot of nerve to insult his shop. “Well, what is the saying? Ah yes. Do not judge a book by it’s cover, no? You might be pleasantly hrm, surprised.”  He cleared his throat and began the process of layering it, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

“Pfffthahaha! Surprised yes. Pleasant? That remains to be seen. Although, I did hear good things about this place. You’re that one fellow they call Luddon right?”

“Aye. Tis true. I am the one occasionally referred to as such. This is my shop, and I am it’s proprietor.” He cleared his throat again. As if it wasn’t obvious.

“Really now? I had a hell of a time finding this place. It’s not really out in the open. It’s no wonder there’s no one else in here besides me,” she snorted callously. “Besides, with the business you do get, I hope they tip well, yeah? Otherwise, you might have to close up shop.”

“Why do you say that? I get pretty busy when I must.”

She didn’t answer, instead delicately uncrossing her legs back and forth. “I mean only that the rent alone for this kind of space is probably quite high. Even if the district itself isn’t all that expensive.  I dally here and there in real estate. Nothing to snort at, but I know my way around it. Probably have to have some kind of side business to make ends meet.”

“…I do pretty well for myself. A man’s got to make a living some how.” he tried to shrug it off, pausing in his cut here and there to focus on not smacking her upside the head.

“So I’ve heard,” she murmured and kept staring at his reflection in the barber station mirror. “You look like the kind of guy that knows his way around the station too. I’m willing to bet you do more than just make a living, Mr. Luddon. In fact some people might even say you don’t trade fair. Might even be a little upset at the deals you’re making. Probably cheated the wrong person. How could you tell?”

Ludwig paused, staring right back at her. “I wouldn’t believe everything one hears,” he cleared his throat impatiently.

“Sometimes, Mr. Luddon. Your past catches up with you. Mr. Hemming sends his regards.” She flashed him a smile before shifting her legs again, but this time she didn’t cross them. Instead she flew up out of her chair and tried to fire the small pistol she had in her grasp.

Ludwig narrowly dodged by a hair, one crisp raven lock flying free and burned off by the bullet. He yelped, falling backwards on his haunches as she wrenched the barber’s cape from her front, the buttons snapping off and aimed her gun at him. He quickly rolled left, scuttling across the floor on his belly and reaching for a pair of scissors he’d dropped in the midst of the scuffle and launched them at her when he ducked behind the chair.  The scissors scathed her wrist, and he scrambled out from cover, a momentary distraction enough to tackle her to the floor.

Her pistol fell from her grasp, yelping along with him as they struggled to reach for the gun. Ludwig’s eyes narrowed and instead he pulled the straight razor from his suspender clip and raised it high, wicking the blade across part of her throat, a gouge into her side before she moved. Red Shirt no longer bothered with the gun, her eyes going saucer wide as she launched her fist at his fast, hitting him hard enough to make his teeth clank down on his tongue and blood squirt from the corner of his mouth.

Ludwig fell backwards, and she scrambled on top of him, unceremoniously stronger than she appeared, slamming another fist into his cheekbone that felt a lot like a fucking metal hammer.  His eyes flashed white, his eyeball just about exploding on the impact, as she tried to wrench the razor from his hand. With a scream, Ludwig smacked his forehead into hers and when she was reared back enough, kicked her chest into the mirror across from him, shattering the glass and throwing everything on the counter to the ground.

The blow only seemed to daze her momentarily, her body slamming hard to the ground. The scissors were right at her finger tips, which she grasped firmly and lunged for him again. The tip was stabbed firmly into his shoulder, and Ludwig’s face was rent red with rage. Blood seeped from the pair as they continued their dance of destruction around the shop. The skin on her knuckles had worn away to metal underneath, and Ludwig could see now why she hit like a freight train.

“Just-fucking-die,” he growled, when she had him on the ground for a second time and had both hands crushing around his throat. His own free hand gripped one wrist and tried to find anything nearby to stall them, meanwhile it felt like his entire skull was about to explode. He reached out and felt the familiar grip of the pistol.  He gripped it as quickly as he could, before his visioned turned black and wedged the barrel underneath her chin before pulling the trigger, blood splattering out the back and onto the ceiling as she slumped back uselessly.

“FUCK!” he growled and caught his breath.  “Fucking fuck! Fuck you Sven! I’m going to skin you!”

Ludwig didn’t know a Mr. Hemming, and he didn’t want to know who they were. But no doubt that whoever sent this would-be assassin they were after Sven - ahem, Smiling Jack - for some bullshit he’d come up with. And like always Ludwig was the one that had to clean up after them. It wouldn’t be the first time - no, and that didn’t make him any less pissed off - and it definitely wasn’t going to be the last. He sighed and went about the clean up, rolling the heavy ass Red Shirt, which already had blood on the inside of it from what he could only assume was the previous owner.

Just when he thought his day couldn’t get any better. He couldn’t very well have a body just cooling off in the back. This was still a legitimate business…  And not to mention he’d have to close up the next day to seal up the bullet holes.  Fuck his life.  Ludwig sighed exasperatedly and removed the clothes from the Red Shirt, revealing the places where she was augmented, the surgeon cuts were messy and stitches still sewn into her. “I could have done you better. Real shame,” he sighed.

After a few hours the body was wrapped up and bundled into a duffel bag. The only real duffel bag he had on hand and he cursed quietly to himself as he hoisted the body up over his shoulders and nearly keeled over from the sheer weight of it. A change of clothes had been in order, as well as a make shift bandage. His shoulder would be out of commission for a while, and the shop itself wasn’t completely beyond repair. It sucked.

“Fuck my life,” he whispered, mapping the route in his head where he’d have to dump it too. Avoiding actual Red Shirts and other unsightly people. He sure as shit hoped no one would miss this would be assassin. If they were looking to get Sven Luddon’s head smashed in, they’d have to get in line. The next time he saw that little shit, he was toast.

The pathway to the nearest airlock was dock CNA-32d in the next Sector over. Not too occupied, and if he timed it right, he could catch the Red Shirts between shifts. Yup. Yes, he was just another guy with a giant duffel bag headed to the docks. Just like everyone else. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nope, not at all.

Ludwig carefully carried it out of sight, feeling the hour was just about that ‘night shift’ change in approximately 13 minutes.  Yup, this was gonna be a walk in the proverbial indoor space station kinder’s play park.

nephero:
   “And this here is yet another corner of Cancer station that I’m sure will horrifically traumatize you to where, centuries later, you will need to tell a therapist about this dark moment in your formative years when your bibi put you at sincere risk of life and limb.”

   “Ooah.”

   “Yes. Exactly. Ooah. Ooah, Dr. Therapist, whose name is a deep tragic irony of their life and they, too, struggle with the tar pit of why they chose this profession and the terrifying concept of free will, ooah, my bibi took me to terrible places as an infant, and that’s the reason I wear fishnets and paint portraits of ships as people.”

   “Uh.”

   “No, you’re right. There’s nothing wrong with fishnets or anthropomorphizing inanimate objects as a form of art. That was unfair of me, to prematurely judge your choice in future careers.”

   “Oooo.”

   “And if you were seeing a therapist for any such related career choice, I hope it’s because the career itself isn’t working for you and thus, you feel you need help in escaping a cycle of dependency on fishnets, and not because you felt ashamed of the fishnets, and because of the dark, awful places your bibi took you as a baby.”

   “Bbbbbl.”

   “Good eye.” Trei raised his camera up, hummed in thought, and then gently kneeled down on the station floor, wincing a bit as a rivet dug in at just the right angle to cause grimace-worthy pain. Once more, the camera went up, and a few quick presses of the button captured the angle of the corner of Cancer station that would inevitably rack up several centuries of therapy bills. The slow move down seemed to entertain Sipha plenty, because they gave a happy little babble and Trei plenty of time to catch a few more shots before needing to move on.

   It was exhausting. He’d never admit it, of course. Not to anyone, not out loud, and not even to himself. It was exhausting how Bug never seemed to want to settle down for the night, even after a long day of travel. It was exhausting that the only thing that would get them to sleep for more than an hour was meandering around. It was exhausting that Trei had to do this three times a night. But it was the only thing that seemed to keep Bug happy, and he wasn’t about to resent them for that.

   Even if it was exhausting.

   “Okay. One more for the scrapbook of your nightmares,” Trei hummed as he slowly got to his feet, one hand on the baby bjorn and one still holding the camera. “Let’s go see what’s lurking down that dank alleyway, huh?”

   For a while it felt like, perhaps, Sipha had finally gotten to sleep. That perhaps it was time to very gently and quietly make his way back to his ship, and then very gently and quietly crawl into bed after settling Bug down. Just for a few hours. Just for a few hours before they needed to go on another walk again.

   Trei wasn’t even paying attention to where he was going— which was a dumb, stupid, idiot thing to do on Cancer station even in the nicest Sectors— but he was so tired he couldn’t focus. All he could do was let his feet lead and the rest follow, turning here and there without really understanding where or why. His eyelids lowered a bit, and then a bit more, and then a bit more still as they walked, footsteps quiet even against the metal plating of the mishmash of grates that made up the “ground” of this strange, hobbled-together world.

   Right felt nice. So Trei turned right. Left felt nice after that, so Trei turned left. And then nearly had a twicefold heart attack when just a few feet away, something moved, quick and quiet and horribly misshapen— Trei hissed, camera clattering to the floor and flashing bright even as the elf made to grab for his machete, all survival instincts ramped to a hundred as the flash dimmed and—

   “Mr. Luddon!” He gasped, sliding the machete back with a snap and a sheepish grin. “Shit. I’m sorry, you scared the shit out of me.”

   Oh. Should he have said “shit”? Infants didn’t know what curse words were yet, right? Trei squinted down at his child, who was now thoroughly awake again, tiny face screwed up in confusion and agitation at all the sudden jerking movements.

   At least not crying. Yet. Thank the gods.

Lion:
Eugh, whatever this woman ate before she tried to kill him, did her no service. The bag weighed heavier than a ton of fucking bricks and Ludwig labored with heavy breaths each step he took. God he was getting old. He’d probably have to start working out again like his old military days. It was a good thing he didn’t completely forget his training, and since coming to Cancer there were more and more day just like this.  Sven was making it a bad habit with upsetting the wrong people. And there was going to be a day where Ludwig wouldn’t be there to punch him in the face to make him snap out of it.

It’d be people like the dead Red Shirt in his bag.  And they might actually be successful.

Ludwig scowled at the thought. Of course he knew Sven had been taking care of himself long before Ludwig came into the picture. And for all intents and purposes he’d keep on doing just that. Ludwig owed him nothing, and vice versa. But there was a deep rooted loyalty to the stupid scoundrel. He was his brother, and even if he was stupid, Ludwig would stand wit him to the end of it all. Whether that came from a fiery blaze somewhere in deep space, or evading having your throat slashed or headshot in the middle of the night.

And the aging barber had to admit it was a hell of a lot more fun than sitting around waiting for customers all day.  That sleek streak of excitement kept him looking forward to whatever misadventures he’d fall into with Sven. Even if he was stupid. Even if he had to do whatever it took to save his neck.  Because no matter what Sven would keep having dumb luck, in addition to his taste for trouble. And like a fine warm cognac and a smoke on a languid lazy night, there was no better combination.

That reminder kept Ludwig putting one foot in front of the other. Kept him going.

Speaking of which, Ludwig checked his watch. “Scheisse,” he spat and counted down. Seven minutes before the shift change ended.  Luckily he was tall enough, close enough and his long strides allowed him to cover more ground when he was in a hurry. Ludwig sped walk, avoiding any place that was obviously overly populated. Passing between the clusters of other likewise neerdowells that made the life’s blood of Cancer station.

Ludwig coughed gently and vowed to pour himself a hard stiff drink by the time he got back to the shop. A few more steps and he was in an alley way inter sections, the drop off point just a few more blocks ahead, and he had to double take when he heard footsteps nearby.

“Mr. Luddon! Shit. I’m sorry, you scared the shit out of me.”

Ludwig blinked and jumped at the sound of someone else calling out to him.  He clenched his fists, his hair falling forward into his face until he recognized that familiar voice. “Scheisse right back at you,” he muttered and partly relieved that at least it was someone he knew.  “Ah Trei! Hello…odd place to be baby schlepping though, tis not?”  The star elf’s name rolled with a purr as the barber spoke, tilting his head and stepping a few feet closer to reach out with a hand.

The watch shone in the neon lighting and his eyes widened.

Five minutes. SHIT. “Let’s uhh…take a walk? Yes? Since you area already walking and the little one probably could use the fresh air?”  Or as fresh as it could get on that cesspool.

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