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Strange Samsara of Migrant Myth Chapter 3
🕑 Added 2022-08-27 23:00:03 +0000 UTCChapter 3
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Fucked shit was going on at the Docks.
They always were. It was fucking Brockton Bay, fucked shit happened every day here, and this was the Docks where every other gang but the Merchants had shit to do. It was the place to do the shady shit, and it was close by the sea so lots of people got measured up for cement shoes, and despite the Boss’s best efforts, the Docks were never going to go back to shipping shit.
At best, it was the best place to smuggle.
Unfortunately for Tim, he had a conscience and he hadn’t quite figured out how corruption worked here, so he did his job just as well as the old-timers like Kurt and Lacey. More in some ways because worst of all, he was fucking loyal to the DWA.
He was proud of it. Sure, he may have been a dipshit black kid just out of high school and a rookie by any metric, but working for the Association was… fulfilling. It may have been a losing battle most days except Sundays, but fucking hell, it was one of the better gangs to be a part of.
Boss Hebert would never admit it, but hey, if you run a ‘not-a-protection-racket’ for the smaller businesses as a side-gig and you carried a crowbar just for nazi kneecaps, you were a gang-boss. Or something.
Technically, he wasn’t the proper boss. That would be Mr. Roberts, but fuck Mr. Roberts. That chucklefuck was trying to file for bankruptcy and kept on trying to force people to quit or fire them. Boss Hebert though, now Boss Hebert kept people on and tried to keep things above the water even if that meant doing some under-the-table crap. He was nice too and wasn’t afraid to get into scraps with the rest of them. Mr. Roberts hated the Head of Hiring, but he couldn’t fire Boss Hebert without fucking himself over.
Something something Mutually Assured Destruction. Cold War kind tactics.
Tim didn’t pay much attention to the weird politics shit beyond what was fucking hilarious, and Mr. Roberts being fucked was always hilarious. His job was to do the rounds and check on the Warehouses to make sure no fuckers on The List got in. The List included Nazis, Gangbangers, Merchant fuckers, and government brownnosers. Tim wasn’t high enough on the ranks to get the coveted ‘At your discretion’ but fuck it. He’d stick with it.
Not like there was any other gang in the Bay willing to take a black guy like himself. ABB could talk shit about the E88 all they want, but end of the day, they were just as racist. Merchants were a fucking joke of the crew, and everybody knew PRT was fodder until the Protectorate came out of the Rig for the Photo Op.
Nah. DWA was the only gang left, and as much as it sucked, Boss Hebert tried and half the year, they even got dental.
Tim lowkey wished there were other gangs to join though because he felt like he was in a B-List movie right now standing before the damp and dirty Warehouse 3. There was one working light inside, but it flickered because of course it had to fucking flicker.
Tim hated the fact that he was black so much right now. He watched horror movies, he knew the tropes, he’d be the first to fucking go when shit went down.
“Everyday but Sunday’s a loss, but the gains make it worth it,” Tim muttered in an effort to encourage himself, repeating the wisdom that Kurt had shared over drinks.
Bad idea though.
Today wasn’t Sunday. It was fucking Thursday because of course it was and Tim had to deal with the fucked up shit at Warehouse 3 because of course it would be him, he was the rookie.
Gripping the clipboard, Tim took inventory of everything he had. Flashlight that could double as a baton, pepper spray for fuckers, a walkie-talkie for backup, and Christ’s cross around his neck because Tim needed all the luck he could get, thank you Momma for the gift.
Turning on the flashlight, Tim muttered, “Just go in, check for loiterers and punch the gang-related ones, make sure there’s no drugs and call it in if there are, and then get out. Easy in, easy out.”
…he felt as if he was forgetting something, but he just wanted to get the warehouse done and then go home. It was late at night and Momma had gotten some Chinese from the good place today to celebrate the half-year anniversary of being employed.
He made it halfway through the warehouse when a box suddenly dropped with a loud crash. He did not shriek like a little bitch. He did shift his grip on the flashlight in preparation to use as a baton though as he checked on the box.
“Fucked shit,” Tim grumbled, slowly letting go of the cross he had clutched in reflex. Just a box of shitty ass barbie dolls. Broken now, of course, but fuck it. They really needed to do some spring cleaning around here. Tim got that the Docks were lowkey just storage houses at this point, but if plastic got moldy, then there was a problem.
Tim wasn’t a scientist or anything, but even he knew that mold shouldn’t eat plastic. Unless it was Tinker Bullshit or--
“Hehehehehe! Naughty words!” a girl giggled from above. Whipping his head up, Tim saw a girl in a blue dress, flying with shimmer wings.
“Nope,” Tim muttered, immediately spinning on his heel to lightly jog to the exit.
The door slammed shut because of course it would as another girl blinked into view, her bright orange dress nearing the shade of blood. “Don’t leave so soon! We want to play!”
Yanking the Cross off his neck, TIm held it up to his face even as he backed slowly into a wall, repeating once more, “NOPE!”
“Come now,” a third girl appeared in a white dress before him. Tim knew his goose was cooked. Little girls in white dresses were NEVER good, “We just want to--”
Tim never heard what she wanted because she tripped over a piece of wood, slamming her face into the ground
There was silence.
And then the white girl raised her face up to show off a bloody nail in her eye. Ah, shit, that was what Tim forgot he had to do in the checklist earlier. He was supposed to clear the area of hazards.
Tim didn’t know who started it, but he was screaming right alongside the white girl.
“Luna!” the girl in the orange dress ran in, pulling her into a hug, “Are you okay!?”
“Of course, she’s not okay!” the girl in the blue dress descended, “We have to- SUNNY!”
“What!?” the girl in the orange dress yelled, clutching the nail she had just pulled out, uncaring of the blood fountain staining all three of them, “It was in her eye!”
The girl in the blue dress wiped off the blood splatter on her face, “Don’t just pull it out though! Now it’s gushing everywhere! We need bandages!”
“Star! STAAAAAR!” the girl in the white dress wailed, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood with her two hands, “I’m sorry! I messed up!”
“It’s fine. It’s fine. Let’s take care of you first. Can you help, Mister!?” the girl in the blue dress asked, turning around with a sigh. “We’re really sorry for tricking you, but do you have a band-aid or some towe--”
“NOPE!!” Tim shouted and ran through the wall. Fuck this shit, he was out. The wall may have been metal, but it was rusted metal, so he busted through that shit like he was the Kool-Aid man. Tim didn’t mind a few tetanus shots so long as he wasn’t the first one bumped off in a shitty horror flick.
Was it bitch-ass for him to do that? Absolutely, but he had a momma to care for. Besides, those bitches were little ghost girls. He just saw one yank a nail out of the head of another and they both lived.
Fucked shit he could deal with. Fucked spooky shit and he was out of here, damn the walls.
===============
Being the Head of Hiring of a Dockworker’s Association at a failing Dock was painful. There was corruption on every level and you had to balance the sins of your workers with their needs. A certain amount of looking the other way and covering the tracks was needed to help keep the DWA afloat.
New blood was expensive to train, but paradoxically, new blood needed to be taken in to keep the Association alive and to keep Mr. Roberts from screwing everybody over and just declaring bankruptcy to take that solo golden parachute for himself.
Tim was one of the rare good ones. Not a plant, not a temp, a new kid who wanted to stay for the long haul of things. If things were better, he’d have already become an overseer for an area of the Docks. Of course, if things were better, then Danny wouldn’t have to figure out how to spin this incident so that he didn’t have to fire someone.
“Tim?” Danny sighed, simply to break the silence.
“Yes, Boss,” the black man nodded, not quite bowing but heavily implying it.
He didn’t pinch his nose, but he wanted to. “Call me Danny.”
“Yes, Boss,” Tim nodded again, not bowing but saluting this time.
Danny heroically resisted the urge to lean back, pinch his head, and groan. He was the Head of Hiring, not some ganglord. Despite Kurt’s and Lacey’s jokes, the DWA was not a ‘legal gang’. He made sure people had jobs and were taken care of. Why did every single one of the newer hires walk around him like he was… Lung or Kaiser or something?
Shoving that aside, Danny leaned forward and smiled, “Would you mind explaining to me as to why Warehouse 3 has a hole in the side now?”
He wasn’t annoyed. Well, he was annoyed, but mostly about the people treating him as a gang member. If he just kept it simple, things would stay simple.
“I ran through it.”
Danny waited for clarification. When none came forward, he sighed and asked, “Why?”
Maybe he had kept things a bit too simple.
Shifting uneasily from side to side, Tim visibly steeled himself before admitting, “Boss, I’m a black man and I heard three girls start giggling.”
“...Three girls. Giggling,” Or maybe things were just complicated. Closing his eyes, Danny began praying for strength. Not from God, but from his dear, departed wife Annete. He wished she was here. She wouldn’t know what to do either, but at least he’d have backup.
“Yeah,” Tim nodded, wincing in the manner that showed he realized how insane he sounded, “one of them got a nail shoved into her eye and started screaming about it. The other two started gathering around, so I ran out of there before I got killed.”
Deep breath in, deep breath out, Danny was so depressed. Brockton Bay had bullshit. Cape bullshit, gang bullshit, and now there was supernatural bullshit. Danny loved Brockton Bay. He had to otherwise he’d be insane for continuing to live here.
“I know it sounds bad, but they were ghosts, Boss.”
Holding up a hand, Danny forestalled any more comments, “I believe you.”
“You-- what?”
“I believe you. They wore white, orange, and blue, right?” Danny sighed, spinning his chair around to look at the windowsill of sunflowers. Looking at them left a pang in his heart, but the memory of Annete helped strengthen him at the same time.
“How’d you--”
“You’re not the first one to meet them. They’re harmless,” Danny waved a hand in the air, “Play along with their little games and you’ll be fine.”
“For reals?”
“That’s what my daugh--” Danny cut himself off with a cough before continuing, “That’s what the expert says.”
“Are they Capes?”
“...It’d be easier if they were,” Danny sighed, spinning back around. Leaning over, he took out a form and filled it out before sliding it over to Tim to sign, “Sign this and take the weekend off. I’ll make sure you get paid.”
“Oh, thanks, Boss,” Tim snapped a salute.
Waving his hand in clear dismissal, Danny waited until the sound of departure had faded. Then he stood up and began watering the sunflowers as he planned. This was actually a hidden boon.
Repairing the wall would be a good excuse to pull a safety inspection on the warehouse. Tim was a strong kid, but even he shouldn’t have been able to burst through that wall so easily. Chances were that Mr. Roberts had let maintenance fall.
Which meant, play his cards right, Danny could kick up a fuss and make a whole production of inspecting, repairing, and maybe even renovating the warehouse which would net a couple of jobs for the crew for a good while.
Patting the sunflowers, he sighed at the thought of other problems. That would mean he’d have to sort out the supply chain and deal with Mr. Roberts wanting to foreclose yet again.
Ah, well, he’d just have to get back to work. As he returned to his desk, Danny wrote a note to himself to ask Taylor to do something about those… ‘fairies’.
===============
THREE FAIRIES POV
Searching for Reimu in between pranks.
Living in Warehouse 97 under the watchful gaze of Taylor Hebert/REIMU HAKUREI
Located at the furthest end of the Docks, closest to the sea, Warehouse 97 was one of those quiet things that everybody simply acknowledged by passively never speaking about it.
Warehouse 97 was closed, and the small turnip/sunflower farm growing inside there didn’t exist at all according to the paperwork. Ignore the girl caring and tending to the plants. As far as the bullshit of the Bay went, it was one of the milder ones, and if you were ever having a bad day, the girl there was often willing to give you a small cup of tea with only a mild whining about wanting donations.
What she wasn’t willing to do was play nurse for three fae beings, but that was the way of things sometimes.
“Will she be okay? Sunny asked, anxiously wringing her hands.
Wiping her forehead, Taylor bit back her caustic remark and simply sighed, “Yes. And you. Stop moving. I’m trying to tie off the bandage.”
Sniffling slightly, Luna nodded, blatantly ignoring her order, “Will I still be able to play the piano?”
“You don’t even know how to play piano,” Taylor muttered to herself, just soft enough that the three idiots wouldn’t hear.
“You don’t even know how to play the piano!” Star shouted, loud enough for the dead to grumble about, as she flew overhead and accidentally drizzled the three of them with water from the watering can she was holding.
“Hey!” Taylor shouted, two fingers pointed at the star fairy in habit, “Don’t damage my homework! I just started that! And you, stop moving.” Stupid fairies, always doing the opposite of what would be helpful to the situation at hand. The only times they were helpful were when they were being a pain in the ass to the opposition.”
“And what about me?” Sunny hopped in, wanting to be a part of things.
“Just keep on giving me light to do my homework,” Taylor sighed, finally finishing off the binding, “All right. I’m done. Go help Star water the plants, Luna.”
“I’m no longer Luna,” the Moon Fairy declared, posing with one foot on the table, “I am Captain Luna-ARGH!” The argh wasn’t a pirate pun. That was from Taylor yanking her essay from underneath Captain Luna-ARGH’s feet.
“Yes. Yes, go do chores,” Taylor grumbled before reaching out to grab Sunny Milk’s hem, “You stay here. I need light to do this homework.”
“I can just bend it so that it stays bright,” Sunny pleaded, “It’ll last for a couple hours. I want to join them.”
Humming in thought, Taylor nodded and let her go join her compatriots. It wouldn’t do to have a grumbling light source distract her from stupid calculus. Taylor hated calculus. It was easy enough compared to designing the old spellcard matrices, but she hated having to show her work. It was just so stupid.
“Is Big Sis Taylor grumpy or something?”
“Of course, she is. She has to do homework.”
“Oh, like Boss-man’s homework?”
“No, Boss-man gives out fun homework. Think Keine-sensei.”
“Ah, no wonder. Do you think we can help?”
“I think she’d throw needles at us if we tried to help.”
“Why needles?”
“I don’t know, she just has that feeling.”
“I get what you mean.”
Tapping the pen to the side of her head, Taylor debated once more about just kicking them out. For stupid fairies, they were weirdly perspective about this kind of crap. She didn’t want to be dragged back to her old position. She wasn’t any good at it. Didn’t even know the name of her own shrine’s god and she failed at the end, didn’t she?
No, it was better for all of them that Taylor stayed Taylor and… whatever crap the Gap Hag planned didn’t include her.
If she was honest with herself, she was enjoying having the San-Yousei loitering around her space. It had felt… a lot emptier without her mother of this life, but…
Funny how life rhymed sometimes. A San-Yousei in a Shrine in a past life, a San-Yousei in a Warehouse this life. Hopefully whatever mad plan that Gap Yokai had to recreate Gensokyo worked. Taylor wished her luck and hoped that she was left out of it. This girl was done with the schemes and madness there.
“Hey, Big Sis!”
Hand over her heart, Taylor calmed herself down to pleasantly not snap at them, “Yeah?”
“If you were a Shrine Maiden reincarnated without your memories, where would you be?”
Well, that was a point for letting them stay. They were on the entirely wrong path to finding he-- the miko.
“What makes you so sure that she won’t have her memories?”
“Because she got on the washing machine of Samsara.” Sunny smiled confidently
“The WHEEL of Samsara,” Luna cut in with a sigh, “The WHEEL of Samsara.”
You know… Maybe this was a good chance to figure out what happened after she die-- left.
“Why do you even need her?” Taylor smiled sardonically, “From what I’ve heard, she failed in her duty to protect Gensokyo.”
She was taken back by the ferocity of their response.
“Nuh-uh! She did her best!”
“Yeah!” Sunny shouted as she made her arms go wide to showcase the idea of ‘largeness’ “ And she fought back the big space-whales!”
“She saved us…” Starlight whispered, hugging herself before squeaking when the other two hugged her also.
A moment passed before the trio chorused, “So we have to find her and save her!”
Staring at them, Taylor found herself… humbled by the trust and faith of the San-Yousei. Maybe… Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to come back.
“...Well, maybe she’s right next to you?” Taylor tried.
“No way.”
“Yeah, that'd be silly.”
“We would know if she was right next to us.”
“Hehe, maybe,” Taylor smirked, “Maybe she’s me?”
The quick response killed any good emotions she had.
“Nah, you’re too nice.”
“Mmhmm. And you’re not greedy for money.”
“And you don’t show off your armpits.”
…Okay, maybe it wouldn’t be so nice to come back. Stupid fairies making her almost nostalgic for Gensokyo. Taylor had forgotten how idiotic everything was there.
Clicking her mechanical pencil twice, Taylor went back to work on calculus, “No allowance this week.”
“What!? WHY!?”
