Blues Win!
Blues win!
More Posts from Mekachu04 and Others
Read on A03 or below the cut.
At 13, it was quickly becoming clear that Kidd Eustass was going to live up to that wild 'firey' stereotype that seemed to haunt all red-heads. To begin with, at that age most boys growing up tucked away in the county's back country run wild, hellions by their own rights. Freshly turned teens running amok as they start to try and define themselves as their own people for the first time - testing the rules and how far they can push the limits. Shooting road signs, vandalizing old derelict barns, joyriding tractors on the paved roads. Harassing the big bosses' herds, messing with the tourists at the dude ranch, terrorizing the local dogs in the middle of the night. Get a few of them running together, and stuff starts to get stolen or broken or blown up.... and then there's the wild parties in the national forest. Every kid goes though it, and Captain Smoker's biggest headache is when to look away as part of teenage growing pains, and when to start cracking down before someone gets hurt. Kidd Eustass was quickly running down the docket - ticking off each offense like it was his personal to-do list and he wanted to be the first to do them all before he even hit high school.
Smoker had warned Brichtrede Eustass that Kidd was spending too much time with the older boys and needed friends his own age. They were a bad influence on him - the local degenerates. Two of them already dropped out of high school, and Smoker didn't have high hopes that Killer was going anywhere with his life either. Too much weed, too much rock music, too much leather and chains and piercings. Too city. Too.... different. Weird. Too.. close. Heat & Wire were attached at the hip these days, never one without the other. And since Victoria left, Killer was never far behind the two. Kidd had admitted to her that Killer wasn't on the bus home most days and he didn't think he was going to classes much anymore.
Most recently, the boys had the brilliant idea of using a homemade potato gun made out of soup cans to shoot down a wasp nest in Heat's back yard, leading to Killer bringing her boy home covered in stings. Killer had not fared much better, and she'd ordered the two boys inside to wash before covering the both of them in calamine lotion. She'd tried not to smile as the two talked over were they'd gone wrong, and how to built a better potato gun next time - like that had been the problem and not the fact they were using it on a venomous flying insect that lived in a hive of hundreds of other venomous flying insects.
Brichtrede had to put her foot down last year with the boys, Killer specifically. She'd known Wire, Heat & Killer longer than her own current husband by this point, and the boys had been there for Kidd nearly his whole life in ways she couldn't. Despite the age gap between them, Killer had become her son's best friend before Kidd could even read. Last year's debacle had shown her while Killer could be trusted to make sure the any trouble her son got involved in didn't end up on his permanent record, he didn't however understand how serious the danger he and the others had put themselves and her son in was to begin with. There was teenage shenanigans, and then there was behavior that would get someone killed.
She would prefer some parental supervision when the boys got into anything involving fire, but she would take it any day over the night she'd picked Killer up from the Sheriff's office after he'd been caught drinking in the park; with the intention of driving her son home afterward. She'd told him in no uncertain terms that it was his one free pass and he would not be getting another one. Killer had make a clear effort after that to be better behaved with Kidd around. He was still a wild child - his father completely checked out as a parent over a decade ago, and now seem to exist as a task assigner and little more - but she knew there was a boy in there just trying his best with no idea how to do that.
Honestly, between the four of them, Killer probably was the only one with any impulse control, and even then it only seemed to pop up when Kidd was involved. And in turn, her son knew just what buttons to push to override that when he wanted to. Thankfully, he was still young enough Brichtrede wasn't too worried just yet.
She was watching them tinker under the hood of Killer's truck, mulling that over. Kidd seemed to be ready to crawl right in while Killer was either content to watch or was actively egging him on; she wasn't sure from here.
"Babe?" She called to her husband from where she watched from his workshop window. He was tinkering himself, and came over to peek out and watch the two boys.
"What is he up too?" her husband muttered, trying to see what Kidd was messing with.
"Please go make sure whatever 'adjustments' our son is making doesn't get our boys blown up later, hmm?"
https://www.jr-onepiece-shinkansen.jp/
have y'all seen the new japanese train thing?!?!?!??
My beautiful Punk sails on!!
23. Morning
Kidd - 6 | Killer - 10?
Tags specifically for this chapter:
Kidd gets named
Killer gets a birthday
more scottish holidays I'm trying to twist to fit into one piece
holidays would be the most reliable way for a bunch of homeless kids to keep track of time
Read at A03 linked above or here below cut
Drabbles from Pocket Jack's KiKi-tober Prompt list
Besides counting the fourteen days between dock pays, Killer also carefully counted quarter days. He had no paper contracts - he wouldn't be able to read them anyway - but its when pay ledgers would be checked, and extra hands would be let go. Leases would be up and one either paid for the next few months or made sure to be out the door before the landlords caught on you'd been squatting there in the first place.
It was also a chance to get hired again and get steady work. And Killer put his best face forward every Martinmas; winter was the most important time to get work. Work meant pay, sure. But good work also meant being warm in the day, sometimes a meal at lunch, and if really lucky, a safe hidy-hole to sleep after dark.
Killer, who was good with numbers and likes sussing out the patterns they made, loved this time of year. Martinmas started on 11/11 and lasted 2 months and 22 days ending on 2/2 on Candlemas, and Killer had always felt that must mean it a lucky time of year. Last year had been hard - the docks were still recovering from the fire and the only people with extra coin for the season hadn't wanted two little boys on staff.
32 days after First-Foot and 23 days after he'd given the last of their coins to the kid, Killer had taken the tiny stub of their last candle and boldly joined the woman who marched to Februa. He's watch them march every year to get their candle's blessed, and Killer needed all the blessings he could get, even if it just meant a candle he'd hope would last a little longer.
The women around him would point and whisper at him as he walked with them, but when his bravado started to fail him, he was saved by the kid who'd gotten bored begging at his assigned corner and left to find him. He was munching on an already partially eaten sandwich, before offering it to Killer. Killer - who was indeed hungry - took a bite before giving it back.
The whispers started up again, and Killer wished he hadn't taken the bite, it knotting up in his gut.
"Whose children are these?" One woman asked finally, addressing the others.
He just wanted his candle blessed. Now he was pretty sure he'd messed up somewhere. Thankfully, the kid didn't seem to notice the unease and stayed focused on his meal.
At least until the woman grabbed his arm, and he dropped the coveted food when she practically lifted the little boy off the ground - "Whose kid is this!"
Killer could have bitten her, and certainly would if she carried on like that, "Hey! Hey, he's mine, let him go!"
She frowned at him, expression unhappy still, "Excuse me?"
"He's mine!"
"Where's your mother?" one woman asked; Killer had no answer to that. "What do you mean he's yours?" asked another, and Killer wasn't sure how to answer that either.
"Is this your bother?" the woman ask the kid instead. He looked just as unsure how to answer as Killer.
"He's my kid! Give him back!" Killer declared, both boys starting to get upset.
One of the women took pity on them it seemed, and she stepped up to whisper something to get first woman to let go of the kid. Killer grabbed his hand and meant to run away, but the woman who's asked about their mothers knelt down to block their way.
"Hi, Kidd, I'm so sorry about your sandwich. But I saw you come over to share it with.. uh…"
"This is Killer." he said it without hesitation, clinging to Killer. He was more upset by Killer being upset at the moment, the whole ordeal making little sense to him.
"I saw you share it with Killer while he waited in line with us. That was very thoughtful of you."
He grinned, and Killer relaxed just a fraction.
She pulled out beri note, and put it into Kidd's free left hand, "Hey, Kidd, why don't you go and get you and Killer a new one?"
Both the boys face dropped in surprise at the paper bill. Kidd practically shoved it in Killer's face, with an awed 'look!'
Beri was off island money; it was worth a lot to the right people. Worth more then the numbers printed on it.
"It's too much…" he didn't mean to say it, but the words slipped out before Killer could stop them. Kidd looked at him curiously.
The woman's smile is still kind but incredibly sad. "Is it just the two of you then? Or are there others?"
"Just us," Kidd pipped up, the beri note having been folded up and put in the little drawstring bag his birthday coins has been in.
"Wh.." she pursed her lips, tilting her head and tried again, "Do you understand what the march to Februa is for?"
"Killer's getting our candle blessed."
Killer showed her their candle stub.
"It's just the two of you?" she asks again, and Kidd nods before Killer can tell him to stop, starting to feel nervous.
But she looks thoughtful, "Is this the first year it's just been the two of you then?"
"The kid's been mine since the coup."
"Okay," she smiles, and when she stands, she ushers Killer in front of her with a gentle hand on his shoulder.
A few of the women had hung back waiting for her as the rest had marched on. "This is Kidd," she says, touching Kidd's red hair first, "and this is Killer," she said, her hand going from his shoulder to his hair too. "This is the first year Killer has had Kidd, and he's going to get get their last candle blessed."
He was still doing it wrong, Killer realized, but the laughs were kind, their smiles no longer mocking but sweet. The woman's hand was warm and soothing where it lingered on his head. They looked at him like people looked at Kidd when he did something cute. The beri woman kept a hand on them the whole way, and no one asked again why they were there. When it was Killer's turn, words where exchanged in advanced, and a confused man said a prayer on his candle.
It would several year later before Kidd would sit up suddenly one night, hours after they should have both been sleeping. Killer bolted upright the moment he did - a light sleeper to the point to of detriment - but also something that had saved their asses many a times. "What it is?!" he whispered harshly when he couldn't figure out what woke Kidd up.
Kidd looked at him accusingly in the low light, "When is your fucking birthday?"
"Wha… what?"
"How do I not know this? How have we never celebrated your birthday?!"
Exhausted, Killer plopped back down, arm slung over his face. "Go the fuck back to sleep."
"No, seriously," Kidd shoved his shoulder, and when that didn't work, pulled Killer's arm down, "When the fuck is your birthday?"
"Who knows," Killer answered, pulling his arm free and rolling away from Kidd to try and go back to sleep.
Unfortunately for him, it was never going to happen as long as Kidd was staring at him; some part of his brain refusing to let him ignore the fact someone was looking at him.
"Candlemas." he said finally, the first day to come to mind, "last term day of winter."
Kidd was whispering under his breath, trying to remember if he knew anything relevant about the day.
"Second of February." Killer supplied, tired of listening to the gears grinding uselessly in Kidd's head.
"Oh…"
"Will you go back to sleep now?"
Measuring out boards for this year’s project. I need to measure and cut 2 boards for the unphotographed side, and then it’s time to start digging. This layer will end up ground level with the yard, and will support both the buried water reserve, and hopefully keep my yard from continuing to sink because its washing out under the fence XD this step should keep me busy through april!
Excuse the odd bending because i had to panorama it because my yard's too narrow to step back any farther. Left side is final height. Center pieces have been cut, but im pretty sure i got it spaced out so it *looks* like all sections are equal. Bottom layer still needs to be leveled, and it's supposed to be nice this weekend, so I'm hoping to finish that in the next couple days. Crossing fingers, i alsobhope to get the "aquifer" lined by weeks end.
Messaging people for the first time is so hard. What am I supposed to say? Like, "You seem really odd and your blog intrigues me. Do you want to have philosophical conversations or perhaps talk about fictional characters?" What! Whatever. I will just follow you back and stare at your blog with my big beautiful brown eyes.
I may have a few sitting on my hard drive to finish formatting and get printing ....
I bind fanfic and other underground writing into real books. I am a Guerilla publisher.
In a nutshell, the reasons why:
A demonstrative statement on the validity of “fic” in general (and fanfic within that specifically) as a newborn genre of literature that has really only come into its own in the last 15-20 years.
Disrupting preconceptions about what is valuable and worthy of being in print, much less published in a fine edition.
An act of anti-capitalist resistance. Participation in the traditional gift economy of fandom. Most of my projects are volunteer and gifts.
Preservation of fandom history and works for future generations. These books cannot blip out of existence by puritanical updates to a socmed terms of service. These books are acid-free, archive ready, made to survive for another century.
Demonstration against censorship of fiction. Most of the books contain subject matter some people may find objectionable on various grounds.
In summary, it’s a big Fuck You to power structures that silence people. Also it makes my friends so happy that they cry, so that’s nice too.
My book design is deliberately conservative because I am challenging ideas of what should be inside the book. The more a book looks like something a “real” publishing house would put out, the stronger and more subversive the statement it makes.
I am also doing a lot of research working on replicating the style of books from centuries past, and publishing historical fic set in whatever period, in an embodiment that matches. Colors, typography, even form factor as much as possible. I have done Victorian, Edwardian, Renaissance eras.
Here are some various process pics. Books pictured:
WAR, CHILDREN by Nonymos (Captain America: Stucky)
AND THEN THERE WERE TWO by NymeriaKing (Star Wars / Kylux)
BLUTRUNST by IncurableNecromantic (Over the Garden Wall)
CHOSEN MAN by Sineala (Eagle of the Ninth)
Chapters: 3/7
AKA: 8 days to Rally [Redux]
Only one things changes. It shouldn't mean much, in the grand scale of things. One chromosome shifted. The story remains the same, the players unchanging in their roles. In every incarnation, Killer is Kidd's partner, and nothing will change that.
The story was already written. Their plight always set to follow this path. Nothing changes. Except...
Chapter 3 under cut on on A03
Her time spent as Kamazo had been well spent, Kidd came to find out. When Killer was allowed freedom from her handlers to go assassinate whoever Orochi was cross with at any given the time, she took as long as she could possibly get away with, scouting and mapping out every part of Wano she could. The two of them slipped away from the Punk in the quiet morning, Killer moving through the scattering of towns and countryside like the shadow of death itself, Kidd following her lead just like the old days. They moved through Wano without so much as a second glance from the locals, even as Killer took them dangerously close to the center of one of the town centers.
She lifted food from a stall so smoothly, Kidd himself almost missed it, even as she passed the pilfered meal back to him. By the time they slipped back into the shadows, she'd snagged him a second round and was awkwardly shoving rice into her own mouth as they walked.
It wasn't just the food, Killer knew where everyone of their crew was - had even known where even he was - in her time as Orochi's puppet, and had spent what sanity she'd had left pulling strings and trading favours to get their crew moved around and taken care of.
The indiscriminate killing had never been the hard part; Killer would do it all over again for her crew without batting an eye. On the surface, it wasn't even the favours she'd done that bothered her, although they'd shaken her more than she'd admit. No, it was that her ability to compartmentalize and cope had been completely screwed once she'd eaten that fruit, and with how lost she'd been when Kidd had first found her, he knew the lucidly she had now was held in place by the barest of tethers.
But she was holding it a death grip, only the softest of chuckles escaping when she waved her free hand to the first of many work camps they would visit, just as desolate and gloomy as Udon had been. Kidd waited for her to compose herself before pulling his own hand from her, feeling out the fencing and weapons and piping that made up the compound, mapping the camp out in his head.
Killer had taken Kidd to Wire first; their tallest commander spotting them before the guards did, and immediately turning on his captors. It seemed what Orochi had forgotten was the Kidd Pirates were only placid because they believed he held their Captain's life in his hands. The sight of Kidd walking free meant all bets were off, shackles were thrown down, and Kidd walked out of there with not just some of his crew but a good number of forced-laborer locals there to help.
He was... not sure how to take that turn.
Wire got them weapons, and freeing Heat was next.
While Wire had been quick, efficient and clean in his killings, Heat took one look at his crew come to free him, and turned on Kaido's men with all the fury he'd been forcing down since they'd been subdued on their own turf. He'd been the last of the four standing against Kaido, and Apoo, the one to watch Hawkins take a knee as he himself was beaten down.
Wire had fallen first, taken out by Kaido before they'd understood they were under attack. Killer had been next, that bastard Apoo having moved like he'd watch her back, to uphold an alliance they'd just sworn to, only to step aside to let her take Kaido's club full force to the head. Heat had been frozen in place, uncomprehending as her helmet cracked and splintered in a single blow. Kidd had fallen next, blindsided by rage, even his fury no match for an emperor. Hawkins had knelt then, surrendered. Heat felt all eyes to him, both his enemies and crew alike, and had answered the only way he'd known how; he'd spit a fireball at the monster, and then knew no more.
Since waking up, he'd been with a few surviving crew mates, forced to work. He didn't know if Wire or Killer had survived, only being told Kidd lived. And would only continue to live only so long as they didn't cause Kaido's people any trouble. So against every fiber of his being, Heat had kept his mouth shut and head down. He'd tolerated their abuse, horded supplies and weapons, and waited. and waited. and waited.
And then a wild man stood at the gates, dressed only in boots and kilt and the red of fresh spilt blood. Heat did not freeze up this time. He was not even sorry to have left so few for his captain to get to fight.
Seeing Wire dressed in the same drab prison garb as himself was disheartening, but the blood splatter on them both livened it up pretty well. Heat then broke one of the biggest rules the crew had, and pulled Killer into a hug without warning. He'd not seen her face when her mask had broken, but the fact she was still bare broke his heart, and the only way to keep from staring was to put her out of his line of sight.
She gave an uncomfortable giggle, a sound so strange to him he didn't place it as her making the noise at first, as he cupped the back of her head in his hand. Solid bone, whole and unbroken, unlike his nightmares. Frighteningly more, was she allowed the embrace at all, only Kidd ever granted the privilege of being tactile because of the long history between the two. Her own hands warm against his back as she tucked in under his chin, returning the gesture.
In his panic, Heat looked to Kidd, demanding answers to what their vice-captain had been forced to endure. Kidd's face was carefully blank; Wire's pinching as he drew his own conclusions.
Kaido's men here had died too fast; Heat would be sure to make it last longer at the next camp, grinding his jaw as he rested his head against Killer's for a brief moment longer before pulling away. He kept his gaze lowered, frowning as he took in her getup.
"Boss Killer, you really do not have to indulge Captain's atrocious taste in patterns, you know." Although, she at least wore the shirt better than he did, even if it was poorly fitted for different reasons.
"You know a place I can get a good pair of jeans?" she asked dryly.
"All leather here I'm afraid. But," he nudged the wooden sandals she was balancing on, "that does include shoes. Lets find you something better?"
As the prisoners raided the supplies, trading out ragged linen for furs and leathers, and even if it wasn't quite their style, Heat and Wire made it work for them. Killer also got boots, but - with Kidd's blessing and don't think Heat didn't catch that look he gave her - stayed with the clothes she had. Kidd also passed on clothes, and admittedly, he looked fearsome enough as is, so it worked for him too.
"I do have one last thing," Heat admitted, as they made ready to leave to march on to the next camp. Some of the locals would go with them, but most had gone their own way already. As long as it caused chaos and a headache for what passed as authority on this island, Kidd didn't care either way.
Heat's camp had been mostly responsible for metal work, and that was both the ore being mined on the island, and the melting down the scrap from other projects. Or other ships.
He and the few crew mates that had been assigned here and been slowly salvaging little bits that they knew had been taken from the Punk. Enough for Kidd to build a respectable new prosthetic. For Wire to have a trident that would work for his taller frame. Older punishers that had been retired; not because they were broken but because Kidd and Killer had perfected a new design. Still perfectly functional, and between Kidd, the weapons on hand, and the camp's tools, new blades had been procured and affixed easily. The strange new smile that never seemed to waver on Killer's face seemed genuine the first time as the machine spun to life in her hand.
"Don't say thank you yet," Moai grinned, before hoisting up a wooden crate that had clearly been buried in the ground until recently.
Most of the crew had never heard Killer laugh before, something she'd stopped doing a world ago, long before they'd given up trying to kill each other instead of turning their ire to bigger targets. So it took them by surprise to hear her burst into both tears and cachinnations. Kidd's look to them was a clear and present warning not to react, as he took the helmet from the open crate in Moai's arms, who worriedly looked at him to make sure he'd not done something wrong.
Kidd loosened the latches on the spare helmet, before holding it up for Killer. Heat could see in his eyes he was furious about the situation, but was doing an admirable job in acting like nothing was amiss. Killer lowered her head to let him put it on, the Captain pausing only to ask, "Bangs?"
"Don't care right now," she laughed back, little mirth in her voice despite all. And despite the laughter and tears, the moment the metal was carefully latched back into place, her whole body eased just a bit, relaxing enough for all to see just how tense she'd been up to that point.
All told, they hit eight different labor camps that night, before all that was left was the most delicate extraction: getting the last members of their ranks from the pleasure district.
The locals show them where to sail to keep the Victoria Punk out of Kaido and Orochi's prying eyes. They told Captain Kidd to give them a few days before they can get the ship refitted with more of the day to day necessitates.
What they can do now is give them a ships worth of fishing nets and someone even finds her main sail, enough to maneuver her to safety. Temporary main top-gallant and Mizzen-mast have also been secured. The promise of food and hopefully enough pieces for Kidd to rebuild the water filter to come with the night's sun set.
For the time being, the crew are camped out in the lower deck, reworking the nets into new hammocks. Attacking the labour camps would take some time for word to get back to Kaido and his men. A similar approach on the pleasure houses would not work, would get all eyes on them before they were ready for such a confrontation. The plan was for them to sneak into the Flower Capitol to get the last of their people, but they can't do it running on fumes like they are. They will rest the daylight hours away, and start out at dusk.
Those of them that have been sailing with Kidd since the start know their way around mending nets; Killer practically lived on the docks before her and Kidd starting running together, and twenty years hadn't lost the muscle memory of knots and weaving as she worked.
She was second only to Wire - a man who's fibrecraft skills had kept them clothed and stylish for the last decade. The two are working back to back at the moment, deft hands having already finished four hammocks apiece.
When suddenly Wire froze, looking around the room in a panic.
Kidd noticed immediately and started looking around to see what the man had spotted, only for Heat to let out an soft, "oh...."
Kidd looked between the two in confusion, before Heat motioned him over. Killer had drifted off at some point, hand in mid knot, slumping back against Wire. Now the taller man was the only thing keeping her upright, her breath soft and steady from under the helmet.
Some of the other crew had taken notice, chatting dying off and movement easing until the room was comfortably quiet. Jaggar took one of the finished hammocks and strung it up in Dive's usual place; top placement, in the middle of everything, yet out of everyone's way. Safest place in the room. Heat took one of the few blankets they had and lined the netting with in, knowing first hand the nightmare the coarse rope would do to one's hair.
Kidd lifted Killer up, the new prosthetic he'd assembled since they got back to the Punk taking her weight with ease. Disk J helped hold her hair out of the way when he settled her down, making sure it didn't pull or tangle, setting in the safety of the blanket Heat had put down, before going back to his own work.
"Is it safe for her to sleep in the helmet?" Compo worried, looking over but carefully keeping their line of sight under the hammock level. Kidd did not like that they had a point, looking down at his partner.
"Nobody's gonna go peeping." Gig assured him, "We wouldn't think of disrespecting Boss Killer like that."
Each turned back to their own work, giving Captain and First Mate their privacy, even in the middle of the room. Didn't judge either as Kidd fussed over the netting and the blankets before removing the metal shielding. Kidd tucked her helmet in her arms, frowning as his right hand brushed her forehead when he smoothed down her bangs. She was warmer than he'd like, and he pulled the edge of his shirt down to check her bandages. He needed to get her stitched up properly still, the skin red and splotchy where he could see. They didn't have clean supplies to rewrap her; if infection was setting in then they were in trouble.
30. Tears
Kidd - 17 | Victoria 22
Tags specifically for this chapter:
Victoria's death
Read at A03 linked above or here below cut
Drabbles from Pocket Jack's KiKi-tober Prompt list
He knows her.
Well.. he knew her.
Kidd stares at the body, still partially buried in garbage.
Hip and Hop are quiet behind him, solemn and still.
Its bad enough someone murdered this woman. Then they brought her out to his turf and threw her away.
Like trash.
Before Kidd took over, bodies got dumps in the Heaps all the time. He'd put a stop to that years ago.
But then someone decided that they could waltz in and do as they liked. Very few had the egos for it. Only one group on the island still willing to openly disrespect him like this.
It wasn't just that it was a body. It wasn't just some poor soul that was discarded to prove a point.
But that was Victoria.
It had been four years. Last time he'd seen her she'd been so upset she'd left crying, and never looked back.
He'd never shed a tear for her leaving.
He's shedding them now.
Compo had gently taken his elbow, as if to lead him away. He jerks himself free, stumbling closer to the body.
They brutalized her, her face bloody, body broken. Her neck is broken, deep dark marks, a solid thick line left by a belt. Burned her and cut her and broke her. Stripped her bare and threw her away.
He's struggling out of his coat, tries to cover her, give her some dignity back.
"Boss," Boogie is murmuring at his side - no ... above him... as Kidd sinks to his knees. He doesn't know what to do; He can't do anything. She's already dead.
Kidd looks over the scrapyard, the Heaps, His Realm. His Domain. And none of that mattered, because Victoria is dead and nothing he's accomplished stopped it from happening. Nothing he's done will keep the next person from being thrown away by Kutsukku's undercity.
He looks to the city, taunting him, just as tall and imposing as it's been his whole life. Mocking him with things he's never allowed to have. Things it's gladly ripped away from even it own people - not because they've done something wrong - but that they've gotten in the way of the boss' games.
Kidd's going to burn it to the ground.
-
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Minors DNI : DreamWidth Backup : : Kidd Pirate Trash :: Cross Stitching & Book Binding : : We're here, We're queer. Get used to it.
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