Midsummer Ambedance - A Free! Fantasy AU

The Dawn of May the Seventeenth

"Stop!"

The scream rang out around the square, echoing through the crisp air and bouncing maniacally off the dry stone walls, rippling through the market tents. Those who turned managed to catch a glimpse of the small scrambling figure almost flying around customers and merchants alike, nimbly dodging every silver plated suit of armour he came across.

In his hands he clutched a leather pouch, which in time he swung over his slight shoulders, never allowing himself time to stop. Behind him they were chasing, in hot pursuit of the boy. The boy wearing pink and yellow and leather, his bright blond locks barely controlled by his silken scarf wrapped lazily around his head, a weak attempt at concealing his face.

His purplish-pink eyes were bright with excitement and adrenaline as much as fear. A smile slipped from his lips as he whispered "damn", his breath heavy. Just a little further, almost there - he wasn't used to these conditions. He was used to a quick deal, a flawless exchange, a smooth getaway. And if he was caught, he could slip away silently, under a table, behind a curtain, anywhere. He had known - he had known it was too risky. But what the hell - he was a thrill seeker, as much as he hated to admit.

When he was younger his cute looks let him get away with everything, when he was a little older his voice compensated. But over that time he allowed his cute demeanour to slip and the cloak of adorability had fallen from his shoulders, leaving a hardened criminal with a pretty face behind. Childishly gorgeous? Well, yes, of course. But juvenile? In no way. He could kill you with a paintbrush. He could cut off every one of your limbs before you'd even have chance to load a gun. He could rip you open and harvest your organs in seconds and smile the sweetest smile right before you slipped into oblivion.

So getting caught wasn't too bad, he guessed. If needed he was armed and dangerous enough. And those who were after him weren't soldiers: only the merchants he had stolen from. They were shouting. Ha; their struggle to keep up with the lithe little boy was entertaining if nothing else. Surveying the area, he ducked behind a pillar that was holding up a crumbling archway. He allowed his lungs a rest, if only for a few seconds. He was ready, a selection of jagged throwing knifes clutched between his knuckles, a gleam in his eye, almost waiting for the blood to fly. He wasn't addicted to the feeling of satisfaction that rose from slicing someone open, but it was enjoyable enough. Perhaps he would get his chance..?

He did. Only a few seconds after regaining his breath, he was dragged out of his hiding place. Partially from excitement, he would admit. He shoulder-rolled to the next pillar, and realising it was broken to a stump, let a knife fly. It sailed across the corridor of stone and barely missed the chaser, blunting on the wall and clattering to the ground. The chaser turned in shock at the noise. So they hadn't seen him, then? He took this opportunity to let another go. Only this time, the chaser was prepared. His head jerked to the side, the knife once again blunting on the wall.

"Damn!" The boy hissed to himself. The chaser knew his hiding place now. He hadn't expected him to react so quickly. No one had dodged his knives so skilfully before. This was his last resort: he had a long, thin blade hidden up his sleeve, perfect for sliding carefully and quickly into any weak spot a person may have. At this angle, it would have to be the neck. His cheap padded shoes would be his best friend in this moment, as he crouched and slowly inched over to his chaser. As he straightened, the chaser showed no awareness that he was there, right behind him. The boy hadn't intended to kill him - a shame really. He was really rather beautiful.

And in less than a second he saw that beautiful face again, because he whipped around and grabbed the boy by his wrist. Whilst he was by no means weak, he was often outmatched in size as general power. The boy had always relied on speed and skill to fight. So here, caught unexpectedly and being at least half a foot smaller, he stood no chance. In a last-ditch effort he dropped down and swung his leg around the man's ankles, tripping him. The man fell to the ground and threw out his arms to break his fall, each planting either side of the boy. It took them a second to register the problem, but it quickly evolved into a heated scramble for the knife, the stolen goods, life, anything - it didn't make sense.

The boy dodged a swing at his head with a rock and the man kicked outwards as he thrust the knife towards his chest, knocking the boy clean off the ground and sending him flying into a pillar. The archway shook at the impact and dust clouds of rock and rubble rained down. The scarf that was originally covering his hair now hung limply around his shoulders, frayed and covered in sand. His satchel however, was still attached around him, and he wasn't about to hand it over. There was no emotional heart wrenching reason why the boy had stolen - he just wanted to. Had to. It was part of who he was.

The man walked and crouched beside the boy. "Impressive," he said scornfully. "But at the end of the day, you're only a common criminal. A petty thug." He gave a low, breathy laugh, adjusting his silver-framed glasses that hung from a chain with his thumb and ring finger. As he reached out to take the bag, he felt the cold, sharp edge of a blade tickle his throat. Damn.

"Not giving up yet?" He placed his long, slender hands over the boy's, also clutching the blade handle. "You're rather stupid. I should punish that stupidity." With one swift movement, he twisted the boy's wrist and pressed the blade against his neck instead. He was trapped. No way out.

"Now," the man insisted, moving his face closer. He was so close the boy could practically taste his exhale. "We'll start with your name." He pressed the blade harder against his soft, pale skin. The boy flinched as he felt it begin to split open and the hot dribble of blood spill down his collar. Not wanting to show weakness, he bared his teeth in a wide, hiding smile.

"Don't make me push you," the man continued, still pressing increasingly harder. He began to feel his temper boiling over, his patience with this kid fast running out. He started to dig the nails in his other hand into his wrist, pushing the pain factor a little further. "Speak."

The boy have him the sassiest look possible, his grin-stretched skin bouncing back into place. He gave a quick wink and mentally revelled in the surprised look that was returned.

"Nagisa. And that's a name you ain't gonna forget, sweetie."

And he leaned forward on the man's next inhale, and pressed his small, shiny lips against his.