Mr. Blue (Namelessshipping)

Chapter 1: Introducing Mr. Blue and Yellow

Me: "So I was kind of—okay, maybe more than 'kind of'—going for a medieval feel on this one. It's, um," *Scratches back of head in embarrassment* "because I saw the King Arthur movie not that long ago, and I was maybe thinking the entire time I was watching it: HOLY FUCK! This shit would be awesome with pokémon in it instead of giant bats and half Ursula people. And OH MY GOD, it would be even better once Red and Blue started fucking!" *Laughs nervously* "Uh, yeah, I suppose I'm interesting like that. Anyway, I'm not gonna say anything else here. Just let me know at the end whether you liked it or not, okay?" *Starts the show by finger-painting like a cavewoman on a rock wall*

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"There is a legend in these parts," the man pauses for dramatic effect, his eyes roaming across his slew of younger audience members, "About untamable beasts." Another pause. The children watch on, rapt, mouths open with awed, little fingers creeping at the edges. "And of course, the legend is, too, about those who tame the untamable. They call one of them 'Mr. Blue.'"

"They?" a boy wonders, just as a girl is asking, "Mr. Blue?"

Another man interrupts before the story can continue, "Oh, stop blowing smoke up his arse, John. He already has the wrong idea, and you're gonna give these kids the wrong idea, too!" the man turns to the children, pointing at them with the knife he's using for woodcarving, "Men who tame beasts are no more impressive than those who know to stay away from 'em. They're dangerous! That's why they're called beasts!" the man shakes his knife like an old witch would shake her finger, "And all sorts of bad types interested in 'em, too. If you associate with beasts, you associate with thieves and murderers. No good can come of 'em."

When the second man seems to be done with his speech, the first continues, "Blue is perfectly well-respected around here."

"Blue's got his head up his arse—is what he is," the second returns, only half looking up from the shapeless lump of wood in his hand.

By this point, the children have lost interest in the bickering adults and now turn to each other to begin gossiping about the start of the story they just heard. "I saw one with a bulb on its back and vines growing out of it the other day!" one girl exclaims.

"No, you didn't," another snaps.

The first man watches the children for a moment, then returns his attention to the second man. "Someone came looking for him earlier."

"Oh?" a derisive snort, "One of his idiot followers come to see if they can fit their head up his arse, too?" a couple children giggle, "You're not to use that language," the man warns, waving his knife at them again.

"No, some man was wanting to challenge him. You know, pit beast against beast. Apparently, he has a wager for him."

"Hmm..." the second man seems to reflect for a minute, staring at a shuttered window, no doubt hearing the rhythmic whoosh of rain as it washes over the building, "Well, he won't find him in this weather, not unless he's got a water beast of his own."

***

The summer storm is torrential; the downpour, continuous over the coastal town. Each block of dirt road swims with mud and feels like its own world, cut off from the rest of existence by curtains of rain and the steady rush of noise.

A man with hair the color of tree bark—wet tree bark now—laughs greedily, sat upon the shell of a giant tortoise-like creature as it pokes up above the ocean water swirling around it, waves licking at it. The air is electric; the energy of the storm, invigorating, and he takes it all in as the shell is pulled by some unseen force further out to sea.