Fireflies - English

Chapter 2 - Moving Day

Mika was gonna chew that little brat out for the shit he pulled yesterday.

Stephen had called him yesterday afternoon, half pissed, half exasperated, talking about the handful that Helen had dropped into his lap. He'd been out, recovering from a bad migraine, so he hadn't been able to give his poor pal back up.

That wasn't gonna stop him today though.

Rule 1: Talk shit, get hit.

Sometimes, it was that simple.

As he drew closer to the gate though, he heard the tell-tale sounds of a commotion. Voices, loud over the morning hush, yelling obscenities and the unforgettable scruff of clothes being grabbed and used to manhandle or restrain its owner. He decided to run before things got of hand, but by the time he got there, things seemed at a standstill. Across the street, on the side with the rest of the school's campus, pair of light-skinned Afro-Americans were standing near the moving van Stephen had hired. They were both holding back a near rabid-looking, moon pale, periwinkle-eyed young man with jet black hair. He was rather on the shorter side, limbs unnaturally graceful (even for all his flailing), and waif in built. Shockingly though, he had the pair of larger, far more greatly muscled men struggling to hold him.

"I don't want their kind in here with good people's kids!" John, ever the troublesome thorn in Mika's side exclaimed, hands fisted at his sides and face red from strain.

"Look who's talking you ugly, fat piece of shit!" Jose screeched, tugging himself halfway out of his bonds. "How would an asshole like you know who's good or bad?"

"I don't need to defend myself," John countered. "I'm in charge here."

The raven wasn't having it though.

"Who the hell gives a flying fuck?" He screeched, rearing up almost out of the hands stopping him from committing murder.

"What's right is right, compadre," John commented, sarcastically using the little Spanish he knew in a mocking fashion. "Of course, I wouldn't expect you to understand that what with your country-"

He didn't get to finish.

"Oh no! You don't get to talk about Venezuela! Not with that Cheeto as your President! At least where I'm from we don't discriminate! You're trash! I should kick your ass! Lemme go you two! I'll teach him to mouth off on people!"

Mika was amused; looks like the transfer was quite the firecracker.

He liked that, and from the looks of things, though he'd messed around yesterday he still had his head screwed on right. The little slip of a teen was a tornado of fury, eyes wild, mouth snarling, cute fists waving in the air as he screamed threats.

Jose reminded him of his cat, Robin.

So smol, but so savage.

"Hold up, Tiny," Mika began, only to be interrupted by an indignant, "Who you callin' tiny?!"

Unable to help himself, he laughed, "Right, right. You must be Jose."

"And what if I am?" He demanded with a glare. "Who's asking?"

Mika grinned broadly.

"Mikela Jordan at your service, pussycat," He introduced himself, adding the nickname just to see how the shorter would retort.

Jose did not disappoint.

"Laugh well, jackass!" Jose hissed. "I'd fill people with bullets for less back home...!"

"I'm sure you would," Mika chuckled, snatching Jose from the already tired movers. He hoisted him up and over his shoulder effortlessly, relishing the startled gasp at was Jose's initial reaction, and the venomous threat that he followed the vulnerable moment with to cover it all up.