Disclaimer: The characters in this short fic are all the property of Cabsie. Hopefully she doesn’t mind me mutilating her characters. Her gorgeous and amazing artwork can be found at cabsie. ‘The Brawl’, ‘Soliloquy of the mouse’ and ‘Thibby’.

Sketch-with Abner and Thibby.

The fight had finished long ago. Robert, still grinning wildly in the mess of blood that was now his face, had been carried off in triumph, the subject of multiple rounds at the bar. His opponent, the big surly Frenchman, was still lying in a heap in the corner of the room. Seemingly no one had bothered to help him.

Thoreux had got lost in the crowd and Abner saw an empty stairway and scuttled up it, a welcome escape from the noise and violence of the bar.

At the top of the stairs was a room, door ajar. Abner peered cautiously around the doorframe before stepping back hurriedly. The room was not empty; it contained a thin lithe figure sitting cross-legged in front of a small cracked mirror.

Abner started to back away, trying to find a place on the stairs between the occupied room and the noise below.

The eyes in the mirror regarded him for a while, before asking “Who are you?”

Abner jumped. The voice was high and polished, more like that of some spoilt noble-brat than the street-urchin sitting before him. Was he a street-urchin? Abner slowly moved back into the room, keeping his eyes fixed on the boy. He was thin, yes, but not uncared for. His hair was sleek and smooth, tied at the back of his neck, with long bangs that hung over the front of his face. His skin was soft, although Abner noticed, with a wince of sympathy, that beneath his shirt a long red weal ran down his back.

“A-am I disturbing you?”

“No.” Unconcerned, the boy reached forward and picked up a little pot of powder lying below the mirror. Carefully, he brushed it beneath his eyes, concealing the remains of a bruise. “Why are you here?”

“I, I came to see the fight.”

“Who won?”

“Um, Robert.”

The boy put the powder-pot down and stared at himself critically in the mirror, “Never heard of him, do you know him?”

“Er, a little.”

“Was he badly hurt?” The boy frowned at him, “Sit down.”

Abner obeyed, “I think he, I mean, he seemed alright.”

There was silence for a while. The boy pulled out the powder again and started flicking the brush over the side of his face. “Hardly anyone ever comes up here. Will your parents come looking for you?”

Abner stared at the floor, “My parents are dead.”

“Did you kill them?”

Abner looked up, shocked, “No!”

“Did they try to kill you?”

Abner felt his hand shaking, and stuffed it into his pocket. Bitten-down nails dug into the side of his jacket, “N-no.”

“Not too bad then.”

Abner stayed silent, gritting his teeth together in a vain attempt to stop the memories flooding over him. Bigger, stronger hands grabbing at his hair, twisting the front of his shirt. His own feeble attempts at fighting back and then a sudden twist and he would be over the sofa as the belt lashed down, hands behind his head, trying so hard not to cry.

“Do you always twitch like that?”

The snide little voice brought him back to reality. The small room seemed to be closing in around him, he had to leave, get out, he needed air, to see Robert, Thoreux, anyone…

“You look like you’ve come from a loony-bin.”

Abner gasped, digging his hand even deeper into his pocket. He wanted to run, but couldn’t move, he felt as if he’d been glued to the floor, limbs paralysed.

“Thibby!”

The rough voice made them both jump. No one else would have noticed it, but Abner saw the boy’s left shoulder rise fractionally and a slightly hunted look passed briefly over his eyes.

The door behind them burst open, and Abner scrambled desperately out of the way of the large figure framed in the doorway. Thibby unfolded himself quickly and slid over to place a hand on the man’s chest.

“I’m here. I’ve been hear all afternoon.”

His voice was the same, but quieter. He kept his eyes lowered.

The man glared at Abner, “Who’s this?”

“No one.” Thibby murmured, as a strong arm wrapped itself around his waist.

The man’s eyes narrowed, “Well get him out!”

Never before had Abner been so willing to carry out an order. He almost fell down the stairs in his eagerness to get away.