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“Mumbo. A word please.”
Mumbo looked up from his coffee. He blinked blearily at Grian and set his mug down, “Um . . sure?”
Grian took that as permission to sit down across from Mumbo, kicking his legs under the table. He arranged himself carefully on the seat, patting out the plush cushion and folding one leg over the other. He steepled his fingers and angled them to all point at Mumbo, “I want wings.”
Mumbo blinked once more. He could have just sworn he heard Grian ask for wings. You know, those things that humans can't ever grow. Grian didn’t break the emotionless stare, so Mumbo cleared his throat, “Um, er, come again?”
“I would like some wings,” Grian repeated. Just a little more polite this time. He tilted his head, “I know that those killers use them, sometimes. So, I would like one of those.”
Mumbo shook his head with a light scoff, “Grian, they don’t just give those away. They aren’t just toys that you can . . . hey- why are we even talking about this- no!”
Grian narrowed his eyes. Mumbo felt a chill up his spine. But, he stood firm, “No.”
Grian somehow narrowed his eyes even further. Mumbo shuddered, and then pointedly looked away, “Your stink eye can’t get to me if I don’t look at you.”
“Ugh, you never let me have fun,” Grian curled his lip. He examined his nails, “Fine, forget the wings. How about just a normal Q weapon then?”
“That’s the same thing, Grian.”
“No, it’s just a knife or a sword or what have you.”
“It’s the same thing. The wings would be a Q weapon and so would a knife or anything else,” Mumbo looked back at his older brother, brows pinched together, “Grian is . . . are you okay? Is there something you need to tell me, bud?”
“Oh nothing,” Grian flicked his eyebrows up, feigning nonchalance, “I just thought you’d care if I got attacked and had nothing to defend myself with. Hmm.”
“A normal thing like pepper spray would do you right good,” Mumbo muttered, “And even that I don’t want in your grubby little hands.”
“Fine then, just to have.”
Mumbo took a long sip of coffee and Grian waited. The silence cast its intended effect, because the gears in Mumbo’s head began turning.
Grian smirked behind his interlaced fingers as he saw the crease on Mumbo’s forehead make a more thoughtful arch. The mustache twiddled and his gray eyes cast down towards the table.
Doves weren’t their only problem. Come to think of it, Ghouls that were more powerful than Mumbo were problems in general. Mumbo had always been taught as a child to avoid the signs that would mark a ghoul’s territory. Those kinds of ghouls were dangerous, because they wouldn’t hesitate to kill their own kind. Funny, how something so evolved still behaved so much like an animal.
That was more of Mumbo’s worry. Grian, however, was completely human. Mumbo had claws and fangs, Grian had nothing. It honestly wasn’t a bad idea to get Grian something to protect himself. Mumbo was leaving the house quite often these days.
Mumbo kept sipping on his coffee. He’d just gotten a job at a software firm. It was a low level job, just organizing data and arranging code. But, it happened to be just one infrastructure step down from the CCG’s quinque manufacturer.
Mumbo didn’t mind as much as he should. It was a safe place. He just had to sing their praises every so often and keep his head down. He even made a friend.
His name was Iskall. He lived in the cubicle next to Mumbo and he was as chatty as they came. Mumbo wasn’t even sure if Iskall was supposed to be telling him half the things Iskall did tell him. And come to think of it, Iskall once bragged about being able to build quinques . . .
“You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Mumbo I would never,” Grian said, too kindly.
Mumbo sighed deeply, “I’ll have a chat. But know that I’m not condoning this.”
“You have to admit it’d be cool.”
“I will not!”
============================
Mumbo arrived at the office with his coat over his shoulder, sighing wearily. Grian had packed him a lunch today- something the guy only did if he wanted something from Mumbo. Come to think of it, it was weird that Grian even had access to the kind of food Mumbo could actually eat-
He shook his head, dropping his coat on the corner of his cubicle and his wrapped up lunchbox on the side of his desk.
He rested his arms on the tabletop, rubbing his temples. This was a stupid idea. Grian’s ideas were usually foolish but this took the cake. He wanted a highly advanced weapon made of ghoul kagune for self defense.
Curse Grian’s devious nature. He knew Mumbo was fascinated with those things, as horrific as they were. Mumbo would never admit it, but he wanted to see one just as badly as Grian wanted one-
“Hey Mumbo!”
Mumbo jumped, nearly punching himself in the face. He whirled around, clutching his chest, “OH-! My days!”
Iskall smiled, patting Mumbo on the shoulder, “Sorry, man. You just looked so sad all alone right there.”
“I was just fine until you scared the pants off of me!” Mumbo exclaimed. Iskall shrugged, “Guess you gotta get some better ears, Mumbo!”
Mumbo scoffed, adjusting his suit tie, “I can’t believe you sometimes.”
“Ha! Sometimes is better than always!” Iskall slapped the back of Mumbo’s chair and stepped back towards the doorway of his cubicle, “Hey how’s the move been going?”
Mumbo swiveled around, calming his racing heart, “It’s been going quite well actually. My uh- little brother’s kind of antsy but I think the bigger space will do him some good.”
Grian was actually two years older than Mumbo. But it would be weird that Mumbo was so worried about an older brother, right? Would bring up some questions.
“Yeah. Can’t believe you can leave him alone like this all the time,” Iskall had a little bit of sympathy on his voice, so Mumbo smiled, “Yeah. He’s a trooper. I’ll find a sitter or something soon- I actually had a chat with him yesterday.”
“Awh, that must be so nice,” Iskall leaned back against the wall, “I don’t have such family close by.”
“It’s eeeeh,” Mumbo joked, making a face, “When you’ve got a younger brother, it’s very much a gamble. Good or bad, y’know?”
“Ah, yes, I can imagine.”
Mumbo nodded solemnly. Here was his shot. A perfect gap in the conversation. Mumbo had a split second to decide to back out-
“Say, can I ask you a favor?”
“Oh?” Iskall’s eyebrows shot up, “You know I love a good deal Mumbol.”
“It’s Mumbo,” Mumbo nervously pushed a lock of hair out of his face, “Well uh. I remember you talking about making quinques. And I kinda was wondering if you could make . . . one . . . for me?”
Boy that sounded forced as hell. Mumbo swallowed down the nervous lump in his throat and quickly tried to explain, “Like I was talking with my brother and he got real curious. He sees ‘em all the time on the telly and well I told him I work under the tech side of it-”
“Yeah sure!”
Mumbo blinked. Iskall grinned back. Mumbo’s mustache twitched, “. . . what, just like that?”
“Yes, just like that,” Iskall nodded enthusiastically, “I mean we can talk more specs after work but yeah I’d be happy to help you out!”
“But . . don’t you have to- . . . what?” Mumbo stuttered, completely and utterly baffled. Iskall chuckled, sliding out of Mumbo’s cubicle, “I’ll give it a think, how about that? But consider it done sir!”
“I- oh- yeah cool,” Mumbo gave Iskall a shaky thumbs up. Iskall returned it with a beaming smile and disappeared down the narrow hallway.
That was . . way too easy.
==
“Hey. Mumbo.”
Mumbo looked up from his stack of papers, blinking blearily at Iskall. Iskall hovered over the top of the cubicle, looking worried, “You okay, man? You seem tired.”
“Oh it’s uh . . . it’s nothing,” Mumbo rubbed his dry eyes and dropped his pen, “What’s up, bud?”
“Are you almost done?”
“Uuuuh well,” Mumbo turned to look at the clock. Oh god, was it 5pm already? He groaned, running a fussy hand through his hair, “Yeah, yeah I guess. I can finish up in a bit.”
“Alright cool. Come over to my office to talk specs when you’re done okay?” Iskall gave him a reassuring smile and disappeared back behind the wall.
Specs?
Oh.
Mumbo suddenly remembered the deal he’d struck with Iskall. Right. He’d asked Iskall for a bloody quinque. He would slap his past self if he could.
It was a weird situation that left a tingly pile of discomfort in Mumbo’s heart. The quinque itself was almost like a curse. Or a something that Mumbo knew was bad. It was made of dead ghouls for heaven’s sake!
But it was just . . . so . . . cool. Mumbo let out a long slow breath, forcing himself to look back at the papers.
He loved technology. He jerry-rigged his own speaker in a cup when he was eight! Sure that was from a toy kit, but it was still one of his fondest memories. It led to him reading all the coding and computer books he could get his hands on.
It just felt odd. Yeah, that’s a good word. It felt odd.
He finished up his pile of documents and stood up. He grabbed his empty lunchbox and coat and knocked on the side wall. He rounded the corner and leaned on the cubicle divider, “Alright Iskall, ready for some deals and business?”
Iskall spun around, ominously slow, “Ah ha ha . . ! Mr Mumbol Jumbo.”
“Eheh, yeah that’s me,” Mumbo dropped his things on Iskall’s shelf and shoved his hands in his pockets. Iskall clasped his hands together, clearing his throat in a very official business-y way, “Well sir. I believe we have some things to talk about!”
“Yes we sure do,” Mumbo laughed lightly, “Look man, just know that if you don’t want to do this you don’t have to-”
“No I want to!” Iskall broke his faux-serious demeanor for a second. He scowled like a frustrated toddler and scooted forward in his chair, “Do you doubt me Mr Mumbol?”
“Er- well no,” Mumbo shook his head. Iskall puffed up his chest and jabbed a finger at Mumbo, “Then you will let me take this project! Because I want to do it!”
“Alright alright,” Mumbo patted the top of Iskall’s hand, “You win buddy. You win.”
Iskall grinned victoriously and scooted back towards his desk, “Excellent! Then we shall, as they say, talk shop.”
He re-clasped his hands and got that glint in his eye when he started plotting. Mumbo had only known this guy for a couple of weeks and he’d gotten way too familiar with that little glint. Iskall paused to collect his thoughts and then looked back up at Mumbo, “Do you have anything in mind?”
“Er,” Mumbo looked up at the ceiling, thinking. He didn’t think Iskall would say yes, to be honest. Step two of his plan wasn’t exactly written out. He shrugged, “. . maybe somethin like . . bird wings? He likes birds.”
“Ah that is perfect!” Iskall grabbed his phone and typed something aggressively into the keypad, “I emailed a Mr. Vhoide and he said that he’d allow me to give away my first prototype!”
“Your what?”
“Well in our department we don’t workshop the first designs we make. They are usually garbage anyway,” Iskall waved a hand, “My first design was meant to be a pair of wings, because I too am an enjoyer of birds!”
He chuckled sadly, “Alas, I am not a very good artist, and the prototype turned out looking more like whiskers than a bird.”
He smiled up at Mumbo, “It is not my finest achievement! And it is useless, just a fancy little gizmo that pops some wire frames in and out. I will not be mad if I give it to you!”
Mumbo blinked, “Really?”
“Oh yeah,” Iskall grinned, “It was very bad. I can clean it up a little bit. It used this kagune cell core that I tried to graft onto a wire frame, you know.”
The thought made Mumbo feel sick. He cleared his throat, “Ah right. It’s, um, what all quinques are made of, isn’t it.”
“Well not exactly!” Iskall sat back in his chair, “When it comes to molding the quinque steel, the energized metal needs somewhere to stick to and a frame to bind to. Or if you have some raw material, it will do the forming all on its own.”
Mumbo’s throat began to itch uncomfortably. He scratched his neck, nodding along as Iskall kept talking.
Iskall grinned, pointing an accusing finger at himself, “And this genius idiot man decided to do both!”
That itchy feeling had a name, Mumbo knew it. He tried to clear it away with a little chuckle, “Well maybe take it out of the case. Erm, don’t want people thinkin I stole it or something.”
Iskall nodded, “Right, that is true. Hey, I can work with that. Maybe give it a little backpack so it’s kinda cute.”
“Yeah, cute, right,” Mumbo nodded, hiding the disturbed look on his face. Iskall nodded back, apparently ignorant of Mumbo’s discomfort. He held out a strong hand, and Mumbo blanched.
“You sir, have yourself a deal.”
Mumbo sighed, grasping Iskall’s hand in his, “Thank you, Iskall. Really. You didn’t have to do this.”
“Not at all! As for the price, you owe me free movie tickets now.”
=====
The device arrived three days later. Mumbo was baffled at Iskall’s honesty and even more baffled by the size.
As promised, Iskall made the housing a wearable backpack with adjustable elastic straps and a concealed button on the underside. The entire thing was slim, about half the width of a normal Dove’s briefcase.
As Grian pestered Mumbo to unwrap it, the itching feeling had come back tenfold. It coiled in a painful knot as he held up the little pack and hit the switch.
Two massive wings sprung out of the housing. Mumbo nearly dropped the thing, dragging the long, bony tips of the wings along the countertop. Grian stood back in awe, eyes glimmering as he drank it in.
The wings were spindly, imitating the bony structure of a bat or a bird’s wings. Three long, blunt spindles hung off of a main arm, dangling with a comical bony-ness. Mumbo had looked to Grian for satisfaction, hoping that the other boy was satisfied with this treasure.
Grian beamed that day. It was the first smile Mumbo had seen in a long long while and it made that feeling in his chest evaporate on the spot. He’d handed it over without another word and patted his brother on the head.
The next day, Mumbo heard Grian bring home a body.
He heard footsteps in the back alley. Worried but brave, he stuck his head out the window. His chest tightened and he nearly got sick. Grian stood in the alley- hauling with all of his strength, a dead body.
A Dove’s body. It was still wrapped in that white coat, its skull and brains completely missing.
Mumbo had to duck back inside before he got sick and quickly slammed the window shut. He held a hand over his mouth as he heard their front door unlock and Grian’s monotone greeting.
He staggered out into the kitchen as Grian hunched over the sink, washing blood off of his hands. The scent was maddening in all of the wrong ways and Mumbo managed to squeeze out a single, strangled, “. . . why?!”
Grian had turned around, then. His face was streaked with drying blood and his hair slicked back in places. Grian wordlessly lifted something off the ground and placed it on the table.
The backpack.
Mumbo’s chest constricted. An awful feeling crawled up his spine, pricking his skin as Grian leveled his blood soaked gaze. Grian’s face was covered in blood, slicked in his hair and down his cheek.
Grian was smiling too. Not a nice smile, no. It was so slight that Mumbo would have missed it if he wasn’t so horrified.
“Would you like to see?”
“. . . see what?” Mumbo asked slowly.
Grian laughed. Just one little laugh. It chilled Mumbo to the core.
He pushed the switch on the backpack and held it out over the table. The latches clicked and two wings sprang out.
Red blades slashed through the cupboard and pierced the painting on the wall.
“Grian . . .”
“Aren’t they beautiful?” Grian whispered.
The wings shimmered. The spindles had been stretched out, spanning the short side of two massive kagune wings. They glowed in the dark kitchen, humming quietly in the silence.
Mumbo’s throat had sewn itself shut, blocked by that terrible itching feeling. He pressed the back of his hand over his mouth. Oh yeah, this feeling had a name.
“Don’t worry,” Grian slipped an arm through the strap of the backpack. The whole thing listed to the side, cleaving straight through the rest of the painting. The wood frame clattered to the floor and the glass splintered with an awful crack.
He pulled his other arm through and pulled the straps to tighten them. The wings straightened, framing Grian’s body in a hellish halo.
The terrible feeling writhed in Mumbo’s stomach. He didn’t want to acknowledge it. He’d hoped that he would never have to acknowledge it.
“I’ll use it for good, now. Not like they do,” Grian said. The wings hummed in the din of silence. The kitchen glowed red, illuminated by the wings that weren’t his. They weren’t his.
This feeling had a name.
The name was regret. It wouldn’t go away for a long long time.