The Brats & The Dragon

The Brats & The Dragon

Valiant and Mischief had a way of always taking things too far. Valiant, despite his name, was never up to good things, and Mischief, much like her name, was always up to mischief. When separate they always made things mad and when they were together, as they always were, they made even the monsters that go bump in the night flee for their lives.

One day Valiant had found a massive bag of candy outside of a dumpster and decided to take it home. When his parents discovered it they threw it out; Mischief fished it out of the trash and they hid it in their room. Over the course of the next hour and a half they cracked two teeth each on too old jaw breakers and contests of who could bite to the center first. This, of course, wasn’t the end of it. In the spirit of taking things way too far, Mischief and Valiant spent the next three months consuming the entire bag of candy in secret and they were eating no small amount of the garbage every night. By the time they were done with it their teeth were black and rotten and they were forced to visit the dentist.

Dentists can choose to be nice. A dentist can take their time and carefully spot the sensitive parts of your teeth and gums and gradually work around them to avoid causing you pain. Dentists have that choice. The dentist that they went to chose to do a quick and nasty job since they were all baby teeth anyway. The pain was horrendous and Mischief made sure to pour all of the thumbtacks under his desk and beneath his chair covers as revenge. Not just all of his thumbtacks either; she snuck out to the office supply store next door while the dentist was working on Valiant and bought as many pack of tacks as she could with the money the tooth fairy left her; which was no small sum mind you.

Ever since that day the two siblings had more silver in their mouth than enamel and a healthy fear of ever going back to the dentist. Before either of them could fall asleep at night they would thoroughly brush and floss.

Now all of that is nice and good but right now there was madness and there is no greater madness than the quotidian nature of siblings. Valiant and Mischief are a bonded pair that antagonize and harass one another but in a genuinely loyal way. Much like a couple who have fallen into their twilight, these siblings regard each other with a sense of jaded caution; each knows enough to destroy the other and yet they dote on one another and protect each other without that being the reason why. They’re odd and strange and difficult to understand; and that makes them very dangerous to the creatures that are in their way.

“I’m your sister, aren’t I?” Mischief asked Valiant.

“You’re going to ask me for something.”

“Well, if I was your sister then you’d love me and if you loved me then you’d go into the bathroom and kill the bug in there.”

Valiant wasn’t going to go into the bathroom to kill a bug, especially not one that elicited the kind of scream that came out of Mischief. Bugs were creepy and crawly and felt a particular brand of icky when they touched your skin. The very thought of smashing a bug and feeling its inner goo-ooze about made Valiant shudder.

“Come on, it’s just a beetle!” Mischief pleaded to her brother. She had found it laying on its back struggling to right itself on the sink counter; its multitude of legs were writhing in the air as it was working to correct itself. Perhaps if it wasn’t the size of her fist or if its mandible hadn’t clacked into a hissing sound, Mischief would have gone about brushing her teeth without making this into an incident. Unfortunately it was and it had respectively and now it needed to die before she could go to bed.

“Fine, if you’re not going to help then we need to get a cat. Cats take care of pests like these. Where can we find a cat?”

“That’s your solution to every problem. I’ve told you, you find cats in alley ways that smell like hobos and pee.”

It was a strange law of the universe that street cats were attracted to the smell or hobos and pee or perhaps it was those smells that were attracted to street cats. Sometimes the smells would find their ways to the cats even if there weren’t any hobos; there was always pee though. One way or another there was always going to be pee. If you’ve never owned a cat then just know that they are little pee monsters.

As Mischief was getting on a coat to go outside, Valiant found his way over to her, “I’m coming with you. I want to pet the cats.”

“No you butt. You won’t kill the beetle for me so you don’t get to pet the cats.”

Valiant scrunched his nose at Mischief but she was already sneaking away. Of course Valiant could hear her tip toeing towards the door even if he couldn’t see her, but he understood that she didn’t want him to come along. This, of course, meant he’d have to trail her at afar so that he could play with the cats after she had found them.

Hiding yourself and following someone sounds all well and like a good idea until you actually try to execute it. As Mischief dodged around the corners and peeked behind the alleyways, the night conspired to mask her presence. Owls hooted, mice squeaked, and shadowy monsters scratched at the bricks. Valiant was used to these things so he wasn’t terribly scared or startled, but he certainly couldn’t keep up with Mischief like this and before long he was further behind her than he wanted to be.

Valiant had been listening for her footsteps the entire time and had just lost them when another pair of footsteps took off towards the haunted woods. That was strange – was Mischief in trouble? Valiant ran as fast as he could to try to catch up to them before they reached the woods. He failed but they were sprinting so desperately that they left deep footprints; he took a gulp and summoned up as much courage as he could to delve into the dark of the woods and save Mischief.

Meanwhile Mischief was walking down yet another alleyway without success. These alleyways were all much too clean and barren. Some had frogs and others had mystery boxes but there were no street cats to be found.

Then it caught her eye: a cat dove out of a dumpster down a stairwell into an open cellar. Mischief cracked a grin ear to ear and went in after it. She knew that cats were wily beasts and that it would escape and evade her if she wasn’t careful so she closed the door behind her as she went in. The cellar itself was dark with a glow of red from a burning furnace. The cat sat on the floor by the warm furnace licking itself.

Carefully, step by step, Mischief edged towards the cat until she was close enough then she pounced at it. As she predicted, the cat was onto her schemes and bolted for the door only to find it closed now. In a fit of confusion and desperation it bolted around the room in circles. Its escape was futile and it wore itself down after a few minutes, allowing Mischief to scoop it up. Ah, there is nothing better to pet than the sweet fur of a freshly caught street cat.

As the cat struggled against her hold, Mischief pet it roughly on the head and made her way to the door, which now refused to open. When she went to unlock the knob, she found that there was only a keyhole; what kind of monster thought to make doors that lock that need a key to open from the inside?

“Now you’ve done it you stupid child, we’re trapped!” The cat shouted at Mischief.

“Shut up cat, you have to come with me to kill a beetle in my bathroom.”

“I’ll do no such thing stupid child, I am a powerful werecat and since we’re trapped in here I’m going to eat you!” The cat began to hiss, foam, and snarl.

“You’ll kill that beetle or I’ll bite you!”

“No I won’t!” The cat barked out and so Mischief bit him. With a burning fsss of supernatural forces the cat howled in pain and subdued.

You see, werewolves are all too common in modern society, much like wizards, vampires, fairies, and frankensteins. They propagate too easily and then just bum about in cities acting as if they were people. Of course, just because they are commonplace and blend in does not mean that they benefit from any sorts of immunities to their natural enemies. As fire is to trolls, Mischief’s silver teeth are to werewolf-cats.

The cat gave one last mewl before it settled down and bowed its head in submission to Mischief. Now the only trouble was getting out of the basement.

If there was one creature that never had problems with basements it was dragons. You never heard silly stories of dragons becoming trapped in basements or other small situations because if they did they would just blow it up with fire. That’s when the idea struck Mischief: she’d blow the door open with the water heater in the room. With just a bit of luck there were tools for just that laying about in the boxes around, primarily a set of pliers and a wrench.

“Mr. Snufflebutt you’ll be helping me push the water heater to the door.” As she set the cat down, the two set to work pushing the water heater as close as they could to the door, stretching the tubing out as far as it would. Mischief didn’t understand the principles of physics or how pressure or combustion work, but she understood that if you clamp down flowing water then it bursts with enough force to put Valiant through a window. Valiant through a window was a unit of measurement here and it was surely enough to take down a door. With two cranks and a clamp, the tubing for the water heater was closed up and it began to heat up and boil and was soon shaking and ready to burst.

Leaping behind whatever she could, Mischief hoped that the burst of fiery breath from her makeshift dragon wouldn’t have enough blowback to harm her – though it was better to fail and be burned a bit than to be trapped in a prison forever.

Yet again with just a bit of luck and stalwart fortitude, as the water furnace gurgled and churned and exploded, the superheated shrapnel strayed away from Mischief and Snufflebutt, allowing them a pleasant reprieve from an anxious moment. They were free! Also the building was on fire. But they were free and that was all that mattered. Mischief egressed and found a nice spot on a dumpster to sit on while watching the fire department arrive.

“Oh, hi Valiant, did you follow me?” Mischief noted as she saw Valiant attempted to sneak about.

“I tried to but I think I just killed a ghost? I’m not sure.”

“Want to listen to the firetrucks? I got a cat.”

“Can I pet it?” Valiant asked hopefully, his voice exhausted from goodness knows what.

“You know what, sure. He’s a butt cat and you’re a butt, you can be butt buddies together.” And so Mischief and Valiant sat down together and poked, prodded, and generally harassed the poor werecat.

The Brats that Monsters Fear

The Brats that Monsters Fear

Valiant and Mischief weren’t born on any particularly special day or under any particularly special circumstances. They were siblings of about the same age and the same height. They weren’t twins but you could hardly distinguish the two apart aside from their scars. They had a penchant of getting into trouble and not the good kind of trouble either. Mischief had, as her name suggested, gotten into a fair bit of no-goodery one afternoon some months ago and broken into the sink cabinet. Now, for those of you not versed in mom-ery or dad-ery, this is where the chemicals are kept out of reach of the kids.

Mischief herself was a bright young girl who couldn’t picklocks; Valiant was a clever young lad who could. As good siblings do, most requests could be gotten with just a few sweet words and so Mischief asked Valiant to pretty please crack open the sink lock. He did and within minutes they had managed to bleach themselves. If you’re not very familiar with bleach you may think that it just looks like water and is good at cleaning things. The problem with bleach is that it burns things quite badly in its undiluted state and straight from the bottle is as undiluted as it is going to get. The both of them were sent to the chemical burn ward at the hospital after that. The left half of Mischief’s face was now a sickly pale white and her eyebrows were blonde in contrast to her otherwise chestnut hair. Her brother, Valiant, was blinded and there was a horizontal strip of burned white skin across his eyes that denoted where the chemical stream dripped down.

For good siblings these types of tribulations only act to bring them closer together and they, in many ways, became inseparable. Mischief felt no guilt for blinding Valiant and Valiant felt no resentment. The two didn’t spend time together because of the disability; Valiant just loved to hear his sister talk, as she did have a very sweet voice, and Mischief loved that someone was always there to listen to her.

After school the two would talk and play and get into all sorts of near calamities that no one could blame on them or get them in trouble for, much in part due to Valiant. To them, Valiant being blind was the greatest blessing of all. If the adults ever wanted to give them trouble, no one could ever put any blame on the little blind boy and his sister. It was wonderful and they got away with so much because of it.

One day after school they decided to dilly dally going home and go on an adventure instead.

“We always stay in the boring city but today let’s go into the haunted woods brother.”

“That sounds like a stupid idea. Yes lets.”

As most children, the two of them loved to play pretend. The difference with these two was that Valiant would imagine the things they did a thousand times more clearly than any other child.

“Now we’ve never been inside of the haunted woods before. What sorts of things do you think we’ll see brother?”

“Werewolves and ghosts, of course.”

“Everyone knows that werewolves aren’t real and that ghosts only show up at night. We’re not staying here until night, I’ll get hungry.”

“Then what monsters come out during the day?”

Mischief looked around for a moment, “There’s a lollipop shaped creature that looks like someone licked it until it became ill. It’s all runny and gross with their spit.”

“Well, that’s no good anymore, what else?”

It was no use; Mischief had gone off to play with the lollipop creature. Valiant frowned his mightiest of little frowns and decided to find some creatures of his own.

Valiant was not of the cowardly sort but he also wasn’t of the brave sort. He was of the little child sort that sort of wants to venture forth and do silly things but sometimes gets scared when it’s too strange. You see, this is actually a very common sort but no one likes to admit it.

“Don’t wander off too long while I play with the lollipop or you’ll get scared and cry again!” Mischief just had to shout as he was heading off.

It’s worth mentioning that just because Valiant was the sort that sometimes got scared, this didn’t mean he wouldn’t swallow those fears and rush head first into disaster if his pride was at stake. He was challenged and he’d show Mischief that he could do as he pleased without consequences and without crying.

Without Mischief the woods were cold and silent. Only wisps clouded the air with swishes and creaks. Every once in awhile a monster would try to play a trick and hide in the corner of Valiant’s eyes; only because they didn’t know his eyes were gone. Valiant was too clever for them, you see; he could hear their scurrying in the dead silence and he knew that he would outwit those monsters by being brave and continuing forth.

After more than a fair bit of time Valiant finally felt that his pride was reassured and he was ready to go back and look for Mischief. Unfortunately for him the wisps had clouded his senses and the trees sealed behind him. When he turned to try to follow his tracks he kept hitting dead ends. There were rocks and trees where before he had found solid footholds and paths. As he wondered aloud how this could have happened a raven swooped down and began to harass him. First it violated his hair and next it went to claw out his eyes. When it found that it had failed it grew displeased and cawed at him incessantly. Tired of the scratches and screaming of the bird Valiant demanded that the crow leave, “I have nothing for you stupid bird. Go away!”

The raven replied, “Trespasser! Trespasser! Kill yourself or I’ll steal what you love dear.”

Picking up whatever stocks and sticks he could off of the ground, Valiant hurled, blindly might I remind you, the debris at the bird to shoo it off. The bullets fell aimlessly without a marksman and the raven continued to shout at him.

“You’re not a bird at all. You’re lying to me you witch.”

The rough, guttural cry turned into a shriek that began to tear out Valiant’s hearing. If he didn’t wish to become deaf and blind he needed to find a way to egress. With his path back blocked, this meant he could only go forward, so with every ounce of self preservation Valiant turned and fled away from the cries. That was definitely no bird, it was a witch and it sought to do witch things. Valiant had heard many stories of the things that witches do but Mischief knew them better than him. He needed to find Mischief now so that he could best this malevolent beast and go home before supper was cold and Mischief was hungry.

Unfortunately, foolishly Valiant had thought about what he loved most in this world. A brother’s love for his sister can be the most potent of loves as only siblings can tell you. Yes they harassed, hurt, and harangued one another but they did so unabashedly for their kinship. A good sibling can tie you to a chair, leave you in the closet, and, while still fuming mad, still save you dinner and make up a lie so you don’t get in trouble. Brothers and sisters are strange like that.

With this knowledge in mind the raven went to work.

Valiant ran. He ran until the cries of the witch disappeared and even the wisps stopped following him. How much time went by was hard to measure so instead he measured it in stomachs. The first stomach was about two minutes, for that’s how long it took for him to feel the white hot burn of running too hard normally. Next the second stomach was a measure for how long it took to reach a second wind. The third stomach was when he had run so hard that he began to dry heave. Finally there was a fourth stomach and that measurement was when Valiant had stomached all of the running that he could and now he needed to sit down. His heart pounded in pain as he came to such a sudden stop but worse was his fear that he was absolutely and truly lost. Worst yet was that he couldn’t find Mischief to help him. Together they could conquer anything but alone, either of them was far from indomitable.

All just about seemed lost when suddenly iron creaked nearby and startled Valiant to his feet. It wasn’t the sound of the joints of a rusty iron giant; they lumbered and puffed when they moved. It also wasn’t the sound of a ghost chained up because it wasn’t rattling at all. This meant that it was a gate and something was coming out to get him.

“Oh you poor young boy, you must be freezing out here. Where are your parents? Here come inside and you can stay the night.” A voice trying to sound as friendly and concerned as possible greeted him.

Before Valiant could react he was snatched and shoved towards something and the gate behind him shut with an ominous yelp. It must have been an iron dog gate; Valiant would have to remember this when he made his escape.

The house smelled old and was covered in dust. Every step that Valiant took was betrayed by the floor itself as it moaned and wailed to reveal him. It took a moment to occur to Valiant that he was alone again. Whoever had swept him into this old home had vanished. Once more he turned to try to find the exit only to be lost. The hallway was his enemy here as no matter where he turned he couldn’t find the door he had just been ushered through. For now he was trapped. It would seem that despite his best efforts that witch had caught him.

Valiant found his way around by groping at the walls and doors until he found something worth finding. The jealous creatures of the house kicked in the warped wood of the walls and pulled up as many shards as they could to deter Valiant as he reached out to find his way and his hands were constantly pressing into splinters. Finally his search paid off and he found a door into a room that smelled more like trouble than old people.

“Oh hi Valiant, she got you too?” Squeaked Mischief as she complacently sipped on a juice box.

“Mischief, you’ll never believe this but a witch said she was going to take you if I didn’t kill myself.” Valiant whispered to his sister.

“I know, I found the pantry and there’s a meat locker there where she keeps people. I can’t say that I really like this old lady.”

“She’s a bird or a witch or something. How do you kill a bird witch?”

“Well, in stories if you try to kill a witch they always curse you and come back to life so you’ll have to be careful about that. Otherwise witches are just geriatrics who eat children so push them down some stairs like any one else over the age of seventy.”

“Do you know where the witch is right now?”

“Yeah, she’s upstairs preparing a room for us. Old lady zips around like nobody’s business. Weird old witch.”

Mischief had been out snooping it seemed and she had found everything that they needed to dispose of their captor, she just didn’t know it yet. Valiant whispered his plan into her ear, skipping as many details as he could so the house wouldn’t find out. The first step was to go to the kitchen and find the cooking oil.

With cooking oil in hand, Valiant took the task of venturing up the stairs as quietly as he could as he set Mischief off to find a bone or a slab of meat. When he neared the top, the unmistakable smell of sugar began to assault his nose and he could hear the songs of the witch coming from the sweet smelling room. Was she actually preparing a candy room for them to sleep in? Mischief was right; she was a weird old witch.

Wasting no more time, Valiant unscrewed the cap of the oil and began to pour in out along each of the steps and he crawled his way back down slowly and carefully. Once all twenty two and a half steps were coated with oil he went to check on Mischief, who had long since found a bone and had broken into the refrigerator in the kitchen.

“She has ice cream! It’s coffee flavored!” Mischief said, obviously much more perky than she had been a minute ago.

“Okay, give me a spoonful then I want you to scream as loud as you can.”

As her brother asked her to, Mischief took in a deep breath, then another, and a third then unleashed the most blood curdling bloody murder scream that she would as she stingily hoarded the ice cream carton. The house ached and croaked and the sounds of the woman upstairs began to thump around as she tried to figure out what happened; which only turned into an even louder set of thumps and bangs moments later. Just after each thud was a loud curse, screaming out against the unseen forces that had undone the old lady. Honestly it was mostly just cuss words. The final thud and snap sounded off from the old lady’s fall; Valiant and Mischief went to investigate the scene.

Sure enough the witch was dead and she spent all of her last breaths cursing the air and the house and everything else for it but not Valiant and Mischief. They were safe from the witch’s curse. Next in the plan was to break out of the iron gate but like any old dog it would yield for a bone and so Mischief threw the bone she had found as hard as she could against the iron door. Sure enough it opened and they were free to leave.

Now that they had escaped, there was only one question left on Valiant’s mind, “So how did you get caught and why didn’t you try to leave?”

Mischief stopped walking for a moment and thought about it, “Well, you wouldn’t know about it, but she had a lot of candy before you got there.” Of course.

“The haunted woods are fun but we’re so deep in them, how will we ever find out way out?”

“Don’t be stupid, the wisps and spirits only turn you around when you’re alone. We’re right next to town.” That was right, Mischief was here now so the woods were no longer silent or filled with creatures trying to find the corner’s of his eyes. The two went along their way and never breathed a word of the old witch to anyone else.