Chapter One: Quarter Dollar Chess Piece

“What? That I used two fourteen-year-old pawns to turn a knight and topple a king? It's chess, Daniel. Of course you don't understand. But then, you never really did.” - Vlad Plasmus, Danny Phantom

-May 1st, 2020, 1213 Hrs-

“Look, Mr. Q, I'm not trying to screw you here. I'm not an enforcer, I'm not a fighter, I'm the messenger. We've been playing this little song and dance for a while now, and I've laid out what the boss wants, and what he's willing to give you in exchange for this set of artifacts.” I growl out, feeling very frustrated as I glare down the odd man on the other side of the table.

The office high rise is very fancy indeed, a good twenty stories up in a very exclusive office building, the office of an art dealer only known by his moniker of 'Q'. I've been in yet another meeting with him, the fifth one this week in fact, and it's another God-Be-Damned long one. Seven hours of wheeling, small talk, pleasantries, veiled threats from both sides, and enough haggling to make a second-world country market place vendor faint from either joy or anguish because they're about to make a lot or loose much, much more.

All over five necklaces and a frigging tiara. Six art pieces. Stuff the Boss wants. And one way or another, the Boss gets what the Boss wants. Always. Comes with being the Boss of the Mob, yeah? Of course, Q doesn't seem to care, the salt-and-pepper haired man as aloof as he always has been. Just like every other time we start working on one of these negotiations.

Working for the Mob isn't that bad... at least, not all the time anyway. It's got it's up and downs, gang warfare or fights between the families, Mafiaso trying to muscle in on our territory here in Seattle, someone steals this, takes over that, takes over this drug ring, that prostitute ring got found out by the boys in blue, yadda yadda. It's a long story, old as America and it's been written since the Mob formed from the first Irish boys working on the docks, trying to get that dream, the American Dream. Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness. What a crock of bullshit.

Ah well, shit is what shit does, and that's festering all over this damned world. There's a few bright spots here and there, but they hold no place in this conversation, which my mind just wandered away from. Better pull myself together, got shit to deal with now first. The rest of the shit can wait, and we can burn those particular bridges when we get to them.

“Mr. McCloud, I'm going to be blunt- I understand what you're working with at the moment, and what your bosses offer is. I'm telling you that these artifacts are worth a bit more then the four million he's offered.” Q says, the smarmy bastard sitting back with a satisfied smirk on his face. His black-and-white pinstriped suit looking as perfect as it did when we started this farce, my own suit a bit wrinkled from sitting down for so damn long, his angular face hiding nothing and yet hiding everything.

“And I'm tellin' ye Mr. Q, yer' not going to get a better offer!” I say with as much force I can muster, which is quite a bit considering that my accent is actually starting to get the better of me. “The Mob is being very generous with our offer of four million. The mafiaso will just try to kill you to take it, and the private collectors won't offers as much as we will.”

I huff, taking a moment to look off to the side, glancing at myself in the mirror. Besides the annoyed look on my face, I look your standard rough and tough dock boy. Five foot eleven, broad shoulders that don't look like they should fit in the sharp black suit I'm wearing, messy brown hair tied back in a decently long ponytail, about to my shoulders, sharp blue eyes centered in a solidly jawed face giving me my own glare right back before I turn my attention back to Q. “It's our final offer Mr. Q. I have the briefcase right here. You can count the money yourself before I leave.”

“... Oh very well, you are trying so hard to drive this deal, Mr. McCloud.” The sharply dressed, if eccentric art collector says with a sigh as he closes the case containing the jewelry and softly pushes it across the table towards me, I lifting and pushing the briefcase over to him, snapping it open as I turn it around smoothly, holding it open by the handle with my other hand. Just like you'd see in the movies. I know, because I've been doing it for too damn long now and I've had plenty of practice. Gotta make it look good or no one takes it seriously.

“The money is right here, Mr. Q.” I say, letting the briefcase go as I stand, putting a hand on the jewelry case, and he starts counting his money. He's taking his bloody damned time doing so, but before too long he's closed the case and he nodded his consent.

“Very well Mr. McCloud. Go and tell your Boss that is has been, as always, a pleasure doing business with the Mob, and I look forwards to our next dealing.” The smarmy bastard, being all pleasant after that bloody ordeal.

“A pleasure, Mr. Q. Good Day.” I manage to say in as pleasant and accent-free tone as possible before make my out of the building as fast as humanly possible, practically leaping down the stairs, carefully handling my package to ensure no damage is done to it, sliding it into a messenger bag. Before I reach the exit, I strip out of the suit, glad to be free of the stuffy thing and back into much more comfortable clothing for me, a tee-shirt and jeans. The moment I'm out of the suit, it's in the messenger bag as well and I'm out the door, quickly moving over to my motorcycle. A Harley Davidson Nightrider, specially made for me as a twentieth birthday present from the Boss. The smooth, curved lines of the bike helped to highlight the beautiful paint and trim of my ride, the chestnut brown coloring broken only on the tank, which had a clearly marked out name in white and black- The Pony Express.

When you're the fastest and most dependable messenger/delivery man/dealer around, you end up getting nicknames like that, and almost everyone in the Mob just called me Pony, or The Express. Only the Boss used my full title, and very rarely, my full name. Michael McCloud, the Third. Twenty-seven years old, twenty eight today. Seems like times passed too damn fast for my tastes. Too much shit to deal with.

My bike revs hard as I start it up, flipping my helmet onto my head and latching it in a smooth motion, the horses ready to fly as I lay into the handle and tear out of the parking lot like a bat outta hell, glad to be on the road once again as I tap my helmet, activating the bluetooth built into it. Gotta love technology these days, and hands-free operation beats the hell out of trying to hold onto a cellphone and ride at the same time.

*BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BE-Click* “This better be good news Pony.” The low growl of my Enforcer drifts into my ear. My best friend since before all this shit started, Brick. Stupid name, sure, but hey, never said he was named for anything besides how friggin' big the guy is. Built like a brick shithouse.

“Brick, do I ever give you bad news?” I drawl, sarcasm practically drooling from my mouth as I weave around a sixteen wheeler and rev my bike harder. “I got the package, let the boss know that it's good to go and I have it covered. I'll deliver it personally, as usual, at the Meetup. One week.”

“Yeah yeah. Fine, good work Pony-boy, no one knows what you got or who you got it from, blah-blah. I'll let the Boss know.” Ahhh that's Brick for ya, blunt as his namesake. Pity, he's a great guy to party around, but here I am, in Seattle, while he's hanging with the Boss in NYC. “Oh, and Michael... Happy Birthday. Twenty Eight years is a long ass time. Glad to see you've made it this far.”

I chuckle and shake my head lightly. “Thanks Brick. It'll be thirty before you know it and then you'll be making fun of me instead of congratulating me.” I say before hanging up, letting out a breath as the wind whips against my body comfortingly. Personally, I think this is what flying, really flying, feels like. The roar of the wind against your body, the pressure of the speed your traveling at pressing at every inch as you move so fast, faster then everything around you.

Wish I could fly, heh. That'd be something to see, the amazing flying Irish Mobster. Doesn't quite roll off the tongue like the Flying Nun, but meh, we'll roll with it for now.

I quickly pull out of the main part of the city and start into the suburbs towards my apartment building (owned and maintained by the Mob, not that 60% of the people living there know that) when my bluetooth starts ringin', informing me I got a call from my little brother. Now -that- puts a smile on my face as I tap the side of my helmet to answer the call.

“You've reached the Pony Express.” I chuckle, a grin on my face as I wait for my brother to speak up.

“Big Brother! Finished that business deal finally? Another high-class art piece for that Museum in Boston, right?” The eager voice of my little brother echos through my earpiece, as high and as boyish as ever, even though he's turning twenty five. My brother, the man child. I shake my head, chuckling harder, almost laughter, as I reply.

“Yeah, finished it up. Sorry, I have to bring work home to the party, but hey, I'm bringing some other things too. Like your presents.” I hum, revving my engine a bit harder, that much more excited to get home.

“YES! Can't wait! See you soon BBBFF!” My brother crows through my earpiece, making me shake my head again. Several years off the air and he -still- loves that show. He tried to get me into it, and it's alright. I mean, Lauren Faust is spectacular, and her vision was pretty awesome, but it wasn't really my thing, especially with having to work all the time in order to provide for me and my little brother.

“Yeah yeah, see you soon Danny-boy.” I say, hanging up as my mind turns to the last fifteen years of my life. The death of my parents, after the adoption of my little brother, running from the law to avoid the foster houses, finding my Uncle, who my parents never wanted me to meet, to keep me away from the mob... I shake my head, clearing the dark thoughts of all the things I've done to keep my brother and myself safe.

A few more minutes of peaceful, mindless riding and I'm rolling into my parking spot, kicking out the stand and shutting down my bike, a low breath drifting from my lips as I open the seat to pull out a few carefully wrapped presents, a brown bag with a particular bottle of booze in it, and check that my messenger bag still has everything in it. As usual, no problems. This bag has never, ever let me down.

I walk up the stairs, whistling as I attempt to cheer myself and reassert the mask of the delivery boy/ business man that my little brother thinks I am. As my adopted brother, he's got the protection from the Mob, but no connections. He doesn't know, and as far as I am concerned, he will never know. He doesn't need to know, and knowing would only put him in danger.

I smile as I flick my key out, thinking about my brother. Danny was always the special one. Knew it from the moment I met him when I was six, when my parents adopted him. I was a little annoyed at first. All the attention that my parents had given me before was now going to him, or was split between the two of us. I had actually gotten into a row about it with my parents when I turned nine, and that's when my Dad pulled me aside and gave me a talk I'd never forget.

I love my Dad. He was a great man, the greatest man. The Marine, the fisherman, the story crafter, a horrible singer, teller of even worse jokes, and the strongest man in the world in my eyes. He sat me down and explained to me where he got the strength to do all those things. His love for my Momma. Love for Me. Love for my new little brother. Love for our family. All of our family.

Something changed that day. I don't know what it was, but I vowed that I would be there for my family. Be there for my little brother, from that day onwards. Twenty years is a long time to keep on a promise, but I haven't stopped yet.

That puts a solid smile on my face as I open the door, thinking of family, the good times, the bad times, and more importantly, that my family is safe, because of me. “Hey Danny-boy! Where you at little brother?” I yell out, looking around to avoid a sure-fire tackleglomp, mostly to avoid damaging my packages.

“Michael!” His excited tone reaches me as he whips around the corners, sliding across the wood floor of our apartment on his socks. Heh, ever the child, that's my little brother. Danny McCloud, twenty five as of today, chocolate brown hair, green eyes, pale white skin from sitting inside all the damn time, and gameing fanatic. He's always been a short, weedy one, five-three and thin as a bean pole. I grin at him as he comes charging hard and quickly put my bags aside as he tackles me with all one-hundred n' ten some pounds of him. Which is to say, he doesn't budge me an inch and instead glomps me in a big hug.

I laugh, hugging him back. “Happy birthday Danny, you got a delivery from the Pony Express.” I grin, rubbing his head in a way that gets him to let go and pout at me. He hates it when I do that, but it's easy enough to get him to move as I grab the bags and make my way towards the kitchen. My little six room apartment really isn't that little. It's pretty big honestly, with a full kitchen and dining room, a large entertainment/living room that I call 'The Cave', my bedroom, the 'guest' bedroom, which is Danny's room, and a large bathroom/shower. Over all, a really nice place.

I drop the bags on the counter and check my watch. Thirteen-fifteen. Not bad for a seven hour meeting, and then a ten minute ride home. Good to be back. I smile as I hear Danny following me. “So, what did you get me, what did you get me, huh?” He asks, bouncing a bit, making me shake my head and sigh, a common action around my house considering my little brother is twenty five today and and acts like he's twelve. “Danny, come on bro, we haven't even started the party yet. Anyone else coming?”

“Nah, just us today. The guys from the card shop couldn't come because we had a tournament to run today, but the boss gave me the day off.” Danny says, shrugging as I set my messenger bag on the table.

“Huh, shame, those guys can be fun to have around, at least when you're not trying to get me into the yugi-ma-whatchits. But, if we're gonna get started, then your first present is to get to see... this.” I slide the jewelry box out and open it up so that Danny can look at it and he gasps.

“The Elements of Harmony!” He says, looking up and close at the beautiful pieces of jewelry. “This is what you were dealing over?”

I blink and look at the five necklaces and the tiara... crown... whatever the hell it is, once more. “... Huh. They do look like the elements, don't they?” I murmur. Didn't notice that while I was dealing. The golden necklaces and tiara all had the proper jewels and coloring. They were perfect. Literally perfect. Of course I knew that, that's why we were dealing so much for them.

“That's so cool! And they're a museum piece right?” Danny asks, marveling over them, reaching out to pick up one, though I smack his hand away. “No touch. And yes, yes they are. I'm not sure for who, or why they are though. They're very rare art pieces that are being donated.”

Lies. All lies. But lies that my little brother can believe. Lies that are important for him to believe, to keep him out of trouble, keep him away from the Mob. “The Boss figured they'd look really nice as a period piece, or just on display as a solo art piece. It's some of the finest jewelry we've seen, and yet it's all hand worked, no machinery was used on it. Makes it worth a small fortune, and yet it's just being given away.” I explain. “A labor of love that my boss just needed to have to display.”

Danny and I looked at the jewelry for a few minutes, Danny just kind of looking blankly at them for a moment, like he was entranced. I frown, and snap my fingers in front of his face to snap him back into focus. He shakes his head like a dog and blinks a few times before looking back at the finely crafted art in front of him.

“Wow, that's soooo cool!” Danny grins as I close the box and put them back into my messenger bag, tossing my suit jacket and pants aside. “Hey, are you gonna set up the side car today? You promised you'd give me a ride!”

I hum. Danny had bought me a really awesome side-car attachment for my motorcycle, painted with a herd of running mustangs on the side of it, to go with the pony theme. I hadn't been planning on setting it up for a while, but I did promise that I'd take him for a ride in it when I did. “I'll work on it later Danny boy. So, cake, or presents first?”

-//-

-May 1st, 2020. 2254 Hrs-

The two person party went on without a hitch. Watched a few movies (including 'Equestria Girls'. Ugh. I still don't get his fascination with that show) and re-watched a few episodes of that show on his insistence. He loved his presents, a Princess Luna plushie that I had found in the discount bin at Walmart, (not that he'll EVER know that), and the newest Call of Duty game. Not the fanciest gifts ever, but he was happy, and wouldn't go anywhere without his plushie, so I figures it goes well.

Then again, Luna is his favorite pony. He's got enough pictures of her on his computer, so I figure he's more then happy to have her to cuddle with. Still a kid, needing a plushie to hug to sleep, but hey, no one else needs to know that.

I let out a deep breath as I recline on my couch in the lounge, smiling to myself. It was a good day, I had a nice, smooth glass of liquor as a birthday present to myself, we got the sidecar for my motorcycle set up, my family was safe, my bank account had a nice big addition to it for today's job, with the other half coming upon delivery... Yeah. Today was a good day. A easy chuckle slips from me as I watch the TV. An old episode of Star Trek, the Next Generation is playing, and Captain Picard is dealing with that old time lord loon that seems to find humans a fascinating play toy. I laugh loudly as Picard practically leaps out of bed when the time lord is laying there with him.

“Hah! I forgot how good this show was.” I snigger, rubbing my chin as I take another sip of my alcohol when a word slips from the TV that makes me spit it back out in shock.

“Damn it Q!”

Woah, wait, what? I refocus on the TV, putting my drink down and actually watching and listening. The time lord guy talks back to Picard, and the voice sounds very, very familiar, which spikes a little confusion in my mind.

Picard calls him Q again, and Q keeps talking, and the more he does, the more he sounds like Mr. Q, that damned auctioneer. The more he talks, the more similar the two are... What the fuck am I thinking?

I stand up, shaking my head as I turn off the TV and finish my glass of booze with a gulp. Nope, that's my last glass tonight, I'm connecting fictional characters with reality. I've officially had too much to drink.

Heh. At least my little brother had a good birthday. I guess I did too. I check my watch. Twenty-three hundred. Yeah, it's time to sleep. I chuckle as it hit's twenty-three-oh-one. My date and time of birth. I smile warmly, humming the birthday song to myself under my breath as I go to the bed room and slide under the covers.

Yeah, it's gonna be a good night.

-End Chapter 1-

Author's Note

To quoth the Joker- "And Here... we... go~"

Yep, a new story, but I think that I'll be able to do more with this one, so... here's hoping. I have a few more chapters in the pipe at the very least, expect Chapter two in about a week or two. In the meantime, please let me know what you think!

With that, this is Ash the Kitsune, Sayōnara!