The Legend Of Badger - Nance by wytchcroft

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The Legend Of Badger - Nance
Wednesday, August 15, 2007

The Legend of Badger – Nance:

Closing his eyes, Badger allowed himself a moment to listen his mind to the soothing words of a favourite song – music to soothe the savage breast or wotever…
Maybe it’s coz I’m from Londinium – that I love…
He opened his eyes and regarded the object in his hand, placed it slowly on his desk and spoke – in a slow, measured – professional voice.
“It’s not a weapon you twonk – it’s a game”.

Badger smiled with his mouth – beady eyes blearing around the office – strewn with the troves and hoardings of… how many years now? The shiny and the glittering and the worth some gorram coin. If you ignored the flickering power to the lights – the fact that the Blue Station Vii was always off and the toilets didn’t work. There was however an apple – fat, green and daily – sat on the desk. Priceless.
An apple a day keeps the doctor away – and the punters in their place.
Right. “Where was I?”

“It’s a game.”
“Oh, yeah right – DARTS mate, sport of the ancients – back from the Earth-that-Was. Back when it was Publicans versus The Bill – or… – don’t you know yer ‘istory? And – Oy! Am I boring you?”
“Sorry Mr B – It’s just – if I could sit down.”

Badger sighed, pacing on his restless bowlegs. “Awright awright – somebody get this bloke a chair!”
It is always very satisfying watching underlings do the… undering.
He looked hard at the solid form of the seated man. A little nervous looking – but a bit of the mean in there too. Dancin’ round the corners of the eyes. Interesting…

“Feelin’ better? Spiffin’. I like my crew to keep happy.”

There was a none-too subtle tittering from the open alcoves adjoining the office.
“Knock it off! – You see? We like our… fun. Mister…?”
“Square, Albert Square.”

“Well Mr Square – I gather you’re lookin’ fer work on account of the unfortunate demise of your guv’ner one… Rennway Stenner - nasty piece of work – or so I hear. Alliance. Can’t say as I take too kindly to Alliance.”

The man in the chair looked up. “You’d like ‘em a lot more if fings had gorn right an’ Reynolds was dead.”

Badger bounced the distance between the desk and the chair in two swift movements.
“Reynolds? Did you say… Reynolds?”
“Yeah, thas right. Malcolm Reynolds – bleedin’ Browncoat ponce if ever I saw one.”
“Well, well – I’ve met the bloke – kept ‘im his place too – yeh, he’s up ‘imself is that one.”
“Too right.”

Badger pulled his hat from his head – a worn bowler – and his most prized possession. “You see this hat – my most and very FAVOURITE hat? Bastard shot me through this hat once – took weeks to get it repaired. Still…” He tapped the top – and there was the dull noise of steel under the fabric. “It fixed up a treat.”
He popped it back on his head.
“Any’ow – what brings you to me – Mr Square – that is – why ME exactly.”
“I ‘eard you was on the up n up.”
“Straight up.”
The two men shared a common chuckle.

“Well – you ‘eard right – ‘specially compared to some geezers like Fanty and Mingo whose names I won’t even bovver mentioning.” He spat. “Slick – they think themselves – so very bleedin’ slick. Any’ow – It says ‘ere…” - a rustle of paper – real paper, mind, - “that you have proved to be a stone cold killer. Vicious. That true?”
Albert nodded enthusiastically – the plied wave of his grey hair, bobbing.
“Oh not ‘alf.”

Badger nodded.
“Hmm… you got anyone in your sights now? Anyfing you oughta be telling me?”
“Jus’ Reynolds – Mr B. I see ‘im – and pop goes THAT weasel. Har har! I got it from a very reliable source that you have dealings wiv the fella.”
“Needs must Mr Square – needs must – can’t pretend I wouldn’t wanna see the man brought dahn a peg or two…”
“Exactly. Well, when I see’s ‘im – I kills ‘im. Nice an’ simple. – I heard you don’t do no killin’ yourself – bit of a nance – I mean a bit refined that way.”
“That what I HIRE people for – it’s beneath me – awright? I’m a business man – I aint gonna sully my lily whites with wet-work.”
“Right you are boss, right you are. I’ll do it for yer.”
“Do what exactly.”
“Kill Reynolds.”
“That might not be so easy.”
“Nah – I can take ‘im – he aint nuthin but a stuffed shirt anyway.”
“Well he is something else actually.”
“Wha’s that then?”
“Well he is stood behind ya with a gun at yer back.”
“Eh? Oh… Oh. Bollocks.”

Malcolm Reynolds tapped Albert firmly on the shoulder with the barrel of his pistol.
“Now, now – ALBERT – aint no call for that kinda language. We can communicate in a civilised way, surely? I mean – we’re all gentleman here right?”
Badger groaned. “See? Up himself.”
Albert twisted in his seat – his face registering confusion and anger and then – unconsciousness… as the steel bowler connected with his head…all things considered, his fall to the floor was remarkably graceful.
“Call me a nance…” said Badger.

Reynolds shook his head with mock disapproval. “Now that aint no way to treat a – hat, is it? Leastways one so precious to you…”
“Shut it Sergeant.”

The tall Captain scowled. “Hey hey – we getting’ personal now – don’t recall you saying anything about getting me down here to trade insults.”
He regarded the fallen Albert.
“Not that I aint grateful to” –

“Bloody right you are!” Badger pounced. “You owe me big time for this.”
The Captain nodded ruefully. “Fine, ok then – I grant you. Under the circumstances we can safely call things… even. Might say as how we’re… ‘square’.”
“Even? Don’t think joking’s gonna – you OWE me.”
“Even.” Firmly.
“Owe me!” outraged.
“Even.” Brooking no argument.
“OWE me.” Livid.
“Even.”
“Owe.”
And on and on around the sun…

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