Meanwhile, on the Westside

[Luci]

Mikey the Lightfoot walks slowly around a cramped compartment on the T5 Reading Westbound train, his yellow eyes slowly scanning the walls for graffiti.

Like most Lightfootz, Mikey is a half orc, mostly human looking but green skinned and with small tusks jutting from his mouth. The Lightfootz gang is comprised of apprentice magic users employed by Orc Mafia as couriers, spies, and graffiti vandals. They use graffiti to show the strength of the Orc Mafia, as well as to communicate with each other and spy on their enemies. They have been engaged in a shadow war with Luci and the Hufflepunks, each side using their magical graffiti to spy on each other. They have also been charged with protecting the Orc Mafia’s presence on the trains of Eastside Tier-5.

Tonight Mikey is trying to focus on his mission, trying to keep his graffiti wards up and running to hide his compartment from the prying magical eyes of the Westside, but he cannot help but be distracted by the company of the train compartment, and it’s collective smell.

The T5 Eastsyd Gangsta Ork Warryorz are in the house.

Nearly twenty of the hulking leather-clad ork bikerz stand shoulder to shoulder, swords clinking against guns as they growl at each other. Mikey knows some of them by reputation. Tiny Argah, known for slaying the Sprinkles the Ewok in single combat, stands tall and silent in the back holding his double-headed battleaxe over his head to make room. On the opposite side is Warslut, the female orc famed for holding the 7th Street Bridge alone against a pack of knife ears. She lost a hand in the battle, but it has since been replaced with a machine gun. Though the gang is cramped, they create a wide circle around their Prezident.

Jarl Elfbane, Prezident of the T5 Eastsyd Gangsta Ork Warryorz, is a black-furred ork instantly recognized by the necklace of gold-coated elf and human ears around his neck. Jarl is one of the most respected bikerz in the Orc Mafia, and a veteran of countless coruscant battles, but most famously the battle of Platform Nine and Three Quarters.

The rumble marked a turning point in the last war between the Orc Mafia and the Westside, when the Westside met an entire train full of Orcs at Platform Nine and Three Quarters. The Orcs were unable to break through the lines, and were forced to retreat onto the Eastbound train. The battle would go down in history as one of the bloodiest losses the Orc Mafia has ever suffered.

And now tonight, they are going into Platform Nine and Three Quarters again.

It is understandable then, that Jarl is a bit jumpy when Mikey’s dog starts barking.

“Shut up!” Mikey snaps to his dog quickly, and the barking stiffles to a low growl. Mikey sweats as he feels Jarl’s eyes on him, but he walks over to his dog Twitch.

Twitch is not an ordinary dog, but a graffiti dog. Twitch is Mikey’s familiar, a two dimensional red outline of a jack russel terrier that lives in the Graffiti Plane, transporting messages for Mikey and keeping an eye out for spies. Twitch has his hackles up, barking and snapping at a silver graffiti outline of a opossum. Mikey recognizes it as a Patronus, the preferred agent of graffiti spying for the Westside Hufflepunks. The opossum hisses as Twitch gets a hold of its ankle.

“Kill it,” comes the deep growl of Jarl Elfbane, sounding like nothing less than the lead singer of a death metal band. Mikey hurries to obey.

With a shaking hand the half-orc pulls out a fat red marker, and crosses over the opossum with three quick slashes, performing the somatic component of the spell, and the patronus is gone. Twitch stops barking.

Prezident Jarl leans back in his seat again, and Mikey lets out a tense breath.  

***

Chi-Owo rumbles through T5 New York on her stolen orc Harley, the green-skinned Chinese Twi-lek girl breathing calmly and trying to focus on the road. Her studded leather jacket proudly displays WESTSIDE on the top, and HUFFLEPUNKS on the bottom, with a moving picture of a snarling badger in the middle.

The lab-assistant-turned-gangster tries not to let her thoughts run away with her. She tries not to think about her friend that just died. She tries not to think about the Orcs she killed today. She tries not to think about the drugs she’s on or the drugs she craves. She does not wonder how long she has been out here, on the streets of Tier-5, fighting a gang war.

Chi-Owo focuses on her mission. She catches sight of Gentleman Jacks on the street, leaning against their cars, smoking their cigarettes with their guns in their holsters. She keeps her head down, keeps her eyes on the road. Chi-Owo likes the Jacks; at least, she likes Bobby Stabs and Jim the Gangster. She does not understand the intricacies of gang politics, and isn’t sure if the Jacks are in her gang or not. To be fair, Chi-Owo hasn’t been a gangster very long. Or had she?

They call it the Luci Effect. Spend too much time around her, let her get into your head, and time just kind of drifts away.

The harley roars as Chi-Owo pulls into a parking lot in Central Park. When the orange Twi’Lek cuts the motor on the bike, two dozen Knife-Ears appear from out of nowhere and surround her.

The elven street gang looks tense; their faces seem sunken in, their native-american style warpaint taught against their cheeks. Some of them lean on their longbows, others hoist high-powered sniper rifles or Heaters.

The Twi’lek slowly lifts her hands from the bike, putting them in the air.

A beautiful blonde elf girl pushes through the crowd impatiently. She has two lines of glowing warpaint beneath her eyes, marking her as Lieutenant Sunshine of the Westside Knife Ear Warriors. Behind her looms Lieutenant Bloodstain, the purple-skinned drow with a pair of standard-issue scimitars on her hips. The women have clearly risen in the ranks of the Westside Knife Ear Warriors through very different paths, but Luci sees the value of diplomacy as well the value of military.

“Hey Chi,” Sunshine says casually. The platinum blonde hefts a rocket launcher on her shoulder. Painted on the head of the rocket is a flower. “What’s the plan?”

***

Deep in the heart of the Westside is a train station called Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

Several years ago, in the last Orc War, a coalition of Westsiders had beaten back a train full of orcs on that platform, a battle that many say marked the beginning of the end for the Orc Mafia in Tier-5.

Some of the most renowned warriors of the Orc Mafia had been defeated that day, either with their blood spilled on the concrete or forced to retreat back onto the train.

The magical graffiti covering the train station contains several monuments to the brave Westsiders who fought in the Battle of Platform Nine and Three Quarters.

The most prominent piece is a massive mural of a blonde-haired boy with the lower half of his face wrapped in the red and gold scarf of Gryffindor. Like most magical graffiti, it is moving, although all he does is blink and scowl. Above the mural are the letters “R.I.P. DENNIS CREEVY” in flaming red and gold, and below him a banner reading “WESTSIDE GRYFFINDOR WARRIORS”.

Although the Westside Gryffindor Warriors formally disbanded after the death of their President Dennis Creevy during the Battle of Platform Nine and Three Quarters, many of their members have since joined the Westside Hufflepunks and other Hogwarts gangs throughout the city.

Other names of old, defunct Westside gangs litter the walls and windows of Platform Nine and Three Quarters, their historic legacy protected by the Westside Hufflepunks who apply permanency charms to the graffiti now and again.

There is still evidence of The Westside Cannibal Gnomes (who disbanded after accusations of cannibalism surfaced), The Westside Orcs (who disbanded after the Orc War), The Westside Locos (disbanded after an Empire raid on a drug house), and The Westside Scrapbooking Club (now known as the Pokemon Scrapbooking Club and declared a terrorist organization).

Tonight Platform Nine and Three Quarters lies empty, save for Yung Godric and 2 Wandz, a pair of bright-haired Westside Hufflepunks slumped against a wall, huffing paint from a spraycan.

The pair are on guard duty, and they are some of the best. Weasel has long been spreading the manpower on the streets thin, preferring to keep her spies and messengers all throughout the Westside. Yung Godric is a career veteran who fought at the Battle of Platform Nine and Three Quarters, already in his mid twenties and still alive somehow. 2 Wandz is his protege, a streetfighter who gained infamy after defeating the leader of the T4 Ravenclawz in a duel and winning his wand.

Yung Godric stumbles up, pulling out his yew wand sloppily and tapping the brick wall against which 2 Wandz still lies slumped.

“Opie hasn’t come back,” Yung Godric mutters, referring to his opossum Patronus. The Hufflepunks use their Patronus as spies and messengers, disguised as graffiti. Yung Godric has sent Opie out to watch the T5 Reading Westbound, as he has almost nightly for the last two years. And Opie is late.

It wouldn’t be the first time. Patronus are stupid, and noble. Opie has been known to pick fights with ghosts or malicious bits of graffiti, sometimes coming home with marks but never anything too serious.

2 Wandz is not worried, but lazily takes out one of his two wands and taps the wall behind him.

“Expecto,” he says before huffing a can of spray paint. “Patronum,” he finishes as he exhales, and a glowing silver graffiti jellyfish sprouts from his wand and onto the wall behind him. The jellyfish hovers stupidly for a moment, it’s tentacles waving.

“Mr Noodles,” commands 2 Wandz. “Go find Opie and bring him back.”

Mr Noodles drifts away, the silvery jellyfish moving around a corner and out of sight.

2 Wandz eases back against the wall, and lets his chin rest on his chest. Yung Godric simply stands with his arms folded, staring, as he often does, at the mural of Dennis Creevy.

The sound of a door opening behind them startles the pair. Yung Godric turns around quickly, but relaxes when he recognizes his fellow Westside Hufflepunk, a pierced punk rocker known as Scab.

“Hey,” Yung Godric hastily, to not betray his nerves. “Sup young blood? I thought you were out of the game, what you doing up here?”

Scab shrugs, his facial piercings jingling. “Just tyrna score man, can you help me out?”
2 Wandz barks laughter from the floor. He reaches into his pocket and tosses a small baggie full of glowing purple powder across the floor.

Scab rummages through his pockets before pulling out a wad of crumpled cash to hand 2 Wandz.

“Thanks,” he mutters as he shoves the drugs in his pockets, his eyes on the floor. “So what’s up man? Anything going on tonight?”

Yung Godric shakes his head. “Nah, guard duty. And Opie isn’t back yet, I’m starting to get worried.”

“Opie’s late all the time,” Scab says quickly.

Yung Godric nods in agreement, his eyes back on the mural of Dennis Creevy. “Yeah, but not usually this late. I’m getting worried.”

Scab nods, and follows his gaze. THe two sand side by side for a moment, Dennis blinking and glaring down at them.

“You were really there?” Scab asks, as he lights two cigarettes with the tip of his wand and hands one to Yung Godric. “How many Westsiders were there?”

Yung Godric accepts the cigarette and smokes for a while before he answers.

“A lot,” he says as he exhales a cloud of smoke. “Platform Nine and Three Quarters, it’s been warped by us over the years, it’s magical. It expands to fit the user's needs. That night, we had Westsiders from every corner of Tier -5. When the Orcs came, there was an entire trainload of them, filling every compartment, packed impossibly tight. Every time one went down two more came out. We got lucky,” he admits, taking another deep drag of his cigarette. “We were able to hold the line. We kept our calm, we worked in coordination, we relied on our training. We held space. For over an hour, we held space. If they had broken through the line, just one of them just once, they would have broken through. They could have destroyed the Westside in one night.”

Yung Godric flicks his cigarette butt onto the train tracks.

“Come to a show tonight, the Bludgers are playing,” suggests Scab.. He tries to catches 2 Wandz’ glance. “Danny will be there. She said she wants to see you.”

2 Wandz does not react.

“Opie still isn’t back,” declares Yung Godric. “I’m gonna send out a message to Weasel, see if we can’t find out what the fuck-”
The Hufflepunk’ last words are cut short as Scab fires two shots from a Glock 9 into the back of Yung Godric’s head.

A bolt of red light whizzes by Scab’s head as 2 Wandz fires off a stunning hex.

Scab whirls and unloads the rest of the clip at the other wizard, who produces a shield charm in front of himself. 2 Wandz gets to his wobbly feet as the bullets ricochet harmlessly from his shield.

Scab drops the gun and instead draws a wand and fires from his hip.

“Expelliarmus!” Scab cries, and a bolt of scarlet light rickets towards 2 Wandz.

2 Wandz curses as he is disarmed, his wand sailing across the room into Scab’s outstretched hand.

While his wand is still in the air, 2 Wandz pulls out his other wand, and fires a flurry of orange exploding hexes at Scab, forcing him to duck and roll for cover even as he snatches the wand from the air.

“Suffuco!” cries Scab desperately as he shoots a strange yellow string from the tip of his wand that wraps around itself around 2 Wandz’ neck.

Scab yanks on the thread, and it grows taught, forcing 2 Wandz to his knees. The choking wizard slashes the air with his wand, his invisible hex leaving a deep gash across Scab’s face and eliciting a scream. Scab uses 2 Wandz to stolen wand cast it’s final spell.

“Avada Kedavra!” he barks, and in a flash of green light, 2 Wandz is dead.

Scab falls to his knees for a moment. He takes a few ragged breaths, then limps over to switch his wand. He glares at the corpse of 2 Wandz, a corpse that bears the unmistakable signs of Dark Magic. He drags the corpse onto the train tracks, and his friend for good measure.

He does not look at the mural of Dennis Creevy looking down on him, but walks out of Platform Nine and Three Quarters with his head down.

***