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Title: Good For Nothing
Rating: PG
Prompt: They did not know it was impossible, so they did it. – Mark Twain
Fandom/Series: Bungou Stray Dogs
Word Count: 997
Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).
Summary: The escaping members of The Guild learn that Moby Dick is under attack and 'discuss' their views on the matter.

*~*~*~*

Good For Nothing

The car glided over the road, bearing its foreign occupants into the countryside. Each member giving secretive glances over their shoulder to a distant speck of sky over the city of Yokohama. Steinbeck, although driving, gave it the most amount of attention, his eyes darting back to it every few seconds in the rear-view mirror. The escaping trio of The Guild sat in silence, contemplating what they had done to bring about such an event. They had planned to come to Japan in the pursuit of an ability user that could turn into a tiger, but they didn’t expect that they’d have to go up against both a detective agency and the local mafia. Furthermore, no-one had foreseen that these two minor factions would prove to be such an opposing force by destroying their ship and defeating nearly all of their comrades, but who were also in the process of bringing down Moby Dick.

“Hurry up, Steinbeck.” Grunted Twain from the back, finally breaking the silence. “Or we’ll be caught in it.” The orange haired shooter reclined in his seat and huffed, staring directly now at the clouds covering the doomed city, where no doubt the mechanized whale was surely plummeting to.

“Yeah.” The blonde farmer sighed and his foot pressed onto the pedal further, pushing the vehicle almost dangerously faster. “Stage two of the incineration of Yokohama: ‘The Fall of Moby Dick.’ If the plan is executed, this city, already wrecked by the cursing ability, will be...”

Riding shotgun, Alcott shifted, a hand coming to fiddle with the ribbon in her hair. Her eyes looked glassily out the window to the city. “Completely annihilated.” She finished. Despite being the tactician of a secret and violent society, she was gentle-hearted and easily perturbed. But then again, she had not expected her ‘if all else fails’ plan to be put into action.

Then again, none of them had.

With the ice finally broken, the three glanced at the soon to be decimated city, Steinbeck halting the car to observe as well. If they strained their eyes they could imagine the shape of the white airship falling gracefully down towards the skyscrapers.

They never wanted it to turn out like this – they were just trying to earn some money. They had people to take care of back home, but was it selfish of them to sacrifice so many others for their beloved own?

The curse would’ve already taken many lives in the short span of time before the ability-nullifier had undone Q’s spell, leaving the city in chaos and terror. With the city in such a vulnerable state, it was a simple matter to simply point the nose of Moby Dick into the centre of Yokohama – destroying whatever and whoever was left.

Their observations were interrupted by an obnoxious buzz coming from one of Alcott’s pockets. She squeaked and hurriedly wrestled it out of its confines, hitting the call button. “H-hello?” The escaping Guild members, now with the mourner-like silence broken, resumed their slumped positions as they considered why they had gotten themselves into their current positions. Alcott hummed her recognition and snapped the phone shut.  She sighed and scrubbed at her face, looking beyond tired. “I just got a call from Mr. Melville. The man-tiger and one of the mafia’s assassins have made it on board.”

The resulting noise might’ve rivalled the upcoming explosion as The Guild member trio detonated into sound. Twain fell against the door in hysterical laughing, Steinbeck had uncharacteristically started arguing his strong disbelief and Alcott began immediately trying to calm the two through harried mumbling that could’ve rivalled Poe’s.

“This isn’t a laughing matter!” the tactician squeaked, looking ready to shake Twain as his face began to turn blue. “The assassin is the one that took down Mister Hawthorne and Miss Mitchel and the man-tiger was the one we were hunting!”

Steinbeck’s hands gripped the wheel and his face grew taut as he snarled. “What the hell? Don’t they realise the danger they’re in? No one can beat Mr. Fitzgerald – not with his ability! The Great Gatsby is completely too powerful!” The ex-famer looked ready to attack. It had been a stressful few days for them and Steinbeck was starting to look like his family’s sheepdogs with the way his face was viciously scrunched up. His eyes darted to the mirror in the still impossible venture of seeing the sinking ship but instead landed on the reflection of Twain.

“Mark, what the hell is wrong with you?” he rumbled, ignoring Alcott’s attempt to calm him.

“Don’t you see?” the shooter wheezed out, pounding on his chest to try and rid himself of his manic laughter. “That it’s a suicide mission but they still might just pull it off and get out alive?” The orange haired man fell into hysterics once more and pounded his fists against the door.

“It’s impossible – Fitzgerald is rich beyond means and with his ability, The Great Gatsby, no one on the planet has a chance against him.” Steinbeck huffed out, some of his anger seeming to dissipate as his hands released their death grip on the wheel.

Alcott nodded tiredly, her big eyes made even more forlorn with her round glasses. “It is impossible – I never took into account Mister Fitzgerald’s defeat when I made this plan.” She whimpered, though the firm belief in his victory was evident.

“But don’t you get it?” Mark lifted his head off the headrest to push in between the two front passenger seats, his eyes gleaming. “It’s like in a book I once read… ‘They did not know it was impossible, so they did it.’ Wouldn’t you say that it suits our enemies? Bold in their ignorance? With such an attitude, they might just win…” with a chuckle, the orange haired man fell back onto the padded seat and looked out the window.

Alcott eyed him and pushed her phone back into her pocket. “You’re a strange one, Mark Twain.” She muttered.

................................................................................................................................

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