Their names were Trot and Melon

This ballad begins
In the deep dark of space
Mel was a pilot
Trot was a felon

Melon Morr
The maddest man
He kissed the girls
Stole the ship
Laughed in their faces

and ran.

Trot Delain
You woeful face
Your masked visage
A beautiful place
Dark shadows in your past
Snake in the rose garden

Hale villain full of mace.

Safe Haven
Holy hell
The darkest of corners
Where the rats eat
sleep
breed
and dwell.

It was upon that station
Upon that haven
Amongst the masses
dark and craven

That the terrible two
The dubious duo

searching

One eye green
One eye blue

The mark was a careful man.


“Don’t touch the door,” the hard, gravel grated voice spoke harshly in low tones, but the words carried no sting.

“T’door, t’door!  T’would be a shellin shame t’be toochin t’door!” the other whispered mockingly, the long haired, younger man putting his hands up and feigning fear.

Trot sighed, laying his forehead in the rough, calloused palm of a four fingered hand.  He stared at the floor.  Taking a moment, he rubbed at his eyes and drew a black, ugly looking weapon.  Shifting his shoulders as if a touch claustrophobic, he tapped the heavy, bulky barrel of the gun against the door.  Thick snaps of white-blue electricity kicked against the weapon, sparking a light in the younger man’s fairy blue eyes.

“I wan t’touch it.”

Trot twisted his wrist and deftly slipped the weapon back into the folds of his heavy, faded brown coat.  He had a headache.

The elevator at the end of the dimly lit corridor slammed into place, thick doors screeching painfully open.

“Shite.”

Trot agreed.  The heavily body armored men stepping into the corridor with smooth precision were bad enough.  The metallic clicks and eerie hums coming from the sleek guns sent a chill down his spine.  Their mark must have ties with the Rendorseget.

Melon smiled.

“Cheeky toughs wot?”



And their names were Trot Delain and Melon Morr